A news update on wearescientists.com

A news update on wearescientists.com is for many of you the one remaining reason to go on. It’s a fact. Let’s stop playing house. Now that your gruesome dependency has been brought out into the open for all to see, perhaps the healing can begin. On the other hand, if we continue to whip out the kind of hyper-entertaining, ridiculously informative crap that has long characterized this notable corner of the world wide web, well then I guess you don’t really stand much of a chance of overcoming the addiction.
A little throat clearing and we shall commence. Bleh-he-hem. And so we had a show last Saturday at a little club in Brooklyn called L’Amour, a bunghole catering to hair metal and others who haven’t yet discovered linear thought. We broke all kinds of prestigious records by not selling a single ticket. Fear not, that was our intention; how could we subject you, the delicate fan-base, to the aesthetic bludgeoning of a club like L’Amour? As showtime approached, the club manager, possibly experiencing a fit of suicidal dementia, made what must have been the most difficult decision of his young life: to fuck with WAS. Fortunately for all concerned, we were in the most receptive and forgiving of moods, and so when he told us “you got fifteen fuckin’ minutes”, we silently applauded his bravura and cache whilst bowing and slowly backing into a nearby shadow. We began our fifteen minute assault with The Method, which reduced the crowd from around fifteen to two. According to our sources, one young metal-loving fan, seated on a couch, sneered “this is soft” twenty seconds into our powerhouse opener, grabbed his girl’s hand, and strode out into the night, his testicles aflame with the wrath of artistic conviction. Having unburdened ourselves of the crowd’s closed-minded elements, we proceeded to rock the clothing off the two youngsters who had the horse-sense to know as soon as Chris had yowled the first few bars that they were in the presence of rare genius, uncommon greatness. Call it vanity: it gives us quite a bit of pleasure to forever change the lives and expectations of the young.