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Now shut up, and let me tell you about Doheny Days, the Dub All Stars, X and a birthday party

Whatever. The extraordinarily global party had a Darryl Hannahlook-alike from a South Seas French island who rocked on the drums for several hours, single-handedly euthanizing all memories of ugly girl drummers like the one in Vixen. She was amazing—and she had never played before. Other percussionists crowded into a tiny living-room annex, going at it with everything from bass (Phil, who came with somebody) to fantastic harmonica (Oliver, a barback at Calypso, where they all hang out) to gourds and tambourines (everyone else) until 5 a.m. And 14 women asked Brisick to sleep with them! We'll testify that Brisick got no nookie despite his general handsomeness and smartitude because we were curled at the foot of his (borrowed; Brisick usually lives in the living room) bed as some 18-year-old boy stood there and told a few Brazilian chicks stories about his Spanish teacher, keeping us up mercilessly. Nancy had already stolen the futon we'd claimed, but as she earlier had kept grabbing the microphone away from the boys and handing it to us instead with many exclamations about our fabulousness as we shrieked like Yoko Ono, we let her pretend to be asleep. Because, you know, it's the fans who matter.

Pssst! Wanna give Commie Girl a record deal or throw a cute fireman her way? Oh, yes, you do. No reasonable offers refused.
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