Awwwww yeeeah, the delightful cats of CHERYL have asked me to spin at their next party! Check it out.
From them:
Your rusty pickup rattles down the highway. The sky is orange. You pull into Buckaroos, the local watering hole, where a dad-band is jamming on an extended version of “Comfortably Numb” while couples lasciviously and drunkenly grind on one another. There is a man standing stoically, holding a leash attached to his monstrous, equally stoic dog. There is a woman at the bar with Tammy Faye eyes, her arm around a cowboy with a melted face. Two exotic dancers, a tribal man with a rooster head and a girl with webbed fingers, dance on a pedestal for nobody. The entire place reeks of sincerity and earnestness. There is a total, otherworldly lack of sarcasm.
You are an alien in this desert land.
Suddenly, you receive the long-awaited dispatch from the planet-island of Go-Go (located in a portal in the middle of the River Gowanus). Your captain is finally requesting your presence on THE SHIP with the big-headed, big-eyed GREY CHERYL.
An infinite beam of luminous, cheap, fawn-colored hair violently juts through the clouds and coils around your legs, dragging you skyward, upside down, at light speed. Once through the atmosphere, as weightlessness sets in, the mother ship comes into view behind the moon: a giant droplet of blood hovering silently in space. As you approach the giant, smooth red spacecraft, a portal opens in its side. The GREY CHERYL appears, greeting you with Go-Go’s customary gift of shoulder pads and glitter. Your mission is complete.
Thank God, you think. Give me an invasive autopsy, stat.
TRUST NO ONE.
TRUST CHERYL.
Saturday May 18, 2013
11pm to 4am
Public Assembly Loft (N.6th St) Brooklyn
RESIDENT DJ Nick
SPECIAL GUEST DJ Fake Money
$5 all night long
FACEBOOK EVENT IS HERE.
It’s time again to take off our shoes, climb up into the Bounce Castle and get loose. This Saturday, 5/25, will be a familiar scene at Macri Park: cheap drinks, generously poured by the friendliest bartenders you’ll find anywhere, groups of fascinating, erudite folks discussing big ideas at the bar, beautiful women of influence holding oversized snakes, well-dressed men with crystal-tipped canes, stunning gypsy maidens, soothsayers, the shabby rich, the ugly playboys, that One Girl Over There, and of course a tall, bespectacled, stoop-backed figure working hard behind the Knob Box, feeding everybody’s hungry ears with the kind of high-quality jams that make the Smug Smuckerses of the world feel like nothin’ but some Suckerses.
