Issue 42 - 12/25/21


  • An Incredible Journey
  • Marina Explains The Nutcracker
  • Bigfoot in Bigfoot
  • So You Moved Back To Montana
  • Annals of the Haunted Apartment Drummer
  • Housekeeping
  • Holiday Horoscopes for Haughty HoHoHos
  • Office Chart

Cryptic Album Liner Notes

Some idiot told me that when you have writer's block or when you don't know what to write about, endeavor to write the worst thing you can.

Please have a seat and welcome to the poo zone.

I might have replied that I actually feel I have already accomplished this exercise many times over across an impressive variety of newsletter articles. I mean have you read all of these? There are some bad ideas and worse executions out there.

But then, I can't even get further than this without the proud hull of the S.S. Idiot plunging bow-first into the maelstrom of identity crisis - what the hell is the point of the newsletter? Can we judge what makes a good or a bad newsletter article without some objective standard for what a newsletter article should be? I don't know but that sounds like when people say it's impossible to be a good person if there is no god so I'll just go start eating in the booth on the other side of the Chili's and see what happens from there.

What is the purpose of the newsletter? It used to ostensibly be a not-quite-clever-enough satire about how everyone wants to announce their Very Good Ideas all the time and assume that their opinions are inherently worthy of the time and attention of entire other people. It consisted mostly of deadpan how-to's and lists and reviews that are structured like actual things people write but deal with things people don't actually have any reason to write about. Ha! Do you get it! It's like one thing but it's not that thing at all! What a killer joke. Eventually things trended towards the more serious until most issues contained at least one entry which was essentially a meandering public diary entry. This is honest, but is it worthwhile? It is ourselves, but is there a point to ourselves? Particularly, is there any point to displaying this part of ourselves in public? Is there any excuse to?

On one hand, I dislike loudness, especially for the sake of loudness, and do not feel the need to put myself out there online. So it's not that I'm worried that I'm actually being a narcissist or anything by publishing these, but it still feels just a little gross, like when you have to ignore people trying to sell you shit on the drag. I'm not so sure that being ironically loud online is actually an excuse for being loud.

But on the other hand, like - this is the newsletter. This is not a real thing by most reasonable definitions of either real or thing. Saying you feel conscientious about the newsletter's splash is like saying you're afraid of leaving a cute little footprint in a forest where there are monkeys throwing shit at you and on the other side of one hill there's an actual war with kersplosions being fought and kersploding half the forest and then over another hill there's a fleet of megacorporation bulldozers destroying the other half of the forest for no discernible reason. So, not to trivialize the lives of the little microorganisms you might be slightly disturbing, but if the world is about to end then you might as well grant yourself permission to walk normally, you know? And then it turns out you're not actually enough of a presence to leave a visible footprint in the underbrush anyway and you feel pretty silly.

Is it significant that apparently the worst thing I can imagine writing is an unfiltered stream of what actually goes on in my head? I don't know, probably, but I also have bigger fish to fry on the therapy front since I just paused for an hour to read several pages of google about having panic responses to noise for about the 200th night in a row which is a good consistent hobby, one of which everyone needs.

Can you believe the newsletter is three years old this month? If it was a human it would be almost old enough to drink!

What else makes for really bad writing? Transitioning suddenly and without tying up any ideas?

Is that it? Have we done it? I believe we are ready to begin. The secret engine startup sequence has been completed after having been attempted incorrectly 20 times and thus triggering the security system lockdown for several months; the engines are polluting properly; the single neuron is firing haphazardly and my cat hungers for human flesh. Joyous Candlenights to all!


This boy drew a duck holding a sword every day for four days and took a picture of each to document his inspiring transformation

Chief Art Direction Correspondent Matt Spradling

Marina Explains The Nutcracker (And Also Evaluates the Main Characters on the Basis of Morality and Anarchism)

Chief Chestnut Correspondent Marina Martinez

The Nutcracker is a Christmas tradition - even if you haven't seen it or know the plot, you've probably heard its music by this point in your life. It's a German story that tells the classic tale of a dramatic uncle crashing the holiday party, using magic to cause a small war between wooden dolls and sexy rats, and then gaslighting his niece with sugar. My homeboy Tchaikovsky was like 'oh that's sick as hell' and composed a two-act ballet about it in 1892. People haven't stopped talking about it since.

Here is an abridged version of The Nutcracker in which I will highlight all the juicy bits and evaluate key characters as they're introduced. You just have to promise to listen to a random song from The Nutcracker as you read this to make sure you're in the right headspace.


Clara Stahlbaum (aka Marie or Masha, depending which ballet company is performing)

Morality Alignment: Neutral Good, the most boring alignment

Anarchist?: She'd probably pay taxes if she could but she's like 12

Hot or Not?: She's a Child

The first act of the ballet opens on the Stahlbaum's annual Christmas party. Clara, her younger brother Fritz, and their parents are welcoming all their guests to their Christmas party. It's all very wholesome and, honestly, boring. The main point of this whole scene is to introduce Clara, who is a little girl with not a lot of personality. She's the Bella Swan of The Nutcracker.

The party scene goes on for like ten minutes (kids get gifts and adults dance and drink) before introducing my FAVORITE character of the whole production:

Uncle Drosselmeyer (though sometimes he's Grandfather)

Morality Alignment: Chaotic Neutral, this man lives for the drama

Anarchist?: Abso-fuckin-lutely

Hot or Not?: Yeah this twink absolutely fucks

There are three things that the ballet lets you know immediately when this character comes on stage: 1) he is the kooky inventor/uncle of the Stahlbaums, 2) he's just a little fruity, and 3) he IS the drama. He brings his unrelated nephew/legal ward to the party and gives his niece the infamous Nutcracker doll. (Spoiler alert, his nephew IS the Nutcracker in most productions). Clara and Fritz fight over the Nutcracker, Fritz breaks it, Drosselmeyer fixes the toy and dances with the housekeeper, and as the party dies down, he waves his limp little wrists over all the toys and the tree. I firmly believe that this is somehow Tchaikovsky's self-insert character.

Anyway, the party is over and everyone goes to bed! Except for Clara, because we have a story to get to. She sneaks downstairs to check on her poor Nutcracker and discovers that uh oh! There are rats dancing everywhere and, as the clock strikes midnight, everything is growing around her! Or she's shrinking. My boy Drosselmeyer freezes time and runs around the stage swishing his extremely billowy cape (like the absolute Icon he is), and when time unfreezes there is a full blown battle happening between the evil dancing rats and a bunch of toy soldiers who have come to life. The two factions are lead by:

The Rat/Mouse King

Morality Alignment: Lawful Evil, he's a monarch

Anarchist?: He is a King. He's also an amalgamation of rats. Google a picture of an actual rat king if you want nightmares.

Hot or Not?: ...okay he's still kind of hot

The Nutcracker Prince

Morality Alignment: Ehhh Lawful Good

Anarchist?: Okay he is technically a prince but he IS fighting to topple an unjust monarch so maybe

Hot or Not?: Look he's also like a Teen at most so N/A. I didn't think this category through, obviously.

There is a long and kind of tame battle dance that follows. The tin soldiers play by the rules of engagement but narratively the rats disregard the rules and all hope looks lost for the good guys. UNTIL! Clara, seeing her poor Nutcracker about to beef it, runs into the battle and whacks the Rat King. (Well, sometimes it's a whack with her shoe, sometimes she literally stabs him with his sword. Once again, she's 12). Regardless of what happens, she kills a rat and saves the Nutcracker, whose ugly head is carried off by the tin soldiers. He had a normal human head underneath so it's fine, don't worry about it.

The end of the first act involves the Nutcracker thanking Clara and ordering a magic sleigh to carry her to his magical realm. There is also a small snow storm. Large quantities of plastic, glitter, and other hazardous 'snow' materials rain down on the poor corps de ballet dancers during this number and there's usually at least one ballerina down by the end of it. They cut to intermission so they can sweep the stage.


The most important thing to understand about the Nutcracker from this point forward is that the plot is essentially over. There was a party, a battle, and now the second act exists for all the dancing that you came here for. The Nutcracker and Clara arrive in his kingdom, The Kingdom of Sweets (not very creative name scheme here), and all of his international candy subjects do a lot of dancing to thank Clara for saving their prince. This part of the article is gonna be a straight run-down/rating of those dancers, I guess. Format? I don't know her.


Morality Alignment: Lawful Neutral, they're like 50% cocoa from a non-slave sourced chocolate company after Twitter cancelled them

Anarchist?: Anti-government but pro-bullfighting

Hot or Not?: Mucho caliente

Overall Rating: 6/10. It's a good dance, a great song, but it IS Spain, and they super DID colonize my ancestors.


Morality Alignment: True Neutral

Anarchist?: Yes

Hot or Not?: Was this dance part of my sexual awakening? Maybe. Anyway yes this number is rated NC-17 but also it's not.

Overall Rating: 9/10 for the 16 count slow slide into the splits


Morality Alignment: Lawful Neutral. It's the shortest one, I think, but they stick to what they know.

Anarchist?: Probably not. Racist? Probably yes.

Hot or Not?: Idk but it's definitely problematic

Overall Rating: 3/10, could be less stereotypical. Music's cute, tho.

Russian/Candy Canes

Morality Alignment: Chaotic Good for all the jumps and twirls

Anarchist?: This dance is the Communist Manifesto

Hot or Not?: Burning (like my thighs after performing this)

Overall Rating: 100/10, makes me want to move to Russia. Pyotr knew what he was doing when he wrote this one.


Morality Alignment: Lawful Evil, they're French. (I love them, but they're French).

Anarchist?:'s France.

Hot or Not?: ...they're FRENCH. (yes, hot)

Overall Rating: 7/10, dancing shepherdesses are kinda boring but the costumes are always the best

Mother Ginger/Polichinelles

Morality Alignment: Chaotic Neutral, big Mormon vibes from Mother Ginger and her kids

Anarchist?: The kids are against their mother

Hot or Not?: Mother Ginger is a MILF

Overall Rating: 5/10, I did this dance for like 7 years and I got really sick of it by the time I was 12 but still short enough to fit under the skirt. (I have not grown since then, I could still fit under the skirt.)

Waltz of the Flowers

Morality Alignment: Neutral Evil, this dance is TOO DANG LONG to do en pointe

Anarchist?: I would overthrow a government after doing this number

Hot or Not?: The inherent sensuality of flowers is kinda present I guess

Overall Rating: 4/10, the music is beautiful but it also does put me to sleep

Sugar Plum Fairy and Her Cavalier

Morality Alignment: True Neutral, listen to the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and tell me she's not a trickster fey

Anarchist?: the SPF and her boy toy are kinda in charge when the Nutcracker is gone but I can tell they want to overthrow the monarchy and establish a Candy Commune

Hot or Not?: Besides the Mouse King they're objectively the hottest characters. They're probably poly, also.

Overall Rating: 9/10, fun dances and also this means the show is almost over!

After everyone has done their little 'thank you for saving our Prince!' dances for Clara and the Nutcracker, they all come back on stage and do another little number and then we reach the absolute most buckwild part of the musical. Everyone waves and backs slowly off the stage, the Candy Land backdrop vanishes, and Clara...wakes up, holding her Nutcracker.

Excuse me, do you mean that this wasn't a magical ballet? A young girl didn't actually shrink, topple a totalitarian ruler, and get serenaded by every desert her parents had in their pantry??? The truth is, we honestly don't know. Most versions end with Clara as confused as the audience at this point. The one I performed in Tyler every year ended with Clara spinning in circles and Drosselmeyer swooshing his cape in the background, which did not clarify anything. Apparently, the original story ends with Clara and the Nutcracker riding a sleigh into the sunset, but ballet companies wanted more drama, which is what Tchaikovsky would've wanted.

And so ends the timeless tale of The Nutcracker. It's actually kind of dated in parts - all the girls are given dolls in the party scene and the boys are given swords, the entire Chinese number exists, etc - but every single ballet company performs it every year, and I love it a lot. It's a wonderful little sprinkle of Christmas magic, and I love seeing little kids dressed up excited to go to the ballet! It's so wholesome!

Also I'm sorry I called Mother Ginger a MILF. Happy Holidays!

Bigfoot in Bigfoot

Chief Canon Correspondent Wendy Fernandez

Ed. Bigfoot in Bigfoot - written in Long Meter, and a meter is made up of feet, hence Bigfoot in Big Foot.

You wander lonely in the wood

So distant from the beaten path,

Your wiles stay misunderstood

In hopes to not incur your wrath.

Your stature, tall, you reign from high

Atop the northern mountainside,

Your feet a feat that mystifies

And treads our past within each stride.

A cryptid, nay you are much more

Than sasquatch, ape, or grizzly bear,

Your visage, rare, we can't ignore

Nor touch your golden locks of hair.

No model here or foreign far

Can match your photographs or mind,

Your elegance is right on par

With kings and queens and masterminds.

Yet you elude us, gentle beast,

With games of shadow and of chase,

From north, to south, to west, to east,

You walk alone yet with such grace.

And so, Bigfoot, my gentle friend,

From woodsy plains to mountainside,

I'll follow you to oceans' end,

Through thick and thin you'll be my guide.

So You Moved Back To Montana After A Brief Stint In Texas That Ended Up Being Really Cool and Good But Ultimately You Crave Chaos And Will Choose Mayhem At Every Possible Turn?

Chief Christmas Correspondent Alex Speed

The other week I had the very distinct pleasure of being a groomsmen in one of my best friends' wedding. I got to drive my buddy to the venue, give a dumb little toast, and even play their first dance song on a weird and bad acoustic guitar while a crowd of people gazed on in confusion and my newly wedded pal danced to a very very sad Leonard Cohen song to celebrate his fresh nuptial bliss.

I celebrated his exciting new journey in a form that will surprise absolutely no one who has spent more than five minutes with me:

I drank a bottle of bourbon and started telling people at the wedding that I very sincerely do not believe in love. The responses to these drunken tirades (and I think the fact that I have to use tirades in the plural is the most painful part of this) varied from obviously bummed out to "hey weren't you the guy literally just on stage talking about how special their love is?"

I really did mean the toast. Watching those two start to date and then develop and grow and eventually agree to just do the rest of their lives together has been truly magical to witness. However, for some reason this display of organic and genuine I-choose-you-for-the-rest-of-my-life love elicited a very strange and uncalled for response from my famous alter ego: Whiskey Alex.

The next day I flew back to Montana and sat next to a very nice lady from Vermont who told me about her husband of forty years and their little plot of land that her grandsons used to run around on. It made me nostalgic for something that I hope to be able to live out in the future.

Admiral Overlord Spradling has done an excellent job in this issue of laying out the weird paradox of using Newsletter as a way to project diary thoughts despite the inherent backstabbing to your own internal intimacy that this creates. I just think that we all have a weird desire to share the fun things that happen to us. Sometimes those fun things are lists of ways to bypass Austin law to go running, and sometimes those things are being excited to fly to Bozeman to visit your grandson who used to run around in your yard in Vermont. You become so excited to share the gift of dancing with your new spouse to a sad song that you lose the little part of your brain that advises you against self-serving proclamations.

I feel explicitly grateful to have Newsletter as an outlet for the sharing of my own personal fun things like the fact that I moved back to Montana five months ago. Is good.

Annals of the Haunted Apartment Drummer

Chief Misophonia Correspondent Matt Spradling

Finally Friday. I wake with my alarm, blasting digital jazz into the abyss. I let it play while I rise. This is good.

Music from cars in the parking lot adjacent to my bedroom wall drones. Construction shakes. Dogs bark. In comfort and peace, I prepare for the day. The microwave beeps four times every 30 seconds forever once the oatmeal is done. As I eat, something suddenly feels amiss. There is a lull in the noise outside. I instinctively throw my bowl to the ground, the ceramic crashing against the tile.

I step outside onto my patio and throw the door firmly shut. I call a friend. They don't answer. I switch to speaker phone and call another friend. I speak as loudly as possible, feeling my voice reverberate around the brick apartment walls which form a courtyard around me, causing a bird to fly.

There is a moment of panic when the car fails to start, the outside suddenly muted. I crank it again and it works. Relieved, I work the subwoofers extra hard for the commute. Work is blessedly chaotic. This is good.

When I arrive home at 10 it is dark. My roommates have already started the party and I work through the small crowd loitering outside the door, bellowing sturdy, monosyllabic greetings and dispensing high fives. They constitute my salvation. Inside the music is thumping. All is well. The neighbors complain. I pacify them with perfunctory apologies, but none of this will cease. They do not understand the stakes.

Hours later the time comes. I sit down at the three piece drum set, always standing ready in the dining room, an emergency container of pure, condensed sound and fury. I give it a rattle, dash, and bang. The glorious sound swirls through the entire complex. Dogs are barking. People are cheering. This is good. This is best.

All ends eventually. People trickle away or pass out. Car music from people loitering in the parking lot gradually trails into the distance. I am left alone with the music, droning aimlessly from the bluetooth sound bar. I am coming down.

What kind of a life is this really? Is this sustainable? I can't hide forever. One day I will slip up. One day the silence will find me. And with the silence will come that... thing.

Trembling, I down my drink and rip the speaker's cord out of the wall. With a pop, the quiet washes over me, ears ringing from vertigo.

I stand there in the dark. I can feel it coming. This is good.

From the shadows beside the fridge the beast emerges, every bit as dreadful and visceral as I remembered as a child.

As I kneel and hang my head I prepare myself for the end. 

A dog barks outside, perhaps sensing the wrongness through the walls. In a blink It is gone.

My instincts take hold and I plug the speaker back in, daybreak just whispering through the open curtains.

I toil onward.


Addressing the Stall Graffiti

First off, I want to offer my obligatory thanks and deep apologies for being a reader.

Second, I am truly proud that I am apparently able to maintain the illusion that I have any modicum of control over this website. Generally, whatever changes get passed off as updates and creative choices are really just things that webnode changed against my will. The fancy-looking, multicolored unique "NEWSLETTER" banners at the top of every issue until now? Vectr just decided my data doesn't exist anymore. That lingering burning metal smell? The extra processing power and feverish clicking taken to change the font from the shitty new one webnode made the default for every section for no discernible reason.

It's been six months, so by this point I imagine you've either left us or fully committed, permanently searing your retinas in the name of the newsletter until you can see color-negative images of Chili's and tear stains whenever you look at a blank surface. Nonetheless, as a fan of dark modes myself, we are happy to announce a couple new offers!

The Slate Package: for $15, one of the newsletter team will carefully cut out black construction paper and tape it dexterously to your phone or laptop screen so that only the minimum amount of text remains visible.

The Onyx Package: for $100/hour (min. three hours), one of the newsletter crew will read the newsletter to you until you fall asleep or get really annoyed.

Also, are we really competing with ThoughtCatalog? Do we need more zodiac clickbait content? I am not above this. I will sell out for $20 and a pocket-warmed werther's original.

Which brings us to:

Year-End Revenue Report

Thank you to all donors; you are why I do what I do.

Holiday Horoscopes for Haughty HoHoHos

Chief Cheer Correspondent Sam Strohmeyer

Capricorn - Hey, Cap, it's okay. It's okay that you're thirsting over Yukon Cornelius this holiday season. He's sexy as hell. The way he just takes charge... uses his big axe... There's no shame in it.

Aquarius - You're having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this year, Aquarius, and that is unacceptable. Have you tired singing some Christmas carols to your neighbors? Walk outside right now and stop once you get to the doorstep of the house nextdoor. Open your mouth and let out the most beautiful and festive scream you can muster! Try to get a few verses of Frosty the Snowman in there but no pressure. Words are hard.

Pisces - Pisces, your thoughts are more tangled up than your Christmas lights as you read this. Take some time to enjoy yourself with a glass of mulled wine, a warm blanket, and a copy of that classic Christmas tale, Sam the Winter Whale Whisperer. It's for sale on my website for a reasonable $49.99! Buy now! BUY IT. YOU HAVE TO BUY IT.

Aries - Feeling overstimulated this holiday season, Aries? Sit yourself down in front of the fire. Stare into the flames and think. Think about the passing of time and how no one man or beast is immune to the terrible knowledge of mortality. Think about how that knowledge begins to stir fear within you more and more each year. Don't forget to watch The Santa Claus with Tim Allen!

Taurus - You did an excellent job of present-purchasing this year, Taurus, and your loved ones will notice! In fact, they're going to be a little suspicious of how you managed to get them everything on their lists. It's time to run. Those sirens in the distance are for you and you're almost out of time. Your ugly, snitch of a cousin Frank told the police everything. Good luck and godspeed.

Gemini - Hey, Gem, it's okay. It's okay that you're thirsting over Bernard the Elf this holiday season. He's sexy as hell. The way he just takes charge... uses his big snow globe... There's no shame in it.

Cancer - Each and every snowflake is a unique and temporary creation, Cancer, unlike you. You're basic and eternal. You're so basic you've become unkillable. Nothing gold can stay but that's fine because you're silver at best. Something something Silver and Gold by Burl Ives. And I love that for you!

Leo - Leo, let's be honest: you deserve coal on Christmas morning. Everyone loves you but boy howdy you really mucked it up this year, bud. Remember when you set that old man's house on fire? I know it was an accident but... oof. Leave an extra cookie out for Santa this year and vow to do better in 2022. I'm rooting for you!

Virgo - Did you spend a lot of time wrapping your gifts this year, Virgo? Did you make crisp folds and top them off with shiny bows? I bet you did, you animal you. I hope those perfectly adorned gifts stave off your existential dread like you hoped they would, if only for tonight. Now THAT'S the magic of Christmas!

Libra - You're obviously looking for balance this winter, Libra. Cut down your own tree and plant one in its place. Buy yourself that new sweater and gift one to your neighbor. Sing a song about seducing Santa and also an equally erotic song about Krampus. Equilibrium!

Scorpio - Hey, Scor, it's okay. It's okay that you're thirsting over the Grinch this holiday season. He's sexy as hell. The way he just takes charge... uses his small dog to enact his terrible plans... There's no shame in it.

Sagittarius - This season, hop to the Christmas tree and grab the Yule log, Sagittarius! A bit of hot cocoa for the snowman's tinsel will put lights on the house if there's room on the naughty list. Sing those bells and Jesus can snow to rockin' round the Christmas tree for the girls and holly. Rejoice! REJOICE! HAHAHAHA!

All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) - Taylor Swift

Any holiday office chart would be remiss to not include this classic Christmas tune we all know and love. Turn on this little diddy while gathered with your friends and family and discuss all they ways your heart has been broken in the past 13 years. It's my favorite holiday tradition by far.  -Sam

Christmas Kinda Sucks - Peach PRC

I like to oscillate wildly between Christmas cheer and Christmas cynicism at least once an hour around this time of year. This bop lets me experience both at the same time and that's just good clean fun!  -Sam

The Nutcracker, Op. 71: Overture - Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

It's not Christmas until you hear this song. And then continue listening to the entire ballet. It's TCHAIKOVSKY! It's SO GOOD!  -Marina

River - Joni Mitchell

Did you know Joni Mitchell had a Christmas song? Now you do. There's a Joni song for every occasion. I love her.  -Marina

Estate Sale Sign - The Mountain Goats

I still don't even know what exactly High above the water, the eagle spots the fish / Every martyr in this jungle is gonna get his wish means in-context, but besides having no right to rock this hard this song evokes a surprising amount of nostalgia and end-of-life sadness. Except in a rock way? The Mountain Goats are weird. I named one of my dice sets All Eternals Deck.  -Matt

The Slow Parts on Death Metal Albums - The Mountain Goats

This is the one that initially launched this little Mountain Goats kick back when it came out around early summer. I don't have the musical vocabulary to say much other than that the vibes are immaculate. The bass bops it along like a gentle jog through the nighttime, punctuated by and culminating in the little choir-backed, bite-sized choruses that make me absolutely swoon.  -Matt

Until Olympius Returns - The Mountain Goats

I love this little album. Written at the start of the pandemic to help the band's crew make ends meet, we got not only John Darnielle alone with a boombox, but also a bunch of songs about the last 4th-5th Century Pagans resisting erasure by Roman Christianity, being forcibly converted, conscripted into tearing down their own temples and building churches, and arrested and killed. Classic pop. It's also about Alex and the Ferrari store next to my vet on North Lamar that got turned into a Lamborghini store. It makes for a great canvas onto which can be sprung smear after smear of patient hope and retribution.  -Matt

Exegetic Chains - The Mountain Goats

Olympius is the banger but this one is special to me. It's a beautiful, sparse, lonely album-closer and also, I think, a lovely 2021-closer:

Look closely at the shadows

On the ground beneath the trees

The labors of Hercules

Wild grasses on the hills

Rippling in the wind

Cybele unchained

The songs you sing at Christmas time

The stories that you tell

Well, I knew them well

Yes, I knew them well

Say your prayers to whomever you call out to in the night

Keep the chains tight

Make it through this year

If it kills you outright

The coins they toss at dancers

Whirling in the city square

Music on the air

The places where we met to share

Our secrets now and then

We will see them again

Change will come

Stay warm inside the ripple

Of the panasonic hum

It grinds and it roars

Headed somewhere better

If I have to crawl there on all fours

Say your prayers to whomever you call out to in the night

Keep the chains tight

Make it through this year

If it kills us outright


Banner - Dark In Here by The Mountain Goats

Candlenights - frankly stolen from somewhere on google but this artist has no ethical right to profit off of the McElroys anyway

The Ducks - they belong to you now

Join us next time for such hits as Skeletons in the Closet: The Necromancer's Guide to Coming Out