Nothing But Hits! with Blag Dahlia
Dwarves' US Tour Diary, Part 4

Nothing But Hits! with Blag DahliaTue/Nov-22 Ft. Collins, CO Aggie Theatre

A bouncer at the club checks to see if we are smoking every two minutes. He asks if he annoys me, I say, ďYes, but because youíre an idiot not because of the smoking thing.Ē With all the students gone, Fort Collins is 100% drunk townies cutting loose. My brother and the gorgeous girlfriend of an old pal come to the show. I ignore my brother. She turns out to have a gorgeous sister as well. I dream of three ways and absinthe, but get one way and Zima. Weíre almost home.

Wed/Nov-30 San Francisco, CA Slimís

We invented this town and everybody knows it. Back when imitation glam bands ruled Haight Street and my venereal diseases were just a glimmer in some harlotís eye, the Dwarves were showing the notoriously finicky audiences of SF how itís done. Now all those bands are dead and all those girls are fat and old, but we are still the best band ever, bar none. Yes, I ate a foofy salad at an overpriced restaurant and dodged an army of homosexuals to get there, but when I did I told the boys, ďTake no prisoners and leave no ears intact.Ē They didnít, and they did. Afterwards we retired to my place for an old fashioned disco party where I explained to a pierced young runaway what all those holes were for.

Fri/Dec-02 Portland, OR Sabalaís

Punk rock is alive and well in the Pacific Northwest, and no, itís not in Seattle where the heroin hangover of the 80s still hangs like a mushroom cloud. Aggression is thick in the air like Jerry A. at a botulism buffet. The crowd is insane and launches a full on assault from the first note. We canít see or hear anything, but thereís nothing worth seeing or hearing in Portland. We quit early, much to the crowdís delight. Fortunately, Rockabilly girls were invented for bad music and good hygiene, teaching even European girls how to shave and primp like Bettie Page while listening to records by guys who look like Potsie and pay other guys who look like Potsie to fix their cars. In other words: I dig Ďem!

Sat/Dec-03 Tacoma, WA Hellís Kitchen

We do an early show for the kids. Teenage girls excite me like nothing else on Earth, except dolomite movies and LSD. My boner rages through every nerve wracking number and before we leave weíve made a hundred new converts and warped the minds of a new generation. The over 21 show brings out a cavalcade of tarts from my sordid past who chuckle as though they donít still covet my perfectly formed, tight pants clad bottom. Nice try, ladies! Iíve converted to Buddhism, disavowing violence and casual sex and embracing the pursuit of world peace. I canít be tempted by earthly delights; Iíve got bigger things to think about thank you very much. Iíd still like to set fire to SubPop, but thatís more like a public service.

Sun/Dec-04 Seattle, WA Sunset Tavern

My ill advised acoustic show is still more brilliant than anything Death Cab For Cutie will ever do, even though drunks clank cheap beer bottles and yell during the entire thing. Acoustic shows are traditionally a place where lesbian folk singers prattle on about apartheid and all of the guys who never called them back. I prattle on about free love, Islamic Fundamentalism and all of the girls who did call me back although I begged them not to. A girl I made out with once takes pity on me and gives me a Drano hot shot. I awake in a puddle of my own vomit, nostalgic for my days as Kurt Cobainís dealer and song doctor, but that was a different time in my life and I donít like to talk about it.

Mon/Dec-05 Boise, ID Bouquet Room

Someone from a stoner band I canít remember hijacks me into a dinner where he drops more names of the untalented than a disc jockey at KROQ. I glide in and out of consciousness. At the show I meet up with an old friend. She promises me sex with her newly divorced buddy who never shows. Everyone else in Boise is here, boasting Aryan good looks and no brains to speak of. Rachel is home again and celebrates by hanging from the rafters by her nipples. Opening band ASG gets so loaded they play a Metallica song without laughing. Bob Sexton, creator of the ďSalt Lake CityĒ video gets drunk and brings home a cow. No, not a large woman; an actual cow. He explains later that he was simply doing research for an upcoming documentary on Bovine Growth Hormone.

Tues/Dec-06 Reno, NV Hideout

By law the bar holds twelve people so 85 have been crammed in here. The PA consists of two tin cans and a length of bailing wire. We play as though our lives depended on it because the bikers who hang out here have informed us it does. There is nothing else in Reno but strippers, prostitutes and HeWhoCanNotBeNamed. Itís now my favorite place in the world. I end the evening in a warm bath of silicone and pornography. I smoke, drink, snort and cavort my way into oblivion. By all rights I should be dead; instead Iím living your most extreme fantasies daily. Itís a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

Wed/Dec-07 Las Vegas, NV Art Bar

The Art Bar is run by Jesse Garon, an Elvis impersonator with a winning smile and $4,000 cash in a paper bag. His sister is even hot, as is the girl who tells me Jesse hasnít shown up and no one has seen him since Redd Foxxís birthday. My first girlfriend shows up and reminds me that Iím just a regular asshole like everyone else. I remind her that she spent several years in a haze that would have made Janis Joplin proud. Ancient Dwarves videographer the Dogman shows up in a velvet pimp jacket, gold teeth and platinum cufflinks. The band is so sick of each other that we can barely stand up. Everyone tells me they quit, until we get another tour of Bangkok. I meet a girl with 80 inch breasts who Iím sure is a female impersonator. That just makes it better. The Dwarves Must Die!