First of all, FUCK. Of course I knew Madonna was in town. I FUCKING KNEW. (That's why Mount Rainier was rumbling and the birds went all quiet.) But after Madonna was done doing whatever it is she does (pissing off Jesus, calling Obama a Muslim, flossing her gap), do you know who she probably went out and played BINGO with or something? That's right. Aimee Mann. Because OF COURSE SHE PROBABLY DID: Aimee played the Neptune on the same night (talk about a split ticket), AND THERE IS NO ONE COOLER IN THE WORLD THAT ANYONE WOULD RATHER PLAY BINGO WITH OR WHATEVER THAN AIMEE MANN, period, and that includes Madonna and her flossy gap. And somehow I missed the fact she was going to be here entirely—and thusly I missed her entirely—and now I want to DIE entirely. I've never felt such a hopeless sense of loss and despair. Please kill me. End this torture. And thank you.

So, anyhoozits. Doesn't it seem like we haven't been to a Bacon Strip in ages? Well, that's because we haven't. The months slip by; time makes fools of us all. This doesn't mean I don't adore the thing—a simple Google search of "Adrian Ryan" and "utter perversion" will reveal that truth aplenty—especially when a theme is chosen that ensures a certain level of crass frivolity, filthy creativity, and/or poop-eating. And this month's theme is JOHN WATERS, so. Poop-eating, ahoy! There will, as usual, be sexy guys in scant dress and scanty guys in dresses. But there will also be a dozen Divines, a bushel of Peckers, maybe a Serial Mom and a Tracy Turnblad or two, and more Edith Masseys than you can shake an egg at. And did you know that if you dress the theme, you get in for cheap? (I've also found that if you dress cheap, you get in for cheaper.) And please take note: Porkologists warn us that a scary worldwide bacon shortage is imminent, so let's enjoy it while we've got it, kids. (They'll have to change the name! Band-Aid Strip? Bioré Strip? The imagination balks.) Hosted, as ever, by our lovely Sylvia O'Stayformore. Re-bar, 10 pm, $8 adv/$10 DOS, 21+.