So, we played a gig a few months back at the Croc. Before the show, I had to take care of a little self-relief. As I pushed my way through the adoring throng (eschewing autograph-seekers, interviews, etc.), I spied this shifty-looking gentleman who had been sitting at the pay phone for quite a while. In a moment of weakness I gave a little "whassup" nod as I made my way to the bathroom. Lo and behold, he followed me in. I opted for a stall, he, a urinal. Halfway through our efforts he boldly announced, "Yea, some guys like urinals, and some guys like stalls." Whoa... was he calling me out? Was this some kind of toiletry etiquette standoff? I meekly tried to explain that I was merely trying to avoid any unseemly splash-back on my new suit, when suddenly he launched into a gesture-laden narrative of his deep and ongoing involvement with the DEA. He named names, he listed stings, he exposed cover-ups. Me, I'm going, "Yeah, uh-huh, wow," but all the while thinking, "Is this guy insane? Do I have a bunch of drugs stashed in my rectum? I mean, last night is a little foggy... maybe he's planning on stashing drugs up my rectum, you know, setting me up as a patsy. Should I go for some maximum van-damage? Would that tear my suit? I wonder if he'd signed our mailing list?" Then suddenly, right in the middle of his recounting of barbecues with G. Gordon Liddy, I hit upon an idea to test his authenticity. This was a game within a game.

So I asked, "Hey man, if you're so connected, maybe you can tell me why local radio and music press won't give my band the time of day. Conspiracy, perhaps? Political wrangling? Fear?" He looked left, he looked right, he leaned in close and said, "Maybe because you suck."--Brad Stanger, No. 226

No. 226 perform at Industrial Coffee in Georgetown on Mon July 8, and at Graceland on Sun July 28 with the Radar Brothers.