MY DOG BUCKY
“Don’t do it, man.” Toby, the bass player in our punk band The Penetralia, blew himself a many-tentacled, strawberry-scented vape beard then shook it off. “Not only is it a dumb idea, it’s a d**k thing to do.”
“Naw, naw, it’s okay,” I said. “It’ll be funny. Besides, you’ve seen him. You know what I’m talking about. Total spaz. If the dude’s going to play with us, he’s gotta chill.”
I was right, you know. We needed him and we needed him bad. We also needed him to be a little more punk and a lot less Ron Weasely. And don’t get me started on the jumpsuit, all silver sparkly and s**t. I don’t know what active polymers and titanium dioxide nanotubes are, but that s**t was lame.
The thing was, we had just scored our first gig at The Kraken, opening for the legendary band My Dog
