My drummer has a picture of Clay Aiken with some old lady on his fridge. I laugh everytime I enter his house.
I've assumed the old lady to be his grandmother, or whatever. I've thought about asking him who the old lady was, but I'd be dissappointed when he doesn't pay hommage to Waynes World and respond, "That's me' old lady."
"Somebody told me when the bomb hits, everybody in a two mile radius will be instantly sublimated, but if you lay face down on the ground for some time, avoiding the residual ripples of heat, you might survive, permanently fucked up and twisted like you're always underwater refracted. But if you do go gas, there's nothing you can do if the air that was once you is mingled and mashed with the kicked up molecules of the enemy's former body. Big-kid-tested, motherf--ker approved."
