The Holy Soviets

Hip Dudes! Not since the inception of the Zepplin have I seen this breed of excitment in the youth generation. Animalistic, Primal rage in their eyes as they furiously debate who will take the next guitar solo. Arguements lasting late into the night that usually end in Kung Fu. One too many Bruce Lee movies taken in if you ask me. In my day we watched a man walk by a back drop over and over in black in white. Back then, you knew who your hereos and villains were but now'a'days our suburban guerillas are surrounded by sterile and shady characters in an aging concrete village. This town is like an post apocalyptic ER waiting room with the space time continium's head up it's own ****. They've armed themselves with whatever they can get their hands on... pots, pans, broken doors, suitcases, jewelry boxes, dog cages, clothes hangers, salt shakers. It stinks of 60s pop drenched in the sweat of a dead blues man in here. A smell like that means something. It reminds me of my days at sea when the smell of the air was the only thing you could count on. It reminds me of that homesick smell a man feels right before he goes into battle with the confidence of certian victory. - Colonel Anderson

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