This is the ninth in a series of true stories about an anonymous punk rock guy

Land of the Mouse
[a follow up to this story.]

Disneyland. Anaheim California. That is the town of Mighty Ducks, Del Taco, and misinterpretations of "UNITY" tattoos. Somewhere you only go if you want to ride the Matterhorn and have visual sex with Minnie Mouse.

A place that was as flat as the desert and just as god damn boring.

This is where our recording time was. This is where we had to spend what seemed like a lifetime.

We spent all our days in bars with no money waiting for a transfer from the label. We walked from bar to bar. That's what we did. Find happy hours. Move around and not talk to each other. Waitress walks up, we walk away, shoving back the free chili dogs or whatever the fuck they had.

Fuck, I think I was on a popcorn diet 'til "Nacho Thursday" one week. We moved when they asked us what we wanted to drink. Water only can push you so far until they figure out you are a bunch of freeloaders and toss you out. That's what we did. And I don't make any apologies or excuses. 'Cause nachos rule, dude. Two words. "Free" and "Nachos." Hey dude, if this a dream don't fucking wake me up cause this is the best I ate in days.

We always did get thrown out. It was just a matter of time . Ticking away. Like a fucking time bomb. Shove that shit back like you are in the fucking Kentucky Derby. Get as much back cause the race is on and it only lasts a few minutes before the wreath is on the winner and you have to leave.

One day we had to wait around while the drummer decided how he wanted his set miced. We had nothing to do; had about a dollar in change so we decided to get a beer. At the liquor store. Fuck man, even dive bars were too upscale for us.

Oh yeah. We were slumming fucking hardcore, man.

The nearest store was one on the main drag of Anaheim. The same street that had Disneyland on it.

Disneyland!

Fuck yeah!

We had no cash. Nothing. Budweiser 16 ouncers and a studio with some asshole yelling "Gimmie snare again! One more time! Snare! Like you mean it this time! Snare!"

Fuck that, dude. Let's find something to do.

We tried to borrow money earlier in the week, but as the "Free Nacho" story says, we were having no luck. Jesus, this week was shitty. We walked up to the gate at Disneyland. 9 o'clock at night and 25 or so bucks to get in? Hmmm...they close at 10... we are broke..hmm....Well fuck that, man. This place is only open for a few more hours. After that we are in the studio for most of the night. Hmm......