AS220 Happs and Memorial

Dark days, team. First Ronnie James Dio, then Gary Coleman, and now, of all your Auntie Reba's mentors and heroes, Rue McClanahan. Lets take a moment for a "Very Special Segment" I like to call True About Rue:

1) Eddi-Rue MacClanahan was born in Oklahoma, the very home of your favorite events informer.

2) Rue was God Dang Vegan, if you can believe it, because she was gentle and loving to all things, unlike her morally-swayable-in-the-face-of-lust character on the Golden Girls.

3) Rue was married 6 times, which lent itself to, as far as I'm concerned, the best named memoir of all time, "My First Five Husbands, and The One That Got Away," in this case, referring to a separation rather than divorce, or some other unforeseeable and disastrous fate.

I've found a reason to be good, readers. If the good Lord's got her and Tammy Faye together up in the Penthouse for Jesus, then I'm leaving selfishness and sin behind. But first... perhaps some kind of last hurrah? What kind of fleeting debauchery could our Savior forgive? I've got a couple of ideas:

Friday night marks the moment we've all been waiting for: Armageddon Night! Not an eternal hereafter full of flames, people, but an expertly curated shred fest: Cough (VA), Neon Bitches, Elder, and Worlds Burn To Death (TX) set the stage for Slang, in all the way from Japan. Give 'em a warm welcome. The following eve promises a black metal/thrash/crust hybrid so disgusting its sure to condemn, with Grave Reviews, Black Vendetta, P.S.S., and Reign of Abaddon sharing the stage. Now, Mondays we usually take the night off and go to the bingo hall, but just this week we're opening our doors and our whiskey bottles for Bar Plays, plays set in bars done in bars. You know you were wishing for a drink the whole time anyway, sooo..... Wednesday ain't the Lord's day yet, so I'm coming down for Methuselah, ORCumentary, and Lobotomizer. Its stoner! Its doom! Its everything you ever wanted. I'm cleaning up my act, and this show is my bachelor party. I can't be held accountable for what happens; by Saturday morning I'll have washed it all away.

Thats all she wrote, readers. I'm going back to the heartland, where every beauty parlor and BBQ joint is adorned with the signed portrait of a Golden Girl. For the total happs, peep our calendar. Until the rock show, Pussycats, away!