So the plan is to appreciate the hell out of the RUSTANG Garage. We are a garage club, and what that entails is us being super pumped on anything one might store in a garage. Such as: trash, beer cans, bikes, bike parts, broken motorcycles, sort of working motorcycles, broken mopeds, mopeds, musical equipment, inner tubes, dudes, broken cars, handle bars, magic harvesting equipment, old shoes, retards, dirty shirts, broken washing machines, washing machines, spray paint, towels, bad art, the smell of dude farts, hulls, fishes, the occasional thruster, guns, eggs, home made motorcycle seats, coaster brakes, oil cans, sand, 40 bottles, x-girlfriends crap, rusty golf clubs with no putters, Bike pumps, license plates, couches, ego's, hammers, and a huge fucking chunk of magic unlike any other magic ever seen on this sleepy little planet.
Sorry.
In order to truly apreciate this dude wonderland, once a year we will put out a small booklet documenting the garages events and happenings. Although the word
once a year could be more
realistically defined as
once, the first issue is totally going to rock, and will be available inside the
first RUSTANGS album. I assure you I am going to write as little as possible, so you don't have to deal with my spelling as grammar as much. Above are some rough cover idea's, non of which I am totally pumped on.
Dudes...the man shut down the turret. It was pre-summer
It was a creation station, a breeding ground for derelict imagination.
Booze, pee-bottles, and extension cords were its secret guts.
Boys and girls camped and talked story about the ocean there.
It was decorated by the lives and leftovers of the great art people.
It was Rad, a shaggy seaman's Bachelor pad.
It housed the creative headband of the Sunset
Turret...your vibe has been appreciated.
The most creative way to express your contempt for things you don't understand... kudos dudes.
All you need is 1 x-ray, 1 bent moped fork, and a fucking awesome garage.
Tuesday tattoo... thanks again dudes
Park Chalet I'll miss your grass
TROOOOOOOOOBBLE! Getting the twins on an early start to Sunset acclimation.
Sometimes it's cool when your phone acts weird.
Best block in the sunset. Even the taggers can't get it right.
So the plan is to appreciate the hell out of the RUSTANG Garage. We are a garage club, and what that entails is us being super pumped on anything one might store in a garage. Such as: trash, beer cans, bikes, bike parts, broken motorcycles, sort of working motorcycles, broken mopeds, mopeds, musical equipment, inner tubes, dudes, broken cars, handle bars, magic harvesting equipment, old shoes, retards, dirty shirts, broken washing machines, washing machines, spray paint, towels, bad art, the smell of dude farts, hulls, fishes, the occasional thruster, guns, eggs, home made motorcycle seats, coaster brakes, oil cans, sand, 40 bottles, x-girlfriends crap, rusty golf clubs with no putters, Bike pumps, license plates, couches, ego's, hammers, and a huge fucking chunk of magic unlike any other magic ever seen on this sleepy little planet.
Honey Bear sneaks a peak inside the magic unloading zone, while Mr. Be Gull dances to the music in his head.
I was lucky enough to here some of the music coming out of this mountainess hobbit shack by the sea, and it seriuosly blew my mind. Bret (Tuggy) and kyle (Mr. Be Gull) were totally locked in, laying down one take tracks like mad men, while Johnny filled the room with positive vibes and whispery chants.
