We stop a a filling station a few hours later and we're truly "burnt" now. Jeff, David Apocalypse, me, Chicken and Hal are standing outside the station, staring into space, slowly chewing junk food. We all look like homeless guys except Hal, who dresses like H.G. Wells in 1910, ALL THE TIME. And this AMATEUR HIPSTER sees us and decides he's our "freakin'-brother." "Hey, are you guys FREAKIN'?" asks this beaming, grinning young Hispanic guy getting into an expensive looking Pink Boy sports car. We stare at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He cannot possibly IMAGINE in his WILDEST DREAMS just how freakin' we have been -- FOR OUR JOBS!!! His idea of "freakin'" is what we do when we GO TO WORK. The rest of the time we are not really any kind of major party animals like this young feller is envisioning. "C'mon, man, you gotta be freakin', dude! You don't want to be NORMAL! No.. Normal, that's bad! Keep freakin,' dudes!" I swear to god he said that. If only we could have introduced him to that waitress who wanted to know if we were rock stars.

We bought a script for our next show (below)