Ooh, snap!

I caught the Overstep/Giants Chair show Friday at the Record Bar. For non-melodic, unhooky, riff-and-time-change heavy ’90s rock, it was pretty damn good. I don’t mean to discredit that whole post-hardcore (or whatever it is) genre, but, you know, sometimes it’s kinda boring. These guys weren’t. Strangest for me as a foreigner was seeing Giants Chair frontman and current honky tonker Rex Hobart belt out greasy, angst-ridden lyrics while smashing through more obscure chords than Robert Fripp dreams of while he sleeps.

Overstep drummer Alex Organ, who was recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, was in top motherfuckin’ form, even though he’s sometimes been having to duct tape his drumsticks to his hands when he plays to keep control of them. Later, during Giants Chair, Alex got on stage and went ass-wild hyping the crowd. Not even MS can stop the rock.

But the real highlight of the show was scribbling bizarre, creative insults with two friends, M (female) and K (male), on the backs of printouts of crossword and Sudoku puzzles from the New York Times Web site (they were not mine; I don’t understand the appeal of voluntarily assigning yourself math homework). Here’s a transcription of all the amazing jibes, taunts and random thoughts that were hurled. The accuracy of the crediting was contingent on my ability to identify the handwriting. It’s mostly right, but probably all out of order. I am J. Shit’s unedited.

Single question mark = unknown author

Initial with question mark = suspected author

CAVEAT: This may induce cranial pain, swollen glands, and explosive diarrhea.

?:Have u noticed that the guy in hot pants has enormous thighs & no buttocks?

K: Sorta like the way my back just “becomes” my legs, completely skipping the ass region?

J: Ranch dressing RAWKS!

K: M knows THAT 4 sure!

M: Don’t speak for me, ass. I hate ranch more than I hate you. And that says A LOT.

J: Your mom is a guy!!!

K: If you hate ranch so much, why did you make a career out of it, jackass?

M: For the benjaminz fool.

[conceptual drawing of anus being spread open by two hands]

K: Word, booty.

J: Your last words will be “Spread ’em, Bill.”

K: Your house smells like LUNCHMEAT!!!

M: F U douchie baggie!!!

K: You’re a hobag.

J: I bought a slut a beer and she disappeared. I guess you won’t be getting a new brother tonight.

K: The only thing more repulsive than looking at you two is the mental image of someone cutting out their own innards and jump-roping with them at the Outhouse, a strip bar in the Lawrence area.

M: My band opened for Nirvana @ the Outhouse. You opened for Goldfinger @ geetars n cadillacs. Fag.

?: Your mom is so toothless, it takes her an hour to eat Minute Rice!

J: Your dad’s prostate is so clunky that if you were a car you’d be a YUGO!

I didn’t mean to give myself the last word (btw, WTF?), but there it is.