The Hate My Day Jobs @ The National Underground The Hate My Day Jobs @ The National Underground

Pound that fucking Schlitz then put that smug face straight in the radiator as hard as you fucking can. You feel it yet? Hmmmm. All right, then. Try some Mezcal (preferably an Anejo/scorpion blend) then rip the front off of a box fan. Think all about how you would’ve (somehow, you say now, but we all know what you’ve got in your pants) totally scored back in Revolution Summer and quickly snap your left nut at the blades. That a little better? Good. You’re sweating. You’re woozy. Your clothes are torn. Your lips are loosed and you’re a little bloody so now there’s nothing stopping you from going apeshit 100% American Rock and Roll FREEDOM! style.

Photos by Charles


And, if you can’t dance after that, you can swagger. You can spit and you can swoon and all the ladies tonight are already shuddering their red and ample asses so there’s nothing much for you to do but look pained and pray for a bandaid…if you know what I’m saying.

Heh Heh YEAH!

Shit, I’m sorry. I’m being misleading. After a Day Jobs gig, there’s no way you’re getting laid. I mean, you might but I would strongly advise against it unless you’ve been saving your hard earned pennies for the Girl Friend Experience (you’ll find it listed as GFE on the otherwise innocuous menu) because compared to these boys you are, at best, half a man and it takes a real professional to hold back that laugh.

Still, you got fucking ROCKED, right?

Why not just pull your pud to that?

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