Icebox Records

Yes, the win­dows are open and the cof­fee is full and the stereo exudes Vert’s Nine Types of Ambi­gu­ity with an excite­ment that can only mean spring up and kick­ing … nev­er­the­less, the world is com­ing to a point upon the tip of my busted lip. I don’t know what the hell I did– could’ve been the change of weather which brings dry lips which needs balm which I didn’t have which means I should’ve been drink­ing water and hydrat­ing which I didn’t do which means I prob­a­bly just kept lick­ing and gnaw­ing at an agi­tated area of lip which means wak­ing up feel­ing as if there’s a cig­a­rette fil­ter inserted in your upper lip– or maybe I got some crazy mos­qui­tos from Panama play­ing stow­away in my frick­ing lip and later today, when I gnaw at it one more time, it’ll open up and a shitswarm of toxic lit­tle ass fuckers’ll fly out and .…

Any­way, today’s the day that we fin­ish the release of Renal­doh, March’s 3 inch (yeah, I know, but it’s been real hec­tic and busy around here, so fuck all). Very excited for Ryan Power’s May release. Hmmm…are we miss­ing a month in there? Shit …

So the pic­ture: not my tooth, but it is my hand. Poor lit­tle friend Autumn fell drunk and hit her mouth against a pool table and this is what we have to show for it (not to men­tion the ER doc­tor that now slinks around the bar we work at and keeps ask­ing her out … fuck­ing doctors).

So don’t stare at the sun, ok? But if you must, for Christ­sakes, keep your damned mouth closed.