Date: December 25th 2009

I've received a bunch of emails asking where our show is tonight. It's at the Chez Poulet, 3359 Army Street @ Mission.

The show is terrible, but if you insist on coming please make sure you wrap a few gifts to put under the tree.

Here is another photo of Hal and I in our Western Oriental suits:




It is a tradition to include a short poem somehow in the Christmas Season somewhere. Donny the Punk was a great man and inspired me to become the idiot I am now. This year will mark the 23rd year I do a Christmas show, and from the beginning in NYC he was a highlight of the show. He would read this poem, that he 'wrote'. It was a magical time in NYC in the mid 80's. Donny was a truly unique individual and worthy of being remembered. We all do our best.

...so the decade that never got a name is comming to an end. I'm going to do a bus trip on New Years Eve, if you'd like to start 2010 with our ilk. Pick up at the warehouse at 2:30 AM, drive through the night, go to nature, eat a good breakfast, climb a mountain, be home by dark. RSVP if your interested... more soon....


I wish you all a day filled with mirth and abandon, as today is the day that all the bullshit can suck it. Someone throw a snowball at someone else for me... I'm wearing a t-shirt...

A VISIT FROM ST. VICIOUS
By Donny the Punk (with no apologies to Clement C. Moore)

‘Twas the night before New Years’, when everyone’s drunk
Not a rocker was stirring, not even a punk
The baggies were hung by the phone with care
In hope that St. Vicious, yes Sid, would be there
D.K. were sold out, so we stayed in our sheds
While visions of slammers still danced in our heads
Judy, with hash pip, and I , dressed in black
Had just settled down to a long-playing track
When out in the alley there arose such a clatter
I crawled from the couch to see what was the matter
Away to the window I lurched with a crash
Tearing a poster I had form the Clash

The strove-light, the acid, the new-snorted snow
Gave a luster of Day-Glo to objects below
When what to my unfocused eyes should appear
But a miniature stage, and a band I could hear
With a singer who danced, by the pogo he did
I knew in a minute, it must be St. Sid
More rapid than Springstein, their rhythm it came
And he snarled and shouted and called them by name

Now Rotten, now Strummer, now Joey Ramone
On Shelly, on Pursey, on Cook and on Jones!
To the top of the amps, kick over the wall
Now anarchy, anarchy, anarchy all!

As punks that before a rock concert got high
When they all start to pogo, mount to the sky
So up to the window, the rockers, they flew
With powerful speakers, and Saint Vicious, too
And then in a twinkling I heard on the trunk
The swearing and cursing of each famous punk
As I drew on my pipe. And was turning around
Down the vent shaft Saint Vicious, he came with a bound
He was dressed all in black form his head to his toe
And a chin ran from shoulder to regions below
A black leather jacket was flung on his back
And he looked like a heretic, freed from the Rack
His eyes, how they flashed! His smile, how merry!
He staggered right in, and his breathe smelled of sherry
His darkly blue hair was drown up in a spike
And the rest of the punks were attired alike
A portable mike he held tight in his hand
“Holiday in the Dun” issued forth from the band
To be followed by “anarchy in the UK”,
“God Save the Queen”, “EMI”, and “My Way”
The band played so loud, albums fell from the shelf
And I gasped when I saw them, in spite of myself
A wink from his eye and some dope for my head
Soon gave me to know I should pogo instead
He spoke but a word, and that was “D.K.”
And gave us all tickets, and hash for the day
Then putting white powder inside of his nose
And spitting it out, he cried “Fuck all discos!”
He sprang to the stage, to the band gave a shout
And away they all jammed, ‘till Saint Vicious passed out
But I heard him exclaim, with the last of his might:

SCORCHING PUNK ROCK TO ALL
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!