At the Agalloch gig on Friday night we ran in to the man known in certain black metal circles as Dr. Pierre. You affectionately know him as Asian Frank. Upon stumbling across our cadre he initiated an off the wall hand shake with Climb Thar which consisted of going for a fist bump which segued in to a "paper smothers stone" iron palm grasp for male superiority. It was about as intimate as how real Frank gets with some Rite-Aid soft serve. Hmm. After that socially maladroit display, I come to the rescue with an awkward embrace, then begin to exchange pleasantries that felt as forced as Plastic attempting to shove his cawk in his gf's gape. (Not her teeth mind you, her loose as a goose gossage) This bitch has been filled more times than the pie crust which strolls down the front line conveyor at Marie Calendar's. Just kidding Matt, don't kick my ass. Anyhow, Dr. Pete disperses from our presence, only to return half way through Agalloch's set, tightly positioning himself between the Hills and myself, and after a couple minutes of failing to ingratiate himself to our fold, scampered on in to the hipster night with Sonata Arctica ablazing.
