Charlie the Rabbit.

by Nic Olson

It can be hard to update on tour. Anecdotes are plenty, but rarely interesting enough to share often. Except the family of wild boars that were captured and caged in the backyard of our home in Florida. Days pass quickly. States become new states in a matter of hours. Each day I have to take a second or two to try and remember what state we are currently resting in, and the only way I remember is to think back at the last license plate I knelt next to. It all happens with haste. Between driving to gas stations and venues, sitting at shows, sleeping under coffee tables, listening to dudes yell across tables about WoW, staring at my twin (photo soon); time barely exists.

It is hard to tell sometimes if it is my excessive negativity, or the actual truth that there are indeed an overflow of morons that make me mourn the state of the only music culture that was created for redesigning thought, and displaying new ideas of unity. Tour is perfect, but it allows for a tired mind, which allows for serious disenchantment.

But what invigorates enchantment is the one and the only NHL playoffs. And although I abandoned my team in their most difficult task yet, I know they can hold it out until I return for a glorious twenty fifth season. The prospect of tour can make me do some pretty outlandish things. Everyone’s hands cause natural disasters. Let us hope that mine can heal them.

I woke up from dreams of being hunted down by Vince Vaughn, by a small bunny doing calisthenics in its cage next to my floor space. Too many hallucinogens, I guess.

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