Three kinds of fog

So the 16th Three Kinds of Stupid party was Saturday night at Rickshaw Stop. The 16th one! Remember when it was held in my living room? Remember how we used to know everyone there? Remember how we blew up Brent's receiver right after the beer ran out, and 200 angry strangers nearly hung us from the tire swing in Victoria's loft? No? Well, that was years ago.

Now we have a fog machine.


So that's why these photos are a bit bleary, I swear. I have to say that I'm fully pro-fog machine at this point. You get on that stage with the DJ set up hooked to the ceiling and rocking gently and girls coming up and asking to DJ in the middle of a set and the fog is rolling in and the lights are spinning around, and you just feel like a rock star. For a minute.

And yes, that is Mr. Mostly Meat in the far left-hand corner. He doesn't look real happy with whatever we're playing. Must've been the Quiet Riot. Oops, sorry, Meat!

Here's DJ BAS talking to Kristina and Kathleen, right after Malsy got scary zombie eyes and K-D grew talons for fingers. At least that's what it looks like to me. They're lovely ladies, don't piss them off or they'll flip you upside down.


I didn't get any photos of Trackademicks, although Brent supposedly has more that I can put up later. But you do get to see the latest trend in party mania: sex on the dance floor while your partner is upside down.


Probably my favorite attendee was the guy who decided to turn the torrential downpours into his own personal style, waving his open umbrella in the air like he just didn't care while onstage. You can see that he finally shed it in this pic (you can also see a woman doing the Monster Mash).


Sixteen parties! This was the first ever where we didn't have CDs for people. Instead, we made a podcast and placed it here. You can listen to us make fun of each other for picking certain songs. We also ask some really important questions, like "Do people take baths in Sweden?"