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November 11, 2005



oh i love this story. having found myself in that same golden tinged state on occasion i can empathize with the sudden epiphany of purpose, the breakthough of 'knowing', as the clouds of doubt and confusion suddenly part revealing that finger of god pointing out the goal and with deep humility taking up the mantle of the mission. it speaks of the human triumph, of man facing down the odds and doing his altruistic duty despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!

Mommy Complete Failure

I get this way without drugs. Is that bad?


What a great Wm. C Harrison encounter!

For the benefit of the UF Nation, pig farmer Bill was infamous for showing up unannounced with big plans, the wherewithal and the stash to complete his mission. Bill wouldn’t accept “no” as an answer, not that UF or anyone else on Bill’s list would utter the word even if notion crossed their mind.

The Farm Show “Complex” is a large indoor agricultural Mecca located just north of downtown Harrisburg and the site of the famous Pennsylvania Farm Show, an event that draws tens of thousands of all manner of 4-Hers—young and old—an otherwise bastardized version of what others would recognize as a state fair. Bill Harrison loved the Farm Show and he loved visiting the Farm Show Complex. Despite its position on the Central Pennsylvania events calendar, the Farm Show Complex never losses its taint of agricultural use whether it be at summer gun show, spring RV show, autumn auto show, or winter rock concert, it doesn’t matter, the air maintains a hint of HVAC processed manure stink. Add that to your mental picture of UF’s excellent adventure. The place also maintained a strong hint of 1940s technology and a labyrinth-like connection of buildings surrounding the aforementioned concert venue, which if it took place in the area known as the “arena,” it resembled a poorly lit, poorly ventilated earthen pit, several stories deep, surrounded by an indoor concrete version of a modern roman coliseum, but at the core of this sprawling brick complex. Even being lightly buzzed in this place on a crowded night would stress the senses to the verge of delusional paranoia. I can’t imagine enduring UF’s level of inebriation because it was more than likely hot and somewhat humid amid the masses of freakouts—the kind of place where just hitting the fresh air beyond the arena spontaneously brings your buzz down to ace a sobriety test level.


Ben: A most excellent addendum to the record. It's nice to know that it wasn't just the acid, pot, whisky, Rolling Rock, goddamn drummer with lizard head, and my own general paranoia and delusion at work that night. That place, in my memory, was poltergeist-filled--or maybe they were just pig farmers--BOC's core audience.


OK, this sounds like I'm making this shit up, but I actually met BOC after a show in 77, and yes, I was high on cheap acid. They are short, every one of them. I drank beer with them and watched Buck wipe his guitar down and I was like this is so cool. And it was.


Damn! You are, like, the shit! We met their replacement drummer, a little fat man in execrable spandex, a few years ago, during a DC show. But 77--that was the Golden Age of Leather, friend.

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