SOMETIMES IT'S JUST FUCKING ROCK N ROLL.

TATA tuesday. Yes, it is what you think it is. Scantily clad ladies gyrating out on the bar while you slurp your favorite elixir. Tuesday's at Headhunters, Austin, TX. Google it.  Some good heavy rock was pouring out of the room when we arrived on scene. Walk in to find the usual hardcore suspects doing their best to convey the rhythm that was pounding in their very hearts. We belly up to the bar for oat sodas and better view of Ms. Things ass. Hey Rob, "dibs."

No sign of the furries, so we head out back to find if the bears are done hibernating. It's been a little while since their last show, and the bipolar ones had been hard at work on their debut album,
The Unabomber's Daughter. 

"Shit it's cold!" one girl says to another as we make our way through the smoke to find the bipolar's in the "green room" or the back of the bar, outside in the elements. One, two, three, "Hey where's Poda?" I say to Caleb and then I see the look from the rest of the band. Poda is missing

They then start explaining how there was some sort of snafu with the payment processing on their, whatever.

"There's a big fucking lock on our music shed, and it's not ours."  explains Caleb as he details the use of a hacksaw, poda's $25 wal-mart lock cutter and Devin's teeth. No such luck. So here are the bears, about to play their first show since finishing the album, and no one has any gear. The boys from the band currently on stage had been generous enough to allow them to use their rig, so they were at least safe, for now. 

Still no Poda.

I then come to find out that they don't have an amp for the guitar. Thankfully at that very moment a guy walks in to the green room, and says they can use his amp or the bar's or whoever's, success. They had found a vox guitar amp. Daniel was giddy with glee. I too had a pep in my step, or perhaps I was just tipsy.

Still no Poda.

Sometime after another a pretty young thing walks in to the green room, and starts looking around and pushing buttons on her calculator, or whatever that thing with blinking lights was in her hand. She seems to be looking for something. "That would be funny, if she was looking for Poda too." Well turns out she was and then we all enjoy a good chortle, except her of course, cause hey, she really wanted to find him, and hey, all us fools are all too familiar with his antics. 

At this point the green room had become a little chilly so we make our way through the girls, the smoke, and whatever is written on the wall back inside to catch the end of the generous gents who's rig that would in turn be used by the white mammals, that is if Poda shows up. 

Shots. Beers. Dollar bills in black patterned stockings. Like I said, tata tuesday. A tap on the shoulder from a few of the friends I had invited. Nice to see you. Cheers! As we're talking about the game or something else, I see her. The one with the mathematical device in her paw. There's a vibration in my left pocket. I pull my phone out to find that Poda, yep that one, had txted me back. He's on the way. Rejoice. Hallelujah. The drummer is on the way! I guess she had forgotten me for when I told her Poda was on the way, she asked me how I knew that she was looking for him. Insert squirmy face here. 

Anyway, enough about her! Here's the missing link to the indie/pop/disco/rock darlings, The Bipolar Bears. Through the sea of high fives and and ass slaps I see the one known as the Poda sauntering towards me. He looks drunk. He is drunk.Making easy money pimping ho's in style. That's how we do it. Bout that time, ay chap?

Poda heads to the stage to join the band members who are desperately trying to make their non-isntruments produce that bipolar bear sound. The rest is rock history for the band played, girls danced, people drank, and I sat there with a winning grin. The Bipolar Bears are back!

As the band finishes the final notes of what would become known as the "drano ass" show, the drummer stands up, grabs a mic and exclaim's, "We're LITTLE BOYS PENIS!, Thank you, goodnight."