Every day it's the same, you clock in at the grocery store, bust your hump for 3 hours, get drunk in the parking lot with the bums on your break, work 3 more hours, snort coke in the men’s room, work 3 more hours, clock out. 23 years ago you were the lead singer in the 2nd tier grunge band Stump. 23 years ago you played The Reading Festival with your drinking buddies Candlebox. 23 years ago you were poised to be a rock god, 23 years later you’re a worker bee on the lowest possible rung. On the bright side, your old band has been asked to play a one-off 25th anniversary spectacular! Next week Stump will reunite to headline a rock festival at a 210 capacity bar featuring over 13 local bands in Missoula, MT! GRUNGEFEST 2018! Well, it’s “Stump” reuniting, as you are the only original member participating, you will be singing with your most recent band, The Spastic Colons, a ska band you started with Ritchie from the grocery store, who’s 23 years your junior. Stump were a hard rockin’ and harder drinkin’ band, you know your fans will be disappointed if you don’t live up to your myth so you fall off the wagon, scratch that, you LEAP off the wagon, you’re rip-roaring drunk by the time the rental van hits Missoula city limits. By soundcheck you have blacked out. You caress the pistol you brought along; you are going to give your fans the show of a lifetime! You’re going to shoot a bunch of them and then blow your brains out all over them. A reverse Dimebag Darrell: delicious. 13 bands play, giving you time to get even drunker. You hit the stage plastered just like the old days. The show is a blur because a fan bought you a bottle and you’ve been sharing it with the crowd from the tiny stage all night long. In a moment of alcohol-induced delirium you decide not to use the pistol, a decision you will come to regret…the room is mostly full and you’re enjoying the adulation, no reason to deny yourself of that. No encore. You leave the venue that night with the fattest woman available. When you awake in the rental van the next morning your bandmates inform you that the only “fans” in attendance were the opening bands and their girlfriends. There were no fans. The show was a disaster. Apparently, you broke the nose of one of the girlfriends while swinging the mic over your head. The rental van drives home: 13 hours in silence. And it smells like fat pussy. You never listen to music again, you only listen to w3 Thr33 Tr0lls. Not a bad trade-off, actually!