Second spot.

Did you call room service? Well, I sure as hell didn't. And what is this glorp, anyway? It looks like it's... it's.... IT'S ALIVE!

Greetings from Titan, a dry alien moon orbiting the planet Saturn. We're taking a little break out here on what's described as "The Riviera of the Gas Giants" in all the travel brochures (my ass!) as we wait for the start of a second string of performances on Jupiter. I have to say, the accommodations are less than what we were encouraged to believe. For one thing, the hotel has no oxygen - it's bring your own here on Titan. That's probably because of the methane atmosphere - indeed, on this godforsaken rock they use bottled oxygen for blow torches. Freaky turnaround, dude. And the waterskiing! Not at all like the promotional DVD! They were showing black sand beaches and azure blue waters, and what do we find on the actual, non-promotional Titan? Liquid methane pools. Aromatic, to say the least. I am depressed.

Still, a break is a break. And with the grueling schedule mapped out by our corporate overlords at Loathsome Prick records, any break is welcome... even if not as advertised. After our somewhat troubled passage through the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter - Marvin (my personal robot assistant) took the helm for that leg of the trip, god help us - we pulled into the newly energized atmosphere of the solar system's largest planet, still roiling from the impact of what was supposed to be a comet (but may, in fact, have been a test rocket launched by our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee). Whatever the cause, that fearsome impact has really lit a fire under practically everyone on this airless void of a planet. In fact, I was getting a bit nervous as we waited for our perennial sit-in guitarist from the planet Zenon, sFshzenKlyrn, to arrive - he was running late, and the natives were getting restless. These are hardcore fans we're talking about on Saturn. Down there, either you get them banging their heads or they start banging yours. Just a little tip from Uncle Joe - no charge.

Anyhow, when sFshzenKlyrn finally got there, we launched right into our heaviest numbers. Nutcracker Suite, Primitive, Why Not Call It George?, and others. Thrashing away, we actually got those shapeless globs of protoplasm bouncing all over the joint. (Indeed, what gig can truly be called successful absent the sight of bouncing globs of protoplasm?) I should say here that the man-sized tuber does deserve some credit for running the sound console during our first set. I should also say that, well, it's an automated console, pre-programmed by someone more competent than a root vegetable, so his was not a particularly remarkable accomplishment. (He also had some kibitzing from Marvin, who may have thought he was still driving the spacecraft.) What other stand-out memories from that first performance? Well.... John throwing one of his sticks into low orbit. (Gravitational anomaly - happens all the time out here.) And then there was the fruit cup. Very delicious.

Well, got to get back to fighting my breakfast for dear life. Just want to leave you with this brief advisory: If you play Jupiter's second spot anytime soon, be sure to bring some shin guards. I won't elaborate... just do it.