"Chris Hansell walks into a bar in Manhattan and orders a scotch on the rocks. He rummages in his pockets and hands over a ten dollar bill. The bartender is looking him up and down out of the corner of his eye as he reaches for a dusty bottle of Cutty and kind of makes a snap judgement that he probably has no clue how much a drink costs in this place. Deciding to take advantage of ol' Han, the bartender returns with a drink and hands him ten cents in change.
"Funny seeing you here, we don't get many people who look like they sing for a band that sounds like 50,000 San Men on strike in July, all simultaneously listening to Mellaka, Sacrilege demos, lost takes of Mackie drumming on speed, Massacre 68, and just the faintest whiff of something St. Vitus might have written on their day off, in this joint" Faster than you can get your passport stamped into the tone-zone, Hansell replies "Yeah well at $9.90 for a glass of Cutty, I ain't comin back either!"
https://warthognyc.bandcamp.com/album/s-t
