The OK Go Interview Transcript

What follows is a very nearly complete transcript of our ultra-meaty, ultra-entertaining interview with Damian Kulash, lead singer of OK Go, conducted by Sam Nash, Zack Beauvais, and Adrian Choy. The band's new album, Of the Blue Colour of the Sky, is in stores now.

We are greeted by Damian and Andy testing their new, Fenton-made amplifiers. After they are done, Damian asks if we want to go grab a cup of coffee.

On the way to Espresso Royale to "support the locals..."

D: For whom is this interview being conducted?

S: For the Gargoyle Magazine.

D: Is that associated with the college?

All: Yes.

A: We're a humor/culture sort-of-thing going on.

D: Got it. Are you a take on The Onion?

All: No...

Z: Well, there's...see, we just had our hundredth anniversary, like, we were originally supposed to be like the New Yorker and all that. It's kind of an outdated style, but we've kept with it...tried to...The paper that's like The Onion is a lot more popular. 

D: Ah, really? Fuckers. Whoever that is, I will beat them down. I will beat them the fuck down.

Z: No, you should. We played them in football and they're assholes. 

D: Dicks. Dickwad dickholes.

Z compliments D's style.

D: I'm dressed to kill. I thought this was going to be a fashion shoot, but I guess this is just an interview?...Right now, I am an operating fashion model. In New York and Asia, there is an ad campaign of me wearing fleece. It's very, very good fleece.

A: (Referring to the lack of spark between D's female counterparts and he in the Tokyo fashion shoot) You can't get them all...

D: You can get them all, but you don't want to. Actually you can't, but you can try. 

Zack, Adrian, and Sam frantically deliberate upon the correct interview etiquette: should we pay for his coffee? Damian orders a large espresso Americano with 2 shots of espresso, and Zach announces that "We got this." Damian says "No you don't."
Z: Okay, thank you. (satisfied)

D: Are you college students?

Z: Yeah, but...

D: (interrupts) Do you have giant trust funds by any chance?

Z: ...No...and we are a struggling magazine...

Z gets 2 shots of espresso, S gets a small black coffee, A gets large peach iced tea--"a cup of existentialism."

Z: Just to make sure it's alright, we're taping...

D: No! Just kidding. It's much better when people tape, because then they can say the stupid shit that I actually did say, as opposed to stupid shit I didn't say.

Z: I just want to say, I really like the new album...(D: Thank you) I think that's the general consensus.

D: (surprised) Oh, they gave you a copy of it already? 

A: To be honest, it took me longer to like it as much as I do right now. 

D: It's definitely not what you expect, but it's way better than our other shitty records.

S: So, how do you think the audience will feel about it at first?

D: Uhhh, I don't know. I'm like a nearly psychotic optimist, you know? So I think everyone's going to love it. But I also know that it sounds really different from our other records, so there's sort of no way that the people will, anybody who like those records will be shocked and some of them will be dismayed. Some of them will be like, "Wow, it's even better." I mean, I'm sure we'll lose some fans because of it, but I like it a lot more and it feels more like the music in my head, and I'm much more proud of it than the other stuff. 

Z: What did you guys do differently, writing this one, compared with the other ones? 

D: There's a lot of ways it was different. I mean, one, we were five years older. We toured for two and a half years with the last record, so, you know, it's like a big life change. 

D: (bends towards the iPhone) Do you think it's hearing me?

S: I hope so... (We check to make sure)

D: So, ways in which it was different. We're just different people, our lives had changed a lot. Being away from home for two and a half years and having like, essentially the same day over and over again for those two and a half years is a pretty intense experience and can leave your life in a very fucking weird place. In some ways good, in some ways bad. So, there's one part. 

Another part is, we all grew up listening to pretty aggressive boy rock, you know? Like, a lot of DC punk rock, where I grew up in DC, so there's a lot of Fugazi and Shudder to Think, and Jaw Locks and stuff, and I still love those records, but it influenced the way we thought about writing music, which was just like you, chords, you know? Like you just bang on that fucking thing and loud, and it's awesome. And by the time we had a band together, years later, we weren't trying to make music like that, but there was still that influence on everything we were writing; just sit down with a guitar, and then block out these shapes, and then you have music. 

After 3 years of touring on those same songs every fucking night, I just, like the idea of going home and sitting in my garage with the amplifier turned all the way up and being like, "This is going to be magnificent!" It felt so fake, and I just didn't want to write from the majesty of rock standpoint anymore, like you know, big big rock chords, and kind of, that type of architectural parts type of music, so it was a bit more--aww, shit (answers phone) Hi, Pete."

D: So, ah, the music was written much more from a "groove" standpoint this time. I mean, most of it was I would come up with a beat or a rhythm or a set of sounds that sort of felt right as opposed to the more architectural, "Now the one chord, now the five chord." I think it became a more melodic record because of it, because all of the songs sort-of started off with feelings as opposed to with, ah, shapes. It's so hard to actually turn these things into words, and I know I'm probably not making much sense. I don't mean emotional feelings, as much as...Well, this is sort of what I think of music-making in general: usually it's 1 plus 1 is 2, and you try that, and it's like "OK, fine...", and you try it over and over again, and it just keeps on being 2, and then eventually, 1 plus 1 is like, 500,000, and you're like "What the fuck just happened?" You know? It's like, some combination of little elements doesn't sound like a combination of those elements anymore, it sounds like an emotion. 

Suddenly, two notes on a piano sound like crying, or make you want to cry, or make you want to pump your fists on your bed, or whatever the fuck it is. So this record, instead of trying to start at guitars and end at emotions, we just start with whatever elements had some weird spark of emotion in them. A lot of stuff just started with a sample, or, you know, I just really wanted to hit a bell a lot, you know? There's like bells all over the friction''s all bells.

S: OK, so you guys were away from your families. You're married, Dan's married. So how did you survive that long being on tour?

D: Luck, I guess? It was pretty hard. I'm sorry, it's fun, and there's lots of parts that aren't hard, and I hate reading fucking rock stars be like "Ohhh, my poor life," you know? I could not be more thankful that we get to do what we want to do with our life and that people are willing to support us playing music. It's spectacular pleasure, but you give up certain personal life things--like it's really super hard to maintain relationships, and just to have a certain normal arc to your life, because you come home two and a half years after you left, and dishes are literally in the same pile that you left them in, and you're like "Did I just have some weird fucking dream?" And days are so cyclical, you know? Every day you have this race 'til midnight, essentially: you play a show, you've won the race, or sometimes lost the race (but usually won), and then you start all over again the next day. So it's really weird to wind up several years later, being like "Where did all that time go?"

S: Are there any cities you dread going to?

D: (pauses) Yes.

S: Which ones?

D: Ahhh, no, not going to mention them. 

Z: Some regions in the Ozarks?...or...

D: No, um, certain parts of Germany, ummm, you know, it's always a surprise--good shows, like really spectacular, off-the-charts awesome shows can sort of just happen anywhere. What's more regular than bad cities is good cities. Like, it's hard to have a bad show in Austin, Texas. We've almost never had a bad show in DC, or, anywhere in Spain for some reason. Apparently we are exactly what the Spanish ordered. It's great. LA and NYC can be really hit-or-miss, because people can be so above it all. A great show in LA or NY is like, the best thing you can imagine, but a bad show, it's like, they're so snooty and--they're never terrible, but people can be a little offish, you know? And Denton, Texas, for instance--they're not going to be offish. You may not want to got to Denton, but if you get a crowd in Denton, they're going to be fucking fired up.

Z: What were the best and worst shows on your 30-month tour?

D: Boy, um, the worst...The worst was probably in Monkton, Ontario.

All: (murmur of ignorance)

D: There was probably twenty people there, and it was in this club/restaurant sort of thing, where I think it was themed on NY or some place in Europe or something like that, and they had fake building facades in there, and it was just like about 4 degrees Kelvin, and it was fucking cold as nuts, and wet, and we had been driving in a hatchback to get there--and it was like "We drove for 46 hours to get to this?" And it never even got warm inside the club. It was miserable.

Z:  Are you going back to Monkton?

D: Probably, I don't know. I mean, probably not, actually. We will play wherever people want us to play. Touring is often 60-70% places where you know that there will be people who want to see you, and then a bunch of it is sort of, "Let's go somewhere in the middle of Nebraska and see if anyone shows up." And sometimes those are the best shows, because you have no idea that there are a bunch of people there that are just waiting for someone to show up, or a bunch of fans that just don't...I mean, a small percentage of fans will just email our website and be like, "I live in this place and you never come, you should come." We pay attention to them. But the vast majority of people who live somewhere in the middle of Wyoming, they're not like, "Come to Wyoming! Come to Wyoming!" So you have no idea. There may be some high school where we just happen to be super huge. A lot of times you just book little cities in the middle of nowhere and see what happens. So, Monkton will probably not be repeated, however, you never know. There will be places like Monkton. 

Also, we do a lot of college shows, and colleges can be anywhere, so a lot of times we're playing in towns we've never heard of before. Oh, and then best show. Umm, there are many many more good shows than bad, so it's much harder to pick, because they don't stand out as terrible. I think maybe, we played a show in Taipei, headlined a festival in Taipei, and we were playing in the courtyard of a palace that had been turned into a public park, sort of thing. And there was like 8,000 kids there, and they just went fucking apeshit, and, as far as I know none of them spoke English, but they knew every word that I heard. It was unbelievable. It was really fun.

S: Wow. So, Of the Blue Colour of the Sky is based off of the book by virtually the same name. What themes throughout the book are also present in your CD?

D: Funny you should ask. I don't have my bag with me...I spent the car ride today literally charting them because I think the record cover is going to be a visualization of the crossover in themes. The major one is global assertions, many of which are false. Or things that in retrospect that turned out not to be true. Or things like this earnest desire to find a better way in times that are really tough. Like, I mean, the last few years have been a globally super-difficult time, obviously, and for the band personally, there's been some pretty tough moments, and trying to figure out a way to let your optimism and your happy side have a life even in the face of staggering odds to the contrary can be difficult. I sort of feel like this guy tried to save the world, I mean, this guy thought he was saving the world by bringing everybody the wonder of blue light, and it just so happens that he was just wrong. There's something about the na├»ve earnestness of it that felt like a lot of lyrics on our record, which are just like, "It's going to be OK! It's going to be OK!", when clearly it's fucking not going to be OK. 

S: (laughs) That's a great message.

D: Yeah, well, I'm not saying it's not going to be fucking OK, on the record all I say is "It's going to be OK! It's going to be OK!" But I think that it's sort of clear that the fact that I'm trying to say that so hard, it may suggest that maybe I'm wrong. Like that guy who says, maybe you've never me somebody who's said this, but I have. He said, a bus driver we had once said (in a Southern accent), "My name's Tim, and I'm a really easy guy to get along with." Why would somebody have to tell you they're an easy guy to get along with? He was not an easy guy to get along with. 

Z: I want to hear some more about Tim.

D: Tim also said (again in Southern accent), "I got two rules: Don't slam my doors, don't piss on my floors." That was also not true because he had several rules, and one of his other rules was don't touch the DVD player even when you want to put a fucking DVD in there or whatever. I remember him coming into the back lounge and going, "NOW, WHY DO PEOPLE DO THE THINGS I ASK THEM NOT TO DO?" He'd just get so pissed off at everything--everything pissed him off. We finally fired him when we had a roadie, who was black, and he saw him outside the bus one day, and he came right up to him and said, "Mike, you're a piece of shit. You're a piece of shit." Maybe they just didn't get was clear that there was a racial thing going on there, and that was that.

S: If you could perform with any band live, living or dead--

D: (interrupts) We get this question once in a blue moon, and I never know how to answer it because, playing with my favorite bands is just going to make me look like a tool, you know? Like, opening for Led Zeppelin, you're just going to look like a fucking idiot. The things that I would like to tell my kids about...I'd love to play with The Pixies, or Prince. But, in terms of what crowd I would actually like to play in front of, I mean, it's just much closer to home. There's plenty of contemporary bands that are making awesome music and we've played with a bunch of them, others we haven't...I don't know.

Z: Do you think there are any bands that you have influenced?

D: Ones that I mean ones that are well known? (Z: Yeah) I have no idea. But we certainly meet a lot of kids who are like, "My band--it's trying to be your band!" At this point, I mean, we've been doing it long enough that there must be...We definitely meet bands that are younger than us and it sort of shocks us that they were teenagers when we put our first record out. So, probably, I guess.

A: Do you think it's a healthy thing for bands to want to be like a certain band instead of trying to do their own thing? 

D: I think when you're 15, it is. I feel like originality is a strange, modern obsession. Steering your own ship and being who you want to be and doing what you want to do is important, but taking influence from other's ridiculous for any rock band to think that they're really that original anymore. Are you serious? Are you using the same four instruments that have been used for the past hundred years, and...everyone's essentially playing Beatles songs with just a slightly different affect on it. Can you imagine if the concertmaster of the Cleveland Symphony was like, "Guys, I'm not fucking playing this Chopin, this is retarded! I will write the music around here!" You know what I mean? Music does not necessarily have to--there are lots of ways that music can exist, and some of it is playing other people's music. 

S: Your new single, "Shooting the Moon," is on the Twilight: New Moon soundtrack. (D: 'Tis indeed.) Who do you find more attractive: Edward Cullen, the hot, sullen vampire; or Jacob Black, the rustically sexy werewolf? 

D: (without hesitation) Edward.

Z: Are you a big fan of the book...books?

D: Uhh, I am now! 

Z: We were hoping that you'd anger the producers or something...

D: No, I, I will be honest...I haven't read the books, but I think anything, this sounds so fucking grandpa, but when you can have a massive international phenomenon that's about reading books--I'm cool with it.
S: You have conquered choreographed dances in backyards and on treadmills. What is the new frontier for this album?

D: I'm sorry but I cannot tell you. I can tell you some of the new frontiers, but there are several--we're making a lot of different videos for this record: one of them is done, three of them are done in various stages, and there are 7 or 10 more that may get made as well. Some of the new frontiers...let's see. One of them is simply...psychedelic color. One of them is the Notre Dame marching band. One of them is...toast (All: Toast?) Yeah...I can't say any more than that, but one of them is at least toasted...toasted stuff. Toasted toast. I mean, I guess that's how you wind up with toast: you toast stuff, right? One of those noun-verb, combination words, you know. It's almost like Smurf. We have a feature-length film, that we want's extremely low budget, feature-length film that we want to film in 14, online, 5-minute segments. But, I don't know if we're going to be able to, because it costs enough that we can't pay for it ourselves. There might be some automobiles involved, and my sister is going to work on a video with us, although I'm not going to tell you what that one's about...and the videos, they're all homemade and very fucking fun: there's people from NASA working with us right now. (Z: WOW.) 

Although we're not going to outer space. There's no anti-gravity and there's no outer space...I'll just leave it that so I don't give you the wrong picture. But we have a machine that we are building in Los Angeles that takes four months to build, and we have 14 engineers working on it with us. This is the kind of ridiculous shit you can do if you have a popular video, you can just be like, "Everybody, come with me! We're going to make a machine!" It's wonderful.

Z: On the same line, you band's used new media a lot; the internet has been very good to you (D: It sure has). Do you think you could have gained the same level of popularity and fame in a pre-internet era?

D: (Without hesitation) No. Well, differently. It's hard to imagine the alternate universes in which anyone could have lived, but I know that the openness of the internet and the sort of Wild-West-ness of it has been wonderful to us and for us because our goal is to just keep making shit that we find fun to make. And it's so wonderful to have this medium where there's sort of no restrictions, and in fact the less you observe your restrictions, the more likely you are to succeed. It was the exact opposite in the music industry of 1995, or 1965, even, I mean, less so 1965 than 1995. Around the time, right before we started our band when I was in college, the way music worked, was there was a guy in a big leather chair, who was like "These are the four things that we're going to make popular this year," and they did. If you had a huge hit song, you then had to rewrite that hit song over and over again for he rest of your life. Even true, honest geniuses get stuck with this. 

I mean, do you think if Kurt Cobain was alive he would be doing experimental music right now? He would be playing Nirvana songs and writing Nirvana songs. In fact, a friend of mine had lunch with a variety of people, and one was one of the guys from Metallica, and I don't remember which guy from Metallica it was, which makes the story less interesting, but he (Z: Call him "Lars.") Yeah, we'll say he's Lars. So Lars was like, "So what are you doing?" and he was like, "I write copy for an add agency, but I also have a band, and I'm working on this really crazy project where I'm using xylophones and banjos and electric guitar..." and Lars was like, "Aw man, I wish I could do that!" and he was like, "Dude, you can do whatever you want; you're in Metallica!" and Lars was like, "No, dude, I can't do whatever I want; I'm in Metallica." And it's totally true: even when Metallica tried to do their big symphonic thing, people were just like, "BULLSHIT!" you know? 

There's still things that people are good at and things they're not good at, I'm not saying that everybody should be allowed to do everything all the time, but one wonderful thing that the internet has allowed for is people who just want to make weird shit, or push the boundaries---there's a way to do it. Like, if we had had a massive radio hit, if "Get Over It" had come out five years before and had been a big radio hit, then we would have had to be that "Get Over It" band forever, basically. We would have had to write another song that sounded sort of like that, because if you don't get back on the radio, then the people who bought your record in the check out aisle of Wal-Mart won't see your record in the check out aisle of Wal-Mart because it won't be there because you're not on the radio. You get pigeon-holed into this very---it becomes a job to stay exactly who you are. No one's expecting us to dance on elliptical trainers, as far as I know, and if anyone's expecting it---you've got another thing coming. The only precedent that I think we've set for ourselves is as long as it's weird and unexpected and fun. That's such a wonderful freedom to have, which we definitely would not have had in a different era. There is a long-winded answer to your question.

Z: No, that was good. Coming through from that, it sounded like your rise to popularity helped influence your opinion on Net Neutrality. Kind of in line with that, what's your biggest fear for something that could happen to the internet?

D: Spiders.

Z: Spiders?

D: Spiders are gonna fucking tear the internet down. I mean, spiders are scary in general, but when it comes to electric spiders---the fuckers. (We laugh as we finally realize that "spider" is not an internet term, but a clever pun on the "Web"). No, uh, My biggest fear about the internet is that it will become more-or-less owned or controlled by telecom companies. We're very lucky that we now have a much more sympathetic FCC. Electropolitics are such a weird game---people vote on guns, gods, and gays, and they think that that's all that they're voting on. Like, "I don't like this guy because he doesn't like abortion," or "likes abortion," or whatever. There's not enough people paying attention to realize that administration picks the FCC along with like, a bajillion other posts that they make, and those low-level and mid-level positions that actually effect day-to-day policy are so vastly important. If Barack had not won this election, Net Neutrality would probably have been fucked already because the FCC was basically on the verge of giving it to AT&T.

Z: You've done a lot of...activism, or whatever you call it (D: Doogooderism)...Yes. Do you feel that you have a social responsibility now, being in the public eye? 

D: I feel like individuals have individual responsibilities. If I am best suited to publicize a particular thing, then in some way that becomes my responsibility, or at least my opportunity. One of the reasons why I'm so involved in Net neutrality is because we are really a poster boy style case: the band who made a video for five dollars and got downloaded 10 million times---you basically cannot find a better one-liner sentence for that. So I got to testify my one-liner sentence in front of Congress and it's not so much a responsibility as an opportunity, I guess. There's a lot of musicians, and bleeding heart Lefties in general, who just want to mean everything to everyone all the time---I mean, is there a cause that Moby has not championed? Does anyone listen to Moby anymore? Maybe. I have no idea. I mean, not musically, but when he's saying (effeminate voice), "But everybody, the world is screwed in this particular way," it's like,  "Come on, Moby. You said that yesterday!" I feel like using him as an example is perhaps a little bit cruel, but I have been selective about the things that I choose to publicly represent. I'm very close with my family, and my family's very service-oriented, and I had grown up thinking that it was people's responsibility to be involved in the community around them and to be generally responsible.

S: On the note of "social responsibility," your grandfather invented the modern day fish stick. How do you plan to continue this legacy?

D: Do you think that that was socially responsible or irresponsible?

S: I think it was socially responsible to make a fish...snack.

D: My mother and I were actually talking about this recently, 'cause I'm kind of a food nerd and I live in Los Angeles where there's really good local produce all year round, and I can buy my food at a farmer's market, and I really like cooking---I'm a snob. I cook for my parents a lot, and they know I'm a food snob, and I was having this conversation with my mom.  She really respects that I care about local and organic food and that I actually like eating that way, and she was like, "Oh, it's so funny, your grandfather would just be rolling in his grave." Not because of how I eat, but, my grandfather worked in the food industry in the '40s and '50s and then they thought that industry would save world hunger---that industrial food was the way to feed the hungry. And the truth is, that's still actually true: numbers just don't add up--the entire world cannot eat fancy, local organic food. Not to get all foody and political. There's no way I'm going to top the wonder that was my grandfather. He is such, such a wonderful man. 

S: It's hard to top fish sticks...

D: Yeah, fish sticks...and my other grandfather, my paternal grandfather, discovered a species of beetle (S: Glyphonix Kulashi)...Yeah, you're on top of it. (S: I did my research) It's actually Glycolix, I think, but yeah.

Z: A lot of the band members, it seems, have very renowned grandparents.

D: Yeah, Tim's grandfather won the Japanese version of the Nobel Prize.

Z: Who's the coolest of the grandparents, just between you and us?

D: Of the grandparents? My grandfather, definitely. I mean, clearly. Is Tim even fucking here? (Z: No) Talk about responsibility--where's Tim's responsibility to you, his adoring public? I mean, his adoring public through you. And to me. What's he do, leave me? I've got to do all the work around here, Tim? I mean, come on. I've never met Tim's grandfather, so I really can't say, but I can say that my grandfather was a spectacularly wonderful guy. And a great circus leader.

(Stopped recording for a minute...talking about family)

D: So, she grew up in the suburbs of Boston, and they had this little cottage up in New Hampshire, and we would all be up there over the summer, and he would bring us over to his house and he would just pump us full of sugar. He would give these 14 kids basically as much candy as they could possibly eat, and then put on circus music, and yell, "HERE COME THE ANIMALS!" and go stomping around the house with this gaggle of berserk kids who are literally shaking out of their minds because of the sugar rush. And then just be like, "Everybody go home," and leave us in the hands of our parents. There's basically nothing crueler that you can do than hand somebody a 4-year-old who's basically hopped up on crack, you know? 

Z: Do you have any style tips you can give our readers? You guys seem to be very snappy dressers, and style seems to be really big part of your show.

D: My advice to your readers is to never overlook your socks: sock choice is very important. 

Z: Speaking of which, what are you wearing today? 
(Damian shows Zach and the camera his socks)

D: Don't forget the details, kids. Don't forget the details. 

A: That's where the devil is...

D: Yes, the devil is in there. And I, being named Damian, I have a close affinity for the devil. 

S: You've done a lot of interviews and you've been asked a lot of questions; is there anything that you haven't been asked that you would like to be asked?

D: No. (S: No?). I don't think so. I get asked that question a lot, and if at any point there were questions I would have liked to be asked, I've expended them. My feeling about interviews and about this side of being in a rock band is--I don't feel like there are all these messages that I have to get out there. I like talking to people who are interested in what we are doing, and I like answering the questions, but I myself and not particularly interested about me. Other people may be, but having sated my own curiosity about myself a long time ago, I don't have any questions about me. 

A: So, the cover's probably going to be illustrated, and because this is the cover piece (D: (slightly shocked) This is the cover piece? Wow...) Yes, on the prestigious Gargoyle Magazine. Anyway, is there any certain way that you want the band illustrated? Any scenarios? (D: Awesomely) ...As specific as that is...

D: Well, what are you awesome at?

S: Hamburgers.

Z: I hear you cook a mean one.

D: I do cook good hamburgers.

Z: Well, I guess we have copies of the issue for you, if you would like to take those.

D: I would love to take those. (looks at issues) I suspect you will do just fine. How do you think I should be illustrated?

S: On Segways in space!

D: If that's how you see us.

Z: I mean, that's how seeing you in person has been.
D: I mean, I have a stellar vibe coming off. I did an interview yesterday with Alternative Press, you know that magazine? He kept saying, "It sounds like this record came out of a Van Allen belt, and I guess it's true; it sorta does have an outer space vibe to it.

Z: Our editor was asking about a track...I forget what track it was...but it kind of sounds like it has a robot voiceover. 

D: Oh, "Before the Earth Was Round?"

Z: Yeah. What was the inspiration, or, did you have an actual robot?

D: Well, I am the robot. It's a vocoder, which is a type of robot. There was a lot of fighting in the writing of this record, with myself, about what is good and what is bad. Which is to say I'm incredibly self-critical, so I basically spit out all these music ideas and then I hate them. At some point you have to stop thinking that you know everything, and because I obviously do know everything, it's difficult for me. So that song was mostly about trying to respect that contradiction and mystery are more exciting than fucking thinking that you know everything all the time, and having it all line up. The metaphor of the song is that, when people didn't know anything, wildness was afoot everywhere and it was a wonderful place, and then revelation happened, and everybody got boring and went to war. 

Z: What's your favorite joke?

D: Is this a...particularly, religious student body?

S: Ehhh, we're heathens. 

D: 'Cause my favorite joke right now is not popular with religious people, but...(Z: You'll be fine with our audience). How do you get a nun pregnant? (S: How?) You fuck her.

Z: I like it.

A: One to tell grandma...

D: Do I have any other good jokes...So, this guy walks into a bar. Shouldn't he have ducked? I wish I had more zaniness for you, but I guess I don't. 

Z: We'll see all the zaniness on the stage. 

D: Yeah, well, I have been remarkably brutally, cruelly sarcastic on this run, so I'll probably be extremely mean to the audience. 

We leave, and almost get Damian run over by oncoming traffic. The End. 


Gargoyle Magazine readers utilize moving companies and moving services at the end of each semester to help move personal belongings to and from school.