Public Assembly Loft (N. 6th St., Brooklyn)
Your rusty pickup rattles down the highway. The sky is orange. You pull into Buckaroos, the local watering hole, where a dad-band is jamming on an extended version of “Comfortably Numb” while couples lasciviously and drunkenly grind on one another. There is a man standing stoically, holding a leash attached to his monstrous, equally stoic dog. There is a woman at the bar with Tammy Faye eyes, her arm around a cowboy with a melted face. Two exotic dancers, a tribal man with a rooster head and a girl with webbed fingers, dance on a pedestal for nobody. The entire place reeks of sincerity and earnestness. There is a total, otherworldly lack of sarcasm.
You are an alien in this desert land.
Suddenly, you receive the long-awaited dispatch from the planet-island of Go-Go (located in a portal in the middle of the River Gowanus). Your captain is finally requesting your presence on THE SHIP with the big-headed, big-eyed GREY CHERYL.
An infinite beam of luminous, cheap, fawn-colored hair violently juts through the clouds and coils around your legs, dragging you skyward, upside down, at light speed. Once through the atmosphere, as weightlessness sets in, the mother ship comes into view behind the moon: a giant droplet of blood hovering silently in space. As you approach the giant, smooth red spacecraft, a portal opens in its side. The GREY CHERYL appears, greeting you with Go-Go’s customary gift of shoulder pads and glitter. Your mission is complete.
Thank God, you think. Give me an invasive autopsy, stat.
TRUST NO ONE.
RESIDENT DJ Nick
SPECIAL GUEST DJ Fake Money
$5 all night long