Are you ready to rumble? Not yet? Okay then. Just asking. Don’t get upset, now. Put that down. I said PUT THAT DOWN! Do it or someone’s going to get hurt. No. NO. NOOOOOOOO!!!
Ahem. Well, we won’t post any more of that exchange, as it may be upsetting to young children. (This is a FAMILY blog, friends. Fuck yes.) Welcome back to the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, where band members are listless, robots are corroding, and plant creatures are setting down new roots as we speak. (The man-sized tuber has abandoned his terrarium for a patch of ground in the courtyard. Seems he’s getting in touch with his inner gingko tree.) Yes, your friends and colleagues in Big Green have taken refuge in the same safe harbor, seeking shelter from the storm beneath the same perforated roof that has offered us a modicum of protection over the past seven years. No, it hasn’t fallen in yet. And we have hopes that that will never, ever happen. (Well…. “never, ever” is a very long time.)
We spent much of this week making a desperate effort to finish our sophomore album in time for the highly 
unreasonable release date handed down by the corporate chieftains at our label, Loathsome Prick. Then somewhere around, oh, Wednesday, Matt and John threw up their hands. (Being somewhat less original than they are, I did so as well.) It just wasn’t going to happen. Release, yes… but not October. Never October. In fact, we ran the numbers through Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and his statistical modeling analysis module started emitting greasy black smoke. (Marvin did the rest of the calculations with a pad, pencil, and 39-cent wristwatch calculator.) It seems, at our present rate of activity, we may manage a Spring 2008 release, taking into consideration the current non-alignment of the outer planets and the relative mass of the third-quarter moon. (You mathematicians know what I’m talking about.)
Well, anyway – that was Wednesday. That left two more days to figure out how we will break the news to our masters at Loathsome Prick. Mind you, we’ve had prior experience with belligerent corporate labels. Some of you may remember our detention at the hands of Indonesian military goons contracted by 
our old label, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc. (now Hegephonic). It was not pleasant, not nearly… so you can probably understand our trepidation. Naturally, we recruited Marvin to convey the news, preferably in some kind of binary code that would take the suits at Loathsome Prick a couple of days to decipher. Marvin put the message together and sent it off via the automaton equivalent of instant messenger. We waited. At some point during the course of that afternoon, I felt a mild earth tremor. Translation complete! Sure enough, the phone rang. We gave it seventeen or eighteen rings before answering. (Let ’em think we’ve got customers.)
Well, turns out they’re okay with the postponement, on one condition. Yes, that’s right, there is a forfeit. We have to play some showcase gigs. Where? At a venue near you. So long as you live on planet Mars.
