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After a pre-holiday family reunion weekend nothing satisfies like a long, loud show at the Star Bar. I arrived in a flood of Santa’s - something like 14 people all in Santa suits crowded the bar, their noses red but not from the cold, their laughs jolly but not from any Christmas-related spirit. I avoided the Santa Posse and by the time I’d had a drink downstairs and come back up they’d vanished into the night.
Four guys in Waffle House uniforms, complete with name tags, got on stage. “We’re Tore Up, we hope you are too.” said the bass player before they tore into a long set of rockahillbilly tunes, mostly covers done pretty well. They even covered one of the only Christmas songs I like, a Ramones tune.
By the time Blacktop Rockets were up the joint was packed. I’d been avoiding BTR after seeing them too much a while back. Since then they’ve changed lineups a bit but they were still as smooth as a silk tie and with more energy than I’ve seen in a long while, perhaps the best show I’ve seen them do (which is saying a lot!)
Shitty Clause came on between numbers to hassle the crowd and give out random gifts, like canned ham, matchbox trucks and enemas. He told a few hilarious tales while Vixen shook her stuff and even got the ladies at my table hot and bothered. Downstairs Shitty Clause had some yup yup yuppy bastard just bothered. “What, that guy gets up on stage as Santa and is a jerk and that’s his act or something?”
“He’s Shitty Clause, not Santa.” I answer.
“So he’s not from the North Pole, he’s from the South Pole. Kinda like the good witch of the north/bad witch of the south- he’s the wicked Clause.”
“Oh... really?”
“Yeah... really.”
Truckadelic got on stage, every one of them in red long underwear and some sort of Santa-related paraphernalia. Their new drummer did a fine job of keeping the beat, and the attitude. The boys did the usual set of honkey tonkin’ roll, throwing in “Sorriest Christmas” for their contribution to the holidays. They kept it up until after 3, though the crowd had thinned considerably by then, finishing it off with a little AC/DC “T.N.T.” riff they’d been teasing us with through the whole set. If that didn’t get you feeling festive then you just don’t understand the true reason for the retail season...

The New Years invites are being jammed into envelopes and dropped into the mail as we speak. As usual, they’re a work of art! If you want email us your address. Some have asked for more detail before committing so here’s a brief summary for the hesitant chickens out there:
A weird mix of professionals, slackers, rednecks, and professional redneck slackers gather every year in a small farmhouse in Dahlonega, Georgia, drink heavily, dance, set off an insane amount of explosives at midnight, drink and dance until nobody is left standing. This will be something like the 8th time we’ve had the party at this location, something like the 12th time we’ve had this party, every time without injury (physical, anyway) and every time with nothing but rave reviews from attendants.

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