"We're gonna go from First Tube into Tweezer--no, Tweezer Reprise--into Wolfman's Brother." What Jimmy Kimmel doesn't know is twofold: one, that we just played first tube 20 minutes ago here at the Baggot Inn, where every Monday night like tonight is a sparsely-populated open mic night. And two, that he is not really Jimmy Kimmel, but instead a Semite from Rockaway.
And that is the beauty of open mic nights: you can be whomsoever you want--I,- for example, am DJ Spasm, and Kimmel and me bill ourselves ex-show-facto as the USA Basketball World Championship Team.
We are Trey Anastasio. We are Eddie Veder. The guy after us is Jimi Hendrix in bad-taste denim, and the women before us suck. But it doesn't matter, because the bar is so empty that we've already gone twice and probably could keep the place open for years playing crappy Yellow Ledbetters.
Next Monday night, when the curtains come up on the Baggot Inn, I might call myself MC Artistic, and Kimmel might recruit some girls off the corner of 3rd and Sullivan to jump on an absent trampoline.
Stay classy san diego,