Jesse: 24/7, I suspect, is merely a catchy name: I don't think the large rec room, which has the pleasant antiseptic scent of my elementary school and contains a small stage, some vending machines, tables, and inexplicable barber and beauty supplies, could possibly remain open later than midnight (and that's just weekends). 4H posters and Polaroids of wholesome past events line the walls, as well as smiling pictures of the Colonel and Major in charge of the military installation. In their duty uniforms they looked at the ready to judge a pie-eating contest or be on guard against agitators at a three-legged race. The room has two means of entry, a door marked "The Outer Limits" on the right and "Beyond Da Limits" on the left; somehow managing to be embarrassing and dated to at least three generations of people.
Marty Allen: Rolling in, we were accosted by a curious young gentleman. "Are you guys Uncle Monsterface?”
"Ayuh."
"The first time I heard you, I had no idea what to make of you. The second
time I heard you, I knew you were awesome. Now I just want to sacrifice
babies to you!"
Apparently he knew more of the words to our songs than I do. His enthusiasm was unbridled, and it seemed as if he brought some friends, too.
Jesse: Joshua, scraggly haired, bespectacled and wearing a heavy black trench coat, seems sent by central casting to represent "disenfranchised youth." Excited almost to the point of hysteria, we discover in him Uncle Monsterface's biggest fan. He's learned all the songs and had been hyping us to his peers for weeks. "So you can tell I'm not getting laid tonight!" he boasts.
By the time Uncle Monsterface takes the stage there are maybe 40 kids watching. When the puppets come out before the music starts, they are met with enthusiastic cheers. This might work after all. When Uncle Monsterface himself makes his way out to find the capes, he’s faced for the first time with the obstacle of overzealous fans wanting hugs, tripping him, and spinning him careening into other people, a big green meteor in an orange blazer.
God save us from our fans.
Paul: Just before we take the stage, Ian (the kid running the show) tells us to keep it clean cause his boss is there tonight. Later, I introduce “Cornelius Fudge is an Ass” and Ian waves me down with a slit-the-throat signal. I don’t get why this song should cause such controversy. I mean God uses the word “ass” in the bible all the time. And so does Shakespeare. Now, I’m not saying that we’re God or Shakespeare, but those guys sort of paved the way for guys like us, you know? I didn’t want to get Ian in trouble, so we did a quick change-up and performed “Cornelius Fudge is a Butthead” as a shout-out to Biff Tannen.
Marty Allen: Unfortunately, the Potters' usually-teeming fan base wasn't installed in this
particular military facility. When they started playing, what little of an audience we had had almost totally up and left. Our superfan stayed, and though he would actively claim that he was also a huge fan of theirs, his way of showing appreciation during their show was to openly mock and cajole them. The positive offshoot was that Joe had extra to room to rock out on my personal favorite, "I'm Angry." He writhed and spasmed like a Rock God having superseizures, delivering in spades and clubs and hearts and purple
horseshoes.
