Some people say the Grannies are the inevitable end result from a society that has abandoned its educational system and lost all contact with its morality and civic cohesiveness. The truth, of course, is much, much worse. The old, now defunct Mission Police Station, San Francisco circa 1999 is as good a birthplace as any for a phenomena as degenerate and altogether fucked up as The Grannies. The blame could be laid at the feet of Fate, but Fate already catches a lot of shit just by standing around, and really wants nothing to do with something as mentally debilitating as The Grannies anyway. Somewhere between 30 and 163 years old, they were drawn to each other there in the fetid human-ish stew slopped together in the holding cells. Petty crimes involving Wild Turkey, electricity, naugahyde, Top Ramen, pigeon feathers ("fresh"), Drano, or some combination thereof would be the official reasons for the various Grannies' incarcerations that fateful night (yes, we know, Fate, you already cleared yourself, so piss off), if any official record existed. It became rapidly apparent that the group had been thrown together for a purpose (seriously, Fate, fuck off; you're just being a bitch now). That purpose was the overthrow of the Austrio-Hungarian Empire.um.hmmmm Since they were - as usual - both much, much too late, and violently unqualified for the task they set for themselves, they plotted their escape from jail to kill the time. Some time later their nascent leader pointed out that they'd already been out of said jail for hours, maybe days, and were loitering in the beer aisle of the Cala on South Van Ness. The sale on Lucky Lager they discovered there led them to realize their true destiny: to Fuck Shit Up. All of it. And to do so very, very loudly. The various parole officers/livestock handlers/monkey toilet trainers responsible for their whereabouts at the time all insist that not only did they not escape from jail, but were in fact forcibly thrown out after a day or two of rolling the more incapacitated and/or narcoticized vagrants and their homeless drunktank mates for wardrobe upgrades. Nonetheless The Grannies are certain some kind of daring escape occurred, and it is around this time when the original bass player, Scary Grannie, disappeared as well. The surviving members insist the weight gain they all displayed at the time was due to the Lucky Lager sale and not the greasy yet satisfying deliciousness of the bass player, which was, they say, pure coincidence, as was the brutally hallucinogenic episodes Vocalist WheelCher in particular descended into for weeks, or a long afternoon, depending on who you talk to. However, quickly displaying the instinct (we have to credit instinct, since they don't seem to have any higher brain functions to speak of at all) for avoiding the RocknRoll cliche, they've managed to keep their drummer, GranHole Cover, alive for almost the entire time the band has been together, although he denies this during the brief moments he can be convinced to pay attention to anything that isn't shiny. Mmmm... shiny... It was sometime around then when they located their new bass player, Dusty Titties, in the bathroom at the Zeitgeist, curled into a tight ball of slurred speech, nearly blind, and crying about "that fucking bitch Phoebe Cates." None of this prevented him from rolling joints with one hand while spilling Jack and Coke all over anything within seven feet of him, and The Grannies knew they'd found... something. And it was theirs. Back Slash, their defacto leader and Lead Guitar tormentor, at this point adapted the code name "Drunk." WheelCher; screecher, lecher, possessed of a preternatural talent for self-abuse, started singing because no one in the band could get him to shut the fuck up. GranHole Cover settled in behind the traps and, except for the times when he was dead, has been there ever since. After spending some time terrorizing the San Francisco old guy punk scene, causing so much consternation that one of their regular venues was forced to become a lesbian folk singer disco cabaret cock-hater-club to avoid any further encounters with the old guys in the old dresses and the old school punkrock doing RocknRoll things to your face whether your face was ready or not, they surfaced long enough to cut a record or three: THE GRANNIES S/T DT-001 in 2000,"Taste The Walker" DT-004 in 2002, "Erected Lady Man" WT-002 in 2004 & "Gumjob/Granarchy in the E.U." CD/DVD WT-004 in 2006. And it was good. Because, and here's the bitch: the rock is good. It's really fucking good. It's no holds barred, if we were talking about wrestling, which we're not, god dammit. But if we were we'd be talking about illegal atomic pile drivers applied to your little fancy-boy codpiece, we'd be talking about Jimmy superfly Snuka launching a devastating, dismembering assault from the turnbuckle straight down onto your supine sense of decency and all that is holy, we'd be talking about Hulk fucking Hogan lifting his finger, suddenly invincible, terrible to behold in a retarded camp kind of way, mocking the balance of nature as he unloads two humungous fists of spine-crushing sonic mayhem at your doomed-from-the-start, never-had-a-chance skull. But we're not talking about wrestling, so fuck that shit. They released their first 2 albums and a 7 on their own label, DEAD TEENAGER and then after acquiring 2 partners from Seattle that turned into rip-off artists, they then started a new and less shitty label called WONDERTAKER. No, we're talking about the RocknRoll, and the horrible crimes against it that The Grannies have committed time and time again. Their names are like a roll call of nuclear-powered fucked-up-ness. Their outfits are simply wrong. Like any self-respecting bacteria, they have grown as they've mutated, shuffling the lineup and expanding to 5 members, not one of which has even the smallest clue. Dusty Titties was replaced on Bass by, Soggy T. Baggins in 2003 and Buzzy Douchemore joined on second Guitar in 2003 and was replaced on The Grannies June 2005 headlining European Tour by Dentura Hogfloss. Confused yet? I certainly hope so, otherwise somebody high-up is not doing their job properly. The Grannies have a saying: "if you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. But if you knock him down and take his fish, you can sell it and buy some weed." They have another saying: "Weed should not ever smell or taste like fish." The Grannies have been around since before the dawn of mankind, but they still haven't figured out how to take a shower. The Grannies are the best example of the benefits of an extensive and lengthy incarceration that the great state of Illinois has to offer. The Grannies watched as the best minds of their generation were destroyed by madness. Because their generation is 150 years old, and that's what senility does.
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…shrink me down again