Behold, the guitar of destiny.
"I've heard of throwing your underwear at an artist, but who throws their retainer?"
The crowd patiently waits for cable-gate to be resolved.
The lead singer didn't want to drink the water bottles, he enjoyed kicking them into the audience as "high velocity souvenirs".
"You're welcome."
"I think that person has a concussion. And wet hair."
Heels out and happy.
"Can they tell I didn't iron my shirt? They can't tell, it's fine."
"My shirt? No wrinkles. Because I'm a professional!"
"When did we become a fashion conscious rock band?"
Relaxed fit. With pleats.
"Looking this good cost a lot of cheddar. Moolah. Scrilla. Bucks. Scratch. Coin. Clams. Paper. Dead Presidents. Cash. You get me?"
"I like clams. And shrimp. That sauce. Oh baby."
"He just unironically said 'clams' for money, didn't he."
