I have a show Saturday in Sugar Grove, Ohio, a town outside of a town of about 8000 people. Small town shows are good for me, b/c I’m white trash, so I and the crowd relate to one another. Plus, you’re usually up against McDougal’s dart tourney or a fish fry at the local VFW so the turnout is decent, despite the fact they spelled my name wrong on the “flyer”, which is a neon yellow piece of paper. The downside is I usually end up talking to the town drunk after the show who is either going to say something extremely racist, homophobic, or equally as bad for me, bounce truck stop humor off me endlessly until his insatiable lust for another shot of George Dickel whiskey allows me to slip out to my car. I also get hit on by a drunken woman who is dangerously close to retirement age while her biker boyfriend stares me down, as if I’m actually going to follow through with his upper 50’s great-grandma girlfriend. No need to stir, Hoggy, I’m somehow going to resist the siren’s call of your mullet haired beauty and her sexy mom jeans. Now someone buy a t-shirt so I can feel better about my set tonight.