The Spiders From Mars Hotel

by thoughtsonthedead

“Hey, Bob. What’s happening here?”

“Oh, hey, Jer. Nothing much. Getting ready for the show.”

“Right. What’s with the makeup?”

“Oh, this? Well, you know: it’s 1976.”

“Sure. Now that you mention it, I know it.”

“And glam, well: it’s the thing that the kids love.”

“Glam? Like T-Rex and Bowie?”

“It’s my interpretation, but: yeah, sure.”

“That would explain the platform boots.”

“Eight inches!”

“Can you walk in those things?”


“What about in practice?”


“Well, buddy, that’s gonna make it tough to do the show, huh?

“Precarious Lee whipped me up a harness. Attached to the rigging.”

“And you’re not afraid Billy’ll creep up there and start marionette-ing you?”

“Small price to pay for glamour, Jer. Hand me those spandex pants, please?”




“Do you always keep a shotgun in your briefcase or did you just get lucky?”

“Weir, you listen to me: wash your face, find your tennis shoes, and put on some normal clothes. And by “normal,” I mean a too-tight Izod and short shorts. So, not normal-normal. Weir-normal.”

“Mrs. Donna Jean gets to wear makeup.”

“Hop to it, Ziggy.”