THE MOST FUCKED UP THING I’VE EVER SEEN: The Pack A.D.

In our latest
installment of artist-penned essays, a cracker (of not insubstantial girth) empties her considerable barrel at an American
institution.

 

BY MAYA MILLER

 

If you’re American, chances are good you’ve either been to a
Cracker Barrel or have heard of them. If you’re a touring band, you’ve probably
eaten at one or five. On at least the first visit, the breakfast is tasty and
reasonably priced. I mean, they put cheese in their hash browns and serve
everything with biscuits and grits, so it’s supposed to be this good thing.
Initially, the trick succeeds [but] Cracker Barrel food runs through the human
body at a rate unequaled.

 

In some Midwest state one
day, we’d finished eating at a Cracker Barrel. I went to use the bathroom, and as
I reached for the door, this “woman” grabbed the handle, forced her not
insubstantial girth inside before me, and crammed herself into a stall. The
only other stall available was right next to hers. As I moved toward it, I
heard her. In a low, throaty, almost Neanderthal voice she slobbered and
glubbed: “Uhhhh, guhhhh, ohhhh… Oh!
Guhhhh… guh! Oh my god… uhhhh… Oh! Gahhhh…”

 

This exaggerated moaning and guh-ing punctuated by moments
of surprise went on and on and on as things suddenly – and I imagine sharply – evacuated
her body. Despite what seemed like forever, she actually finished before me. I
must’ve been in a trance.

 

I got to the sink just as she was leaving. I washed my
hands. Within seconds, she burst through the bathroom door and ape-shambled
toward me, reaching. “Forgot my biscuits!”

 

 

The Pack A.D.’s latest
album
Unpersons is out now on Mint
Records. Check ‘em out at their official website – they have a string of
Northwest shows coming up in late January, and then they’ll be on a full US
tour with Elliott Brood starting March 2.

 

Interview compiled by Randy Harward.

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