GRANT FARTED: WELCOME BACK BUDDY JACKSON

Once upon a time, I rolled out of bed at 4 AM, grabbed my bags and headed to the airport for a flight. It only occurred to me while standing in line for the security screening that I was wearing the shirt I slept in; a shirt with a domestic terrorist on the front and a rather incendiary phrase:

 The first TSA lady who took my pass asked, "What's your shirt say?" And because I am not very subtle at 4 AM, I said, "Nothing!" and tried to sling my purse strap across my chest.

So anyway, you can get through airport security in a Buddy Jackson shirt, but it is nervewracking.

Lessee. What else is there to say about these guys? This Missoula trio of dimwits plays some of our finest, catchiest punk rock. It's loud, too, as we've all learned. You can listen to all their shit on Bandcamp.

And Grant, you are the glue that holds the band together.

-Kate