"Wait a minute. Jesus fuck, my head!"

A minute, I'll wait patiently.

"God, what do you WANT?"

I can't be patient forever though.

"Can't we do this another time?"

No, I've been patient enough with you.

"Fine, let's just get this over with."

And so it begins my interview with Joe Dick. It appears I've caught him on a bad day, although, from what I've heard, everyday is a bad day to interview Joe Dick. It doesn't matter though, I have a job to do, I need to get paid, and I'm not going to let Mr. Dick's hangover get in the way.

"So, Joe Dick, if you don't mind my asking." "I do!" "Well, uh." "What do you have to say for yourself now?" "If you'll let me finish the question." "I won't, now get lost!"

He pointed towards the door. I'd been in the hotel room for less than five minutes. It was two thirty in the afternoon. They had a gig tonight in Edmonton, and apparently, no time for interviews. My boss is going to kill me. Maybe I'll try to get them after the show.

"Not talking, eh?" Billy Tallent laughs as I walk by "He needs his beauty sleep!" ".And lots of it!" I mutter under my breath as I leave.

Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to acquire a ticket and VIP pass to the night's gig. Fortunately for me, Hard Core Logo tickets are easy to come across. No-one is really interested in them anymore.

So, that leaves me plenty of time to go back to my own, much cleaner hotel room and wait. A little pay-per-view, defrag my computer, take a shower and get dressed in time to make dinner and read the paper before getting my things and heading out to see the re-united Hard Core Logo in action. This way, even if I don't get a few words from the charming and charismatic Joe Dick, at least I won't go home empty handed.

So, let's see what all this fuss is about, shall we?

It appears that the line is divided into equal parts. One part is ageing punks, looking for a little nostalgia and catching up with some old buddies. The other is young kids, dressed to the nines in their most ridiculous clothes. I don't know which I pity more.

Once inside, I almost regret coming, I don't know if all the people waiting outside will be able to fit into the small, dimly lit bar. So, to bide my time I buy a cheap local beer and stand by the stage, waiting. During those 30 minutes I'm asked if I have a lighter four times, I don't. I'm told who has the best weed for the best prices. A girl who looks to be no more than 16 asks me if I can lend her money for coke. I tell her I have none. She offers me a blow job for 10$. I decline that as well.

At this point, listening to Hard Core Logo thrash through a dozen two- minute songs would be much preferable than talking to their fans. I finish my beer as finally, Pipefitter steps onto the stage and sits down behind the drum kit. John Oxenburger follows, then of course, Joe Dick and Billy Tallent. Isn't this going to be fun?

Joe has obviously had a few drinks before starting the set. He's a terrible figure screaming at the audience and occasionally, when he remembers, strumming a few chords. I'm spat on. He eyes me in a predatory fashion. Somehow, I doubt he remembers me from this afternoon. I don't think he even opened his eyes.

The set is short and fairly uneventful, except for when Joe decides it would be fun to insult the audience until they're driven to fighting, spitting, swearing, throwing things, which just makes him insult them more.

I can't believe gigs like this still happen. Thank god it's over now.

Afterwards, a select few congregate to the backstage area. I am one of those unlucky few. I mean, I wouldn't be here if I weren't being paid to interview this fucker. Alas, it seems to be just the band, a few friends, well-wishers, and the odd teenager who begged enough money from their rich parents to get a backstage pass. No doubt they'll recount the tale at school tomorrow, but I do believe it's past their bedtime, and I push them aside as I make my way slowly towards the figure of Joe Dick. He's sitting down, drinking whiskey from the bottle. How becoming.

I smile and extend my hand. "Ronny Smith, Toronto Star. Mind if I ask you a few questions?" He eyes me suspiciously. "Toronto Star?" He asks "Yeah, that's the newspaper I write for." He nods and I sit as far away from him as I can while still maintaining an air of friendliness "So, where did you get the name Joe Dick anyway?" He just stares. "Well?" I have no more patience for this guy. "You see the show?" "Yeah." Where is he going with this? "Well, then that should answer your question." "Okay, well then, how do you write your songs?" "With a pen and paper, just like everyone else." He says as he spits between my feet. I try my hardest not to cringe. This guy's wit astounds me. "What I mean, is, where do you get your inspiration from?" "Then you should've said that's what you meant." "Right, I'll remember that." "No you won't. Cunt." I clear my throat and continue. "So, what made you decide to do a reunion tour?" "I fuckin' felt like it, are you finished yet?" I look down at my page of questions, I'm far from finished. "Almost, just a few more." He rolls his eyes and takes a swig from his bottle, obviously not amused. "What are your plans after this tour is over, do you plan to record another album, or.?" "I plan to roll over and fucking die, all right?" He holds my gaze for a moment longer than I'd like. I swallow hard and get up to leave. He spits at my feet again as I do so. "Thanks a lot." I say, he does nothing, he just stares.

A week or so later I hear from a colleague that Joe Dick shot himself after the last show of that very tour. I found it amusing that mine was his last interview. Famous last words indeed.