At FIPS, we may have ditched our suburban punk roots in favor of a more mainstream lifestyle. We may have ditched our band t-shirts and studded belts for button-down shirts and pearl earrings. Our 16-year-old selves are always in the back of our minds screaming, "TRAITOR! YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!" as we're in line at Ann Taylor, buying sensible work slacks. But we have NOT, I repeat, NOT forgot our roots.
That's why, I was intruiged by NOFX's Fat Mike opening Thistle Hill Tavern in South Slope.
Would Cokie the Clown be a mainstay? Are all tequila drinks going to be served with a splash of urine? SO MANY [POTENTIALLY HORRIFYING] QUESTIONS.
Well, I'm here to report that your fears of getting punked (see what I did there?) at dinner are just about zero.