And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Slightly Maimed

Hi friends, Darren here.
I would like to take some of your MySpace time to acknowledge all of the innocent, exuberant youths who wait in line despite Minnesota sleet or Houston humidity to be able to stand at the front of the stage at our shows, only to then receive a microphone stand or better yet, Paul Meany, in the face. I would also like to dedicate this blog to Mr. Meany (pronounced Meen-Yayyyyy!) himself, the Sultan of the Stage, the Michaelangelo of the Microphone, the Fred Astaire of Dance; whose 31 flavors of freaking out on stage consistently indulge the nations apetite for slim limbed, spazzy front men. Pauls reckless disregard for both his and your safety should stand as a testament to his commitment to excellence in the art of band fronting. But Paul is only one man, and can only do so much. Though, it seems more and more as though the fans are starting to catch on and even embrace the pandemonium and pain. For example look at this message we got from a fan in Des Moines (pronounced Dez- Mo-Hann-es), Iowa.
"Uh, hey. Im not sure if this goes directly to the band or not but anyways, thanks a bunch for hitting my girlfriend in the face with the microphone stand and drumstick. That was a night that we will never forget. Sadly, shes slowly recovering quickly. But, I look forward to the next time you come to Des Moines. Freakin Rock Yo WOOOOOOOO!!!!!
Love, Stephen"
Writes another devoted fan:
"Hi, my name is Tasha. I was at your show last Thursday in Tuscaloosa. Also, might I say that I am like, sooo into your band right now. But I was just wondering if I can send this medical bill I got for the severe thrashing I received at the hand of your merciless front man to your management or if I am expected to cover that myself. Either would be fine with me. Anyhow thanks again yall for the thrashing and I look forward to the next time I see you in Tuscaloosa. Bye!"
I always start each show in gleeful anticipation, wondering which of you young boys or girls will have the privilege of receiving pieces of my drumsticks embedded in their arms and faces as they splinter off of the rim of my drums. I am all the more honored to hear that some of you have even decided to leave the stick shards embedded in your flesh as a constant reminder of how much fun there is to be had at a Mute Math show.
On a few occasions I have noticed a couple of weak-minded youths attempt to shield themselves from the impending doom Pauls mercenary microphone technique. Such fainthearted behavior will not be tolerated in any form. All Mute Math inflicted wounds are to be welcomed with merriment. In certain instances, even a little tip (anywhere between 2$ and 40$) is expected.
But enough of those cowards, for as I said a moment ago, this blog is dedicated to all of you brave youngsters who come out of our show bearing bruises and bandages with joy. Mostly however, I want to dedicate this blog to me, who as you might have read about in the news, suffered a mighty tumble off of his floor tom while attempting to launch himself into the air in hopes of smiting a miniature animal cracker filled piñata at the end of our show at the El Rey theater in lovely Los Angeles (pronounced Creepy-ville), California. I hear that it was one epic looking, face first, feet in the air, pride-obliterating wipeouts ever known to man. Nobody knows how to completely make a regal idiot out of himself before a few hundred folks better than Yours Truly.
Yours...truly,
Darren King