Juicebox/UOBA NXNE Party
Posted on June 4, 2010 by Ashley Carter
Hey friends, it’s been a while since we all hung out and shared a knowing glance, hasn’t it? So consider this a formal invite to our NXNE-themed debutante ball. On June 16 at the Bovine Sex Club in Toronto, we’ll be showcasing a bunch of bands we’ve released records for over the past year or two + some additional friends courtesy of brother-in-arms Adam Kreeft & UOBA. The lineup looks like this:
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08 pm: The Decay // Punk rock from Guelph
09 pm: Wayfarer // Hot Water Music worship from KW
10 pm: Cavaliers! // Alt-country from Newmarket
11 pm: !ATTENTION! // Pop-punk from Toronto
12 pm: Dig It Up // Party punk from Montreal
01 am: The Video Dead // Hardcore from Burlington
02 am: Victim Party // Best friends from Toronto (members of Bombs Over Providence, Hostage Life, The Black Lungs, The Artist Life, The Little Millionaires, Bang It Out and Marilyn’s Vitamins)
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Only $5! Cheap! (Or free with a festival wrist band!). And because of the municipal magic of NXNE, the Bovine will be serving until 4 a.m. It’d be swell to see your face.









Furthering the idea that some folks just can’t go 90 minutes without booze, 
Okay, seriously, any theories on this one?










And it’s a burlap sack with the American flag on it. 
So I was just regaling someone with the tale of this one house my friends and I used to trick or treat at. It was full of what we thought were cooler older kids, probably engineering students in retrospect, and instead of giving out candy bars each year, they would toss a crumply note into each of our sacks and then shut the door in our young faces. Usually the note would say ‘you suck’ or ‘your friend’s costume is ugly.’ Other times there’d be a drawing of a penis on it. Great, right? Second only to the house that gave out cans of pop. We went back every year.








For those who haven’t had their ear to the ground, we’re holding a JUICEBOXdotcom general meeting tonight with the goal of putting this drunken lout of a website back up on its boots.
Dear Sally,

