"My teeth hurt."
"Shit. We're still out of beer."
"Where's that English Beat sleeve?"
"It's that shit medicinal?"
"Cool. Who's records are these?"
"Will you host my birthday party?"

Have you caught yourself uttering any of these epithets recently? Have you woken up on the couch to blaring Isley Brothers only to find yourself alone and in pain? If so, this just might be the tribe for you. The Fell-O-Ship is a consortium of geriatric and near-geriatric ravers too distracted by their own coolness to actually close any deals. No member of the Fell-O-Ship has ever been know to have anything useful to say, but we certainly talk a lot of yang. We're a bunch of hacks with liver disease (like the Clash and the Sex Pistols).

Our brick & mortar clubhouse is on the panhandle of San Francisco's Golden Gate Park in the basement of a big, yellow Victorian. It is from there that we barely ever do anything. Confused? We are too!

http://fell-o-ship.tribe.net