Sure, we're all smiling in the picture, but underneath, we're seething/boiling/burning with rage on petty gripes about everything, including the fact that they ran out out letters and spelled our name wrong on the marquee... we’re chalking this one up to having Simon, who’s a Brit as our manager. As you’ll see, it started a pattern...

Could have been worse, but at least we weren't billed as the Pretty Grips.