Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Bruce!

Our hearts and alarms are A and hip and E hop.

Stars and night are big and bright, deep in this heart of Texas.

Here we are at the South by Southwest Interactive Film,

Groove Monkey Festival, conference of a thousand, thousand zillion people here.

In Austin, Texas, where the weather can be described as unbelievably shit.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's nice, it's like I lived in England for five years

and I played a million festivals there and this weather is as bad as any fucking festival I've ever been at.

I want you to know that it's awesome, it's been like the day Christ died every day here.

Just pouring rain on Golgotha since the minute I got here.

The last time I was in Austin, I was here for an improv festival in August.

The name of which of course I'm blanking on now because I need it.

What was called out of bounds, out of bounds, OOB.

And it hadn't rained in 110.

There was kind of a biblical Gomorrah like drought going on

and people were being turned into pillars of salt and there was cattle shriveling up on the roadside

and the Starbucks were having to use half milk and it was shocking turn of events.

I was walking down the street during that festival and I was blasted by sand.

My glass is irrevocably pitted and I stood weeping on the sidewalk in front of Oh Henry's house.

He's an author who lived here and authors are people who write books.

I know this is Austin and it's all about music and shit but sometimes people write books too.

And then this time I come here in Wowsers, MacTavish, just a torrential biblical heinous fucking unceasing, unrelenting,

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