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Some of us at LAist have dropped off the radar for a little while. What happened was, we stopped ingesting fluoride. We felt sharper within a week, but then the hallucinations began. We saw spiders where there frankly, we can admit now, were no spiders. The fluoride in toothpaste and drinking water is a psychoactive compound, and going cold turkey is like unplugging yourself from the Matrix. It evolved for us into a week of furious research. Conspiracy work. What began as a simple query into the history of Evangelicalism led us down a dark path to Freemasonry, the NSA, weather control and the theory of a holographic universe (fascinating.) Don't worry, we feel great. But we've been a little scared of submitting any of this stuff to our editors.

We've got to stop googling things. Did you know that between the amazing new Google Maps and the Megan's Law website, you can actually find the shortest route to your dentist's office and make a list of all the child molesters you'll pass on the way? With their pictures attached? No wonder we haven't felt like going out.

But we've got to get out of here, even if it means braving the global-warming-triggered acid rain. Friday's gonna be the night; one of our favorite bands, the Private Party, is playing at the Old Towne Pub in Pasadena. Word is that all the band's members but the lead singer are under house arrest. Wearing those government tracking devices, you know the things. Can't leave the property. But we've been assured that the show will go on, as they'll apparently be backing their singer/guitarist via satellite, if he's not arrested himself between now and then.

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We're hoping this night will spin into a weekend full of music, booze, and pleasant forgetfulness of all the horrible things we've learned in the last few days. If nothing else, at least we won't be home when they come for us.