Misfits in Miami: A 36-Photo Recap

On Saturday night, the Misfits horse-kicked all of the creep punks at Grand Central into a new dimension of brutality.

Oceans of blood washed over the flabbergasted audience until the red tides left them soaked in the afterbirth of a new American monster.

Then that horrible creature reared its ugly head and unleashed a devil's yell that will forever echo through the Concrete Hell of downtown Miami. And we here at Crossfade got the pictures.

See also: Misfits' Jerry Only on Getting Arrested for Grave Robbing and Sharing Sid Vicious' Last Meal

Shout out to Sniptease, who was working the floor of the club and helping girls be more naked in their clothes.

There was mad Fiends everywhere. About 80 percent of everybody there already had Misfits gear, and 90 percent bought more.

Askultura kicked off the night with the speed and fury of a people's revolution.

But instead of machine guns, they use music, and it sounds better than ever.

People were like, "Damn, this band kicks fuckin' ass."

Then the Attack hit the stage. They've been touring with the Misfits for the past twenty or so shows. They're from Orlando, and they play fast, loud, melodic hardcore punk. They sound like a mix of Gorilla Biscuits and Sick of It All.

If you like their shit ... Support, support, support, support!

And now, gratuitous pics from the circle pit.

Then we took a Titty Fucker break.

Then we grabbed a brew at the bar.

And drank the shit out of it, waiting for the show to start.

They got so many fuckin' lights in the club, the shit is like a Christmas tree.

Then the Misfits hit the stage.

And everybody hands went up, and they stayed there.

The band hit the ground chugging like a freight train and never let up.

The played damn near all the old shit and all the new shit.

They played "Angelfuck," they played "Braineaters," they played "Turned Into a Martian," they played "Saturday Night," "Descending Angel," "Devil's Rain," "We Are 138," all that shit and many more.

People were like, "Damn, yo, ain't no play play 'round here, boy, this shit is real."

Chupacabra beat the drums like his arms were pistons.

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Dez Cadena played the guitar like his hands were on fire, and sang like he eats razor blades for breakfast.

And Jerry Only was like an undead rock star.

Only played his custom, hand-cut devil's bass with no guitar pick. The instrument has no tone or volume knobs because it's always set to maximum explosion.

People were like, "Holy shit, this band kicks unholy fuckin' ass."

We never seen one band go back to back on so many songs in a row without stopping to say anything. And whenever they did stop to say something, it was something cool. And they played like 300 fuckin' tunes, yo. That shit was serious.

Then, just like that, it was over, they dropped their instruments and walked off the stage.

Then the crowd went wild. And the band came back on and encored the fuck out for, like, five more songs.

At the end, Jerry Only put back on his steel spike vest, signed autographs, and hung out with fans.

Misfits are the truth, make sure and see 'em if you get the chance, they are fuckin' awesome.

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