So, it was back to the East Village to meet with the "Ladies Auxiliary of the Lower East Side". This was a wacky bunch of gals who had a secret boy file, that contained the vital statistics of all the eligible bachelors in the neighborhood. We also decided that since everyone had a rock band, so would we, and thus PULSALLAMA was born. We were anti-rock, no guitars, a 17 piece percussion ensemble. Everyone loved us, even though we sounded like a clinking, clattering garbage truck out of control! We played the entire club circuit, Danceteria, Mudd Club, Peppermint Lounge and Irving Plaza, just to name a few. When we played a rasta club called Club Negril, we were attacked by the staff, and called "Lesbian Whores of Babylon". We lost a few of our members after that gig.

Finally, our big break came when Joe Strummer heard one of our rehearsal tapes, and asked us to open for the CLASH. No-one at the Asbury Park Convention Center suspected a thing when we mounted the stage in the dark. It was when the stage lights came on that 8000 screaming fans who were ready to "rock the casbah" booed in unison "FUCK YOU!". We retorted "SOOIE!", and launched into our hit "The Devil Lives in My Husband's Body".

Nothing could stop us, not even the hairbrushes or money or sneakers that were thrown onto the stage. Our finale was, "Rockfest on the Meadowlands", containing slurs of all their icons including Bruce Springsteen, and ripping up of fake foamcore guitars. This really infuriated them, but by the third night, we gained quite a sizable cheering section, including young girls in the front rows singing along to our songs. Then it was off to Cape Cod Coliseum, where we armed ourselves with African war shields. It was like feeding christians to the lions! One angry young man pounded his armcast on the stage and was shouting "FUCK YOU!" so insistently that he was ruining my concentration. To shut him up, I jumped with my gold platform boots, and came down so hard that I just missed him by an inch.. From that point on, he became president of the Pulsallama fan club.

Once again, we lost a few more members. Ann Magnuson took off for the west coast and so, down to 7, we took off to England. It was our last tour. Folly seemed to follow us wherever we went. When we played at the "Venue", we were billed as "PULLsalama", bringing out every Rasta in London. Once again we were booed and told to "go home and read our bibles". During the show I kicked my leg up and lost the front chunk of my platform boot. Lucky for me a fan returned it to me backstage so I could nail it on for the next night's show. When we got back home to the states, we knew it was time to hang it up, especially when our wacky bass player tried to stick her head in the oven.