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Sally lived for Ween. In her night stand she kept a box full of treasures: a plastic fork Dean Ween once used to eat some beans, a pink scarf that she claimed she had stolen from the duo’s dressing room, a Rolling Rock bottle that housed a bit of Gene Ween’s spittle, the hospital bill from the night she dove off the stage, breaking her pinky, and a mysterious dried-up section of an orange. Sally spent her nights alone, a framed picture of the band by her bed and its song “Let Me Lick Your Pussy,” recorded on a cheap TDK cassette, playing over and over until she drifted off to sleep. She subjected herself to the gastronomic nightmare of a provolone and Hershey bar sandwich after the release of Ween’s fourth album, Chocolate and Cheese. Her favorite flowers were daises. She hoped to legally change her name to Jean. The last time we saw Sally she had piled her belongings into a green Jeep and set out for New Jersey, Ween’s home state. As she drove off, “Voodoo Lady” blaring from the speakers, we hoped New Jersey had passed a stalker law. With Royal Fingerbowl at 7 p.m. at the 9:30 Club, 815 V St. NW. $12. (202) 393-0930. (Elisa Nader)