|Jusht a minit....jushta min..it...|
(Me, at my junior high school prom)
"I just wanna save you, while there's something left to save."
~ Rise Against
On Saturday night, M had a show downtown, at a club called The HiFi. He had to be down there early with the rest of the band, so I agreed to meet him there around 9:30 for the show.
I had to stand by myself while M and the boys rocked out with their cocks out (or whatever). When they were done what I thought was one of their best shows, I had to stand around the bar and look like I knew what I was doing and why I was there (otherwise, someone might try to talk to me). Which meant only one thing...let’s look at some white trash (other than myself) and laugh at them!
(In a brief aside, may I just point out that I am not, in fact, white trash. I am eloquence and intelligence masquerading as white trash. It's just more interesting this way, n’est pas?)
It was still pretty early in the night, so my pickings were kinda slim. Not too many drunks out yet, I mused.
And then I saw her.
Ding Dong! Britney’s here, thought I, and I leaned against the DJ booth to watch the show.
Gothic Britney Spears looked a lot like me (pierced, black hair, tattooed, big boobs) and, ironically, I initially thought she was beautiful. You know, on the outside. Full sleeves on both arms (though nothing artistic, just random crap), she had all the piercings I have, plus the two I couldn’t keep - the elusive dimples.
(Why must my favorite piercings turn septic, God? WHY????????)
She also had a Monroe, a labret, and several piercings in her tongue, and when she smiled I thought, Wikked! Then she bent over and pretended to suck the cock of one of the guys she was with, and I thought, Ohhhh......
Must you give all us pierced chicks a bad name, Britney? I thought scornfully as I watched her head bobbing violently in the general vicinity of the guy’s crotch. (Conveniently forgetting, of course, that I myself had but 88 days sober - though I'm pretty sure the rule is, once you have 3 days sober, you're officially allowed to judge others. heh heh.)
I didn’t look away, though - who would? I just watched as she tried to straighten herself up again, and almost toppled into the men’s room.
M came up and grabbed me around the waist just then. “Let’s go out for a smoke!”
“Kay.” I followed him out of the club, leaving Gothic Britney to her drunken antics.
Oh ho ho ho! You do NOT IGNORE WHITE TRASH, mother fucker!
The next band was good, I can’t remember their name (I am an asshole, I know) but M and I joined the throng of people at the front of the stage to cheer them on. Same kind of music as M’s band, which is rockabilly, and the lead guitarist looked like Conan O’Brien. The bass player had full sleeves and a sticker of M’s old band, Blind Assassins, on the side of his bass. (If this sounds familiar to you, please send me the name of the band. But I won't tell you which city we're in. Good luck!)
The headlining band was next. I’ve never heard of them, but apparently EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE HAS - The Matadors. (I shall assume you have heard of them, too). They were awesome, and the house was packed, with people lined up out the door and down the block to see these guys play. The lead singer was an awesome frontman, he was funny and knew how to get a rise out of the crowd.
Especially out of one very special girl. Can you guess who?
No, not me! I’m trashing someone else right now. KEEP UP.
Gothic Britney elbowed her way up to the very front of the stage, and after each song, she would try to talk to Frontman.
At first, he played along. “You want me to dedicate a song to who?” he said into the mic. “I can’t hear you.”
Eventually, it got old, and he stopped trying to decipher her slurs and just ignored her. So in the middle of the next song, Britney got UP ON THE STAGE.
Frontman looked bewildered, but kept playing, as she scooted directly behind him and grabbed him by the waist. Then she leaned over his side and started shouting at someone in the audience.
“Oh my God,” Frontman said to the crowd, as the song came to an abrupt end. “She’s looking for her husband. Where’s her husband?!”
As he tried to turn around and face her, Britney dodged out of the way, and ran to hide behind the bassist. He, too, looked stunned, and totally unsure of what to do.
“Security, pick up the white phone, please,” Frontman said into his mic, and a moment later a bouncer appeared onstage, by the bass player.
Britney ran back to hide behind Frontman. “He said I could come up here!” she yelled at Bouncer.
Bouncer stopped and looked confused, and looked to Frontman for confirmation.
“I’m trying to work, here,” he said, exasperated. “Get her off the stage!”
Bouncer moved forward, and grabbed Britney by the arm, who tried to hold on to Frontman. Bouncer pulled her away, and got her to the edge of the stage.
That’s when she turned around and lunged towards Frontman, and punched him in the arm. “Fuck you!” she screamed.
“Holy shit!” I yelled excitedly to M, as he and I both stared up at the stage. This was awesome! Cuz it wasn’t me!
Bouncer managed to get Britney under control again, and fed her offstage into the waiting arms of her girlfriend. Frontman got on the mic, and got the crowd back under his thumb.
“I’m just trying to celebrate my birthday with y’all,” he said, and the audience roared. “D’you mind if we keep playing?”
The next song started up, but something beside me caught my eye. A guy and his girlfriend were jumping around, hyper and excited. I don’t know why I watched, but I did.
The guy was closest to me. His girlfriend was back a bit, towards a table full of people. As the boyfriend jumped up and down and turned to face the stage again, Britney came out of nowhere and smoked him right in the face.
Everyone around them took a step back, and all I could see was Gothic Britney, her fists clenched by her side, panting and glaring drunkenly at this kid beside me. And I thought, Hello, I know you.
It was Baby Momma. (for all intents and purposes).
Bitter, drunk, and looking for a fight. She didn’t even know this kid. She just punched him in the face anyway.
Hello, my white trash Baby Momma. How I've missed you, you wretched whoor.
I watched as her girlfriend apologized profusely to the kid, then dragged a screaming Britney out of the club. M and I turned to look at each other for a moment, speechless, before we turned back to watch the rest of the show. Which was amazing, though every time a song ended, I looked around to see if Britney had somehow snuck back in the club. Fight! Fight! Fight!
The Matadors left the stage at the end of their show, then came back out for an encore, which is when Frontman must have put the giant rubber penis down the front of his slacks. He whipped it out for their last song, then at the very end of it, he whacked off his...ahem, pretend rubber penis, and shot some kind of white liquid all over the crowd.
And I thought, Aw, poor Gothic Brintey! She just missed her chance to shine.