Tuesday, November 9, 2010

I have a huge ass - bad style

You guys probably don’t know this, but in a country different from where you are I am sort of a big deal to people in that country (please decide where you are on your own and then think of somewhere else and imagine this is there).

You see I sing in this band – Poikilothermic, which is the official scientific word for “coldblooded”, and that is really fucking cool which means it’s a really cool band name which means we’re badass, like frogs and many breeds of fish who are also coldblooded badassness and eat bugs, which is super badass kind of meal like our badass band (please note ‘badass’ does not mean our asses are literally bad, they are normal perfectly functional asses with normal horrific functions)(please also note only men’s asses are used exclusively for horrific functions, the female ass is capable of all sorts of non-horrific things, from being photographed, sodomised or even to hold a smiley faced balloon between its cheeks to cheer up the sick kiddies). They call this the “circle of badassness” and it only exists in rare awesomenessous times!

This one time our badass band was doing a badass gig, and I guess we were sucking kind of hard (a term us rock stars use to suggest we are kicking ass because it reminds us of backpacks and their amazing ability to let you carry stuff while keeping your arms free to use vacuums), and this one guy, in some weird place in his mind thought something different I guess, like we weren’t awesome (I assumed he must not have had a vacuum, meaning his floor might have crumbs on it, poor guy), because this biscuit without a plate-face decided to throw a beer glass at me, and it hits me right on the temple, and knocked me out cold, right there on stage!

Yes the stage, that’s the bit raised up a bit meaning being knocked out is highly dangerous. (For the record it hurt, but I was too passed out to cry, yes that’s right I kick rock n roll ass!)

Also, and I don’t remember this bit specifically, because I was passed out, but apparently this cut opened up on my head like the parting of the red sea or something (by something I mean something actually red and opening, not like that lying fucking sea), and it ended up needing twenty stitches, which I am told is a lot (twenty stitches bad, twenty grand good – numbers sure are flip-floppers!), but it also meant there was lots of blood pouring out all over the stage, and with me passed out bleeding like that they decided to cut the power to the PA and all that so people could come and help me. (By people I mean my drummers grandmother, she was a sweet old lady who had gotten us this gig at her nursing home).

So they startle me awake, and now I see the house lights on, with a crowd of frustrated patrons (frustration makes six old couples look like a thousand strong army) looking at me sort of strangely, and I look down at my body and see all the blood, and then I started to cry (you can’t stay passed out and therefore not crying for ever I don’t care how badass you are) I was like really sobbing, cause you know I’m a badass like a frog which is an often wet faced creature, and I think I might have cried for my mommy, which is kind of weird because I don’t really ever remember my mommy being that comforting when I scraped my knee as a young boy, so I don’t know how I thought she could help me while bleeding and crying on stage (but if she was any kind of real mom she’d have prayed every night for my well being, this is rock n roll, a job where you can sing and play guitar and stuff, which are really different skill sets, and there is lots of prejudice about people with difference).

The ultimate fall out from this incident was far more severe than even I could imagine. The following day a memo went around the nursing home telling resident their grandkids weren’t allowed to come visit anymore if they claimed they were in a band. The man is always trying to hold down us rock gods!

If you can imagine it, from here is actually got worse? (Even though it is unbelievable I hope you can imagine it, because otherwise your imagination may be sort of weird, I mean you can imagine a coffee table with a beverage that is not a coffee on it, completely defying the very name of the table, but you can’t imagine things getting worse? That’s weird dude). Because of this one little incident, you know after someone showed camera phone footage of me bleeding and crying on the news, there was this huge fallout, and ultimately it lead to glass actually being banned from all pubs, bars and nursing homes in the country you are imagining this took place! I know!

Now everyone has to drink out of plastic, which has some insulation properties or what not that don’t keep your drink chilled to a preferential temperature for nearly as much time as glass would. That is science working against you! And people wonder why diseases no longer get cured. Science has turned man, can’t you see it? Where is the war on science?

Now in the country you are assuming this happened in we like our beer, and we like our beer icy cold, so people fucking hate this no glass rule. (If you fucking hate something does that mean you’re raping hate? Maybe hate brought it on itself with overly sexual clothes? Hate is such a whore.) And when people find a rule they hate they need someone to blame, and there were two obvious choices in this case. An unknown asshole who threw a beer glass, or a badass singer who fell into a pool of his own blood and burst into pathetic little girl tears, while on a stage wearing no shirt, and leather pants with four pair of socks stuffed into the crotch, all in front of a death metal old school old folks crowd and shown on the news. (Badass = good, asshole = bad = proof bad is better than ass = proof asshole = something good = once again science fucking with you!)

I have no idea why, but for some reason this country decided to blame not the glass thrower, but me the little girl death metal singer who used to go by the stage name “Paradox Daffodil (Monk’s Hood – which is a type of purple buttercup flower) (fireweed – which is a type of primrose flower)”, which at some point I thought was cool but for some reason the “press” called “wordy” (Fuck you press, you’re named after ironing, and that’s a lady chore, you ladies!) (Please note I am not actually sexist but as a badass rock n roller I am forced by law to appear as such from time to time or those pussy ladies will say mean things about me and I’ll cry).

So now every time someone here takes a sip of their beer and thinks “warm already” they follow that up with “I fucking want to kill that pathetic flower cunt” which isn’t a nice thing to think at all!

The other thing is that I really like going to pubs, bars and nursing homes, and I really like cold beer myself, and now I cant go into any place in this land without some prick spotting me and yelling out something like “grow stronger skin you turd”, and I’ll be like – “sorry sir, but the strength of my skin is just not something I have any control over, and besides apart from one unfortunate incident my skin has done a splendid job of holding in my blood, and frankly I think most people have skin with poor defense against flying glass plus a turd is another word for poo and I don’t think I am poo so your whole argument breaks down as soon as logic is added you turd!” But that never seems to be enough for them, and they usually threaten to make me bleed some more if I don’t get out of there soon.

So wait, have you ever realized that in essence your skin is literally just a big body shaped bag filled tight with blood, bones and organs? Imagine that skin bag draped over the back of a couch! Now that makes me think of the skin bag being like an inflatable raft where one little cut and it sinks, thank god for congealing blood, if you ask me (why did you make me imagine that, now I feel quesy, this is all your fault for not being so clearly able to imagine things getting worse earlier, and now I’m quesy, are you happy?)

So anyway I can never go to a pub, bar, nursing home again, thank god my grandparents’ are dead (see what this turd just made me thank GOD for? That’s kind of creepy, cause it was heart disease that killed them, not god, must be concussion making me miss-thank).

Even after this went on for a few months and I decided to ditch the leather pants and start wearing shirts with a nametag people STILL recognized me, it just sucks. The band ditched me too, apparently I didn’t “fit the image they were going for, for a death metal band” so it basically just ruined my life.

But at least I am kind of a big deal, and that’s badass.

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