These posts are always good when I start them out with thank you’s. Means I had a nice weekend, or an interesting weekend, which is usually similar to a nice weekend. Since I’m typing all of this on my brand new stolen Macintosh, I’d like to use my first thanks for the sketchball we’ll call “Timmay” who I bought this from. Timmay-boy just moved out from the Mid West. He rides a skateboard that he doesn’t really know how to skate on, and sold me some dude named “Kevin’s I-Mac for a real good price in the parking lot of a café. I had always said I would resist getting a Mac, because in times passed I felt that I didn’t roll that way, I was PC or die mother-fucker! This was of course all prior to buying a boosted Mac off of scum-rag “Timmay” in a parking lot. That pretty much changed my opinion on the Mac vs. PC thing.
My second thanks goes out to LA Canvas Magazine, for throwing a borderline sucky party that Go-rilla and I managed to salvage via our extremely quick thinking and nimble footwork. So then without further ado, I give you “Go-rilla’s Guide to Free-I-P Bottle Service, a How to of Sorts:”
Step one: Show up to the party sans any form of identification so that the bouncer at the door denies you entrance upon first arrival (ed. note: Even though you show him your friend’s (ed. note: my) weed-store card that has a birthdate on it matched with a picture that comes on your friend’s (ed. note: my) out of date college identification card. Thus forcing your companion (ed. note: me) to pass you back their I.D. through a fence like it were twelfth grade (ed. Note: except it’s very much not twelth grade).
Step two: Enter the party with your newly acquired fake I.D. (ed. note: even though you are 28), sneak up behind your buddy (ed. note: me) and smack them rather harshly on the back of their head.
Step three: Determine that it’s utterly absurd to expect people to wait over thirty minutes in a line to get at booze just because the booze is free (ed. note: time is money, so shit weren’t free at all. In fact, rather expensive when you consider that all that time could have been spent getting faded elsewhere).
Step four: Find a person that you have had the faintest bit of previous contact with, somewhere further up in the drink line and mooch off of their position in the line.
Step Five: Order a drink (ed. note: casually), then wait for your friend to order their drink. After your friend has ordered, have him (ed. note: me) play spotter for you while you stash one of the display bottles of alcohol under your flannel shirt which you have removed from your body.
Step Six: Walk away with a strong swagger to your steps while cradling your prize and looking none-suspicious in the least bit.
Step Seven: Find the only picnic table in the place, post up at it with your bottle of heisted corn whisky, and immediately feel the effects of P-Diddy’ing up your situation (ed. Note: ballin/flossin/playa-type-shit-with-gold-teefs-etc.).
Note to other publications or entities that might be considering inviting Go-rilla and I to events in the future. If your shit says “open bar” on the invitation, that better mean a bar that we can get drunk at, else we’re going to have to open the bar ourselves, as we did Friday. Now take that as your Mary Poppins “make lemons into better shit” type story for the day. As for those of you still with a parking meter up your ass on account of us being so crude, take then the parable of the fancy dressed Asian lady we saw spill her entire drink on that Yoda-art pictured below. Some dude tattled on her ass and when the bouncer confronted her she stone faced lied to him about being pushed. We had eyes in the room that saw homegirl trip on her own drunken stupidity. Thereby proving my point that everyone is at some point or another usually guilty of being a scum-fuck, so might as well use your sinnin’ for fun shit, and not stupid shit, like lying to bouncers to cover up the fact that you probably shouldn’t be drinking alcohol if you managed to get so drunk at the wait 30-45 min. in line bar that you stumbled on yourself and wrecked an expensive piece of art (ed. note: dumb biatch).
Other than that important life lesson, I just have one quick gripe to get out. It’s about those terd farts the Muddy-Reds. I saw them play a show at the Westwood Brew Co. (ed. Note: I think that’s what it was called). Anyhow, the place sucked. I thought Go-rilla and I would be scamming on some college chicks, but apparently UCLA kids don’t go out on Saturday nights, cause shit was dead. I also attribute that to bad promoting, and the fact that dudes were again opening up for the Dandelions (ed. note: I thought about being all considerate and giving them a second chance, but then I realized that I still have a lingering ear ache, and further hurting my ear is going to do nothing towards making me less of an asshole, so screw that bullshit). Anyhow, I’ll play nice, I just, I don’t get the point of trying to put on a concert if you don’ t put in the legwork to make that shit hype. I mean, doesn’t everybody lose in an empty room situation?
This is all said with the full realization that empty rooms do happen, but my point is that they shouldn’t happen to good bands. Not on a Saturday night on a major college campus in a major metropolitan city. Alas, what can I do but make the simple suggestion that opening up for wanksters may not be the best play in the deck?
On the bright side, the band did get to play live, which is good, it’s what bands should do. On the dim side, if I’m being honest (ed. Note: which I usually am, unless it’s in attempt to make myself look cooler)(ed. Note: which is hard to do), it was just aight. The Wolf seemed the most on point with his game this occasion. As his bass was pretty predominant on the evening’s sound, and he himself was fired up, doin’ his jump around like a Wildman thing per usual, which is always diggable. However, be it the room’s bad acoustics, the lackluster crowd, or the community center talent show feel that the stage had, the Reds were just a bit off their usual gangsta. It was still very good, don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it. It just wasn’t their finest hour. Plus fuckin Nick needs to stop dedicating songs to sex change operations, that shit’s all last month and shit. This month what’s in is to dedicate songs to abortions, which Nick did, but only after he dedicated one to a sex change, and that tainted it.
Anyways, like I said, I can’t hate on ’em that hard, because it’s always pretty damn good, just seems like they had too many things working against them on this one for it to be great. What was great however was Sunday. That’s because on Sunday Craft’s Services and I melted face. I really have nothing more to ad on that. Good fucking Monday to yous.
Los Angeles these are the shows that you could expect to find us at if we were flush with it and not lazy the week of 10/24 – 10/30:
Links for the Day:
– This is just all sorts of right… (via Jambands)
– Mos Definitely… (via Prefix)
– Early drop date = bad-ass… (via Hypem)
– CMJ Hip-list-sta… (via Paste)
– One day, that’s what I tell myself, that’s what keeps me going… one day you too will be able to be crazy as shit and get interviewed by playboy. I LIKE FUCKING SIMPLE THINGS! (via Aquarium Drunkard)
– Fazzy wazzy wuz a mazzy… (via Pitchfork)