Hey Ponce, remember when you did a brief stint as roadie of a unknown and untalented alt rock band called Salty the Pocketknife? Remember how you knew nothing about their music, but you were attracted to the band because it featured none other than Dustin "Screech" Diamond on bass guitar, someone you had always admired? Remember how excited you were at the prospect of "hangin" with a mega-star like The Double Dog?
Remember how nervous you were about meeting him for that first time? Remember how you introduced yourself, and Dustin seemed really kind and down-to-earth? Remember how you chatted, and then you went backstage to set up the amplifiers, feeling relieved? Remember how your relief turned to horror when you overheard Dustin talking about you with his bandmates, and you heard him say "what's the deal with that dumb fuckin' roadie? He's got worse BO than a cab driver! And what the fuck is with that mullet, who does he think we are, Motley Crue? What a loser!!!!"? Remember how drummer Evan Stone chimed in with "he looks like the sort of complete and total assclown that likes to play with swords in his spare time, and religiously check up on what people are writing about him online? What a total douche!"? Remember how the righteous indignation built within you and you vowed then and there to exact a horrible vengeance upon The D-Man and the other members?
Remember how showtime came around, and it was finally time, after days of meticulous preparation, to put your dastardly plan into effect? Remember how you constructed a makeshift cannon out of an old pipe and some theatrical explosives, and got a bunch of homeless dudes to shit in the pipe, with the intention of showering Salty with homeless dudes' shit during the show?
Remember how Salty ripped into their first song? Remember how the singer was tunelessly screaming like a cat undergoing a particularly violent anal raping? Remember how the guitarist obviously thought he was the re-incarnation of Frank Zappa, and tried to play as such, despite the fact that a man with no fingers could probably have played better? Remember how Screech and Evan were laying down what they thought was a "righteous groove", but which in fact sounded very reminiscent of The Shaggs on a bad day?
Remember how you decided it was time to put your plan into effect? Remember how you hid backstage, cackling maniacally, you lit the fuse of your makeshift cannon, and BANG! The band and audience were completely coated in fecal matter? Remember how you poked your head out to admire your handywork? Remember how you witnessed a gay scat orgy the likes of which had never been encountered before? Remember how the audience seemed to consist entirely of very very gay men, most of whom were clad in leather, sailor suits, or assless chaps? Remember how you realized that Salty must have been, despite their utter shitness, the hottest queer band operating in the country at the time, and that your shit-cannon had sparked off a spontaneous fecal orgy of butt-sex? Remember how you saw Screech, Evan and the others in amongst the writhing throng, sucking, fucking and smearing with gay abandon?
Remember how you thought to yourself, "meh...if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!" and you dived right in?
You sure learned a thing or two about life on the road that time!
