"working on my faults and cracks..."


Glosse Point Brank

I have finished playing Resistance: FOM while waiting for clips to upload into iMovie, and decide to change my shirt before going to the party. I hate my hair, so it is punished by a hat.

I arrive late but it matters little. The band has still not yet started playing to the mostly male crowd. I exchange Asian high-fives with several friends of mine, and remind myself that I am not in a gay bar. I order a beer.

The sausage party streak is finally broken. Three more girls arrive, order drinks, but flee to the back of the bar. My beer is not amused.

The band takes the stage and introduce themselves. "Solid Gold Sex Toy": an aging hippy guitarist with a superiority complex, his loyal disciple--an awkward and toothless hippy wannabe saxophone player, and then their recently added bass guitarist--a sweaty and overenthusiastic fan of the two. I order a Myers rum and coke, and wait for the rest of the minstrels to arrive. Or a jester. That'd be sweet.

They do not arrive. The 'band' begins to play. Much to my disappointment, this is not a joke.

Aging hippy has a surprisingly good voice, and is no slouch on the guitar. My face is already warm. The girl sitting across from me is now drop-dead sexy. I am like a kindergartner after two helpings of communion--a pitiful drunk. Awkward disciple hippy stumbles through the first chapter in "10 Easy Saxophone Lessons". Bass guitarist is still sweaty.

Local Anti-Hero skating, trouser-snake waving, loud-mouth hellion 'Jiro' arrives, sheepishly apologizes for already being drunk, then loudly orders a beer. The sausage party has a new king. Hippy band appears mildly deterred by the upstage, but continues to play anyway.

I proudly finish my rumcoke, and order a gin and tonic. Jiro orders his third beer, throws the horns, and begins to scream "HEEEEAAAVY MEEEETAL", much to the delight of the crowd, but chagrin of the mild-mannered minstrels who are now fighting a losing battle for the bedpost rights of the four remaining females. The traveling circus announces the end of their "first set." I am annoyed at the discovery of sitting through another set.

Aging hippy strikes up conversation. Eyeing the girl across from me, he requests a manual for hitting on Japanese girls. I recall him seeking "groupies, not girlfriends" unquote. Toothless disciple stands within earshot to take notes. My gintonic begins to sarcastically recite lines from "40 Year Old Virgin." Hippies are not amused. They leave to go find inspiration for their next set. Have a sneaking suspicion that 'inspiration' = 'weed.'

Despite taunting from the crowd to flash his nether parts, Jiro does not oblige, instead launching into a beer-soaked rendition of 'Werucahm tsu zah Jyangaru.' It is an appropriate compromise. I decide to name my firstborn after him.

Royal hotness is now talking to the local fixie shop owner. He is a pretty good guy. I surrender my empty glass at the bar and leave to go get an ice cream stick. Somewhere along the way, I stopped at my apartment and fell asleep.
Mercy kill, thank god.

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