Blair and I found out about this show about an hour before it started. My decision to go to this event, which I would normally forfeit for a night of drinking in my underwear, was based on three factors. One, Blair offered to pay for me. Two, this was a good opportunity to pass out fliers for an upcoming all-ages Rich White Males* show. And three, was the inevitable plethora of hot young women who were sure to be in attendance. So Blair pops himself a pill that, although I don’t know exactly what it is, I’m sure its purpose is to alter your mind and body substantially. So with that, he hops in the driver’s seat and we’re off!
The first thing we do upon arrival is pick up Kristine, a sexy little firecracker who Blair spotted amongst a group of dirty kids with funny colored hair. Blair and Kristine already know each other and he has assured me I will like her, which I do. So Blair treats us to an eighteen pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and within minutes I was three deep and nursing my fourth. (At this point I remind myself not to do anything stupid tonight when I inevitably get shit faced.) The security that was swarming this teen center from hell asked us to leave, so we parked down the street. The fact that I was way more interested in my beer resulted in my missing the first three bands, although I did step in to witness Willie Psycho’s band banging out their brand of musical diarrhea, which caused me to retreat back to the comfort of the car and yet another Pabst.
On the way back to the car, I passed my ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, ugh... better make it two Pabst. Okay, so after the cops showed up at Blair’s car just after I abandoned it, and after I pissed on some guy’s house without realizing he was standing on the other side of the gate watching me like a perverted Wilson from Home Improvement, I was ready to stagger into the show and mingle with the kids. I began to pass out fliers and was pleased to see that Blair and Kristine had already done a bang up job because most everyone already had one. Now after a few paragraphs into this show review I’ll actually start to talk about the show!
Citizen Fish came on and began their set with a “Hey Ho, Lets Go!” chant, which got me a bit giddy as it always does. I’m only familiar with Citizen Fish through a few comps and an old Lookoout! records video. It’s basically ska with the lead singer of the U.K. Subhumans (Dick Lucas) singing. I would have gotten a bit more exposure to make a more detailed review but some asshole sprayed pepper spray all over the god damn place. Being so drunk, I thought I was having an allergic reaction to hair products and the horrible band
Leftover Crack took way too long to go on. Even the most dedicated kids who were dripping with saliva were getting bored. For Christ’s sake, this show had like eight bands on it, too! Honestly, I barely remember the band. Not because I was drunk but just because they weren’t very memorable. So, to keep up with the theme of the night, I left to go get more alcohol.
Now this is basically where the show ended for me as I departed from the entire venue for good third time. However, I did embark on one last endeavor that I will leave you with in closing. Now for those of you who are keeping track, at this point I am totally shit faced. And of course with not a public restroom in sight, I suddenly have to take a tremendous beer shit. It was one of those ones that was coming whether you like it or not, so I ran as fast as I could keeping my butt cheeks clenched to the nearest place that might have the proper facilities necessary for me to expel this monster.
I found what I hoped to be a potential relief station in a Mexican food place just off Second Street (I don’t remember the name of the place but I’m sure it ended in “erto“). So I walked (okay, staggered) into this dive (now, mind you I don’t mean dive in a bad way because everybody knows that when it comes to Mexican food in San Diego, the shittiest establishments make the finest foods. If your cashier speaks no English, you’re in for a genuine Mexican treat!) and asked, “Dondé está el baño?” Now my Spanish is bad enough normally so I can only imagine what my drunken slurs added to the butchering of the ancient Latin language. She says to me, “No bathroom. Sorry.” To which I reply, “Well, then do you have any napkins?”
There is a slight pause which would have been awkward had I not been so drunk. Because at this point I’m thinking it must be obvious to her what I plan to do. But, as she stares at me swaying back and forth, giving her the best honest John the car sales man grin I can give her, she appears to have a look on her face that seems to dismiss the thought she just had of what my possible actions could be. So she reluctantly hands me a generous wad of napkins. “Shhtanks“ I say and I walk out the door, butt cheeks sore from clenching. I quickly scurry around to the left side of the building just out of sight of the drive through window, tear my pants open almost ripping the buttons from my Levi’s 501’s, squat down, and do the best GG live impression I can muster. I enjoy the scenery of El Cajon and the sweet smell of the pine bushes in front as the shit slides easily out my asshole. No constipation or uncomfortable clogs to push through, just one of those nice and easy shits but still so huge that it feels like a doctor should be behind you shouting, “I can see the head!”
After my turd fell to the ground in the shape of a large soft serve ice cream swirl, I thoroughly scrubbed my asshole with the napkins I was given (which might as well have been shards of glass. Ouch!). I stuffed the shit-stained napkins into the bushes, buttoned my jeans, and was on my way into the night. Ahh, nothing beats the live band experience huh?!
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