In which I may have to apologize
Said high-grade vodka and grapefruit juice, plus the lateness of the hour my band got onstage, led where they always do, which is: Lots of confused, joyful energy and a disturbing tendency on my part to refer to the audience members as �motherfuckers.� I mean it as a term of affection, I do, motherfuckers. See?
As in, �Motherfuckers, I need you up here by the stage, for this next song is about FIRE. That�s right, FIRE, motherfuckers, and I want to see you DANCE. I know you have asses, and I want to see you SHAKE THEM.� And shake, they did. And so did I, skipping merrily out over the monitors to ass-shake with the motherfuckers. Where were you? Why weren�t you there?
I am thinking that the band who invited us to play with them�three very congenial guys with lots of talent and polite handshakes�may not have totally 100% anticipated my level of �dedication, let�s just call it dedication to the cause of rock. And, I would like to add that the other three members of my band comported themselves with their usual decorum. When Sweetheart yelled �Motherfuckers, get on the dance floor!� on the mike, she did it with customary grace.
So, if I need to send out apologies to anyone, now�s your chance to alert me. I have a form letter that allows me to check off the appropriate infraction, so pick which applies, and I�ll get that right out to you:
- Yelling
- Inappropriate language/questions/subject matter
- Broken crockery/glassware/valued hunting trophy
- Disparagement of family photos
- Spilling
- Rambling/slurring
- Winking
- Unnatural curiosity
- Touching
- Assertions of your �gayness�
- Theft
- Lecturing on finer points of the Bob Newhart Show
- Rummaging
- One from column A, one from column B
Please submit all requests in writing, motherfuckers.
Star of the day. . .ME and my GREATNESS!