Night of the Bad Vibes

So I was out visiting this sweet pot of honey on Saturday night when trouble up and rang my damn number. I’m not the type to keep that old man waiting! I flipped that shit open and said, “’Sup, T?” But wait a minute, wait a minute- let’s not get ahead of ourselves, already. Here’s how it went down from Begin to Fin.

It all started at the She-Bees show I told you about the other day. Picture this: just as he began to think that he needed to leave the club immediately or die trying, Tay’s internet crush called him up to come to this place next door to the Springwater. Hmmm… why not just go to the Springwater? I mean, its RIGHT THERE. So that’s what Tay did. He went to the Springwater and saw the end of The Loaded Nuns’ set. I tell you what, if Tay could have seen ONE band that night that lies anywhere on the rock spectrum between the Seabees and the Nuns, he would have been happy. (Cloudwatch: The professor drank one Diet Coke and got a second to go.)

“But Tay,” you worry, “did you end up next door?” Of course, dudes. I just had to get some ’Water on me for protection before I walked into a room full of swank. You know, like how Jeremy Shockey rolls in dog shit before a game so nobody wants to grab him. I found my peep and met her friend Cory, who looked as out of place as I did, and we commenced to some sore-thumb partying, Larry J. Slimfast at Layl’a Rul-style.

At some point these people who were mad as hell at the world and twice as wasted came in and rolled over the vibe of the place like a tank wearing a gay dude’s shirt. You know how people like us drink for fun, but other people drink for like revenge or something? That’s them, and one of ’em thought that the lady I was there to see was his girlfriend. Dressed in jeans, a white shirt with a skinny tie, and what appeared to be some sort of New Wave leather sport coat, he had the look of a guy who had maybe just come from a Breakfast Club party. After eyeing me suspiciously while holding on to the girl’s arm like Bam-Bam, he said to me, “What’s up, I’m whoever,” which translates roughly to, “Who the fuck is this guy, anyway?” We shook, and I noticed a series of numbers on his hand, like a due date stamp from the library (he can not read). I said, “What’s that concentration camp shit you got there?” He lost interest.

Now, cut to fifteen minutes later. The bar was closing. I offered a ride to the girl I’d come to see, we turned to leave, and the library guy shoves Cory and goes, “Hey you skinhead anti-Semite motherfucker.” Man was this guy confused! I was the one who said that shit to him, and I was the one taking his girlfriend home! Cory shoved him back, people jumped in and broke it up, and we walked out to the car while the dude yelled, “He called me a Jew! Fuck that guy.” I still can’t figure out whether he was pissed for the honor of the Jewish people as a whole, or just horrified that he’d been mistaken for being Jewish himself. Regardless, I’ve self-imposed a restraint order. I am no longer allowed to leave the Springwater parking lot on foot. Now I've just gotta get this bitch off my blog and on my knob.