I was playing bass in KISS.
Weird.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Driving Test, Spaghetti and Meatballs, and the First King of Spain
I was taking the written portion of my driver's exam, which was being administered in a basement bomb shelter. Oddly enough, the questions were as follows:
1) Who was the first King of Spain?
2) Where was the Popsicle invented?
3) How many drops are on Coney Island's "Cyclone"?
Clearly, I was upset because none of this was in the study guide - a point I brought up to the proctor.
"Don't worry," he told me as he slurped a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. "You'll kill it on the driving portion of the exam. Let's go do that!"
Excited, I followed him to the parking lot where he pointed me to the vehicle in which I was to complete the driving tasks... a Yellow Bus.
"Ah, fuck!" I yelled. "This is fucked! I don't even know how to pick up kids!"
Weird.
1) Who was the first King of Spain?
2) Where was the Popsicle invented?
3) How many drops are on Coney Island's "Cyclone"?
Clearly, I was upset because none of this was in the study guide - a point I brought up to the proctor.
"Don't worry," he told me as he slurped a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. "You'll kill it on the driving portion of the exam. Let's go do that!"
Excited, I followed him to the parking lot where he pointed me to the vehicle in which I was to complete the driving tasks... a Yellow Bus.
"Ah, fuck!" I yelled. "This is fucked! I don't even know how to pick up kids!"
Weird.
Friday, 12 March 2010
Friday, 5 March 2010
Adolf Hitler and a fake Italian accent
Adolf Hitler was giving me, my sister and her husband a tour of his house in the Hamptons.
He was wearing big designer sunglasses and was drinking iced tea out of a mason jar.
I was using a fake Italian accent so that Hitler wouldn't know my real identity, which --for some reason -- would spell certain doom.
Weird.
He was wearing big designer sunglasses and was drinking iced tea out of a mason jar.
I was using a fake Italian accent so that Hitler wouldn't know my real identity, which --for some reason -- would spell certain doom.
Weird.
Friday, 26 February 2010
The Brewcrew, Wolfmother and a fistfight
I was waiting in line to get into a Milwaukee Brewers game with my pal Louie when he starting arguing with a big jock-type guy over who was a better second baseman: The Dave Clark Five or Johnny from The Karate Kid.
Rather than try and talk sense into the two of them, I laid into the jock guy with a flying kick. He immediately went down and Louie and I began to pummel him with a series of punches and elbow drops.
We then tied him to a lamppost and followed up with a barrage of kicks to the face.
It was gruesome.
After the beat down, Louie and I went into the game and found our seats. We weren't seated for 2 minutes when my father came and grabbed me, "You're on in 1 minute!!" He yelled... "Let's go!!"
Having no idea what he was talking about I got up and followed him through a tunnel and onto a stage.
Next thing I knew, I was playing bass for the terrible band Wolfmother during the halftime performance (and yes, I'm well aware that there is no halftime in baseball).
We rocked through a few songs and the crowd was going nuts, which was weird considering the curtains never opened.
My dad peaked his head through the curtains to tell me that my vocals were bleeding... whatever the hell that means.
Weird.
Rather than try and talk sense into the two of them, I laid into the jock guy with a flying kick. He immediately went down and Louie and I began to pummel him with a series of punches and elbow drops.
We then tied him to a lamppost and followed up with a barrage of kicks to the face.
It was gruesome.
After the beat down, Louie and I went into the game and found our seats. We weren't seated for 2 minutes when my father came and grabbed me, "You're on in 1 minute!!" He yelled... "Let's go!!"
Having no idea what he was talking about I got up and followed him through a tunnel and onto a stage.
Next thing I knew, I was playing bass for the terrible band Wolfmother during the halftime performance (and yes, I'm well aware that there is no halftime in baseball).
We rocked through a few songs and the crowd was going nuts, which was weird considering the curtains never opened.
My dad peaked his head through the curtains to tell me that my vocals were bleeding... whatever the hell that means.
Weird.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Nikki Sixx, BMX and a Wal Mart cashier
I was living with Nikki Sixx somewhere in Los Angeles and our only means of transportation were a couple of totally sweet and magged-out BMX bikes.
We were cruising the Strip... Nikki had a girl in a Wal Mart uniform on his handlebars and I had two brown bagged 40s in my shirt pockets.
"We should get some druuuuuuuuuuugs," Nikki said to me.
"Drugs," I said, "Nah, man we got all this beer."
"Yea, you're right. Now get the fuck off my handlebars," Nikki said as he slammed on the brakes, throwing the Wal Mart girl face first on to the pavement.
The sun had just begun to set.
Weird.
We were cruising the Strip... Nikki had a girl in a Wal Mart uniform on his handlebars and I had two brown bagged 40s in my shirt pockets.
"We should get some druuuuuuuuuuugs," Nikki said to me.
"Drugs," I said, "Nah, man we got all this beer."
"Yea, you're right. Now get the fuck off my handlebars," Nikki said as he slammed on the brakes, throwing the Wal Mart girl face first on to the pavement.
The sun had just begun to set.
Weird.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
