A collection of spontaneous remarks I deem to be 'metal.' If you do not understand, you may have found this blog by accident. I suggest you make a right at the previous internet page you were viewing, and continue your browsing experience in a safe, non-metal environment.
Note: the following is based on actual events. Only the names, places, and events have been changed.
Saturday night, three friends of mine went to a shitcore show at The Opera House. Terrible, I know. I don't want to name names, so let's just call these guys "Jason", "Samantha", and "Advait". I hadn't seen Jason in a while cause he moved last summer, so I got my friend Saad and we headed down to see him and meet his girlfriend Samantha.
Now, initially I was under the impression that these three were metal, but I guess I was mistaken. While in line, I proceeded to rip on everybody who walked by and everybody else in line. One guy was wearing a Bodom shirt, and I let him know that he was very likely the (second) manliest person there, despite looking as though his balls had yet to drop. Another dude was wearing a Nile shirt and warned him to prepare to be disappointed. Poor kids, they must have been lost.
The two most notable bands on the bill were Shitchapel and some other band that got its name from Brokeback Mountain. I'd like to say that they both arrived in their moms' minivans, but the truth is Shitchapel's moms wouldn't let them use their vans, prompting the band members to whiningly yell to their mothers that they "just don't understand death metal", subsequently leading the mothers to collectively laugh in a hysterical fashion, followed by them drowning their disappointments with their sons in their favorite spirits. So the band carpooled with the gay cowboys who, it seemed, had more luck.
Anyway, two hours in line, and aside from several would-be threatening looks through feathered, skunk-dyed, bleached, or black-as-night-with-blond-roots-showing hairstyles with stupidly long fringes, no one had mustered up the testicular fortitude to say a word to me. Did they seriously not care about their beloved shitcore bands? Seriously, if you pulled the kind of shit I pulled here at a Slayer show, you would be drawn and quartered. It would be brutal. But nope; not at these types of shows, apparently.
Even the band members look like fags. The bassist from Jake Gyllenhaal's band has two giant holes in his ears, so that he can accomodate the rest of the guys in the bedroom --should both his mouth and his ass be taken-- or, failing that, their moms' minivans. Not to mention he's a ginger. And the bassist from Shitchapel looks like fucking Shaycarl from YouTube. No joke; I fucking thought it was him! ...Insulting as that may be to Shay, whose smoking hot wife and two kids assure me he won't be taking it up the ass from anybody anytime soon.
So finally, the doors opened. We were shuffling in and I was trying to educate the guys on how to look like idiots in the mosh pit (read: hardcore dance), but I was failing miserably so I told them, with a sweeping gesture towards the group of scene kids who stood just behind us in line, to "just ask these kids; they'll show you." Cue more dirty looks.
One of the girls in the group looked like she had an accident with a nail gun at the Home Depot, and seemed as though she was about to cry, when I performed my coup de grâce; I asked aloud to no one in particular why the fuck I was even standing in line for such a concert, pulled out my ticket, set it on fire and left it to burn on the floor as Saad and I walked away to the roaring sounds of laughter from the guys amidst the distraught sobbing of everyone else.