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My First Metal Show

8 Jun

Welcome back.

You ever heard of metal? Metal is what most cars are made out of. “Metal” is also a word I scream while playing Metal Gear Solid. But what I’m-a talkin’ about is a genre of music called “Metal” (pronounced METAAAAAL).

My friend/sometimes-roommate Lanny has a friend from some accounting classes that plays in a metal band(METAAAL). His band was playing at a bar called “Andy’s.” My band was playing the next night at a place called “Kyle’s.” It’s just down the way from “Kitchen’s” and right next door to “Bathroom’s.”

Anyway, after adequately “pre-gaming” by listening to some really hard music of my own, we piled into Lanny’s Tahoe and off we went for a night of metal.

Oh, yea. Time to rock. We get to the venue and Derek is noticeably giddy. He gets giddy all over himself in the parking lot and we have to go home for a change of pants.

When we get to the club, I’m one of probably six individuals not wearing a black t-shirt. It’s a bizarre sea of sweat-tinged, 100% cotton blackness. I walk in and put my hands out in front of me like I can’t see.

“OH no, Lanny!” I say loudly. I look over at Lanny then close my eyes, miming with my hands extended. “I can’t see anything! There’s so much black in here! It’s so dark in this room! Haha, Derek! Look at all these t-shirts! So many blacks!” I feel the soft, leathery dampness of human skin colliding with my hands. The room gets noticeably quieter. I open my eyes, laughing to myself. I love it when I joke. I’ve run into an African American man sitting at the bar. When I see what I’ve done, .8 oz. of urine exits my body through my urethra.

“Oh, man. I’m really…sorry.”

“What did you mean, ‘It’s dark in here’?” He asks me. He looks upset.


“I said, what did you mean ‘It’s dark in here’? So many blacks, you said? What’re you sayin’?”

“I’m sorry. It’s too dark, I can’t hear you.” I make an “I dunno” face and walk past him, looking for the bathroom. When I get out of his line of sight I break into a slight run.

When I finally find the bathroom, it’s behind the stage, and I walk directly behind the drummer for the first band. I give the drummer a nice little tug on his underwear.

“WEDGIE!” I yell.

“FUCK YOU!” He yells.

I give him a dollar not to hit me after the show.

I continue into the restroom. The soap is held in a ketchup bottle, there is no toilet seat, and the door has been beat to hell. It looks like it’s just withstood an assault from a battering ram. I need to get one of those.

We get a spot up on the balcony. I’m a perfect throwing distance from the band, which, really, doesn’t mean that much coming from me, considering that with this arm, EVERYTHING is within throwing distance.

The singer for the first band, D****** (Name changed because I can’t remember it.), gets on stage and starts singing. Then, he stops singing. He talks to me in a deep, frightening,  gravelly voice. It sounded like what an angry alligator would talk like if he spoke English instead of Alligator.

THANK YOU ANDY'S! What a fucking nightmare.


I’m so scared. I drink whiskey to make the fear go away.

Things are now so much more badass. There’s this semi-attractive photographer girl talking to me. I may/may not have told her/allowed her to believe that I was in a metal band. At one point, she asks me about the club and I mention the open mics every Tuesday. She asked me to write down the day and time of the open mic on her napkin. It wasn’t until I write down “Tuesday at 8:00” that I realize she thinks I’m playing on Tuesday. This is okay with me. Lying doesn’t count when it’s at a metal show. When it’s at a metal show, it’s called “RIGHTEOUS OVERTURNING OF THE CORPORATE, ACCEPTED PRECEPTS OF THE GOD FEARING OVERLORDS.”

A few seconds after I “lie,” the young lady pushes me back two feet and takes a picture of me. I step forward to continue our conversation. When I do, she pushes me back and takes another picture. I grab her camera and politely ask her to delete the photos. I tell her it’s because of my Native American heritage (“Lie.”), that I can’t be photographed for fear of having a part of my soul stolen. In all actuality, it was for fear of the feds finding the photos and subsequently finding me then me subsequently finding myself in jail for a 2001 narcotics-related arrest warrant.

I tell her I’ll buy her a drink and then we both go downstairs. I throw a wall-ball into the distance and she chases it. Then Lanny, Derek, and I shake hands with the band, then each other, then leave.

It was a fantastic, metal time.

Look at this Video

8 Jun

By Wesley Alford

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