Writer. Warning: opinions. My lawyer advised a disclaimer, but didn't include any jokes to go with. Damned if I can think of any either.

New Orleans Pt 3

I pulled the big van onto the Tulane campus just in time to load in for the gig. We were playing at a fraternity christmas party which they had thoughtfully scheduled for November. I have no idea.

We unloaded all of our shit with the help of some of the frat boys and began to set it up. The place reeked of bleach. I remember the overpowering smell of bleach fondly from my college days, but it still was pretty bad. Fran opened a window. My eyes fell out of my head.

We checked the sound, went and ate a slice of pizza at a nearby pizza joint, and I found a local pub to do a shot of Jager at with Bald Mike. One good way to tell if you are in a college town is that the Jager shots come in test tubes. Okay, a college town or a strip club. At any rate, all was well when we got back, and people were starting to arrive, so we started playing.

Now, Fran always brings girls up and puts them on stage to dance while we are playing. The girls love this. I’m not one to be a naysayer about nubile college girls writing in front of me, but I can’t help but notice that their favorite part of it is to knock over and or step on gear that I am currently using. It’s like they get one look at my pedalboard full of expensive effects and just go hog wild stomping on them, effectively giving me the musical equivalent of tourette’s syndrome as the sounds leap from here to there. Sometimes there are so many of them around my gear that I can’t get to it, so I try to politely ask one of them to turn on or off the appropriate switch. This usually doesn’t work.

Almost at the end of the show this little girl appeared in the heaving throng of college aged girls at the front of the stage. She was wearing a shirt that left almost nothing to the imagination, and shaking her boobs around like they were on fire, so Fran dragged her up on stage. She went to Willie like a moth to a flame.

Young WIlliam
Willie grinned a big “HEE HEE BOOBIES” grin and kept playing, even though she was trying to take his shirt off. He did pretty well playing the bass anyway. Another girl walked up on stage and bent over to shake her ass at me. I thought it was a nice gesture, but as she was between me and my gear on the floor, it was somewhat cumbersome.

I tried to reach my leg around her to switch some of my floor effects off, but she fought me off with her ass. I guess she was up for some mid-show dry humping, but I was just trying to play some music. She eventually pouted at me and left. I guess I wasn’t very fun.

Eventually we finished playing, and I immediately crashed out on a couch and took a nap. Fran woke me up to load the van 15 minutes later. I had had a long day, now having been awake 24 hours and at the wheel for 7 of them and playing for 4. We loaded the van back up and went to go find a hotel.

6 thoughts on “New Orleans Pt 3”

  1. Nikita
     · 

    Ah, Willie IS a Muppet. Okay.

    Why would a frat smell like bleach? My only guess is that it covers up other, more undesireable and/or prosecuteable odors. Is that it?

  2. Jack
     · 

    Bleach, huh? The jizz juice must be destroyed!

  3. Marcus
     · 

    Gotta respect those dry-humpers! Yeah!

  4. Nikki
     · 

    “She eventually pouted at me and left. I guess I wasn’t very fun.”…haha…funny.gosh,I luv this.I must come back later.

  5. g
     · 

    i want to sock that kid in his mouth for some reason i don’t completely undestand.

  6. MissMoffett
     · 

    That picture, isn’t that the dude from O-Town?