Last Saturday I went to Kublai’s Katipunan for my band’s gig, all hyped up and ready to rock. But with one major problem: I had a splitting headache. You see, I haven’t been getting enough sleep as of late because I like to stay up late and download all sorts of porn. But yeah, let’s stay on topic: porn. No, wait. I meant sleep deprivation.
So it was pretty obvious I can’t really rock out if my head feels like it was going to be split in two because of the pain. I just wanted to just finish the set and go home (and wank off) because of the goddamn migraine. But yeah, I wanted to rock off, right? So I just had to find a cure. I mean, what’s the perfect cure?
And there’s no better way to get rid of a headache than beer.
Okay, so while I was nursing a headache, I had a few bottles of beer and let me just say that beer and headaches dont mix. The rest of the hour before the set was a blur, but I do have a faint memory where I was lying on the floor moaning and singing stuff like “You put the lime in the coconut, you drank ’em both up” or something coherent like that.
When it was time for us to play, my bandmates attempted to get me on my feet, but I was like “Dude.” and they were like “Dude.” so I went “Dude!” and they also went “Dude!” I got so baffled that I said “Dude.” and they told me “Fuck you!”. At this point I got pissed off I brought out my lightsaber and my sidekick hamster (who I named “Rodolfo” but sadly answers only to “Domingo”) and threatened them with bodily harm. And they said “DUDE!”
After which the drummer of the band sitting on the table next to ours promptly told us to shut up.
So the set was basically uneventful except for a couple of technical difficulties regarding the amplifiers. Also, I was so drunk I kept on interrupting the set by screaming “Bass solo!” and, well, making weird noises on my bass. Also, Rodolfo/Domingo the hamster pranced around the stage and chewed our drummer’s drumsticks off.
After the set I have a faint memory of a band playing ska and I vaguely remember having my face rocked off that I started rolling on the floor yet again. Also a heavy-metal band played, singing stuff like “I will eat your soul and sell it to Satan!”, but I honestly don’t have any recollections at this point because I passed out.
Also, no pictures/videos of the set this time, because I forgot my camera. Boo.
So, kids, when your Uncle Ade motions you to sit on his lap, strokes and smells your hair, starts rubbing his crotch, and says, “Alcohol is bad for you! Just ask Lancelot, your Uncle Ade’s Dancing/Singing/Dying liver!” you better believe him.
- Christmas Gift Ideas for Your Geeky Friend (Who May or May Not Be Named Ade)
- ‘The Beatles: Eight Days a Week – The Touring Years’ Review
- We’re Home: ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’ Review
- ‘Batman: Bad Blood’ Review: Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes
- A Christmas Gift List For That Geek Friend In Your Life (Who is Probably Named Ade)