by Joey Goebel
It’s fucked up, but I can’t complain. There’s a shitload of people here, and I don’t care what they look like because their cash all looks the same. I should start having all-ages shows, and I should probably even have that one band play here regularly.
I go backstage, and there they are. I almost crack up laughing at ’em ‘cause of their goofy outfits. They’re in these shiny glittery gold jumpsuits with tassels on the sleeves and pant legs. That’s actually pretty cool. It’s nice to see a band going all out for a change.
“Whuzup?” I say to the hot chick.
“Hey,” she says and smiles. She wants me.
“You guys go on in ten minutes. Do you need anything? A Heineken or something?”
“No thanks,” she says.
“Cool. We have a kick-ass crowd out there tonight. Probably the biggest I’ve seen since Stranger Danger came to town.”
“We oughtta have a big crowd out there,” says the old lady. “Luster and Ray have been promotin it like a son of a bitch this past week. They flyered the fuck out of this show.”
“Cool,” I say, making sure my sleeves are rolled high enough for the hot chick to see my tattoos/muscles.
That prissy foreign dude peeks through the curtains.
“Ooh! Almond joy!” he yells. “He’s right. There are tons o’ people in the attendance. Hey! Joe is here!”
Must be his boyfriend.
“So you want to come to a party at my bachelor’s pad after the show?” I ask the chick.
“No. I’m sorry, but I hate parties.”
“That’s cool.” There went your next gig at my club, bitch.
Ray
Making my way through the crowd. So varying! What beautiful melting pots you can get in this country! Leather, denim, hair dye, pants, every sort of haircut all over everywhere. Teenage boys make me think of Aymon. Wish he was here. If success comes, Milkah will take me back. They will come back to me, to live to the best.
But all of the different types look at me funny because of my rock and roll costume. I “excuse me” all the way through them all until I get to Joe in the middle of teen people. He looks bored, smokes droopy cigarette, and wears John Deere cap.
“Joe!” I yell.
“What’s up?” he speaks, looking at my outfit. Smells like beer.
“I’m so glad you came here! I got you a present!” I had his present specially made. It is a T-shirt. A nice one! (Airbrushed.) He holds it up to read the front.
“‘I fought in the Gulf War, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.’ Ha. That’s pretty good. Course I also got a bullet in the hip, thanks to you! Still limp a little! Got sent home and couldn’t finish my duty as an American!”
How? Don’t know what to say. But then he starts laughing friendily, so so do I.
“Just kidding,” he says.
Brother
Shit. I see a bunch of familiar mothah fuckas up in here, you know whum sayin. Cuz I’ve fuckin sold weed to half the mothah fuckas in here, aight. And acid, shit, ecstasy, occasional meth, whatevah, know whum sayin. Wait ’til I tell ’em ’bout my crack, you know whum sayin. It’s all good. My little brothah wanted me to come to this shit, you know whum sayin. Fuckin told us all to come. We said, shit, we didn’t want any of that freaky shit, you know whum sayin. He fuckin told us off, said we was— what was it?— that Eve record, yeah, Eveolution. Said comin here was the least we could do cuz we was makin Eveolution go backwards or something, know whum sayin. Said we was, shit, fuckin turnin back into apes and shit right before his eyes like those mothah fuckas went from pigs to men in Animal Farm or some shit. Fuckin quotin books and shit we don’t know about. Sometimes I wanna bust a cap in his smart ass, you know whum sayin. His Reading Rainbow ass, you know whum sayin. We didn’t know what the fuck he was talkin ’bout, you know whum sayin, but we came cuz we figured we could find some customers here, and we was right.
Aurora
As I’m looking over the crowd through the curtains, I see that my father ended up coming to the show. He’s gradually coming to terms with his broken Jesus statue, and I think he no longer resents the band. I see him out there talking to Christy and Kristie. He probably recognizes them from the calendar.
I also happen to see an odd-looking boy standing alone off to the side. He looks uncomfortable here but kind of like he’d be uncomfortable regardless of his surroundings. He’s looking at the crowd like he either hates them or he’s afraid of them, or maybe even afraid for them. He’s not handsome in a traditional sense, and I could do without the dorky Bill Cosby sweater, but I want him horribly. I’m picturing him nervously approaching me after we play a perfect set, and he’d say something like, “I’m sorry, but y’all’s music is just so gorgeous that it hurts me to watch you play it,” or “I’ve been looking for someone like you for so long that I had already given up,” or “Please love me. It could be you and me versus everyone.”
Then, from behind me, I hear someone remark “Whuzup?” in a cool guy voice. It’s David. He’s wearing a visor and jeans with slits cut at the bottom so the pant legs can drape casually over his sandals.
“What are you doing back here?” I ask him.
“Just chillin. I’m here to forgive you. I’ve been trying to call you. I know you and that black dude stole my calendars. But hey, I guess I had it coming, you know whum sayin, and I can’t stay mad at you when you’re lookin so fine. So are we cool?”
“Sure. I gotta go do something.” I attempt to leave, but he keeps talking.
“Cool. Tell you what. Just to show you there are no hard feelings, I’ll let you hang out with me sometime.”
“Don’t do me any favors, David.”
“That’s cool. Man, lately, you are such a hotty. I gotta be honest, I’m sweatin you pretty hard. What are you doing after the show?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s hook up.”
“David, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. I don’t know why I ever was. You’re a typical male. You’re a dick. Please leave me alone.”
“That’s cool.”
I walk away. Even after what he did to me with the calendars, I still feel bad about talking to him like that. But with these horny, cocky guys and their one-track minds, sometimes you gotta get tough and s-p-e-l-l things out to get through to them. Even cool guys have to get their hearts broken sometimes. Don’t they?
Ex-Boyfriend
Nobody has ever done this to me. She cannot do this to me. Stupid bitch. She cannot treat me like that. I’m not some teenage boy you can just brush off. I’m a man, point blank. I’m twenty-three, I’m in my prime, I got girls all over my stick, I’ve backpacked across Europe, I got a cool job, a sweet Jeep, tight body, perfect hair, people love me, and you don’t talk to me like that. Stupid bitch. I’m gonna make her pay. She’s a hot piece of ass, but you know what? So am I. The bottom line is you don’t treat me like that, point blank…Ah cool, somebody’s got a sweet amp back here. It would kick ass as a car stereo speaker. Cool.
Opal
I see some prettyboy snooping around my amp, probably dreaming about what it would be like to have car speakers that size. I say, “That’s not a bass amp like you’d want, so just fuck off,” and he says “whatever” and does just that.
I peek through the curtains to take a look-see at the audience. It’s a damn good-sized crowd. For once in my eighty years living here, this town has surprised me. I see most everyone I know, except for my nieces and their kids. I see my group therapy cronies, and even Kip took the night off from the gay bar to come and see me. Lots of sweet prat out there, too.
Dammit. I wish I had been rockin out all along like this instead of working in a damn car part factory my whole life, slaving away making rims and hubcaps. But I reckon I can make up for it now. I’ll just rock extra hard.
I hope the show goes well tonight. Ah, what the hell—Dear Lord, please let it go well tonight at the show. Let them accept us and like us. And please let us get somewhere w
ith our music. We all need it. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you for so long or gone to church for ten years, but it’s just ’cause I didn’t want to be partying and having sex on a Saturday just to be acting all holy on Sunday. You know that’s what they all do, and I didn’t want to be like that. I’m sorry. And you know every time Mass was over and everyone was filing out, they wouldn’t let each other out of the pews and into the aisles. There were similar situations in the parking lot afterwards. It just got to the point where I hated being around those people, and then I got so old that I started doing whatever I wanted. Isn’t that sorta like you?
Come to think of it, could that explain things? I know you waited millions of years before you put us here. Were you just getting tired by that point, and that’s why we turned out like this, so used up and unoriginal? I don’t mean to blame you, and I should point out that you have made a few diamonds in the rough. Russell Crowe and Wesley Snipes immediately come to mind. And you did really well with my bandmates, too.
I hope we do you proud, because we really are on a kind of mission with this band, and I think it’s one that you’d approve of. Anyhow, I thank you for everything. It’s been rough, but here I am, so thanks for letting me be. Please, just don’t let me start driving slow like an old woman anytime soon, and please let things go well tonight.
God
Opal:
Thank you for submitting your query for “THINGS GOING WELL TONIGHT AT THE SHOW.” However, We are currently experiencing a heavy production schedule, and, unfortunately, your project does not meet Our needs at this time. Thanks for considering Us, and best of luck to you tonight and in the future.
Yours Truly,
God
P.S.—You’re right about Crowe and Snipes. They’re a couple of my faves, too!
Ember
I had another nightmare last night. Everybody was dying. It was no one I knew. Just tons of people without faces. Billions of them. All of them. Their faces were cut off. They were in piles. They were on fire.
I was safe, though, up really high somewhere. I was telling them to line up and then walk into the fire. They all did exactly what I told them to do.
I watched it all. I was crying tears made of blood. But the scary part was that they were happy tears.
“Are you okay, crazy baby?” asks Luster.
“Yeah.”
“You look a bit more saturnine than usual, little friend.”
“I’m okay.”
Luster crouches down to talk to me. He quiets his voice for me.
“What is wrong, rabid child? Talk.”
I can’t avoid him, but I don’t mind it.
“I’m scared.”
“What are you scared of, darling one?”
I can’t tell him about my nightmare. It’s too weird. Even for him. I don’t answer.
“Is it our show? Is that it?” he asks. My dream is bothering me, but he’s right. I’m afraid of the show, too. I nod.
“I am scared, too, baby. There would be something wrong with us if we were not scared. We do not want to play it all cool like a bunch of rappers or contestants on Elimidate or fratboys at a pool party, do we?”
“No. They’re in denial.”
Luster laughs. “That is right. You said it.” He suddenly frowns. “But, Ember, maybe we were wrong in having you rock out with us. Maybe you should be doing little kid things instead of playing with us.”
“No! Hell no, dumb-ass! I’m doing what I want! I love this band! Shuts the hell up, shit-head.” The other bandmates walk over when they hear me yelling. Luster doesn’t see that they stand behind him. He laughs again.
“There is the Ember venom I know and love.” He leans in closer to me and says, “I love this band, too, you know. Even if everyone botches my compositions out there, no matter what happens, I love you people. I guess we really should not be scared after all.”
“Ahhh,” our bandmates say. He hops up and faces them. “I was having a private conversation with Ember! And what is with that ‘Ahhh’ shit? This is not an episode of Full House. I am not a fucking Olsen twin. And if I meant for all of you to hear—”
Luster keeps yelling. Then they surround him. They hug him and tell him they love him, too.
He finally shuts up.
Therapist
A cute guy comes out on stage. I’m just crazy about his outfit! It’s so wild! Pleather pants, shiny shirt, and those piercings and tattoos! Actually, my little stepsister has a tattoo just like one he has! Crazy!
“What’s up, mothah fuckas?” he asks.
Oh. Everybody, even the little kids, is yelling “Woo!” so I join in.
“Woo!”
He continues: “How many of you feel like humans?”
Everyone “woos.”
“And how many of you feel like fucking animals?”
Everyone “woos,” even more than before.
“Later on tonight we got Assficksi8, Hyber Nation, and Spazm. But right now, we got the debut of a brand-new band. Put your hands together for the Anna Mollies!”
Hmm…I like that name. The crowd sort of gives them a hand, and the curtain opens. There’s Opal! I love the matching gold outfits. The spotlights are causing them to shine. Emilio sleeps in a similar outfit. I notice that quite a few of the people around me are laughing and making fun of them. (Their costumes and them as people.)
That black guy is crazy! He won’t stop moving. San Francisco. He keeps running back and forth across the stage with his hands in the air. He should be on Broadway! I can’t keep my eyes off of him, and it’s not because I’m totally gay! Meanwhile, I look at all of my patients, and they are staring in awe at Opal.
I guess if she’s not in a nursing home (which I’m convinced she needs to be after hearing her panty-sniffing story! Gross!) this is the next best place for her to be with all this craziness!
Cop
The first thing I see and hear when I come in is that crazy Johnson boy running around on stage. I said I’d keep an eye on him, and he’s making it easy for me.
“It is Anomalies! The Anomalies!” he screams into the microphone. “I see a lot of good-looking widows, orphans, introverts, extroverts, latchkey kids, amputees, and Jewish carpenters out there tonight! My name is Luster Johnson, and I am doing well! I am not going to ask you all how you are doing, because I am sure you would just reply by yelling, ‘Wooo!’”
A bunch of the audience yells “Woo!” anyway. Ha. I see his brothers are here, too. Must be looking for some customers, and I know about the crack.
“Humanoids, Huey Lewis, I have got news. Tonight we plan to rock you into oblivion! So blow out your candles, and make a death wish! Unzip the name brand epidermis! Let the razor blade sounds of my crazy trachea cut the cord on the back of your necks!”
Listen to all that. And he ain’t on drugs?
Punk
Man, if I’ve got something to say, I’ll just come out and say it. I just don’t care.
“Dude, your outfits are fucking gay!” I get a laugh from my buds. I rule. That black dude thinks he’s some kind of rock star or something, so fuck him and his friends. I don’t get this band. They don’t belong here, and they don’t belong together.
“Fuck you! I made these outfits!” yells the old lady. The crowd cheers for her. Whatever. Shouldn’t she be in a nursing home or something? I give her the middle finger. I don’t care if she is an old lady. I don’t give a fuck. My friends are lovin it. I’m the man.
The black dude looks right at me. “I cannot believe it!” he says. “A punk rock kid giving the middle finger? What next, asshole? Are you going to accuse us of being sell-outs?”
“Sell-outs!” I yell at him.
“Let me tell you, Punky Punkerson, you can make fun of our outfits until the fat ladies come home and the cow sings. Free is the man who does not mind looking stupid!” he says. “But you probably already knew that!”
Before I threaten to kick his ass, the sweet-ass drummer stands up and yell
s, “Come on, Luster! Let’s play a song!”
Some dude yells, “Show us your tits!” Another dude yells, “That drummer’s fucking hot!” Another dude yells, “So is the bass player!”
The bass player is, like, a little girl. After hearing that, she comes up to the edge of the stage and spits at the audience. That is pretty punk rock. So you know what? She’s all right.
Hippie
Duuude, maaaan. This black dude’s killing my buzz, man. He keeps, like, fucking with everybody. That’s so not cool, dude. This is all about meeting new people. It’s all about the music, man. Why won’t they play some tunes, man?
“I think there are a lot of guys here with small penises but firm handshakes!” See, there he goes again, man. That’s, like, not cool, man. I’m fucking high. “I have not seen a crowd this raucous since Sherman Hemsley’s Presidential Gala! Maybe you do not deserve our watch-a-macallit rock!”
Dude, man, dude, man, I don’t even give a fuck anymore. Phish. I go up to the front and I’m like, “Dude, man, play some tunes, dude. That’s not cool.”
“Oh, I am sorry. Am I killing your buzz? Well, this will really bring you back down. What you call a counter-culture, I call an excuse to get high and not bathe. In two years you will trade in your sandals for loafers, and I will be hiring you as my accountant.”
So not cool, man. How could the crowd be laughing at him, man? “Dude, man, were you dropped as a baby?!” I say to him. It’s all I could think of, man.
“Whoa! Hold on!” he says. “‘Were you dropped as a baby?’ That cut-down is older than poetry!”
Duuude, the crowd keeps laughing, man.
“What next? Is my mother a snowblower? Dost she wear combat boots?”
Man, fuck this crowd laughing, dude. That punk rock dude is next to me. He’s like, “Man, fuck that dude. He’s a crackhead. Don’t pay any attention to him,” and he pats me on the back, so I say, “Thanks, man. That’s cool.”
The punk rock guy and I are gonna smoke a bowl later. And that’s what it’s all about. Meeting new people and making new friends. And the music.