Home About Bibliography Contact Fiction Links News Ramblings
JWR 2.19 - Ozz Was Right
When my friend Ozz told me he had the worst time at the Creed concert last year I almost couldn’t believe it. I thought it was a great time--a couple small things aside. But the major reason was all the kids at the concert. And not seven-year-old kids, but the teenage kids. You know the ones, they all dress and act alike and simply stated, annoy the fucking shit out of you. I didn’t notice them that night, I was way into the music. (Well, I noticed the girls in front of us who had scribbled over their bare skin quirky things like “hottie” and “treasure” with an arrow pointing down to the cooze.)
Ozz now says that Creed sucks. I don’t quite agree. I think it sucks that so many fuck-asses LOVE Creed now. When I went to see them three years ago at Summerfest on the Lazer free stage, I had no idea who they were. There was one fucking guy who was in the back with us who kept yelling,”It’s fucking Creed! Fucking Creed! C’mon, all you motherfucker in the cheap seats, let me hear you bark like a fucking dog; it’s fucking CREED!” Yeah, he was two fisting it with the drinks. He was pretty funny. And very annoying. But it was a good show and I think we were probably some of the first people to hear “Arms Wide Open” well before they released it on their second album. That night transformed me into a Creed fan.
Ozz was probably one of the first people in Racine to get My Own Prison, Creed’s debut. So, when he says they suck, it makes one think.
It sucks that Creed’s popularity really took off only after the release of the weaker second album, Human Clay. I think it sucks that the radio only plays songs off the second album. All you hear is the pussified “Higher” and the homoerotic “Arms Wide Open” and the good but by far overplayed “What If?”
What about “Pity for a Dime” or “Little Sister”? Jesus Hopping Christ. I also think it sucks that when I wore my Creed shirt to Applebee's, one of those jerk-off managers who walks around and asks how your meal was ask me if I had gone to their show at Alpine. Then he asked me how it was and I gave him a brief answer. I used to wonder why I only wore solid colored shirts for so long, now I know. People think your shirt is an invitation to start up a fucking conversation with you. I want a shirt that says “Fuck the Whales.” Or a shirt that says “Your Mother was a Better Fuck.” The propensity for people to make themselves unwelcome in a hurry never ceased to amaze me. And I understand that there are probably a couple or a few (maybe) people out there that feel that way about me. Fuck ‘em. Just like me, they’re too big ‘a bunch of fucking douche bags to say anything.
And it also sucks, the people who only own Human Clay. That’s like watching The Empire Strikes Back and never having seen Star Wars. My friend S.P. has Human Clay and I keep telling him to get My Own Prison, but does he listen? Fuck no. No, he listens to the fucking Backstreet Boys, so what the fuck? Oh, it’s like reading the Goddamn New Testament but not the Old. Ha ha, fuck yeah!
Anyways, the idea of the annoying kids stayed in my mind for all this time until tonight when I went to Summerfest. I tell you, what the fuck is going on around here? How, HOW do all these snot nosed momma’s boys and fucking daddy’s girls get the beer? Nothing worse that a drunk person that can’t handle it. I fucking hate that.
But some other things first. Can someone please, for the love of God, please fucking explain to me why, oh why, fat girls wear skin tight shirts? That don’t look good. That don’t look good at all. At fucking all. There was this one tubby that was wearing a tight white shirt with little shoulder straps and it was short on her where it came down to above the belly button, or more accurately, the belly pit. The belly quarry? And she was sitting down and was hunched forward, slouching, so her spine was compressed downward as was her tub. It spilled out of the bottom of her shirt and just oozed. I had to grimace. Don’t nobody want to see that shit. You can’t tell me that fucking looks good or that anyone thinks it does. I mean, hey, fat is okay, fine, no problem, but there’s a line that should not be crossed. It’s known as the flab and rolls line and she trampled over the fucking thing.
Then, what’s with these fucking visors everywhere? Did I miss a meeting with the fucking visors? Let me clue you in, visors are not cool nor have the ever been nor will they ever be. It does not matter to me if you wear it backwards or upside down or backwards and upside-fucking-down, it is not cool. Nothing should be worn backwards. The Kris Kross phase is over, okay? No more pants backwards. And, for the love of the toad licking Jebus, let’s stop it with these adults and the backwards hats, as well. What are we, the catcher on a fucking little league team? Are we ten? No? Then spin that motherfucker around the proper way and PULL UP YOUR PANTS. Nobody wants to see your 8-ball Underoos. And burn that fucking visor before it gets turned sideways and is shoved directly up you candy ass, fucker. Anything that a golfer uses cannot be construed in any way, shape or form as cool. I know, cool is what you make it. Bullshit. Lose the upside down visor. What are you trying to do, collect water in it? Try wearing it properly and we’ll see how quickly you go back to the knit cap with “Snoogans” embroidered on it.
How hard is it to hold a cup of anything? Why is it these fucking kids, after they get the beer they’ve heard so fucking much about, go ahead and spill it? I personally saw three cups of beer get dropped or spilled tonight. One on me. Now I haven’t had a beer spilled on me since I was at a house party in Eau Claire. It was one of those, your friend is so drunk that he’s wet with beer so he figures you should be too so he actually purposely spills beer on you so you can be wet together and you, being such a good friend, waive the ass kicking he had coming to his drunk ass. But the problem with kids these days is they don’t value anything. Mommy and daddy and step-daddy fulfill all needs and expectations so getting a beer at a summer concert festival is no big thing so, big fucking deal if I spill it. The fifty mommy shelled out of her Chanel bag isn’t gone yet. I don’t know, maybe their fingers are too stubby to hold onto a plastic cup of beer with just one grubby paw. Or maybe they need a sippy-cup like they give to toddlers, you know, with the nozzle and three tiny holes to regulate the amount of liquid that comes out so baby doesn’t spill. Fucking kids.
Abercrombie shirts. Ralph fucking Lauren. Tommy goddamn Hilfiger.
And what’s with the cell phones? Bleedin’ Christ. Take all the phones people keep on the hip of their Gap khakis or in one of the pockets of their cargo pants from American Eagle and either don’t bring them to a concert or leave them put away. Why? Who am I to demand such a thing? You’re at a fucking rock concert. Jesus, the number of times I heard someone yell, “What?” into their fucking cute little phones was astro-fucking-nomical. People plugging one ear and jamming the cell phone into the other so the could say something unimportant to someone who had something else unimportant to say. I heard this one guy say, “I’m at Summerfest, are you here?” If I ever get a call from someone at a concert, I think that calls for a hang up. I know that almost all of you have cell phones, but fuck them cheap pieces of shit. I leave a message and you didn’t get it because you don’t know how to use your cell phone. I agree cell phones are fine in cases of emergencies, but what kind of milk to get is not an emergency. Put ‘em away and call me if the fucking Rapture comes. There’s some important fucking news. I’ll even let you call me from a concert with that shit.
I can’t wait for the Poison/Warrant concert. Why? How many kids do you think will be at a hair metal concert? Three? Maybe five little fucks who will run out screaming when the ugly bastard from Quiet Riot comes out. Aerosmith gives me pause especially because Fuel is opening up. It’ll be like Creed, I’ll bet. Journey will be a cake walk. Tesla, no problem. Tomorrow at Days of the New may be something. Mostly because it’s free. Tell them kids to watch the fuck out. It’ll get to the point where I’ll have to go see someone like Englebert Humperdink if I want to keep away from the kiddies.
“If I say fuck just two more times, that’s forty-six fucks in this fucked up rhyme.” - Limp Bizkit
Copyright © 2001 John Lemut