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Wednesday, December 08, 2004

The Down Boys


I made mention of sending Warrant to Anancostia one night on a message board and someone asked if it was true. Of course it’s true, who would make up something stupid like that? Here’s the story;

Back in “the day” Warrant played up in Maryland at Merriweather Post Pavilion on a multi-band tour that included (pulled from the Warrant website..not my brain) Paul Stanley, Queensryche, Cinderella, Poison, Kingdom Come and “others”. I did not attend as even then I hated most of those bands, had little money or reliable transportation, had no “rock chicks” willing to drive my busted ass up there and besides that the next day I was moving to Hollywood to be a rock and roll superstar just like the idiots I was not going to see.

The moving to Hollywood misadventure deserves a book of it’s own for down right foolishness and heartache so I will not delve into it now other than to use it as reference as to why I was at the Bayou that night and how I was partying with and being an asshole to the guys in Warrant. My friend (R.I.P.) was a bouncer at the Bayou and had me come down with some Bros for a “send the moron to the West Coast where he is certain to find failure and starvation” party. It was cool, I felt really good about myself (surprising I know) and was wildly whacked up on a cocktail of pharmaceuticals and cheap liquor floating round my innards in a beer Jacuzzi.

There was a girl there who I was making painful and lusty efforts to get to know and getting nowhere at all but I had hope until these short little leather clad poofters sauntered into the “green room” area where I was drooling away and established themselves as the big cheeses. My hatred for them was massive as I had cheese envy and they were rich and all the girls wanted to give them oral. They were 60% of Warrant, the Down Boys, Dirty Stinking something or other assholes that had what I was about to go and get and my lord did I despise them for it. They on the other hand took very little notice of me and seemed to care less about my existence. Those bastards.

In my early years I worked very hard to be as much of an obnoxious twit as humanly and superhumanly possible, my superhuman powers being totally chemically driven. The Silver Surfer had the Power Cosmic, I had the Power Misanthrope and I wielded it mightily. If there was something petty yet amusing that required an iron will and no aversion to jail or physical danger I was pretty much up for it. With that attitude I got thrown out of lots of bars, chased by people that wanted to beat me up and banned for life from several of the more sense of humorless places in town like the Grog and Tankard and F.B.I. Headquarters.

Being that I was on the eve of burgeoning super-stardom myself I had no problem sauntering up to the Down Boys and integrating myself into their witless conversation. I don’t think they were used to people mocking them so it became an internal contest for me to come up with the most assholeish things possible to say without them realizing I was just being a dick and having me thrown out. It was my party after all (at least in MY opinion) so being evicted would have been in bad form.

I asked the bass player if he hurt himself knocking over a chair with his bass during a wicked and intense moment during the Uncle Tom’s cabin video. He said, “No dude, not at all”, to which I replied, “Are you sure….because that was some INTENSE rocking you were doing to that chair. I thought for sure you would have sprained something or another doing the moves that hard.” He looked confused and uni-browed and started talking to my woman who still wouldn’t acknowledge me.

I overheard a conversation about the Exorcist being filmed in D.C. and some dim-bulbed hair farmer kissing Warrant’s ass about how he could show them the Exorcist stairs. In a flash of inspiration I asked their tour manager if I could have a “moment” and told him that said hair farmer was a notorious troublemaker and the stairs were nowhere near where we were and the neighborhood could be kind of rough. “Just looking out for the guys!” was my line. So the tour manager tells the bouncer to boot the hair farmer, who got booted, and thanked me for watching out for the Bros and we were all Bros and damn if I didn’t hate them more and more with every passing second.

I drew a map of sorts with directions on a brown paper towel with a purloined pen and approached the receding Cheery Pie hair-lined guitarist with my cartographic masterpiece. He looked confused and balding so I explained:
Me - “Dude, that other guy was a total piece of shit but the Exorcist stairs ARE rad. If you can get
a ride just follow these directions and check them out.”
Him – “I don’t know what we’re doing”
Me – “Ask your tour dude, he’ll take you. You HAVE to go”
Him – (asks tour manager, much nodding and deep Broness)
Tour Guy – “Hey, ummm, this sounds cool and wer’e going to check it out but we’re heading right back to the hotel after and you know I don’t want you to be stranded…”

It was amazing! The tour guy was blowing me off totally getting me off the hook for the consequences of my dickness. Thank god those dudes were all such condescending assholes or this plan would have been much more difficult to execute.

Me – “Oh hey man, I gotta get going anyway. I’m moving to L.A. tomorrow!”
Tour Guy – (procures card) Awesome! Call me when you get there man, I can return your favor and show you around the Strip!!”
Me – (totally believing him) AWESOME!!!!”
Tour Guy – You sure these are good directions because I’m driving and I don’t know shit about this place.
Me – “Totally man, it’s easy as pie”

So off they went with my woman in tow, that trollop. They had well written directions to the stairs and were in good shape to get there. Not the Exorcist stairs of course but I assume there were stairs somewhere on the random street in Anancostia where I directed them.

I never saw them in person again, they were on a different social stratus than I was when I got to Hollywood and there were no green room parties for me on that side of the country. For all I know they went to Anacostia and got butt raped or they might have just been lying all along and gone back to their hotel to gang-bang my unrequited love. Who knows? Internally I roll with the thought of them rolling Griswald family style through the darkened streets and Tour Guy saying “ROLL EM’ UP!!!” That makes me happy and has for years.

I did call the Tour Guy once I got out to Hollywood. His number was out of service. No wonder I hated him so much that fucking liar.


3 Comments:

  • I'm greatly amused. So amused, that I can't make any witty remarks.

    So I'll just say:

    Fucking ha!

    By Blogger Phil Rossi, at 2:35 PM  

  • Next time I see you Steve, I'm gonna punch you in the nuts for my boys in Warrant. You killed the genre, motherfucker! Down boys fo life, yo!

    ChrisFMHg

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 4:29 PM  

  • Hey I'd be getting off easy. You believe that Kevin Duborow killed Cobain for the same reason, right?

    By Blogger Castor OiL, at 4:40 PM  

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