Archive for March 12th, 2009

I Like Records 6

hitler

hitler

hibbler

hibbler

Al Hitler
Middle aged guy, he’s a regular, looks like a scrawny version of Johnny Ramone and usually asks for oldies. Today it was Vaughn Monroe and Al Hitler. “I’m looking for Unchained Melody by Al Hitler.” “Are you sure it’s Al Hitler? ‘cause there’s a guy named Al Hibbler who had a hit with Unchained Melody.” “No, no I’m sure it’s Hitler. That’s what the guy on the radio said.” “Yeah, but Al Hibbler did the same song that you say Al Hitler did, and there’s no listing for Hitler.” “I’m sure it’s Hitler, whenever they play that song I listen real slow and the D.J. always says Hitler.” “Look man, I don’t know any performer who calls themselves Hitler, you know the war and everything.” “mmmmm…I still think it’s Hitler.” “Well we’re fresh out of Hitler, sorry.” “well, you say a guy named Hibbler did it? Maybe that’ll be o.k.” aaauughh!

Notes From Das Boot 3

4/14/01 Hartford
Loaded in at 9am this morning, well more like 10am as we left late from Buffalo (the other white meat). Unfortunately the show isn’t until 9pm tonight. Today’s comedy routine is another radio station extravaganza, six bands (us, Buckcherry, Taproot, Asspearl, Skrape, and Douche) and some kind of a local business fair. Booths selling or hawking everything from cell phones and Marine recruitment to tattoos and piercings. I have no idea why we had to load in so early, the band doesn’t have to be here until 7:30 tonight. We’re left with a shit dressing room and no shower and shitty catering with really horrible coffee. On the plus side our new stereo is really loud and the hypnotic tones of Godspeed You Black Emperor is drowning out the proceedings, so it’s almost like I’m home if home was a giant empty room with shitty plumbing.
7 HOURS LATER
Yeesh, this is sucking big time. The place is rotten with knuckle draggers, ne’er do wells, and other assorted scum. Posse’s of drunken staggering mullets. The tattoo booth’s are crowded with ugly, stupid people getting bad, ugly tattoos. Backstage is no better, unknown opening bands parading around the catering area with ripe girlfriends who are wedged into tight clothing. The girlfriends are flirting with members of more well known bands trying to “trade-up” as their boyfriends swagger around cocky and oblivious. The tour is still shaky and a most of it hasn’t been sorted out yet. There’s a lot of tension between the crew and (tour mgr.) Tony or as he’s been nicknamed “Craven Morecox”. Ugh.

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