A victorious return to Metz!
On our last visit we had conquered this town!
Flashback: Getting drunk on beer laced with pico (sp?), trashing rental drum kit, being ignored at a tapas restaurant while wearing horrendous make up, prancing in a pink nightie through a fortress, climbing over guardrails protecting decent people from a 50-foot drop into a shallow river, dropping camera, losing all pictures from Metz, getting a pretty girl's name, losing her name, aggressive offers of homosexual oral sex, stagediving onto the windshield of the van, and doner kebab.
This time we were just as conquerous, and every bit as victorious!
We parked the van next to the fortress and just left it there. Who cares, right, man? When you're The Bitter Tears, you live like there's no tomorrow, or if there is tomorrow, you might pay 30 Euros. Check out these awesome pictures I fucken took, man:
Yeah, we laid waste to this town!
The rest of the bands in all of Europe were too intimidated to play with us, so we played alone.
During soundcheck all these adult women were checking us out. We made sure to play our best soundcheck ever. We were the hottest shit. Afterward, we couldn't even eat any dinner without being hounded by Metz'z adultest women. They wanted to know everything about us: our band name, our city of origin, our city of origin, our band name. Everything.
Our set made grown men dance and adult women cry from their vaginas. It was almost too good. But in France, nothing is too good, so we were averagely amazing. We left a permanent stain called "awesome" on that stage. Metz, we rule!
Speaking of stains, every adult woman in France or Metz could not keep their hands off of us. They deserted their dates, many of whom had taken drunken spills on the sidewalk and were left to tend to their own bleeding noses. At the bar, a completely adult woman put me in a seven minute headlock until I cried "Edith Piaf." A drooling derelict got behind my drum kit and played some confused jazz, until Reid and I rescued him with mind blowing keyboard accompaniment. Everyone I know described it as "genius" in French. Some kooks, clearly inspired by our brilliant impromptu, pounded out broken Lennon and Dylan ballads on an upright piano. They got a record deal right then and there. We kissed every French woman ever, marking them eternally with our stage-white-caked brilliant faces.
Metz, you love us so much that we love you!
See you in the morning, man.
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