Bandwidth

OPEN IN: Annie’s.

So in their infinite wisdom, the Bandwidth management decided to assign me a babysitter for jobs like this one.  Apparently my tendency to overindulge can be a liability.  That’s how Larry explained it anyway, over his second Red Bull and after giving me the unabridged version of his road to sobriety.  Then he hit me with a surprise jab.  ‘Just pills now, man,’ he said, and as if to punctuate his statement, produced a small bag of pills and shovelled a handful of them into his mouth.  I realised at this point that Larry is a nutbar.  ‘Want one?’ he asked.
‘What are they?’
‘No idea man.  I half-inched them from my mate’s house the other day.  He always has good gear though.’
‘I’ll pass.  I don’t want to find out the hard way that I just took dog laxative.  And I’ve never encountered a situation old Jack didn’t have a good hold of.’  As if to punctuate my own sentence, I finished off my whiskey.
‘How’d you know he a had a dog?’ he asked.
‘Never mind.’  I realised at this point that Larry isn’t the sharpest mind I have ever encountered.  He seemed to have a good heart though, and as long as he didn’t start whining about my drinking I wasn’t too bothered to have him around.

CUT TO: The Empire.

The place was starting to fill up, so as soon as I got through the door I nabbed a spot right at the stage and marked my territory with a shot and a brew.  I would find out later that this was a logistical error, as the bouncers insisted I didn’t set my drinks on the stage, and I was standing right in front of the ladies toilets, leaving me at the mercy of every beer-bloated babe on route to the loo.  Larry seemed more concerned with chasing skirt than drinking or rocking and I left him to his own devices, since every time he did a lap of the bar be brought me back a beer.  I’m guessing this is his first time working as a sponsor.

The support act was Voodoo Vegas.  Voodoo Vegas’s guitarist is a chick with epic tits.  Every guy in the room was immediately transfixed, including my new companion who, during the relative quiet between songs, shouted ‘I’ve got such a boner!’ right in my ear.  The group of older dolls standing next to us promptly shifted away, which was good.  They were fairly attractive but I was starting to feel crowded, and let’s face it, I had more chance of taking to the stage for a duet on November Rain than I did of scoring.
‘Yeah, she’s hot,’ I agreed, realising I was much too sober.  All I really should have been saying at that point was ‘Fuckin A!’  On the other hand, I was enjoying Voodoo Vegas, and I mean on more than a just visual level.  Support acts have a pretty hard deal.  No one is there to see them.  No one is drunk yet.  And no one’s rocking engines have started, let alone warmed up.  It’s a mark of a good support that by the end of their set, all that had changed.  They rocked.  They rocked much harder than is ever really expected of a support act, impressing me so much I bought their CD.  You should check them out.

While they were setting up for the main act I felt something prodding me in the back.  I shuddered at the thought that it might be Larry’s aforementioned boner.  I was pleasantly surprised, though, to find that it was just some poor schlub getting shoved out of the way by a manic group of toilet-bound women.  Then I got a text from Larry.  It said simply: ‘In toilets.  Please help.’  There is no circumstance under which getting that text, from a relative stranger, could be anything other than fucked.  I considered ignoring it.  I didn’t want my night to be ruined by some fucking hippy pill-head, but goddamnit I was worried about the poor bugger.  I went to the toilets.

I was barely through the door when he yanked me into the first stall.  ‘What the fuck man?’ I inquired, as politely as possible.
‘Look at this!’ he yelled, pointing at his crotch.  He looked like he had just robbed a fruit shop.  Luckily I was on the loose side of sober, and I saw the funny side.
‘Man, you weren’t joking about that boner.’
‘It’s not funny dude.  It won’t go down.  Those fucking pills!’  This cracked me up, which only panicked him further.  ‘This is serious man.  I’ve whacked off 3 times already, it’s starting to hurt.’
‘What the fuck?’ said a voice from outside the stall.
‘You gotta do something man,’ he pleaded.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I know just the thing.’

I headed to the bar, gave the cutest barmaid my nicest smile (which, admittedly, isn’t very nice.  Really it means I just stopped scowling for a couple of seconds).  ‘Four beers and four whiskies, please.’  I made a boilermaker of each one and took them to the toilets.  ‘Drink these,’ I told him, and had one myself.  He got through them quickly, and started complaining that it wasn’t working.  ‘You gotta give it time,’ I told him, ‘and don’t worry, when you see the hot pants Axl wears that thing will go away and never want to come back out.’  I dragged him back to our spot just in time to see the band taking the stage.  Deliberate whiskey dick… have you ever?

Hard as it is to believe, the UK Guns N’ Roses really do sound a lot like the real Guns N’ Roses.  And I’m not going to waste any time reviewing GNR, since I think their reputation is already pretty solid.  This is definitely a show worth catching.  They blister their way through all of the classics, with a few curve balls thrown in, and they really do look a lot like the original band too.  Right down to the lycra hot pants I warned Larry about.  And when I can enjoy a rock n roll show despite seeing a guy’s junk lolling around inside a pair of shorts so small they would qualify as underwear, I think it is testament to how good they are.  If you like Guns N’ Roses, you’ll like this show.  There is simply no debate about it.  Should you wish to heed my advice, they’ll be back at The Empire in June.

The show finished and the crowd dispersed, leaving only a few drunken stragglers who weren’t ready to give up on drunken dancing.  ‘We should pick up a couple of these dirty women,’ said Larry.
‘Did you ever read any of my articles man?’ I asked him.
‘Nope.’
‘Well if you had, you’d know pulling isn’t a strong point of mine.’  He wasn’t listening though.  He was already chatting to some dame who was giggly drunk and rock n roll horny.  I don’t know what the fuck he whispered in her ear, but the next thing I knew she was leading him out of the club.  He gave me a sly wink, popped a couple of those goddamn pills, and disappeared into the night with her.

I got myself another drink.

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