crust show

I have to leave in fifteen minutes to go to work at the Marquee. I had big plans for how I was going spend those fifteen minutes (sitting in a chair, staring at my toe). Instead I’m going to tell you about my night out last night.

It was midnight, the weather was lousy, and I almost stayed home. But then I figured, what the hell, I’ve had a good long day of work so I might as well have some fun. So I went to the crust show at the Attic.

Check out this picture, it says as much as I could write in 15 minutes. That’s Gerry in the mask and coke-coat, and me on the other side of him. The singer for the crust band is using a wireless microphone. So instead of yelling “gay,” we yelled “Kylie.”

I don’t know if you can tell in the photo but he’s also wearing a Doom loincloth.

The music was crusty goodness. Mark was there too and he was dressed up as a retarded kid, with big nerd glasses and a hockey helmet on. He got in trouble for head-butting people in the pit with the helmet on. Gerry got warned numerous times about covering his face with the mask (I guess every day ain’t Halloween at the Liquor Dome). In fact, most of the night was spent barely hovering under the threat of dismissal from the premises.

Two dollar drinks. I was drinking double-gin-and-pineapple. Couldn’t believe how good they tasted. They tasted like candy, like a brand of LifeSaver. I drank a lot of them. I was buying drinks for anyone around. I got drunk and stood up front with my foot on the stage.

Crusties seem to be doing OK these days judging from all the digital cameras and handicams around the place. Makes me want to consider a change in career to the lucrative squeegee field. “What can I say, the gutter’s been good to me.”

But a Doom loincloth! What’s next, a purple banana?

After the show we went downstairs to dance with skanks. All these dumbass sailor guys were there being all predatorial. One of them called Gerry a “dipshit” on account of his little girl mask or something.

“Don’t ask don’t tell” we kept saying, by way of a taunt to the navy dudes.

This chubby cougar kept making eyes at me and one point she conspired to fall down on the dancefloor right in front of me. So I offered her my hand to help her up and she said, “Don’t laugh, don’t you dare laugh,” and I said “Ha. Ha ha.”

She reached out and tried to cover my mouth with her hand and I pulled it away and leaned over and said to her, “Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to be covering your mouth” and her face turned kind of white and she turned around and left the dancefloor with her friend, and I immediately told my friends about it, all proud of myself like “Guess what, I just said something totally creepy!”

Shit I gotta leave for work. So anyway we wound up at the Marquee and at 3:30am a big brawl broke out on the street after hiphop night, with bouncers restraining other bouncers from going after people on Portland Street and some guy with no shirt on running around with blood in his mouth after having had his teeth punched in to the back of his head, and Gerry wandered through the fray with the smiley-girl mask on just looking at different fights, making a surreal figure in the middle of all the violence. Then we went home.

6 thoughts on “crust show

  1. what a fun nite. In a very un-gerry-like twist, I was actually so drunk that I have forgotten minor details of the nite, though they are all coming back to me with time.

  2. Hey Phil.
    I took the pics.. with my digicam and I’m not a “crust” punk. I also have a job where a squeegy is not involved. Besides… crust punks wouldn’t have a digicam. They would have pawned it for PCP or mescaline or a few bottles of Colt45. Stereotyping is so much fun…

  3. fuckin crustie punks, they’re all just a bunch of cider-swillin, doom-listenin, loincloth-wearin, french-canadian junkie drunk-tank ex-presbyterian dog-walkers with measles bad teeth and the plague.

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