March 28, 2008
Tour Blog: Madison — The Dane County Skeleton Rollers
“Another protest?” I growled.
“‘Fraid so,” Lacey sighed. She’d just come back from the Alliance Health Co-Op, where we were scheduled to play. She explained that the place was crawling with feminist protesters who disagreed with the way women are allegedly objectified in my songs.
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with objectification,” I said. “All I’m doing is putting women on a pedestal—making them feel special—and then masturbating as I gaze up at their beauty. Why is that wrong?”
“Feminists don’t want to be special,” Lacey said. “They want to be equal.”
“To men?” I laughed.
Lacey rolled her eyes. “That’s kinda the point. Anyway, thanks to the university, there are so many of them that we’ll never get past them.”
Mikey poked his head around the corner. “What if we have help?” he asked.
“What are you talking about, Mikey?” I asked, suspecting he’d read the post from last week when I said he sucked and threatened to fire him. Ever since we rolled into Madison a few days ago, he’s been really nice and respectful, trying to illustrate how helpful, friendly, and useful he is.
“I know some people,” Mikey said. “I’ll make some calls.”
It took about 20 minutes, but he finally got ahold of Grease Keller, who headed the notorious Dane County Skeleton Roller gang out of Waunakee. He sounded thrilled to take down a large group of feminists and agreed to bring his gang down. “Give us an hour,” he told Mikey, “and you’ll be good to go.”
We waited two hours for good measure, then drove down to Alliance…
…where Grease Keller stood, on the front steps, sneering. He had his arm around a short girl who even managed to stay cute with thick glasses and an outfit that looked like the curtains my mom had when I was a kid (note: I was a kid in the ’70s). The throng of protesters still blocked the entrance, only now many of them had biker beaux.
“What the fuck, Mikey?!” I yelled.
“Hey, man, I didn’t know this was gonna happen!” Mikey yelled back.
“Well, it did.” I couldn’t think of a better comeback.
“Let me go and talk to them,” Margo said, and before I could tell her not to, she was gone. Women do such stupid things when they get emotional.
She said, “Listen, you cocksuckers! We’re here to play a show tonight. You don’t have to like it, but there’s a little something called free speech that most of you hippie chickenshit jackasses want to preserve unless someone’s freely saying something you don’t like.”
“Look, bitch,” Grease said. “Me and my new old lady, Laura, think your band is full of shit.”
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” Margo said, “but I’m going to read to you a poem Girth wrote for me on my last birthday. I think it will show that when he’s not playing to the crowd, he’s a caring, sensitive man—all of this is just a stage persona.”
She withdrew a birthday card from her cleavage, pulled it open, and cleared her throat.
Ooh, ooh, I love you so much.
Ooh, ooh, the feel of your touch.
I’ll never forget the night you stayed in my bed,
The way your glistening legs splayed and spread.
I know I have a problem now,
I wish I could get hard without
The aid of pills that come in blue and pink…
For some reason, everyone started laughing. “This isn’t funny!” Margo shrieked. “It’s a serious problem that he portrayed in a sensitive, loving way.”
Grease said, “Well, he’d pretty much have to considering his parts don’t work without help.”
“That’s it!” Margo exclaimed…
…and things got out of hand immediately. One leg shot out with lightning speed, somehow managing to topple the first in the Skeleton Rollers’ line of bikes. As the domino effect cause the others to collapses, as well, pandemonium reigned. It didn’t phase Margo, who yanked the chain from one of the motorcycles, twisted it around her fist, and used the long end like a whip.
We all waited in the van, watching in wonder and horror as she knocked the entire gang into unconsciousness, one by one. The feminists, in their quest for equality, didn’t back down from the fight at first, but they seemed to get a little nervous at the ease with which Margo crushed the Rollers.
When every single man and several of the protesters were unconscious, Margo returned to the van, breathing heavily.
“They won’t be a problem,” she said. “Let’s unload.”
We did, lugging our heavy equipment in six long trips. When we finally got inside for good, a young effeminate man approached and lisped, “Sorry, guys. We’re going to go ahead and cancel the show tonight due to lack of interest.”
“What?!” Lacey hollered.
“It costs us $500 to put on a show before payment,” the man explained. “We recoup that expense by selling advance tickets for $10 apiece. We’ve sold five.”
“Shit,” I sighed. I turned to Margo. “On the plus side, we can laugh at the protesters.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re the reason why nobody bought tickets,” Margo said.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Girth. Feminist chicks put out. They think it empowers them. If they’re protesting you guys, that means the dudes are going to pretend they’re not interested so they can continue getting granola-fed pussy.”
“Jeez,” I said. “I don’t remember college being that complicated.”
Carl clapped a hand on my shoulder. “It was, Girth. It was.”
Written by Girth McDürchstein on March 28, 2008 12:17 PM
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