The Terry story...
It was a hot, sunny day one summer ago, when Seattle’s finest punk/metal band The Them were taking a break between sets at their Queen Anne rehearsal studio. It was about 4 pm and after practicing their intense live set, it was time for a smoke.
Joseph, Seth, Jimmy, and their former drummer Barry were meandering around, shooting the usual shit, when somebody spied an approaching figure. Oh, it’s only Terry; the ex-con, uber hippie maintenance guy that lives at the rehearsal studio. He’s walking in the direction opposite of one of the many Shell stations located in lower Queen Anne. Terry is carrying a large plastic sack. Beer most likely.It turns out to be Milwaukee’s Beast, known for being one of the cheapest beers around. Even more inexpensive than Pabst Blue Ribbon.
He stumbles as he approaches the group. Terry gazes upon the group with red, stupid eyes. It’s 4 in the afternoon. Jimmy: “He just sort of came over, joined our circle, and started a conversation with us. He had a real problem staying on topic. Seemed a little less lucid than usual. Terry claimed that he just came from a moving Vietnam War memorial or something, and somehow that got him on the subject of tattoos. His eyes were SO red. If they were any more red, he would be crying blood.
Then, he glanced around at some of the bands various tattoos.”He said: “You guys, you guys are really crazy. You know what, I’m fuckin’ crazy.” (We don’t doubt you Terry) (He peers around and acknowledges the bands various tattoos.) “You know if I was gonna get a tattoo…”At this point, everything happened so fast, its impossible to recall every minute detail. Terry puts down his sack of cheap beer, and puts his hands to his pants, and proceeds to very slowly pull them down. We all thought he must be going somewhere with this, and oh boy did he ever. Once his pants reached his ankles, Terry proceeded to ever so slowly pull down his tight white underwear. Once his sizeable beer gut is lifted, it gives way to a dirty, repugnant, circumcised member. A foul odor that is slightly reminiscent of cheese and onions, wafts up from his not so personal area. “If I was gonna get a tattoo, I’d get it RIGHT…THERE!!!” (He points as he says)
Hilarity ensues at this point, Seth is busting a gut laughing while trying to make distance between himself and the offending cock. Joseph is planted where he has been the whole time, and pointing no less. Jimmy on the other hand is apparently trying to melt into the wall to escape this madness, his face contorting in a combination of disgust and delight. Terry pulls up his pants at somewhere along the way and appears quite pleased with himself.
That is when the band decided enough was enough, and it was time to ditch this sausage fest (quite literally I’m afraid) and return to practice. Once inside the studio someone asked: “What the fuck just happened? Do you think he planned that?” Then we were comforted by the fact that this guy who just exposed his dirty, old hippie cock to us, has a key to every studio in the warehouse, including ours. That’s piece of mind for $400 a month.
Joseph, Seth, Jimmy, and their former drummer Barry were meandering around, shooting the usual shit, when somebody spied an approaching figure. Oh, it’s only Terry; the ex-con, uber hippie maintenance guy that lives at the rehearsal studio. He’s walking in the direction opposite of one of the many Shell stations located in lower Queen Anne. Terry is carrying a large plastic sack. Beer most likely.It turns out to be Milwaukee’s Beast, known for being one of the cheapest beers around. Even more inexpensive than Pabst Blue Ribbon.
He stumbles as he approaches the group. Terry gazes upon the group with red, stupid eyes. It’s 4 in the afternoon. Jimmy: “He just sort of came over, joined our circle, and started a conversation with us. He had a real problem staying on topic. Seemed a little less lucid than usual. Terry claimed that he just came from a moving Vietnam War memorial or something, and somehow that got him on the subject of tattoos. His eyes were SO red. If they were any more red, he would be crying blood.
Then, he glanced around at some of the bands various tattoos.”He said: “You guys, you guys are really crazy. You know what, I’m fuckin’ crazy.” (We don’t doubt you Terry) (He peers around and acknowledges the bands various tattoos.) “You know if I was gonna get a tattoo…”At this point, everything happened so fast, its impossible to recall every minute detail. Terry puts down his sack of cheap beer, and puts his hands to his pants, and proceeds to very slowly pull them down. We all thought he must be going somewhere with this, and oh boy did he ever. Once his pants reached his ankles, Terry proceeded to ever so slowly pull down his tight white underwear. Once his sizeable beer gut is lifted, it gives way to a dirty, repugnant, circumcised member. A foul odor that is slightly reminiscent of cheese and onions, wafts up from his not so personal area. “If I was gonna get a tattoo, I’d get it RIGHT…THERE!!!” (He points as he says)
Hilarity ensues at this point, Seth is busting a gut laughing while trying to make distance between himself and the offending cock. Joseph is planted where he has been the whole time, and pointing no less. Jimmy on the other hand is apparently trying to melt into the wall to escape this madness, his face contorting in a combination of disgust and delight. Terry pulls up his pants at somewhere along the way and appears quite pleased with himself.
That is when the band decided enough was enough, and it was time to ditch this sausage fest (quite literally I’m afraid) and return to practice. Once inside the studio someone asked: “What the fuck just happened? Do you think he planned that?” Then we were comforted by the fact that this guy who just exposed his dirty, old hippie cock to us, has a key to every studio in the warehouse, including ours. That’s piece of mind for $400 a month.
posted by Sethalicious at
2:24 PM
1 Comments:
LOL!
Post a Comment
<< Home