The Revolution Will Be Televised...but the media will call it a 'riot'Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome at 2005-11-14 12:07:41 EST
Rating: 1.82 on 41 ratings (41 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
You know, I am at an age where, like the tiny, sparse hairs on my chest, a little maturity is finally beginning to take root in my 28 year old life. (I'm a late bloomer. I also just learned how to ride a bike.)
So what is it mature people do anyway? Once you finally accept responsibility for your actions and stop dodging debt collectors, quitting jobs, and mooching off parents, what's left for you to look forward to? How do you make your life meaningful?
Easy...you go to a Slipknot show and slam dance with a bunch of goth kids almost half your age. Recapturing the glory of youth is almost easy when you've got a 15 year-old kid's head in a death grip. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Before any concert - especially one at which you are expecting to release a lot of pent up aggression because you hate your job, hate the world, hate people in general, there are too many steps leading to the tops of clock towers, and you feel there is a very good possibility of the whole thing ending in a vehicular bonfire in the parking lot – it is generally recommended to get as tanked as humanly possible before going in. That way, you don't have to get drunk on cheap beer that some asshole has cleverly turned into $4.75-per-glass beer because they've herded you straight into a beeropoly. Same goes for sporting events...
So after the requisite amount of alcohol, I headed to the concert, friends in tow. (Actually, I was in the back seat of their car...but I like to think they were in tow... I've just always aspired to be a tow truck driver. Ever since I was little and got my first Tonka Tow Truck.) Fuck it. It's MY story!
So after the requisite amount of alcohol, I got in my GMC tow truck with the dual smoke stack exhaust and massive front grill that looks like monster teeth, and pulled my friends in their big ass Chevy truck to the concert less than a block away.
We arrived, found our seats, and proceeded to terrorize the first goth kid we saw... Well, to be accurate: *I* found *my* seat and began to terrorize the first goth kid *I* saw cause *I* was pretty wasted and this whole business was funny as hell to me.
"YOU! KID!" I point ominously. "You didn't come to this concert alone did you?"
"Ummmmm....no?" The kid looks sheepish as hell. He probably wouldn't know what napalm was if it hit him in the face...or the feeling of being pinned down a good 20 clicks from anything civilized while Charlie picked you off one by one...or the 1000 yard stare you get after years of looking over your shoulder thinking one of the dirty gooks is going to leap out of the neighbor's perennials and chop off both your ears for souvenirs....
"Hello? Hello? Is he all right?"
"OF COURSE I'M ALL RIGHT, YOU YELLOW BASTARD! So how come you're sitting by yourself? Did your friends all leave you alone?"
"No. They're all down on the floor. I got this ticket to get down there, but it's already been marked and my hand hasn't. I'm afraid they'll throw me out if I try to go down there..." Poor kid. His voice is cracking and everything. I thought about offering him a Halls™ Mentholyptus...but I remembered I hated cough drops and never carried them.
"WHAT!?" I bursted.
At this point I feel an aside to the reader is in order. This kid's all dressed in black like he's the king of the night and shit – a regular prince of prepubescent darkness. His fingernails are painted black like he's meticulously hit each one with a hammer (always a manly look, by the way), and his face is so white he looks like the undead...and HE'S afraid. HA! But, then again, he does have on more mascara than Elizabeth Taylor, which pretty much explains everything. Being as I'm a good natured kinda fella, I decide to help the poor creature of the night out.
"Oh. Hey, look...I'm in a good mood, so I'm gonna do you a favor."
The kids' eyes perk up.
"I'll trade you your marked ticket for my unmarked floor ticket."
"You'd do that?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"But...but...why?" The kid's mind must have flashed to all those times the jocks had lured him into the bathroom on the pretense of sharing a smoke, only to ambush him and give him wedgies.
I stared blankly at him, frankly a little insulted that my random act of kindness was being met with suspicion. My eyes widened. "BECAUSE THIS IS A GODDAMNED ROCK SHOW, SON! BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO AT ROCK SHOWS....HELP EACH OTHER OUT! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, BOY! IS THIS OR IS THIS NOT A FUCKING SLIPKNOT SHOW???"
"OK THEN! DON'T FUCKIN' QUESTION ME THEN! WHAT YOU'RE GONNA DO IS TRADE ME TICKETS, GET YOUR HAPPY ASS DOWN ON THAT FLOOR WITH YOUR FRIENDS AND HAVE A KICKASS FUCKIN' TIME! GOT IT?"
"And if you don't...." I put on my best Oscar performance for this part. It was brilliant. The eyes went crazy, like some deranged Vietnam vet who had rented a fishing vessel for the week just so he could 'chase the demon fish down like the dog he was'... "If you don't...I'll KILL you."
Poor kid. His eyes were wider than rims on a pimped out Cadillac. In retrospect, I probably should have let on that I was just fucking with him, but the moment was too pure – too perfect – to destroy with the truth, so I just let him go. I watched as he stumbled down the stairs, got his hand marked, and went to find his friends. I made sure to see where he was sitting in case I wanted to go over and fuck with him again later, or I saw him having a bad time. He took a look back to where I was sitting... I waved and smiled.
After that, my friends and I decided to go down on the floor ourselves. This was a fucking rock show, after all, not some fucking school play!
You wouldn't have fucking known it though. It was right before the opening band was about to come on. The house lights were still up, but we were all getting into a 'lights out' mood. You know...restless. There was this chick on some guy's shoulders standing right in front of me. We were all encouraging her to show us the goods...you know...like you do. And she did. And she got thrown out by the POLICE that were PATROLING THE FUCKING FLOOR OF A GODDAMN ROCK CONCERT!
WHEN IN FUCK'S NAME DID THE POLICE FIND ROCK SHOWS AND TITTIES SUCH A FUCKING PRIORITY!?!?! DON'T THEY HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN TRY AND PREVENT ANOTHER JANET JACKSON!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS BACKWOODS, CONSERVATIVE MENTALITY THAT THEY THINK THEY'VE GOTTA INFRINGE UPON OUR TERRITORY AND IMPOSE THEIR VALUES UPON OUR CULTURE LIKE A GODDAMN NAZI REGIME!?!?! AND WHY DOES EVERYBODY JUST STAND AROUND WATCHING THIS LIKE IT'S NORMAL...NOT SAYING A FUCKING WORD....LIKE A BUNCH OF GODDAMN SHEEP?!?!?!
So, after screaming all this at the top of my lungs to the stunned, slack-jawed, but understanding crowd around me, we all joined together in a rousing chorus of "FUCK YOU PIGS!!!! FUCK YOU PIGS!!!" as the young lady was carried out of the arena.
It was beautiful. I love inciting riots. I think I was born for it. It's in my blood. Something crawls under my skin and screams at me to lash out against the tyranny of Bible-toting titty haters. These weren't police. They weren't there to 'protect and serve'. They weren't there to 'uphold the law'. They were there to make sure that the moral majority had a visible presence in the room. They were there to ensure that the young generation didn't get any 'crazy ideas' from this 'crazy rock band'.
Little do they know...the fire has already been lit - it just needs a little bellowing. Just a little encouragement could send the whole thing toppling down like a headlong domino. Just a little breeze would send the small wildfire into a raging inferno. To me, teetering somewhere in the middle of all this potential chaos just feels like home.
Next to me, some middle-aged man – an old school rocker – who'd brought his son to the show seemed to understand my sentiment, but had some words of what he perceived as wisdom...
"You can't change the world over night." He said this like a man who has learned a difficult lesson – like one who has 'been there' and most certainly 'done that'. But if he'd 'done that', he obviously didn't do something right. His generation had managed to fuck things up royally by being complacent and not screaming out against the bullshit.
"Sure you can," I said. "That's the whole point. The world CAN change overnight, only everybody has so much goddamn inertia in their lives. Everybody wants the world to change, and nobody want to have to change themselves. We're sitting here with the numbers to take over, but we don't because we're lazy. We're relinquishing our rights one by one and we don't care. What little 'culture' we've developed in the midst of this shit is stamped out by their commercialism and their 'rules'."
What the world needs are a few more mosh pits. What the world needs are a few more burned out vehicles. What the world needs now is an antichrist.
Someone has to bellow this wildfire. Someone has to realize the potential energy contained within these thousands of displaced souls. Someone has to be able to find a voice in the wavering nihilism of a generation raised to stare at pixilated screens, consume prefabricated food, and adopt cookie-cutter lifestyles based on the latest edition of Forbes, FHM, Cosmopolitan, and Rolling Stone.
Is it all just preparation for something far greater?
If so...I'm ready.
you say you want a revolution well get off your ass then.jpg