We have been saying it for weeks, but Under The Gun Review is evolving. After three years, we are finally in a position that allows us to expand our coverage, offering you not only more coverage, but more original content as well.
Our latest feature, Sex, Drugs, And Bubblegum Pop, is our most outlandish column to date. Written by Mr. Jayce, vocalist for Secret Secret Dino Club and all-round funny guy, this column isn’t as much about the music as it is the experiences people in the music industry have.
WARNING: This column does and will continue to contain content some readers may find offensive. If you don’t have a sense of humor, this column is probably not for you.
Bi-Curiosity Killed The Cat
“Love Is All You Need”- John, Paul and The Less Famous Guys
Let me set the stage for y’all. I was in Florida at a popular dive bar, often visited by girls who go wild. Most cocktails were made with Four and up to Eight Lokos (before the government put them in time out), and I don’t think one girl in the bar was 21. My band had just played a show to about 10 people including the other bands. I was drinking cotton candy vodka and Country Time brand lemonade mix in a Zaxby’s Fried Chicken cup on stage. This lead me to the “The Danger Zone”. I was too BrokeNcyde-crunk’d to attach the front of my road case to pack up so I threw it down the stairs.
The TNM (Tour Nudes Manager) had just showed me nude self-taken photos on his phone of the bartender I was looking at. I would say a solid “C” boob bag size. Although I vaguely remember there being some sort of tape on the dairy pumps, so they may have been art photos and not nudes. I don’t know who told girls that looking like a paper mache high school craft fair project on your jugs was hot, but I think I’d rather see a girl in a turtleneck than that Lady Gaga shit.
I was having trouble seeing less than two of everything so I went outside to gather myself, and more cotton candy vodka. When I got outside, I was met with the question “Hey dude, are you gay?”
I became curious and started questioning my whole penile being. I had not had kissed a girl in as long as I could remember, and I was wearing shorts shorter than any girl in the bar. At this point, my guitar player inconveniently came outside to alert me of a mass babe invasion at the bar. I shooed him off, arguing that I was trying to figure out if I even liked girls going wild.
Eventually my “friends” convinced me I probably wasn’t gay and to go into the bar to watch the girls at their wildest. I saw one sad babe not going wild by herself, who had clearly been stood up by a he-babe. I stumbled up to her and embarrassed myself in the fashion of Ashlee Simpson on SNL, just short of a terrible hokey pokey type dance.
“Hey, I’m sorry you are all by yourself, can I buy you a drink or something?” I murmured.
She replies “Absolutely not.”
At this moment, without a flinch I look her right in the eyes and say “Fuck…I’m wack.” and stare at the wall until we leave the bar about an hour later.
When we got back to the famous band “The Go-Go Radios” house, JP puked on my guitar player and everything he owned. I went to bed sure I was gay. My drummer got a handy from a girl who claimed she was a cheerleader, but I never saw the poms.
The jury is still out on my sexuality, but the phrase “Fuck…I’m wack” seems to stand pretty true. In retrospect, I wish I would have just been more confident who I was, rather than who I thought I should have been. I messed up y’all. I blew it with the Ginger/Marian of Babe Island after a 3 hour tour. But do babes/he-babes even matter when I’m surrounded by all my friends? Maybe love isn’t all ya need y’all.