Letters: Vol. 2

Greetings.

Before I get into this month's "letters" segment, I have a couple of items to report that should bring you all up to speed. First, this summer is ridiculously busy. Between both bands, I am booked just about every weekend. Exhausting? Yes, but lucrative and fun as well. Because of that (and other reasons), I have decided to go on hiatus from performing wedding ceremonies. There may be exceptions, but for right now I have enough stress in my life without dealing with brides. In other news, I have a new job. I am now working as an undercover store detective for a local grocery store chain. Seriously. I walk around the store for eight hours a day and catch shoplifters. It's pretty rad - so far. The only bad thing about it is the scheduling - because I have to work evenings and some weekends, but other than that, it's great. I'll let you all know when I get in my first fight. I'm kind of anxiously awaiting that. I don't really want to fight anyone, but apparently it's unavoidable if you do this job for long enough. I am also making about $2.00 an hour more than I was while I was working my last temp job.

Ok, on to the letters:

Letter #1

Dear Mr. Asshole in the Green Shirt,

I don't know your name, but you should know who you are. You might not completely be aware of it yet, but you almost got the beat-down of your life tonight. You were an asshole from the moment you approached my band mates and I this evening, and you're really lucky that we were being paid very well - otherwise things might have been a little different.

In case you don't remember, let me set the scene. My band was performing for you and your snobby-ass friends at the most exclusive country club in town tonight. I'm sure you'd had a few, but in your case, I think you'd still have been an asshole either way. As I said, you were rude from the beginning of the evening on. Now, I would have assumed that someone with enough means to be a member of your country club would have a little better manners than you displayed, but it seems I would have been wrong, so let me give you a little bit of advice to help you out, should a situation like tonight ever present itself to you again.

#1: Don't go up to a band and tell them that you could play with them. The people to whom you are speaking are professional musicians. They are being paid to provide entertainment for the event you are attending, and chances are (especially at a country club) they have to be pretty good to have been hired for the gig. The point is, they have their act down, and they don't need you, so turn your attention back to whatever it is that you're good at (besides being an asshole)

#2: Don't flirt with the band-member's wives. However cool you think your money makes you, it's a good bet that the guys in the band are still at least 50% cooler than you. Not to mention the fact that musicians are often unpredictable, and flirting with their wives is a good way to get yourself knocked right-the-fuck-out.

#3: Don't touch the band's gear. See the reasoning behind #2.

Ok, so #3 was really the straw that broke the camel's back tonight. Seriously. On what plane of existence did you think that I was going to be ok with you grabbing my spare guitar and acting like you were playing along with us?!? If you would have been in any bar that we normally play in, I would have seriously beat the shit out of you, and actually, I would have beat the shit out of you tonight if my wife hadn't come and grabbed the guitar from you and led you off stage. The guitar you were holding has a replacement value of roughly $1400.00 Now, that might be chump-change for you, but I guarantee that I worked harder to get the money for that guitar than you have worked in the last 20 years. To me, that makes it worth more than your health, or your ability to eat through anything other than a straw for the rest of your life.

Or, let me try explaining it another way. You probably have several cars. Let's say one of them is a Mercedes Benz, or maybe a sports-car to compensate for your malfunctioning dick - like maybe, I don't know, a Viper, or something. For the sake of argument, let's just say it's a Viper. Now, how would you react if, while you were washing your Mercedes Benz one day, I walked up and took the keys to your Viper and took it out for a spin? You'd probably sue me and prosecute me to the fullest extent of the law, right? (Of course that would be your reaction - there's no way you could take me in a fight). Well, when you touched my guitar, you put me in that same frame of mind, and I don't have the money to sue, so I probably would have reacted violently had my wife not stepped in. Lucky you.

The bottom line is, your behavior tonight was just plain rude, and I have absolutely no tolerance for unnecessary rudeness. You and a lot of your friends acted with an air of arrogance and rudeness that I've not seen in quite some time tonight. You acted with a sense of superiority and entitlement that was completely unjustified, and I have absolutely no respect for you.

Also, tell your friends that they are just about as deplorable as you are. You can tell the lady that kept requesting the "Amy" song - you know, the one who came up to me at the bar and told me that her friend really wanted to hear it, and after I told her that we didn't know it, told me that maybe I should go talk to her friend and find out what her second choice should be - you can tell her that she's cordially invited to go fuck herself and have her friend run the camera. I am not her fucking caddy. The next time her friend wants to hear a song, maybe her friend should go talk to the band.

Wow. I could probably sit here all night pointing out examples of rudeness that I saw tonight, but, to be honest, I don't really think it would do me much good. I don't hold out any hope for your kind, so I won't bother to say any more - except a heart felt "Fuck You"

Sincerely,

The Reverend Humpy.


Letter #2

Dear Potential Patrons of Any Venue My Band Will Be Playing,

Don't fuck with our equipment. We've had about enough of people fucking with our stuff, and we (especially the bass-player and myself - you know, the ones with the muscle?) are just about ready to start getting nasty about it.

Please believe me. I am as serious as a heart attack about this. DO NOT TOUCH OR EVEN APPEAR AS THOUGH YOU ARE GOING TO TOUCH OUR EQUIPMENT. EVER. It's a good way to get thrown a beating.

Thank you,

The Reverend.

Ok, that's all I have for now. Until next time...

I am the Reverend Humpy and I have approved these letters for publication.