I Want to Take You to a Gay Bar

I went to see the Electric Six concert at the Double Door.

They're an awesome band,
awesome.

You might remember their big hit,
it was called "Gay Bar"

After the show,
my friends from
my old job,
called to invite
me to meet them out for drinks,
because it was one waiter's last night.

They were at Side Tracks,
a gay bar.

I went,
and let me tell you,
I think I might drink
at gay bars from now on.

The bartender had both his nipples pierced,
I could tell,
because he wasn't wearing a shirt.

Holy shit.

I bought two drinks,
he charged me for one and winked.

Cool.

Nice nipples, dude.

I hung out with girls,
and I think they thought
I was very sensitive for
meeting my friend out at a gay bar.

How charming,
how open minded,
how free from competition.

After Side Tracks,
it was time to go dancing,
at another gay bar.

Hydrate,
formerly known as the Man Hole.

Hole y shit.

This place was ridiculous,
I've never seen anything like it.

A late night,
after hours,
gay dance club,
with smoke machines,
and six disco balls all linked together.

Yeah..
I took my shirt off,
and danced in the cage,
you betcha.

I didn't pay for one drink,
but I did have my balls
gently grabbed twice.

Nothing rude,
just a "how do you do?"

Fine, thank you,
now if you don't mind,
I've got to get back to my cage and fucking dance.

I stayed close to my friends all night,
but that was okay,
no guy did anything totally inappropriate,
if you don't count the gently ball grabbing.

All in all,
it was a fun night,
weird,
but fun.

and today,
my butt hurts.

from dancing, dude,
don't get any ideas.

-p

Unemployed Homophobe

Dear Reader,

Holy shit.

I got fired last week.

From my job at the
Thai Restaurant that
has been with me for five years.

Through ups and downs,
ins and outs,
tours, girlfriends, and shows,
for rich and for poor,
better or for worse.

Apparently,
I pushed it too far,
bullshit,
but whatever.

I remember back in
college, while I was still
going to some classes,
a director told me,
after showing up late,
"you're not going to be
able to get away with this
your whole life, you know?"

I told her,
calmly,
dead to her face.

"yes, I think I am."

Not in a cocky,
I'm too good for the world,
kind of thinking,
but more in a,
life's too short for
this bullshit kind of thinking.

So, how did I get fired?

Well, I was on call,
on a Saturday night,
which means, if there's
lots or reservations,
and they need an extra waiter,
they call me in.

I put all my chips
on "not needed"
and took off for Minnesota
to play some shows.

That's what I do,
I'm not a waiter,
god damn it,
I'm a hack musician,
and that comes first.

Granted,
it was my fault that
I got my dates mixed up
and didn't request off,
but that's of no importance.

I called,
they said, "we need you"
I said, "oops, I'm in Minnesota, sorry"

Then I got fired.

Now, keep in mind,
I've gotten away with a lot
of shit over the years at that job.

Lateness, general insubordination,
and a complete philosophy of
doing things my own way.

But... to my credit,
I have never missed a shift,
never called in sick,
and I always brought
a positive attitude
to the place,
at least I tried.

This time,
I guess,
I went too far.

Another waitress called in sick,
and they were short staffed to begin with,
so.... my managers had to put on aprons.

Oops, I'm in Minnesota.

I called back on Tuesday,
I was on call that night too,
and driving back in a rush
to make it, just in case.

I asked, quite simply,
"did I get fired?"

I wasn't really expecting anything,
but they said yes.

It was a friendly exchange,
no hard feelings,
and it was the greatest
fucking thing that ever happened to me.

In my first five minutes of unemployment,
I bought two lottery tickets and a six pack of beer,
in Wisconsin, and took a break.

A fella could get used to this.

Since then,
I have done nothing but
work to finish my album,
and I shot a music video,
and I designed the artwork,
mastered the album, blah blah blah.

Thanks to you,
dear reader slash supporter,
I have been able to make enough
money from preorder sales,
not only to keep myself alive,
but to get the album printed,
and make it look all pretty.

So, here's to you,
from the bottom of my heart,
thank you for helping
me get this next one off the ground.

You know who you are,
and I really could not have
done it without you.

Now if you'll excuse me,
I should probably put on pants,
it's almost seven pm.

sucker.

-p

oh...
I forgot the homophobe part.
so...
this girl comes up to me
after a show in Minnesota,
and says, all snotty...
with her snotty little boyfriend
behind her in a silly girl's sweater.

"yeah... um... are you the singer?"

"why... yes... yes, I am."

"yeah... well... I didn't really appreciate
your casual gay bashing."

(cue- gay looking boyfriend behind
her nodding his head)

"I'm sorry... but what gay bashing
are you talking about?"

"you called that guy in there a
small penis faggot.. I didn't really
think that was funny."

"oh....
hmmm.. well,
that's okay"

"no..! it's NOT okay!"

"yes. it is, okay.
.....bye."

(cue gay looking boyfriend
shaking his head and walking
away)

First of all, you silly little bitch.
I called him a small penised "homo",
not faggot.

I don't use the word
faggot, unless its really really funny.
Like if I called you a faggot,
to your mean little face,
that would have been fucking hilarious.

But in this case,
I was doing what I
have learned to do over the years,
that is, get a giant idiot in the audience
to shut the fuck up.

the small penised homo in question
was blowing into one of those
"GO TEAM" horns, like a trumpet,
but made out of plastic with
no bendy parts or buttons.

He did it in the first line of one
of my songs...

fine.

No problem,
you've got a horn,
I need a horn section,
welcome to the show.

I will gladly make
any idiot a part of the show,
toss him a solo or two,
get him some good laughs
and introduce him to the whole crowd.

If its attention you want,
I am more than happy to share.

So invited homo pants into the show,
welcomed him, and politely asked
him to only blow his horn,
when it was awesome for everyone,
not in the middle of a joke.

So..
back to the song,
"sometimes you can't get your girlfriend to... BWAHHHHHHH"

oh, you fucking asshole.

I looked him over,
big, drunk, fratty looking,
with big drunk fratty looking friends.

How the hell can I shut this guy up?

What can I say to insult
a big jock douche bag
enough to embarrass him?
and most importantly,
show him I mean business?

I'm far enough away,
he can't punch me,
this could be cool.

I thought it might
work to exploit the big,
beer drinking, Minnesota jock's
two biggest fears.

That he's gay,
and his dick isn't big enough.

Of course,
it worked,
the wild idiot crawled
back to his native habitat.

the bar.

Now...
secondly,
you ignorant, little
Tori Amos loving,
whiny, annoying,
blowjob-with-teeth giving,
girl....

If after an entire show of mine....
THAT's what you were offended by,
then I am deeply and personally sorry,
because I did not do my job very well.

And tell your boyfriend
to change his sweater
before I start making out with him.

-p

Kazaam

Wow.

Where do I start?

I know, again,
at the risk of repeating myself,
over and over again,
I haven't been so good
at keeping you in the loop.

I've been busy, man,
I'm sorry.

I moved,
to Lincoln Park,
of all places.

But guess what?
I couldn't be happier,
honestly I couldn't.

I finished the album,
I told you that already,
and I'm mixing it now,
and I'm proud of it.

Tonight,
I played a fundraiser gig
in the suburbs of Chicago
to raise money for a
scholarship fund set up
in memory of the students
who were shot at NIU.

Northern Illinois University,
it's where a crazy guy burst in and shot people,
no...
a different one.

What's up with that, anyway?

Why do people feel the need
to take innocent folks out
with their own misery?

Just kill yourself
or a twisted politician
of John Lennon or something.

Don't take it out on innocent students, dick.

Whatever.

so I played this benefit,
and the guy who booked me,
he knows what I do.

He knows what I play,
and he knows I can't really hold it back.

It was a welcome side of humor
for the hurting and confused students,
they told me so.

I didn't play 50 Cent is a Pussy,
the "he got shot nine times" bit
seemed in poor taste.

But I did play my other songs,
and I am what I am.

So...
they booked me to play at 6:!5,
and the fundraiser was
all ages until 7 pm.

Which means,
the crowd was full of 8 year olds.

Ouch.

Well...
I am what I am,
as Popeye says.

I gave them two songs to
get the hint
and move their family
to the front bar.

There's music there too, people,
but I'm here to have some fun,
and lighten things up,
and I use swear words,
and I'm not going to
stop
because you're too stupid
to take your 8 year old out
of the bar.

I'm sorry,
I really am,
but that's what I was there for,
and I could tell that the people wanted it.

They wanted to laugh,
and forget, and escape,
and just have a good time.

And that happens to be
what I'm kind of good at.

So I gave it my all,
and I said my respects,
and I was tasteful and funny
and edgy but still cool
as I could be.

I tried.

and it seemed to work.

I stopped early,
and the crowd made me
play another song...

and then..
when I came back onstage,
truly against my will,
to play and encore.

And I mean it this time,
if you've seen me play before,
and seen my fake encore bit,
it wasn't like that,
I was done.

but they were cheering,
and the MC was doing that..
"do you guys wanna see Nice Peter
play one more song...? I can't hear you!?"
bit, and I was stuck.

So I came back out,
with my shirt half off,
as if to suggest I was getting
groupies backstage,
which I wasn't,
I was standing by myself,
trying to make sure I didn't offend anyone.

I came up to the mic,
and through my monitor,
so no one else can hear,
the sound guy says...

"the owner says you can't swear in this last one."

Are you fucking kidding me?

Are you a complete idiot?

I've had three pints of beer,
and a pretty big crowd egging me on,
and I've been swearing my ass off
for thirty minutes and they've been loving it,
and now you're going to order me to keep it clean?

It was trouble.

I've tried to explain this to people before,
but onstage, I play a character.

It's me, in a sense, but I'm not
always like that,
if I was, I'd go crazy,
and I wouldn't have any friends.

Which.. I don't really have anyway,
but it would be even worse
if I was a loudmouth, drunk,
asshole comedian smart ass
all the fucking time.

That's not me,
that's a side of me,
and I let it out onstage,
and I love it.

But..
once I start it,
I have to keep it up.

That character,
or that side of me,
does not give two fucks
about your bar
or your rules about swear words.

And if you ask me
not to swear in my last song,
you idiot,
that's when my that character is going
to tell you to fuck yourself and go ahead
and play the dirtiest song he knows.

Maybe even the Bush Song Part III,
and no one has ever heard that one.

You dumb ass bar owner,
you forced me into a corner,
where I need to pretend to be
a badass in order to save face
and keep up my crazy, zany Nice Peter image.

It's not even my fault,
it's only upon being challenged that
I have to stand up and teach you
how to suck your own dick.

So..
whatever.

I played Porn Star,
because "balls" isn't
even a swear word, technically,
is it?

As it happened,
it was awesome.

and I sold a ton of CDs,
and donated some of the money
to the Scholarship fund,
and met some really cool people,
and one crazy bitch who asked
me if I like Heroin and then tried
to sit on my lap.

gross.

I took some of the money
I made, and bought some
lottery tickets for the charity.

I ended up winning
a $50 gift certificate
to the Red Head Piano bar
in downtown Chicago.

I gave it to my booking agent, Bryan Adamick.

Because,
he saved me from losing my website this morning,
that's another story,
and he convinced me to do a gig
that I probably wouldn't have done,
but ended up really loving,
and...
because I fucking hate
the Red Head Piano bar.

-p