Special Needs

This story is hard to tell properly.

A lot are,
but most
you can get
the jist across
with some fancy
typing.

This one,
you really had to be there,
to appreciate the depth,
length, and scope
of the awkwardness,
and intensity.....
of the Retard Debacle.

I was playing my weekly gig
out in the suburbs at Durty Nellies.

I was staying at Pizzas' house,
I never call him Pizzas, but
lots of other people do,
so you can, too.

Pizzas lives right down
the street, so I could get my
drink on.

I play from 10:30 to 1 am,
or something like that.

It's always tough with
gigs like that, because
I feel the need to pace myself,
play slower songs, take more breaks,

et cetera.

This particular gig
had everything going for it,
good crowd, nice people,
sound was good,
everything was great,
except for me.

I just had a fog over my head,
and I couldn't get the train rolling.

Some people said I was being
hard on myself,
(yes, I just said hard on)
but I know when I'm
in the zone and when I'm not.

I needed something.

Enter,
the day camp counselors.

A dozen girls, and a few boys,
in matching bright yellow
tshirts that said something
about ants marching.

They came in just as I was taking a break,
I asked them, offstage, what their shirts
said and what was the occasion.

They were on a pub crawl,
all working together during the day.

Perfect,
this is exactly what I need,
some drunk, crazy, fun people
who know eachother, who can
have a good time, get some laughs,
give me some confidence,
and then leave to the next bar
and I'll continue my rocking
show for the loyal audience.

I told them I would sing them
a theme song, just stick around
till after the break.

I came back inside,
they had all gone outside.

No big deal,
you don't want a theme song?
no problem.

you don't want to check out the show
for five minutes?

no problem.

but don't come back
inside in groups of two going
to the bathroom and talking loudly
while you walk past the stage,
or I will make fun of you,
because your tshirts are stupid,
and so are you.

So that's kinda how it went down,
nothing major, just some jibes
as they came in and out.

Then....
then...
oh, then...

I was in the middle
of the Mystery of Clit,
By Request!
(which always makes me feel cool)
and it was at a dramatic pause,
and these bright yellow ant morons
came in and starting talking to the
big table that was here for the show.

hello.....
um... I can see you,
and hear you bothering people...
what do you want?

"we're on a pub crawl!"

yes... I know,
you told me that,
or one of you did,
I can't tell ants apart.

"so... if we sing one our songs,
we get, like... a ton of bonus points."

oh. okay, so now you want a theme song,
but not from me, you want to sing it....
okay.... fine, whatever, how does it go?

"no, like.... we'll just sing it"

no, like, you won't.
I know you might be confused,
because I'm sure that happens
to you all the time,
but this is a show,
and I was in the middle
of a song, and you are infecting
it with your stupidity,
and we're all getting dumber
while you're in the room.

...

It was just too many words for them,
sure enough, they came up to the front,
and started doing some song and dance
routine, a few even coming onstage,
one dickhead asking for my guitar,
one girl starting to play my keyboard.

I was a pretty good sport,
I was singing a song the whole time
on my looper pedal,
"go away now.. nobody likes you"
but it was all in good fun.

The audience seemed to be laughing,
and I always enjoy a chance to make
fun of a group of idiots and get away with it.

So!

after all that shit,
them taking over the stage,
me trying my best to cut
them to pieces, nicely enough,
and get the stage back,
they all sat down and seemed
ready to join the audience.

cool.

let's get on with it.

somehow, at some point,
one of the girls said something
out loud about wiping hairy butts all day.

As you can imagine,
I was confused.

I asked her to elaborate,
and she explained that they were
counselors at a special needs
day camp, and she had to wipe
poop from hairy butts all day.

I said,
"special needs kids have hairy butts?"

she said,
yes!

so, that was the next song,
obviously.

no problem.

all smiles and laughter.

then, a song or two later,
I made a reference to the counselors
in the middle of a lyric somewhere,
and said, "and the girls who work with retarded children..."

something like that,
I used the word retarded, for sure,
but definitely not in any malicious way.

All fucking hell broke loose.

The only way to describe it,
is to imagine eight pissed off
white girls, drunk off their asses,
doing a collective impression
of one, giant, pissed off black woman.

"oh, no you didn't!"

lots of finger waving,
swearing, cursing, how dare you-ing,
and general uproar went on
in thirty seconds.

I was shocked.

fucking shocked.

so let me just get this straight,
you come in here, act like
assholes during my performance,
sit down, and tell me outloud,
for no reason, that you wipe
disabled kids hairy, poopy butts all day.

but I let the word, retarded,
slip into a lyric, and now you're pissed off?

They stormed out,
in a line of drunk, dumb ants.

I used a line,
that I've used before,
its a sure fire room killer
after something like that.

"oh.... you guys are leaving? damn."

I was shaking with some sort of rage and confusion.

How uppity and...well...
retarded is that?
to get offended
by a word just because you
were told this year that its not correct?

I can't even use correct and politically
next to eachother without wanting to puke.

The best part,
oh... the best,
is when the queen bitch ant
came back in, up to the stage,
and said.... "what's your name?"

I thought she might be apologizing,
but the drool on her lip said otherwise.

First of all,
ant,
read that poster on the wall behind you,
second of all,
I'm not telling you shit.

"It's Nice Peter, isn't it?"

sometimes.

"Well........
........ ... ugh.....
I'm friends with the owner."

wow.
you got me.
I think I said something
to the effect of,
your words cut me
like boondoggle.

which I thought was hilarious,
because "boondoggle" is what
we called that stuff that you weave
into plastic bracelets.

not very sharp,
and I'm sure they're well
stocked with it at retard camp.

-p