the devil went down to...jersey?

the hockey fan never had that much luck with the ladies.

i mean he had luck with the ladies insomuch as he's been able to get a date on a pretty regular basis but he never had that luck for very long.

one girl cheated on him or at least he found out that she cheated on him after they broke up. cheated on him with practically the whole neighborhood.

the girl he left her for started dating another guy a year into dating him. totally wrecked his christmas. the bastard took him on a long bender across the thorough borough that week. while the bastard understands the breakup process, sometimes, you have to drink your troubles away.

anyway he dated a drummer for a while but that wasn't really love for the hockey fan.

then he met the girl from brazil. and he thought he had it. until she wanted something else and he was left holding the bag. as the author antoine de saint-exupéry once said, love is not looking at easch other, love is looking in the same direction.

then he fell in love with ebay for a while and that worked out for him for a while until he had had his fill of signed wayne gretsky jerseys then he had to find himself an actual lady.

then he was with someone who lied to him. and he didn't like that very much.

then he met her. the one. and they were so happy. hell, the bastard takes pause and is happy for him too.

last weekend, the bastard went to their wedding and it was in south jersey. because the only thing they love more than each other, is the goddam beach. so they were married on it. in south jersey. now the bastard has driven through south jersey but, he's never stopped. never had a reason to stop.

it's kind of like the midwest.

with a beach.

and that's okay and all but then we get stuff like this.

i took this with my trusty piece of the area 51 flying saucer. now the video is totally for shit but this character's voice is golden. short description is, we have this enormously tall drunk guy with a big black cowboy hat singing the devil went down to georgia. it was gold. i saw the shot and i took it. and i'm glad i did. i'm also glad i went. the hockey fan deserves a little happiness.

—the bastard

the devil went down to...jersey? pt3

so upon arriving, and we did arrive arrive with time to spare for the main event. however, we did manage to miss the opener , which was okay. you've seen one whiney gothic looking emo band, you've seen them all. no muss, no fuss. but then the main event hit. and boy did it hit.

at this point, the bastard had texted to scoop and the chairman that he had died and gone to mook heaven. the chairman asks how many mullets. i fail to take the mullet toll. sometimes, it's just too much to take in.

now, it's been a long, long time since the bastard has been to an arena show. and i must admit, i AM a music snob. the last show i went to was to see mastadon. the last show before that was to see the gorillaz. i've seen scraping foetus off the wheel, i've seen sick of it all close the superbowl of hardcore. i've seen stuff that was considered "better" than this band by alot of my circle of friends. but after seeing this band, i have to say they are the fucking kings of parking lot jock rock. which is NOT to be confused with cock rock. on my way to the bathroom, i text to the hockey fan that i see a boy with a sgt pepper jacket dancing around with fingerless gloves and old women dancing around like strippers in the aisles. the fan texts back that it sounded like an average night at the bastard's house.

granted, arena rock is alot to take in. but, i've never seen so many people older than me, so drunk unless it was a wedding. and so many mooktastic mooks. guys with buzzcuts, glazed over with the kind of drunk that only exists in parking lots of concert arenas, with their drunken wives who are wearing so much makeup that you need to apply it with a putty knife and take it off with a chisel, they stride obliviously throught the arena spilling their miller lite on them selves and spilling others on themselves as they struggle to not have the courtesy to make eye contact or even to watch where the hell they were going. but, it's to be expected. after all was said and done, all things considered, the bastard had a good time. it was a good show. bands that stay together for this long can only get better with time. and it's also a time and place for thousands of mooks and rock and roll sluts to re-live their salad days of rocking with their cocks out.

i've seen a million faces...and i've mocked them all. sure that's cheesy but, you can go to hell. this is my world. life without me is like cornflakes without the milk. yeah and i fart ambrosia too.

—the bastard