sonofapunk

TOUR DIARY, INSTALLMENT TWO:

I awoke to Matt Morron's jingling keys and harmonious voice at some fucking godless fucking hour. It felt like the sun was barely out. If I recall, the sun was starting to poke around the mountains as soon as I was passing out. Fuck. Gonna be a long day. We woke the whole house up, gave our goodbye hugs. Anikah has a huge crush on Stza Crack. So I took her aside, sat her down and pulled out my camera to show her the video of Stza pie-ing me in the face a mere week prior. She fucking loved it. Anikah is quite the photographer. She's got skills. I can't wait to see what she shares with us from our magical evening in Kelowna!

Since we're poor-ass punk rockers, and on the road where every cent goes towards Tim Hortons and gas, the best we could do for payment was a bunch of free merch. I was sleepy, but from what I remember, I think they enjoyed it. I hope they did, as it was the best we could pull off. They were lovely folks, I'm sure they understand.

LESSON LEARNED: Friends are precious. And friends like these will have a special place in your heart for as long as you live. Martin Atkins said so, and I have to fucking believe him. "You never forget your first." And this was our first time far away from home, in need of a bed. My faith in humanity will never dwindle, because I'm not an asshole. And as such, I attract fucking amazing, kind, helpful, sincere, honest people. People who are there for you. I owe these people everything, for without them, I wouldn't be who I am. And always remember to throw whatever you can their way in order to show your gratitude. It may have only been merch, but it was the merch from the first tour, and it'll probably be worth something some day... If not, then in sentimental value, hopefully.

We decided that both vans with both bands would travel seperately. This way shit-breaks, lunch-breaks and any (bound-to-happen) emergencies that come up, don't fuck over everyone, just one van. Grimm says to convoy is a better strategy if there's more wheels on the ground. If there are several cars more, it might be a good idea. But for the sake of simplicity and convenience, we were to travel seperately.

LESSON LEARNED: When touring with more than one band: Units (meaning all members of one band/crew) should travel individually. If your band's car full of merch people suddenly veers off the road, the other band can go ahead unscathed, and arrive on time. Despite what the original plans are, whoever is not involved in a mishap can go to the venue and play with the hand they're dealt. They can load-in and even play first, while the other band wrenches their van real quick, and shows up in the knick-of-fucking-time. We're all in this together, but take care of your own people, and you won't inadvertenly fuck over other people. The show must go on, and if your shit is too totalled to make it to the venue, at least the crowd got half the show they were promised, instead of none at all due to everyone "having to travel together", and ultimately stay behind due to one flat tire, or what-have-you.

We pulled into a Tim Hortons, because that's the only place where Braden can eat for free. We scared the shit out of everyone in this small town. It was awesome.

LESSON LEARNED: If your bandmate is a raging alcoholic, or you don't trust them with money in general, ensure that they don't fuck themselves over, go broke, and make everyone suffer, buy them a gift card for a restaraunt that is frequent along your tour route. Braden's parents bought him a gift card for Tim Hortons, and this was the smartest idea ever. When that kid starts drinking, he doesn't fucking stop. He knows this. He explained this to me. A drummer who can't afford to eat, is a malnourished drummer. And a drummer who plays terribly makes everyone suck. Thank you to Braden's lovely parents! And thank you to Braden for being honest and knowing this and explaining this to me!

We hit the road some more, discussed more of the night prior. Saw lots of snow and ice and rocks and dirt and trucks. Nothing too exciting. We're all fat-asses and growing boys, so we decided that on-the-way-snacks were in order. The most satisfying, readily edible and healthy thing we purchased all tour as fruit. Seriously. That, and... Ugh... Gorp. Yeah gorp. It's pronounced how it's fucking spelled. It's such a dirty sounding word. It sounds like something that involves an inanimate object that resembles an animal and anal penetration. Andrew loves saying this word. Because it sounds so fucked. It stands for "Good Old Raisins & Peanuts". G.O.R.P. Andrew says this word as much as possible because I think it's absofuckinglutely retarded. I hate it. It's so fucking dirty sounding. It's also the way that fucking kid says it too. It's like everytime "gorp" leaves that kids fucking face-hole, there's a moment of silence, where you know he's just smiling at what he just said. Because he knows it too. And there's a sublte alteration in the tone of his voice. It's like all of the sudden we're in the outback, hiking up a mountain, and it's 1908. I swear to fucking Buddha he even omits the "d" in "old" just to piss me off. "Good Ol' Raisins & Peanuts". Like he's some fucking lame-ass, hermit-ass, bearded-ass gold-prospector who's really excited to let you know he's discovered the world's greatest meal by simply mxing peanuts with raisins. Fuck Andrew. And fuck gorp. It's a fucked up word. I don't care where you're from - it's a fucked up word.

LESSON LEARNED: Fruit was the smartest thing to eat. It was readily available. Peels and skins are biodegradable, so you can just chuck them out of the window. It was so fucking soothing on my throat. And it just overall made us feel healthy and spry. Buy fruit. Yum.

I agreed to buy trail mix for everyone, under the condition that the stupid fucked up sound "Gorp" doesn't leave his fucking wretched mouth for the duration of the entire tour. (Seriously! It's similar to a name of an alien-robot character in a fucking movie from the 50's, not an all-natural snack! Fuck!) Some kind lady, like many, many others, approached us with questions about her hair. Unlike most people who ask us out of sheer bewilderment, she was interested in perfecting her son's mohawk. This meant she was rad. We took her back to the van, gave her free shit for her son, and she was more grateful than 90% of the people we encountered on this tour.

LESSON LEARNED: Smiling, talking and giving free shit to radical people who seem interested is a worthwhile investment. These people usually become friends or fans. Friends help you when you need a place to stay. Fans make you feel fucking good and make what you do worthwhile.

As soon as we were in the van, you can rest-assured that Andrew manipulated Braden into saying "gorp" non-fucking-stop. Fuck Braden, fuck Andrew, and fuck gorp.

We were an hour or two on the road, when all of the sudden a symbol lit up on Tyler's dash. He didn't know what it meant, and he's never seen it before, so we cracked open the driver's manual for this car. As Murphy's Law would have it, the only symbol they didn't fucking discuss in the manual is the one brightly taunting us from the dashboard. So better-safe-than-sorry, we pulled into the nearest shop.

"It'll take about an hour and sixty bucks to pull the diagnostics from your vehicle."

LESSON LEARNED: Leave fucking early! Thank god we did! We sacrificed sleeping in for several hours of leeway. This came in handy when the unexpected happened! We were not early after this fiasco. We were not late, either... We were right on time!

More than an hour, and more than sixty bucks later (we were bored, and it's true what Martin Atkins says, "Artists are creative. Creative people get bored. Boredom is expensive to cure."), turns out it was nothing. But better safe than sorry! For all we knew the van had entered a self-destruct sequence! It had something to do with carbon emissions. Fuck you, Mother Nature, we have shows to play. I'll give a shit about you when it's convenient! Haha! So we cruise onward.

It was funny. A conversation started along the lines of "You know, I've never seen a moose. I wonder if that sign 'Welcome To Alberta' means we'll see some moo- ...FUCK OFF! NO WAY!" As if on fucking cue in some stupid movie, I saw my first couple-hundred moose. I don't know why there were so many goddamn moose, but there they were - interrupting my sentence about how I've never seen them before. Alberta: Fucking interrupting moose country.

After many more pages of "Tour:Smart" and many more hours on the road, we reached Calgary. It was fucking windy. Mohawks were flopping all over the place. Calgary is like, as Tyler put it, "Seattle Junior". It has so many fucking one-way streets it's retarded. We knew where the venue was, and we knew where we were, the problem was playing the fucked up games that are the Calgarian roads. We saw the fucking place. And then it took like thirty-five minutes simply to find a way to get to it. Delightfully retarded.

LESSON LEARNED: Do extra homework on how to get there exactly. The google-map print-outs did not suffice. First time they ever failed me. Thankfully we were running ahead of schedule! Next time, double-check for one-way streets. Them shits is a real piss-off!

Pile on in, met the owner and promoter, Clint, and started loading in. Also met a homeless guy who lives behind the venue under a tarp. His name is Joe. Joe seemed very delightful and helpful. First thing I noticed about this gig, was a real lack of postering. They had posters for other shows, but none for ours. We knew we had a couple other bands playing with us, but who the fuck were they? And how was the general public supposed to know about the show? We looked. There were no signs of a show happening that night at Vern's Tavern whatsoever... Oh boy. Let's see how this pans out...

LESSON LEARNED: Upon initial confirmation of a show, inquire about what form of promotion the "promoter" actually plans on doing. I wish I did. You'll see why...

North Or Die showed up shortly after. We discussed who's-going-on-when. We decided it would be "band one", The Wrecktals, North Or Die, and then "band four". Band's one and four showed up shortly after. One was a band called Angry Mob, from Red Deer. The other was a band I've actually seen before, called The Fury. Why have I seen them before? Oh yeah, that's right - they're from Vancouver. Wait... What the fuck?

We have four small-time out-of-town bands?! Who the fuck is going to see this, even IF the shit was promoted properly?! Nobody knows who the fuck any of us are.Great. Can't wait to see how this goes...

LESSON LEARNED: If there's going to be more bands than the ones you're bringing on tour, do what you can to share the stage with bands who will have at least some pull in that area. This night was still fun (but we have fun doing anything), but definitely seemed like a royal waste of time and energy. The travelling bands deserved much, much better. Live and learn. Now we know for next time.

Asked Clint about promo. Said he did none. Asked Clint about who else is working, and who is working the door, and who is working the kitchen. He said nobody. So what the fuck happens? We were planning on eating at the venue, but "Not enough people showed up for us to fire up the kitchen." Man... No shit? So who works the door? "The bands can sort that out themselves." For fuck sakes... Well how much was the show advertised for? "Advertised? ...Ummmm... Six bucks..."

So now our merch crew had to worry about the door as well. At least we won't be shorted any cash knowing that our crew is handling it. And at least whoever is working the door won't have to do much. Fuck it. We play to the bands. Let's just call it a practice. But on stage. Haha! Lord knows my throat could really use a night off. I'll just take it easy tonight, I suppose.

The Fury approached me. Cool kids they are. We swapped free CD's. I snagged a business card. They're professional and they take their job seriously. I admire that. Their music isn't something I'd ever listen to... Talented as fuck! Those kids can shred! But not my style at all. Either which way, I admire their passion and dedication and hard work and good spirits. Rad-asses!

LESSON LEARNED: Although The Fury play the type of music I usually make fun of, it's important to not be a dick and to not stomp on other peoples' dreams. These kids are in this for the win. You can tell by their ambition and charisma. They might not like your band either, but that doesn't matter if they like you as a person. I wouldn't mind playing a show with these cats someday, and who knows, maybe my refusal to be a stereotypically elitist punk-rocker might lead to some worthwhile industry relationships down the road. I don't like their tunes. But that's one man's opinion. And regardless, I still support what they do. Fully. Maybe we can share some fans if we share a stage someday!

Angry Mob started to play. Fun punk. They got chops. They did a couple covers that fucking peaked my attention. I remember Choking Victim's "500 Channels". They did it. That was enough to make me appreciate their style and taste in music. What's more is they did it well. These boys are homies of the boys in North Or Die. And if we want, when the tour's over, we can hit up their place in Red Deer for a mondo-huge party. Cool! That'll all depend on how we feel after our last show.

Holy shit! Two girls showed up! How?! Turns out they know me distantly through internet-relations. And they've met Tyler before. Sweet! Twelve dollars between four bands! Score! The girls were kind of cute. Nice people. Fun to talk to. The two people that did show up, turned out to be extremely fun and extremely helpful to our touring. You'll see why... But, boy, are we thankful!

As Angry Mob was playing, I ducked out back to ask Joe where there was to eat in this neighbourhood.

"I got a granola bar."

Yeah, thanks Joe, but I haven't eaten all day, and I'm on-stage in 20 minutes. I need a full meal. I need my energy. And I don't have any money to give you for your granola bar.

"I got a can of Chunky."

Sorry Joe, but I really need a warm meal. Somewhere close. I'm now on stage in 18 minutes. What's nearby?

"I tell you what... I got a stick of beef-jerky..."

Okay Joe, now I simply don't have time for you and your guilting-me-into-paying-you-for-food-I-can-buy-at-seven-eleven. Thanks, but no thanks. I understand you're doing what you got to in order to get by, but for fuck sakes, time is of the essence here! And you're not being very helpful! Goodbye!

I went inside to grab Andrew, as he was starving too. We jammed outside to see what we can see and Joe was there, finally with something helpful to say!

"There's a McDonalds one block that-a-way, and one block that-a-way. Can't miss it!"

Thanks Joe! About fucking time!

Andrew and I go for a jog. Two blocks later we realized Joe's either a dick leading us on a wild-goose chase at a most-inopportune tme, or simply bad at fucking directions. Six blocks of jogging later, we find a McDonalds. We jump on in as soon as they're closing. They're pissed at us. We're going to have spit in our burgers. But we're fucking hungry. So we stay. And they fuck with us.

We're seriously fucking late now. Hopefully Braden and Tyler and Grimm have realized that we fucked up and are setting up our equipment as best they can in the meantime. McDickheads are staring at us when they should be throwing fake food into a bag and handing it to us. We're in a fucking hurry. And they're leaning against the counter, telling the guy-on-his-first-shift to do everything. Takes for-fucking-ever.

"Give them the old fries. If they want us to fire up a new batch, they can pay more."

"...Ummmm... We're right here. We can hear you."

"Here's your fries."

We realize we got no time to eat our "meals", this shit will have to wait until we're back at the venue. Maybe we can throw back this trash and set up at the same time? Maybe we can munch in between songs? It's not like the other bands and two cute punk chicks are going to complain much. They know nobody's fucking there.

On the jog back to the venue, Andrew and I discuss how fucking lame we are for being hipocrates. We have a song called "Over 99 Billion Murdered". It's about how McDonalds is a fucking joke. It's got some sweet puns and digs into McDonalds characters that I'm proud of. Andrew raised the excellent point of "I'll be anti-establishment when I have the option. I can only afford a two-dollar meal, I haven't eaten all day and McDonalds is the only thing open." Haha! He's right. There's nothing counter-revolutionary about starving yourself and sucking on-stage and feeling like shit all the time. Hahahaha! What the fuck are we talking about? We're about to eat McDonalds! We're harsh going to feel like shit anyhow! Haha!

We get back to the venue. Clint gives us shit. Luckily, Braden took incentive and set up a lot of our shit. Some wires were mixed up, but nothing too serious. Besides, what the fuck does he know about wires? He's our drummer, after all. It was a bit confusing at first, but we fixed all the wire-swaps and whatnot. Made me realize, for instances such as these...

LESSON LEARNED: A checklist for all equipment (per individual) should be applied to the instrument or amp of that musician's gear. For example, we could print off a sheet that says "120V Chord, Front Pocket. 15ft. Planet-Waves Patch, Second Pocket. 25ft. Planet-Waves L-Patch, Second Pocket. 2 Packs D'Addario Pro-Steels, Third Pocket. Bass Picks, Neck Pocket. Power Source For Pedals, Neck Pocket, Etcetera"... And slap in to whatever pertinent gear-case or amp (for that musician who owns this equipment). You get the idea! And then you take clear packing tape, and do a poor-man's-lamination right on a case or amp. Bingo-bango! You're ever in a fucked up situation like we were at this moment in time, and you got easy-to-follow instructions for anyone that CAN help. Added bonus: If you ever get too fucked up drunk too remember all your shit off by hand (i.e. - our last date on this tour), it can act as a checklist!

We realized we only had about twenty-five minutes. We didn't want to bore the other musicians, so we played for them. Honestly - we half-assed it. Nobody was fucking there. Lame circumstance, but it's hard to find incentive and motivation to play the best show of your life when it's to the two guys who are in the band with you, the two guys you brought on tour, the other bands who are thinking the same thing as you, two girls who are balls-deep into conversation with eachother, and Clint. By talking to the other bands, we knew they dug NOFX, so we played some covers with extra gusto. That's about it for the performance.

We broke down our shit. Mingled with the other bands for a short while, and then decided to pack up and head to Tyler's aunt and uncle's place. They were so kind that they decided to take us in for our two nights in Calgary. This was all planned in advance, but Murphy's Law struck again! Tyler's relative became stricken with the flu and were in no place to have guests! Damnit!

LESSON LEARNED: Find back-up plans for accomodations - just in case. You know what? Fuck that. Find back-up plans for EVERYTHING.

Those two cute Calgarian girls were by our sides the majority of the night, heard this, and then offered us a place to stay. Sweet! But on the way to the place to stay, a family member of the kind girl decided to blow a gasket and shit on this idea. She felt bad, as we were already on our way there, and offered to pay for a hotel for all of us to crash in for the night.

Seriously fucking rad.

Under any other circumstances, I would never allow this to happen. I don't like mooching. But fuck, we were in a poor-ass position where any charity would help us whatsoever. It's called touring.

Tyler's drunk. Tyler needs to learn how to control his liquor apparently, because every time we pull into a hotel or motel, he's busy being so loud and obnoxious that every hotel employee we approached looked past my shoulder to see some drunk asshole with a mohawk, jumping up and down on a van, screaming bloody murder at three in the fucking morning. This really put a wrench in our gears. We just played, and although we only gave 85% or so to the other bands we were on stage with, we were still tired, sore and worn out from the other days, and we just wanted to get some sleep. It took a lot of time and condescending tone, but were finally able to calm the fucker down. We drove away, hit up a motel strip. On the way, one Ms. Calgary decided to light a cigarette in the van.

Big no-no. Never smoke in the fucking van. Never EVER smoke in the fucking van. Our throats were beaten-the-fuck-up enough as is, I don't need any coughing or infections. No thank you.

LESSON LEARNED: If people smoke in the fucking van, tell them not to. If people smoke in the fucking van after being told not to, throw smokes out moving-van window.

We found a place. Nice fucking place too. The nice guy behind the counter seemed pretty interested in our tour, "had Finger Eleven in here last month", and cut us a sweet fucking deal. The charge went to our new Calgarian lady-friend, and the damage deposit went to my credit card. One of the stipulations of being cut such a rad deal was that we remain absofuckinglutely quiet, and not pull some total-rock-star bullshit. This way, he'll turn a blind eye to how many people we cram into these rooms, and he won't say a damn thing if and when we check out later than we're supposed to. He sympathizes for our touring asses.

LESSON LEARNED: Be open and honest, and good things will come to you. Had I not mentioned that we were on the road as band, and if I tried to sneak more people than I was alotted to a bedroom or two, this everyday nice guy working this hotel would probably have been pissed. He's got a boss to answer to. It's his ass on the line, somewhere down that road, and as long as you explain the situation, he'll gladly help you out any way he can. We scored fucking bigtime here. The deal he gave us was phenomenal, and he didn't ask for too much in return.

I shot the shit with the guy behind the counter for a couple minutes. Once, when Alice Cooper needed a place to stay, the whole hotel cleared out an entire floor for him and his crew, and made him drop like a twelve-thousand dollar deposit. Alice apparently didn't give a shit, went straight to bed, woke up, at his continental breakfast, and checked out by nine. Haha. Who would have guessed?

We hit the two rooms that ajoined one another, and called dibs on beds. First thing we noticed, was the fucking putrid smell. It was the worst smell I've smelt in fucking ages. Did the hotel guy rip us off? Is this place really a fucking dump? ...Sniff-sniff. Awwww, fuck! It's Braden! The kid's neglected to shower and change his clothes for quite some time, and now he smells like a dead garbage-hooker's twat.

"It's trench foot."

What?! That smell is your fucking feet?! Dude, how the fuck?! Trench foot is something infantrymen would acquire in World War One... Where the were fucking trenches. Personal hygiene has evolved since then, you're not in war, and you're sure as fuck not in trench... And you've let your foot come to rot this bad?! Braden took the most needed shower I've ever known someone to need. And that's a bold fucking statement from someone who wieghs 265lbs and skanks and moshes like there's no tomorrow on a regular basis. I sweat more than anyone I know when I throw down, mostly because move more than anyone I know. Oh yeah, did I mention I was fat?

Taking showers while on the road is something you don't soon forget. Most soothing, relaxing showers ever. Even when the bar of soap is sticky, and you're convinced you're rubbing a large throat-lozenge all over yourself... Still magnificient.

Tyler gets out of control again. He's screaming and wrestling the girls. He smacked one girl on the thigh so bad, that she bleeds a little through her skin. Ouch. Time to go to bed Tyler. Again, took a while to convince him to shut the fuck up, but it worked.

LESSON LEARNED: Be pissed off, but don't be a dick. If someone's fucking around, and it's gonna cost you a grand in damage deposit, do what you gotta do... But do it nicely. Tyler's drunken, reckless actions may have been a bit much at times, and it was like four in the morning, and we had to leave around eleven, and I was up all night, and I didn't sleep the night before, and I was tired, and I was cranky, and I was in a lot of pain... But there's no reason to ever be a dick. I wanted to be a dick, just to let some steam out, and swear and cause some ruckus, but I wasn't about to fuck up my friendship with Tyler... Wait... He probably wouldn't have remembered it the next day. Fuck. I should've blackened his eye a little! Haha! But seriously folks... Good vibes, good moods, good karma.

Andrew and Braden cuddled in one bed. Grimm got his own bed (well deserved too, as he has the patience of a monk and put up with a lot of our malarky). That was hotel room one. Hotel room had me and Tyler in seperate beds, with a female friend each.

DISCLAIMER: Remember last episode, where I said if you're a relative of mine and don't want to hear about very personal, very descript, very intimate details, you should stop fucking reading? This is especially true here. Seriously. Right now: Fuck off if you plan on ever holding any personal shit against me, or if you have an issue with me getting descriptive.

I was laying in bed, fatigued, but not really tired. Strange. I thought I wanted to go to sleep. Next to me was one of the lovely Calgary-girls. She was laying half on top of me (the way I like), and slowly tracing her hands around innocent parts of my body (the way I like). I realized that I want to touch this girl back, but fuck... How the fuck does this escalate? I don't want to sex this girl with a good friend of mine four feet away for a million different reasons. It's just fucking gross. I have class. And in order to show this lady how I work, I'm going to need privacy and nothing distracting.

Going through my mind are possible ways to take care of my friend here, and how true that damn book is. In "Tour:Smart", they mention that privacy on the road is scarce, so you might have to compromise and score in front of other people. Fuck that. I like to focus my attention on my partner. I am a gentleman, I don't want distractions. I don't want to hear any complaints from non-involved parties about how loud we are, how long we've been going at it, or what my ass looks like. Like I said, I need seclusion in order to show this girl how I handle business.

My grip on the waist of my girlfriend-for-the-night tightens, pondering how I'm going to go about this... And again, as if on cue, weird shit happens. Except the weird shit this time is Tyler, who has not hesitated to start freaking his bedmate. And the super weird-shit was the sounds like resembled someone fisting a jar of mayonnaise. Not to insinuate that the other lovely girl was similar to a jar of mayonnaise, but when drunk people score, the sick noises that every sloppy mouth movement makes is very fucking vocal. And Tyler was very fucking drunk.

I dragged my mouth up to my friend's ear where I stopped to whisper "We're gonna need some alone-time in order to make this work." Grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the bathroom. This is the part where I like to pretend I was all barbaric and savage, whisping my woman away without a moment's hesitation, and taking her, flawlessly, all through the night... But in reality, what happened was I grabbed her hand, started dragging her to the bathroom, and she had a pretty gnarly bail on one of my Chuck Taylors. Ignoring that, I scooped her up and threw her in the bathroom.

Hit the door.

Hit the fan.

Work.

LESSON LEARNED: When given a situation where privacy is not a factor, make some. With the door closed and the bathroom fan on, it was like we were in our own little world. We couldn't hear or see anything but eachother. Finally.

Bathroom had some sweet fucking mood lighting waiting for us. It was like a Glade plug-in with a light on it or some shit. Nice touch. Funny how a total fluke like that can really set the mood. Oh yeah, and then there was that giant fucking mirror. I could chomp on this girl's neck and check out her cute, cute ass at the same time! Hooray!

Turns out this girl is a biter. I told her not to, but she forgot... A lot. Haha! Oh well, no big deal, I'll just have a couple lovely reminders the next day, right? ...Right?! ...Wrong! Haha!

We were making out, I was carving racing stripes into her back, peeling eachother's clothes off... We were biting lips, dragging teeth. Biting necks, dragging teeth. Biting tongue... Wait... What the fuck? Ow!

Drags her teeth...

I used to be what's referred to as "tongue-tied". The webbing on the underside of my tongue used to run from base, to tip. It looked pretty fucking cool. When I stuck my tongue out all the way, the tugging on the underside from my tongue-tie made my tongue look semi-split! The only other person I knew who had such an extensive tongue web, such as I, is Kiwi. Kiwi and I no longer have this part in common. This girl removed that part of me.

So now I'm in excruciating pain, but I'm at work here, so I don't say a damn thing. In fact, when I should have went easy on my tongue and not used it for anything for a couple days, I ended up propping her up on the counter, pressing her into that big-ass mirror, and going down on her for about half an hour.

You ever have the bottom half of your tongue severed and then drag it, with pressure, along your bottom row of teeth? Yeah. Don't. Haha. I don't regret a damn thing. I was having the time of my life.

The counter was long. This was good. I was able to lay her down in front of me and use my mouth to attack any part of her body l wished.

I wasn't going to take a step back from the counter, stop what I was doing and look at the pretty girl on display in front of me. I had a mirror. Mirrors are fucking hot. This chick is fucking hot. This whole bathroom scene sure is a lot to take in. I love this fucking tour. I love this day. And although I may have only learned her name a couple hours prior, I fucking love this girl. Well, for the time being, at least. Heh heh.

Neither of us really want to break the moment to run back to my backpack to grab some condoms, so we played safe and executed alterior deeds.

I propped her so she was sitting on the edge of the counter again and let my hand finish the job. Sounds silly but, the amount of mouth and throat pain I was in, and the collective amount of how much I was using my hands actually made me think if my performance on-stage was going to suffer the next day. I am a vocalist. Maybe I shouldn't be abusing my vocal emitter so much? I am a bassist. One of my styles is finger-style. Maybe I shouldn't be using my hands so much? Am I gonna cramp out during my show tomorrow?!

Bah! Who the fuck cares. Finish the task at hand. (Pun was not intended, but is now.) Brain goes "Thank the kind lady for buying you a hotel for the night, and karma will take care of you tomorrow." I thank the lady the best way I know how, and she blows a huge load all over my hip.

I melted a little just typing that.

And as if I haven't enjoyed myself enough for one evening, she reciprocates the fucking favour by sitting me down on the toilet seat, pinning me there, and making my dreams come true. We go back to the counter, she lays down on it to use her mouth more comfortably, and I took a couple mental snapshots. I'm melting again thinking about it.

She sits up. We take turns locking lips and locking eyes. This girls knows exactly where to put her hands and how to use them. She's done teasing me. She two-hand's me. Ask her when she wants it. She wants it now. So I unload about a litre of DNA all over her torso.

I was on tour. I had no privacy. I had a week's worth of sexual energy and fluids pent up inside of me. Both of which were a burden, kindly taken by a beautiful lady. I did the courteous thing, and cleaned her up.

Oh, and for all of the boys who used to towel in the far-right corner of the counter, next to the sink... Sorry! Hahaha! Hopefully you used the clean ones that were still hanging. Man those hotel towels are fucking absorbent.

LESSON LEARNED: If you don't have condoms, find alternate means to play. I'm not accusing anyone of having anything, but you can never be too safe. Babies suck. Diseases suck. Better safe than sorry.

We crawled back to bed as the sun started poking through the curtains. Were we really in there for a couple of hours?! Fuck! Tyler mumbled something I don't remember. It was almost safe to say whatever it was, it was stupid and incoherent. I remember his bedmate saying "Well, if it isn't the man of the hour!" I suppose by hitting the fan, all we did was drown out outside noises, and not vice-versa. Whoops! Oh well. I highly doubt the noises they heard had any affect on Tyler lasting his usual forty-three seconds. Hey-ooooooooo!

But seriously folks, it was a good night. I lost a piece of my tongue forever, I got memories to last me forever, and I made some wicked friends. We played a show. Wasn't a good show. But we played one. Last two things I remember thinking before I passed out for a few measley hours, was "Damn this girl is a real good cuddler" and "I feel like a fucking rockstar".

I now know what I'm doing for the rest of my life.