More on How People Suck - Ice Palace Stories
When you work in the sports and entertainment industry, you get to see a lot of people at their very worst.
Yes, this is where I work. Ain't it special?
You get to see the fashion show at the boxing event: men in exquisite silk suits in colors you didn't know existed, women in...hankies. And more bling than you can shake a stick at. Stupid shoes... I'm sorry...but why would you go to an event where you know you're going to have to climb slippery cement and/or rickety aluminum stairs to your seat wearing 4 inch stiletto heels with little better than ribbon to hold them on your feet? Same event: I got nailed in the back of the head with a pair of binoculars ON PURPOSE for standing between a woman and her boyfriend... I broke up a fight in the smoking tower between two women and two men and suddenly found myself looking at the business end of a box cutter. And I had the privilege of holding back dozens of irate event-goers at the gates so that Michael Jordan and friends could be seated "safely".
But then you also get to see the women who are drunk out of their gourds who think it's a good idea to throw panties up onto the stage during the Rolling Stones... One of my co-workers who was working the edge of the stage got a pair of those right in the face. He wasn't complaining.
Speaking of not complaining, Marty St. Louis ran smack into me in the hallway in the catacombs. I couldn't wipe the silly grin off my face for several days.
I worked backstage for Paul McCartney... They kind of forgot to inform me that the show involved pyrotechnics. I was walking down toward the back of the stage when suddenly I felt a blast like a breath out of hell: hot air that hit my face and took my breath away... And right over my head, the thing went off. I hit the deck, just in case the next one went off a little lower than the first. When my heart rate returned to normal, I asked to go on break to check the condition of my eyebrows. I wasn't sure they hadn't been singed off my face.
Ah...the celebrities. I think I have this figured out. You can be famous and not be a celebrity. It involves having a soul. Celebrities, however, are not human. They are soulless: part demon, part machine, all evil. I'm not even going to go into that any more. I'll just give an example: Mick Jagger.
So I come home and I try to heal myself from the corrupting contact with these animals. I haven't even begun to enumerate the stupid things people do when they're drunk or high. Lately, I've been working security in the bar. That's right, I'm a bouncer. Anyway, healing comes slow. Though we're supposed to be a team at work, everyone's looking out for number one. And I just need to get out of there before I snap. I get into my car and crank up some tunes.
A witch will burn / when she's thrown into the fire / Not her / she'll peel and writhe / but never expire / She crawls on webs of lies / I die up inside her / to take what's mine / that bitch / the cinnamon spider // I won't try / and every time I tell that lie / I live without guilt / and I won't cry / and I hope you love your life / and live with your guilt // Consumed by hate and guilt / She'll never retire / too old to fix / too dead / to ever acquire / slit wrists - talk shit / But she will never inspire / a plan to save herself / the cinnamon spider // I won't try / and every time I tell that lie / I live without guilt / and I won't cry / and I hope you love your life / and live with your guilt // bite heads off those who fail / and try to imply her / forlorn despised / I am the cinnamon spider // I won't try / and every time I tell that lie / I live without guilt / and I hope you love your life / and live with your guilt // and I am fine / and I'll learn to take what's mine / and live without guilt / Oh yeah
Yes, this is where I work. Ain't it special?
You get to see the fashion show at the boxing event: men in exquisite silk suits in colors you didn't know existed, women in...hankies. And more bling than you can shake a stick at. Stupid shoes... I'm sorry...but why would you go to an event where you know you're going to have to climb slippery cement and/or rickety aluminum stairs to your seat wearing 4 inch stiletto heels with little better than ribbon to hold them on your feet? Same event: I got nailed in the back of the head with a pair of binoculars ON PURPOSE for standing between a woman and her boyfriend... I broke up a fight in the smoking tower between two women and two men and suddenly found myself looking at the business end of a box cutter. And I had the privilege of holding back dozens of irate event-goers at the gates so that Michael Jordan and friends could be seated "safely".
But then you also get to see the women who are drunk out of their gourds who think it's a good idea to throw panties up onto the stage during the Rolling Stones... One of my co-workers who was working the edge of the stage got a pair of those right in the face. He wasn't complaining.
Speaking of not complaining, Marty St. Louis ran smack into me in the hallway in the catacombs. I couldn't wipe the silly grin off my face for several days.
I worked backstage for Paul McCartney... They kind of forgot to inform me that the show involved pyrotechnics. I was walking down toward the back of the stage when suddenly I felt a blast like a breath out of hell: hot air that hit my face and took my breath away... And right over my head, the thing went off. I hit the deck, just in case the next one went off a little lower than the first. When my heart rate returned to normal, I asked to go on break to check the condition of my eyebrows. I wasn't sure they hadn't been singed off my face.
Ah...the celebrities. I think I have this figured out. You can be famous and not be a celebrity. It involves having a soul. Celebrities, however, are not human. They are soulless: part demon, part machine, all evil. I'm not even going to go into that any more. I'll just give an example: Mick Jagger.
So I come home and I try to heal myself from the corrupting contact with these animals. I haven't even begun to enumerate the stupid things people do when they're drunk or high. Lately, I've been working security in the bar. That's right, I'm a bouncer. Anyway, healing comes slow. Though we're supposed to be a team at work, everyone's looking out for number one. And I just need to get out of there before I snap. I get into my car and crank up some tunes.
A witch will burn / when she's thrown into the fire / Not her / she'll peel and writhe / but never expire / She crawls on webs of lies / I die up inside her / to take what's mine / that bitch / the cinnamon spider // I won't try / and every time I tell that lie / I live without guilt / and I won't cry / and I hope you love your life / and live with your guilt // Consumed by hate and guilt / She'll never retire / too old to fix / too dead / to ever acquire / slit wrists - talk shit / But she will never inspire / a plan to save herself / the cinnamon spider // I won't try / and every time I tell that lie / I live without guilt / and I won't cry / and I hope you love your life / and live with your guilt // bite heads off those who fail / and try to imply her / forlorn despised / I am the cinnamon spider // I won't try / and every time I tell that lie / I live without guilt / and I hope you love your life / and live with your guilt // and I am fine / and I'll learn to take what's mine / and live without guilt / Oh yeah