01/08/01
" gods are created letter by letter, note by note, brushstroke by brushstroke"
The Concert
The following is a remark posted on the message
board belonging to a band who I'm a big fan of, and who are all my
friends. I in no way solicited such a remark, but this man quite
clearly had a strong limbic reaction to certain symbols. This was absolutely
the most hilarious and pigeonholing experience. This man not only
pissed me off by pushing some of the lowest and cheapest buttons (disabled
access?), but he PUBLICLY ridiculed me. We weren't even introduced.
I traveled to San Francisco for the particular show that this comment is
in reference to.....long trip...nothing but sagebrush to the horizon and
one parking ticket per overnight stay once we reached it. This is a
man named Mark Plant. He never thought I would read this, not in a
thousand years. And so Mark Plant says:
<I was backstage, and there was some gorgeous busty blonde in a
extremely low-cut spandex shirt who kept trying to play some kind of
mind-game with Mike by saying she "hated" him for a minute but
doesn't hate him anymore, blah, blah, blah, because she was just so angry
that Thrasher didn't whip out the magic wand and slam her right there back
stage in front of everybody. Ladies, please, don't tell Mike that,
"You just absolutely HATE him so much right now!" like a spastic
sixteen year-old just because he didn't grab yer boobies backstage. The
man is a recording artist, not a porn star".>
Could he have only seen my pupils dilate when I read this. Hell hath
no fury commensurate to these gleaming points appearing before my eyes.
It looked like a migraine, but the pain was in my chest. Angry as I
was, and shaking, I mastered my (respective)
wrath and shot this off in six and a half minutes....editing syntax, mind
you. If not for typos and grammatical errors, it would have taken me
four.
With all regrets for having to leave such a nasty mark on this message
board; Mr. Plant, I will only dignify your comment with a response merely
for the unnecessary slander content. So tell me, what exactly was it that
made you think I had any such loose intentions? Probably the same thing
that made you think my sweater was spandex...in fact, had you paid closer
attention to the mundane details you would have noticed that my knees were
pinned tightshut with a rather restrictive pencil skirt - also not
spandex. I'm still digging for a motive, but what I gather from your
comment is that in order to be sporting blonde hair and big tits, one must
be invariably pining for the resident rock star's attention? Yes? It
would be impossible for anything to escape my mouth that wasn't
proposition oriented, let alone intelligent commerce concerning other
subjects? It just has to be that way....if it wasn't, your pneumatic
little monkey fuck world would crumble. 'Now now dear, put
everything it's RIGHT place'........... I think your flowery reference to
Mike's wares is the result of a lot more undue concentration than I've
ever placed on it....sorry, I didn't mean to get in your way. But may I
advise you, its already well spoken for. And as for the 'hate' comments, I
think I'm well enough aware of any of my friends' mental dispositions at
any given time to indulge in ANY amount of humor I see fit. I'm sure his
precious little spine didn't break. Or did he run away crying? I didn't
catch that part...but I guess there's a lot I don't catch, being the
vapid, single-intentioned creature for which you've designated a tiny
space in the universe to exist. If you were even partially aware of
the real situation (as this has become), you would feel like a stupid,
stupid little man....go with the feeling, Mark. Now after you've read
this, I suggest you give Mike a call and apologize for YOUR pissy sixteen
year old antics. Make good and grovel, boy. Then march your
ass in to the smallest room in your house, put your nose in a
corner, and contemplate the consequences of running your mouth off
when you've not a clue as to what in the hell you're yammering about.
Retribution is a bitch, no? A little more research next time.
And should any grace in the world find you, on the next occasion you see
me, maybe you will have grown some balls and found the nerve to insult me
in person. I can't fucking wait to meet you.
Good thing, editing....
Rule number one: if you're going to deliver an appropriate verbal lashing,
there must be no evident mistake in your speech. Rule number two: if
possible, stand taller than your opponent so that you may cast a sneering
gaze down alongside your nose and deliver caustic hell with proper eye
contact. Six inch heels are good for this particular purpose, but if
you happen to not be sporting them, try to neatly position yourself atop
one step higher, depending on what's available to mount at that particular
moment. These guidelines are the ultimate in good form. Above
all, good form. And Rule number three: do be certain that you follow
through with all said threats, if any......otherwise you're bound to lose
your credibility.
©
Lily Vandervillain 2001