More tales from the sordid indie underworld

A band I shall not name preceded us on Saturday night at the Pegasus. They were a skatepunk kind of band; the kind that cranks out tunes usable on Xbox racing games. Singer guy was into the Johnny Rottenesque practice of distributing spit all over the stage.

As our turn came I had to kneel in substantial puddles of this guy's spit while setting up all my guitar pedals. There's spit getting on my cables, guitar stand, etc. It was really very difficult to avoid dragging equipment through this stuff without suspending thick ropey strands of saliva all over the place. Finally I accidentally got some on the back of my hand. Fucking gross. I grabbed the nearest absorbent material at hand, which appeared to be some kind of forgotten notebook. I threw it onto the largest puddle of spit right in front of my mic stand, and used my boot to wipe up some of the dude's phlegm.

After I was done I glanced down at the notebook and it appeared to be filled with lyrics from this band, a mailing list sign-up, etc. By then it was too late, but the stage was clean and I proceeded to rawk the haus.