Damn it feels good to be a gansta

Earlier tonight, I viciously ended a lovely phone conversation in hopes of getting some sleep before getting up at 7 am. Turns out that was a bad idea since here it is, 2:30 am, and I'm still wide awake and kicking. I was planning on writing about this weekend later this afternoon, but now seems as good a time as any.

The boy and I decided, early last week, to rekindle our old flames and go on a random adventure. Seeing as it's still below 70 at night, our best bet for fun and laughs would be some obscure show in Seattle. He pulled out his trusty Seattle Weekly, and while I played Animal Crossing in my bed, he described all the possible events during our chosen timeslot. It took many repeats, a few lamentations over impossibly fantastic shows going on while I'd be back in Bellingham, and several enthusiastic exclamations for ridiculously unimportant events. Eventually we settled on some band called the Super Geek League, a 40-man band that provides its own refreshments. We were intrigued.

Friday came along. I'd been working 10 hours previously, was functioning on 5 hours of sleep, but was determined to make it through the night. Our destination was a little-known joint known as The Paradox (not to be confused with the Paramount, a mistake that I was ridiculed for.) This location popped out of nowhere along the roadside, was completely unremarkable, but the inside was perfection. RJ was merely impressed by the seperation of the cafe/sitting area and the concert room. I not only worshipped the booths and tall round tables with stools (yes, my foot is still bothering me), but decided that I, too, would someday cover my walls in velvet curtains.

The opening bands aren't worth mentioning much. Though the first sang multiple times about pumpkins, and after a few sets a man in a chicken suit wearing a blue wig and WWII gas mask came running into the crowd. His dancing was ridiculous, with flailing arms and jumping and rolling around. He worshipped the pumpkin on stage, stole it and ran around the room with it held high in the air while other spectators chased him. For a few moments a goth girl had him by the ankle and slung him recklessly around on the floor.

Then came The Super Geek League. There was too much to accurately remember. The trendy girl I was jealous of turned out to be a Naughty School Girl who stripped onstage and danced through an entire set, while the Robot Bunny with visible gentalia ran around poking people in the crowd. The first song featured a gorilla on a trampoline throwing bananas into the crowd. We were hesitant at first, until the lead singer assured us, "Don't be afraid to eat the bananas!" along with a reminder that potassium is healthy. The moment I noticed the banana flung at my feet, someone grabbed it and ran away. I was sad for a whole ten seconds, before I saw what was going on around me again.

Other acts included Captain Plastic, who wrapped the crowd in saran wrap, the people with balloons for heads who were trying to hide in the crowd, but were mercilessly pulled onstage and executed (it's impossible to tell you the feeling of surprise, incredulity and amusement as the first man was held down, despite his struggling, then the sudden BANG! and he goes limp, his head gone.) There was a vicious water fight, the target of the crowd's agression being a girl in a vintage 1920's bathing suit and cap, who valiantly threw any balloon that failed to pop. Immediately after there was a huge pillow fight, including the use of stuffed animals that had been soaked in water during the water fight. A moose head was flung in our direction - RJ might've kept it if he hadn't shoved it in my face, which prompted me to throw it back into the crowd. Something about wet moose cotton in my face just doesn't encourage my feelings of sentimentality. A fat cannibal pushed a shopping cart loaded with free pizza around the room -- one of the severed heads on the tray actually turned out to be a crazy lady hidden inside the cart, though her antics never hindered anyone from obtaining a slice. As a warning to all those who drink the school milk, some crazy hormone-infected man came out and poured milk all over himself while his henchmen ran about with squirt guns loaded with milk.

The final act was the most inspirational. They'd rigged a leaf blower into a toilet paper launcher - whole rolls of t.p. were dispersed in moments, flung far across the crowd in an arc of white ribbon.

After an incredible show like that, there wasn't much else we could do with our night. We were back in Fedtown by midnight, and by 1 am I was catching snatches of sleep off the questionably clean tabletops at Shari's. Paying for dinner was a fiasco that will leave me under the power of an ungodly effective guilt trip for months to come. My sleep that night was one of the best ones in history.