So...Halloween night I recommended going to Metromix's Drop Dead Gorgeous event at the Museum of Natural History down near USC. I sure hope and pray that nobody heeded my advice because the party sucked donkey nuts.
Why?
First off, I should have realized any event near USC is going to blow chunks. No offense to any USC kids...well, actually...in total offense to USC kids...y'all suck. Any bar that eventually becomes a hang out for these douche bags inevitably slides down the mountain and into the shit piles at its base. These kids...they just don't get it. They're the ones who eventually become studio execs, which explains why most movies suck. Anyways, suffice it to say the first part of the problem was those in attendance were not my or my group's cup of tea when it comes to fellow revelers. I'm so glad I went to a PAC 10 rival, and not this Spoiled Children playground. Its like having a shit eating look on your face is a prerequisite for acceptance to this shit hole. STRIKE ONE
But that was just the beginning.
We got there early enough, but the line still wound clear around the block. Deciding to be honest sorts, we waited for about 45 minutes to get in. When we finally made our way to the front, we found that several people were cavalierly walking past those who waited with no security to set them straight. Fuckers. Really, we should have simply done the same thing. Can't hate on these fuck nuts as much as the rest of 'em. STRIKE TWO
Once inside, we decided our first line of business would be to consume some food from The Green Truck, an organic meal on wheels trying to be a hippie version of a taco truck. BIG FUCKING MISTAKE. I should have known right from jump, as the chef inside was god damned naked except for a loin cloth. FOR REAL. I know its Hallow's Eve and all, but the cracker could have put on a fucking shirt or at the very least a bib. Dude was a hairy as a wookie sort and his fucking chest hair was constantly hovering and curling up over the grill. Fucking ew. Still, this was our only option for food at this point so I swallowed my logic and ordered a burger for myself and a chicken wrap for my lass...for $25 fucking dollars. It took damn near a half an hour, and the food was organic all right...like monkey shit. They put unmelted shredded cheese on my burger. A mountain of it. Putrid. STRIKE THREE.
My boo had to piss like a wooly mammoth so after eating her ice cold wrap and whilst I waited for my booger burger, she headed in to find a loo. The line for the chica's pisser took 20 minutes. My girl, already not accustomed to long lines and wack crowds, returned with the wrath of Zeus in her eyes. STRIKE FOUR.
I ventured in. This isn't a normal venue for music, obviously, but let's just say the acoustics chortled on lizard scrotum. There were two stages, booth with shite music when we entered, and you could hear both stages wherever you went. One stage featured some unknown band that decided it would be funny to dress up like Nirvana for Halloween and play all Nirvana songs. Problem was it wasn't funny, good, entertaining, or anything else short of crap toast. STRIKE FUCKING FIVE.
We decided that was that. Time to call the night a loss, close our tabs, and head back to Hollywood. I went outside to the bar in front to close my tab. The bartender informed me it would be one second to run my card...which turned into twenty fucking minutes, due to some technical problem. Wouldn't any self-respecting promoter accept my meager tab was a loss and let me go? Not these metromix douchebags. MOTHERFUCKING STRIKE SIX.
Time to hail a cab and head home. Wrong. Nobody from Metromix called a cab company to let them know there were going to be thousands of drunks needing rides filtering out of the venue, so there were no cabs around to hail. We were duly fucked. Thank god my girlfriend is a charming, staggeringly beautiful, social butterfly. She convince Hymie and Maria, an East Los immigrant couple with seven kids, to give us a ride in their gangster ass mini-van...all the way to The Wood on Halloween Night. My friend Adrian was so drunk he thought it was a cab and kept on screaming at them to change the radio station. Wow. It wasn't free, we gave 'em 40 bucks and my boo lost another 20 somewhere in their van. Plus every road for miles was jammed with traffic, and I do mean jammed like Richard Simmons. It took an hour to get home, easy. By the time we got back to my boo's apartment, I thought she was going to skin me alive, as her friend hosted a party about a 1/2 mile from her door step that would have been the bee's knees. I recommended this party instead. STRIKE SEVEN.
So Metromix...FUCK YOU. Seven damned times over, with no Vaseline. It's like these people have never thrown a party before. Truly...I blame myself. What a staggering misinterpretation of an event.
I shall never lead you astray again. At least not like this.
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