Bungled Fever

I, like most people, was brimming with idealism in my early 20's. I had so many ideas on how to fix the world's woes that I became really obnoxious to everyone over the age of 30, who would just roll their eyes at me and say, "Uh huh. Whatever." One of my ideas was about ending racism. I theorized that if people of different races just kept mixing and mixing and mixing that eventually nobody would know what race they were anymore, making racism a non-issue. Sounds like a good plan, right? And you thought my early 20's were just about being a power pop Tawny Kitaen, ready to roll around on the hood of Superdrag's touring van in my Contempo Casuals underpants at a moment's notice. Shame on you.

I'm happy to say that I've recently met a person who embodies this idea, but instead of the whole "mixing" thing, she's chosen to have the worst fake tan I've ever seen in my entire life. Absolutely no one can tell what race she is, so I guess that makes race a non-issue. The rusty orange color, the purpleish freckles on her leathery chest, the strangely enlarged pores, the reverse-raccoon white circles around her eyes, the bleached-out sun spots on the tops of her arms. I tell ya, it's a good thing she spends so much time in a tanning bed, otherwise she'd run the risk of looking "unhealthy". And all she has to do it lay in a fungus-filled bacteria-laden tanning bed for ten minutes! When I wanted that nice ruddy orange color back in the day, I had to leg-wrestle the drummer from Slaughter on a baseball diamond in the nude during a taping of MTV's Rock and Jock Softball Spectacular. Nowadays I'm lucky if I get a chance to stick my hand under the heat lamp at Chick-Fil-A for five seconds while I flirt with the assistant manager named "Chip" in exchange for free waffle fries.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, racism is bad.

Maggie

No shows happening this weekend. Next show is Friday, Sep. 22nd at Respectable's with Tenderfoot and Pyrojet.