31 August 2011
Attn: All crew, the
Rock Never, Ever, Ever Stops Tour. Ever.
1) Let’s get this out of the way right off
the bat: Those shitbirds up front can go get fucked. The band does not care how
much the douche lords from Merrill Lynch paid for their tickets. It does not
give them the right to throw half-full $15 beers at the band. It does not give
them license to whip those shitty plastic “Gold Circle” champagne glasses at
the band. When did we start serving champagne to these entitled pricks, anyway?
Charging them an extra three bills for a bottle of bottom-shelf Moët might seem like good business to the
geniuses over in accounting, but it’s just not worth the aggravation. So let’s
consider the plug officially pulled on that score.
2) The backstage meet-and-greets need to
be scaled back. WAY back. There are only so many greasy teenagers, toothless
speed freaks and flat-assed soccor moms the band can be expected to cozy up to
each night. The band have remarked on numerous occasions about the staggering
array of pendulous Midwestern titties they’ve been compelled to autograph over
the course of the last few months. Meanwhile, the radio stations seem to be
bringing in the tweakers en masse. Not sure if ROXX 106 up in Boston is out
trolling for them in their notorious “Pahty Wicked Hahd” van or if meth heads
just have an abundance of downtime to call 1-800 numbers for free concert
tickets. Either way, we need to institute some sort of profiling scheme before
we haul all these dimwits backstage. Jimmy, please call your boy over at the
TSA and see if he has any tips vis-à-vis this issue. Make sure to stress that we’re not particularly concerned
about “sand niggers.”
3) You are all no doubt aware of the
recent rash of collapsing outdoor stages. Cheap Trick and Blue Öyster Cult had a close one up in Ottawa
recently. And then there was the tragedy at the Indiana State Fair last month.
Needless to say, the band is understandably concerned about being decapitated—or
worse—by falling stage rigging. We’ve got that big outdoor gig/wet t-shirt
contest/demolition derby lined up for next week in Omaha with FireHouse and Big
Daddy Don Garlits. Under normal circumstances we’d cancel, but let’s face it:
We’ve all got child support payments to make here. As of right now, the only
bright ideas our esteemed crew chief has come up with involve crossed fingers,
four-leaf clovers and scratch tickets. We need a viable structural solution,
post-haste.
4) Keep this
one on the DL, but it is officially time to give Joey D. his own dressing room.
He’ll think he’s finally getting the prima donna treatment he “deserves,” but
the rest of the band are sick of him two-fingering all the catering before they
even arrive at the venue. On more than one occasion, the band has discovered
Joey backstage scooping handfuls of potato salad or Beef Stroganoff onto his
plate with his bare hands. Not only have
they expressed their dismay and disgust at this situation directly to Joey,
they have also pointed out the serving spoons that are almost always right next
to the food. Though he is unaware of it
as of right now, the Joey D. solo dressing room plan goes into effect for the
Tacoma show. Your discretion is appreciated.
England prevails,
The Management.
