WORST. BAND. EVER.

Why is it when you want to show off your native land, your native land immediately breaks out the ugly stick?

My BFFE (Best Friend FOREVER, duh) Carah was in town for the weekend to attend a wedding, the highlight of which came down when she turned to me and said, "We are so totally the hottest women at this wedding," and I was forced to point out that we were the only women in attendance weighing less than 700 pounds. A hollow victory.

I very proudly took Carah and a couple friends to the Cocoa Beach Pier, which, along with Colorado, The Womb, and Riverfront Stadium has my heart all balled up in its sandy little fist. The Pier is always awash in fun music, lovely sunshine, and wave after wave of thought-inducing ocean; and so of course when we were in attendance, the Pier was rife with a nighttime chill, a very loud, very drunk local woman who talked exactly like Maya Rudolph impersonating Donatella Versace, and the WORST. BAND. EVER.

Their repertoire did not exist past the year 1973, they tuned against a cat being swung upside a tree, and they clearly thought that they. Just. Rocked.

Carah, unlike me, is a chipper, uncomplaining sort of broad, and after about fifteen minutes of this she turned to me and said very quietly, "Please make it stop."

"They're going to do the entire Wall! In order!" a horrified Flipper realized as Peter Frampton showed up looking for a gun with with to kill first them, then himself.

The evening did improve. G-Force ordered wine, which arrived in a plastic cup directly after being pressed. She drank maybe four swallows, set it down, and said, "Life's too short for this shit." Word.

We left just as--sure enough-- "another briiiiick in the WALL" came skeezing out of the speakers. As a performer myself, I never EVER shout "YOU SUCK!!" at somebody with the guts to get up on a stage before strangers-- but, seriously: YOU SUCK.