This week Ricky vents about the local modern rock radio station C-RAT using Big Mike’s studio to host a win-to-get-in acoustic show by alt-rockers Our Lady Cheese, which just so happens to be Ricky’s cousin Billy’s favorite band in the whole wide world.
Unfortunately, he’s not the only obsessed fan who shows up to the show.
Podcast Script (not including ad-libs):
OK, man, I gotta vent… one of those weeks at the studio… well, I guess they all kinda suck. Working in showbiz ain’t always so great.
So where do I even begin…
Well, so y’all know that band, Our Lady Cheese, right? They had a couple big hits on the radio back in the day, like “Cheeseland” and they played all the festivals… never really made it big anywhere outside of Ratland and only a couple of their songs kinda sorta made a minor splash in America, but still, they had a pretty good career here, I guess.
And, like, their singer Billy Ratgun was kinda a heartthrob of sorts, at least for a certain kinda rat girl. Y’know, the kind that hate their dads a little bit but not so much that they get into that whole industrial noise scene like some folks… which reminds me, I still hate the intro music the Cartoonist gave me from her old industrial project but, well, it is free, I guess. I mean, I sure don’t wanna work extra hours at the studio to pay for licensing for anything good, so…
Anyway, so Our Lady Cheese is still at it, man, at least every summer before the one dude has to go back to his day job as a shop teacher at Ratsboro High School and the other dude goes back to bartending for the winter and the third dude I heard works at his daddy’s dairy farm managing the artisanal gouda division, so he gets to have a lot of time off to tour.
Billy Ratgun I don’t think has an actual day job no more, but that’s because he has a side hustle going to corporate offices to talk to them about creative problem solving or something like that.
They don’t advertise that much, it’s kinda hush-hush, but he’s got an agent and all that that handles his bookings and his wife Heidi’s lame folk duo still gets a lot of airplay on that radio station the old ladies listen to, so that pays the bills, too.
And I know all this shit ‘cause a few months back when I was in attendance at one of my girlfriend Baby’s family Sunday brunches, y’know, after church when her daddy Mr. Rattsen is all dressed up for golf and trying to hurry things along so he can hit the greens but Mrs. Rattsen wants to sit around and gossip and drink a few too many mai-tais, anyway, so Baby’s eldest sister Stephanie was bitching that she had been tasked with booking Billy Ratgun to come talk to their accounting department about creativity and thinking outside of the box while the marketing department got some speaker who was all about sticking to the tried and true… anyway, I guess both departments must have taken the speeches to heart because they’re getting audited by Ratland Revenue now and sales are in the toilet ever since the new marketing campaign began but it’s OK ‘cause Stephanie’s job is secure so long as her boss’s wife doesn’t catch wind of—
Y’know, forget I said anything. Point is, Billy Ratgun ain’t got no real job, I guess. Just being a famous in Ratland rock star.
So Our Lady Cheese, they’re alright and all, but meh. Not my thing. They’re too… well, I mean, you don’t see Johnny Rotten talking to accounting departments about creativity.
At least I’m pretty sure you don’t. And you definitely don’t see the Ramones or Sid Vicious doing that, and I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t even if they weren’t all dead now. But Our Lady Cheese is the sorta band that the middle aged salesladies can listen to and think themselves real cool and with it, albeit the it was like 20 years ago and it wasn’t ever really with it, but y’know. It’s OK, I guess. One of them bands.
But my cousin Billy, he loves Our Lady Cheese, man. I dunno why, man. Billy likes all kinda weird stuff. I mean, even as a little kid he was the only one who liked broccoli and Brussels sprouts, so Billy’s a bit of a nerd, man, but he’s alright, and he has the best ’shrooms, too. And he’s cool to hang out with man, just don’t ask him about professional wrestling ‘cause he will talk your ears off about it and also he doesn’t believe it’s all staged so be careful there, too.
Anyway, so about a month ago, Big Mike told us to mark our calendars for the last Friday in August because we were gonna host a CRAT Infestation show.
Now, CRAT is of course the big modern rock station here in Ratsville, not to be confused with KRAT Channel 7 news, where my sister Becky works. CRAT’s alright and I pretend to like it whenever Big Mike is around, because a lot of the bands he works with have hits on CRAT, so even though it’s kinda bland and mainstream, I mean, it’s our business so I gotta listen when I’m driving around fetching beer and pizza and whatnot for clients at the studio because as soon as I walk in the door, Big Mike’s gonna wanna know how many songs he produced that they played and I gotta have an answer for him.
So… guess who has to listen to a whole lotta Nickelrat? Now, I don’t mind Nickelrat’s drinkin’ songs, some of them are real bangers, man… but Lord, I hate the gushy power ballads.
I get it, I get it: songs like “Ratograph” are what keep the guys in Nickelrat in new Lamborghinis every year and what pays all their alimony bills, but… blech….
Baby loves that song, of course, so I pretend I like it too and I have a horrible feeling that someday when Baby and I get married, it’s gonna be a whole lotta Nickelrat power ballads being played at the reception.
I am gonna put my foot down and insist we have at least one or two songs like Sid Vicious’ “Something Else” and Baby rolls her eyes when I mention that but she did say “ugh… I guess so…” so at least there’s that. But apparently the Ramones’ “Beat On the Brat” isn’t appropriate wedding music even at the reception. Sigh…
Where was I? Oh yeah, CRAT. So they do this Infestation thing, you probably know what I mean but in case you don’t listen to rock radio, it’s a contest where they have a big band do an acoustic set at an undisclosed location and 150 lucky fans can win tickets by calling in the month before the show and that’s the only way in.
And Big Mike told us last month we were hosting an Infestation for Our Lady Cheese.
Which was kinda whatever, I don’t care, man… but I knew Billy would want to get in. I mean, of course he had tickets to the arena show, but this was a whole other thing. And as the date approached and Billy still hadn’t gotten lucky with CRAT and was starting to get bummed out about it, and the show was gonna be just before his birthday, I figured it was time to stick my neck out a little bit, so one night when Big Mike was in a good mood after getting stoned with his clients, I cornered him.
“Uh, Big Mike? I gotta ask you a favour.”
“No, you can’t have any time off.”
“Oh, it’s not that, man. It’s—“
“Ugh… if you wanna record your band’s demo at night that’s fine but you’d better take all the board recall first and set everything exactly back for the morning session.”
“Oh, I ain’t even got a band, dude, but—“
“I ain’t giving you a penny over minimum wage. If I give you a raise, word will get around to all the other studio runners and then they’ll want raises and then the whole music industry system will collapse!”
“Yeah, that’s cool. But that’s not what—“
“Grr… fine. Next month when Nickelrat’s in recording their latest steaming pile of shit song for the latest steaming pile of shit superhero movie, you can bring your girlfriend by at 8:45 in the morning so she can touch the sofa where Chad sat, but only for 5 minutes and she has to be gone by 9am when their personal assistants get there.”
“OK, cool, man, but that’s not what—“
“GAH!!! What more could you want from me?”
“So my cousin Billy loves Our Lady Cheese and—“
“Fuckin’ Hell, fine. You can bring your dumb cousin in for the Infestation.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you! You have no idea how much this will mean to—“
“Yeah, yeah, just make sure he knows the studio rules.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No selfies. Only producers get to ask for selfies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And no autographs!”
“Yes, sir.”
“And none of that fangirling nonsense.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean it! Don’t you be letting your cousin embarrass us in front of my clients!”
“I won’t, sir.”
“Good. Now go wash my Mercedes!”
“On it, sir!”
So that was a relief, and Billy was flabbergasted that I got him in, he was so grateful, man. And I went over the whole studio etiquette thing with him and all the silly little rules and how you have to act all blasé with these rock stars. Y’know, it’s kinda weird, because you have to kiss their butts and act like everything they do is brilliant, but do it in a way like you don’t really care. Treat ‘em special but not too special. Act cool, man, always act cool. Like they’re just another one of the guys but also clearly better than you are.
Recording studio culture is kinda weird sometimes, but it is what it is.
But that was cool with Billy because Our Lady Cheese is his favourite band in the whole wide world and he wanted them to think he’s cool so he was gonna be cool and not act like a fan. Even though he’s a huge fan.
I mean, I’m sure he would have liked to get a selfie with the band and an autograph to show his friends, but he was more concerned with impressing the band over impressing his friends.
So Friday came and I picked Billy up on the way to the studio so he was happy because he got to help me and Intern Dave set up for the Infestation, and I introduced Billy to Big Mike and also to Jeff and they gave him a tour of the studio and he gave them a big bag of weed so that made a good impression right there for the morning wake and bake in the back alley. And as we so often do, we waved to the body shop guys across the alley and Billy mentioned his brother is Darren Rateriff of Darren’s Kustom Kars so they were impressed because they saw that issue of Ratmobile Magazine that featured one of Darren’s hot rods on page 87.
Small world, ya know.
And then Billy came back in with Big Mike and Jeff and since Billy don’t know nothin’ about audio gear, he was on chair set-up duty and he got all the folding chairs out and in rows while Intern Dave set up the little stage area in the front corner and the little portable mixing board in the back and him and Jeff set up to record the show off that board in case Our Lady Cheese or CRAT ever wanted to release it (or in case it should magically somehow make it onto the bootleg market through an unknown leaker… I swear Big Mike will have nothing to do with that but he will be making a cut of the profits…)
And I was running XLR cables back and forth and plugging things in and Intern Dave’s girlfriend showed up with a couple friends from film school and they set up some video cameras to capture the occasion.
And I’d made sure there was beer in the fridge the night before so we were all ready to go when Jeff and a couple of his engineer friends who had nothing better to do that day went to the front doors at 11:30 to start letting people in, checking their names off the list CRAT gave us, and escorting them in to sit down.
A happy buzz filled the room and I don’t just mean from Billy’s weed.
The only downside for Billy was that as a studio guest, he was to stand around the back by the board with the rest of us and not sit in the front row squealing, but Billy was cool with that.
The crowd was in and one of the CRAT DJs was up front with the mic acting as an MC and chatting up the crowd when Big Mike’s phone buzzed and he and Jeff beckoned to Billy to come with them (and bring the weed). I stayed in the studio with Intern Dave and some of the other lowlier engineers, but I knew what this meant: the limo just pulled up with the band in the alley, and Big Mike and Jeff wanted to smoke a joint with the band.
I was real proud that Billy was chosen to go smoke with them, and I hoped he maintained his cool, but I figured Billy would do just fine.
And if not, well, I’d never hear the end of it.
A few minutes later, in comes Big Mike waddling with Jeff behind him, the band behind Jeff, and bringing up the rear, my cousin Billy talking and laughing with Billy Ratgun.
Everyone was all smiles, so I figured that was a good sign.
And Our Lady Cheese did their set and the fans went crazy squealing and cheering and clapping, but Billy came over with Big Mike and Jeff to the studio rats’ corner and did a pretty good job of adopting the official “in the biz” posture: standing up straight, arms crossed, looking down our noses approvingly and giving the slightest of head bobs at the end of each song but otherwise not letting on that we liked anything we heard.
Well, frankly, I didn’t but in my case the posture is more about pretending to like a band than in pretending to not like them.
And then during the last song, the CRAT DJ and Billy Ratgun’s personal assistant came over and nodded at Big Mike and Big Mike nodded back and him and Jeff motioned to Billy and the five of them all headed up to the front of the room to thank the band and escort them out the back stairway back to the limo while the other engineers blocked that exit for fans and directed them out the front door from whence they came.
Intern Dave was busy with ProTools for the future bootleg release so I stood guard up at the front over the expensive mics and Big Mike’s acoustic guitars the band played their set with, but y’know, in a friendly manner, leaving the “OK, folks, thanks for coming, now git!” vibes to the more seasoned veterans.
Most fans left right away, having places to go and things to do. A few stragglers remained but those were mostly dudes curious about how all the recording stuff worked and I left those details to Intern Dave to answer.
Y’know, tech ain’t really my jam. I know enough about mics and whatnot to follow orders in the setting up, but I’m a runner, not an engineer, at least at this point in time.
But they were cool, just not really good at taking the hint to go.
After a few minutes, though, even they mostly left after taking some business cards with info about the studio rates.
There was one person who wasn’t moving, though: a girl who kept trying to squeeze past the engineers blocking the back stairway.
She came back into the live room and got right up in my grill as I was unplugging mics: “Where’s Billy? I have to talk to Billy!”
Now, I thought she meant my cousin Billy, so I said, “Uh… he’ll be back soon.”
Well, that pissed Intern Dave off and he piped up. “No, he won’t! He’s gone back to the hotel and he has a bunch of press to do!”
Huh? Billy ain’t got no hotel room… and he’d better be back soon, he’s got my weed! Well, that’s when I remembered the singer’s name is also Billy.
Dunno how that slipped my memory, but as I said, Our Lady Cheese ain’t really my thing, y’know.
And we tried to explain to this girl that it was all a mistake because my cousin’s also named Billy and I thought maybe she was sweet on him, but it was too late because now she was insisting that I just promised her Billy from the band was gonna come back and sign her autograph, but that’s not what I said at all but probably it didn’t matter because she was just hearing what she wanted to hear. And she didn’t wanna hear nothin’ reasonable.
And that’s when my cousin Billy walked back in and she pounced on him, man.
“Where’s Billy? I have to talk to Billy!”
“You mean Billy Ratgun? He left, ma’am.”
Now, she didn’t believe him or didn’t wanna believe him, so she was back and forth with Billy, asking where Ratgun went and he told her Billy Ratgun went to the hotel, and she just wouldn’t let up. Well, it turned out she had a letter for him.
Also, she latched onto Billy, I guess it was ‘cause he was the last person she saw with Ratgun.
Or maybe she wanted to get Ratgun cooties from him, I guess. I dunno, man.
And finally, Billy told her he would swear on the Bible and a block of cheese that Billy Ratgun had left the building and wasn’t returning.
“You really swear?”
“Yeah, man. I told ya, I’ll swear on the Bible!”
This was a problem because ain’t no one got a copy of the Bible in a recording studio, but Intern Dave finally rolled his eyes and pointed out you can get the Bible on your phone so Billy got out his phone and went to some website that had the Bible and swore on that that Billy Ratgun was really and truly gone from the building.
This finally convinced the girl fan, but then she was sulking and bummed out because she had this letter for Billy Ratgun and now how was she gonna deliver it.
“Well, which hotel is he at?”
Billy didn’t know, and Intern Dave didn’t say nothin’ and I said, “Well, logically it would have to be the Hotel Ratsville.”
As I’m sure you all know, the Hotel Ratsville is the fanciest place in town. Y’know, they got all that Louis Ratton purses in the shop in the lobby and a Diorat boutique in there and all that. Where else would big rockstars be staying?
Assuming, of course, they didn’t just go home… I mean, they do all live here in Ratsville, after all. Granted that Billy Ratgun has a summer cottage up at Parmesan Lake but that’s, like, a 3 hour drive each way, no way could he get to the cottage and back to Ratsville Arena in time for soundcheck. Unless he had a helicopter take him, but… naw, they probably went to hang out at the Hotel Ratsville.
Well, right about then was when Jeff walked back into the live room and he gave me a dirty look for saying anything about the Hotel Ratsville. And he told the girl that the band went to the Ratdorf, but that don’t make no sense. The Ratdorf ain’t nearly as fancy, yeah they got that cool tiki bar in the basement but still… it’s not nearly as fancy and it’s kinda far from the arena, in the wrong direction, too… anyway, I was skeptical but it was pretty clear that Jeff was trying to dodge the chick and I ought to keep my mouth shut and back Jeff up even though it’s plainly obvious the real answer was the Hotel Ratsville.
Well, she kept on bugging Billy and Jeff rolled his eyes and told Intern Dave to monitor the situation, then he went to the lounge for his afternoon meditation session.
Me and Intern Dave kept on coiling cables and putting things away in the gear lockers, and while I was in the back of the room hanging up coiled XLR cables on the wall hooks, I heard the girl get Billy to admit he was going to the show that night.
Now, she said she also had a ticket, but see, she figured since Billy works in showbiz he must be going to hang out backstage.
Well.. Billy actually works at the local arcade, but, technically speaking, that’s still the entertainment industry. However, Billy might love Our Lady Cheese, but he loves weed and ‘shrooms and pizza more, and the arcade, well, it don’t pay no better than Big Mike does, so Billy’s gotta be thrifty with his concert tickets, which is to say his were for the nosebleeds.
And me and Darren were gonna be at the show, too, right up there in the nosebleeds with Billy, but I kept my mouth shut about that. I mean, I was going more to get stoned and hang out, not because I care about the band.
And then the chick asked if Billy will be meeting with Ratgun and he blurted out that he was thinking maybe he might wait by the tourbus after the show for an autograph… if Darren didn’t insist they head home before that.
Now, obviously I wasn’t gonna be hanging out for autographs, even if I cared about Our Lady Cheese, ‘cause, y’know, the whole studio rules thing and even though it’s outside of the studio, Big Mike would make fun of me if I did. I gotta be all professional all of the time, and not be caught dead by the tour bus… I mean, it would be different if I was summoned by Big Mike to bring beer backstage, ‘cause obviously Big Mike will be hanging out backstage for networking purposes, ditto Jeff. But I dunno if I’ll be invited ‘cause usually they have their own beer and whatnot backstage at the arena, and in any case my spidey senses told me to keep my mouth shut about all this.
Well, then the chick said her mom won’t let her hang out by the tour bus and she was all pouty. But then she said, “Maybe you can make a delivery for me?”
Billy hemmed and hawed about this, and his face looked just the same as it does when he’s about to get carsick and has to roll the window down and stick his head out to barf out the window as we’re driving down the freeway, so I could tell he felt all icky about it, but also Billy’s a people pleaser so there was no way he was gonna wanna upset her by saying no.
And she must have sensed this ‘cause then she held out this handmade paper card she made for Billy Ratgun, the kind with a 3D construction paper rose she made and attached to the cover. I got me one of them, perfectly identical, that my girlfriend Baby made me last week… must be a tutorial going around on Raterest or Instarat and all the girls are making them this week… anyway, the one the girl had had Billy Ratgun’s name written in pink ink on the cover with swirls and hearts drawn all around it and the rose.
Billy looked shocked and he looked to me and I looked to Intern Dave who shrugged at me so I shrugged at Billy so Billy shrugged and kinda stammered, “Um… OK, if I see him, I’ll give it to him.”
Well, that made her happy so she gave Billy a big hug and a smile then finally she left, secure in the knowledge that her love letter would be delivered.
So at this time the other engineers had finally gone out to the back alley to smoke weed with Big Mike but it dragged on so long they’d all left already and Big Mike had returned to his office and I stuck my head around the corner as we watched the girl leave and I saw him on the phone in his office with his socked/sandaled feet on the desk, talking to someone… probably one of the side chicks based on how happy he looked.
And Jeff had finished his short meditation and came back in to supervise the teardown and complain that it wasn’t done yet. And the first thing he saw was Billy standing there in the middle of the live room, staring at the letter, while Dave was still messing with the portable mixer and I had the mics and cables put away so I’d moved on to folding and racking the chairs.
And it might have all been fine except Billy said to me, “I dunno if I’m actually gonna see Billy Ratgun, man… I mean, there’s the tour bus but sometimes they just speed away in a limo and it’s, like, crew guys on the tour bus… I just… I mean, she really wanted me to give him this and now what do I do with it?”
So Jeff piped up: “Throw it in the trash.”
Billy gasped and I just kinda squirmed and even Intern Dave seemed kinda shocked at that… especially coming from Jeff. Big Mike or Nolan No Peen or Simpin’ Simon you would expect to be that callous, but Jeff? Mr. Peaceful Zen? That don’t seem right.
And Billy objected, because he gave her his word that he would give the letter to Billy Ratgun. And he wasn’t raised to be a liar.
I felt all squishy and wrong in my belly, but also it’s none of my business. But also, I mean, mail is private so it’s for Billy Ratgun to throw it out, not us. And I usually keep my mouth shut but I felt strongly about that so I spoke up and said, “We ain’t got no right to put someone else’s mail in the trash, Jeff.”
“I don’t care. Put it in the trash before Big Mike sees it.”
Well, me and Billy insisted we couldn’t and Jeff insisted we must and we were still arguing about it when Big Mike walked in.
“Did Shamu the Stalker Whale leave already?”
I didn’t think that was a nice thing to say, even though she wasn’t around to hear it, but also I know what’s good for me, so I kept my mouth shut.
Jeff didn’t, though. “She’s skinnier than you, big guy.”
Yikes… well, Jeff can say shit like that to Big Mike, because Jeff’s a big time mix engineer in his own right with his own clients who have their songs played on CRAT radio and his own platinum and gold album plaques. And like I said in a previous podcast, also ‘cause Jeff is Mrs. Mike’s nephew, so Big Mike can’t fire him no matter what.
Big Mike scowled, and he said, “Pfft… and three times the size of that supermodel skank Ratgun’s boning. Where the fuck does she think she’s got a chance with a big star like that?”
Billy’s jaw dropped, because, well, I guess he didn’t know Billy Ratgun was steppin’ out of his wife Heidi who is definitely not a supermodel, but like I said before, a folk singer. Or maybe he just thought the fat jokes were kinda mean, I mean, they were, but also Billy was a chubby kid himself and didn’t lose a single pound til 8th grade when his daddy my Uncle Chad—not Chad from Nickelrat, obviously, my Uncle Chad works in longshore instead—anyway, Uncle Chad made Billy join the football team and the coach made him go to the gym and lift weights and stuff so then Billy hasn’t been so fat after that, but maybe what Big Mike was saying kinda bothered him and I can’t blame him if it does.
And I was worried Billy will think I’m OK with that sorta thing, y’know, the nasty comments, and I’m really not, but I mind my own business ‘cause I don’t wanna cross Big Mike.
Anyway, Jeff kept after Big Mike, with some continued jostling about Big Mike’s belly poking out between hanging over the top of his shorts and drooping under the bottom of his tank top. Well, Mike wears the same Hawaiian shirts he wore in the ’80s but he hasn’t been able to button any in years. And he don’t care because as he puts it, “bimbos only care about how fat your wallet is.”
Meanwhile, Jeff is a fit dude due to the aikido he does, and I do think Big Mike is kinda jealous about that, but I keep my mouth shut. And me and Intern Dave continued with the clean-up while Billy continued standing in the middle of the live room holding the letter in both hands.
Well, finally Big Mike had enough of Jeff’s shit, I guess, and wanted to change the subject, ‘cause he looked at Billy and said, “What you got there, boy? It ain’t Valentine’s yet.”
Billy stumbled for words, I guess he wasn’t sure what to say because of Jeff’s whole “before Big Mike sees it” spiel.
And then Big Mike snatched it out of his hands. “Ooh… we got ourselves some fan mail!”
Billy mumbled, “Oh, hey man: are you gonna see Billy Ratgun tonight? You could give that to him.”
“Fuck no! But you know the rules when you get caught passing notes in class: teacher’s gonna read it out loud to everyone.”
Well, Jeff said the same thing he said to us: “Just throw it out!”
And Billy squirmed while Intern Dave kept his mouth shut but was smirking ‘cause he’s an asshole. And I was real nervous about saying anything but I piped up and said, “Dude, mail is, like, private, man… that’s not a right thing to do. It’s Billy Ratgun’s mail and we ain’t got no right—“
“Then go clean the fuckin’ toilets if you don’t wanna hear it.”
So I went across the hall to get my gloves and whatnot, but I could hear Big Mike reading the most lurid parts of that girl’s love letter to Billy Ratgun while Intern Dave snickered.
I ain’t gonna repeat none of it ‘cause like I said, mail is private. But it was full of bad poetry and the yearnings of a lovesick girl’s heart for a man she could never have, and it seemed to go on and on and on like it was 10 pages of tiny handwriting or whatever.
Jeff walked away midway through, saying, “This is why the Buddha said all suffering comes from attachment. We must be free of attachment to evolve.”
Then he declared, “I’m going outside for a cigarette.”
(Apparently tobacco is the one attachment Jeff is OK with having.)
I was pissed, man, and as I was cleaning the toilets I couldn’t help but fantasize about sticking Big Mike’s head in one of them bowls and flushing… but, of course I didn’t dare tell Big Mike to fuck off and quit being such a dick to everyone all the time.
Then Big Mike started pontificating about stupid girl fans and stupid fans in general and how fans are idiots and all that. And yeah, some of them are dumb and some of them are annoying, but man… where does he get off? ‘Cause if it weren’t for fans, Big Mike would have to get a real job. One where he’d have to wear actual pants instead of cargo shorts and would have to cover up his fat belly and wouldn’t be able to afford a yacht for Mrs. Mike.
Now, I didn’t dare say any of that to Big Mike; I just kept cleaning the bathrooms and once the toilets were done, I moved on to floor mopping. Then I even cleaned the mirrors, that’s how long Big Mike was spewing his bile.
And then Big Mike was waving the letter around and saying, “Man, I gotta make sure Simon and Nolan get a load of this shit, they’re gonna piss themselves laughing!”
And Intern Dave agreed, because like I said, he’s an asshole, too. And they were still laughing and started rereading what they thought the funniest parts were when I heard a familiar set of high-heeled footsteps: angry high-heeled footsteps.
Mrs. Mike had arrived. And she went straight for that love letter. “What the fuck is this shit? I recognize that stupid paper rose, all the dumb bitches are making those since it became trendy on Instarat!”
Well, she snatched that out of Big Mike’s grubby paws, probably thinking it was a love letter to Big Mike from one of the side chicks. “I’ll take that! My lawyer can use it as evidence against you!”
“Me? It’s not my fuckin’ letter!”
“Bullshit!”
“No, some stupid fan left it for Billy Ratgun!”
“Not fucking likely!”
“Read it! For fuck’s sake, read it!”
Well, they fought about it a bit and finally I guess she did read it because she didn’t admit she’d been wrong but instead smoothly flipped from yelling at Big Mike for having a love letter from one of his side sluts to yelling at him, “Why the fuck are you assholes reading Billy Ratgun’s private mail?!?”
And I kinda smirked to myself while emptying the bathroom trash, ‘cause that’s what I was wondering, too. But I know what’s good for me so I kept my mouth shut.
And Billy explained about the fan asking him to deliver it, and Mrs. Mike smacked Big Mike up the head for reading other people’s mail and yelled at him for being nosy, which spun out into an argument about why it’s wrong for him to read her diary but OK for her to snoop through his phone and read his texts. And the yelling got worse and Big Mike stomped away, so Mrs. Mike chased him into the lounge, still yelling, and then they ended up in parking lot and Jeff did the usual thing he does in these situation, bolting the front door shut behind them.
And then we were all peeking through the lounge blinds, watching the cops show up after the one neighbour calls them about the domestic disturbance and Mrs. Mike chasing Big Mike around the parking lot.
And then Jeff looked at me and Billy and Intern Dave and said, “I fucking told you to throw that away before Big Mike saw it!”
Sigh… so, that was the big event of the week, other than me and Billy and Darren got super stoned at the Our Lady Cheese show that night and ended up sitting in a little circle around a parking meter asking it to tell us its wisdom, which I don’t remember at all but Darren’s woman Lorelei filmed it on her phone and posted it on Facerat because she thought it was hilarious and Mama Rat saw it later on the weekend and yelled at me about me needing to find something productive to do with my life and that was a whole ‘nother argument… but that’s a story for another day, I guess.
Links
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