The Spleen
Yeah, the best bit. Anyway, Manchester. The Incubus / Far / One Minute Silence gig. A monster. And the catalyst for this spleen. I guess it’s been lurking a while, but it’s finally split open and bursting forth. And it is. GOD DAMN FUCKING RUCKSACKS AT GIGS. YEARRRRGH!
Um, ok. So why? What? Come on, what the fuck do people take in them. CD covers to get signed. Um, like, last time I looked, they were pretty small. Change of clothes. MMMM possible I guess.
Inflatable doll? Well, you never know. I mean, if it’s something cool, like a free zine that you’re going to give away at the end of the gig, then great. Or flyers or leaflets. But I never seem to see these people doing that. I mean, if they were, you’d like pass through a guard of honour on the way out because there’d be so many of them.
So, maybe it’s someones head. Mmm, maybe in that case I should be careful. Or a portable house. Makeup? What. WHAT??????
You realise how fucking annoying it is when someone decides to rush full tilt into the pit, they hit past you (ok, I can curl my fist up, want to throttle them, count to 10, and then relax), but then their fucking rucksack comes flying past hitting you as well. Just makes you want to grab the thing, and hold it like an elastic band and then release it so it flies into their back.
And just think how many more people you could allow into see a gig if the space taken by those rucksacks was made available. You’re depriving real people of the chance of seeing a gig. God, I hate those things. Rucksacks that is, not people. Ok, people as well.
Ah, maybe they contain a parachute just in case a stagedive goes wrong. What, what is it???? Or maybe it’s just another ‘Annoy Dave’ device.
Bastards.