World War HamTown-Hamtramck For Ukraine Benefit Preview

 *Disclaimer 1- The following is partially fiction, partially preview. You figure it out. If you don't "get it" Disclaimer 2 is after the post*

"But it is music for a cause. It says right there in the press release. Music-For-A-Cause"

   I am on a zoom call with Trent, Scott, Amy, Matt, and Oakley who are all at the House By the Beach on the West Coast and Trent has already zoned out, clearly focused on the next post after this one, and Scott is working on visual effects for the next Christopher Nolan film, a four hour epic about a sand dune that has seen it all, and Amy is all pilled out, topless, and even at 40 I still would, and Oakley, who is our personal trainer and the only black person we know which means he doesn't play into this preview, and Matt who is whining as usual about something called music for a cause. I am stuck in Michigan at the National Affairs Desk and the crew in LA want me to go "old school" and preview the latest Michigan local multi-venue music fest, this one benefitting the Ukraine. It is called Hamtramck For Ukraine.

I initially roll my eyes, another waste of time on my part, the bands' parts, the bars' parts, sigh, shrug, whatever. Yabba dabba doo. My ears were flooded with sound bites from the crew on the zoom call:

"Think of the logistics. Watch out for bad drugs. Get pics I can use. I don't really do live music anymore especially after that New Year's show we went to and they dropped balloons but the net fell and we were all entangled in it but kept dancing and you got angry because I was dancing with this guy even though it was obvious he was a fag. But it is music for a cause."

Now that we are caught up, as yes, music for a cause.

   "But what cause?" Scott asks, pretending to be interested though he may really be interested.

   "I looked it up already. Unicef Ukraine," I reply, "Yes, I checked. It's legit."

   "I adore you because you got the right idea, "Amy says, twisting the knife.

I have flashbacks to Lance from LA who perpetuated a Black Lives Matter t-shirt scam in 2020 where he acquired a cheapjack shirt press and mass produced a ridiculous amount of BLM shirts for that special summer and set up stands at multiple flea markets and gutted thousands out of everyone. He eventually used the money to disappear to Europe and nobody has heard from him since. It would be fitting if he was on the front line in Kiev, but instead of a gun he would have a t-shirt stand set up. I even e-mailed him a jpeg of the flyer for this fest hoping that he uses it. I also warned him that if the Ukrainians find out they won't be getting any money from this particular scam he is likely to be goozled, dressed in a Russian general's uniform possibly purchased from the old Lynch's costume store in Dearborn but maybe the one in Livonia, and his image posted on Reddit.

My daydream is interrupted by Matt.

   "Lance is not in Europe. Mr. Zipp Zip saw him in Encino last week. The pics he sent from Europe are actually on a soundstage in Encino. They are popping up in droves. There are three Euro soundstages alone in Encino and I've heard even more in Studio City."

   "That is off the record by the way," Scott interrupts, ominously, a warning, and then goes back to looking at the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly with Trent. I hear Trent whisper, "I bet she looks good beaten up."

The zoom call has turned dark so I bow out and turn my attention to my latest assistant Attilla who is filling in for Sebastian Owl who is still "on leave" for the political decal fiasco from a few months ago.

   "Attilla, I need a way to cover this fest. But for free. I'm not comfortable donating to a cause that can turn into a Rambo3," I whine.

   "Rambo 3?" Attilla replies, a question?

   "Yeah, Rambo helps the Afghans against Russia and then..."

   "Got it."

   "Yabba dabba doo. So, I need a way to cover this Hamtramck for Ukraine thing, but for free."

   "I think your best bet would be just to show up," Attilla offers, actually a brilliant idea. Attilla was right. Will there be wristbands? Hand stamps?

   "Great call Atilla. I'll just show up. Maybe I'll have Kentucky Pete cook up a New York Times Press Pass," I continue, brainstorming.

   "Even better make it an MTV one," he says and we laugh and slap high five.

   "Ok, so I'm going for free but I can't be at every venue. I need to find out which local yahoo debuts their latest protest song."

   "I'm one step ahead of you boss. I looked into it and the bands are having a fest benefit meeting tonight at XXXXXXXXX. I signed us up to perform. They said the fest was full but I broke out the Trans card, sweetened it with a disease, and Boom they bit. We're in!"

   "You get a raise. Let me grab a disguise and let's go!"

We arrive at the benefit planning meeting just as they are starting. I feign a physical handicap because one of the husks from Dear Darkness may have recognized me. Not even she would accost a cripple. Maybe. I think. I have my vocal recorder. The following is a transcription from the planning meet-up for Hamtramck For Ukraine:

   "Ok people we currently have a lineup that is guaranteed to spark zero interest. Yes, this is an issue. However, with the multi-venue, staggered format it allows all the bands time to fill in as an audience for the others' sets."

   "How exactly does this help the Ukraine?

   "You are missing the point."

   "What is the point?"

   "Nobody is paying $20 for this and we need to accept that. At this point we all need to save face and at least get a few pics, hopefully some with a crowd, maybe upload them with a Ukraine flag filter."

   "I'm out. Ukraine will be old news by the time this happens."

   "You are not an ally!"

*Mild inaudible dialogue*

Woodman finally shows up.

   "Sorry, what did I miss. I was at the pub."

   "I don't know."

*Multiple voices (inaudible)*

   "Ok, so who is covering 'People Have the Power'?"

   "I think The Gashounds are."

   "No, The Gashounds are covering 'Power To the People'."

   "The Hourlies are covering 'People Have the Power'."

   "Wait. So The Gashounds and the Hourlies are covering the same goddamn song?"

   "No, they are two separate songs. Different artists." 'People Have the Power" is Patty Smyth. 'Power to the People' is John Lennon"

   "Isn't it the Plastic Ono Band?"

   "Got it. Is that from the "Sometime in New York City' album? The one with 'Woman is the Nigger of the World?"

   "I don't think so but I'm not sure."

   "Wait! My band is totally calling 'Woman is the Nigger of the World' right now!"

   "No, none of that. That is so two years ago. We need to focus on the present situation, the protest."

   "This is not a protest. It's a benefit."

   "If somebody says there is a song that is uhhhh, ahhhh, 'N-word is the Woman of the World' I am going to have a complete mental breakdown, especially if it's Patti Smith."

   "I don't think so, but Patti has a song called 'Rock and Roll Nigger', and nobody has claimed that one yet."

   "Ok, we all need to relax. Chill out. Maybe take a break and go to Kelly's. They still sell drugs right?"

   "But Kelly's isn't even participating in the protest," someone is weeping.

   "Not a protest. Benefit, dude."

   "So who is doing 'Rock and Roll Nigger'?"

   "Listen you lintheads, nobody is doing a song with nehh....nehhh... god dammit!"

The room tenses up. Everyone is on edge, waiting for it. The girl from The Whiskey Charmers begins to cry. We are almost at the Vanishing Point.

   "C'mon Darren. Nobody is doing a song with what again in it?" someone says. Oh no. It was me. I couldn't resist it, the cover is blown...

   "Who is that?" some asks, finally noticing me as I fumble with the voice recorder and grip the can of Chemical Billy.

   "I am, uh, in the last minute band that signed up. Hey That's My Shoe. My assistant, I mean bandmate signed us up. We have, er, a black bass player so we can, ah, maybe be of use in regards to the diversity of this benefit," I stammer, trying to clean up the mess. I even show them a picture of Oakley, our black personal trainer in LA that I keep on me for situations like these.

   "Cool dude. We can totally use an ally like you. We tried to get Sheefy but he is so stoned these days he won't even know about the Ukraine until August at the latest and by that time it will be time for the Hamtramck Music Festival and the subsequent voting rights benefit for the midterms."

   "Whoa whoa whoa," somebody else says, "According to your application from somebody named Attilla, you say you have a trans person in your band, NOT a black person."

   "Well, Oakley here in this photo is trans. And also black. Does he (whoops), they have to be white? Are you prejudiced?" Checkmate.

   "No no no, oh god no. Please don't say that," the geek says, his eyes welling up with tears.

   "It also says that They have Ai...uhhhh, oh man," he continues then whispers to Darren, "Hey, can I say this out loud here?" then back to me, "It says they are sick." He says "sick" with a full body shudder.

   "They'll be fine for the show," I reassure them.

   "But in the pic he looks very healthy, very good. He almost could be in movies, or at least a personal trainer," someone else says, Jesus Christ, these people.

   "It's an old pic. He's been in a movie. The pic is an old pic. He's actually doing better. I got the pic from my mind."

   "Okay. I think."

   "With that settled, we need to address the elephant in the room," the guy they call "Darren" says.

   "Every act on the bill has requested to play 'Give Peace A Chance'. We cannot have 21 bands, well 22 with Hey That's My Shoe, all playing god damn 'Give Peace A Chance'."

   "Not us man," I interrupt, fully in character now, riding the crest of a deep seeded psychological episode, "Because of Oakley's condition we don't play any songs written or composed by white people." I say this while smiling a smug, curt, look at the geeks in Womb Worm. I notice a girl from a band I've never heard of leering at me, just salivating at my lies and bravado. I wonder if she's for sale.

The guy they call "Darren" interrupts my fever daydream where I take her back to the JCMsTown Compound and give her a good three days in what Attila calls "The Kennel" and then

   "Ok, so we can't have 21 bands all playing the same fucking song," Darren shouts.

   "Well since out contract says we have to play every fest I think it should be us," Stacy from Dear Darkness says, no whines.

   "I included it on our application," the guy from Solar Monolith.

   "We've actually been playing it since 2019," the guy from Counter Elites says while subtly breaking a beer bottle.

   "Fuck this. We were the first band to apply. We are playing 'Give Peace A Chance'," the twerp from Womb Worm I meanmugged earlier shouts, trembling.

   "You prick. They asked you to play. You didn't even apply," the skullcracker from Grand Heft yells, "and for that, WE are doing 'Give Peace A Chance"!"

   "Maybe you should do 'Give Shit A Chance' you pig," the yahoo from Womb Worm shouts, spit flying everywhere, nobody wearing masks, and he then runs to hide behind Ricky Rat, who has been asleep the entire time.

   "Somebody wake up Ricky Rat. Get him a speedball or something. Somebody has to have Dave Grohl on speed dial! Woodman?"

   "Nahhh, sorry I was late. At the pub."

A window breaks.

   "How much are we shaving off of the cover charge? I can't keep charging $11 spritzers to seven people," the rep from Smalls yells as another window breaks and a cloud of flies swarm in covering, no coating, Sleepin' Ricky Rat.

   "They have a good point comrades. If we are charging $20 for this what am I going to say to my regulars who just want to drink? This is going to end up costing me money!"

   "He's right! Fuck this. And fuck the Ukraine for that matter. Costing me money too. I drove here tonight."

   "We are getting off track. The Ukraine has no idea we are doing this. If it gets that bad we just won't give them anything and just keep it. Nobody will remember by Tuesday. I repeat, the Ukraine has no idea we are doing this."

   "Yeah, well nobody else does either," some miscreant yells, breaking a pool cue.

   "Be polite. We will worry about the money later. We just need to get through this weekend."

   "Fuck the weekend! And fuck all of you. We are doing 'Give Peace A Chance'!" the miscreant yells.

   "No fuck you," some guy from a band I've never heard of shouts and another window breaks, more flies, and a small fire is lit in the corner of XXXXXX by the owner who was complaining about money earlier. Another window shatters. I am messing with my vocal recorder and don't see the guy from some band I have never heard of break another pool cue and I look up to see him stick it into the guy from some band I've never heard of's neck spraying a geyser of blood, some of it already turning purple, onto the guy they call "Darren", the neck basically just hanging there, and then it begins.

The girl who was giving me the "Fuck Me' eyes earlier is on the ground being trampled by geezers racing to get away from the riot which has now consumed half the building. I consider hopping in to help her but realize it'll probably just be a coma at worst and decide not to. Instead I break out the can of Chemical Billy and just start macing everyone within reach, even those that are just trying to escape or just stay out of the way. Woodman has changed, shifted, pupils dilated, sprouting hair, more hair, and he starts belly bumping people through the windows that haven't been shattered yet.

   The guy from Whiskey Charmers is sitting in the corner, openly crying, playing "The Times Are A Changin'" on a banjo that the guy whose band I've never heard of wanted to use to play "The Times Are A Changin'", but is now unconscious on the ground, a pool cue stuck in his neck, and the bartender is currently bleeding him, transferring the blood into a mason jar labeled simply "Record Store Kid". I would assume that the remaining members of the committee still functioning are writing this off as some type of accident. A mass suicide.

After five minutes more of that scene I am back in the car with Attilla, who had been waiting the entire time and we are driving to the desert, I mean City Club, where I hope to meet a real hardbody bombshell with the least amount of diseases possible although that is not a deal breaker. At the very least I hope to use the rest of the mace. As we were making our getaway thankfully Attila activated the Growler that we hooked up to the Silver Hornet. The Growler is a mobile sound unit that emits such unholy shrieks and roars that every human within a radius of 10 city blocks is paralyzed with unbearable pain. The Growler is what eventually woke Ricky Rat up, finally, and he immediately started bleeding from his eyes.

   "What happened back there? I thought I heard screams," Attilla asks, half interested, but might be interested.

   "You said 'thought'. I like that. Keep it. We'll need it. It was just the typical local meet-up committee cheapjack thing. A few disagreements. Nothing too serious," I reply, chewing on a lock of hair I cut off from the Coma Girl.

   "I see. Well that's good I think. Right?" he asks looking for a sign, a signal. I nod, then shake my head just to play with him.

   "I thought I heard screams for a while there," he repeats, boring me further.

   "Of course. They are really passionate about this cause," I reassure him and then continue on a path I don't see an end to, "Did you know that I think Kristen Stewart is one of the cutest people in show business? Totally a peach, despite her aloof, sometimes bitchy, attitude."

   "Does she play tambourine?" Atilla asks, a tired joke, obviously scared at this point, as he should be.

   "Did you know that I think Kristen Stewart is one of the cutest people in Hollywood?" I reply, ignoring him, "I would like to meet Kristen Stewart one day and maybe I will."

*Disclaimer 2- The above is satire. If you don't get it then you are a lost cause. If you want to go to the fest here is the flyer below. If you don't but still want to donate find Unicef for Ukraine online. This is probably my last local music fest preview and I tried my best to cover all the bases for my degenerate fanbase. It has been fun. Have a few posts left before this site is retired. Thank for tl;dr'ing!

From the Iceman Commeth,

Dr. Bryan Metro