[I] had one of the best insult battles I've ever had with a group of three stunning hotties in my front row at my Friday show. They sat, arms crossed, checking their cell phones for text messages, all through the first twenty minutes of my set. One of them said, loud enough for only me to hear, "Let's GO already".
"Are you guys okay?" I asked.
"Too much fucking CURSING," came the non-ironic reply.
"Are you...you're kidding, right?"
"It's not clev-AH, the way you're just cursing."
I wish I'd been recording that show - the next twenty minutes were PURE GOLD. Firstly, all three of these girls were the kind of beautiful that spends its life in a non-stop IMAX movie of people agreeing with whatever it says. Even if said beauty never thinks twice about what it says, how it feels about anything, or if it even likes what it likes or hates what it hates. The Paris Hilton gene, which is spreading like the Spanish flu.
Secondly, it was so much for for me to watch their escalating, verging-on-panic reaction to my questioning - IN FRONT OF ALL OF THESE OTHER PEOPLE, ALL OF WHOM SHOULD BE AGREEING WITH THE HOTTIES - their opinion. Guys who look like me do NOT question these girls or their opinions - EVER. One of the hotties kept looking back angrily at the audience every time they'd laugh at something I said. I kept giving them every chance to leave, but they were determined to stay, and win.
Of course, "winning" in their world consisted of saying, "You don't know me, so fuck off." Like that would end the argument. Probably, every day of their lives up to that point, it did. When I wouldn't stop (wouldn't stop = didn't take "Fuck off" as the end of the argument) they almost started screaming. Weird, non-verbal shrieking, all together. I wanted to book myself and them at Edinburgh, and the show would be them sitting on stage, and saying something like, "Jennifer Lopez has awesome songs," and then me saying, "No, she sucks." And then they'd start screaming, and I'd hold up a delicate glass, and their screaming would carve sonic shapes into the glass, like at the end of THE TIN DRUM.
They finally left. And, according to one of the theater ushers, walked up Dean Street, one of them screaming, "I'm not THICK!" Which, now that I think of it, isn't something you should ever have to say, out loud, about yourself.
Don't say you weren't warned.