an open letter

To the lead singer of the band who played at Buckhead on Saturday night:

Your band is comprised of some great, extremely talented musicians. However, we decided to leave after the third song. Mainly because we decided our time would be better spent getting home to our son.

Yes, that's right, I am a mother. Which is reason #358 why no, I do not want to "show my titties". If you were offering, say, TWO free CDs instead of just one, well then we might have a deal. For $15 no. For $30... maybe.

Being that your band (what was the name of it, again?) displayed phenomenal musicianship leaves me in this tension because, while I appreciated your Guns n' Roses cover, I did not appreciate the 27 F-bombs it took to explain which song you were going to do. Come to think of it, I'm still not sure which song it was. Effin' ef, effers.

And your rendition of Buckcherry's "Crazy Bitch" was just kick you in the crotch, spit on your neck fantastic. And not at all demeaning to the 43 year old woman in the front row who you kept trying to get to lift her shirt after many failed attempts with the few remaining women on the dance floor. Did you even give her her free CD?

In addition to your extensive vocabulary of cusses and ability to piss off every woman in the crowd, I was amazed at how good you were at clearing the dance floor in less than 10 minutes. I guess no one wants to see a cover band getting drunk on stage and acting like they are real rock stars. Go figure.

So thanks for a complete waste of a perfectly great Saturday night. You were an absolute buzzkill... and I wasn't even drinking.

The girl who now knows why Buckhead charged a cover on Saturday night. So their bar wouldn't completely empty out when the patrons realized what a tool you were.

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