They Might Be Insulted

I rushed to the vending counter because most times they’ve had some special album at a show it’s sold out fast and I’ve had to go through tremendous trouble and expense to obtain it. As I was waiting to give the guy my money for anything he was willing to sell me, a guy kind of pushed his way through the crowd. Excuse me, he said, as he went past me. I was almost in the corner where the booth met the wall, but the guy now occupied that space, such that if somebody pushed me, I’d be crushing him against the wall. His face was mere inches from mine. I just stared at the guy. I was flabbergasted, not because he was rude, but because he was JOHN FUCKING FLANSBURG.

You have to imagine this. You have to imagine one of the two founding members of your favorite band of all time—a band you just go embarrassingly fanboy over—a guy whose voice has been the soundtrack of your life for over half your life—and he’s standing right next to me.

They Might Be Insulted

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