Are you caressing Stu Allen?
“It’s his hand, jackass.”
…
Ah. I see it.
“Good for you.”
Hey, wasn’t Harvey Weinstein a concert promoter back in the day? You guys ever run into him?
“A bunch. Him and that asshole brother of his ran Buffalo in the 70’s. Always something funny with the receipts with those two. Christ, I can still see his face. Like a fat pineapple. Looked like a Jewish Noriega.”
Not an attractive man.
“One of those strategic temper tantrum guys. Would scream at the top of his lungs about nothing, then get real quiet and charming. Well, you know. ‘Charming.’ Jackass.”
How’d you deal with it?
“Laughed at him. He was no Bill Graham.”
He was awful big, though.
“So was our crew. I’ll tell you a story. He tried that massage shit on Mrs. Donna Jean in ’77.”
That motherFUCKer!
“Yeah. She would get her own little room so she could get dressed. Keith was in there, but he had passed out.”
Shocker.
“So, big boy charges in there and starts demanding a massage. And, you know, Mrs. Donna Jean’s a Southern girl, and they’re real polite up to a point.”
Up to a point.
“And that point was him taking his dick out.”
Bro, I’m steaming mad here.
“Story gets better.”
Does she say something clever and hurt his feelings?
“Fuck, no. Grabbed his cock and sunk her nails into the shaft real hard.”
Awesome.
“Then she pulls him into the dressing room where we’re all hanging out and announces, ‘Boys, this venue got itself a cockroach problem!'”
I love Mrs. Donna Jean.
“She had her moments.”
Are you sure you’re not caressing Stu Allen?
“Go away.”
Okay.
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