A bunch of us from an AOL chatroom all met up for Mardi Gras back in '98.
As the friends who hosted the week long bash were big into the New Orleans music scene, we had tickets and backstage passes to a few shows.
One of the shows was George Clinton and P-Funk.
So, there I was, backstage & bubbly and here comes George. Draped in what looked like a white sheet that was decorated with aliens, a la kindergarten finger painting class.
I had NO idea before going that aliens were his current theme and I was wearing a t-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark family of aliens holding a sign that said, "Will abduct for food."
George walks past, catches a glimpse of my t-shirt, backs up and says to me, "Sell me that t-shirt."
I said to George, "Are you going to give me another shirt to put on?"
George says, "No."
I said to George, "Then, you won't get the shirt."
George says, "Are you serious? You see the bitches I got?", as he thumbs back at the gaggle of beautiful, albeit barely clad, young women following behind him.
I said to George, "Are you serious? You think your fame impresses me?" as I rolled my eyes with as much drama as I could muster.
One of his bassists witnessed the exchange and laughed, heartily.
George glared at me for several seconds before he stomped off, his groupies in tow.
As the friends who hosted the week long bash were big into the New Orleans music scene, we had tickets and backstage passes to a few shows.
One of the shows was George Clinton and P-Funk.
So, there I was, backstage & bubbly and here comes George. Draped in what looked like a white sheet that was decorated with aliens, a la kindergarten finger painting class.
I had NO idea before going that aliens were his current theme and I was wearing a t-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark family of aliens holding a sign that said, "Will abduct for food."
George walks past, catches a glimpse of my t-shirt, backs up and says to me, "Sell me that t-shirt."
I said to George, "Are you going to give me another shirt to put on?"
George says, "No."
I said to George, "Then, you won't get the shirt."
George says, "Are you serious? You see the bitches I got?", as he thumbs back at the gaggle of beautiful, albeit barely clad, young women following behind him.
~~Yes, I know Mardi Gras is all about tits, just not MY tits. TYVM~~
I said to George, "Are you serious? You think your fame impresses me?" as I rolled my eyes with as much drama as I could muster.
One of his bassists witnessed the exchange and laughed, heartily.
George glared at me for several seconds before he stomped off, his groupies in tow.
The bassist approached me and gave me props for having the balls to tell George Clinton "no" so, he decided to stick it George a little harder.
He dragged me onto the stage and made me sit there for an entire 2 hour set. Me, in my glow-in-the-dark alien t-shirt, with my glow-in-the-dark-skin, sporting, honest to Pete, rose-colored sunglasses and stoned out of my gourd, on stage with George and P-Funk.
My friends were pretty pissed since I had possession of the only backstage pass.
Yeah, George was not a happy camper, either.
I, on the other hand, was as happy as a pig belly deep in slop.
I, on the other hand, was as happy as a pig belly deep in slop.
Hoodrat: 1
George Clinton: 0
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