David Knows What’s Up: A Very Rammstein Christmas
A Very Rammstein Christmas
By David Knows What
It’s the season for giving, so the other day I gave this chick I want to ball some tickets for Rammstein at MSG because that’s her favorite band and she’s never seen then live. All I know about Rammstein is that they’re German and dress like leather daddies and seem really pissed off. Suffice it to say I was more stoked for the potential post-show spoils than the show itself.
I must’ve been a bad boy this year. First off, I’m just standing around waiting for this chick, who’s from Stuttgart and married to a homosexual, and I get a nosebleed. I never get nosebleeds. Omen. Then, the chick texts me and says, “I’m dressed a little dark. Don’t be scared.” Okay, so she’ll wear a skull necklace or something. No biggie. Nuh-uh. She shows up, half an hour late, in six-inch black combat boots, black leather corset (got a tight bod, though—gotta respect that), thick black lipstick, and eye make-up. I hate Goths, dude. Not only that, she shows up with two Germans who look like outcasts from The Crow. They had limp handshakes and didn’t say shit to me.
So we take our seats and it’s not five minutes before they all start doing key bumps. I know my boss is somewhere in the crowd–bad enough I was with these gargoyles, now they’re Hoovering booger sugar in plain view. (I don’t think my boss saw me, thank Jebus.) The gruesome threesome is being really aggro about making me get in on the nose candy. So I kept taking the baggy and the key and turning away and fake snorting. Then after I’d do it, I’d be like, “Aw yeah, good blow.”
The Rammstein show itself is also mega bugging me out—it’s like a Broadway remake of that flick were Nick Cage mopes around and watches snuff movies. There’s fire and leather and people screaming. There were a couple bits that weirded me out in particular. I’m a Jew, so when a bunch of Germans goof around with military imagery and simulate burning humans alive, I get kinda skeeved. The untervolks I was with were eating it up—a little too eagerly. I swear I hear them say the word juden. Maybe that was just second-hand coke-a-noia.
As the show goes on, the terrible trio rages harder and harder, basically making a mini-mosh pit in our row of seats. I hate that crud, so I say I have to go to the bathroom. One of the Germans follows me, saying we’ll do more coke. Crap. We get to the bathroom and I step to a urinal. Germy takes the one beside me and gives me this crazy demon face. I think it means he’s having a good time. I’m freaked that he’s an anti-Semite and will peak at my pecker and see I’m snipped and give me a beatdown so I shield my manroot for the duration of my leak.
I couldn’t wait for this show to die.
Outside the Maddy the chick is freaking out, raving about Rammstein, throwing karate kicks at (probs Jewish) phantoms. The Katzenjammer Kids tell her to meet them at the after-party. I’d rather get re-circ’d than go to that but the girl is practically frothing at the thought. I can’t deal. So I hail a cab, open the door for her when it pulls up, slam it closed once she’s inside, and run away.
That was my most recent Friday night.