I Got SLAYER Tickets!
I finally got a ticket for the SLAYER show!
My Hopi friend’s older brother, Mick, bought a batch in Phoenix. On the day of the show four of us met Mick at Bookman’s. He was excited but only talked with his brother. After we gave Mick our cash, he unzipped his zipper and slid out four concert tickets from his crotch.
My friends and I almost got SLAYER tickets. Four of us gave over two- hundred dollars to a friend who was going to Phoenix to buy tickets. But the guy never got them. Instead he got drunk with a couple of strippers at Christie’s Cabaret.
My friends and I drove to Phoenix for the SLAYER concert. Four of us blasted SLAYER’s new album Diablous in Musica the whole way and drank Southern Comfort. Then we stood in line with a bunch of other metal heads at the ticket office at Macy’s department store. We didn’t know if they had any tickets left.
I missed the damn SLAYER concert, dude. I had money to go but no ride to Phoenix. All my friends who were going didn’t have room for me.
At the SLAYER show, I got into the mosh pit. Everything was going OK until “Chemical Warfare” when someone clocked me hard in the face and broke my nose in two places. I stayed in the pit and ignored my blood gushed everywhere: down my shirt, on my hands, on someone’s shoulder and some dude’s neck. Then the blood started to sting my eyes. That’s when a Native woman grabbed my shirt and pulled me out of the pit. The Native woman looked me in the eye and said something. I said something back but neither of us heard it. She then guided me out of Bank One Ballpark. I never saw her again.
At the SLAYER concert, I left my buddies and went way up front and saw a killer show. When SLAYER played “Dittohead,” I hopped the metal barrier to get backstage but never made it. Five beefy security guards grabbed me in a headlock then beat me up. I woke up outside of Bank One Ballpark.
At the SLAYER show, I got backstage! When SLAYER played “Dittohead,” the security guards were busy elsewhere so I hopped over the metal barrier. I watched the rest of SLAYER’s set standing next to a young woman wearing ripped jean shorts and torn up SLAYER t-shirt but all I saw was her red bra peeking out underneath. We both followed a bunch of people to stand outside by SLAYER’s bus. We waited a long time, smiling at each other and smoking cigarettes. When the SLAYER guys finally came out, I stood next to the young woman with a red bra, and good thing because right away singer and bass player Tom Araya came up to the woman, shook her hand then signed an autograph. When he looked at me, I choked and didn’t know what to say. Tom laughed, shook my hand and asked for my name. Then guitarist Kerry King came up and asked if I was Navajo. I only smiled and nodded my head. He laughed and said he appreciated me being there. Next Jeff Hannenman came up drinking a Heineken. He shook my hand and slapped my shoulder. Then that new drummer guy, Paul Bostaph, asked if I had anything to sign. The young woman in a red bra let me use her pen. Paul Bostaph was the only autograph I got on my concert ticket.
My buddies and I finally drove into Bank One Ballpark for the SLAYER show. But in the parking lot, we saw a young Mexican woman dancing to Ike & Tina’s version of “Proud Mary.” She wore a blue skirt and her long hair down. I fooled around and started dancing alongside her. My buddies watched us for a while then left along with all the other SLAYER fans. This cute Latina said she had wine and weed in her van. She said her friends were being assholes so she decided not to see SLAYER — she said she didn’t really like heavy metal anyway. We smoked some and passed a big jug of red wine back and forth. Her CD case was full of old R & B artists so I played Al Green as she lit up another joint. Then I laid my head on her pillow and held her warm and tender body close to mine. She said one thing — and we both made up our minds. I jumped into the driver’s seat and we both rode away, leaving our friends behind.
I never did see SLAYER.
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