Rock & Roll May Never Die...But Your Fucking Car Just Did

So Trixie and I head out to the Black Crowes and Tom Petty concert on Saturday night.

It was at the UMB Bank Pavilion, which, as I have numerous complaints regarding the venue, let's start with its name:

UMB Bank Pavilion, translated to United Missouri Bank Bank Pavilion. Huh?

So, we leave in plenty of time, because as much as I wanted to see Tom Petty, I came to see the Black Crowes, who went on at 7:30.

At 7:00 we're sitting at HWY 270, maybe a half mile from the bridge to HWY 70. At 7:15 we moved three inches.

We creep closer and closer to the bridge, and I spy two tractor trailers I've been using as a "How much are we fucking moving?" guidepost. I've watched them for a half hour and they've moved maybe 500 feet.

I decide to take an alternate route and we back track onto HWY 70 and fly past all the bastards on the bridge, but traffic is still snarled and I'm PISSED now because it's 7:45 and I know the Crowes have started playing.

We creep along, and I change lanes and quickly make my way past the traffic that's stopped for my exit, knowing I can squeeze over to the lane once I pass the accident, that I've now noticed and realize is the cause for the mess.

I make my way up to the exit and squeeze in (like I had any doubt), to see on the EXIT ramp, a cop has a beat up, rusted out, was once white pile of shit on wheels. I admonish him for his selection of pullover venue and proceed to the concert, nearly 45 minutes late.

We meet Jefferson and Bridget, who've been kind enough to snag us a couple of lawn chairs.

A 25 minute trip to the beer stand later and we're enjoying the last few songs of the Black Crowes show with cold beers in our hands.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The UMB Bank Pavilion not only sucks because of its name, it sucks because of its liquor sales practices and its flawed design, but more on the design later. So, me and Jefferson go up to get a few more beers for our ladies and those sitting around us. He orders 4 beers and is asked "Do you have someone else with you, because you can only carry two?" He points to me. I have half of a jumbo beer in my hand. She says "Well, you need to finish that before I can let you carry two more." Excuse me? Ok, so you're trying to cut down on irresponsible drinking by limiting service to two beers per person, per purchase, and by cutting off liquor sales at 10:00 p.m. (the concert ended at midnight, Tom Petty went ON at 9:30, so we had to hustle our asses off to get one last beer) and you want me to CHUG A BEER SO YOU CAN SELL ME ANOTHER?

Isn't that counterintuitive?

So we enjoy the Tom Petty show and make our way, through the sardined parade of sweaty flesh and to the parking lot.

My God it's a nightmare and a festival all at the same time.

Women squatting, emiting streams of piss...fireworks blasting above our heads...those who although they just sat through a two hour live concert must play the CD of the same artist in the car...and THAT GUY.

He's concert guy.

He's the one that stands cheering long after the curtain's dropped and continues to WHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! in the parking lot.

While the picture above isn't him, you get the idea. It's damn close. He had the mullet, the muscle shirt and an overweight hottie with frizzy red hair and jean shorts. Nice cameltoe too!

He's WHHOOOOOOOING!!! very loudly and giving high fives to strangers.

He's proclaiming his dedication to Tom Petty and telling everyone he encounters that "TOM'S THE BEST EVER MAN! THE CONCERT ROCKED MAN! THE BEST I SEEN!

He sticks his head into the back window of an SUV waiting in traffic and then I hear it:

"Hey man, rock n' roll will never die!"

True, rock n' roll may never die, but judging form your walking capabilities, you certainly might.

He escorts his hottie to his car, THE SAME PIECE OF SHIT THAT WAS PULLED OVER ON THE EXIT RAMP PRIOR TO THE CONCERT and opens the passenger door with the car key.

He joins the parade of the post concert cars.

Here's another reason UMB Bank Pavilion sucks: It was designed by a fucking trayslapping retard. One entrance. One exit. 20,000 people. That makes alot of sense, doesn't it?

So Trixie and I find ourselves sitting in the car for fifteen or so minutes, not moving.

At all.

So, I pull the nose out into the aisle move, and some jackoff in a ten year old Gran Prix, who's obviously on a first date, decides not to let me in, but he's not able to move close enough to the car in front of him to completely block me.

Trixie starts looking at him and he won't even look our direction. He's playing the "if I don't look at you, you can't see me" game.

Well, this continues for 40 minutes. Nosing and nudging, sliding forward, creeping inches. He won't let me in, but I've got enough nose out there that he doesn't want to hit me.

Out of nowhere comes a drunk guy who decides that he likes me and the Gran Prix Jackoff (who Trixie and I have dubbed Maroon Golf, ala Jerry Seinfeld), and steps in front of his car, so I can get in.

Ordinarily this works, except we've been sitting for nearly an hour.

Not moving.

I've failed to mention that I've got to piss like never before.

I'm bouncing around, imparting detriment to my kidneys, and finally I have enough, and so does the guy who's trying to help me.

He gets in his car and I tell him thanks for trying.

I bolt to find the Johnny on the Spot.

After walking for ten minutes, using every bit of concentration and muscle control not to liquidate my assets, I find the JOTS.

There's a line 30 deep.

Again with the UMB Bank Pavilion sucking. Sure, sell me your $8.00 beers, then stick me in a parking lot, laden with the desire to piss, for two fucking hours with inadequate facilities.

I walk to a deserted parcel of land, past two security guards and behind two dumpsters, thinking "I've got the right idea...suckers."

At first I did. I must have pissed for four minutes, because before I was done, I was joined by a fat guy and two hot girls. (No, they weren't together)

Back to the car, Trixie has now nudged us out into the main aisle. We're on our way!

ha.

We finally get out of the lot two hours after we left the concert.

I make a left out of UMB and right before I make my way back to the highway, I see him.

It's ROCK N' ROLL man.

His car is stalled, lights flashing on the side of the road.

Well, again, you're right Mullet Boy.

Rock & Roll may never die, but your fucking car just did.