September 9, 2009

It’s Bronx week ya’ll! I’m pretty sure no one else gets as excited as my mates and I do when The Bronx roll into town on their quasi-annual visit. It’s with good reason, though. A Bronx visit is like a full moon, it brings out the animal in everyone.

Last time The Bronx played at The Corner hotel, Heart Attack American started with it’s ball tearing howl, and without a second’s thought, turned to the gentleman next to me, motioned upwards, and he swiftly tossed me into the pit. Before you could say “HOLYFARKINGSHITISTHATBIGBITCHCROWDSURFINK?” I was writhing about on people’s skulls and fist pumping like a right clown.

You truly would have been forgiven for thinking someone had launched a newborn giraffe into the crowd, so overwhelming was the flailing of limbs. It wasn’t until I landed with an awkward thud on security’s face that I realised how entirely retarded it was for a lady of my age to be crowd surfing. This was further emphasised when I returned to my friends who were each doubled over in laughter at having witnessed what they pleasantly referred to as my “O-Face” as I rolled around on people’s heads.

Like that extra beer you downed at the office Christmas party, The Bronx makes you do things you shouldn’t. That’s why we love ‘em. See you on Sunday.