Rock Star

E and I were watching some entertainment show on TV last week and they had a segment on Bon Jovi. While the host was fawning over the band, E casually leaned over and mentioned that she had this thing for rockers. "Oh, well, I can call Steven Tyler for you, I have him on speed dial." That didn't go as well as planned because she said "Did him already, why do you think I have a thing for rockers?" Anyway, the segment ended, but that little rocker thing got filed in the back of my head.

Then this weekend I was at Wal-Mart, which is always fun.



But that's besides the point. Guess what? They had this awesome "Munches Make Believe Band" T-Shirt -- You guys remember, the rock band that plays at Chuck-E-Cheese!!! They're awesome, they have thousands of screaming fans. And when I say screaming fans, I really mean screaming fans. Nevermind they are all under 3 feet tall. I had to have it. I had to show E. I was going to tell her that I joined the band. Naturally, I assumed that I was in for some Hot Groupie Sex. (Animatronic Hot Groupie Sex, but whatever. I'm not picky.)



I walked in the door, and E was sitting at her kitchen table scrapping. I tossed my coat onto the sofa, puffed out my chest, and said "Check it out. I'm now in a band!" I held out my arms, closed my eyes, and braced for impact, anticipating that E would at any moment tear off her clothes, and hurl her naked body at me in an uncontrollable fit of lust. After a few minutes, and a complete lack of impact (lust-filled or otherwise) I peeked. E was still sitting calmly at the table scrapping away. No heavy breathing, no obvious signs of Rock Star filled lust… for that matter, she was not even looking at me. She was just sitting there scrapping like I wasn't even in the room. I noted aloud that I was still vertical and clothed, to which she replied that since it was a fictitious band, I must be waiting for fictitious groupies. *sigh*