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6:47 a.m. - 2005-03-03


You know how sometimes you get a bad feeling about something before it happens and when it happens you end up dead?

Y'ever have that happen to you?

Of course not, dipshit. You're not dead yet, are you?


I may not know everything about my readers, but I know you're not dead.



So anyway ... I got this call on Monday night from a guy inquiring about my DJ services.

We have a nice little five minute chat when all he really wants to know is how much I charge.

But you never tell them how much you charge immediately. You tell them everything you have to offer first.

"Uhhhh ... I play music. And if you want me to talk, I'll talk but if I talk too much, nobody will dance and plus, nobody ever listens to me when I talk because I never have anything of importance to say other than 'Hey everyone ... dance!'"

THEN you tell them how much it'll cost 'em.

At that point they gasp and hang up.

But last night, this guy called back and requested my services for a wedding party.

The party is next Saturday night ... the 12th.

Now, in the DJ biz, you learn that if someone is booking you for a wedding gig that's coming up in less than two weeks ... chances are damned good that the bride is with child and this is what we call a "shotgun wedding".

I don't have a problem playing shotgun weddings as long as I get paid. I don't care if the bride sucked enough dick to get in the Dicksucking Hall of Fame ... I just want my money.

So I start to get the specifics from the guy ... what time, where's it going to be, blah blah blah.

He informs me that it's his daughter's wedding, not his.

Cool. Gimme your daughter's phone number and I'll call her and talk to her briefly.

So he gives me her cell number.

I call and it sounds like a 13 year-old answered the phone.

It's the bride.

She says "Hello" and I hear in the background a guy yelling "I'm a gangsta, G!!"


I explain who I am and that her father has hired me to play her wedding reception next Saturday.

As it turns out ... it's not her wedding reception I'm playing ... it's the party AFTER the reception.

Which means ... lots of really drunk people at this party.

So we're talking and I ask her what type of music she wants at this party.

"No country!" she says.

Okay, no country music. What if someone requests some country music?

"No country!" she belches again into the phone.

Okay. No country music.

"What type of music do you want?"

"I want rap."


What kind of rap??

"I love Tupac, 50 Cent, Snoop Dogg ..." she says.

Awwwww yeah.

I try to gently explain to her that on your wedding day, no matter how much you like rap, there's a damned good chance that your grandmother won't and we don't want to offend Granny.

"Will there be any old people at this party?" I ask.

"Oh yeah," she says. "Some are even old enough to drink."


Now the ENTIRE TIME I'm doing this, her future husband is yelling all this gangsta shit in the background. Stuff like "Bitch, I'll cut you with my 12 inch blade" and "D-O-G in the muthafuckin' hooooouse!"

I chuckle nervously in order to convey the message "Isn't that so cute that your white trash boyfriend doesn't know how to act while you're on the phone."

She giggles and says "Excuse him ... he's excited."

No dear ... the word is not pronounced "excited" ... it's pronounced "retarded".

I could tell they were both high because she wasn't able to focus on what I was saying, he was yelling psychotic shit in the background the entire time and if I had to pinpoint the exact drug, I'd say crystal meth.

She couldn't think of any songs for me to play other than to tell me that she wanted rap. Rap rap rap. Rap all night. Fuck Granny and her inheritance this is HER party and she wants to hear music revolving around how many times the singer's been shot and why.

The ONLY thing that makes me feel safe is that it's taking place at the newest hotel in the city, about 10 minutes from my house.

But I get the feeling that this gig is going to make the Redneck Wedding From Hell look like a royal wedding.

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