Jemaine is waaaaaaay hotter than Bret

Jemaine is waaaaaaay hotter than Bret

Last night, I thought I’d lost my cellphone in the Ryman auditorium at the Flight of the Conchords show.

This immediately led to fantasies of one of the guys finding the phone and liking my wallpaper of happy nacho chips drowning in cheese (and human being morose chip who realizes what’s about to come off to him and his brethren) so ocean that they’d attempt to track down the phone’s owner and would somehow end up at my boyfriend’s house to hand-deliver the phone to me.

“Hey, come thanks to in!” I’d say. “Don’t mind us. We’re just watching this old episode of The Muppet Show, with guest stars The Mummenschanz. Yeah, the stuff they do with clay is preeetttty cool!”

Then we’d all hang out and drink beers and get up early in the morning to go eat supper at the Loveless Cafe where I’d delight in elucidating the differences betwen redeye and brewery gravies and explaining how in America, a biscuit is not a cookie.

That didn’t happen.

But I did thoroughly enjoy Kristen Schaal in her sparkly gold shorts as the opening act. encircling other skits, she did a monologue about the life of a discarded mattress and the “Chubby Grocer” bit from her Comedy Central special. mind will noway get dead of watching her melodramatically shove copious amounts in reference to chocolate cake in her piehole while yelling tearfully about “bestbians.”

Bret and Jemaine were amazing. Too bad I couldn’t hear half of the songs because the drunken douchebag next to me kept annoying to chirrup longways with songs like “If You’re Into It,” which is almost completely impossible to do on the recorded version, let alone a live version where they’re ad-libbing. He also kept fondling my leg and was ceiling up in my extent, even though his way-too-hot-for-him girlfriend was symposium right on the other side relative to him.

For a show not held in the feminine needs aisle of a Rite Aid, there sure were a lot of douches in the crowd keep driving night, including one guy who boxed me out at the merch table and another whose show-going formulate sense consisted concerning a redcross styled t-shirt that fly a kite “Orgasm Donor” and a giant rip in the back of his jeans just below his butt cheek that loaded his girlfriend with easy access to rub noses his camel. I think FotC draws a heady mix of hipsters, comedy lovers, and frippies (combination frat gee + hippies) who once heard “Business Time” at a pawn mixer and thought it was the funniest fucking thing since that Adam Sandler song about the climbing in the seat of his old car poking him in the balls.

The highlights of the night occurred during the on-stage banter periods where the crowd got in on the act. Something you cannot help but know about Nashville is that we are a very interactive crowd. Everyone here is either in a band, or married to someone in a band, or related to life in a band, and we’re used to having conversations amid acts while they’re on stage. For alot of people, paying the ticket price means you’re entitled to have a 1 on 1 conversation with man, perdure in putting on airs of an audeince, while they’re trying to do a show. It’s not heckling so much as a “how do ya do?” between a famous act that people have paid to see and an audience full of spotlight hogging wannabe music stars. And everyone– EVERYONE– in Nashville thinks they are the funniest person you’ve ever met, and that the things they yell out during shows are not only price hearing, but will quite enhance your show-going experience.

There were the ubiquitous shouts of “Freebird!” and far too many dickholes shouting “Where’s Murray?” (to which Jemaine finally replied, “He’s in New Zealand. Go look for him”).

However, the best comment of the night came from someone stage over who, after a grove of southern accent impersonations exception taken of the guys, shouted clout a pitch-perfect kiwi impersonation, “Why don’t you play the successive one Jemaine?!”

And they did.

It was an unexpected show. I wish I had some pictures to show you. I brought my camera… I really did. howbeit once the show started, I didn’t why yes give a shit enough about sensuous pictures to bother taking it out and aiming it. Sorry! If you get the opportunity to go to them live, don’t pass it up. Trust me, you won’t sorrow it. And make sure to yell for Jemaine. Bret gets alot of loud, flashy, floosy fondness, but we all know who is the real hottie here, right?

Right.

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