Well here is the first small bit of it, written by Gillian [my best buddy] + editted by me, Christine so hope you like it and if any of you are offended because you happen to be included in the story I will apologize now so you don't bother emailing me. However if you still feel the need to bitch Miss "I'm-Like-12-Years-Old-And-I-Carry-A-Rugrats-Doll-Around-Cuz-I'm-Special" email me or Gillian herself, because not only will you provide us with entertainment, but also a chance to prove that you are even more of an idiot than you did on Feb. 12th, 1999. emotionally_sick@hotmail.com - to reach Christine remegis@hotmail.com - to reach Gillian Ok, here is the story.
silverchair. Behind all the moshing fun and excitement at a concert there is pain, suffering, and ultimately triumph in this touchingly human story of the obstacles that must be overcome and endured all in the name of the chair. This isn’t so much a silverchair story, as it is a story about the condition of the asses of two and a half fans through their adventures in chairland, whether they be wet, frozen, kicked, groped, etc. Rain followed us everywhere we went on the Neon Ballroom tour. I would just like to make it very clear that we were the first asses at every silverchair event we attended, and if you are half the fan you think you are you probably have seen us. We’re the ones that look like we were dragged there by a dump truck through a hurricane. You may have also noticed our silverchair attire at each show and interview, silverchair pants are always a must. Christine does not attend a 'chair event without those pants, so if you've seen the infamous silverchair pants then you have in fact seen us. If any of you out there would like to challenge us as to who was there first, let me apologize in advance for any extreme action I will take, because when I finish with you there won’t be enough left of you to piece back together to mail home to mummy. We were the first, and here is our story:
This was the very first silverchair encounter for all of us but Christine was the most excited by far. Me and Katie were in a condition that could not be described as conscious or even living at this point, but she was exploding with hyper active energy. The crew from Before Breakfast Television actually dragged they’re cameras out in the street to inquire about our mental state and why the hell we were laying ["resting"] in the streets. Christine not only told them why [on camera] but provided an in-depth annology as to why silverchair kicked so much ass and warranted our intrepid journey to Toronto. They ran back inside, obviously very afraid and cold. I was a little scared too. Anyone who can be that chipper at that hour of the morning without the aid of medication should be feared. The better part of the morning was spent discussing how cold it was, periodically interrupted by a high pitched scream announcing just how many hours, minutes, seconds we had left until the arrival of the prodical three. Sometimes this time was expressed as 11 tomorrows, seven pure massacres, twelve freaks and two slaves. Or playing the “I Spy” Game. Like I spy an ugly naked old man on the balcony at the building who will not go inside. My god man, go inside! Please! We’ll give you money! What if we throw you a towel? NO! DO NOT STAND UP! AHHHHHHH!!!! His ugly, wrinkled naked ass haunts me to this day. Things sometimes get really, REALLY ugly when you set out to see the chair. If you are in Toronto, and on Queen St, you will be able to see the very balcony on which this wrinkled old man stood, go to the corner where Muchmusic is, then look across the street at the Starbucks, then direct your eyes to the left. You will see a huge wall painted with a Smirnoff ad, look up. There is the balcony, I assure you if that old man is still alive and kickin' he will come out for his morning "flash Toronto" every morning. Then came the pyro chicks. The pyro chicks at this point did not yet have a name, but they are well-known through the silverchair community of the GTA area. They are basically a large, ever-expanding group of teenie boppers. Not all teenies are pyros, but they are usually recruited at silverchair functions. They are identified by there lack of clothing, profuse bitchy quality, and they like to burn things when they’re bored. They pretend they are these big fans who really care about the band and are true chick rockers, but they are obsessive stalkers, really stupid and the bane of silverchair’s existence. They are the reason the rest of us look psycho. They came and they took over. This one girl, whom we believe to be the evil overlord, their leader, went lying to the security guards saying THEY were there first, when in actuality they were there HOURS later. At this time there was a pretty big crowd of them and us three, plus a couple other non-teenies we met called Jennn (with three “n”s) and Robyn, Shannon + her friend with the Sailor Moon hat. We were the only people there at tweleve o’clock who weren’t covered with “I want you in my pants” stickers and shirts plunging their way back down to Australia. I’m sure this one girl in a white T-shirt [better known as head pyro chick] is responsible for a lot of traffic accidents that day due to blinding the drivers. It’s really not their fault they’re grotesquely ugly but I don’t think Ben appreciated it when his name is written across some girl’s clevage with an arrow straight down. Is she pointing out the gateway to hell to him? Watch out, no messiah can save you if you enter this realm of the damned. That's some scary shit right there man. AND THEN IT RAINED!! Not just a little bit. It poured freezing rain mixed with hail. It rained and it didn’t stop. I think the thing I regret most in the world was Head pyro's choice of color that day. I don’t think anyone could have been more sorry that she chose to wear white then us, except maybe Ben. TO BE CONTiNUED.....
