big deejays don't cry

as if in a waking nightmare, i had been powerless to prevent myself from entering funky winkerbean's a little before 1am in nothing but my heart-patterned underpants and walking up to the karaoke machine to screech the words to Talk to Me, Dance With Me into the microphone. if this wasn't bad enough, steve bays, singer of hot hot heat, walked into the bar at this exact moment, catching me in the act. i wanted nothing more than to stop singing and act like it had been some sort of a misunderstanding, but the words kept scrolling forward on the monitor. there was no way out: i had to complete the song. he glared at me from the doorway for the duration of my performance and then dissapeared out the door when i had finished.
afterwards i ran out into the street to try and find him and aplogise and make him understand that i hadn't meant to butcher his song in front of him, but he was nowhere in sight. i ran down the street, taking corners randomly, looking around desperately for that tall red hair and ignoring everything else when i was tripped by something and went flying through the air, smashing my beautiful face against the filthy curb. i rolled over to see what i had hit and was horrified to discover a short, pudgy man with wild red eyes accompanied by the rank stench of hatred and street living standing over me with his fists clenched.

"you think you're so fucking great, blitzcraig, but i've got news for you: you aren't." he stopped to wipe his lips and continued, "you're just a stupid music selector, little better than itunes' party shuffle, not a real dj. you don't know the first thing about being a real dj. you're just a little bitch."
"that's just like...your opinion, man."
"hah! a bitch like you couldn't possibly understand my people's struggle. you think this shit is a game, boy? you think people go to the club to dance, get drunk, and talk to girls?? THEY DON'T! they fucking go to listen to my turntable virtuosity. what could a fake dj like you know about that? you don't know shit, boy." i wiped his spittle from my face and stared back at him in terror once he had finished his tirade, unsure of whether to defend myself again or try to knock him over and make my escape. i quickly recalled that because of his petite stature his centre of gravity would be much lower than a normal man's, so knocking him over was out of the question and i was forced to make a stuttering reply.
"well uh, maybe like...no one is like sober enough to uh notice...or something...i mean, no one has complained yet, sir."
"that doesn't mean shit! i've seen you play music and anybody watching you will know that you're a fucking joke, an insult to the holy brotherhood of real djs. you don't spend the whole time jerking off the various knobs and buttons, you just put a song on and dance behind the table. PEOPLE DON'T COME TO PARTIES FOR THE SONGS THEY GO TO WATCH THE DJ YOU IGNORANT PIECE OF SHIT!" he became so caught up in his anger that he turned his crazed eyes away from me for a moment to scream his rage to the stars that i was able to make good my escape.
when i finally arrived at my home, i remained parked in the middle of my long, tree lined driveway crying my eyes out. had that man been right? was i nothing but a pig party ruining phoney? would people stop having fun because i was unable to masturbate the knobs appropriately? did people really come to watch the awesome spectacle of a dj slaving away over a hot turntable all night to make you a decent beat and not, as i had believed, to dance and have fun?

all these questions and more will be answered this friday, the 18th of july in the 2008th year of our lord when craigzlizt (this very blog) turns 7 months old and the blitzcraig will show you all how much you mean to him with music. and if a dj who actually knows what he's doing is important to you, the beautiful and talented tyler fedchuk will be there to bail his ass out and hopefully prevent you all from demanding your $5 back.

there is obviously no facebook event, so have this information tattooed onto your heart:

the sweatshop (1947 e hastings)
july 18th (friday)
tyler fedchuk and the blitzcraig