Monster Society

    Monster Society is the name of this band I found in the good-old Google+ times. They managed, somehow, to send e-mails to every single youngling in the small town we lived in, promising that, if we came to their first show, we’d live an unforgettable experience. Surprisingly enough, only a fistful of people showed up, and even in the open the smell of hairspray was strong. We all met in front of an abandoned house said to be the main stage, although not a single life form was on sight. Supposed to begin at 03:00AM, it only actually started an hour later, now with less than half the crowd that first showed up. I don’t think they wanted a life-changing experience.
   Way too loud, an electric guitar started screaming from inside the house, a close-to-unbearable noise followed by the sound of a chainsaw that tore a hole on the rotten wood of the garage door, letting us see the poorly-lit juggalo skinheads that could barely manage their instruments. One of them was distorting the sound of this other guy vacuuming his own dick, the chainsaw guy was dressed in a dirty pink bunny suit, and behind the guitar player a guy was playing an eight string bass that could not be heard at all among the clusterfuck of nonsensical noise. In fact, both the guitar and bass players were using ear mufflers, and from all the people with big enough guts to actually come to this place in the middle of nowhere, to listen to the first show of a band they’ve never heard of, I was the only one remaining, very willing to get the fuck out of there. But after a few minutes of “show”, the unforgettable experience started.
   The bassist and the chainsaw guy stopped playing their instruments, pulled torches out of a sack and screamed their lungs out while lighting them up, dancing around me in circles like I was an offering, soon being accompanied by the other three. Bunnysuitman hands me a torch and whispers to my ear. “Are you ready for an unforgettable experience?” Too scared to reply, I only watched, amused, to what happened next.
   A truck showed up and they threw me in the back. The guitar player and Vacuum Andy went and threw lit molotovs inside the bando that burned like a giant bonfire, and inside two other inhabited houses in another neighborhood. I was frozen in fright until one of them knocked me unconscious. Next thing I remember is waking up in the woods half-naked with a burning pain that, I found out later, was a foot long swastika cut on my back. Lucky me, my clothes were hanging from the first trash can I found, and I knew a guy that lived nearby. He couldn’t believe the size of the mess I put myself into, and later showed me the news with pictures of two houses burnt to a crisp in the venue street.