I Haven't Gotten Any Since the Band Broke Up

Man, things just haven’t been the same since the band played its last show. Don went off to Indiana to study math. I went off to school in Boston. Matt went to Ohio, Peyton headed south to Texas, and Ben stayed in Chicago. You couldn’t have had five guys with more different directions in life. You also couldn’t have had five guys who had more fun together. Or got more pussy.

Man, when the band was together, there was pussy for all. The pussy flowed free for all, like water at Niagra, peanuts on an airplane, wine in the presence of Christ. Bridget, Brooke, Molly, Christy, Diana, and let’s not forget that fox Katie; she got together with almost everybody in the band.

But it’s all over now. Ever since high school ended and we all went our separate ways, the preverbal well of poon has run dry. And I can point to no other event in my life that changed the tides of Lake Vagina other than the band breaking up.

I mean, sure, I’ve had flings since the band broke up – we all have. But I think that everyone in the band would agree that there was no time like band time for pussy time.

What is it about playing lead guitar on a cover of the Rolling Stones' Gimme Shelter that made women so inexplicably want to share their pussies with me? More importantly, what is it about not playing lead guitar in any kind of band at all that makes women so frightened of sharing their vaginas with me? I can still rock out! I can still play The Joker! I can still play All Along the Watchtower in several different keys! I can even wow you with my virtually encyclopedic knowledge of Dave Matthews Band ballads! Why is playing Brown-Eyed Girl with four other dudes so damn sexy, but when I play it alone, no woman will touch me with a ten-foot pole?

In a dire attempt to get some again, I have tried writing my own solo songs and playing them on the streets of Chicago. Oh, sure, I’ll get a look now and then from an attractive young lady, but as soon as she finds out that I’m the only member of the group, she becomes uninterested. Oh, if only I had Peyton’s raspy, soulful voice, Ben’s powerful bass lines, Matt’s wild keyboard playing and Don’s clocklike drumwork all enveloped into one man. Then, truly, I would be a pussy-getting machine.

Could the band ever get back together? I would only imagine that we only could under the most perfect circumstances: mutual rehearsal times, a place to rehearse, new material, and most importantly, a similarly dry streak from everyone in the band. And I think that everyone else in the band has gotten some since we broke up. Clearly, the other guys in the band have developed a plan of attack since high school.

Maybe I need a new plan of attack. It used to be handing a girl a flyer and saying “Why don’t you check out my band?” The girl practically took her pants off right then and there. But post-high school girls girls want someone with ambition, someone educated, someone communicative; someone who is in it for more than just the groupie tail. Am I that man? Only time, and the distinct possibility that I will never be in a band again, can tell.

Original post date: 17 July 2003