Professional Americans

There it was, the door to the outland ballroom. the small quest to get here -- to this exciting climactic point was quite thrilling as it happened, but crazy driving isn't quite as cool on paper, or what-have-you. The Outland Ballroom, you honestly wouldn't know it was there, if you hit your face on the glass door. But that very door was our gateway to fun, excitement, and possibly stardom. I swung open that door, and looked up at what appeared to be the stairway up into destruction. this ballroom, was more like the perverbial hole in the wall. We had to press on. As we were scaling the stairs, thoughts of gas chambers, and horrible torture devices flooded my mind, but there was still a glimmer of hope. We reached the summit, only to find multiple doors. Pick the wrong one, and we may be greeted by members of Hell's Angels... Pick the correct one, and we may find ourselves on Cribs in a few days. We must choose, but choose wisely. I passed several doors up, looking for that one that caught my eye, which actually caught Dan's eye instead. There was a green sign with the words "Enter Here" printed on it. I looked for the fine print, like "to die", or "for eternal damnation"... or any such ominous sounding warnings. I found none. As we entered, I thought, I had gone to the wrong place, it looked as tho' you could fit 367 people in there, yet I saw only a band. As it turns out, the crowds were behind the amplifier. Crowds; a bit of an overstatement. There were approxiamently twenty people or so... All ready to rock out to some Professional Americans. Dan and I were ready to rock out too, altho' we had no idea what music was going to be played, or even who was doing the playing. We were just there for the free booze. (there was no booze.) Soon, the cameras were whizzing in my ear, as I was enthralled in the tunes this fine band was putting out. I'm not sure how long it will take for me to be hanging out with Depp or anything, but, after my performance, I'm well on my way.