I used to be in a band. Well, I used to define ourselves as a group of friends that happen to play together, but we did gigs here and there (some pretty nice venues too), wrote our own songs, rehearsed, recorded some tracks, and that kind of thing.
It was the year 2005? Or something like that. And we went to record drums for the first time on a house in the outskirts of Madrid. I usually went to work at the recording studio and would leave to the "country house" straight from there, but this was a weekend, I think, because the whole band was there.
After recording some tracks, we ordered a few pizzas and decided to eat them, as tradition dictates. We were talking about rock and roll, friendship, and shit. And then a story combined them all.
Dvd: Dude, I remember when we were kids and used to [insert stuff that you'd do when you were a kid in the 80s]!
Me: Oh yeah, I remember [same kinda crap]
The rest of the friends (and one of the girlfriends who had come that day) nodded assertively and smiled celebrating this long lasting friendship.
Dvd: And I still remember, one time, you threw your own shit to my neighbors.
Silence took over the table, jaws dropped, eyes opened, heads turned, hands stopped, pizza portions hanged.
Me: What? Imposs...! Oh crap. I remember.
Of course, after that the silence didn't manage to persist. Thankfully, laughter was the most reasonable way out. So they laughed. I... on the other hand, had to explain.
Me: Wait, wait! It wasn't like that! I was trying to avenge Dvd from whatever the neighbors had done, so I pooped in my hand and...
...and realized I wasn't making things any better.
Moral? Don't throw excrement in the name of friendship. It will haunt you forever. The memory, not the excrement. Mmmh... I guess that's not so bad, if you look at it that way.
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