Whos Ass

Illustration by Bob AulSend anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent —to "Hey, You!" c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com.

You were a long-haired dumb-ass shithead at the Who concert. I was sitting with my friends behind you. You stood up and raised your hands the entire time. My friend asked you to put your hands down. You said, "Kiss my ass." Your blonde girlfriend looked back apologetically. I began making eye contact with her. After spitting on you for half an hour, I told your girlfriend, "Tell him you have to go to the bathroom." After about three minutes of discourse, she went down the aisle and gave me a "come hither" look. I followed. After talking to her for about two minutes, we went to the restroom. When we got out, we kissed on the way back to our seats. She was nervous and willing but afraid of you because her purse was in your car. She gave me her phone number and apologized for you. We sat down. After a few minutes, I whispered that it was time for a beer. She laughed and tried to pull it off, but the concert was about to end. We spit on you some more. She blew me kisses behind your back. The concert ended and you laid some more witticisms on us, such as "Kiss my ass" and "If you could afford better seats, you could stand in front of us." Your girlfriend looked miserable and glanced back at me. We laughed at you. I had a great time.