A Rammstein Vegas Nugget I Almost Forgot

I meant to mention this during the spate of Vegas posts, but it slipped through my ever-increasing number of mental cracks. After the Rammstein show, the sidewalks were crawling with opportunists hawking counterfeit Rammstein shirts for ten dollars. These shirts were made of extremely cheap, flimsy cotton and bore no resemblance to the official shirts. In fact, the purported "official tour shirt" featured incorrect dates, including Pensacola, Tampa, Dallas, and another Florida date whose location I can't recall. I ended up with one of these travesties when a passing huckster tossed one onto my lap and said, "On the house, mama." When we got to the hotel, caecus_parvulus and I ended up sniggering over the false dates with great delight. Oh, yes, scammers. Like we'd really travel thousands of miles and spend thousand of dollars to see them in a city across the country if they were performing a scant eight hours away in Pensacola. I ended up sleeping in it on the way home because I didn't want to sully the genuine shirt with my ever-deepening ass funk. I still have the shirt, but I haven't worn it because it's incredibly ugly.

To the fans' credit, most of them ignored the hawkers. There were takers, of course, and I can't fault them. Forty dollars is a steep price to pay for a concert t-shirt, and not everyone can afford it. If I were a teen or a broke-ass college student who had spent every last farthing to see Rammstein, I would be desperate to have a memento of the experience, and if ten dollars were all I could afford to spend, then I might be tempted, especially if they were the only shirts to be had. Dear or not, most of the legitimate shirts had been sold by the end of the show, and the merchandise stands looked like looted storefronts. If Roomie hadn't braved the line the minute I was seated, none of us would have gotten so much as a scrap of fabric or a shred of paper, and as it was, he went without because there were no shirts in his size. I suspect that many of the fans who bought the counterfeit swag did so because it was the only swag available to them by then.

Dear Rammstein,

Next time you tour the U.S., don't bother counting merchandise boxes. Just back the entire merchandise truck up to the building, open the back, post a team of clerks, and watch the ravenous hordes descend. You'll be able to wipe your incredibly-toned asses with C-notes. Trufax.

A Rammstein Vegas Nugget I Almost Forgot

I meant to mention this during the spate of Vegas posts, but it slipped through my ever-increasing number of mental cracks. After the Rammstein show, the sidewalks were crawling with opportunists hawking counterfeit Rammstein shirts for ten dollars. These shirts were made of extremely cheap, flimsy cotton and bore no resemblance to the official shirts. In fact, the purported "official tour shirt" featured incorrect dates, including Pensacola, Tampa, Dallas, and another Florida date whose location I can't recall. I ended up with one of these travesties when a passing huckster tossed one onto my lap and said, "On the house, mama." When we got to the hotel, caecus_parvulus and I ended up sniggering over the false dates with great delight. Oh, yes, scammers. Like we'd really travel thousands of miles and spend thousand of dollars to see them in a city across the country if they were performing a scant eight hours away in Pensacola. I ended up sleeping in it on the way home because I didn't want to sully the genuine shirt with my ever-deepening ass funk. I still have the shirt, but I haven't worn it because it's incredibly ugly.

To the fans' credit, most of them ignored the hawkers. There were takers, of course, and I can't fault them. Forty dollars is a steep price to pay for a concert t-shirt, and not everyone can afford it. If I were a teen or a broke-ass college student who had spent every last farthing to see Rammstein, I would be desperate to have a memento of the experience, and if ten dollars were all I could afford to spend, then I might be tempted, especially if they were the only shirts to be had. Dear or not, most of the legitimate shirts had been sold by the end of the show, and the merchandise stands looked like looted storefronts. If Roomie hadn't braved the line the minute I was seated, none of us would have gotten so much as a scrap of fabric or a shred of paper, and as it was, he went without because there were no shirts in his size. I suspect that many of the fans who bought the counterfeit swag did so because it was the only swag available to them by then.

Dear Rammstein,

Next time you tour the U.S., don't bother counting merchandise boxes. Just back the entire merchandise truck up to the building, open the back, post a team of clerks, and watch the ravenous hordes descend. You'll be able to wipe your incredibly-toned asses with C-notes. Trufax.