In the dead of night... Love Bites...
You casually look at her from a distance. Holy crap, you think, imagine the music and sex we’d make together. You look away, hastily yet discreetly composing yourself. Then you prepare to make your move towards her.
WOAH woah woah woah, dude, what do you think you’re doing? What are you gonna do, finally go score? With her? Dude, I get what you’re shooting for, but that just ain’t happening. What do I mean? What, do I have to fuckin’ spell it out for you? …Fine.
First of all, lets draw a comparison between you and her. It’s a widely known fact that metal women typically range from a 6 to a 9, any number below that, you add 5 just for the virtue of them being metal, and having a fully functional vagina…presumably.
Now this one? lets say at the very least, she’s an 8. You? You haven’t shaved since last week, your pants haven’t been washed since the bicentennial, you’re sporting a fucking Pantera shirt, and you have a god damned smile on your face from gawking at this woman. So lets grade you right here and now.
Sorry, ladies. He's single.
-Short, scraggly ass beard
-Nasty ass pants on the verge of total decay
-Wearing a Pantera shirt, the sacred emblem of douchebag mallcore brats
-and you’re happy like a fucking disney character for seeing a pair of X chromosomes
All in all, that puts you at about a 3, adding in your inherent ugliness. You're seriously looking as metal as a Wal-Mart greeter. Why don’t you get a modifier like the ladies do? Because you frikkin’ aren’t one. Look, I know that you think that’s unfair, and it is. But the fact is that of all metalheads, there’s about 25% women, and you’d call them a goddess if it meant getting a chance to tap that. In a perfect world, we’d all be a bunch of stunningly dashing rouges, and there’d be about 10% more metal women, because we don’t want them having fucking equality, now do we?
So back on the subject at hand. What does she have? Spiked bracers, a black bullet belt, a leather vest you’d need a chainsaw to cut through, a Moonsorrow shirt, and the piece de resistance, a single, tiny facial piercing to let you know she’s ready for pain, or to dole some out herself. That’s right, this one’s out for blood, and you’re but a paper tiger in the way of a full metal storm. You got no chance, buddy… You bet your ass she’s out of your league. What’s that, another one?
Why do you ignore me, angel, why can't I go with you?
Ah, I see you’ve spotted a more tamer category. Yeah, the only paraphernalia she’s got on is an Overkill shirt and a conservative amount of tattoos, she could be in your league. That is, if she didn’t already have a boyfriend. How do I know she already has a boyfriend? That’s like asking me how I know you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.
Listen carefully. Woman, Overkill Shirt, Metal show. How fucking available could she possibly be!? That shirt might as well be a wedding band, except it actually means something. She could just be here on her own? Maybe. If she was the last single metal woman on earth. So, what will you do, risk the chance of having your ass kicked by her likely much more metal boyfriend? …Wise choice.
What smells like vapid self pity?
I know what you’re thinking, looking past me, near the bar/chairs/seating area, You’re eyeing up those chicks that are just glancing around, sipping their drinks and talking to each other. Yeah, that’s a fool’s errand. No, I’m not saying it’s unfeasible to pick any one of them up, it’s just going to be an empty experience. They’re not here for metal, they’re here to talk with their other ditzy friends amidst loud, blaring music. But there’s a more damning piece of info right here. Take a close look. Closer… Closer… No, not at their tits.
That’s right, they’re not wearing any merch. They’re not metal women, and if they are, they aren’t nearly as passionate as you or I. They are what I like to call trophies. No, they aren’t all the time with a boyfriend, they’re just pre wrapped to be trophy girls for the more douchebag-like metalheads. In essence, they’re poseurs. They’re just here to look hot, occasionally glance up from their phones, and drink over priced, watered down beer. The only reason we don’t kick them out of the place is because they usually have a decent rack and keep to themselves. Down that path is a sperm laden bed full of lies. Fine for a night, just not the broad you’re looking for.
You’re going to give it a shot anyways? Admirable. Ol’ Righty needs a break once in a while. but I wouldn’t bother. Why? No reason. I’m not stopping you. It’ll give me time to finish my drink. See you in a minute.
… another Molson. Thanks.
Let me guess. They just stared at you until you left? Well, that’s because they’re not really here for the show, or to hang out with metalheads. This is what they do when they have fights with their parents, or want an excuse to drink more than half a can. And it’s not just because you’re so clearly and obviously a 3, Panterashirt McPubebeard. Gaze unto me, your silver steeled god. Savatage shirt, flowing golden rock locks, steel toed murder boots, and a patch vest that even the most seasoned true metal veteran is envious of. Watch this.
Yes, they all walked away as they saw me coming. I literally project an aura of sheer fucking metal, and they were compelled to extricate themselves from the premises. Even you are above them. What am I saying, you ask? That it’s un-metal to pick up women at a metal show? I’d be hesitant to say yes, but it’s not about it being about metal. It’s just not practical, kiddo. This is an environment where you’re either unworthy of the women, the ones on your relative level are already hitched with their Overkill shirts, or are so uninterested in social interaction it borders on hilarity.
Seriously, kid. Go back home and hit up the internet. You’d have an infinitely easier time that way. Where do you find a metal woman online? You don’t. You’re not gonna get one. simple as that. Just get a regular girl, man. You’re not gonna have any luck converting her, but at least you’re not trying to hunt down a spiky skeletal unicorn. Seriously, dude. preserve your sanity. Head home. Yeah, I’ll see you later.
…And one less competition to deal with.
…Hey, nice Moonsorrow shirt. That album kicks ass.