Lysa and Stan met B and I in
The show rocked; Tom was in a noticeably better mood than he was in
Yeah, Tom Petty! I love you, Tom Petty! You rock, Tom Petty! WhooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Tom Petty you are the best!! WahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHH!!!!!! I love you, Tom Petty!
Great, right? What's not to like? Well, I'm glad you asked. Because this chicks shrieking pierced my very existence. Not to mention my medulla oblongata. My standard Brooklyn-Girl death glare did not have its desired result. Or any result for that matter. She completely ignored me and went about her lunacy. Unbelievable. Figured I was pretty much out of ammunition. What's a girl to do, ya know? I'm just trying to hear the band. The band, incidentally, that I crossed 6 state borders to see... but I couldn't even hear my own thoughts, let alone Tom's. WTF? There's like 180 acres of grass and this inebriated jackass has to stand all up in my plot!? Left with no choice, or so it seemed at the time, I turned around and screamed in her face. Loudly. Super loudly. I scared the piss out of her. Pretty much out of myself, too. It was awesome. I could finally hear the actual Mr. Petty singing instead of his drunkest blonde fan.
No I won't. Back. Down.