DAMN IT, MARILYN!

Marilyn Manson. Some people love him. Some people loathe him. Some religious groups think he's Christ's evil undead twin brother. And, the author of this tale thought he was Amy Lee for the first 30 seconds of seeing him on TV (anyone who saw him in concert in the 90s would only sorta know why).

It all started three weeks ago. I was sitting in class watching the almighty analog clock tick, waiting for the hand to strike 2:30 so school would be over. And, then, I felt a fist rub up against my left arm. I ignored it for as long as I could, trying hard to attempt to pay attention to the Biology student teacher's lecture on Dihybrids and watch the clock. Finally, the arm molestation proved too much for me. I turned around to see my friend Mortimer.

"What is it? I am attempting to look like I am paying attention so the others don't act like they're our voodoo dolls again." I quietly snapped at Mortimer.

"Relax, man. Relax. They'll find a way to get us in trouble somehow." Mortimer replied.

"How is that supposed to help me relax? Last time they told the school rent-a-cop we were threatening to pull a columbine. I think we are best not trying to stand out anymore than we already do." I told Mortimer.

There was a pause. Mortimer looked at me. He knew I was right. You see, me, Mortimer, my girlfriend Patricia, and Mortimer's androgynous partner because I don't know if Maynard is a boy's name or a girl's name are what you'd call the school Goths. We are attacked in a million ways by staff and students alike at our high school on a regular basis. We have to be careful what we do and say and who we do and say it to on a daily basis.
I turned around, thinking Mortimer was just playing around, and had nothing that was even remotely significant to say at the moment. But, then, Mortimer's knuckle struck my bicep again. I turned to face him.
"Mort, this better be friggin' important. Did you set your pubic hair on fire again?" I said.
"Bobby, you know I, you, Patty, and Maynard are Goths, right?" Mortimer asked. I nodded.
"And, that being said, do you know what our Mecca is?" Mortimer continued to ask, a weird smile on his face.
I gasped. "You mean you finally want to have that picnic in that cemetary I was telling you about?!" I asked cheerfully.
Mortimer smiled. "No. I got four tickets to see The Cure live and in concert this Friday night." he replied.
I squealed like a little Catholic schoolgirl with delight. We were so there.

Friday night came. I put on my best pair of black velvet pants, laced up my combat boots, put on my eyeliner, and grabbed my finest trenchcoat. Patricia came to my house looking like the Gothic Virgin Mary, except with a ruffly low cut shirt and a corset. Mortimer was all decked out, even wearing a black kilt and a fishnet sweatshirt. Maynard, however, only wore a pair of blue jeans, a pair of black boots, a black The Cure tshirt, and his makeup, his/her hair let down. I think Maynard may be the laziest member of our group.
Well, they arrived and off we went to the concert. I drove.
We arrived at the concert hall a little early for the concert to happen. So, we tailgated for a minute. Finally, it came time for the concert. We walked to the entrance. As we waited for the doors to open, we witnessed what appeared to be an angry mob of old, normal people walking towards the concert. We were a little confused on why this was happening.
We then noticed some of the mob members had picket signs with secular meanings. We realized that they were there to picket the concert. We were annoyed yet vaguely amused by this. After all, it was 2012. If they wanted to throw The Cure out of their town, shouldn't they have done it twenty years earlier?
But, then, we heard some of the protestors say "Marilyn Manson is a spiritually blind pedophile." And all four of us were equally confused.
It turns out that Marilyn Manson was also throwing a concert that same night, except it was at a theater across town that we drove by coming to see The Cure. They saw us dressed all in black and assumed we were going to the Marilyn Manson concert.

Now, I will say on behalf of my subculture that Marilyn Manson is not Goth, he is heavy metal. Granted, some Goths, including Mortimer and Patricia, do enjoy his music, and even then he is too mainstream to be Goth.

Back to the story. We enjoyed seeing The Cure. The Cure was amazing. But, we, or at least I was still pissed off that the moral majority would assume that we were everything Marilyn Manson suggests that we are.
We were going home after the concert. But, we were going to pass that place even if I took a different route. So, we stopped at the place, and I could see that concert was still going on by the lack of activity in the parking lot.
So, I stuck my head out the window in my rage, and screamed bloody murder "DAMN IT, MARILYN! YOU SHAME AND DEFILE DARKER SUBCULTURES! IT'S YOUR FAULT US GOTHS GET BLAMED FOR SCHOOL SHOOTINGS! MUST YOU ALSO HUMILIATE US BY SENDING YOUR PROTESTORS TO PROTEST OUR SUBCULTURE'S MUSICAL EVENTS?!?"