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Pit Stories: A Blitzed (And Doomed) Journey To See The Misfits

We've got one hell of a pit story this week metal heads, going from S.O.D.'s Billy Milano crushing a fan's hand to a truly epic trek to see The Misfits that's worthy of a Harold & Kumar style movie.

Hilariously, the vast majority of this pit story takes place nowhere near the pit, as a drunken idiot friend tanks all chances of getting to the show. Vocalist Mike Stack from False Gods tells the tale like this:

I have slowed down a bit in my present age as far as going to shows but back in my more carefree and reckless years it was probably my favorite pastime. I think a big part of the adventure was taking the train into New York city from the island because it gave you ample time to get your drink on.

I remember one Halloween getting so lit on cheap rum that the last thing I remember is walking on the city streets in the middle of a Halloween parade and my friend looked at me and said “I have to go kill a midget” and started sprinting through the people full speed. I didn’t see him again for a few days after that. One time the exact same friend, during S.O.D. was standing next to me in the front of the stage screaming in my face. I had assumed he was so excited by finally getting to see them because they had been on a hiatus but to my disbelief he was screaming because Billy Milano was standing on his hand and he was screaming in pain.

My all time favorite story though is when me, my brother and two of my friends went to go see the Misfits back in 1996. During the Michael Graves years. We had a handle of Bacardi rum with us and the ride to the city was only an hour. The first 20 or so minutes went without a hitch, small talk and some laughs, then for whatever reason my friend (we'll call him "Tim") was like “we have to finish this bottle before we get to Penn station” I am usually under the assumption that putting any type of deadline on yourself is a dangerous game to play. After this statement he proceeded to guzzle almost half the bottle of booze until I had to actually interject and take it away from his mouth.

Voicing concern but not fully understanding the gravity of the situation, I myself downed a bit of the god tears and continued to enjoy the ride into the city. Maybe 10 minutes later I noticed Tim's eyes start to gloss over and transform into the" lights are on but nobody is home" look. I don’t really know what he and my brother were discussing but the next thing I hear is him say “you and your brother are like blood to me! BLOOOOOD!!” and to the horror of every passenger unfortunate enough to be trapped in the train car with this lunatic screaming BLOOOODD!! He stands up and starts screaming it directly at individual passengers just trying to go about their day.

Then he turns to me and states “someone stole my wallet!” and proceeds to take his wallet out of his pocket and stare at it. I say ”its right there in your hand man” then he looks at me, then at his wallet again, then at some poor fella sitting in his seat minding his business and says “this motherfucker stole my wallet!” and starts poking him in the face demanding the wallet that is so obviously right there in his hand.

By this time we are about 6 stops from the city and things are going from bad to worse. The train starts to clear out, for obvious reasons, and this jerk off is climbing the luggage racks above the seats like fuckin' spider man. Then without warning he slips, falls onto one of the seats, and I swear I thought he broke his back. Lo and behold he gets up, totally fine and starts screaming about how he is not a racist and how he doesn’t care if the cops come. Championship sentiments of a blacked out moron because right on fucking cue the train comes to a stop and who bumrushes the car we are riding in? The fuckin' cops.

Before I can even get my bearings, he is whisked away and the three of us are left to ponder our next move. So, we get to Penn and go directly to the police station to inquire about the fate of our drunken idiot of a friend. I was talking to the gentlemen at the front desk of the station when I hear screaming coming from the holding cells. “35 SIR! 36 SIR! 37 SIR!” The front desk guy asked who our friend was and we stated that it was the guy doing the pushups in the holding cell. “oh, the soldier?” he asks “yep.” So at this point I convince my brother and my other friend to just go see the Misfits without me. Which they happily oblige.

The cops were very pleasant and release my other friend into my “care.” So I carry this 225 pound moron onto the train returning back to Long island and sit there as he proceeds to have the spits the entire train ride back. Not actually vomiting on himself, just drooling enough to make him look like an escaped mental patient to every citizen on this train. After an eternity watching my ”friend” drool and snore his way in and out of consciousness and blubber nonsense, we finally arrive at the train station back home. On fucking cue as soon as we get off the train it was like someone turned the switch back on in his brain and he asks “why are we at Ronkonkoma? Lets go see the Misfits man! Why are we here?” to which I replied “fuck you bro!”

What's the most ridiculous journey you've gone through to try to reach a show, and did you finally make it?

False Gods just released "Wasteland" last month, which can be heard in full below. For more info on the band, head over to Facebook here.