CORRECTION: SOME GUY DIDN'T GET PUNCHED
It has come to our attention that in a caption on our photo blog three months ago, we incorrectly claimed that a guy who got into a fight with Nobunny at a concert got "hit a lot" and fell down. According to that guy, he was not hit but pushed, after which he ran away. Vice regrets the error.
In the interest of fairness and of using the power of Vice's market to promote a diversity of opinions about a thing that happened at a concert last year, we present to you the guy's full account of the fight/pushing incident, as taken from his blog. We also took the gif from his blog.
ST. DAD VS. NO BUNNY
My truth in regards to “St. Dad versus No Bunny”
Recently, before I finally made it to my current location, Boston, MA, I was hanging out at my friends’, Dru and Lily’s, couch in Queens, NY. I went to the No Bunny show at the Knitting Factory. Before arriving there, a bunch of other Puerto Ricans and I drank PBRs and whisky shots at a bar close by. Then we went to the show.
There we saw the Jacuzzi Boys play. It was cool. I was one of the very few who danced. I said hi to the members of the Jacuzzi Boys after they had played. Some of them were hanging out by the side of the space where I was with Dru and my other Puerto Rican friends.
Then No Bunny played, and when the singer went onstage he looked nothing like the singer I remembered having seen play as No Bunny in Orlando, FL. St. Dad, the punk band I used to sing for in Gainesville, FL, was supposed to open for the Spits while they were on tour with No Bunny. Money-bullshit between No Bunny and the Spits’ booking agent and the venue-guy in Gainesville fucked that up. The second there was a slight chance of a no-show in Gainesville, a member of No Bunny made plans to play somewhere else, so then there was no possibility of us in Gainesville, the punk rockers, to set up the show somewhere else.
So the members of St. Dad drove down to Orlando to see the Spits. No Bunny played too. And when I saw them play, I remembered a muscular dude with black hair. What I saw at the Knitting Factory was some blonde scrawny fuck. I also remembered the No Bunny singer to be stronger-looking from watching videos of him on YouTube, and from the record cover. I immediately concluded that the guy on stage was an imposter, and that the true singer of No Bunny was somewhere else not playing a show for people who were assuming to be watching No Bunny. So then I ran up the stage and started yelling at the guy who I believed was lying to everyone in the room, “You fake! You’re not No Bunny! Get off the stage!” and such things. Then I saw beer cans left by people on the floor of the stage in front of me and began to take these cans of beer and throwing them at the person who I believed was impersonating No Bunny. Then he tried to hit me with his guitar, and somehow instinctively I was able to grab it away from him. What happened afterward was mayhem, in that I began to slam his guitar against the floor I was standing on. All round me, the young hipster girls yelled, “Oh my god! What are you doing?!”
Next, I was pushed down, and yes, the guy acting as No Bunny came after me, but he did not touch me. No person put their hands on me. Come on, I grew up in San Juan, Puerto Rico from the mid 1990s till 2006. You think some white-ass hipster rock stars are going to fuck with me? I’ve walked in between the slums of la Perla to the inner city shanties of Santurce, Puerto Rico.
When I was on the floor, I saw that some more guys were going to come towards me, probably with plans of jumping me. The guy from No Bunny had left. I had gotten up and was ready to defend my self. He didn’t fuck with me. The guys who were going to fuck with me didn’t get to me because I ran the fuck out of there. I ran and ran until I was two blocks away from the venue, and then walked slowly back until I found myself with Dru, and he told me he knew the bouncers and talked them out of coming after me. But he said we had to get the fuck out of there. And we did, and we waited for our Puerto Rican friends at the bar we were drinking at earlier. And we laughed our asses off about what had just happened. And I still believed the guy whose guitar I had slammed was not the real singer of No Bunny.
The reason I am writing this is because the hype-machining tools that are Nick Gazen and Vice Magazine made a post earlier this fall (2010), in which Nick Gazen’s photos taken out of context to the actual occurrences of reality can lead the viewer to all sorts of different conclusions, and the one presented on Vice Magazine was one stating that I had gotten “knocked the fuck out,” that I had gotten hit a lot. These “truths” are false. The only pain I had after that night was the pain in my palm due to grabbing No Bunny’s guitar out of his hands and slamming it repeatedly against the floor.
Because I was too busy, I have not had time to write down my truth of the occurrence, the context from my point of view.
I believe the photos posted up on Vice make me look terrible. I do not understand why they felt the need to lie to make me look worse. I have never needed help from anyone to make myself look bad. I’m a fucking pro in that department. In the photos I look like some gremlinish monster from hell. Though funny and ridiculous, and many of my friends and I gained pleasure from the spectacle, this is not something I am proud of.
But despite the picture making me look like shit already, Vice and Nick Gazin had to lie to make the bitch-ass rock star of No Bunny not seem too demeaned in front of his mass of followers, the NYC-hipsters. Nonetheless, my truth will probably be buried over the power of Vice’s market, but at least, if this essay and its adjoined comic of “St. Dad vs. No Bunny,” are published, the next time someone searches “St. Dad versus No Bunny” on a web-browser, if someone were to want to do that for some reason, another point of view will be available for consideration.
Everything You Need to Know About the Life of Nelson Mandela
Weediquette: Stoned Kids
Munchies: Jackson Boxer
Live Streaming the Ukrainian Revolt
Jihad Selfies: These British Extremists in Syria Love Social Media
The Internet Is a Giant Lie Factory
People in Colorado Are Now Shooting Themselves Faster Than They Can Die in Car Crashes
The VICE Guide to Travel: North Korean Motorcycle Diaries
I Have Voluntary Tourette’s (and Am Insane)