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Reasons Why It's Impossible to Get Laid on Tour

I've toured for a good portion of my life, and it may be surprising for all your horndogs to hear that—wait for it—I've actually never seen a single band member meet someone at a show and do the deed that night.

The Stones in the 70s, back when it was still possible to crash the custard truck on a nightly basis.

If you've ever gone on tour, some half-drunk uncle has probably pulled you aside at a holiday dinner and demanded the dirt on the finer points of travelin' life. You can just imagine him whisper-spitting into your ear: "So what's it really like on the road? You know… the groupies? I bet you're playing rumpy-pumpy every night, am I right?"

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The short answer is… No. You aren't. Unless you're a rapper, or you're a heavy-drinking gay, or you're in a band like Zeppelin who has roadies do the dirty work so the band can shove actual sharks into groupie gash on a nightly basis, your chances of making the beast with two backs diminishes to nearly nil when you're out on the road.

I've toured for a good portion of my life, and it may be surprising for all your horndogs to hear that—wait for it—I've actually never seen a single band member meet someone at a show and do the deed that night. Now I know what you're thinking: I'm probably just ugly, and have only toured with ugly dinknuts who wouldn't know a serious prospect if it fell onto their genitals. But that's not the case! There are a set of conditions at play on tour that make it nearly impossible to score after a show. Here are a few reasons why.

SWAMP ASS

Here's a little vignette for you. You wake up on a floor at 6 AM and literally roll into a gnarly Econoline 15-passenger, where you proceed to spend the next thirteen hours with no shower and no stops except for roadside cheese sandwiches and Dr. Pepper. You chain-smoke cheap cigarettes and your afternoon visit to a truck stop bathroom to blow the butt-trumpet doesn't go anywhere near the way you've planned it. Then you get to the venue, lift up a few 110-pound guitar and bass amps, eat some bad Mexican food, and play a 40-minute show under scalding lights.

At the end of the day, all of these elements combine to make your rear such a wasteland that when a prospect comes within ten feet of it their face looks like a baby after eating its first lemon.

Read the rest over at Noisey.