Oh dude, I didn’t know you gigged in Maine!!
That sounds nearly word for word our experience in high school playing at what was presented to us as “Beerfest ‘99, they’re going to have a pig roast!”, even getting to the place, which was off the road that was off the road that was off the road that was by the left turn by the lake but not past the Old Man tree, bout 200 yards down from where Bob fell down the mountain that one time…
We finally pull in and see bikes everywhere, I look over and see a Saracens patch on the back of a vest and gulped. Fortunately(?), my stepfather grew up with a bunch of them and after a few of them found out who I was they treated us like gold.
That pig roast was something else; they pulled up the lid and just told people to come and get it, no utensils, no one carving it up, people were breaking bones out of it and using them to tear the meat up. It was one of the most primal things I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Hahahaha by that point, growing up in Maine, you get kind of used to drunk people firing guns in the woods, well, I was, my buddies weren’t. We started “For Whom The Bell Tolls” and every Da da da da DAAAAAAA, a dude would fire a shotgun and my buddies almost flew off the stage to duck for cover.
Hahahahah that’s the night they both learned what an ‘oulie’ was when someone asked if they wanted to go smoke one, they thought it was just a joint, it felt like the scene in Almost Famous where the mom tells her son “Don’t do drugs!” as I yelled to them while they walked away “That’s crack and weed, don’t smoke it!!!”