Here's the background information:

First, I wanted to go to San Diego to see a Kittie concert. Living in Los Angeles, this would mean a 3+ hour trip. I was going to go with one of the guys I had met in the David Bowie chat room. You might remember him from the first concert thing. Yeah, there were two, but the other guy got deported back to Germany. See, Immigration read my web site and found it suspicious that I met two guys froma David Bowie chat room. So, using sophisticated technology that I understand and would explain but it would only confuse your poor, under-developed mind so I'll save you the headache, they tracked the guy down and got him while he was buying "Catcher In the Rye" from the local Barnes and Noble. It's sad. But since it wasn't me, I don't care too much. So, as far as I knew, I was going to take a train down there and catch the show.

However, the second guy forgot to inform me that his grandfather celebrated his birthday on the specific day of the concert. Keep in mind that's it's really not the grandfather's birthday. The grandfather just thinks it is and poo's himself every time he doesn't get his way. So my friend's family just goes along with whatever the grandfather says. He once got them to celebrate Christmas six months early by making all sorts of colored, runny diarrhea in the swimming pool. So, now I wasn't going to the Kittie concert. I found this out two days before the show.

The day before the show, I got punched in the face by some girl. See, I was wearing my Kittie shirt and she thought it was some sexual innuendo. I tried to explain to her that Kittie was really a group of futuristic super heroes that had the power to take over the minds of overly-hormonal males. Which is true. But she was stubborn in her ways. So she hit me. She hit me really hard.

As I lay on the sidewalk, bleeding and crying, some guy tripped over me. Upon seeing my Kittie shirt, he arrested me for inciting a riot. Turns out he was from the FCC, Division 6. I learned from him that Kittie is illegal in 18 states. So he took me to this room and sat me down at a table. And after a few minutes, he decided to test how lethal my Kittie shirt was. He brought out a giant cockroach looking thing and set it on the table in front of me. He left and the cockraoch thing started talking to me! I was freaking out. Here's what he said:

"Trenton Chaynes, I have arranges to have you brought here in order to have a few moments to speak with you. I am your case officer. Your case officer. You are my agent. I, in turn, report to your controller. As you can expect, I have instructions for you from headquarters. It's about Kittie. The Kittie. They are not really Kittie. They are agents from Canadazone, Inc. You must see them in concert. You must do it soon in order to thwart their evil plot. Do not ask what their plot is, as you will discover it very soon."

I asked, "What would a group of classy girls like Kittie be doing working for a two-bit operation whose sole purpose is the destruction of James Bond?"

He answered, "No, no, you're getting the Canadians and Russians mixed up."

I said, "Yeah, yeah, Canadian, Russians, they all have the same t-shirts."

He replied, "Yes, but, anyway, who said Kittie are really women? In fact, who said they're human, at all?"

I said, "What do you mean by that?"

He replied, "I can say no more. But I will give you a hint: they're really genetically altered super humans that were created from the naughty bits of two representatives of an alien race who are bent on the enslavement of all humans who haven't evolved past the 'hot girl, i have sex' stage."

I didn't understand the clue and to this day can't figure the riddle out. So I crushed him with my shoe, broke out of the joint, and had my mommy pick me up.

The next day, I tried to steal a Neal Diamond's greatest hits cd from some guy who was sleeping in a fountain. He caught me and I explained that I needed the cd to drive out a horde of cannabals that had taken over my upstairs bathroom. The fiends had gotten downright arrogant. But he knew the real reason. After a nice chat about how we both thought contemporary art and poetry are absolute crap, I learned that his name was T-Bone Tyler Kether Boom Boom Brucey Brown. That's his legal name. Honest. But I was told to call him Tyler. He made soap out of Brazilian centipedes or some outlandish thing. I invited him to come to the show with me and he agreed to go.

The only problem was how to get there. I told the dilemma to my mommy and she, being the omnipotent god that she is, volunteered to drive us down there! Yay! So now I was going to the Kittie show!

Here's the story of the show:

On the day of the concert, I went to my local Barned & Noble because, well, I have nothing else to do. I spend mostly all of my time there. It's like a church to me. Anyway, I was cutting letters out of books and pasting them on a poster for John Grisham's latest book because that was how I was going to contact Tyler. As soon I was done, I folded it into a paper airplane and threw it out the window. As soon as it was gone, Tyler was standing next to me, holding a typewriter in one hand and an Eskimo in the other.

He said, "I read your letter. But I never answer right away. So I typed you a response." He handed me the reponse. It was a drawing of a retarded kid in a wheelchair. He then handed me the typewriter and a plane ticket. "You're going to need both of these for the Kittie concert. Reports and such." So I gave the plane ticket to my mommy and we headed down to San Diego. To pass the time, I stared at a Rimbaud book that I had read. I was making sure that it didn't move.

We stopped at a Wendy's for nourishment. At least, as much nourishment as can be expected from three patties of a slaughtered cow that were literally dropped into a bucket of grease. While waiting, I started typing up my report thus far. While doing so, some random guy came up to me and asked if I knew Dr. Lander. It turns out this guy was an operative, as well, and gave me more information on my mission. He then directed me to a hideous, six foot tall monster that was chewing a chocolate milkshake. It looked like a reptile that was beaten into some sort of sixth century sea-creature. It was really gross. Here's what it said to me:

"Dr. Lander, you understand, is the main power of Canadazone, Inc. His sperm has been scientifically proven to create Greek gods when they mix with the eggs of his counterpart: Dr. Mrs. Lander. When used for good, that is. When used for evil, his sperm has the power to destroy cities. Like Godzilla. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to travel to San Diego and see the Kittie show. Then, when you get back, you are to create a web site dedicated to the naughty bits of the Lander parents. That is all."

I was more confused than ever. More riddles. All I knew was that the most dangerous animal in the world is a duck-billed platypus. See, they have poison claws that can kill you in five seconds. Using this information, I secured a hotel room for the night and bought tickets for the Kittie show.

Later, Tyler and I went down to Cane's Bar and Grill, where Kittie were to play. When I got in line, there was all sorts of cool-looking people: pierced, tattooed, painted, etc. I even saw two Morgan impersonators. Needless to say, I felt severely dorky in my flannel and Black Sabbath t-shirt. The typewriter didn't help things, either.

In line, Tyler and I got into a fight. I bashed him over the head with a beer bottle and won. But I felt bad later. We finally got in, and I stood near the front of an up-raised platform that was directly behind the mosh pit. I set my typewriter on the bannister and made my report as the bands before Kittie played.

"Unida - At least, that's what I think they're called. It was a bunch of old guys trying to meld heavy metal with classic rock and roll. They had some good songs, but the fact that the guitarist had braids sets them just above the Tom and Jerry theme song. The bass player was going crazy. He was the only one in the place, though. The poor devil. Morgan was seen from time to time at the back of the stage. So it was neat."

"Step Kings - Possibly the coolest looking band of the night. Or ever, depending on which shampoo you put in your eyes. There's a huge bald guy who plays bass, a guy with dread-type things who plays guitar, another small bald guy who plays drums (the bass player's Mini-Me), and the guy who plays the king of thieves on Xena: Warrior Princess playing a steel pipe on a metal trash can. Every band should have a big bald guy like the bass player. I'm not sure why, but it would just be cool. In fact, I recommend that the government should mass produce big bald guys and sell them to the average American consumer. My previous theory about mass producing Morgan's and Mercedii was dashed asunder by an unnamed Kittie webmaster who intimidates and/or frightens me. So we'll have to settle with big bald guys."

"Shuvel - One of the singers who looks too much like Eminem tried to get cheap cheers by mentioning Kittie too many times. Still, they rocked. They rocked like something that rocks very violently. One of those flowers that dances when you yell at it, maybe. Or a Chuck E. Cheese commercial. During their set, Mercedes was standing at the back of the stage. I just stared at her. I stared at her . . . the . . . ENTIRE . . . time. "

"Disturbed (or, as Morgan called them, "Distort") - Great band, but there were too many cheap theatrics. The drummer wore a hockey mask and some midget goth girl behind me kept saying, 'What's with this Slipknot rip-off?' The simpleton! Doesn't she realize Slipknot doesn't wear hockey masks!?! In fact, who says Slipknot wears masks at all? It is this agents belief that they are part of Canadazone, Inc. or one of their branches. The lead singer came out in a straightjacket and mouth guard that I laughed at."

The singer was bald, though, so I easily forgave him. I would shave my head, but the organization has a strict dress code and long hair is mandatory for it's agents.

By now, I had been standing in the same spot for several hours. Just standing there. The place was not well ventilated, or the amount of people stopped the flow of air, so I was very, very sweaty. I was also very, very smelly as a result. And thirsty. A lot of people had crowded around me in order to see better. So they had to smell my stinky body for the rest of the show. The fools! I showed them! Oh, and the crowd started a Kittie chant.

The lights had all gone out. The only sight was sound. And if what I heard was true, then Kittie were clumping around in the dark stage. Sure, it was cheesy b-movie cliches. "Wait, there wasn't anyone there when the lights were on!" And, yeah, we could all see them moving around. But, still, who really cares? This is Kittie! The set they played blew away the one I had seen at the House of Blues. It was harded, louder, faster, stronger, and every other adjective that ends in "-er." Well, all the good ones. They weren't smellier or anything like that. They played every song in their book. Except "Just a Bunch of F'ed Up Kids." Thank goodness. They even played the all-heavy metal loud fast cool version of "Paperdoll." And "Run Like Hell." It was the second Pink Floyd cover song of the night. See, Step Kings had done one earlier. But I liked Kittie's version better. Only because I'm biased, though. Fallon's voice, for some reason, sounded like a mix between helium and a valley girl. Which is only weird because on "Later," she sounded like Alanis Morisette. Don't bother arguing that with me, either. She did. But Fallon still rules, so she's easily forgiven. Kittie didn't play "Trippin'," though. After the set was done, Kittie immediately dropped their instruments and left. So another Kittie chant came up. Kittie came back for an encore that was obviously planned. Then they played "Trippin'."

Kittie left the stage to yet another Kittie chant. I think. The house lights came up and everyone started leaving. When the floor was kind of cleared, I'm very sure I saw Mercedes talking to a few people. She was ten feet away from me; at most. I could've gone up to her and talked to her. I had written another of my patented ramble letters and attached the picture of the retarded kid in the wheelchair to it. I wanted to give it to her. However, I did what any 18-year-old virgin with an inferiority complex would do: I walked away quietly. My typewriter had turned into another cockroack thing and was yelling at me to get back there and talk to her. But I didn't want to interrupt her conversation. >sob< I missed my chance to meet her. I would've stood outside to wait for them, but the rest of the crowd had the same idea and I didn't want to deal with the mob. So I left. I left with my head hung in shame.

It took me an hour to find the hotel again. But I did, went to sleep, and came home the next day. At least I accomplished my mission! And I get to see Kittie perform again at the Whisky on Tuesday night! So, the night was great and well worth the hassle it took to get there. Kittie rules!