Return to Sender: Bad Boys Are Cavemen, Too

Dear Men of The Cave,

We here at Phillyist understand your line of work. We appreciate it, even. We feel for you, man.

Sometimes, however, there comes a time where we have to stand up for our Phillyist-selves. That time would be a recent excursion to one of your shows at Fuzion Grille. To quickly recap the events, you were the token Bad Boy character and I was a part of your "interactive" show. I took all your tossing, flipping, picking up, sexual innuendo with a laugh. Everyone was having a jolly good time.

But somewhere amidst the picking up and the flipping over and that whole chair thing.... something happened. I'm not quite sure myself exactly what happened, but at one point my head came down and your shoulder (head? face? arm?) hit my face with such a force that i heard a crunch. A bloody nose crunch. You asked me if i was okay, I pulled my hand away from my nose in a bloody Marcia-Brady-meets-the-football mess, cried "no!" and ran off stage. You finished out the rest of your act with a friend of mine.

Now, I get it—the show must go on. Things like this happen. C'est la vie. I'm not mad.

But what's really uncouth about the entire situation is that when you were done with your act, you turned to my friend and asked, "Does your friend do drugs? I think she's on coke right now."

Coke? I've never even seen it in my entire life, let alone been on enough of it to induce a cocaine nose bleed on stage at the Cave. Way to jump to completely outrageous conclusions.

After much ado in the bathroom and when the bleeding had finally subsided, I went back out. You found me later on the couch, said "There's my girl. Are you okay?" Then you proceed to dry hump me some more. I guess that counts as an apology?

So, thanks, but no thanks, Cave dude. One nearly broken nose a night is enough for me.

Image Credit: Flickr user Miss Colleen