Princess Kennedy: Tour Up Girl

Princess Kennedy - The Ambassador of Persia. Photo: Michelle Emerson

When I say “tore up girl,” I’m assuming that you speak homosexual.  In case you don’t, being tore up is when one tells someone else how they looked, or more appropriately how they acted the night before. “Girl, you were TORE UP,” (i.e. you were drunk last night). “Girl, I got tore up last night,” (i.e. fucked—either literally, by a drug deal gone bad or beaten up). “Girl, stop shopping at the DI, you look tore up,” (i.e. cheap and/or disheveled). Essentially, if you’re a mess in any way, you can replace the adjective with “tore up.”

I’m going to assume that many SLUG readers have been in a band. For those who haven’t, or the ones that have never been on tour, I’m going to let you have a little insight of what it’s like. I have caught shit for needlessly promoting drug use before. I assume it’s mostly from people that can’t do them, but choose to let people D.A.R.E. to make their own choice. I promote nothing so take your judgments, shove them up your twat and enjoy the story.

The following tale has been pieced together through good friends, extra foggy memories and one low-quality cell phone photo. I believe it accurately represents the last night of my tour.
I had just spent the past three weeks on a whirlwind nation-wide tour with my band PEPPERSPRAY. I had been really good throughout most of the tour, sticking to my new healthy lifestyle. On the last night, I decided I was going to let my weaves down and have a little old tour fun.
Our last show was at a super fun, super sexy restaurant/bar in San Francisco called Supper Club, where I had once been a hostess. I started my evening how I had for the past six months, with a two-mile run and a salad. This was my first mistake. When you’re on tour and planning on drinking excessively, you’re supposed to never work out and eat meals at places like Mickey Dee’s or JB’s.  I should have known that my new skinny body and minimal diet were an equation for disaster.

Upon arriving at the Supper Club, I was immediately greeted by my old chums behind the bar with an ear piercing “PRINCESS KENNEDY!” This was followed by two shots of Jäger and a bottle of champagne right before going on stage. I drank all three by myself. The show was fine—I saw a video on my Facebook page. As it ended, I hopped on the party train and rode it until the next morning.

As I sat nursing my hung head the next day, I mentioned to my friend that I was a little horrified, due to a vague memory of giving my drummer a hummer in the bathroom. My friend tipped his glasses and asked, “Are you serious girl? Do you not remember getting gang-banged on the bathroom sink by three Persian guys?” OH SHIT! Had someone slipped me something? I couldn’t remember a thing. “Girl, you slipped yourself something,” my friend yelled.

Apparently, immediately after I got off stage, I went on the hunt for some coke. I then proceeded to tell Lady Keir from Deelite, with whom we played the show, that I loved her about 10 times. At some point, thank God I don’t remember, I turned into a giant whore and gave the pre-indicated Anna Mei Wong sex show on the bathroom sink.

As the story goes, my poor friend Justin Barker walked into the bathroom as one of the three lifted me up onto the sink, pulled my bikini to the side and… WHAT THE FUCK! After being sufficiently plowed by my three admirers, my friend found it necessary to get me out of the club. That’s when I started screaming at Lady Keir for the lights being turned on because I wasn’t finished dancing.

Next, I walked out into traffic, stopped a dump truck and forced him to take us to the next venue, which he did. When you have a blacked out, bikini-clad tranny demanding a ride, it’s a good idea to just take her where she wants to go, otherwise it can turn into a car jacking of any sort. 

I brought us to an all-night party at some bar where they locked the doors and kept serving all night long. I kept drinking like a fish, holding court on the pool table where some guy offered me a hit of molly. “To pay him back, you gave him a blowy on the pool table right there in front of God and all your friends,” Justin told me.

Around eight in the morning, I’d gotten some of my wits back and thought it was a good idea to take some GHB and leave with some other guy to an early morning orgy.

This would explain why I felt the way I did when I somehow woke up the next morning. If I was to do this nightly in my own city, I would just be a big tore up whore-bag. Since I chose to do it in another city on tour with my band, well darling that’s just sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.

The moral of my story: DO NOT take breaks from your drinking and partying lifestyle. Before you know it, you could be in Kaysville in some field with your panties down around your cankles and no cell phone. And darlings, that’s not a hot look for any season.

Princess Kennedy - The Ambassador of Persia. Photo: Michelle Emerson