tomluv (tomluv) wrote,
tomluv
tomluv

Who's your favorite faux Christian ex-rock star?

"So how did your last night in Gainesville go?" you curiously ask. "Sit down and let me tell you the tale of the best night of my life," I anxiously reply.

Lead Singer of Creed Gets Punk'd

Friday, July 29. My last night in Gainesville. I've had my party and said my goodbyes to most of my friends. One group actually didn't make it to the party, but were possibly still coming, and instead of having them walk into an empty house (literally-- no furniture) devoid of people, I went over to their place.

So I'm saying goodbye to pals Jeanine and Heather. They have a few friends over to their place and are already stoned and drunk, seemingly ready for bed quite soon. I hear mumbling in the other room of some kids leaving soon because they have to go see Scott Stapp. My pop culture radar is not currently on, so I'm missing the reference. Instead, I think they're just talking about a friend who's driving in from out of town. But they're quite adamant about seeing Scott. "I'm fucking walking to Denny's to see Scott if I have to, I don't care if no one else goes!" one kid says.

So I'm curious and ask one of the guys what's going on. He tells me the background story: Apparently, one of their friends met Scott Stapp (who, because I find no problem with conflation, will for the rest of the story be referred to as "Creed") at an airport bar and the girl pretended to be interested. At the end of their conversation, he asked for her number and because she was going to Amsterdam, she gave Creed her friend's number instead. The girl then calls her friend and warns her that Creed might be calling her sometime in the future for a hook-up.

Which he does. Friday night. He flew into Orlando and gave the girl a call. The girl, thrilled at the prospect of making Creed look like an idiot, plays along. "You should drive up to Gainesville tonight to see me!" she says. Creed, because his star has fallen quite a bit recently (if you hadn't noticed) eagerly accepts the offer to drive 2 hours to get some pussy. I guess the groupies aren't lining up outside the airport like they used to.

I heard through the grapevine that night that Creed had actually kicked Scott Stapp out of their band. I don't know if this is true or not as no one on the Internet has any stories about it. But I googled him recently and found out that his solo career isn't taking off nearly like he expected, despite being the first released single off the Passion of the Christ Songs CD-- songs inspired by the movie. Mel Gibson hand picked him for a special screening, and he wrote a song after he was so personally affected by the movie. Douche.

Anyway, so the guy who was so spiritually affected by The Passion of the Christ is now hightailing it to Gainesville to tag a piece of ass he met in an airport bar. And he's having his ghettotastic hootchie skanky Jersey girl sleaze of a sister drive him. Yes, Creed is making his sister drive him to the Gainesville Denny's for a booty call.

So this group from the party makes it over to Denny's, strategically choosing places all around the Denny's so that we can watch what goes down. It's 3am on a Friday, so of course the place is packed with drunk kids getting out of the bars, who have no idea what they're about to be in for. Jeanine, Heather, and I all have prime seating-- we're directly next to the booth with the girl who has been talking to Creed, as well as her 5 friends who are all in on the joke and have been planning extra embarrassing things to do to him. The girl who is keeping track of him via cell phone convos lets me know that Creed has been in fine form so far tonight. Here is how one of the conversations went:

Creed: "Do you have an acoustic guitar with you in Gainesville?"
Her: "Um, yeah."
Creed: "Good, maybe you can help me write my new hit single!"
Me, after hearing the story: "I applaud your ability not to vomit at that."

Now we're convinced he's on his way. We hear the countdown from the table next to us: "He's in Micanopy!" "He's passing UF!" "He's pulling into the parking lot!" The excitement is killing me. And then he enters. Creed steps into the Gainesville Denny's, wearing a wife beater and slick running pants, desperately trying to find his hookup. My life is complete.

The girl who's been talking on the phone with Creed has a friend who recently broke his arm. So as soon as Creedy walks in, he screams, "Oh my god! You're Scott Stapp! You're my favorite singer ever! Sign my cast!" Creed, probably even himself realizing how sucky it is to be the (former) lead singer of Creed, denies it. "I get that a lot... I just look like him. I'm not him." HA!

Then the Denny's cop comes over: "Both of you, outta here! No screaming in Denny's! Manager's orders!" Delicious. The lead singer of Creed is getting kicked out of the Gainesville Denny's.

Cast arm boy obviously doesn't want our fun to be over so quickly, so he sweet talks the cop and gets him to rescind his ejection. Creedy keeps walking around, trying to find the girl he talked to in the airport bar, feverishly running to the back to get better cell phone reception and then moving back to the front to try to find her. Of course, the girl has stopped answering her phone now and the Denny's partrons are just watching Creed walk around looking desperately horny.

And the best part is watching the other people as they notice who this guy is. "Hey, that's the Creed guy!" they all say as he walks past them. Then, 5 seconds later and as soon as he's out of earshot: "Wait, who cares? Creed sucks!" This is seriously the reaction of every table that I hear as he walks by. So sad, for him. Oh, and the dude is like 5'6". I'm not joking. When he walked by, he was at least (AT LEAST) 3 inches shorter than me. Midget.

Now there are about 12 people who know about what's going on. And like the rats in Muppets Take Manhattan who run around under the tables at that fancy restuarant spreading the buzz that Manhattan Melodies is going to be a smash hit show, we start spreading the ruse that has been pulled on Creed. Soon, most of the tables and the wait staff is informed of what's going on. "Pathetic!" is the most common reaction.

To keep him there as long as possible, groups of girls keep going over to him and flirting and trying to find out what he's doing in Gainesville. Cast arm boy even printed out Scott Stapp's headshot and goes over to ask him to sign it. You'd think that would be an obvious sign that he was being tricked, but apparently Creed is cocky enough to think that people regularly carry around his photograph everywhere like it's an American Express card.

Jeanine, perfect brilliant girl she is, ran over to the juke box to see if it happened to have a Creed song on it. Unfortunately, it didn't. Or maybe fortunately. For if "Arms Wide Open" began playing as he was running around the Denny's, I probably would've soiled myself laughing.

At the end of the night, we convince Jeanine to go ask to take a picture with Creed by saying it was her birthday (it was, only 4 days earlier). When she goes to get the picture, all 12 of us who are in on the joke jump in the photo. Unfortunately, the person taking the picture couldn't work the flash, so it just looks like a mess of clumpy dark blobs. But I know that one girl took a bunch of pictures of Creed running around the Denny's-- mostly of the back of his head-- and I want them. If anyone knows where to get these, let me know.

So that was my last night in Gainesville. Creed eventually got back in his car and drove home to Orlando, having unsuccessfully found his pussy for the night. What a sad sad man. Super douche.



P.S. Feel free to send this story to Gawker (ah, um, or apparently Defamer, shout out!) or whatever. If they're willing to publish stories that solely consist of "I was walking down 48th St and saw Kirsten Dunst and Jake Gyllenhall sharing a burrito" then they'd surely find this interesting, right? I mean, Creed got his ass handed to him by a bunch of drunk college kids in Gainesville. Oh, what a fun city.

UPDATE!
I had no idea this story would get so big by posting it here, but that's what I get for underestimating my pop culture slut of a friend point5. She posted the story to the Oh No They Didn't community, which got read by some powers-that-be and, well, now it's on Defamer. So if you're coming from the Defamer link and finding this story unbelievable (read: too good to be true), then I direct you to supporting evidence from others who were at Denny's that night. Before you ask, I don't know these people personally-- I was a friend of a friend who got lucky enough to be swept up in the adventure and experience everything-- but they back up my story (and some were even posted days before mine). Peripheral accounts come from this girl's LJ (with an addendum). An even better account of the story can be found here (and if you don't want to search through the notes to see photographic proof, then just click here). This entry wins because the author corrects some of the details I had wrong (hey, I never said I was perfect... in fact, I was drunk, so you're lucky my details were this good to begin with), expands on the rest of the night (I thought he got in the car and went back to Orlando, but boy was I wrong), and even adds a felonious twist to the story. Enjoy the fun as it spirals into something bigger than I ever thought it could be.

UPDATE II!
Apparently the bandwith has been exceeded on the pic link, but they've been reposted here-- and it comes with a synopsis of the whole story, if you find my prose too longwinded.

UPDATE III!
The story is on VH1's Best Week Ever Blog. Yes, I do hear my 15 minutes of fame ticking away. But if I could just get Michael Ian Black to offer commentary on this story, then my duty to humanity will be fulfilled.
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