So I was playing this gig in Beirut, as you do. It was some Paris Hilton VIP party, whatever that means. They had the Lebanese army flanking the dance floor, armed with machine guns. To say it was a weird gig is an understatement. Anyway, it all started out rather well until Paris arrived and started telling me what to play. “Play some Bob Sinclaire,” as she calls him, “I hate techno.” So I played some Steve Angello. She didn’t know the difference.
Five minutes later though, she had me kicked off the decks for not playing hip-hop. Well, after a bottle of Belvedere I thought it may have been appropriate to flick her the middle finger a few times, plug my headphones into the mic input on the mixer and blast her with a little Larry David-style “Fuck Huuuugh!” The Lebanese army did not agree. I was escorted out of the booth and interrogated by a rather angry minder who kept spitting in my face.
Five minutes later though, she had me kicked off the decks for not playing hip-hop. Well, after a bottle of Belvedere I thought it may have been appropriate to flick her the middle finger a few times, plug my headphones into the mic input on the mixer and blast her with a little Larry David-style “Fuck Huuuugh!” The Lebanese army did not agree. I was escorted out of the booth and interrogated by a rather angry minder who kept spitting in my face.
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