Billy Asbo and the Ripping Show

I was playing a gig at a small underground club, and the stage was probably only two or three feet off the ground. It was just a small show for the band, so the crowd wasn’t very big, but there was a group of about 5–6 super hot girls in the front row.

During one of the songs, I took an extended solo and went down to play while dancing with this group of beautiful women. Everything was going perfectly—the solo was solid, they were loving the attention, and the world was my oyster.

That is, until I decided to rejoin the band. Trying to show off, I attempted to gracefully leap back onto the stage, but my boot caught the edge, and I went down like a felled tree.

On the way down, I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping, and when I stood up, I could feel a nice breeze around my groin. In my attempt to impress, I had managed to face-plant on stage and rip my jeans wide open.

The rest of the band was sympathetic—so much so that they only stopped laughing about a week later.