Bret Michaels, I Soooo Hate You Right Now



Late Saturday evening on 7/9/11 I was scrolling through my Twitter account when I came across a tweet from Bret that was posted approximately 1:30 the previous afternoon.  It said “Playing football with the fans on the beach hours before the show in Biloxi tonight. Awesome!” and had a pic of him standing in the water down in my birth place (see above).


DUDE!  I totally could have been at that show!

It appears that I’ve managed to miss Bret all the way around this year.  First I missed him and his band back on May 28th at the Hard Rock.  Now I’ve missed him and the rest of my boys, along with the Crue (the freakin Crue damnit!) on July 8th.  The whole thought makes me want to cry.  Who knows how many more shows The Crue will put on?  Who knows if I’ll even have the money to pay my light bill next year, much less find some cash to go see Bret at the Hard Rock in May?  Who’s to say that Bret will even bother to come back to the Hard Rock?  And Goddess knows I will never actually meet the guy so why should I even care?  Oh, wait.  I really like concerts.  And I worship Bret Michaels.  That would be why I care.

Well, Bret, since I’m not destined to meet you any time soon, allow me to introduce myself.  I’m Nicola Chey Matthews, Mistress of the Erotic Night, gothic erotic fantasy and horror novelist and one of very few registered female perverts … that admit it, at any rate.  My mind stays in the gutter and I enjoy doing 80 mph down the interstate with my music blaring wide open … with my car still on the road, mind you.  The gutter is reserved solely for my brain.  I like creating movies out of words and inviting other people into my very warped imagination.  I don’t think like most people, I have a very warped sense of humor, and most people don’t really get me.  Oh yeah, and I consider you my personal hero and mentor, so much so that I dedicated the first novel in the BEFORE THE SUN RISES series to you.  But I don’t think I’m someone you would want to meet. 

All kidding aside, I do so hope that I will have the opportunity to someday meet Bret.  Until then, I’ll just have to keep pounding away at the keyboard and hope that other people enjoy reading my brand of perverted imagination as much as I enjoy writing it.  Of course, if Bret liked it too then that would just be the giant cherry on top of the whipped cream that sits atop the big chocolate cake of life.  But I know not to press my luck ;D)