Aftermath: Ladies of All Ages, Shapes and Sizes Still Love Chris Brown

Photos by Marco Torres

​7:54 p.m.: The show is sold out, so we were hoping to have left for it already. However, there is a major crisis in our home right now: Boy B is certain he caught a glimpse of the Cucuy. (The Cucuy is the boogeyman for Mexicans and he is fucking terrifying.) To compound the situation, he has also convinced Boy A of this as well. There is a dark spot on one of the planks of our hardwood floor that Boy B noticed earlier today. He believes this serves as indisputable proof that, not only does the Cucuy exist, but that he patrols the darkest shadows of our home looking for small children to maul.

As far our sons are concerned, fathers are good for three things: giving high-speed piggyback rides up the stairs, absorbing the brunt of Mama's scorn when she finds the three of us wrestling on the master bed and hunting the Cucuy. So we stalk around the house with the two of them at our heels, ripping open toy box lids and doors to closets looking for that hellish bastard. This continues for the next 22 minutes until their little brains are at ease, and we are entirely okay with that.

8:45 p.m.: Yowser. It's packed with women in here. And there was no picket line outside either. Is it possible that none of these people heard what happened?

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8:49 p.m.: There are a pack of mothers and daughters near the right edge of the stage, and they are all dressed just about the same. One of those groups got that shit way backwards.

8:59 p.m.: The DJ is pumping through some crunk-ish songs. This 12-year-old (looking) girl is dancing around and it's all very cute. Then Lil Scrappy's aggro-rap anthem "Head Bussa" comes on. In case you've never had the pleasure of hearing it, the chorus says "We some head busters! We some head busters! We'll knock a hater out, we some head busters!" She begins gyrating in a very hoe-ish manner. The mom thinks it's just the best. Ack.

9:10 p.m.: This kid just wandered by looking very much like a tiny Anthony Michael Hall. We want to ask him if he ever tried to rebuild that ceramic elephant lamp again, but then realize he probably wouldn't even get the joke.

9:10:30 p.m.: Dang. We just realized that that previous entry started as a joke about a floppy-haired pre-teen, then morphed into an accidental joke about us being the creepy old guy at the concert for kids.

9:15 p.m.: Show's starting. No opening acts, straight into Chris Brown. Oh look, him and all four of his dancers are dressed in all black... just like an eye. Baduum-tssh!