"But Grohl- where have you been?!  For years I've wandered the empty streets of Rockville, searched the alleys of Germantown for you, gone even so far as Frederick in my search, until my scarf was threadbare and I had forgotten the very sound of my own voice.  Karaoke itself has faded away and returned to dust, replaced by these impostor bar nights- trivia, open mic night, improv.  Why did you forsake me so long?!"

"Don't worry bro.  I'm sorry to have left your side for even a second, but the gods of rock were handing me a sacred mission.  I passed beyond all things and arrived in Rock Valhalla, the land of pure rock and roll where the greatest rockers spend all eternity rocking the very fabric of our universe.  In the center of Rock Valhalla is an empty throne, one that I will take as my own some day.  But until that day, I have been tasked by all the other spirits of Rock Valhalla with a quest: I must restore Rock to its rightful place.  I must create The Band."

"Which band, bro?  And how will you do that?  And why is the rock afterlife modeled on Norse mythology?!  I have so many questions...  But for now, I can promise you this: my broke-dicked van is yours to call upon."

"Your van?  Where we're going, we won't need 'vans.'  From here it's only onwards and upwards.  You'll be my right-hand man.  Meet me... in the studio.  And bring a good band name."

"So be it.  The Rolling Grohls?  The Grohtles?  Gro Love and Special RAWK?  Led Grohpelin?  Pink Groid?  Grohtallica?  Gru2?  Grohb Grahrley?  The Grohlice?  Rock Temple Grohlits?  Grush?  Earth and Wind and Fire and Grohl?  The Greach Groys?  Soundgrorden?  Gruns n' Grohlses?"

"Something like that, bro.  Something like that."

It was a dismal, sunless day when I wandered the somewhat sketchy unknowns of the Bethesda limits. I had been down on my luck – starving, scarfless, my throat a parched pit of misery. The karaoke famine had hit me hard. Sure, there was wing night, but what was the point in eating if there was no karaoke? Where were the 40-year-old part time DJs with their Ray Bans and Ed Hardy shirts? Oh, I knew…believe me…I knew…those guys, and those days, were gone. 

I had recently seen a flicker of light in the window at Tommy Joes, so without a second thought, I frantically broke down the doors, only to find…. trivia. The disappointment stayed with me for weeks. 

“How could karaoke only be a fad?” I wondered, as I dragged myself along the sidewalks, ambivalent to my eventual crossing of the Rockville border. Bethesda. What was it anyway? Why did it flicker in the minds and hearts of so many for so long, only to fade away…much like my old friend…Grohl. 

A helicopter began circling over my head… I couldn’t understand what was going on. Had I done something wrong? Were they going to tow me away to some sort of rock n’ roll purgatory? 

And then. 

As if by magic. 

A tiny figure materialized in the sky, attached to a thick cable, slowly descending through the cloudless sky. Could it be? 

No… those days were gone. The glory and the fire in our hearts had all but burned out. There would be no more pounding of the drums…no more relentless screaming into the crowds of adoring fans. No. Grohl had moved on entirely to the endless battle of fighting the Foo. I had tried to talk him out of it, but it was always there – in his goofy smile; in his floppy hair – I knew Grohl wouldn’t be my best bro forever. 

But suddenly, I understood that the gods of rock had heard my pleas – they had heard my woeful sighs as I quietly packed away my Grohlstalgia in my parents’ basement. They knew that such a duo could never truly be silenced. I swept back my unwashed hair (which, sadly, would never look remotely like Jimmy Page’s), and I held out my thin, pale arms in a gesture of hopeful welcoming. If this really was Grohl, he would never recognize me… my womens’ Size 6 jeans sagged pathetically from my hips; the glasses which I had so lovingly worn in homage to John Lennon were cracked and dirtied; my Queen t-shirt was nothing but a rag draped across my shoulders. 

As Grohl descended to the ground, I could see the light returning from the skies. The clouds parted, and I knew that only good things would come. He detached the cable from himself, and looked at me with that same sheepish grin as always – “What’s up bro? Wanna rock n’ roll?” 

I shook the disbelief from my eyes and said, “Bro…. the famine has ended.”

"hey grohl! check this out!"

i jammed yet another pancake into my mouth.

"sweet, bro!"

a third pancake came up, folded and compressed like a piece of origami paper into a small neat square. square, meet mouth.

"mmmf watch this!"

no time to see if he was fully captivated by the spectacle of three pancakes in one mouth, another pancake was ready.

"take it easy bro, don't want to OD on IHOP. know your limits, bro!"

did he doubt me? there was only one possible answer to that. another pancake, another few seconds of folding. after jamming it in my lower jaw felt weighted down by all of the pancakey goodness.

"mmmmmflugh regrugle, greah!"

i grabbed another one, manically repeating the same steps.

"ok i take it back, you're the master! but please, for your own sake, slow down. how many are you even at now?"

seven, i wanted to tell him. couldn't, though. too much pancake. and now an eighth pancake. my cheeks burned with pain, like a chipmunk who had gorged on... on pancakes, actually.

"grughyeagherrr"

diners at other booths had dropped their silverware, mouths agape as they beheld the impossible. as i lifted the ninth up to my mouth grohl and i made eye contact.

"come on bro. please stop. for me. for... us. you don't have to do this."

ten. i was so close, but as i opened my mouth something happened. i don't know what it was, not even today. i thought i had just blinked, but when i opened my eyes there was pancake everywhere. it was on the table, on the walls, on the floor. on grohl, my precious grohl. bits of pancake were stuck to the ceiling, coating the windows, floating in my coffee. the waitress had fainted, but no one came her to assistance- everyone was covered in pancake. grohl stood up, brushed himself off, and walked outside.

after paying at the register i followed him out. he was smoking a cig, staring off into the early morning sky. when i walked up he turned and smiled.

"you did it, bro. you really did it. stuff of legends, bro."

we stood there, grohl and the ihop and i, until only the ihop remained.

grohl was back, but was he really... back? had he returned, my destined friend? i still wasn't entirely sure. he looked like grohl, yes. he sounded like grohl, true. but did he rock like grohl? did he have the same unquenchable thirst for broventure, the same devil-may-care nature which so perfectly complemented my own?

was he an imposter? had he been sent by someone to infiltrate my bethesda-based karaoke ring, the most powerful in the greater washington dc metropolitan area? or was he sent by the gods of rock, returning as Grohl the White to guide me into the rock'n'roll future? these were no idle questions- this was the fate of an era, the doom of our time. was this truly grohl?

i had to test him.

i jumped to my feet, karaoke mic falling into my hands like it belonged there- like i had been born holding one. perhaps i had. i took it downtown the only way i know how to: hard and fast, sexy and awe-inspiring by turns. i probably don't need to tell you what i sang- you'd be under pressure to forget, friend.

but i was not alone in that room. grohl hadn't waste a second- not a tenth of one. he whistled, a high and clear note that resounded above the din of the crowded bethesda watering hole. to the exquisite horror of the audience a wall behind them exploded in a shower of bricks, revealing his legendary drumset. it flew right to him, the only man who could tame those mighty skins. the mightiest of them all, one upon which beats could be pounded out faster than on any other set in all of bethesda.

grohl winked. indeed, he was back.

So you might be wondering, "why the shortage of grohlposts lately?" OK, sorry, that was an understatement. You're probably checking the bookmarked page of Good Ol' Grohl every hour, pulling your hair out and cursing the gods for the seemingly endless drought of grohlposts.

Well here's the deal: I lost Grohl. Sometimes, when I'm up on stage, rockin out with my cock out, I just can't really think about anything except...well...myself. And how awesome I am when I rock out. Hair flowing, scarves glistening in the plastic fake candle glow of the bethesda nightlife, guitar flailing as i take it to every X-TREME. But yeah, in the midst of my amazement with myself, I lost track of Grohl. He was sitting at the bar when I last saw him, but after that..GONE. No texts, no cute messages written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror, nothing.

The silence was awful. Eventually though, I started to adjust to it. I just played extremely loud covers of Styx hits and it helped to drown the pain.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, when lo and behold, I found Grohl. He was being kinda silly and I'm pretty sure it's not actually him, but hey, whoever it is, he does an AWESOME grohlpersonation. He actually is a lot less moody and argumentative than the real Dave! I'm so happy to have my friend back.

happy days are here again!  with that whole flowerfather incident behind us grohl and i got back to the business of rocking out, hard-core.  we're unstoppable! drinking and singing at night, hangovers and turkey bacon in the morning. righteous!

after a while grohl had to do some touring with his other band, the foo fighters. now i know what you're thinking- "doesn't dave have a way better time rocking out with you than he does with those other guys?" yeah, he does. but he feels sorry for the rest of the fighters, left unable to properly combat foo in his absence. so they signed up to play a few shows in a few select cities- including washington dc! i don't know why they didnt just set up the show in bethesda, must be those marketing suits getting in the way of good, honest, free-spirited rockers once more.

dave tried to give me special upfront tickets, but i told him i had to hit the karaoke circuit that night. I PUNK'D HIM! that's right, i attended the show as a special surprise for grohl. three or four songs in he finally spotted me, resplendent in my womens finger gloves and retro sunglasses. his mind was blown, bro! he dropped his guitar and stopped singing, pulling his righteous rock and roll mane back behind his head. the rest of the foos came to an abrupt stop.

"HEY BRO! KEEP ROCKING!"

he did! he rocked and i rocked and the band rocked and we all rocked on, rocking until everyone else was rocked out. i rocked so hard i could feel my internal organs and bodily humours begin to experience extreme rock fatigue. dave rocked so hard his fingers started bleeding- just another casualty of the IROCK war! none of the other fans there could handle it, the pathetic rock novices. while they filed out of the stadium grohl and i kept rocking! eventually the concept and meaning of rock itself came undone from the three dimensional world we inhabit and was forced to exist solely in the fourth dimension, which ordinarily would have been time but in this case was the ROCK DIMENSION! rock on!

THURSDAY, 4 PM:

i picked up my phone for the last time. if grohl ignored this call too... well, that would be it for us. forever.

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

i never let the freezing winter air cool my fiery rock'n'roll spirit! my rock-pad has been killing my buzz lately, though- so i decided to hit the road and buy some flowers! flowers lend a fresh, lively ambiance to even the dreariest of winters. wearing my finest driving scarf and listening to some zep with my car speakers turned up to 11, now THIS is the life! the only thing im concerned with is giving my room some color, this definitely isn't about sending a message to this flower-dad who claims to be friends with MY grohl.

THREE MINUTES LATER:

here it is, and damned if it isn't the lamest flower shop i've ever seen. this guy wants to pretend to be a grohlpal? yeah right bro.

THIRTY SECONDS LATER:

it hit me deep down, a stab of betrayal like i've never felt before. there, behind the counter, chatting it up with this flower-selling square, is dave. dave grohl. here. if he was in bethesda why wouldn't he call me? he knows how much i love flower shopping! and yet there he is, gabbing away like he doesn't already have a best bro.

i walk up to the counter, trying to play it cool. "excuse me fine sir, do you have any perennial geraniums, pre-potted, in stock toda.... oh... hi dave."

dave spun around, caught by complete and total surprise. "oh hey bro... buying some flowers?"

"yeah. but you know what i may be in the market for soon? A NEW BEST FRIEND." i didn't even give him a moment to reply: it was time to show this flower salesman that i mean business. the promotional table behind me showcased a rare variety of hibiscus, every one of which was ruined after i flipped the entire thing over. on my way to the next table i almost tripped on pottery shards, whose shape and arrangement momentarily reminded me of that eerie night when dave ransacked my house. no time to reminisce, though- the rhododendron display was up next on the list of objects to receive my wrath.

i picked up the entire rack and threw it to my left, where it knocked over a shelf of imported hydrangea planters. by way of exiting the store i grabbed a fancy glass chrysanthemum bed and threw it right through the window. it was time to go.

TWO HOURS LATER:

"CANCEL IT! TELL EVERYONE IT ISN'T HAPPENING, IT'S OVER FOREVER!"

"excuse me sir, i'm not really sure who you are but i can assure you that we aren't going to cancel our popular tuesday night karaoke events. if you would like i can try to-"

"IF YOU WON'T CANCEL IT, I'LL CANCEL YOU! FOREVER!"

i ended the call. that was the last of them- every bar in bethesda had now been told to cancel their karaoke nights. this isn't about me, this is about saving them the embarrassment of trying to throw a karaoke night and not having grohl and i take center stage.  any bar that tried that would be scandalized, mocked for years to come by the rock-savvy bethesda regulars.

now, it's time to call grohl and make the ultimatum.

BACK TO THE PRESENT (THE BEGINNING OF OUR LITTLE STORY, FROM UP AT THE TOP OF THE PAGE):

i'd been trying to get through for what felt like 56 minutes and 30 seconds.  during the last ring, just before it cut to voicemail, i jumped up. was that a knock on the door?! i opened it to find grohl in front of a towering pyramid of flowers.

"hey bro. i'm sorry about that, it was just... his command of the floral arts was so alluring, i couldn't help but to talk to him. then he asked if i wanted to see a fresh batch of bulbs, and... one thing led to another. i even... i asked him about whether my semi-tropical ferns would have a chance, in this soil! oh rock god, i'm so sorry!"

"its alright bro, i understand. but what's with the flowers?"

"after you left i went around and bought thousands of dollars of flowers from every competing flower shop in the greater bethesda area. i set 'em up here around a stage, and hired out a private karaoke service. are you ready to ROCK YOUR ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD?"

GROHL AND I ROCKED THAT SHIT! with our bro powers recombined, we rocked a thousand times harder than anyone had ever rocked before. the very earth itself shook, blasted to its very core by the magical power of rock. even the rocks in my garden were themselves rocked! we finally stopped well past midnight, when the police showed up and weren't impressed by the awesome force of rock. they may have the ability to shut down an impromptu rock fest, but they'll never have the ability to command the friendship of dave grohl- go back to the police station and think about that, YWAUTG! yeah!

So I know this stupid girl.  I hate her. She goes to all my rockin' shows with all her friends and makes fun of me a lot. But anyways she told me some stupid lie about how her dad (also a Dave) is friends with Dave too. As if. He runs this flower shop and apparently Grohl just pops in whenever he's in the area and buys flowers??? Whatever...

"dude, have you ever seen a coin like this before?"

grohl stopped in his tracks, perplexed by a shiny quarter held between his thumb and index finger.

"i flipped it, and it landed on heads. then i flipped it again, and... heads, again. i've flipped it dozens of times, and it keeps coming up heads. i bet if i flip it a hundred more times it'll just keep landing on heads."

i was dumbfounded. grohl was on to something.

"lets just take a few minutes and keep flipping it, i need to see what happens. you don't mind, do you?"

of course i didn't. we stayed there for what turned out to be hours- the sun set, the streets emptied. it was just grohl and i, flippin' that thing into the lonely hours of the night. heads, every single time. eventually grohl decided that enough was enough.

"i'm gonna get going, bro. this quarter is freakin' me out, you better take it."

he flipped it to me as he walked away, a high arc that landed in the palm of my right hand. i glanced at it.

tails.

the other night i allowed a sweet bethesda something to lure me back to her humble abode- reverse seduction, i always call it.  once the ladies see my moves, they feel like they're under pressure to put it all on the line and try to tame my rebellious rock n' roll spirit. back at her place we put on a hit movie and settled down on the bed. she clearly wanted a piece of the action, as i call it, but i was busy getting texts from my bro, dave grohl!

after my hostess experienced a bout of extreme frustration and fell asleep, i was free to text away with that crazy dude. "Iv got nothA confesion 2 mke," he said. LOL! foo fighters texts! "S sum1 getN da best of u?" i asked in reply. his response was there almost instantly: "i dnt wan2B yr monkE wrench." LMAO, things were getting zany! i gathered my text-fu skills and crafted my reply:

"I 1dr wen I sing along w/u
f evryting cUd evr feel dis real 4ever
f NEfin cUd evr B dis gud agn"

i stayed up all night texting grohl. the next morning the girl woke up and wanted to know why i was still in her house. whatever, lame-oid! i've got texts to send. catch you on the flip side, YWIUTG (You Who Is Unknown To Grohl)! owned!