Jon Bon Jovi Rocked My Face And, If You’re Not Careful, He’ll Rock Yours Too


Rocking Faces With Extreme Prejudice

“I’ve seen a million faces — and I’ve rocked them all!”


He came at me out of nowhere, leaping from his steel horse, flowing locks flying in the breeze and, with a shout of ‘I’m a cowboy!’, proceeded to rock my face without consent — expressed, written or otherwise.

Now, I was minding my own business, going about my day as I saw fit, moseying down the street, keeping to the sidewalk and making as little eye contact as possible with my fellow pedestrians. I was thinking about stuff. You know, life and my place therein, what I might have for supper and how I would really hate to see Jon Bon Jovi right about now. And bam! On cue, there he is hurtling headlong towards me. I freeze. Petrified. Maybe I’m not his target, maybe there’s some poor soul behind me that has tickled his fancy instead. Maybe I’m just hallucinating again.

But no, I’m his intended and this is as real as it gets.

I have since banished the ordeal to the nether regions of my brain where, someday, it might be leeched out by deep-probing, regressive psychotherapy type stuff, but I know it must have been a horrible affront to good taste in a maelstrom of denim, leather and hair care products. Just look at the guy, would you really want to be on the receiving end of a face rocking from the likes of him? He’s rocked well over a million faces at this point. Disgusting. I mean, there’s sloppy seconds, but this is outrageous! He makes Wilt Chamberlain look positively Franciscan.

Women, ages 35-60, and gay men: I don’t wanna hear it.

And just like that, it was over.

I was left feeling violated, ashamed. I mean, I don’t even like Bon Jovi, not even Slippery When Wet. Sure, I might have been involved in an air band rendition of ‘Livin On A Prayer’ when I was twelve years old, but that wasn’t even my idea (nor was ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ — but that’s another story). At that age, you’ll use any excuse to make a plywood guitar, even though I didn’t even end up playing it; I was relegated to fake drum duty while Billy MacLennan got to throw guitar hero moves and mug to the crowd, doing his best Richie Sambora with my misshapen axe. Oh the injustice of youth!

But I digress.

Now, where was I? Ah yes, standing in a daze following an unwarranted face-rocking at the hands of Jon Bon Jovi. I quickly reclaimed my bearings, checked my pockets (wallet and keys intact), blew my nose and wiped my eyes free of any residual rock, all the while gaining a gradual awareness of the muffled screams coming from down the street. I slowly turned, bracing myself for the horror.

Sheer face-rocked carnage.

Women and children. Dogs and cats. Even a couple of ferrets. Babies in strollers, quadriplegics in wheelchairs. Renters, home-owners and homeless alike.

All of them bearing the hurt and confusion of a sudden, unwanted face rocking. And he was still at it, jumping from face to face all the way to the end of the block, tossing his victims aside like rag dolls. Then he crossed the street and face-rocked his way back to where his trusty steel steed stood waiting to whisk him away in a blaze of post-rockal glory.

‘I’m a cowboy!’ he screamed, setting off in search of more face.

How many faces are enough, Jon Bon Jovi? Will you ever sate your hunger for face? You had already rocked a million faces by the late eighties. How much face is enough?

These are the things I wanted to ask him, but it was too late. He was out of earshot.

I felt bad. Still do, in fact.

Why didn’t I do anything and was there anything I could have done? These are the questions I ask myself everyday as I look in the mirror at the well rocked face of a person I feel I no longer know. Oh sure, you laugh, but an experience like that changes a man, makes him question the very point of existence. Endlessly.

And I’ve come up with an answer.



3 Responses to “Jon Bon Jovi Rocked My Face And, If You’re Not Careful, He’ll Rock Yours Too”

  1. my advice would be to stand in a hot shower for several days and scrub until you bleed…..

  2. 2 arsebundren

    Oh I’ve tried… oh, how I’ve tried.

  3. 3 Gessy Alvarez

    Back in the 80s, I remember cursing JBJ with chronic jock itch whenever his leopard-printed spandexed-ass danced across my TV screen.

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