Comedian, musician, host Chris Crofton’s King of Advice Podcast and former Nashvillian Chris Crofton asked the scene for an advice column, so we gave him one. Crowning himself the “king of advice”, Crofton will share his hard-earned wisdom with anyone who seeks it. Follow Crofton on Facebook and Twitterand to submit a question to the Advice King, email bestofbread[at]gmail[dot]com or editor[at]nashvillescene[dot]com.
Dear king of advice,
should i go Roller? HAHAHAHAHAHA.
—Some Creep, Anytown, USA
About 250 people sent me this question, AND IT’S NOT TOO FUNNY.
For those of you who don’t know yet, i broke my hip. Apparently there’s a rumor going around that I broke it Roller. I’m here to tell you that’s grade A horse shit. I’ve never roller skated in my life! Why should I start doing it now, when my quarantine is over? Do you think I’m an idiot? And if you think I’m an idiot, why do you always ask me for advice? Do you think a respectable publication like the Nashville scene would give a guy advice column that could encourage older people to roller skates? You make?!
Well, that’s just insulting to all the good people who work at this fine newspaper. In fact, it shows a lack of respect for all journalists, everywhere. You should be ashamed of yourself.
OK, I broke my hip Roller. SO WHAT! Are people over 40 supposed to just lay down and die? You think I should spend my days in the library looking at picture books, don’t you? I’ll tell you, Jack, there’s plenty of gas left in this old dune buggy (yes, I call you “Jack” and I refer to myself as an “old dune buggy”), and if I want to ride backwards in traffic on a pair of sparkling roller skates, that’s my fucking business. I DID NOT back up into traffic, but the thing is, it’s still kind of a free country, and I reserve the right to hurt myself however I want.
I bought it, I’m going to break it.™
But I’m going to give you a little real advice on Roller: FUCKING DON’T. Roller rinks are only marginally safer than active volcanoes. AND THEY SELL SLUSHIES AT ROLLER RINKS. Do you know how much sugar is in a fucking slushie? Let’s put it this way: there’s a reason volcanoes don’t have slushie concessions. Before I had a cherry slushie, I skated reasonably reasonably. After I had the slushie, I was skate-DANCING.
I don’t even dance ON MY REGULAR FEET.
It may be an urban legend, but supposedly a group of Swiss volcano scientists had cherry slushies on their lunch break. They got so restless they donned Speedos and cannonballed into the lava. They were never seen again. Obviously.
Take a peek inside the bathrooms at a ice skating rink – if you dare! Grown men walking around with their dongs out, peeing on the walls. They cling to each other, trying to balance each other – still urinating! The night I was there a man had fallen out of the toilet while taking a shit. He walked out of the bathroom and into the snack bar, covered in feces. He was shouting. Everyone was running. Is it family fun?
Then I broke my fucking hip, and someone turned the music off. I remained motionless on the ground. The disco ball was spinning silently.
I signed a piece of paper that basically said that Roller did nothing to contribute to my skating accident.
The rink manager knew the paramedics by name.
“Hi Randy. Hi Don.” she said.
“YOU WANT A SLUSHIES?”