Collect Call From: The Killers

Vannucci calls from the small Paris club the band will be playing later that evening.

“I’m still jet-lagged, so it doesn’t feel like I’m here right now. On the flight from New York we hit a storm and the plane was getting jostled around like Michael Flatley’s nutsack. I didn’t sleep much.

“I’ve been to France many times but never been fucked with like I was fucked with the other day. I went to have a bite to eat at this little café. This fucking waiter—a meaty French guy who looked like a cross between Jean-Claude Van Damme and Jim Carrey’s Grinch—pulls out the table to get me in, and then he pushes the table in on my knees. I said, ‘Hey, you’re hurting my knees,’ and he basically said in French, ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ And then he proceeded to sell me bad food and an expensive soft drink.

“After the show, I might rage—fuckin’ put on a beret and take my shirt off.”

(By Mark Yarm)