Thursday, May 31, 2007

They sure didn't make toys like that when I was a kid #11



Hey Bushy, Osama's on the phone......and you said he was hard to find.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

One man's life sentence is another's house arrest

Yesterday Daniel Sylvester was found guilty of the second-degree murder of his next-door neighbour, Alicia Ross, by an Ontario jury after less than four hours of deliberations.

The conviction carries an automatic life sentence with no chance of parole for at least 10 years.

Which is fine by me. If you take someones life you should lose yours. That's fair.

Too bad Ol' Daniel didn't take the life of a Toronto taxi driver while he was street racing, he'd only be serving 1 year house arrest, another year with a curfew and not allowed to drive for four years, as two teens did for crashing their parents Mercedes into Tahir Khan, who died in January 2006, days before he was set to be sworn in as a Canadian citizen. (And I don't give a shit if that's the longest run-on sentence you've seen me write.)


Just goes to show you their are two levels of justice: The rich fucks, and the rest of us.

And don't talk to me about Paris Hilton and her 21 days in the joint, I've gone down on women longer than that, just ask GIGC.

Note to the two teens charged in the shooting death of high school student Jordan Manners: Better hope you come into money soon.

How's this for a metaphor?

The lions are the rich dudes, the water buffalo are the rest of us and the crocodile are the justice system.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Sunday, May 27, 2007

For Country or King?

After an extremely asinine long layoff the Stanley Cup Playoffs resume this Monday with the Ducks hosting the hated Sens. The dilemma facing most Torontonians, where the Leafs rule, is do they get behind Ottawa as Canadians, or remain true to the blue and white?

What will they do when Blackberry maker Jim Balsillie, who just bought the Predators and is sure to give Nashville a R.I.M. job, moves the team to southern Ontario?

Then we’ll have two teams here....Personally, I debate that we have one now.

But are they testing her for steroids?

A British woman is claiming the record for the world's fastest birth - in just under two minutes.

Palak Vyas's baby girl Vedika arrived weighing a healthy 7lb 2oz less than 120 seconds after her waters broke.
The Vyas family have contacted the Guinness Book Of Records.

While they're at it, they should see if she qualifies for World's largest vagina?

Beauty and the Beatbox

Sparks will fly as 17 year old Jordan Sparks won American Idol this.....who the fuck cares? Really? I mean it’s not like this TV show is going to change your life........like Pirate Master will. Get a life!

Watch out for wild life

LONDON, Ont. -- The indisputable evidence is in -- cougars are roaming the wild in
southern Ontario. The last official sighting of a cougar, which is endangered, in Ontario was in 1884.

I guess these guys have never been to The Corral in Oshawa? Plenty of cougars there my friend

DNA from feces found two years ago near a suspected den at the Wainfleet Bog -- about 5 km northwest of Port Colborne -- confirms a cougar was in that area.

Jesus ladies! Use a restroom for God's sake!

The biggest unanswered question is whether the cougar is an "exotic" pet that escaped or was released....

It's called divorce.

....or a remnant of the North American cougar that once roamed across the continent.

Either way you look at it MILF does the body good.

I guess the G is silent?

Carl's Jr. doesn't like being the butt of Jack's jokes.

So CKE Restaurants Inc., which owns Carl's Jr. and Hardee's, sued Jack in the Box Inc. in federal court in Santa Ana, Calif., on Friday, accusing the San Diego-based chain of deceptive advertising relating to the business end of a cow.

The suit cites TV ads that tout Jack in the Box's sirloin burgers and lampoon those made with Angus beef, which happens to be what's in the Carl's Jr. Six Dollar Burger and the Hardee's Thickburger (and in premium burgers sold at McDonald's and Burger King).

Let's have a look at that shall we?



Psst you’re fired.

Two town employees fired for gossiping about their boss have lost an appeal to get their jobs back.

Four women were fired in April after a closed-door vote of the Town Council. Two administrative assistants appealed their firings earlier this month, but Jessica Skorupski and Joanne Drewniak learned late Friday night that the council had rejected their bid to be reinstated.

You see, I would never do something like that. I would never disclose that the Mayor embezzled tax payers money after the last election, or GIGC ruined OBJ’s big screen when she fell into it in a drunken stupor last poker party, or that secretly I love to wear women’s undergarments– wearing them now as I write this in fact. No! Those are secrets I will take to the grave.

Speaking of the worst kept secret


The best band you never heard of Private Sector announced late last year that they would be reforming for shows in 2007. Quickly The Police and Genesis followed suit with plans for reunion tours as well. Not to be out done, Rush and Roger Waters in haste booked summer tours of their own. Even the Osmonds are getting back together for a performance.

The Osmonds! For Christ’s sake! End this madness!

On Thursday of last week I attended the Q107 30th anniversary with OBJ and some of the members of Private Sector, where reformed bands traipsed across the stage by the dozens and Gil Moore announced publicly Triumph were also throwing their hat into the ring of reformation.

However, the biggest insult to injury, came at the hands of the reformed Max Webster when keyboardist Terry Watkinson, with foresight and malicious intent, mimicked beloved Sector bassist/keyboardist Don Bon Darley by donning his trademark lab coat. Just look at the pics and correct me if I’m wrong.

Terry Watkinson of Max Webster



Beloved Don Bon Darley of Private Sector



Check out the homage of Sector sites:
http://myspace.com/privatesectorrocks
http://www.garageband.com/artist/PrivateSector
http://www.ilike.com/artist/emerging/PrivateSector
privatesphincter.com

OK, disregard the last one unless you have something wrong with your prostate.

Cross posted on Mitchieville

Saturday, May 26, 2007

SIS #28

the limits of respectability
chapter twenty-eight - the rise and fall of sparky malveen and the last days in bars


Journal entry- Day 59- I am writing this in the truck as we travel, which is hard because we keep hitting bumps and I have to wait for intermittent light from street lamps and passing cars, to jot down a few words at a time. We’ve been journeying deep into the night. Wally has a brother who lives twelve hours north of where we are, in a little town on the other side of the Rockies. He has agreed to let us stay there, until we can get another gig from Walden, that’s if he has another gig for us. The truck is silent. Everyone is pissed-off about something or someone. The scuffle in the hotel lobby didn’t help matters much either. It is not a good time to be a member of Bitter Romance, and it’s an even worse time to be me.

In the dark there’s time to think. In the dark there’s time for reflection. It is a chance to confront your own discrepancies, your own greed and missteps— to plot and plan, to revise and repair. It’s a blank canvass on which to paint your thoughts and feelings. In my current state of mind, those thoughts raced with broad strokes of a brush and I felt I was fast filling my gallery with the art of the overactive mind. The truck was dark and tacit, but mostly dark. Silhouettes of heads, barely visible, jutted out of dark shaped lumps and looked like freshly dug graves under their mounds of blankets in the creation of shape from shadow. Suddenly, the stillness was broken as Wires slipped a cassette into the deck and the first notes from David Bowie and the Ziggy Stardust, album began to cascade from the speakers. It softly serenaded those still awake to listen. To me, Bowie seemed to be lamenting, The rise and fall of Sparky Malveen and the last days in bars. So much had happened. So much could have been avoided if I’d kept the first stone from being cast. Why didn’t I talk to Space about the money? But who could blame me? My questions had been deflected by far more disturbing events, events unfolding before my eyes. Space had merely related the information. I had been mesmerized by his words, the continuous flapping of his gums, and the blah, blah, blather of his outrageous story. I listened intently until the end before I’d finally respond.

“I still don’t believe it, Space. Megan pulled a gun on you and demanded she be made road manager? It’s all very strange. Surreal even. It has to be a joke and I must say under the circumstances, this is the wrong time to pull it.”

“Believe it Sparky. I shit you not. I admit, I’ve made some unpopular decisions in this band, but even I’m not that stupid. To assign someone to road-manage a band with absolutely no clue how to do it, is simply idiotic. Shit! I didn’t think she did a great job waiting on tables.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “This is .. . . I . . . I don’t know what to say. She told me you agreed to it because she has money.”

“Money? What money? She didn’t say anything to me about money. Look into my eyes Sparky. We’ve known each other a long time. Listen to the quiver in my voice. Fuck! Do I not sound like someone who’s been pushed to the edge? I’ve had the crap scarred out of me by that woman.” He certainly looked like he was telling the truth. “And now she’s fucked everything up. We got fired, because of her. She came in here and started making outrageous demands, the band gets this, and the band gets that. We aren’t in a position where we get shit yet, Sparky, and she starts acting like we have a heavy duty rider-contract with all kinds of freebees. Not to mention the stunt she pulled with the restaurant . . . I had to pay it! We have exactly thirteen dollars left from the money we got from this gig. Thirteen dollars Sparky! That’s not even enough gas to get us to the next gig . . . if we have a next gig that is?”

“I signed 'Underhill' to the bill Space. Blame me, not her.”

“Sparky I know you. You’ve pulled some wild stunts in your time, but you were put up to it. I can tell. It reeks of her stench.”

“What I don’t understand is, why didn’t you say something about the gun to one of us when it happened?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I was a little rattled already because of your . . . your . . . little prank. I knew it was Bronson all the time by-the-way. I was just startled, that’s all. Besides, I was afraid Megan would get all Charlie Manson and start blowing us away. I couldn’t take that chance.”

Just like Space to make himself a hero out of his cowardice. I still think he’s an asshole. Space continued to speak. “Look, all I know is, Walden’s not going to be happy when he finds out that we’ve been fired and she’s the cause of the dismissal. I’m hoping, because he’s a professional, he’ll give us another chance to redeem ourselves, otherwise, it’s a long drive home Sparky.”

I left Space, feeling more uncertain than before I had knocked on his door. It was a lot to digest for sure. Our blissful tour with Walden booking the gigs, had suddenly taken an abrupt about-face since Megan had come onboard and I couldn’t deny it. However, there had to be a logical solution? How could all Space told me be true? He had such a track record of lying and manipulating. I didn’t know what to think, but I knew, I had to corroborate, or disprove his story.

I returned to my room to pack up my meager belongings. The room was full of steam hovering in a thick cloud, constantly changing, and hanging to the windows in a slick perspiration. There was an audible hiss of water coming from the shower. Megan must have come back here when she stole away after sound-check. Her bag was on the bed, open, and in the process of being packed. This is my chance while she’s in the shower, probably trying to scrub her soul and cleanse her sins. I’m going to find out one way or another, exactly what’s going on.

Quietly, I closed the door and crept forward toward the bed. I studied the satchel laying open before me, inviting my probing hands. I was reminded of a scene from Alien and the nasty end awaiting crewman Kane as he looked into the alien egg. The hair on the back of my neck bristled. The shower hissed becoming more like a sizzle driving my nerves to the edge. Not much time. I must do this now! But . . . curiosity killed the cat . . . and eventually crewman Kane. Cautiously I approached Megan’s carryall. I began to sift through her clothes looking for the
elusive firearm. There was nothing that I could see, or feel. Maybe she hides in under the mattress? Thank you, to all those cheesy murder movies where the weapon is always hidden under the mattress. The bed was still unmade, so access was easy. I dropped to my knees. With one hand I raised the edge of the bed. With the other, I thrust my arm cautiously between the mattress and the box-spring in a slow sweeping motion. I lifted the bed higher to extend my reach to the shoulder. The shower was like white noise in my ears. I felt the rush of blood pounding through my ear drums to the quickened beat of a heart embedded in my throat.

I lifted the mattress higher. I pushed my arm in further. The shower hissed. There was a thump. Something had fallen from the far side of the bed onto the floor. I retracted my arm and flung myself atop the mattress. I inched my way on my belly, until I could almost peer over the edge to the floor, my eyes wide, sweat in tiny beads on my forehead. The room was so damn hot. I peeked over as if I were at the edge of the world only to find it flat and falling into the void of space. There it was, sitting on its side, gazing cockeyed back of at me as a fish would form a dinner plate. On the floor there lay a .45-caliber hand gun. Space had been right. My heart sank into the pit of my gut and I felt nauseous.

Suddenly there were hands on my ass. “What are you up to?” I tell you, I nearly shit myself right then and there. I scooped the gun under the bed and let out a yelp in fright. “Just me silly. Why don’t you come join me in the shower.” I felt her hair, wet and stringy, dripping on my back. Her breath was hot on my neck as she licked my skin from the nape to the ear lobe. I shuddered, but managed to maintain my composure.

“We’ve been fired Megan.”

“Yes I know. The bar manager told me Space had a party in his room last night and disturbed some important guests, the president of something-or-other . . . some big company, I can’t remember which one. He wasn’t too pleased with the complaints and that’s why you guys got fired.”

Who’s the liar, manipulator now? Space was too tired to fart last night, let alone make a commotion! But instead I said. “That Space, he’s been more trouble than he’s worth.” My voice dripped with feigned disgust.

“I know. When I get the money, you guys should really consider replacing him. Get someone else better....less speedy when he plays his drums.”

I flipped over to face her and her tiger tattoo. “You’re right Megan. I’ll talk to the guys about it. I’m sure they’d agree. No one likes Space much anyway.”

“Really, Johnny. I think you should think about getting rid of him soon. So?... How about that shower? I’d like to show you the great showerhead they have. Know what I mean?”

“That sounds great Megan but I’ve got to pack. We have to be in the truck in twenty minutes. We have a long drive ahead of us, to . . . I don’t know exactly? But knowing this band it’s a long way." As our ‘road manager’ perhaps you should know these things? But now was not the time for confrontation especially when one of the people involved was in possession of a piece.

“Suit yourself. But they’re not going to leave without us and I don’t know why you’re in such a damn hurry when we’ve got no place to go?” She got up off of me in a huff and began drying her hair as she walked back into the bathroom.

I pulled myself over onto my belly again and pushed forward til my torso was hanging from the mattress. I quickly retrieved the gun. There was an unzipped compartment on the outside of the satchel. That’s where it must have fallen from. I put it back and tried to compose myself calmly. There was also a small black address book that had fallen free. I took it out and thumbed through it quickly. Phone numbers. There’s a lot of guys in here. Christ! Ugh! I found a number next to the words Mom and Dad. I placed the book back in the compartment along side the gun. I grabbed a note pad and pen from the night table and scribbled down the number.

“What are you writing?”

“Do you make it your business to sneak up on people? Fuck Megan! Ever screw somebody who’s just had a heart attack?”

“No.”

“Anymore surprises, and you’ll get a chance to find out.”

“I thought you were packing and then I come out and you’re writing, I was just curious.”

“Yeah! Well curiosity killed crewman Kane! Burst right through his chest in fact.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Look, I’m a musician. I get inspirations all the time to write songs. I was just writing down some lyrics, if you really have to know.”

“Can I see?”

“Sorry, I don’t show anyone work in progress. You’ll have to wait til I’m done.”

“Can you tell me what it’s about at least?”

I thought for a moment before answering. “It’s about a guy and a girl. The guy finds out the girl’s been lying to him all along. The guy’s very upset and is trying to decide what to do next. You know the whole lover breakup thing so overdone in songs. It really should be more of a country song. Maybe I should give it to Wally?”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.”

After I had finished packing, I told Megan I was going down to help with the load out and told her to join us in the lobby in ten minutes. She lay sideways on the bed, a towel wrapped around her, with her head glued to her hand, watching some mindless TV program. “Whatever,” she responded.

When I arrived most of the work was done and Doc, Wally, Spike and his wife were up collecting their personal gear. Wires and Bronson were outside the massive glass windows of the lobby fitting the last of the gear into the truck. Space was pacing back and forth in the lobby waiting for someone with a bad toupee and creased jacket, to get off the payphone.

“Use the one in your room,” I told him.

“Handed in the key,” he said. “I kept getting a busy signal anyway.”

“Payphones have busy signals too.”

“I need to talk to Gary, Sparky. I have to know where we’re going. He said he was changing our tour around.”

“...and if you don’t talk to him? What’s plan B?”

“Wally says he has a brother who lives out this way. He’s going to call him. See if we can stay there for a few days while we wait for another gig.”

“Thank God. At least we don’t have to sleep in the truck.” I also had a pressing need to use the phone. Something I couldn’t do in my room in front of Megan. I needed to call her parents and find out if anything she told me was true.

The bad toupee man hung up and staggered back into the hotel’s bar. Space anxiously grabbed the receiver and started to pump in change and stab the buttons with his finger. Spike and Casey appeared along side of me and stood waiting. Spike nudged my arm. “Who’s Space calling?”

“He’s trying to get Walden.”

“Why didn’t he call from his . . . ” I just waved Spike’s question off as it seemed Space had reached his intended target . . . finally.

“Gary . . . Hi . . . It’s Space . . . Space from Bitter Romance . . . You booked us at Tequila Mockingbird . . . Right . . . Listen Gary . . . I know . . . yes that’s true . . . I know . . . but listen Gary . . . Yes that’s true too, but . . . I need to know where we’re booked this week...can you get us a back-end somewhere?....I understand...yes I know it’s our fault...I know . . . I’m sorry . . . She just appeared. I had no choice . . . I know . . . I know . . . Gary, look give us a chance . . . We’ll get rid of her somehow . . . believe me no one will miss her. She’s a cancer . . . I know she’s fucking things up . . . Yes I agree, she doesn’t know what she’s doing . . . but it’s hard. She’s with one of the members of the band . . . Gary please . . . I’ll take care of it . . . She’s gone. Trust me . . .I’ll call you back tomorrow... Ok Gary . . . Yes I’m sure. Don’t worry. That bitch is toast... You don’t have to tell me again...Talk to you soon . . . Goodb . . .” Space returned the phone slowly to its cradle and looked at the three of us.

Spike charged at him. “Mother fucker!”

Casey and I both yelled. “Spike No!”

It was too late. Spike grabbed the phonebook from the stall and began ramming it into Space’s head. “No one talks about my wife like that!” Every slam of the phone book into Space’s noggin was accompanied by a, “Fuck you!”

We watched, stunned, as Bronson and Wires stampeded into the lobby from the outside where they had been waiting by the truck. They tried to get hold of Spike as he continued to pummel Space who sank into a corner and squeaked weakly. “Megan! I was talking about Megan.” He held his arms up trying to protect his head from the blows. Thank Christ, Spike wasn’t wearing his guitar.

Doc grabbed me from behind. “Sparky, what the hell is going on?” Wires and Bronson managed to pull Spike back as he continued to struggle to get free of their grasp. His legs kicking violently. “Did you talk to Space about the embezzled money?”

“Sorry Doc, something else came up.” Space, slowly pulled himself up and staggered about, just as the bad toupee man had done.

Doc yelled. “Mother Fucker!”

“Doc No! Wait! You don’t understand!” I tried to grab him as he flew by me. He was on Space, pushing him to the floor and yelling at him. “Steal money from the band will ya.” Doc began kicking him in the ribs. Spike broke free of his captors and ran to join Doc in the free-for-all, once again taking up his phonebook artillery. Now there were hotel security people rushing into the lobby to break up the melee as the two kicked and punched our helpless drummer.

Megan had come up from behind and stood at my side. She observed the pandemonium with great interest. “Wow,” she said. “You guys just can’t wait to kick Space out of the band can you?”

Once things had calmed down and the involved parties had been corralled outside the hotel and told to vacate the premises, I found myself alone in the lobby. This was my chance. My phone call home to Lorraine would have to be skipped for one of greater urgency. I took possession of the cubicle. The phone felt strangely hot and wet in my hand. I realized it was the heat and sweat from my own body. Nervously I pulled the note from my pocket with the number hastily chicken-scratched across it. Each clink of a coin entering the slot was magnified in my ears like the tolling of a church tower bell. I jabbed at the numbers with my finger and waited for the ring. On the fifth ring, a voice answered, “Hello?”

“Yes,” I said lowering my voice and trying to sound official. “May I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Gable please?”

“This is Mrs. Gable.”

“Yes ah . . .” I looked around for Megan. She must be in the truck already. All I could see outside the Ghost was Doc still yelling at Space while Bronson and Wally tried to calm him down. “This is Doctor Wally Bronson calling concerning your daughter Megan Gable.” I thought I sounded a lot like Walter Cronkite.

“Doctor? Oh my! Is Megan all right?”

“Oh Yes. Yes,” I assured in my lower register. “I’m not that kind of doctor.” I chuckled softly. “I am head of research at the Institute of Technology for . . . ah . . . Duran Duran Incorporated. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”

“No, but it sounds familiar.”

“We specialize in analog technologies for ah . . . well that’s not important right now. The reason I’m calling is, your daughter Megan has expressed an interest in investing considerable monies in our new project uh . . . Bon Valon. She gave us your number as a reference. She said the money was being held in trust by you, her parents, and we need to confirm the dollar amount of the investment.”

“How much did she tell you?”

“Hmm...let me just check the paper work here.” I crumpled the note next to the phone. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in adjusted funds. Is that correct?”

There was a pause on the line and then the woman started to laugh, not a good sign, especially when the laughter doesn’t subside. “Oh! Oh!...I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to laugh. Doctor Bronson is it?”

“Yes that’s right Doctor Wally Bronson,” I said, feeling a little uneasy and losing the edge off my Cronkite.

“Well,” she said with a chortle. “I don’t know what Megan has told you Doctor, but I can assure you there is no such amount in Megan’s name. In fact she doesn’t have any money at all.”

Friday, May 25, 2007

New release this week

I highly recommend: Shocking Rugby Songs Vol. 3. I know it's got me through a difficult time or six.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

They sure didn't make toys like that when I was a kid #9



I might add, for which I'm extremely grateful.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Monday, May 21, 2007

Hire me Motherblogger!

Five years ago, few people had heard of blogs — online journals that are commonly used to chronicle the lives and opinions of their authors.

Of course you already know that, otherwise what are you doing here?


Now, more than two million Americans are blogging, according to a study by the Pew Internet and American Life Project — and blogging is spreading in the job market, said hiring managers and experts who study blogging.

I guess Canada is just another state?

"It's a little like a prescreening," said Roy Singham, the company's chief executive at Jupiter Research in New York who covers blogs. "We're looking for needles in haystacks, and the blog is like a massive magnet."

From some of the Blogs I've seen, a massive shit magnet.

However, it is advised, if you wish to get noticed by companies scouring Blogs for the right employee to fill vacancies, avoid strong political views, sexual or religious links.

Or basically, everything that makes up most Blogs.....OK just don't look at the Adult Friend Finder link and I'll cancel my "Jesus Loves Me- Dailey Message" link I was going to put up this week.

He added: "That's the advantage of blogging — if you do it well and have interesting things to say, people pay attention."

So much for me then. Good luck with your search guys......worthless assholes.....Did I say that out loud?

Sunday, May 20, 2007

SIS #27

the limits of respectability

chapter twenty-seven - the poor musicians


Journal entry- Day 58- I can’t even begin to write everything wrong with this band. It seems it’s all falling apart in front of me and I’m powerless to do anything except watch it burn. At least Nero had a fiddle.

It was late when Space, Wires, and Bronson returned. Weather conditions had slowed them down considerably and made it difficult to complete their task. The white hulk of the truck did not appear until eleven that night, drifting in from the darkness and drizzle with the trailer in tow. It came to a halt in the far corner of the parking lot. The guys were dead tired. Sound-check would have to wait until Monday.

By afternoon the next day, Wires sent up word he and Bronson were ready to go. We all started to collect in the bar to test the equipment. Once again Space was the last to arrive, and he looked rather agitated, which I must say, was a vast improvement over the lost soul who’d joined our road crew on tire changing duties the night before.

“Which one of you charged a hundred and eighty-seven dollar restaurant bill to my room?”

“You’re in 208?” I didn’t know whether to laugh, or shit my pants.

“What do you know about this Mr. Underhill, Sparky? I can’t take much more of these shenanigans.”

“Can it wait until we finish the sound? I’ll tell you the whole thing afterward. I need to discuss some things with you in private anyway.”

He dropped the inquisition for now, and reluctantly took his place behind the drum kit. “Wires we’ll try one. Just muck with the mix while we play. I don’t want to be here too long.”

Wires voice came through the monitors on stage. “Copy that. Go ahead.”

“Secrets, everyone.” It was our code for the song, Talking in your Sleep by the Romantics. Space counted us in. The bar manager stood next to Wires and Megan at the sound console.

Halfway into the first verse we could hear Wires’ voice over the monitor again. “Hang on a second. I have a problem.” We stopped playing and Wires fiddled with the sound board. “All right let’s try it again.” We took it from the top and started into the song once more. This time around, the sound lacked presence, or as Spike would say, “It had no balls.”

Wires stopped us, yet again, in the middle of a verse. “Yup, that will be all guys. Thanks.”

Doc protested. “That will be all? Is he mad? You can’t complete a sound check after two verses.”

“Two– half verses, Doc,” I added.

Doc continued. “Did I suddenly wake up in some bizarre, alternate universe where two half verses suffice as a complete sound-check?”

“Wires, are you sure?” Wally hollered from stage, since the P.A. had been turned off.

Wires yelled back. “Yup, that’s it!”

The bar manager was now at the side of the stage and gestured for Space to come to him, “Can I talk to you?” he said. They left together.

“Why is it always Space who gets to run things? Shouldn’t we all have a damn say? That’s Megan’s job now isn’t it?”

“Megan’s got the title Doc that’s all.”

Wires approached the stage and began to straighten out a tangled mess of cords laying at Spike’s feet.

“Wires, fastest sound tech in the west,” Doc blurted with admiration. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do a sound check quicker than that. That is . . . if you are . . . the real Wires?”

I moaned. “Doc give up the parallel universe theory.”

“Alternate universe, Sparky. There’s a difference.”

I rolled my eyes. “I knew there would be.”

Wires looked up at Doc thoughtfully, paused for a second, blinked, and returned a lit cigarette to his mouth. “We’ve been fired,” he said, then he returned to the mess of cords.

“Fired?”

“Yup.”

“During sound-check?”

“Yup.”

“Are you mental?”

“Nope.”

“One word responses are a sign of mental instability.”

“Really?”

Doc elbowed Wally. “He’s mental all right.”

“Look all I know is, I started to do sound-check when the bar manager told me it was,too loud. He said if we didn’t turn down we’d be fired. That’s when I stopped you the first time. I hadn’t even pushed the volume up at that point. So I turned the sound off out front, and asked you guys to play again with just stage volume. That’s when he said it was, still too loud, and we were, fired. Now I suppose he’s laying into Space in his office. Anyway I’m packing it up and I suggest gents, you do the same.”

“You still want Space’s job Doc?” I said.

Doc muttered solemnly. “But . . . but . . . but we just got here. We haven’t even played. What about the hot-tub? This is ridiculous.” Wires continued to rap cords and Bronson joined him. Doc put his head in his hands as he sat at the edge of the stage. “I jinxed us. I wanted to know what the poor musicians were doing and now look at us. We are the poor musicians.”

Wally gave Doc a there-there pat on the back and started dismantling his guitar rig.

“Success is the ability to go from one failure to another without the loss of enthusiasm. Isn’t that what Colonel Reggie used to say in the second world war, Doc?” I was trying to get him to see the bright side.

“Good old great-uncle Reggie Barlow. My namesake.”

“I think that was a quote by Churchill,” Spike interrupted.

“No, Spike. Uncle Reggie. Churchill got it from him. They used to play darts together in the pub.”

Wires moved on to a new cable. His mouth curved into a smile as Spike responded.

“Whatever Doc.”

Fifteen minutes later, Space returned from his exile in the bar manager’s office and stomped past us barking orders. “Wires, I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Yup,” Wires said. Space disappeared around the side of the stage and out the doors of the bar.

“Again with the one word,” Doc pointed out. “Hey Sparky, we still get paid right? I mean we did set-up and play something.”

“I don’t know Doc. It’s not like we played a full night.”

Spike bitched as he threw his guitar cables to the floor. “This sucks ass!” Casey shook her head in agreement.

Doc slapped his hand onto my shoulder. “Sparky! There’s the bar manager, go ask him if we get paid, or is that Megan’s job?”

I looked around. “Where is Megan?” She was nowhere to be seen.

“Gone,” Wires said.

Doc replied. “Again with the one word response. What’s with you Wires?”

“What do you mean gone, Wires?”

“She left the bar right after we got fired, Sparky. That’s all I know.” He took a pull on his cigarette and returned to disconnecting the power cables.

“Are you going to ask the guy about the money or not Sparky?”

“All right Doc! Christ! But you’re coming with me.”

We apprehensively approached the bar manager making preparations for the evening shift, checking the bar stock, and crossing things off a list. He looked up as we came nearer. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, We were . . . just wondering? . . .”

He flipped through some invoices. “About the money?”

“Yes . . . yes. That’s right,” Doc responded. I shook my head up and down vigorously to second the motion.

“I gave it to your drummer, two hundred for a sound check. That’s good. I wouldn’t complain if I were you. You didn’t play a full night, so I don’t have to pay you diddily squat. The hotel manager told me to pay you the two bills, so I did. Anything else?”

I was about to walk away, but Doc spoke up. “Suppose we did play the night..... hypothetically speaking.... how much would we get then?”

“It would be prorated from the six nights, somewhere in the vicinity of five-fifty, I’m guessing.”

I pulled at Doc’s arm. “Let’s go. The man has work to do.”

Doc wouldn’t give it up. “Did you say the amount was the prorate over six nights?”

“That’s what I said, give or take.” the guy was becoming agitated.

“That would mean we are making $3,300.00 for this gig. Is that correct?”

“Look! You have the contract. Read it! You can read, I’m assuming? I’m sure it’s all there . . . Do you mind?” He returned to his paperwork and ignored us completely.

We turned and left. Doc was inconsolable. “Did you hear, Sparky? I told you didn’t I? That little fuck! He’s stealing money from the band. Thirty-three hundred? We’re supposed to only get twenty-eight. That’s what the little bastard’s been telling us. So where’s the other five going Sparky? Huh? Tell me that? Into his greedy little pocket that’s where. Well he’s not going to get away with it. Not this time. We should wring his scrawny little neck.”

“Doc calm down. Please! Let me go and talk to him alone first. Come on, you know Space? He’s not going to respond well to more confrontation. Let me talk to him. I’m much more diplomatic than you, and I’ll find out what’s, what.”

Doc slowly came off the boil and agreed to let me handle things for now. I told him to put his aggression to work in helping with the load out, and left him at the side of the stage. We were all sore from the humiliating ass-kicking of being fired after two half-attempts at a song. I’m sure I spoke for everyone when I said, we’d prefer to crawl out of there with our tails between our legs, as fast as possible.

Personally, talking to Space about his stealing from the band, was the last thing I wanted to do. I walked slowly to his room, hoping some other distraction would come up at the last moment and save me from having to look into those eyes and accuse him of embezzlement. But, I arrived at his door with no cavalry, no panacea, and no mask of invisibility. This had to be done and I had to summon the courage to do it. There was no alternative but to play it strong, be dominating and hope no further damage would come of it. I knocked to the response of a voice from within. “What?!”

“It’s me. Sparky. We need to talk.”

The door opened and Space peered out. “Yes we do,” he said. “Yes we do.”

He opened the door wider allowing me to enter. I sat on the edge of the bed, while he sat facing me, in a chair at his desk, his arms folded, his legs crossed. He looked stern and determined. His suitcase was already packed and waiting. It sat on the disheveled upheaval of sheets and blankets behind me, atop the bed.

While I stood on the other side of the door I had mapped out the entire conversation. How I was going to tell him the way it was. How we all knew what he was up to. His transparent little money scam had been laid bare. My fraudulent restaurant activity was nothing compared to the months he’d been skimming our life-blood off the top. I would tell him he should relinquish control, and we should make decisions as a collective band again with full disclosure of everything. To borrow a favorite Spike saying, I was going to tell him, this is business music, not the music business, where hard decisions are made and friendships sometimes falter. Yes! I was going to march on in, and manipulate the entire exchange of words from beginning to end in a masterful display of linguistics— in a diplomatic way of course. It was a great plan in theory, and it played exceptionally well in my head . . . except it’s not what happened. When I finally sat there looking at him, into those eyes full of so many different emotions, a stew of anger, resentment, and fear spiced with a dash of sadness, my designs came crashing in on me like a the house of cards.

Space did all the talking. I listened to what he had to say with an open mouth and a look of bewilderment on my face. The money issue never came up.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Don't move! Or the bitch gets it!


Dogs are being kidnapped at an alarming rate, some even at gun point. Especially purebred Yorkshire terriers which can fetch (no pun intended) up to $2,000 each.

$2,000? For a Yorkie?.........Fuuuuuck......Why?....All that dog does is eat, shit, sleep, yap, and make more Yorkshire terriers.

Pirates of the Atlantic

Deep-sea explorers said Friday they have mined what could be the richest shipwreck treasure in history, bringing home 17 tons of colonial-era silver and gold coins from an undisclosed site in the Atlantic Ocean. Estimated value: $500 million.

Wow!......That would buy you a shit load of Yorkshire Terriers.


Tinky Winky gets the last laugh

Tinky Winky may be gay, but Jerry Falwell's dead...game, set, match....In your face God.

Now on to more important news like....Have they finished building that Hooker Haven on Toronto Island yet? And how to unlock your car door with a tennis ball.


Ham-as's- M-O-U-S-E

A program using a Mickey Mouse-like character to urge Palestinian children to fight Israel and the West and work for world Islamic domination has been pulled off a Hamas TV station for review.

Palestinian Information Minister Mustafa Barghouti said the use of the cartoon character in such a role represented a "mistaken approach" to the Palestinian struggle against Israeli occupation.

But you be the judge. Is it just me or does the militant mouse sound strangely similar to those recordings of Osama bin Laden?



No wonder Prince Harry's not going to Iraq.

The ratings game

Smoking will be a bigger factor in determining film ratings, the Motion Picture Association of America said but critics state the move does not go far enough to discourage teens from taking up the habit.

That adds smoking to a list of such factors as sex, violence and language in determining the MPAA’s G, PG, PG-13, R and NC-17 ratings.

However, I hear they have backed off their original assessment coming to a more reasonable compromise. Now a film will only receive the new rating if it involves a vagina smoking a cigarette.

Little Willy Willy won't

For those of you who were hoping to poke Prince William on Facebook, forget it. It was a hoax.

First the General Lee now this.

"Facebook removes any content that is in violation of our terms of use, including fake profiles," a Facebook spokeswoman told Fox News "After investigating the profile for William Wales, we found that it was a fake profile and we removed it from the site. We encourage users to report any violations of our terms."

No wonder Prince Harry's not going to Iraq.....

You don't know Diddley

Come on...sing with me....

Bo Diddley clearly was not himself,
His speech recognition was on the shelf,
When all his ailments finally broke,
Poor Bo Diddley done had a stroke,

Bo Diddley almost bought the farm,
Shoulda been aware bout the pain in his arm,
Rushed to a hospital, put em in a bed,
Otherwise Bo might’ve wound up dead,

Hey bo diddley, oh bo diddley,
Hey bo diddley, oh bo diddley.

Now he’s havin' trouble can’t speak, can’t talk,
sure can’t play no guitar rock,
With a little improvement day by day
You might hear the doctors say:

Hey bo diddley, oh bo diddley,
Hey bo diddley, oh bo diddley.

Heeeeey!

Happy Days the musical? What is the world coming to?

No wonder Prince Harry's not going to Iraq.

Can no one out there rub two brains together and come up with an original idea for theatre?

Apparently not.

We have to rehash ABBA and Queen, pick the bones of Dr. Seuss, adapt Hairspray and Dirty Dancing. Why, there’s even a Spiderman musical in the works. Outside of the theme song I can’t see how that will work?

So, trying to stay one step ahead of the so-called "creative genius", I'd like to present:

Musicals I’d pay to see.

Quentin Tarantino presents "Stuck in the Middle With You"
300 -the Musical
Terminator on the Roof

And

Musicals I wouldn’t pay to see.

Pirates of the Opera "At Worlds End"
Les MiserabLove Boat
Mama Mia Farrow

Iraqnophobia

LONDON) — Britain's Prince Harry will not be sent with his unit to Iraq, Britain's top general said Wednesday, citing specific threats to the third in line to the throne.

Army Chief of Staff Gen. Sir Richard Dannatt said the changing situation on the ground exposed the prince to too much danger.

"There have been a number of specific threats, (not to mention Hamas Mice) some reported and some not reported, that relate directly to Prince Harry as an individual," Dannatt said. "These threats exposed him and those around him to a degree of risk I considered unacceptable."

Didn't see that coming.

Cross posted on Mitchieville

Friday, May 18, 2007

New release this week

With the death of Jerry Falwell this week, you might be in need of some spiritual guidance. Maybe even spiritual guidance x2? Therefore I recommend: The Amason Twins- Hallelujah! the Lord is Coming Again. Too bad Falwell's not here to see it.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Thursday by the numbers

OK, since my statement about the Big Smoke being the city of losers, I've somehow magically bestowed good fortune on Toronto's sports teams- those still playing anyway. The Blue Jays have strung together a series of wins including a sweep of Baltimore and Toronto FC has won a couple as well, including a win against the defending champions from Houston. To the aforementioned FC I dedicate the first link.

Top 10 dumbest soccer goals scored.

Top 10 ugliest rockstars.

10 greatest motherf....curses in movie history.

Top 10 Pulp Fiction parodies.

Top 10 boob products.

*ding! ding! ding! ding!*

Bonus boob link.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Cats are funny...drunk ones even more so

...What you say? A mental disorder?....Whatever, it's still funny.

Monday, May 14, 2007

They sure didn't make toys like that when I was a kid #8



But I sure wish they had. Getting in a girls pants would have been so much easier. "Of course I'm sure it said 'left hand- penis'".

Hey, you don't suppose if they gave these out to Afghan prisoners there'd be less allegations of torture do you?

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Mother's Day special: Tasteless cartoon of the week

Hello from the city of losers

That would be Toronto for those of you who might not know. A place where we’re actually disappointed if our sports teams don’t suck.

The Leafs didn’t qualify for the Stanley Cup Playoffs, the Raptors bowed out in 6 games to the New Jersey Nets, the Blue Jays have been decimated by injuries and are 1-9 in their last 10 games.

Does anyone know if our soccer team- Toronto FC- have even scored a goal yet? Thank God Ricky Williams tested positive for marijuana. He might actually have to stay another year with the Argos.

Now, If I had posted this yesterday morning as I intended, I wouldn’t have to deal with the Blue Jays winning their second in a row and Toronto FC not only scoring their first goal, but actually winning..... All I can say is, Thank God for the Leafs.

That’s all folks

Warner Brothers has decided to pull all screenings of up coming films such as Harry Potter, Nancy Drew and Oceans 13 because of Canada’s lax laws on movie piracy.

Which is OK by me. I’ve already downloaded and seen those films. They all sucked.

Turning over a new four leaf clover

Sworn enemies from Northern Ireland's bitter past joined forces Tuesday atop a new Northern Ireland government, an astonishing achievement that both sides pledged would consign decades of death and destruction to history.

The official celebration of the merger will be followed by a good old fashion piss-up and a big donnybrook.

Pops come to blows

The Boston Pops' opened their concert season with a brawl in the balcony at Symphony Hall.

The fight started after one of the two men involved tapped the other on the shoulder with a program to complain about noise, police said.

I'm still waiting word on whether they are members of the Irish Parliment, or if the Pops were performing the 1812 Overture.

Hazzard hoax upsets Duke

Actor John Schneider found out this week, the nearly $10 million eBay bid for General Lee – the 1969 Dodge Charger made famous by "The Dukes of Hazzard" television series – is a hoax.

The $9,900,500 million bid to buy the coveted piece of TV land, sent shockwaves through the online auction world and set an eBay record, but has missed the first payment deadline.

Was the bidders name, Hugh Jass, any clue?

Video Ozzfest or SHARON the spotlight

Ozzy Osbourne is giving fans the chance to direct his video for "I Don’t Wanna Stop", the first single from his May 22 Epic release "Black Rain". The winning clip will become the official video and will be serviced to video outlets all over the world. This is the ultimate Ozzy fan’s chance — on their own terms, with all the right tools — to work with the Ozzman himself while getting few accolades.

Which just goes to show, aging rockers are cheap, lazy bastards.

IKEA parkingfluggen, but you have to put it together yourself

By the end of the month, IKEA will set aside two parking spots for environmentally friendly hybrid vehicles at each of its 11 superstore parking lots.
It's part of a flurry of green initiatives being pitched to Canadian consumers this year, as firms from retailers to banks and insurers aim to capitalize on the growing realization of the effects of climate change.

Personally I couldn’t care less. I always get great parking when I shop. Why, just this week I got a fantastic deal on a computer desk and a fridge with the door missing, while getting primo parking right next to the curb. Beat that IKEA.

MexiCanada

Federal documents revealed, more Canadians were reported assaulted while visiting Mexico over the past seven years than any other travel destination.

A total of 1,133 Canadian travellers reported to Canadian authorities they were assaulted on foreign soil between the years 2000 and 2006. Of those, Mexico leads the list with 173 reported assault cases. China was next with 105 and Cuba with 62. Thailand was fourth with 45 and the United States followed with 40

They also found out of all the travel destinations Mexico is where you are most likely to see Mexicans, so watch out!

Cross posted on Mitchieville

SIS #26

the limits of respectability
chapter twenty-six - tequila mockingbird


Journal entry- Day 57- I am not concerned with Space. I have new problems of my own to deal with, like why is Megan here? I tried to extract the information last night but I’m not sure I reached any conclusion other than the obvious sexual one.

I had helped Megan up and took her into my room. She had a lone travel bag with her. It was a worn, dark-brown satchel with side compartments and from the bulges, it looked like she had packed in a hurry.

“Why are you here?”

“I got fired. I got no place to go,” She had said, her eyes welling up with tears. I kept hearing Doc’s voice in my ear, “Have! Have! You have no place to go, Megan.”

“How did you know where to find us?”

“I called your agent. I got the number from The Matador. Gravy got it for me.”

“What about Gravy? Couldn’t he help you out? There had to be someone closer you could go to.”

“He has a wife.”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“That didn’t stop you from sleeping with me.”

Ahhh sweet precious guilt! “Ok . . . What about your parents Megan?”

“They live on the west coast. I didn’t have enough money to get there, only this far.”

“Couldn’t you call them? Surely they’d help you out of a tight spot?”

“My father and I don’t exactly have the greatest relationship. He’s not the type of man to give me money for any reason.”

I thought of my father and could still hear his big burley Scottish baroque. “You couldne’ go to college like a normal child. Ya just had te go inte music with its drrrugs and its sex and its rrrockin’ rrroll. Well yer on yer own boy. Dinee’ come cryin’ te me.” Maybe Megan had a point? After all, I didn’t know much of her back story. Perhaps she was from one of those abusive families? “That aside, you know the rules about traveling with the band, Megan. I was very clear about it and things haven’t changed. In fact, Space is even more of a hard-ass than he was at Buddy Bob’s.”

“I know. Let me stay with you tonight. I’ll talk to Space and work it out. If he says no, then I’ll hitchhike home OK? The last thing I want to do is put anyone out.”

Too late for that, I thought. “Be my guest. Talk to Space tomorrow.” I didn’t tell her of our little event earlier. I didn’t know how accommodating Space would be since his ego had just been crushed into pulp by a black clad nemesis brandishing three and half feet of steel. Steel he’d been sure was going to end up in his small colon via his anal passage, I’m sure. The last thing he’d want, would be to cut me any slack. He’d probably love to tee off on Megan to get
back on track and resume the dominating role he loved, oh so well.


First thing when we woke up, she marched down to 203 to talk to Space, while I joined the rest of the band for breakfast in the restaurant, even though it was an hour past lunch. We’d eat and then pack up. Our next destination was a two-hour drive south through a portion of the Rockies to a club called Tequila Mockingbird. It was somewhere nestled in a valley between two peaks.

All but Spike and Casey were elated, as I joined the table and placed my order. Spike grumbled something like, “What’s everyone so damn happy about this morning?” There were some knowing glances and exchanged snickers but we remained quiet about our prank post mortem. Megan came into the diner and reacquainted herself with the surprised faces of my band-mates.

Megan sat down in the chair next to mine. Doc joked, “Sparky Malveen, this is your life! Is your mother waiting out in the foyer?”

She winked at me. “Space isn’t feeling too well. He said to tell you all to send Spike up to get him when we’re ready to go.”

Spike growled, as he shoveled his home-fries into his mouth. “Do I look like a nurse maid to you?”

“When we’re ready to go?” I said surprised.

“That’s right. I’ll be traveling with you guys.”

“No one but the band travels with us.”

“I am band. I’m your new road manager.”

I nearly spat my coffee on the table but Doc beat me to it. “Je-sus! What?”

Wally yelped as he received some of Doc’s splatter.

“I’m your new road manager. Space appointed me ten minutes ago.”

“I warned you guys about that damn leg! But oh no! You wouldn’t listen,” Spike ranted.

Casey gripped Spike’s arm in fear. “The leg’s here?”

“No honey. I was just speaking figuratively.” He continued his raving. “Don’t listen to Spike! Well who’s laughing now! I said, bad luck, well, you got bad luck! Karmic justice that’s what it is . . .”

Megan turned to me. “What’s he talking about?”

“Something happened last week. Don’t worry about it.” After Spike ended his tirade, no one spoke much, the rest of breakfast. It’s much easier to eat in shock quietly I guess? This unexpected turn had caught us all off-guard and left poor Wally needing to change his shirt. I was just as stunned as everyone else. What was Space thinking?

When we were done, Doc and Wires pulled me aside. “Sparky what’s going on?”

“I don’t know? I’m as lost as you are. Believe me. She just showed up last night and went to talk to Space this morning. This is all news to me.”

“Space! This is his way of getting us back for last night. It has to be. Well, har-dee-har-har, now fire her ass!”

“I hope you’re right, Doc,” Wires added. “But I’m not so sure this is a joke. Something else is at play here on a deeper level. Seems to me Space would have no part of putting Megan in charge of road managing the band, especially the way he’s gone on about Walden, not wanting to fuck-up and upset the balance and all. This contract he wants us to sign, is the most important thing to him. He is not going to jeopardize it without a damn good reason. I don’t think, him being pissed about last night qualifies.”

“Wires is right Doc. It’s my thinking too. What does he have to gain by putting her in charge? After a humbling experience, one I’m sure he knows I’m involved in at some level, he wouldn’t be too anxious to appoint a fuck buddy for me either. Would he? He’d want her gone.”

Doc clutched the air with cupped hands in a melodramatic fashion. “Then, what’s the reason for this madness?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I sure want to find out before this gets out-of-hand.”

“Who’s going to go talk to him? Wires you’ve known him the longest. Sparky it’s your chick.. I guess that takes me out of the running?”

“I’ll talk to him,” I said. “But at least let me get settled into the next gig before I do. In the meantime I want to speak to Megan and get to the bottom of this.”

The band and crew started to tear down and pack up. I dragged Megan out of ear shot. “When we were in the restaurant Megan- forgive me- but it sounded like you said Space wants you to road-manage the band?”

“Yes! Isn’t it great? we can be together and....”

“-Woe! Wait a freekin’ minute here. How did you get from wanting to travel with us, to road managing the band? I mean what qualifications do you have? What experience? What’s going on here? I’ve got so many questions, I swear my brains are going to squirt out my ears.”

She changed to a hushed tone. “Listen John. I’m not supposed to tell you this yet but . . . I have a lot of money. I can help you guys record your original songs. This is a good thing. Space knew it when I told him, you should too. But not another word to anyone else. I don’t want everyone knowing my private business.” She kissed my lips softly, licking them with her tongue when she retracted.

Of course! It had to be about money. It made sense now. Why else would Space acquiesce to such an outrageous demand? He was all about the money: Walden, the A rooms, the contract, skimming money from the band, (if Doc were right). It all came down to money. If Megan proved she had it and was willing to invest, why not give her a position. Surely he didn’t expect her to actually carry out the duties associated with a road manager? It was just a puppet title to appease the rest of us, so a nonmember could ride along. That had to be it? “Wait a minute. You said you got fired. You had no place to go. If you have all this money Megan, what’s the problem? Why come here? Why us?”

“It’s being held in trust by my parents. I can’t get it right now. But January 1st I have access to it. It’s all mine if I want it John. Two hundred and fifty-large.”

“Thousand?”

“Yup. You got anything else you want to say?” She smiled a Cheshire cat grin- mischievous, but or so alluring. I felt a stirring close to my personal equator.

“Welcome to Bitter Romance,” I said.

One by one I pulled the band aside and related to them, as unusual as it seemed Megan was assigned road managing duties, it would all be made clear at some point in the not too distant future. It was in all our best interest, and not to worry.

Space appeared as the last of the personal gear was being stowed into the trailer. “You didn’t have to get him after all, Spike.”

Spike snarled at Wally, and continued shoving his suitcase atop a small tower of boxes. He reached for Megan’s bag next.

“No that’s all right sweetie. I’d like to have my bag up front with me, if you don’t mind?”

“Whatever turns your crank.”

Space looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were still covered by those impenetrable sunglasses. His head was tilted down as if it was too painful to make eye contact with anyone more than four feet high. His shoulders slumped forward making him look small and fragile. His mouth was a black hole to a star-field of stubble, and he dragged his feet as he shuffled slowly toward us towing his squeaky wheeled suitcase. It seemed weird, there should be at least a little happiness bursting through that facial cloud of misery since he knew what I did about Megan’s hidden wealth.

Space spoke like someone condemned to death. “Wires, we ready to roll?”

“Giddy up.”

“Everyone familiar with the news about Megan?” No response. “Any questions?” No response. “All right, let’s go.”

At first the Ghost was quiet, a funeral pall as we rolled along, but within the hour it was business as usual. Everyone was in a gab free-for-all, except Space who kept to himself in the shotgun seat fixated out the window and occasionally scribbling notes into a small black book. The air was becoming colder again as we climbed up an eastern pass. We drove by the yellow and black road block swing-arms of one avalanche zone, after another. The view was spectacular, majestic trees and far-off summits dusted with the powdered sugar of snow and at times, hidden in a haze of mist. The drop-off was equally daunting, all that protected us from a two hundred-foot tumble was a small guard rail. The roads were narrow, twisting and turning sharply, making our climb more like a roller coaster approaching the crest of its first fall. I could almost smell the odor of oil on wood and hear the kiss of metal wheels on steel rails— the systematic crank and click of the chain pulley at the moment your eyes change from a skyward view, to the ground below at eighty miles an hour. Most of the opposing traffic were an ensemble of cars with roof rack spines of skis and huge logging trucks making our Ghost shake and shudder as they whipped past us.

Doc gasped, “Je-sus! These guys paid by the load or something?”

“You mean you don’t know Doc?” I mocked him.

“Yeah I’d almost rather have Wires chewing on tinfoil than this?”

Doc shimmied into a little spasm.“God! Don’t say that Wally.”

Wires held up a lit cigarette wedged in the middle of his close fist like he was giving us the finger.

“Thank you, for not, not smoking,” Doc admonished.

Another logging truck appeared around the next corner. He was riding the center line. “That guy better give us more room,” Wires said, as he laid on the horn. The truck moved but drifted in the wrong direction and now had its tandem wheels on our side of the line. Space had stopped scribbling and everyone else fell silent. We watched in disbelief and horror as the logging truck raced straight for us.

“Is this guy fucking nuts?” Spike yelled. Casey clutched him tightly.

Wires laid on the horn again and maneuvered the Ghost as far over as he could. Our passenger side tires were now onto the shoulder of the road and I felt I’d soon here the squeal of metal twisting and crunching, as we went through the guardrail and plummeted to our death, tumbling in a clothes-dryer of equipment and screaming human flesh. Still, the transport came at us from our side of the line. Wires yelled. “Everyone hold on!” He slammed on the brakes.

Space had dropped his note book and dug his hands into the dash. Bronson was bolted to the back of Wires seat. Spike and I held tightly to our respective females, and Doc and Wally, riveted, locked to one another. The hair on our necks at attention, the pump of adrenaline, the sudden gasp of air, sucked into silence, then a collective scream of voices, raising to a fevered pitch.

The Ghost ground on the guardrail and squealed slowing to a crawl. Wires punched the horn one last time. It was answered by a blast from the air horn of the transport, reverberating to the bone, as it veered at the last second and blew by us. There was a gust of air. It shook us violently like we were being side-swiped by a passing tornado and an audible thump and ping noise like someone shooting a frying pan with a pellet gun. It was followed by a hail of gravel and dust disintegrating in tiny asteroids on our windshield.

We sat in the relieved stillness, as the menace roared down the road behind us and out of sight. “Holy shit! That was close,” Wires said. He looked at the cigarette he’d bent in two, during the tense moments. Its lit end had fallen and smoking embers glowed from the floor board before being squished beneath his boot.

Doc responded, as he beat Wally’s hug off. “He must’ve nodded off at the wheel? Good thing he woke up.”

“Someone should report that ass.” Spike groused.

“I’ll pull into the next observation area and check the truck for damage.”

“Great Wires, and I’ll take the opportunity to check my pants for damage. I think I just gave birth.” Doc said.

The next observation area was only a half a mile up the road and Wires pulled into it. The truck had seemed a little sluggish just before we stopped and Wires became concerned. He opened the driver-side door and we all filed out. Wires was quick to walk around the vehicle to note a hideous black scrape along the length of the passenger side. We found him at the trailer looking down. The left side wheel was flat.

“That’s all we need,” he said, as he reached for another cigarette.

“Isn’t there a spare?”

“Not for the trailer there isn’t.” Wires bent down and examined the wheel-well. The outer edge of the metal flap was bent in. “See this. That idiot barely missed us. He must have just nicked the wheel housing, bending a piece in. The next bump we hit must have punctured the tire. It’s toast!”

Spike yelled. “Just FUCKIN’ GREAT!!” It echoed . . . fuckin’ great, fuckin’ great, fuckin’ great!

“Why don’t you watch your language in front of your wife?”

“Eat shit and die Wally....Ever since that fucking leg in the bass bin!”

“Spike!” Wally yelled back. “We’re tired of your bullshit man! The leg has not brought us bad luck! It was here long before you arrived!”

“What the leg?” Casey questioned.

“No the bad luck. Fuck-wit!”

“What did you say to my wife?” Spike pushed Wally hard in the chest pushing him back before Bronson stepped in between the two to keep them at arm's length.

“Look, Spike. Let me set things straight. There is no Curse of the J’s. No bad luck when you find a prophetic leg!— ”

“— Prosthetic leg, Wally,” Doc corrected.

“— No one is trying to steal your wife, and cockroaches perform an essential service! Doc would have to tell you what it is, but I’m sure there is one. And, oh, the monotone drone when a TV station goes off the air at four in the morning, is not the government trying to control your brain! I also find it interesting you get all bent out of shape every time someone swears around your girl yet you can spout off like a sailor on shore-leave. Friggin’ hipercrite! ’

“Hypocrite Wally.”

“Whatever animal Doc, Spike’s definitely one.”

“Oh yeah," Spike growled. "You should try doing some work for a change Wally! The truck does not magically load and unload itself! And I’m tired of you farting at will Wally, around me, around my wife, on stage. I’m disgusted by the way you just belt it our as if you’re singing the national anthem. No consideration for anyone. And . . ." He wagged a threatening finger. "If you, or anyone, ever talk to my wife like that again, you’ll have to put the microphone to your ass to sing, which shouldn’t be too hard for you, Wally, cuz it’s where you do most of your verbal communication anyway.”

Wires shouted. “Guys, Guys! Enough! It won’t help our current situation to be at each others throats.”

“So what do you suggest Space?” I said. He hadn’t said a word. He’d just stood there watching it all go down.

“Ask the road manager,” he said turning around and climbing back inside the truck. Space was right. This was the type of thing a road manger would take care of.

I looked at Megan, then said, “Wires is in charge of fixing things, so I believe it should be his call. Wires what do you propose we do?”

“Unhook the trailer. Take what personal items we need from it, and leave it here for now. The hotel’s only another forty minutes down the road. We can off-load the equipment and then Bronson and I will pick up another tire and come back for the trailer.”

“Sounds good to me,” Wally huffed, and immediately swung back toward the Ghost to join Space. Wires and Bronson unhooked the trailer and with Spike’s help lowered the hitch to the ground. The rest of us, minus Wally and Space, grabbed what personal stuff we needed and returned to the van.

When we arrived at the hotel we loaded in. Then Wires and Bronson left to get all we’d left behind. Space went with them. Doc, Spike, Casey and I, started to arrange the gear, as Wally, still in his dour mood, went with Megan to get the room keys.

“I’d like to have Wally’s job,” Spike complained.

Doc answered. “Oh and what job would that be?”

“The job of doing nothing.”

“Then if you did Wally’s job, what would Wally not do?”

We did as much as we could without the rest of our crew present and then paired off with the distribution of our room assignments. I turned to Megan. “God, I’m so hungry.”

“Let’s go to the hotel restaurant and get something to eat.”

“It looks expensive, Megan. I have to conserve my money. It’s not a good idea. I already had my once-a-week meal out, at breakfast this morning. Come on, I’ve got some macaroni in my food trunk. I could boil it up on the hot plate....”

“Treat yourself. Have whatever you want John. It’s on me.”

“I thought you didn’t have any money?”

“I don’t, but I’ve been in this situation before and it’s easy. We just charge the bill to someone else’s room.”

“I don’t know about this Megan?”

“Oh Johnny. Where’s your sense of adventure? It’s exciting. When was the last time you had fillet minion, or lobster in butter with sweet rolls . . . ?” My stomach rumbled just listening to her. “Hey bring Doc along. I like him. We can all sit down, get some champagne, and toast the bright future.”

Doc did join us. You never passed up the option of a free meal when you were out on the road. The three of us sat together and raided the menu. “One of those . . . two of that . . . bring us some more of them and a bottle of something expensive.” It was great. For the first time I felt like a rock-star.

“Ugh! I can’t eat another bite.”

“Not even a teensy-weensy, sliver of cheesecake Doc?”

“No, I’m done. How would your friends Apples and Oranges say it, 'My belly done bust'?”

We finished the last of our particulars and I instructed the waitress. “I’d like to charge the meal to my room please.”

“Very well sir. Just sign your name and room number on the back of the bill.”

“Je-sus Sparky! $187.00 for three of us?”

“Don’t worry Doc. I’ll take care of it.” I put down the number 208, my room number from the last gig and as a tribute to J.R.R. Tolkien, I signed the bill. Mr. Underhill, and gave the waitress a sizable tip. The girl thanked us and we left the restaurant.

“That was fun! Sticking it to the man. I feel so alive.”

“I told you,” Megan said.

Doc Barlow rubbed his tummy lovingly. “God I’m stuffed. Let’s hit the hot tub, Mr.Underhill.”

“Great idea Mr. Barlow.”

Most of the bands’ rooms were side by side on the first floor except for Space’s. He was still very much a wounded bird, and had demanded to be as far away from everyone as possible. The accommodations were comfortable upscale and adjacent to a garden area by a sliding door. The courtyard was softly lit and decorated by trickling waterfalls into a heated pool. At our end was a huge banana-shaped, in-ground tub, surrounded by flowered tresses. The water hissed and steamed like a hot spring. In the distance, snow-covered pinnacles and rocky crests rose up to greet the moon. It dripped a cool night ambiance into the night air.

Doc was already in the tub when we arrived. “What took you guys so long? I’m halfway to a new life as a prune,” he boasted. He showed me his wrinkled hand.

I smiled at him, and nodded in Megan’s direction with a wink.

“Oh,” he said.

We entered the water, slowly descending the steps, and took our places on either side of him. “This is so relaxing,” I said. “I hope this tour never ends.”

Megan agreed. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

“All I need now, is four scantily clad nymphets eating a can of crushed, pickled, arseholes and raisins from between my toes,” Doc smiled.

“You wouldn’t want any pickled arseholes for yourself Doc?”

“No I’m too full from dinner. Ahh, Sweet young nubile girls with gigantic . . .” Doc began to wiggle his fingers under his chin again.

Megan inquired. “Tentacles?”

Smiling, I told her,“You really don’t want to know.”

Wally slid the door to his room open and came walking across the cobblestone walkway with some urgency. His mullet bounced in the moonlight.

“Space, Wires and Bronson back yet?”

He paused. “No.”

“Then come in and join us you big lug. The water’s soooo hot, it’s great. But, just no . . . you know what I mean?” Doc plugged his nose before leaning back and letting the bubbling tub take him. “Ahhhhh, I wonder what the poor musicians are doing right now?”

“Doc you made me forget why I came out here.”

“The poor musicians, Wally,” Doc said again. He slapped the rim of the tub with a wet hand. “Forget your troubles my overly gassy friend and become one with the tub.”

“Uh . . . oh . . . OK . . . no . . . wait. That’s it. That’s why I came out here. Doc, Sparky, do either of you know a Mr. Underhill?”

Doc and I stopped smiling and looked at each other with widening eyes. We spoke in unison. “Why?”

“The front desk just called me. They said they’ve been calling all our rooms looking for him. They sound pissed.”

Friday, May 11, 2007

New release this week

On a personal note: This one goes out to my new buddy Blue Boy.

This week I recommend: The Best of the Singing Postman.

It will make you want to listen to his back catalogue. I think his second album was called "The Postman Always Sings Twice"?

Thursday, May 10, 2007

What the F...indeed!

Below are the two posts that were supposed to be on Tuesday. For some strange reason they showed up today.......BEHOLD! The speed of the mighty internet......Canada Post gets shit to me faster.

What the F...revisited

F5 apparently, more than 3/4 of a mile wide that wiped out Greenburg Kansas Friday night.

We're not in Kansas anymore

The after effects of the tornado

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

What the F...!

Initially I had hoped to post the YouTube of the F5 that devastated Greenburg Kansas last Friday on my blog. However, every time I tried to load it and was greeted by the message, "Your video will appear shortly", it failed to materialize.

Today I tried, unsuccessfully, to post it again. Yet the same message, "Your video will appear shortly" blinked at me relentlessly despite the contrary.

In other words YouTube, you lied to me.

Now I expect to be lied to by my elected officials. I know my parents have lied to me at some time in my life for my own good. My girl GIGC has lied pretty every time she has vocalized a satisfying orgasm during our sexual romps. Even my Son has lied to me. BTW Tristan I know that's your weed under the Christmas decorations in the shed because I keep mine in the old rubber boot.

I've heard lies from bosses, teachers, priests, police....there's no way I was driving that fast.

Why, I've even told the odd fib myself.....Honestly I don't know who's panties they are.

But YouTube?

I'm shocked...I'm stunned....I'm a tad disappointed.

All I wanted was a video of a tornado causing destruction. What I got was a crushing emptiness that can never be filled. Thanks YouTube.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Offensive by default

For some reason, the YouTubes wouldn't load today so do to the technical difficulty we now join the tasteless cartoon of the week already in progress.

Monday, May 07, 2007

They sure didn't make toys like that when I was a kid #7

So Spiderman was #1 at the box office. Honestly who didn't see that coming? However I bet you didn't think you'd see the following? You see, to try to make back the millions spent already on production and advertising etc. the Spiderman brand has been licenced to everything from tampons to pillowcase nighties and this next item......It doesn’t spin a web, any size. But it catches fish…using flies. Look out! Here comes the prosthetic Spiderman fishing rod arm.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

SIS #25

the limits of respectability
chapter twenty-five - tar-paper blondes


Journal entry- Day 56- Space has been driving us crazy with his insults. Ever since Walden started booking us, there’s been no living with him. No one has been safe from his offensive remarks. He has constantly complained to Wires about the sound and has been calling him Neville more and more. He told Casey she was just a warm place for Spike to jerk-off in. He told Wally in front of the girl he was with, “Why are you settling for hamburger when you can have steak?” In other words, he’s back to being the same old Space we’ve come to know and despise. That’s why this little prank we have planned will be so sweet. It will really put him in his place . . . for good.

When I first broached the idea of giving Space his just reward, everyone had been anxious to hear what I had in mind and couldn’t resist brainstorming scenarios once I gave them the outline. I told them the same thing I’d relate to Wires later on in the coffee shop, as I watched Space make an ass of himself with his hotel-staff-Chub.

“This is what we’re going to do,” I had said. “Above all, we’re going to suck it up, and bide our time. We have to play a patient game and wait for our opening. It could be next week. It could be a month from now, but when the time is right, we’ll fix his ass. If this doesn’t make him more manageable then I don’t know what will?”-

As it turned out, it was two weeks later at, The Grand Passaglia in Spuzzum. The Grand was not like the other hotels we’d stayed in. It was laid out more like a motel with long narrow horseshoes off each side of the main building. It seemed fairly vacant when we pulled in, with only a few transports and mud-caked vehicles that had lost their way. It’s not like the place was loaded with tourists. Come to Spuzzem – America’s best kept secret.

The accommodation portion of the club was two stories high, with long corridors running from either side of the check-in and restaurant. The bar itself was harbored behind these two areas, a huge rectangle plopped from above by some giant hand. It was located in a desolate place by the highway, with empty fields bordering all sides and an old wire fence stretched down the road in both directions until it disappeared into the underbrush. When it came time to play, the bar was packed. It must have been the only source of entertainment in the area. The clientele mostly depicted a rougher look than the somewhat pretentious patrons we’d performed for in the past weeks. Welcome to Spuzzem where there’s always a body in the trunk.

It was another great gig for us. Our performance was really gelling and the stage truly looked magnificent with the eye-candy of lighting, parachute backdrop, and army paraphernalia. We were still on the Walden high of playing in “A” circuit rooms. However, our contact with Space- outside of performance- had become all but non existent. Yet, when we did, he was never without a crass insult for what he perceived as his inferiors.

-“The first part of the plan gentlemen is we have to get Wally laid more. He has to make up ground in this ridiculous Chub contest. We have to create a sense of urgency Space will react to.”

“I like the plan so far,” Wally had responded. To that end, we’d spent the last two weeks working the room hard between sets to accomplish this task and a very happy Wally, the recipient of our sexual embassy, had closed in on the leader. Space had insisted to anyone who’d listen, he had nothing to worry about, and we should all concern ourselves with our own sex lives instead of everyone else’s. Still, there was a glint of fear beneath the tough talk, a slight quiver in the voice of bravado telling us the time was at hand.

-“We all know Space. If we put enough heat on him, he won’t want to lose, especially to Wally. He thinks the shit is all behind us now. The law of averages says, there will be no more jealous boyfriends, or more spurned lovers, or rampaging husbands and Sherif Daddy’s, but in the back of his mind, it fucks with him- plays on his senses. The ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybe I shouldn’ts’ eat away at him. I just know it. He’ll put himself in a situation again and that’s how we get him. Just wait and see.”

At the end of our week in Spuzzem the staff tossed a little private party after the bar closed. There was a great bounty to drink and eat and a smorgasbord of women to choose from. Space was his usual obnoxious self, working the room hard. He was sitting with two brunettes Doc affectionately referred to as "tar-paper blondes". Space was trying to get them drunk on the free booze.

“Look at Space over there like there’s a blast of sunlight coming from his asshole. Do you know how many points he gets for a three-way?”

“Don’t worry Wally. It’s on for tonight.”

-“Space knows nothing about Bronson and his ninja parafanailia. I suggest, we get the master key from the desk while Bronson gets his stuff on. I’m talking the whole getup, the black mask, the outfit, the sword, everything. We get him into Space’s room and put him in the closet. He waits there for Space to return with his chosen girl. Once they start having sex, Bronson jumps out with his sword raised and Space shits himself right then and there. He’ll think , this is it. The end, and he’s going to die on the blade of a jealous lover.”

Doc had expressed concerns about Bronson falling asleep if too much time elapsed. Bronson assured him, “As long as I have a good book to read, no problem.”

The party was starting to wind down, and Space seemed excited to get his chubs back to his room for a little tag-team action. It was our cue to leave. With silent nods and sideways glances we left one by one, and reconvened in the front foyer.

“Wires, Wally, go with Bronson and help get him ready. Doc, come with me.”
We split up, heading in opposite directions. There was no one at the desk when Doc and I arrived. I rang the bell. Still no one. “Where the hell is the clerk?”

“It is, three in the morning Sparky.”

I rang the bell again. Finally a younger man wiping the sleep from his eyes appeared from the back room and aligned his crooked tie. “Can I help you?”

“Yes it appears I left my keys in my room. I need you to let me into 203.”

“Hmm 203 . . . 203 . . . 203 . . .” He ran his finger through the registry. “You in the band?”

“Yes, we both are.”

“Saw you guys Wednesday. You’re good.”

“Thanks.— Perhaps you could hurry?”

“Ah here it is 203— You must be a Mr. Space. Is that right?”

Christ! What a buffoon Space is. He doesn’t even use his real name anymore. I lied through my smile. “No. I’m Johnny Malveen his roommate.”

“Hmm, says here Mr. Malveen, you’re in room 208 not 203.”

“Yes ah . . . That’s correct. I left my keys for 208 in 203. Surely since I’m in the band, it shouldn’t be a problem letting me into one of my band-mate’s room?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Malveen, we have strict policies here. I can’t let you into another guest’s room even if it is to get your keys. I can let you into your room if you’d like, or you can wait for this Mr. Space to return and let you into his. It’s up to you.”

“That’s OK, I’ll wait. Thank you.”

Doc and I left the front desk. “What do we do now, oh great joke master?”

“Doc we have to run and get Wires. We’ll get him to jimmy the lock. But we have to hurry. We don’t have much time.”

We ran huffing and puffing to the crew room where we found Bronson decked out in his costume. All I could see were his eyes. The rest of his body was shrouded in black. He held a long curved sword, silver and shining in the soft light. He looked very ominous and intimidating. I stopped short and laughed. “Oh this is going to be so good.”

“But we have a small problem. The guy at the desk won’t let us into the room.”

“Wires, can you get us in?”

“Shouldn’t be too much trouble,” Wires said. He kicked open a tool box that lay at the side of his bed.

“Je-sus Wires. Some times I worry about you.”

“Come on guys,” I urged. “Let’s do it. He’ll be here soon.— Wally run to the end of the hall and watch for Space. It won’t look good if he comes up when we’re all on our knees giving his door handle a blow-job.”

Wally ran to the end of the hall and pushed his back to the wall at the corner. Occasionally he peered around it like he was on some covert mission, holding vigil to the stairs ascending from below. Wires extracted a small case of tools he’d brought with him from his back pocket, and went to work on the lock. He fiddled with a pointed steel instrument and another one with a small flat end. There was a click.

Wally whispered loudly. “He’s coming! He’s coming! Abort! Abort!” We could hear the door at the bottom of the stairs creak open. The combination of laughter amid staggered footfalls drifted up to our ears as the threesome slowly climbed the steps.

The door to Space’s room swung open. We could see the closet, across from the bed next to a window. “Ok Bronson go! Get in there.” Bronson charged forward.

Wally hissed. “Guys! No time! Abort!”

“Shit! Everybody back to the room.— Bronson, get out!” Bronson pulled back. Wires closed and locked the door. We quickly retreated into the crew’s room two doors down just as the triumvirate of feet hit the top step. For Wally it was too late. Space and the girls practically bumped into him coming around the corner. He had a girl under each arm who giggled through a drunken stupor. We had our ears pressed to the door listening hard to the conversation. We could hear Space’s macho bluster laced with suspicion. “Wally? What’s going on here?” The girls giggled.

“Uh . . . uh.”

“Come on Wally,” I whispered. “Think of something.”

“Sparky this is Wally we’re talking about,” Doc reminded. He pressed his ear back to the door.

“Well Wally? Can’t you see I’m busy? Out with it. Why are you skulking around corners?”

“I thought . . . I thought, since you had two girls with you, I could join you?”

“You thought you could join us? Huh.” Space looked at the girls. “Funny Wally, I don’t see a girl here for you. You’ll have to get your own. That’s if you can find one you can blow up at this late hour.”

The girls giggled some more. “Let him join us, Space. He’s cute.”

“He’s also has crabs.”

The girls squealed in unison, “eww!”

“...and other sexually transmitted diseases I’m sure you fine ladies don’t want.”

“I do not!” Wally protested.

“Wally, my advice. Don’t go where you’re not wanted. Come on girls we have business to attend to. The business of pleasure.” There was further giggling as they pushed by.

We heard them approach. The key slid in the door Wires had closed only moments ago. It opened. In they walked and then SLAM! the door was shut. There was a weak knock at our entrance and we opened it to find a pathetic looking Wally. He sounded downcast.“I guess we wait for another time?”

“No! We do it tonight. This is perfect. We can’t pass up an opportunity like this. I thought he’d have only one girl, but he has two! No, we have to find a way somehow.”

“Sparky what about patience, waiting for the right time, picking our spot?”

“Fuck patience! Fuck picking our spot! This is the right time!”

Bronson mumbled something.

“What did you say?”

He pulled his mask down. “Perhaps there’s another way I can get in there without them noticing? Room service, or a maid?”

Doc pleaded. “Bronson, it’s three in the morning. Louie B. Je-sus man!. What person in their right mind is changing the sheets?”

“I could just knock and when he answers bust in on them.”

“The element of surprise is there,” I said. “But you don’t know Space. Once he starts something like this, he’ll see it through and tell you to piss off. He won’t even answer the door.”

Wires spoke. “His window was open. Space likes the fresh air. Perhaps we can boost Bronson up to the ledge and he can get in that way?”

“Good thinking Wires. Let’s try it.”

There was renewed energy and hope was rekindled, as quickly and quietly, we stole out of the room and down the hallway to the exit. Wires plopped a tiny ball of tin foil into his mouth and began to chew.

“God Wires! What the hell?” Doc looked like his whole body needed to be scratched. In fact, all of us were reacting to his new activity in some negative way through our scrunched faces.

“I’m trying to quit smoking.”

“By chewing tin foil? Isn’t there some other way? I feel like I’m being electrocuted. Je-sus!”

“It works for me. What can I say?”

“Is this one of Doc’s one month challenges Wires? Because I can’t take it,” I grimaced. “Look, I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow, I promise. Please stop.”

Doc reassured. “This isn’t my doing people. Don’t point the finger at moi.”

“Sorry.” Wires spat the small metal ball to the ground where it made a tink noise, and rolled off into the darkness.

Wally inquired. “You really quitting cigarettes, Wires? I’m going to miss all the tricks you do.”

“What? Like blowing out clouds of smoke, Wally?”

“Didn’t you do smoke rings, or Washington crossing the Delaware, something like that?”

“Guys! We’re wasting time. Space isn’t going to last long with two chicks in his boudoir. We can discuss tobacco parlor tricks at a later date.”

The four of us continued on with our dark figured ninja, creeping around the exterior of the hotel to the back where we could see Space’s window on the second floor. It was open as Wires had said and there was a faint glimmer of light from within.

“Bastard! He left the light on so he could watch too!”

“Wouldn’t you Wally?”

“Yeah. But I’m not the asshole here.”

There was a row of garbage receptacles below, sheltered by a wooden hutch attached to the first floor wall. “What do you think Bronson?”

Bronson mumbled something.

“What?”

He again lowered his mask to his mouth. “I said, no problem. Give me a hand to get on the garbage box and I can hoist myself up from there.”

“Excellent!” I said. The surge of excitement I felt was like a demon ready to leap out my body. “Once you’re in position, give us five minutes to get back up to the door so we can listen.”

Bronson gave me a thumbs up. Doc and Wires helped him get on top of the shelter. I was impressed how quiet and agile he was. Without much effort, he pulled himself into position atop the window ledge, and waited there with his sword out. From a distance he looked like a black cat enjoying the coolness of the night and nothing more. The rest of us circled back, hurrying to get into position and waited with nervous energy at Space’s door for things to unfold.

Silence. Then the gentle squeaking of a bed, a moan, more silence. We tried desperately to stifle our snickers. Doc uttered softly, “What’s he waiting for?”

“Maybe Bronson fell off the ledge?” Wally whispered.

“Shhhush!” Another moan, silence . . . and then . . .all hell broke loose.

— There was a thud and a voice of anger and surprise. “Ah-ha!” This was followed by a terrible commotion of screaming and yelling I had not heard in some time— female, male, solo and in unison. It was a symphony of shrieking, thumping and banging. The sounds of things knocked over in the melee of tornado voices accentuated by another, “Ah-ha!” then silence once more. At one point there seemed to be crying, (more like blubbering really). Then the voices rose up again and commenced into more shouting with some rumbling feet. There was a hint of laughter and cooing, then more yelling and screaming.

The door flung open. Bronson raced out nearly bowling us over in the process. Doc, Wally, Wires, and I collected ourselves as one of the girls, naked and hot on Bronson’s heels, stopped short in her tracks when she saw us. She screamed and slammed the door. We looked at each other and then burst into a Vesuvius of laughter. We headed down the hall to retrieve Bronson. We found him in his room panting and giggling laying face up on his bed. Down the hall we heard our drummer slam the door as the two women collected their belongings and left. Space had pleaded for them to come back but to no avail.

“God Bronson What the hell happened in there? We heard a hell of a ruckus and then nothing.”

Bronson had removed his mask and sat up gasping as he continued to laugh. He soon had us all holding our bellies begging him to stop, but wanting him to go on. We needed to hear every detail, every nuance, every raise eyebrow and quivering lip. We wanted to eat it all up.

“I could hear them in there on the bed. It seemed like I was up there for hours. My legs were starting to cramp so I decided it was now or never. I flung myself through the window with the sword held high and I screamed out in anger, which probably sounded more like shock cause there they all were, a flesh convention right in front of me. The two girls were in a sixty-nine position having at it, and Space was standing at the side of the bed with his bare white ass to me working the top girl doggy style. Then . . .” Bronson paused to laugh and we all joined him. “Space spun around. His eyes were so full of terror. I think his dick made a slight popping sound as he pulled it out, and the thing spiraled around a few times until it was completely flaccid.”

Welcome to Spuzzem- From erect to flaccid in 2.3 seconds.

“The girls were screaming and Space pushed them out of the way and scurried past them. He was grabbing frantically at the covers trying to hide himself, or protect himself— I’m not sure which? He fell backward over the edge of the bed into a gap between the mattress and the wall with a clump of covers on top of him. The girls were clutching one another in fright and had moved to the opposite side of the bed. I think that’s when I sprang forward onto the bed yelling and pointing the sword blade directly at Space’s face as he clutched the blankets and brought them up to his nose. His eyes were so wide with fear, I can’t tell you.”

“I wish I could’ve seen that,” Wally lamented. He wiped away tears of laughter. Even Wires mostly stoic demeanor was one of mirth.

I urged him on. “What happened next Bronson?”

“Yes, tell us!” Doc insisted.

“Then Space began to cry. His eyes welled up with tears and they poured from him. He begged me to spare his life. Do you believe that? He actually thought I was going to kill him. Must have thought I was the crazed boyfriend of one of the two girls and I had come to decapitate him.”

“Or worse...cut his balls off.”

“How is that worse Wally? Decapitated you’re dead, castrated you just sing higher.”

“Doc. Let Bronson tell the story. God! What happened then?”

“It got quiet, except for him repeating, please don’t kill me, over and over. So I told him it was me. That it was all just a joke.”

“You told him it was a joke. Shit! What did Space say to that?”

“He said, ‘What?’ I had my mask up. I guess he didn’t hear me. So I lowered the mask and he saw that it was me. That’s when things got crazy again. The girls realized I was one of the band and attacked me from behind. They were trying to get my clothes off. Man, they don’t teach you scenarios like that in self-defense. I guess they thought it was game on again? I pushed them off, because I could see the realization slowly sinking in with Space. He’d been made a fool of, and I didn’t want to stay there any longer. That’s when you guys saw me as I ran from the room.”

“Wow!” Doc said in awe. We were caught in our own silence now looking at one another. Then Doc clapped his hands together like a little kid and said. “Tell the story again!”

We all lay in hysterics in Wires and Bronson’s room. My gut hurt from laughing so much. Our faces were red and just a glance at one another sent us into further fits. At one point a groggy Spike came into the room, grumbling for us to keep it down, but it fueled our hilarity to a fevered pitch. He shook his head, muttered “Assholes,” and returned to his room next door. Everything had not just gone perfectly, it had been better than any of us had expected. Somewhere down the hall Space was busy trying to put up a brave face to cover his humbling abasement and rebuild the shards of a fractured ego. He was licking his wounds instead of what he’d hoped would be licked. How could he ever face us again knowing what we knew?

Finally after the third or fourth telling of the story with greater detail to Space’s deflating helicopter penis, cowering, and subsequent humiliation, the laughter subsided and we headed for our respective rooms. I whistled softly as I walked down the corridor toward my room. I hadn’t felt this satisfied for . . . well, I can’t tell you how long. Space had been brought back down to a docile level. The stunt had cohesively unified the remaining musicians, except for an irate Spike and Casey who had slept through most of the debacle. I felt we were back on track and could concentrate on performing once again without our drumming taskmaster nitpicking at every detail.

I turned the corner. There was a dark figure slumped against my door; legs pulled up to the chest, arms hugging them tightly, head bowed and tucked between them. The figure suddenly looked up as I approached. I was floored.

“Megan? Is that you?”

Welcome to Spuzzem home of the unexpected surprise!