Welcome to The Tribe.
Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Missing Question

One that got left off.

21. To whom would you attribute whatever skewly infinitesimal vestige of meaningfulness to which you currently lay claim, if only on a good day?

Excellent question.
In no particular order, let me run the Roll

The Ranee
The Ranette
The Wee Irish
The Crown Princess of Croatia, BFF for Fucking Perpetuity
SeƱor Vegas
Lil Bro Cisco, of course
Dr Funkenstein
Karlos the Jackal
Divvo the Insane
The Bobcat
Red the Minnesota Squarehead
Ginny (love you baby, lots & lots)

Gator Hunter Double-K
Tiger Mikey
Presley You Fucker You
Daveblackwood.com the Actual Person Rather Than the Digitally Distributed Web Sight

TomHill you Psychotic Bastard
Simo Nanaimo

Paulie Chicago
Remission Girl

Jonathan P Fortigurnius Esq

And anyone else I fuckin neglected to mention as a result of inattention to detail...

Without you guys, I'd just be a fucking noise.
And I love the standing fucksteaks right clean out of you all, man and boy.




Had to happen sooner or later, I guess

Well, I guess I got a gig, any fuckin ways

Bol'shoye spasibo to Brother Cisco for all the kind words.


Jeez, you almost had me there...

It's no secret to anyone here, I think, that

1. Summertime here in Big Stinky means 2 things. You start buying beers one at a time or they just get too fuckin warm, and, most important, pretty much every woman between the ages of 12 and 490 starts walking around in the beloved S3 (Super fucking Short Shorts), the ones I've said before that are like "Sorry baby...them ain't shorts, em are underwear with pockets"

2. We got no beef with that. Whatsofuckingever.

And, as I think you know, on a general level, the success rate here of S3 is astronomically higher than in most other places you could name.
For whatever reason, it's just a terrific combination.
But now, see, then it gets squirrely.
And they do some dumbass shit like this.

Wait, you're wearing these...garments that expose pretty much everything between your goodies and the sidewalk, and then you...what???

Wear fuckin nylons?

Well what?
In the fuck?
Is the point in all that then???

I swear, sometimes I'm really sure I come from a different planet than this one.


Tuesday, May 28, 2013

You one STANK bitch!

For the love of FUCK.

This nasty old slapper at the next table has this fucking NEWK-ular cheap perfume just fucking rolling off her in fucking waves...

Fuck me, I can feel it collecting on my fucking TEETH for the love of fuck.

I got to keep a smoke going non-stop, just in self defence.

They should give out fucking tickets for this, seriously.


Saturday, May 25, 2013

How does this fucking happen?

OK, I can get that people get old.
Happens to most everyone.

Sometime or another.

Well, almost everyone

What I want to know is, and why nobody told me, EXACTLY when in fuck did Jonesy

Turn into

Lance Fucking Henriksen???


Chicks dig scars 2

Yeah, here:


Friday, May 24, 2013

Chicks dig scars

So it's like 1989 or something, the band I'm in is doing a 6 nighter out in the end of town where I grew up, at The Saxony Hotel Tavern, known locally as The Sax.
I got about 15 different stories about this place.

Anyways, we were two days in, and our sleazeball coscksucker booking agent

calls me and says the place is cutting us down to one set a night (and, of course cutting our pay in half) and bringing in these other fuckers to do the second set.
So it looks, in effect, like we're fucking opening for these bumwads.
These other fuckers are this shitheel outfit with a frontman who looks like a portly Diamond Dave and dresses like the dudes from ABBA

and a chick singer, and they do like Janis Joplin and Bob Seger covers and shit

But the real shitty ones, not the cool ones like Katmandu or Her Strut or R&R Never Forgets

Seriously cheeseball stuff.
Practically a fucking showband for fuck's sakes.
I'd tell you their name but there's a good chance they're playing at your local Travelodge out on the Interstate.

Anyways, the fucking agent says we're getting busted down to a set a night because the Bar Manager thinks we're too, now get ready for this...

What the fuck EVER that means, we had no idea.
I mean we played, like, Zep

and Joe Jackson and Credence and Crazy Horse

and shit.
So so who knew what the fuckin guy was talking about??

Anyways Greaseball McScumbagger tells us we should consider ourselves lucky that they didn't just can our asses, and that if we "clean up our act" that we might get 2 sets Saturday night.
Which is, of course, total horse hockey, because fucking Murph and The Murphtones will never give up their spot.

So, you know, we did the sensible thing, the Big Picture, career minded thing, the mature thing.

We went home and learned Sid's version of My Way.

And finished our Friday set with it.

Just before we started, the drummer looked at me and mouthed "Wreck the kit?" and I said, you know, Fucking A, Bubba.

So we did the Big Ending and he started kicking his shit over, so I, being a supportive rhythm section member, joined in and started whacking the kit with me bass and all.
At one point, the singer Dog Boy grabbed a medium sized crash and flung it at me like a Frisbee.
Naturally, I held up my bass to defend meself.
Or maybe I tried to Hank Aaron the motherfucker into the bleachers, who remembers?

Either way, I met the edge of the cymbal square on and the resulting impact left a deep longitudinal gouge in my bass that you can still see today just south of the pickup.

Also, my wireless unit, which was gaffed to my strap, got squished. But it still worked.

And we finished and walked off, leaving the Velourtones with a semi-destroyed drum kit and everything.

As we passed them I had the distinct pleasure of paraphrasing The Killer

to the lounge lizard singer, and said

Follow that, cocksucker

Surprisingly, we weren't asked to finish the week.

However, in two months the place flipped managers and we were back doing another 6 nighter.



Crap, what the fuck does it take?

You know, the old man, after one would run the saw across its own power cable, for like the third time, he'd kind of shake his head in exasperation and say, like

Well g_ddammit, boy.
Even a bloody DOG learns!
No shit, pop.

You all remember this??

Yeah, well, here we go again...


Thursday, May 23, 2013

Presentation is 90%

Have you ever noticed how the right dress

Not that SHE'S ugly, not by a fucking country ass mile...

can make even an ugly chick...well, maybe not beautiful, but certainly interesting??

As The Chink used to say

Women...they all do different things when you squeeze 'em...and I love them all

Heard THAT, boyo.


Does this key even work?

Turn on the lights man.

No lights, OK, well open a couple of fucking windows for jumping out loud, you can hardly breathe in here.

OK, better.

Yeesh,  we got rats, man, nesting.
Look out for that centipede there.

OK, let's get this place cleaned up and back into working shape.
I'll go get the fuckin mops and shit, you go check the breaker box.

This shouldn't take long.