Today was, by far, my favorite day on tour.  I’m sure you can tell by the title why that is.  If not, just wait and see.  Beth had to get up early to work the first part of her double that day, but she let us sleep in and try to piece together the night before.  Seb Twot had work to tend to and Sweet Lydiot needed to visit some family.  So Daddy Popop, The Gremlin and I decided to take a drive and visit the oldest bar in Oklahoma.  It was about forty minutes away and we started talking about all the songs we knew that referenced California girls.  Jeff even downloaded the Katie Perry song and laughed at me because I knew all the lyrics.  Give me some slack, I work with teenagers…and secretly love Katie Perry.  But that’s neither here nor there.  We arrived at Eischen’s and the smell of fried chicken was so hard it made me want to slap your momma.  The rule is no forks, knifes or plates.  And they put this odd blue sand on the ground to sop up all the grease that falls down so people don’t crack their skulls open.  The chicken was scrumptious town and we made it back into to town with just enough time to make our radio appearance at Spy Radio 105.3.  Ferris was the only DJ working and got us all set up to play three songs and do a short interview.  I got nervous when we did these radio spots, especially this one because it was live-live and we couldn’t hear a single lyric while we recorded.  Adachi told me to “get the bigger ball so you not so nervous.”  I did what he said and the performance was a nice warm up for the show that night at The Conservatory. 

All of the Oklahomies were out that night, so we shared hangover stories and started round two maskoki style.  The first band to go on was Museum.  This was a power duo, drums and guitar.  They played driving songs with great stops and entertaining progressions.  Museum incorporated some soft hooty yottles in their choruses.  After them, The White Sluts jumped around like a slew of Tasmanian devils.  They had a fan/friend that danced around on stage the whole time with a black sheet lined with gold frills.  They began the set with a long intro that bled into a funky rock scream mix.  These sluts were some hard break beatin slashy motherfuckers. 

As we were slamming drinks with Lydiot’s peeps, Begona’s husband, Grant, told me that he had some friends flying into town that night.  I asked him who his friends were and he calmly stated that the Circa skate shoe team was starting a tour in Oklahoma.  Holy fuck balls!!!  I skated avidly for about 18 years and watched skate videos all throughout my adolescence.  So Seb Twot and I hopped in a car with Pepper and stopped off at The Drunken Fry for a few free b’s before heading to The Hi Low.  Once we got there, the Circa crew rolled in shortly after.  Grant introduced me to Don “The Nuge” born and raised in Oklahoma, Frank Gerwer of Anti-Hero Fame, Peter Ramondetta and Lee, a fantastic photographer and videographer.  Frank and Peter live in SF, but I had never met them before.  No wasting time, we headed over to Edna’s with the crew for a few rounds of lunch boxes.  I wasn’t exactly sure what was in them until I asked Sweet Lydiot days later, but they were presented as a shot glass already dropped in a pint glass.  The flavors were familiar: amaretto and oj dropped in a Coors Light.   Begona kept passing hers off to me but wanted me to keep it a secret that she couldn’t finish them.  Back over to The Hi Low, we were able to catch up with True Womanhood.  Remember, the band we played with in Dallas that blew my socks off?  Anyway, they pushed their set back because they knew we were playing The Conservatory and wanted to catch their entire set.  More lunch boxes at The Hi Low, but at that bar they call it a “Happy Meal,” which Seb Twot and I have little recollection of, and a bucket of whiskey, and some beers, and maybe even an Irish car bomb or three.  Fuck if I know. 

The Grems had already purchased a bottle of Maker’s Mark at the beginning of the evening predicting some kind of after party.  Miracle happen on genius.  So we took the whole crew over to Beth’s house where we found Seb Twot trying to break in.  We stopped him in his tracks and knocked on the door like civilized drunken assholes.  Beth answered the door, gave us the place for the night and disobedience ensued.  We chatted with the Circa crew passing Maker’s every which way and Frank even serenaded us with an impromptu freestyle.  It was nice to hang out with everyone for our last night in Oklahoma.  There’s no place like Oklahoma.

Oh, the tour nightmares were starting to take their toll on me by day 34.  The night before I had a tourmare where some dude played first at a show and pulled up Daddy Popop for his last song.  After his last song, he just kept playing nonsense and started to talk shit about the PKz.   So we beat him up and destroyed his organ.  Even Daddy joined in, which was weird because I would think Popop would never do harm to an organ, belonging to any human being.  After we beat him up, he started lying about people that he had been a band with.  When I started to make fun of him, he started to cry and tried to offer me his merch so that I would leave him alone.  All he had was smalls and XXLz so I demanded black medium as I slapped his stupid face.  I was starting to get the fear, no doubt.

Sweet Lydia was glowing on that day because we were headed straight for her home town of Oklahoma City.  I didn’t know what to expect but the ride wasn’t too long and we reached Beth’s house before I knew it.  Beth is a long time friend of Sweet Lydiots and a hot mamma to be.  The acronym PLILF comes to mind.  We also met up with Pig and Laura before heading over to get some Vietnamese food.  We stopped at a bar I think was called Henry’s something and met a few more buddies of Lydiots.  Eventually we made it over to The Hi Low, my favorite Oklahoma bar, bar none, hands down, no questions asked.  It’s divey as all hell and filled with all the people you would ever want to hang out with.  It was kind of like a dirt bag cheers where every character is Norm.  Last call, fuck a last call.  We skipped over to Brett’s house for some late night debauchery and hung out with the likes of Bobby, BJ and a slew of other Oklahomies.  The sun was threatening to come up, so we called it a night.  Begona was cool enough to take us back to Beth’s for a few hours of sleep, but there was no room for all of us in the car.  The trunk was filled with baby seats and still one remained in the back seat.  My butt is pretty small, so I hopped in it and it was comfy.  It was good to feel like a kid again. 

Before we were able to leave Denton, we ran into a few couples trying to get their hoopty to work so they could get on the road.  They asked us for a jump and we were happy to help.  We needed some good road karma if wer were gonna make it the rest of the way home.  We stood around talking with these nice people trying to describle our music.  Funny thing is Denton cowboys aren’t very familiar with Blondie or Joan Jet, go figure.  We told them we had recently gone to Sun Studios where Johnny Cash recorded his first song.  The gentleman in the cowboy said, “If that ain’t country, I’ll suck your cock.”  Not really necessary, but a nice gesture. 

The trip into Dallas wasn’t that long and we got to relax for a few hours before leaving for the show.  Sweet Lydiot was able to see her niece while the boys simply relaxed for once. 

The skyline in Dallas is, quite frankly, arresting.  The architecture is a mix of old and new and the new stuff is obscure as balls.  No really, one of the buildings is a ball.  Also, Dallas must be the most skateable city I’ve seen since New York.  On the way into town we stumbled upon the grassy knoll.  We took a couple of sweet shots and argued with each other about which patch of grass was actually “the grassy knoll.”  Who gives a shit, right? 

The place we played at was in Deep Ellum.  It seemed to be a pretty happening hood with a resurgence of bars, tattoo shops and other venues.  The place we played was called The Nightmare and, you guest it, it’s located on Elm Street, for cereal. If we would have played there the night before we would have had a Nightmare on Elm Street gig on Friday the 13^th.  First up was True Womanhood.  Surprisingly enough, there’s only one lady in the band.  The other two cocks played guitar and drums.  Immediately I was drawn to their music.  They dabble in their share of noise and create soft, cold moods with their sound.  Then I was most impressed with the drummer who had a crazy hybrid kit. He used electronic kick drum and touch pad with creepy noises.  As for acoustic gear, he used a snare, china boy and some roto toms.  This kid could play some of the most technical beats and complimented the bass and guitar with his gentle maneuvers.  Their sound was haunting.  We would later cross swords with these guys in Oklahoma.  Oh, Oklahoma, I already miss you. 

Next up was Static Mind. The singer was small hot and tough as nails.  The audience was filled with snizz aficionados; making out in the crowd and then starting mosh pits between spit swapping.  It was hot.  I didn’t realize their was a huge Latina lesbian community in Dallas, and these ladies are hard, pipe hitting sniz fans, in a good way.  The Loosies played right before us. This power duo got the ladies nice and wet, boobs were out and I was stoked.  I got so excited I decided to show them my boobs.  One of girls thought it was funny but the other one told me to put them away.  Quickly after, she announced a song about taking a dude home, waking up next to him and realizing she hates cock.  For their encore they had all the ladies in the place up on stage to shake their shit.  We played, drink, drank, drunk the fuck out of there.  Eat some pussy for me Dallas.

Fucking van boners!!!  You know, I try and punch the clown most mornings to ease the pain of dry dick, but the van boners are unreal.  They come on when I’m just looking out the window.  I attempt to deflate them with images of old people naked or Oprah getting down with Melissa Ethridge.  Nothing seems to work.   I feel like I’m in the fifth grade again, awkwardly finding ways to sit so the others don’t see my swollen member.  Thought you should know. 

Before leaving Austin, we met up with Atom Bomb and grubbed on some impressive queso at Magnolia Cafe.  Grems wanted me to order something deep fried and fatty so I could reach 170 by our return.  I simply had to decline and ended up having some refreshing spinach and humus wrap.  Mmmmmmm.  Here is a picture of me holding up a chip that I thought resembled the state outline.  Here is what Tx actually looks like. I’m not the cat with the sharpest claws but fun to laugh at least. 

Big ups to Atom for helping us out and hanging with us in Austin. 

So Denton is pretty much just a college town but they too have a new breed of hipster to laugh at.  The dudes’ outfits weren’t too over the top, but the girls were wearing some interesting foot wear and sporting the ugliest, fake prescription glasses with frames straight out of the 80’s.  The Bad Lovers were up first and it was cool to see some indie rock mixed with country punk with a drummer vocalist.  They ripped.  Most of the people were there to see Wax Museum.  The band broke up a while ago when the lead singer moved out to Oakland.  He rolls through once in a while and they rock; best hardcore band I’ve seen on tour.  The singer pretty much looses his mind on stage and has remarkable stage presence. 

My friend Kathy McSweet Bottoms made it out to the show and it was pleasant to play for her in her home state of Texas.  She was doing pretty much the same thing as us, working vacation.  We caught up and she really enjoyed hanging out with the gang. 

After the show, Seb Twot and I headed out to an after hours party but the beer ran dry pretty quick.  I was chatting with some punk rock chicks when I realized Seb Twot was no where to be seen.  I found him out on the lawn across the street from a drunki-drunken lady who had puked all over herself.  She was sitting in the drivers seat with the door open just hating life.  Seb passed his phone off to me to talk to his friend so he could get the poor girl a pint of ice water.  Nice, right? Wrong.  Dude gave her the glass and then took a picture of her all haggard and broken.  We sat on the grass across the street trying to figure out how to get home and couldn’t stop laughing at pukey face.  Her friend came out and told us to fuck off, so we hopped in a car with some nice folks.  They offered to get us all the way to the hotel and neglected to tell us they were headed to get drunken tacos at a place that had cars backed up for days in the drive thru.  I saw Seb get the fear a few times listening to some Michael Franti type shit and he contemplated a cab.  I talked him into sticking with the hippies and we ended up making friends, despite their total lack of taste.  Shout out to Kathy, The Bad Lovers, Wax Museum and the hippies.  Denton!!!!!!! Whoop whoop.

Confucius say: miracle happen on genius.  At least that’s what The Grems said after he read a fortune cookie that day.  The crew started off the day with some Tex Mex and queso with Popop’s friend Patricia.  If you haven’t had queso before, you have.  It’s like gourmet nachos with beans and salsa and some other tasty shit in there brewing, hot cheese She is a sweetheart and treated us to some tasty fucking fajitas.  We hit up the hotel and relaxed for a moment before heading to Beerland; where dreams some true.  They had an array of t-shirts, one of which had the Disney logo that they are legally not allowed to sell anymore.  Disney caught wind of the shirt and threatened to sue Beerland for all it’s got.  Sucks too cause it was a badass tshirt.  On a lighter note, Beerland is right across the street from a venue that The Kegels played at some years ago called Valhala, although when we played there is it was called something different, actually….just kidding.  We played to a sizeable crowd of two.  These cats from Louisiana drove all the way to Texas to see Jake, I mean Balls, I mean Red Asphalt, I mean Trout.  Love you OBB. Anyway, after the show we walked over to Beerland and two voluptuous Texan gals were sitting, topless mind you, in a kitty pool.  We asked them to come back to our luxurious sweet at the Hilton.  Back then we had a hook up from my homie  from Cal Poly. Big ups to Paco B.  Sadly, they didn’t believe us and we got shut down. 

        As the show was heating up, we went over to meet one of Sweet Lydiot’s Oklahomies Erick of Riverboat Gamblers fame.  They were hanging over at the Red 7 because they just finished this mix match game that bands do in Austin.  It’s a little confusing but I will do my best to explain.  Band in Austin get split up by instrument and each person puts their name in a hat.  New band are formed right there on the spot and they have one day to right five originals and one cover for a show that night.  Sounds tricky, right?  The PKz want to bring this mess to the city, it sounds like a good time.  There was one person missing, so they had Sweet Lydiot pick one of the bands.  I don’t know if it was fixed or not, but Sweet Lydiot picked all women musicians.  She was sad we couldn’t stick around to see how her masterpiece panned out. 

       Seb Twot and I really enjoyed the first band, Barrecucudas.  Lyrical content loosely revolved around the joys of foot sex and eating dog food and tampons.  They had me at foot job and I enjoyed the entire set.  Primma Donna showed and we had a staggering good time. 

        White Mystery was a little piece of ginger magic.   The band is a two piece from Chicago. Alice White, the lead singer a guitar player, had hooked us up with The Cathy Santonies in Chicago.  When Gentleman Jesse hit the stage, the crowed pushed forward.  These guys had a very clean sound with well written tunes. 

        The kids hit up some drunken bite at a Kabobalicious roach coach with our friend from SF, Atom Bomb and called it a night.  I realize that’s a boring end to the day, but we had an insane time hanging with some friends and seeing some phenomenal bands.  Thanks Austin and your big, dirty butthole.

We woke up at the butt crack of 1130 and took off for some speed site seeing.  We had become quite skilled in said tourist move and were determined to see what we could before shoving off to Houston, Texas.  Don’t mess with Texas, by the way.  Seb Twot and I took a rainy day cab over to Café Du Mond to experience the famous chicory coffee and powdered binnetts.  Is that how you spell that?  Word won’t check frog speak.  Sweet Lydiot and Ellen met us after a while to enjoy the feast.  After we were done, I felt about as spracked out as Scarface, and the table definitely looked like Tony Montana just got breakfast started. 

       We were high and ready for some speed site seeing.  First was the cemetery that Easy Rider was filmed at.  I lost all the names so this will be very vague.  All the graves are above ground so bodies don’t pop up when the floods hit.  We saw the grave of an infamous voodoo priestess.  It was covered with Xs and Sweet Lydiot and Seb Twot got some choice pictures in front of it.  We also stumbled upon a grave that had been partially destroyed by Katrina.  Luckily there was a tour guide there and he took a picture for us cause you could see the skull of a little girl that was buried there.  Freakytown.  We ran through the rest of the graveyard and we were back in the van in 6 minutes.  We know what we’re doing, folks.

Next up, we visited St. Peter’s House Hotel.  This is where Johnny Thunder of New York Dolls fame overdosed on April 23, 1991.  This was a job for two; Grems and Seb Twot were able to get into the hotel and see the actual room.  The woman that runs the place said they don’t really tell people who aren’t in the know about the haunted room.  But there are punk rockers everywhere that call to reserve the room for Halloween, New Years and shit like that.  The boys did that one in two minutes flat.  Show me what you’re working with!!!  It was time to ramble on to Houston.

We stopped at  Darrell’s bar and grill on our way to get a fat ass po-boy sandwich with three kinds of cheese, two kinds of meat, jalopeno mayo, lettuce with gravy poured all over it.  The band was just fucking with me at this point.  How fat can we really get Brian before he has a heart attack?  I got two of them to show those fuckers what’s up. 

        The drive to Houston was tranquil except for the burning car on the side of the road.  As we approached, Grems started to roll down his window to get a better shot and we all screamed at him to shut it.  All you could see was the lower half of a car with fire and jet black smoke billowing off it.  The heat this thing created was unreal.  We could feel the van heat up from four lanes away.  Drive safe, you’ll.

        We arrived at Rudyard’s around 9 and bumped into Primma Donna who was hanging out upstairs figuring out what to wear for the show.  These guys are some badass glam rockers from LA.  We had a lot of time to hang out with them but had a hefty guest list and no friends in Houston.  So we went downstairs to recruit a few unsuspecting Houstons up to the terror dome.  Mom with the wrist brace dug our shit and so did Primma Donna.  It was a treat to see these guys do their thing.  They have previously toured with Green Day and some other big names.  They got gussied up to match the flashy instruments they yielded.  They reminded me a bit of The New York Dolls on speed, in a good way.  We hadn’t buddied up to a band in a few nights and these guys knew how to have a good time.  The Grems sat in some dudes puke and then we agreed to meet up with Primma Donna the following night in Austen.  Cheers!!

On our way to New Orleans we caught lunch in Jackson, Mississippi.  Finally, I’d be able to see the town that Johnny Cash sang about all those years ago.  The hood we visited in Jackson was about 88% abandoned, and looked like it had been that way from quiet some time.  We hopped into Peaches Café.  You get a menu filled with different soul food and the items being made that day have circles next to them.  Three entrees and 14 sides later, we were thoroughly impressed and the folks there were super chill. 

        The drive to New Orleans was picturesque.  We had never seen the swamps and huge lakes that surrounded the city.  Much like Jackson, Katrina had uninhabited a large section of the city.  The Super Dome was still being rebuilt as well.  We popped over to Ellen’s place.  Ellen was a good friend of Lydiot’s, one of her closest Oklahomies.  She had beers on ice for us and some locally made snackums.  We also met her roommate Alli, who is a skateboard collector and a phenomenal artist.  We conversated with Ellen and Alli for a minute then took a drive over to the French quarter.  We hit up R Bar for an appetizer then Ellen took us by Nicholas Cage’s haunted house and Bradjolina’s mansion like a good little tour guide. 

        The kids wanted some authentic gumbo and jambalaya, so we headed to Coo’s Place.  You want it, they got it:  gumbo soup, Cajun fried chicken, shrimp creole, red beans and rice, rabbit and sausage jambalaya.  Getting fatter by the way. 

Circle Bar was a hop skip and a jump away from the quarter.  I was told by some older punk rock chick to watch my back if I was going for a walk around the hood.  Does this lady not know where I’m from, what my set be?  Western Addition is pretty sketchy.  Divis Rats por vida.  Jokes, but this was no worse than The Point in SF. The bartender was generous with his pours, which was nice cause the place was probably 80 degrees with several fans blaring.  The people there were a lively bunch who knew how to put it away.

        The first band was a two piece punk freight train.  The Bastard Sons of Martin Hirsch couldn’t be a day older than sixteen and were playing some angry ass punk music, entertaining the whole bar and making their pops very proud.  Watch out for the Bastard Sons.  They are coming to your town with a flaming bag of dog shit, ready to fuck shit up, flaming fucking shit.

The next band, Indian Givers put on a good show and I was impressed with the swampy New Orleans sound booming from the Bipolaroids.  Those boys sure like their herb.  The show rounded out with King Louis playing a lengthy set of originals that had me intrigued and laughing my ass off.  Site seeing would have to wait for the next day.  

It was time to wake Sweet Lydiot up, so Popop, Seb Twot and I rolled into her room with leftover bbq, Cake from Allison and the Gremlin produced some rice balls.  We had a picnic on her bed before meeting the day.  Poor, Sweet Lydiot.

The day was filled with music history.  First, we hit up Stax Records where Soul music was born.  Gospel met Blues and the most amazing music was created.  The owners of the recording company brought on musicians from the area, some lived two or three blocks away:  Arethra Franklin, Otis Redding, Booker T. & The MG’s.  Some other artists that would go on to record their were the likes of Jonnie Taylor, Issac Hayes, The Bar-Kays, Same & Dave, Ike & Tina, The Staple Singers, Al Green, Rufus and Carla Thomas and Eddie Floyd.  I won’t bore you with too much soul trivia, but I will tell you they had a pair of purple sued shoes vintage that were pimp as fuck.  The left shoe had a holder for a coke spoon, while the left had a coke spoon suspended in the see-through heel.  Also, at the end of the tour we got to see Issac Hayes’ custom made gold Cadillac; tv in the front, wet bar in the back and fur lined the entire vehicle.  Stax Museum of American Soul Music, nothing against the Louvre, but you can’t dance to Da Vinci.

Next stop, Sun Records, the birth place of rock n’ roll.  All you have to do, if you’re touring through Memphis with your band, is drop a cd and you get in to the tour for free.  Keeping it short and sweet, this is where Elvis, Roy Orbison, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Luis got their start.  We got to step into a little piece of history.  The gang hung out inside the recording studio and stood right where all those cats stood when they recorded.  It was dreamlike.  I licked a symbol, Sweet Lydiot played secretary and 53 pictures later, we hit the road for Oxford, Mississippi. 

        Oxford is a tiny, little, small college town where young kids go to binge drink every night, my kinda town.  We rolled into Two Sticks Sushi; the venue we would play with Unwed Teenage Mothers.  That was definitely one of my favorite band names on tour.  Red Rockets was still my #1.  Two Sticks was rad.  They floated us some extras sushi cause the owner like our sound. And the cute southern bells were retardedly abundant. 

        Before the set, we stopped by Pharrel’s and talked up the show while dude behind the bar performed some Tom Cruise cocktail geriatrics.  Along with Collin’s friends, we had a pretty good turnout.  Unwed Teenage Mothers went on next and kept the kids all saucy and the bartender running made making cocktails.  However, bars close @ 12 in Oxford and everyone spills onto the street wanting more spirits.  Thank you to Two Sticks and Unwed Teenage Mothers for making us feel so welcome. 

If you’re wondering what the title photo is all about, it is a free zine in Tennessee where they display all the recent incarcerations and the reason for lock up.  It might be something nice for the family to put in the photo album, or just good for a laugh. 

Popop let us sleep in casue we were only going to Memphis that day.  We got to spend brunch with Jeff’s friends: March, his wife Allison and their kids, Kingston and Lila.  Allison made us a complete spread from Keish to grits. It was nice to have a sit down meal with folks familiar with the south.  The gang sat around talking about must hit food spots in the states to come. We were treated like kings and thanked them for their hospitality.  Hitone was the venue that night and we got to play with The River City Tan Lines who had just finished their west coast tour with a few other bands.  The bar was huge and was pregnant with personality:  the sign was made out of drums, they had a photo of Elvis training with a karate guru and Family Guy played on the knowledge box.  We had the hookup and a nice response from the Memphians.  Once RCTLs started, that’s when shit got weird.  A woman wearing an 80’s looking slinky dress accidentally kicked over Seb Twots guitar case and held her food in agony.  I moved the guitar case out of the way and asked the lady if she was ok.  She was unresponsive and then proceeded to take her panties off.  Being the gentleman that I’m not, I asked her if she would like me to hold on to them.  Again she was expressionless and speechless.  She, not so fluidly, fumbled with her purse and finally got the g string inside.  I looked at Sweet Lydiot who was womaning the merch table and we laughed for a solid minute.  I’m almost positive she’s taken it in the glory hole in this bar before.  After that whole ordeal, we needed something hard to drink. 

        RCTLs were one of my favorite bands so far on tour.  Half of the tunes were slow, swampy Memphis rock.  The rest were just well written powerful songs led by the lead singer who also rips on the guitar.  While we were there, we met up with the owner of Goner Records located in Memphis.  After we loaded out, dude took us over to the Buccaneer where Popop smoked a cigarette.  It was a sight for soar eyes to watch see Dadknocking a nail in the coffin like that.  Got another dose of southern hospitality at the bar; strangers were only that for a second.  We found ourselves being approached by half the bar just to shoot the shit and throw whiskey back.  We needed some rest for our Memphis tours the next day, so we exchanged some number s and made some new face book friends.  It was at that point in the tour when the boys finally ganged up on Sweet LYdiot.    She is tougher than nails though and can shit talk with the best of us.  We love you, Memphis. 

The wake call came way too early and Popop’s alarm clock echoed with disdain.  Fuck it! We was headed to Nashville.  Sleep would have to wait.  White Castle for breakfast?  Why not.  It’s not l was getting fat or heading straight into the south were everything would be deep fried.  Sweet LYdiot Drove for a spell while The Gremlin and I looked up whiskey distilleries.  I really wanted to see the Bulleit distillery and Seb Twot wanted the Four Roses distilleries.  Sweet Lyiot wanted to go see Maker’s Mark and The Gremlin snarled something about Knob Creek.  No, no, no…and no.  They were all free but we couldn’t make Bourbon until after 4pm.  God damn you Whit Castle.

Once we got into Kentucky we stopped for shot glasses and post cards.  The accents were getting thick and the people thicker.  Elizabethtown felt like a ghost town and the people resembled overweight zombies, at least at the gas station.  Some young kids pulled up and dude gets out of the car with a broken leg, arm in a sling and what looked like fresh gun shot wounds on his shoulder.  His girlfriend stared us down with her baby drooling down her back; real cutty.  Of course I had grumpy dumpings because I had been off the acidophilus pills since Brooklyn.  When I was in the bathroom I saw a scale and decided to see exactly what tour had done to me.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I had gained like 12 lbs since I left SF.  Felling like a big fat fuck.  I walked outside and shared the bad news with the Gremlin.  He said, “I want to buy you a bra, something fancy.”  I told him there was no going back at this point.  I was determined to reach 170 by tour end.  Feeling another grump coming on, I went to the bathroom and noticed something funny.  The shitter stall had a baby seat in there where you cold strap your kid righ up to the wall.  I sat there thinking about what it would be like to push a big one out and lock eyes with my son.  Wouldn’t this encounter, if repeated on a periodic basis, create some deep seated mental issues or fetishes down the road?  I could understand if there two toilets side by side and you were both dropping a deuce.  That might be some good bonding, father/son moments.  Could even turn into a contest judged on consistency, color, shape and size.  I don’t know.  But the voyeuristic shitting session with your kid seems plain wrong.  Ok, that’s enough of that.

        Apparently, it is a Pleasure Kills have a ritual of going to a Cracker Barrel every time they come through the south.  Name says it perfectly, barrel of crackers in this restaurant.  We got the southern hospitality real hard.  Our waitress was the biggest sweetheart. It was almost a cultural shock; no it was the definition of culture shock.  This lady chatted us up and had the best suggestions, Kentucky anecdotes, and southern flare. 

        No time for the Dickle Whiskey Tour, we were headed straight for Nashville, Tennessee where we learned that people’s religious views are stronger than their whiskey.  We made it to The End by 830 and geared up for the show. Jeff’s friend, March, bought some Nashville folks and the venue started to fill up before we played.  The sound guy was a character and sang funny songs about Lydia’s tittias.  He got us dialed in and we knocked out the set.  The highlight of the night was definitely Cheer Up Charlie Daniels.  This was a six piece captivating bunch that brought the house down with each song.  They started off tier set with a slow, soulful rendition of “Summer Time Blues.”  The assembly was feeling this band from the get go.  The rest of their set was unpredictable punk/dance hall madness.  The two sensuous chickadees in the group back up sang and played keys.  The back up singer had the vocals of an angel and you could see her right boob when she did a certain dance move.  They ended their set with a booming cover of “Take Me Home Tonight.”  I know it sounds cheesy, but this was the crew that could make it work….and they did. 

Daddy Popop left with this friends, Sweet Lydiot and The Grems were burnt out from partying every night, so that left Seb Twot and your foul mouthed malcontent to our own accord.  We’d never been to Nashville, so we hit the streets hard to see what kind of strange this town had for pulling.  Not much.

First we hit up an Irish pub where the proprietor was quit generous, with his whiskey hand, and so were the girls, proportionally.  We met a nice rockabilly betty filled with pills, collagen and sad stories.  Seb told me the big ones are not so kindly referred to as “orcabillies.”  Growing tired of this womans slurred speech banter, we tried out the Hooka Bar next door.  The placed seemed pretty cool, at first.  There were some interesting locals to bullshit with and the bartenders from NY leant an ear to our stories of the road.  They seemed like sweethearts until they pull the “shot trick” on us.  So it was late and last call was approaching rapidly.  The bartender said, and I quote, “Here, have one of these shots.”  In SF, this means thanks for coming in and here’s a free-b.  We pounded two nasty ass shots of chilled redbull vodka.  As if the shot itself wasn’t insulting enough, the bartender print out a bill for the shots she had just offered us.  Not having the faculties to protest, we blew that bitch-made popsicle stand and caught a cab back to M6 for some well deserved rest.