"a lie told often enough becomes the truth."
-vladimir ilyich lenin
fucking jersey. you would have thought lemmy kilmister was worth the trip, and if he was it was only marginally so. never have i been surrounded by so many freaks, vagabonds, ne'er do wells, and all around bottom feeders. forgive me if i sound arrogant or pompass, but i should have known to turn around and head back to the city when the cab driver says: "oh! city folks. . .and young. i presume, then, that you're college educated. allow me to ask a question - and i'll explain if necessary - but do you believe that morality is relaitve or absolute?" thank you mr. cab driver. thank you for re-hashing philosophy 101. i got a B+, and only because i never went to class. i don't have time to argue kant with you - i'm trying to get to the motel 6 and then to see motorhead. will we ever make it? who knows.
then there was the woman with the guiness book of world records fingernails - nails that she had probably been growing since her first love, or to celebrate her high school graduation. in truth i wasn't so much apalled as i was entranced with wonder - how DOES this woman wipe her ass?
and of course, the poor sound guy. balding, half asleep. . . he bathed us in a wall of guitar. too bad motorhead is a band driven by bass. now my ears ring, and my last memories of what should have been a classic night for me is that of lemmy telling us that the show is over because the drummer seems to have a case of montezuma's revenge.
and after that one would think, "how much worse CAN it get?" one word: tampa. a quasi-metropolis known for a bay, the elderly, and strip clubs so we were told. at some point on one of the half-blind night. . .no let me preface this by saying we were in some shit hole epcot centeresque version of new orleans. the city officials that allowed that place to be built and blaspheme the facade of one of our country's true gems should be shot. and so there we were.
i was at least happy to have booze - albeit watery. one of the professionals, in the midst of her gyrating, begins pawing at my bandana. she is saying something to me. something pitifully sultry, no doubt, but all i can hear is a friend saying, "kinda place that makes you want to get married."
i was going to include captioned pictures to prove that this journey happened - to prove it to you, to myself, to the proprieters of this site. . .i realized that unfortunately the mossad would hunt me down like a nazi war criminal since half the pictures - and all the good ones really - have one of their operatives in them. a footnote: i don't seek out such company - it finds me. i accept it for what it is.
and so i kiss the ground, the grubby, rough, tart sidewalks of new york city. this place is the center of the universe.
-vladimir ilyich lenin
fucking jersey. you would have thought lemmy kilmister was worth the trip, and if he was it was only marginally so. never have i been surrounded by so many freaks, vagabonds, ne'er do wells, and all around bottom feeders. forgive me if i sound arrogant or pompass, but i should have known to turn around and head back to the city when the cab driver says: "oh! city folks. . .and young. i presume, then, that you're college educated. allow me to ask a question - and i'll explain if necessary - but do you believe that morality is relaitve or absolute?" thank you mr. cab driver. thank you for re-hashing philosophy 101. i got a B+, and only because i never went to class. i don't have time to argue kant with you - i'm trying to get to the motel 6 and then to see motorhead. will we ever make it? who knows.
then there was the woman with the guiness book of world records fingernails - nails that she had probably been growing since her first love, or to celebrate her high school graduation. in truth i wasn't so much apalled as i was entranced with wonder - how DOES this woman wipe her ass?
and of course, the poor sound guy. balding, half asleep. . . he bathed us in a wall of guitar. too bad motorhead is a band driven by bass. now my ears ring, and my last memories of what should have been a classic night for me is that of lemmy telling us that the show is over because the drummer seems to have a case of montezuma's revenge.
and after that one would think, "how much worse CAN it get?" one word: tampa. a quasi-metropolis known for a bay, the elderly, and strip clubs so we were told. at some point on one of the half-blind night. . .no let me preface this by saying we were in some shit hole epcot centeresque version of new orleans. the city officials that allowed that place to be built and blaspheme the facade of one of our country's true gems should be shot. and so there we were.
i was at least happy to have booze - albeit watery. one of the professionals, in the midst of her gyrating, begins pawing at my bandana. she is saying something to me. something pitifully sultry, no doubt, but all i can hear is a friend saying, "kinda place that makes you want to get married."
i was going to include captioned pictures to prove that this journey happened - to prove it to you, to myself, to the proprieters of this site. . .i realized that unfortunately the mossad would hunt me down like a nazi war criminal since half the pictures - and all the good ones really - have one of their operatives in them. a footnote: i don't seek out such company - it finds me. i accept it for what it is.
and so i kiss the ground, the grubby, rough, tart sidewalks of new york city. this place is the center of the universe.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
i need to call Justin b/c i'd prefer a guest list as i would be paying 30 just ot get ot nY....it may be worth it b/c it falls on off days from work where i could have some nice family time. i must think.