It's "Stool Night" at Bobby's. You gotta bring your own stool. I've never attended this type of theme night before, so I'm uncertain if patrons are required to bring furniture or a sample of their own poop. I'm betting on the poop thing, so my suggestion is that those who plan to attend work up a good one and dump it in a zip-lock bag. When you arrive, it's probably best to just hand the bag to the bartender in order to be eligible for drink specials. I understand that Feces Joe turned down the request to be guest bartender in order to attend court mandated drug rehab, so he's gonna miss out on one of his favorite theme nights. Returning for another run is "Bowels-so-Foul and the Pit-Tones" Get your bags ready in advance so you don't have to wrench one out in the parking lot.

It's "Seduce Feces Joe Night" at Bobby's. None of that predictable touching or lubing is involved. All that stuff has become rather vapid in a world where excitement has been reduced to endless lines of sheeple following one another, nose to bunghole. What Joe is craving is what folks who dwell under bridge abutments call "the real thing". All drinks are served frozen, in plastic "push up" fashion. All "finger foods" are served on the heaving breasts of "Miss Lily "Piscatonni, a geriatric exotic dancer who has agreed to work "for tips". Drink specials include "The Auger", "Shaved Labia", "Tonsil Tingler" and "Don't Touch Me There". All meals come complete with phallic-inspired utensils. Tumescence of any degree is not tolerated and offenders are thrown head-long down a flight of stairs in order to dissuade such physical reactions. Feces Joe is the only exception to this rule. After all, participants are trying to seduce him. A contest is held to see who can inspire Feces Joe to produce a hard-on, without touching him, while he is seated in stall #1 in the mens room. The winner gets a burned DVD copy of "Behind the Green Door" and all the Don't Touch Me Theres they can handle. There is usually a good crowd for this one, so alternative parking is provided in the Latchkey Funeral Home parking lot across the street. If anyone tries to give you any sh** about parking there, just tell 'em, "I'm going to give Feces Joe a boner." They'll know what ya' mean. There is a small cover charge.

Once Budd wrapped his soup-coolers around life's popsicle, he went the other way. His closest friends, acquaintances, and even his biological mother thought he was someone else. He enrolled in a projectile-vomiting class, he combed his pubic hair, he told everyone about it, he was not the only one in the world who buttered the bread before putting it in the toaster and thusly causing an electrical accident that killed Auntie. Budd's soup-coolers and his combing. I never really liked him much.

I feel as if I have been too harsh in regard to Budd. However, I still harbor a cultivated disdain for him. His ability to predict his next paristolic evacuation coupled with a penchant for announcing the same often left me cold. When asked to speak at his wake, I offered the following:

"As I surrender my world, a lozenge is a 'drop', no one has a telephone mounted on their kitchen wall. I can't say 'good morning' without being maligned. The use of a turn-signal is a lost art. And I have it out under my coat."

This was the best I could offer considering I didn't really like the guy.

They were ready for doing the nothing. Flapjack style. They planned it all week. And now it's going down. You could join them. If you could do that little.

Timmy thought about the 'continue the story thread' and then said to no one, "My scolded resurrection came all throbish and with cheap coffee. I didn't say a word".

THE BAND

Day 4: Since Moogie was electrocuted at our second time playing out, we decided to rename the band. We are now "John Wild's Racing Pigs" We plan to do a tribute show for Moog this Saturday at The Turtle's Mud in Monessen. We kept most of his equipment. He would have wanted it this way. Moog...we hardly knew ye.
I've become indifferent to my indifference. Now I'll never go home.

Day 5: We sold most of Moog's equipment. He would have wanted it this way. We're nearly ready for Saturday. During the night, Raul passed in his sleep. In his memory, we renamed the band. We are now "All-Out Daddy und The Entrails" Raul would have wanted it this way. Raul's primo Lora will be filling in on bass.

Day 6: The Moog tribute show and extravaganza sold out. The fire warden intervened when the crowd swelled to more than 16 persons. Sal Tantoon, our drummer for more than 30 days, perished on stage while attempting to repair the very same circuit miasma that took Moog so long ago. In his honor, we have renamed the band

DAY 8: 'The First Time I Saw A Spork' premiered @ Lansing's Riot in Irwin last night. It's the way Lora would have wanted it. She fell head-long down the stairs in the parking garage on Tenth and Ferta while going for the van. Her primo Dujuang will fill in on bass. I think Jova, the new drummer wants to change the name of the band. I'm up. She brought on expensive equipment and a aether phone/etherophone. She has a cousin who plays upright organ. Maybe she'll work out.

Day 9: 'The Fulcrum Upon Which the Future is Pivoting and Timmy' packed the house at The Domino in McKeesport tonight. I went for the Tortured Ravine Special during Timmy's quitar solo. When I came back, the owner was chasing us out the door with an ax in his hand. I don't think they want to resign us. Maybe we should change the name of the band. I dunno.

We held hands at Timmy's funeral. We vowed to one another that we would forever keep the name of the band 'The Fulcrum Upon Which the Future is Pivoting and Timmy'. The next day we hired another bass player named Timmy. She expired within hours of meeting the rest of the band. The EMT (his name was Timmy) said," she died of fright." (I don't know what that means, but I think I would like to die of it.)

We violated the vow. But still. Now we're 'Labe Afrikaner und Timmy'. (We don't have a Timmy in the band but we thought it would be nice to pay tirbute to our last Timmy. She only lasted for moments, but still.) Our new CD just released this week. "Cleat, Nothin' But" which includes most of the following cuts:
1) My Dentist
2) She Wore Cleats
3)She Shunned Cleats
4)Her Sister's Cleat

THE BAND (cont.)

I steeled-up. I had to offer some semblance of order in the band. I was the worst person for the job. It was time to change the name of the band. We hadn't done it since the Timmy. "Felipe's Pussy Has Sideburns" seemed to reflect our thing at the time. We had hired Lorna Garber's daughter, Lorna Garber on keyboards. She actually looked like Yoko, no shit. I knew it wouldn't last, but before we broke up and renamed the band, we Youtubed “Chanteuse Services by Triple Louise" in which Lorna seemed to be channeling Bette Davis, Carmen Miranda, and Marlene Deitrich all at the same time, again. We killed.

Been a minute...

Being an hour