June 28, 2011
Originally published September 27, 2003
I've played in several bands. The first one was "Snake and the Reptiles" back in 1968 (I am NOT making that up!). We wore black turtleneck shirts and white pants, and played rock and roll music. We sucked as a band, but we dressed well. We reformed in 1969 and became "The Coconut Carrotpatch." We still sucked, but we stopped dressing so well. I started growing my hair long about then.
In 1970 I gave up rock and roll went folk. I played with "Bellweather," which quickly became known as "Bedwetter" among our sneering rivals. Fuck them. I came up with the name of that band. We were pretty good, too. We worked on serious three-part harmony.
In 1974, I became one half of "The Fabulous Smith Brothers." We played together all through college and made a lot of money, for college students. I went independent after that. I was graduated and I almost starved to death for six months as an advertising copywriter. I needed the money and I liked the bars. I went back to music as a solo act and ditched the copywriting job.
I played with myself (yes, those words were intentional) for a little more than five years. Ah, the stories I can tell....
I went straight after that and didn't play with another band until 1986, when I became a bass player in a garage rock and roll band. I had come full circle. We sucked at first, but I was playing with some pretty good musicians, and we jelled quickly. In a month, with one practice per week, we were sounding good and tight. We couldn't decide on a name for the band, despite my many suggestions. The bastards I played with never listened to me.
We found our name after our first gig at a private party.
Some disgruntled neighbor called the police on us THREE TIMES that night and we had the honor and privilege of meeting the "Noise Officer" of Chatham County. I don't know how you qualify for that job, but it must not take much. The guy was a real asshole.
After that night, the band was named. Call The Cops. I never liked that name and I quit the band shortly thereafter. I like THESE names for a band:
I kinda miss playing in a band today
June 21, 2011
Originally published September 28, 2004
Why does almost every new site I visit have a picture of a fucking cat on it? What is it with you people and cats? I fucking HATE cats! Get a goddam DOG, for crying out loud.
Bejus! Let me tell you the difference between cats and dogs.
*Cats are expected to shit and piss in the house. The fact that they do it in a box does not make their shit and piss smell any better. Dogs go outside.
*Dogs come to you when you call them. If cats had fingers, they'd shoot you the bird when you called them. Ungrateful fucks.
*Cats "clean" themselves by licking all over their bodies with a sandpaper tongue. Then, they hack up hairballs on the living room rug. Dogs just like to stay dirty and lick their nuts. If they want to vomit, they'll go eat some grass first, then throw up OUTSIDE.
* A dog loves you unconditionally. A cat tolerates your ass.
* I never woke up in the middle of the night with a dog sitting on my chest with evil in its eyes. Cats do that, while plotting to steal your breath or cut your throat while you sleep.
* Cats don't like to ride in the truck with their heads stuck out the passenger window so that they can enjoy a 60 MPH breeze in the face while leaving slobber-trails all over the place from an extended tongue. I like animals who do that. Cats just get pissed off when you put them in a truck.
* Dogs chew on things when they are puppies. They outgrow that destructive phase. Cats claw expensive shit as long as they live.
* You can have a waterbed and allow a dog to sleep on it with you. A cat will destroy that fucker.
* A dog never notices that you have potted plants in the house. A cat climbs them, claws them and pisses on them.
* Cat-piss smells worse than dog-piss does.
* You'll never have to call for help to get your stranded dog out of a tree. This is no shit. My son's dumbass cat climbed a tree and couldn't get down. It was stuck in the high branches and a hawk started circling above it. The BC called the fire department (I am NOT making this up) and they told her that they didn't rescue stupid cats anymore. The cat spent the night in the tree while meowing its ass off all night long. I went out the next morning, waited until the shitwit climbed out on a tiny limb and then I shot the limb out from under it with my .22 rifle. The cat tumbled about 40 feet through leaves and branches, then hit the ground on its feet. It gave me a look that said, "I MEANT to do that."
I should have shot the cat.
June 14, 2011
Originally published September 28, 2003
I went through Robbinsville, North Carolina, in 1990 and happened to catch a Ku Klux Klan demonstration in front of the county courthouse. About a dozen assholes in bedsheets and hoods stood there looking ridiculous while about 50 tourists and rubber-neckers took pictures of them.
I was with Dora then, and we were on our way for a week of camping at Joyce Kilmer State Park. "I wish those people wouldn't do that," she said as we drove by.
"What?" I responded. "You don't want people taking pictures of idiots in bedsheets?"
"Rob, you know what I mean. I don't like the Klan making the South look bad the way they do."
I said, "Dora, I LOVE IT when I see something like this. Look at the crowd. They resemble the people who pay 25 cents to watch a geek bite the head off a live chicken at the local fair. They aren't looking at those assholes in sheets as anything other than freaks. I wish that they wouldn't look at all, but what they're doing now is a damn sight better than cheering those morons."
That's how much the South has changed since I was a child. Nobody but Jesse Jackson takes the Klan seriously anymore, and he's beating a dead horse. A common joke where I live is "What has twelve feet, five teeth and six bedsheets? A meeting of the Ku Klux Klan."
As long as people regard the KKK as a bunch of freaks, we're making progress in this country. When people start to regard Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton the same way they regard the Klan, we'll be close to where we need to be.
But we'll get rid of the Klan LONG before we get rid of Jesse and Al. Some freaks still get a lot of attention.
June 07, 2011
I'm going to bed
Originally published September 28, 2003
We had a pie-fight today. I told the boys last night that we would do it, so we went to the grocery store this morning and bought a lot of whipped cream, paper plates and ice-cream toppings. It was really good Three-Stooges fun at first. I gave Quinton one square in the face, and while I was laughing about that, Jack nailed me right in the ear. I picked up another pie and hit Jack in the back of the head with it. We were running around the yard having a fine old time.
Unfortunately, Jack's sisters saw all the commotion the yard and wanted to get involved, too. They came over. That was a mistake. Kiley went after Jack with a pie and Jack RAN INTO MY HOUSE, that little shit. Do you think Kiley stopped at the front door? NO, SHE DID NOT!!! She ran inside, threw a pie at Jack, missed HIM and HIT MY GODDAM TV! I had whipped cream and strawberry topping EVERYWHERE.
That put an end to the pie-fight. I wanted to strangle Jack and kill Kiley. I sent her home and asked Jack to explain just what in the world he was thinking when he RAN INTO MY HOUSE to escape being hit by a pie.
"I don't know, Mr. Rob."
"Well, here's what I know, Mr. Jack. You're gonna clean that mess up because it wouldn't be there except for you. Grab that towel over there and get busy."
"But, Mr. Rob, Kiley threw the pie."
"Jack, you want your butt torn up? Don't back-sass me. You know good and well that the pie-fight was supposed to be OUTSIDE. YOU ran INSIDE. I don't care who threw the pie. YOU broke the rules. Now, shut your yap and clean up this mess." I was pissed.
He did, although I had to go behind him and get what he missed. I love the boy like a son, but damn if he doesn't nut up and go fool on me sometimes. I don't believe that he deals with a firm hand in his everyday life to keep him from going astray. He needs one. I'm closer to him than his daddy is, and that's a crying shame.
Jack's a good boy. He means well. Usually, he is well-behaved and mannerly.
But he can cock his head sideways for one second and his brain rolls right out of his ear.
How do you fix that?
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