Just when my wanger had regained a shred of dignity after the "bent" incident, I go and catch my balls in my zipper and have to go to the E.R. to get them "unzipped". That's what happens when you have a late show at night and get up too early next morning. I'm telling you, you know shit about indignity till you've had some 600lb lady named Helga, approaching your fishing tackle with pliers. Jeebus!

Not to mention the pain, although I will mention it anyway, because IT FUCKING HURT! Looking down at my Little Hasselhoff, it was like it was being eaten by some angry little silver teeth. Goddamn, there's pain then there's getting your chalupas stuck in a zipper.

What else? It's hard to think with swollen red cajones and everything. Oh yeah, work. We have done some shows sparodically over the past couple of months, myself, Pedro and Alfonso Del Bautista Maria Concepcion. That's his real name, y'all he's not being an ass or nothing. He even has his name stenciled on the rear window of his Chevy, in case there's any doubt. For real. Takes up two fuckin' lines. Anyway, Alfonso is one of those dudes who can get a tune out of a milk bottle and a fart if you ask him to. So he's plenty useful for a set of lounge classics. He plays regular guitar, slide guitar, bass, piano, all sorts of stuff that you blow. Dude's like a one man show and the drunker his ass gets the more saucy his tunes. He can make grown women weep with his trumpet. Even El Spunkarino is a little in awe.

Anyway the shows (six in all) were all in the same little club, the last one being last night and we had to arrange the band around the strippers' pole which was tricky but we managed. Last night as a finale we knocked out a kickass version of that Barbra Streisand/Kenny Rogers number "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" with Alfonso doing the girl's part to my Kenny. I admit fully we were beyond blasted at this stage of the proceedings and it wasn't a real kiss, my mouth stayed shut.