Hey there darlins. Busy week for El Spunkareeno.

I had a show last night that was the equivalent of a circus extravaganza. I really had no idea when I showed up that we were playing in a big fuckin' tent.

Now Vegas is crammed with joints. Suave joints, divey joints, glamorous joints, smoky joints, joints full of glitzy elderly women with blue hair, a glint in their eye and evil intent, joints full of mean looking poker players, joints where you can smell the mold on the walls, joints where the chandeliers twinkle along with the piano, joints straight out of a film noir, joints full of fornicating frat boys and joints that haven't changed since 1922. But tents? Not so much.

This was a big old marquee tent outside some dude's mansion. The occasion? His parents' golden wedding anniversary and who better to get those geriatric feet a boogying than the barnstorming Tony Spunk?

Pedro and I set up early. Actually the whole show was early since it was full of elderly people on the verge of expiring who need to be in bed by like nine in the pee em.

The inside of the marquee looked like it had been decorated by Barbie during an aneurism. Fuchsia trim goddamn everywhere and matching pink flowers poking out of every surface imaginable. If the guests of honor had emerged with a big, honking, fuchsia rose protruding from their assholes I wouldn't have been all that surprised. (They didn't. Calm down.)

Then there was all this goddamn lace stuff hanging from the walls and the piece de resistance, some nasty little table centerpieces featuring a little plastic couple grinning from a mini cake. I'm not sure who the couple was - it sure wasn't the celebrating couple as one of them were in a wheel chair and the other had some miraculous pants which reached almost to his chin (what's up with the gigantor pants old guys?) but I guess those sort of authentic figures are difficult to find.

The guests were a mix of the son's friends, their family and a bunch of people recruited from the local nursing home by the looks of things. Seldom have I seen a room more populated by people walking at a 90 degree angle to the floor than in that tent.

I urged Pedro that we should go for some smooth, slower crooner numbers because the mere idea of some of those old dears doing anything involving actual limb movement was a kinda scary one to behold. Besides, there ain't enough paramedics in Vegas to deal with that projected scenario.

It all went down ok though. The old geezers giggled and cooed and stroked Pedro's sombrero lovingly. Pedro was looking pretty damn dapper in a royal blue tux with bow tie and his gold tooth polished to perfection. It's that accent man. Gets them every time.

Upside? Gig paid enough to pay this month's rent which is always a plus.

Downside? I woke up this morning with some old gal's number in my wallet. If you read this Geraldine, I was loaded ok? Unless you're hot then gimme a call, 'k sweetie?