“I’m going to Lukin’s. I’ve got a spot at Lukin’s. I knocked the door at Lukin’s. Opened the fridge, now I know what life is worth”.
“She was a pretty good waitress, she said she waited on Elvis. I said she talks too much”.
“The fax machine is covered with the greenest gray lichen”.
“The killer in me is the killer in you”.
Their sounds. Their voices. Overwhelming me. I let go off the brakes.
"
New video for our next song Throttle. Free download from 5th March at www.wetnuns.com
Yes.
Source: wetnuns
Yes.
Will it be finished?
Possibly.
Will it be good?
It’s not a hamburger. You laid the foundation. Now work on it for the next year and a half (if you’re lucky).
Finally, the complete Wet Nuns Pop Facts (vol.1) yours to own on Tumblr! Collected especially for you on slightly unreadable blog! Enjoy!
Pop fact: Did you know, Van Morrison’s ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ was actually a love song written about his anus!!!
Pop fact: Did you know, Jimi Hendrix moved…
I’ll add some
Pop fact: Did you know Ringo Starr is the only Beatle left alive? First Paul, then John and finally George. Ringo and Yoko are the modern (and uglier) Bonnie and Clyde.
Pop Fact: Did you know that Auto-tune 101 is now a established class in at least three music colleges in the USA?
Pop Fact: Did you know that the “warmth” you get from Vinyl is in reality the noise generated by the needle scrapping the vinyl?
Pop Fact: Did you know that Hear’say was actually a mutant experiment from MK-Ultra to test the introduction of alien species into our world?
Pop Fact: Did you know that everything Lady Gaga is doing is just a gimmick?
Source: wetnuns
30 day song challenge catch-up . day 26 . a song you can play on an instrument
“gimme some lovin” - spencer davis group
used to play this on alto sax in marching band circa 2002. no lie.
Very impressive. I tip my hat.
Source: fullstopfictionwriting
…but then again, I’m an asshole, that’s what her text message said. Funny thing, text messages in cell phones. Or should I call them “mobiles”? Feels a little hypocritical to use British lingo when all the English I learned was when I lived with mom’s parents in Texarkana.
They weren’t bad years and my fondest memory, besides my grama’s southern hospitality cooking, was everything that happened with Chloe.
Sure, it went to hell and back in the end and it was a sure fire recipe for a fuckup, but, hey, I’m a dude, I’m supposed to be the asshole in the relationship. Just ask Orlando Bloom in Elizabethtown.
Anyways…I digress. I was in that dinky little pub, looking for Seth around, but it seems he left when Triffid Van Mohawks took the stage. I quite like ‘em, even with their rowdy attitude that’s guarantee that they’ll get banned from every drinkhole here in Sheffield.
There’s two things I don’t get in England: closing at 11 and the smoking ban. Back in Springdale, I could watch blues bands play to rowdy crowds, dodge the ocasional beer (always one bad alcoholic outta ruin it for everyone else) bottle and we’d finish until 3, 4 am, then go to some greasy diner and clog our arteries with whatever bullshit.
B-dog, my best pal in college and his gay pal, Hank, ah, man those two dudes, I miss them like a motherfucker. We used to go to every single concert we could, drink the night away, get some chicken wings or chicken strips and sometimes flirt with the waitress. What was her name? Bea? I think it was. B-dog said she looked like Bea Arthur and he sung the theme of Maude (or Mauve?) whenever she wasn’t looking. She always gave us extra big portions…
Fuck, I digress again. I snap a couple of shots for.. .who knows? I don’t review no more and I don’t feel any connection to digital photos, knamasayin? Fuckin bunch of pixels with no soul nor flair nor stylie. Fuck you.
Ah, English ale. Piss warm and tasting like fucking cheese. At least there’s budweiser and coronas to get that feeling of home, you know? These limey morons think that the stronger the flavour, the better. No wonder their teeth look like fucking Dresden.
Still, I enjoy living here. Better than being back in the USA. As far as I can from Chloe and all that happened.
You can run, but you can’t…
Fuck! Seth is in bungalows and bears. He says he’s got this couple of chicks and he’s insisting i should go and help him out. I might when Van Mohawks finish their instrument trashing. Some asshole reviewer compared them to the Sex Pistols, but I think if the fucker had done his resaerch, he’d found it was the Who who started to trash shit onstage. Or maybe it was some cavemen in the paleolithic. No distotion back then.
Van Mohawks finish and some band take the stage. They are called the Monday Happiness. Once they start, I decide to hightail it. I hate going and help Seth with his women adventures and, in a whim of spitefulness, I just walk back home. I avoid West Street like the fucking plague and go by some alleyways that I know will get me superfast to Broomall.
That’s when a car stops near me. The window rolls down.
“Alright, homeboy?”
I nod, it’s that guy again.
“Need a lift, ‘pal’ ? “
The back windows open and I see there’s two more guys and a girl in the back of the car. I dunno, but I get in.
“Who were you looking for inside, homeboy?”
“A pal of mine”
“You enjoyed the gig?”
“Yes, I liked the concert. Well what I saw anyway”
“Who was that then?”
“Triffids. Always cool”
“Singer and drummer were drunk out of their school, y’know?”
“They still played quite well”
“Yeah, but you’d say that, wouldnt ya?”
“What’s wrong, dude?”
“Nothing, bro, nothing, just asking for your opinion”.
Spidersense tingling. This ain’t feelin’ okay at all.
“Pass the dutchie?”
One of the dudes from the back passes me a doobie. I sigh and take a hit, but a small one. Hate the stuff.
“Not greedy. That’s why I like you, homeboy”
This fucker’s seen too many hood movies. He’s just a wigger with an attitude.
“Why were you here tonight, pal?”
The inflection in his voice. That’s the reason then…
“Man’s asked you question, you better answer, tosser”
His pal in the back, some dude from Liverpool. Thin as a pencil, just as bright.
“Relax, Kidda, we all are friends”.
The car stopped near an alleyway. I can see a sign that read “Bath Hotel”. Why do they call pubs hotel in this place?
“I wanted to see a band, I just told you.”
“Really? It wasn’t because of her?”
“Who?”
“In your time as a journalist…”
“I was just reviewing, I can’t be a journalist”
“Semantics, homeboy… I noticed you talked with a couple of groupies”
“I think the term is ‘it girls’, but you the man”
“Don’t interrupt me. We British have manners”
“Certainly showed them in the Boer war”
They looked blankly at me.
“Stay away from her. “
“Who are you talking about, man?”
“You know, homeboy. You ain’t from around here. We don’t appreciate fucking American Cowboys like you, marching through”.
“I was just looking for my pal Seth, I wasn’t looking for no groupies, pal”
“I ain’t your pal, homeboy, and neither are any of the people in this here car nor any of the people in bands you’ve talked with. They saw you, they sized you up and used you. They will use you until you are no longer of use and then they will chuck you to the side. Because that’s what you are. You are no better than a disposable fork from a takeaway”
“How long you been waiting for that one to drop, Pete” I ask, while slowly going for the door handle.
“Doors’ are locked, homeboy. And I’ve been holding it since November”
“Because of what happened at Bar Crawl, then?”
The guy from Liverpool approaches slowly towards me. I can even smell his damn breath.
“You are in a bit of a jam an’ you just can’t drop the innocent act, can ya, lah?”
“Sorry, am I talking to you, fucker? No, I’m talking to your boss, who has the drivewheel, in all senses. If I talk to you, you will know because I’ll be looking straight at you, like I’m doing right now”
He takes aback and sits back. The wigger driving just laughs, with that derisive laughter the English love to use.
“You just don’t get it, homeboy. You are a loser that’ll do anything for a smile and they are banking on that. Don’t treat us like the enemy, we are actually helping you out”
“Out of your own good will, I suppose?”
“Of course not. Everything has a price”
“And it is?”
“All in good time, friend. All in good time.”
The door locks open. Wigger dude nods and smiles, honestly, for a change. I open the door and when one of my legs is firmly outside, he says.
“She did finish the painting, y’know? The one about you”.
My grip on the door is so firm I could rip the door apart and beat his sarcastic smile. The other dude in the back, the one that’s been so silent all the time, just adds
“Thanks for warming her up for me”.
I close the door. I thought about slamming it but I want to live another day, y’know? They laugh, back up and drive away. They are so happy that they don’t notice I took something in their car. Well, I took something and left something else. Something someone will find interesting.
A new species has been identified in Sheffield. Read about it at the above link.
Biology!
Source: theunfortunateincident
Jonny Sock solves the age-old problem of missing teaspoons.
Stupid gnomes.
Source: theunfortunateincident
I once drove from Monterey Beach to Tijuana with my uncle Miguel, almost 10 years ago. He was a very big fan of Gram Parsons and everything associated with him.
My grandad used to tease him to stop listening to that “pinche música gringa” and to listen to something real. Hate to disagree with him, but Parson and co were very, very real.
