Thursday, February 19, 2009

Joke of the Week 2/19/09

So there was this guy standing out in the front of Ceasar's Palace in Las Vegas. He had a big tin cup in his hand. He was shaking the cup and shouting to passers by, 'please sir or madam, my wife needs a critical heart operation. She may die if she doesn't have the operation. Please give any money you can'. The dude was actaually out in front of a Casino panhandling for money for his sick wife. So, eventually this guy comes up to him and says, 'hey Mac, how do I know you aren't going to take any money I give you and go right back into that casino and spend it on gambling'?
The guy looks him in the eye and says.....
(wait fooooor it.....)
'Oh, I already GOT me gamblin' money'

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Celebrity Haiku Volume #13: A-Roid Edition

How can you tell if a baseball player is lying about steroids? Their lips are moving. It's been a while, but here tp present his take on the ancient oriental form of poetry is Alex Rodriguez, Erstwhile Hall of Famer and hated Yankee.Really, Alex, what really happened...

I was young and dumb

My cousin injected me

I am the Walrus

-Alex Rodriguez

right...coo coo ca choo...

Friday, February 13, 2009

The Smell of the Grease-paint, the Roar of the Crowd'

'Fan Mail' from an early gig in Belfast

Tomorrow marks, oh , I don't know, the 27th or 28th anniversary of my first professional gig as a musician. As you will recall from previous posts, or if you have read any of the major Rock History books, it was the wedding of Carla Starbird, a friend of the Bigfoot family. It was a night to be long remembered in infamy, not necessarily for Carla and her Groom, but for the legion of fans of Jet, the rock and roll juggernaut that would become Pavlov's Dogs, the greatest band that never was.

Not much has changed in the last twenty odd years for me. Oh sure, Ive gotten married, become a responsible adult, had kids, grown staggeringly old and boring....okay, a lot has changed. But the fact remains that I will be, once again, be rocking the herd, as of old, to celebrate the anniversay of Jet's innaugeration, this Saturday at the Solon Hotel in downtown metropolitan Solon Maine. Once again I will hear the calls for, 'Freebird'! and, 'one last song'. Once again I will taste the sweet, vindicating nectar of free beer, supplied by the bar tender as a balm for the startling lack of feduiciary compensation for providing the masses with fine classic rock and roll. Once again I will feel the blisters develop on my right ring finger in the third set. Once again I will hear the mind-numbing 60mhz mid-range feedback when I try to sing 'Brown Eyed Girl'. I will play 'Cocaine' for the 1,358th time, and the crowd will say unto me,'Woooooo'! as they do the dance of the old white guy. I will scan the crowd, and eye the babes that now are way too young for me to be eying. I will watch as I play as the bouncers, with glee, throw out drunks into the cold Solon night. It will be good to be back in the saddle.

The reasons that I wanted to get into a rock band were far different when I was a lad back in the scruffy streets of Liverpool. Back in the day, being in a band was chiefly for the money, the fame and the babes. Alas tomorrow, we will not be playing in New York, Boston or LA. We will be playing in Solon Maine. We will be playing at the Solon Hotel, to be specific. If you've never been, think of the saloon in Clint Eastwood's 'High Plains Drifter', only with bigger women and instead of horses out in the front there are Moose and the ocassional rusted out GMC Blazer. Fame we are not seeking. As for the money, my haul tomorrow will not likely broach $100. Gas to Solon from the friendly confines of Orono will likely be almost that much. As for the babes, well, even if I weren't so insanely in love with my adorable spouse, I haven't near the Moxie necessary anymore to put up with the bullshit and conversation required to pick up and/or take home any sketchy babes hanging out at the old Solon. In any case, I'm much too old and creepy for even the skankiset of bar mavens at this point in my life.

Yet, here I am again. I will once again don the Hawaiin shirt and strap on the old Fender Jazz Bass. I will meet up with my old buddies Dan and Linda. We will chill out with some of the early regulars and enjoy a cold beer or a shot. They will ask us what kind of stuff we play. We will set up the gear. We will do a sound check. With a little luck, we will get a free dish of fries or a Chimchanga from the bar's kitchen. The crowd will start to fill in, with a little luck, and soon it will be time. I'll grab anothe quick brew, or a water, we'll turn on the PA and I'll tune up the Fender. We'll scan the song list for a few minutes to formulate a plan that we'll soon abandon after just a few songs. I'll turn on the amp, which will be picking up an annoying transister buzz from the house lights, and I pull a pick out from my shirt pocket. Start with 'Sweet Home Chicago' methinks. We give each other a nod and a wink and the lights come up. It is precisely at that moment that I remember why I keep doing this shit, why I keep on playing the same old songs for the same old people in the same old places, drinking the same old beer and shots. It is at that exact moment I remember why I got into the Rock and Roll game to begin with.

At that moment I remember it. At this moment, however, it seems to be eluding me. I don't know why I do it anymore, to be honest. But I do. Ask me tomrrow at the Solon why I do. Maybe I'll remember then.

Anyhow, keep on a rockin' kids.


Thursday, February 05, 2009

View from a Slippery Slope

Okay, I waited as long as I could wait. I tried to give Him the benefit of the doubt, being a good bleeding heart Boston Liberal. I gave Him 15 days. I waited for the afterglow of the Love Fest of an Inauguration to pass and His approval rating to simmer down to double digits. I waited for Jay-Z, Beyonce, Bono, Aretha, and Oprah to go back home. I even waited for all the sycopahantic Republicans, desperate to stay within the glow of His Rock Star poularity, to sink back into the woodwork of Bipartisan Politics and get ready to rain on His parade. I waited to see who He would appoint to his cabinet. Unfortunately, he would end picking His appointees from IRS's most audited list. I waited to see what His recipe for the Recession would be. It turned out His recipe was a $500 Billion 'Pork' dish, served to the taxpayer on a TV tray, flambe. I waited America. I waited.

I waited 15 days, and now I say to you America: prepare to be Dazzled. Liberals, you're not gonna be satisfied. He's too moderate. Moderates: way too liberal. Republicans: Fugetaboutit!

As for me, Bigfoot Chester, Chief Editor of the SBL#178, seven words America, seven words:

"Don't blame me, I voted for Nader"!

Non Illegitimi Corrundum
5 February 2009
Bigfoot Chester here just returned from the Helsinke Institute in Sweden, where, for the better part of this year, I have been getting the help I have so desperately needed. But now I'm much better: rested and ready, and fixin' to Blog away. We got us a new year, a new recession and a brand new Funkey President. Even more stuff to bitch about. I'd better get bloggin'. So join in the fun. Check out some of the old posts, leave an obscene comment, or make your own post. If''n you don't, you're a Godless Communist who sides with the Terrorists. God Bless America.