The Boys Are Back in Town

I must apologize for my extended absence from my writing. I was offered a slot at the last second to roadie for the Def Leopard/Journey tour over the winter, and you don’t say no to that kind of offer. It was a pretty sweet six months. We spent four of them waiting to see if there was actually going to be a tour. That one armed drummer from Def Leopard whose name I can’t recall was demanding more money for his work. Since losing his arm, the band insisted that he only be paid half his previous salary, because he was only doing half the work. He complained because the group had failed to take into account the fact that he used both his feet as well, and therefore was really doing three quarters of what he had previously done. Their lawyers met for months, and a secret agreement was finally made.
While this was going on, I felt it would be good to get in shape and be prepared for what was an opportunity of a lifetime. I measured the distance from the backstage area to the lead singer’s microphone at sixty feet, and started doing wind sprints at that length. After a few hours of this every day, I got to be pretty fast. Also, I spent a lot of time building up my tolerance to drugs as well. I started by smoking pot and drinking, but soon realized this would not suffice. So I started doing cocaine and acid. Surely the rock stars were still doing this kind of stuff. Why, when I was touring with Thin Lizzy, we would finish off an eight ball on our way to a show before even arriving at the venue.
But I was wrong. I broke out my bong on the bus only ten minutes after heading off on tour, and had the shit kicked out of me by the bassist from Journey whose name I can’t recall. Apparently these guys have gone straight. “It’s about the music now,” claimed the rhythm guitarist for Def Leopard whose name I can’t recall, “and if you’re not down with that, we’ll drop your ass off at the next town.” I couldn’t tell if he was an American speaking with a terrible English accent or just English and slightly retarded. Either way, this meant I was going to have to go cold turkey on my new, strongly developed addiction to pot, cocaine, acid and alcohol. By the third show, I couldn’t even get on my feet to pick up the mike when the lead singer dropped it while attempting to do Axle Rose’s crab dance. You’d be surprised how spry you have to be to execute that move correctly.
We were in Wichita, playing a county fair when I was asked to leave the tour…in a manner of speaking. I couldn’t stop staring at the one armed drummer. It just looked so funny, and the fairgrounds did not live up to its reputation as the most exciting place on earth. The Ferris wheel was about fifteen feet high, and the ticket girl gave terrible head. I spent much of my free time during the concerts on the side of the stage, laughing at the one armed drummer. I think the shock of going through sudden detox after developing a drug addiction so rapidly sharpened my sense of humor. My laughing must have been really loud, because the bassist from Def Leopard whose name I can’t recall came back stage while playing that “sugar” song, grabbed me, and threw me into the crowd. Rednecks beat me senseless with beer bottles after the lead singer told them what I’d been doing. Honestly, these are the same people who not one hour before had spent twenty minutes marveling at the bearded lady. When did laughing at one kind of deformity become so worse than laughing at another?
By the time I came around six hours later, the tour bus had long since left, and Blue Oyster Cult was setting up their gear for the next night’s show. I felt it was time to return to the Rose City, but I was broke and without any means of survival. I would be forced to walk back to Portland, and walk I did.
It only took me a couple of months to return. It may have been quicker, but I was picked up by the wrong people while hitchhiking. If you ever go hitchhiking and someone has a sign in their car that says “Ass, Gas or Grass, no one rides for free,” make sure you have money for the last two, because the “ass” part of the deal is not necessarily what you think it is.

But I’m back, and not a moment too soon. You leave your post as the voice of the people to fulfill a lifelong dream, and look what happens. President Bush is having a little trouble with those enviro-Nazis regarding gas. First, they want us to be independent of oil, then they start to bitch when oil prices sky rocket. You’re like a bunch of women. I also heard a thing or two on the road about some sort of hurricane last year, but don’t those things happen every year? Who gives a shit? We’re obviously not focusing right now. The importing thing to remember is that President Bush is sorry for what he’s done and now he’s trying to make up for it. Surely you’ve read about the “Whitehouse shakeup” going on. It’s all over Fox News and CNN. All kinds of important people have resigned or been indicted. And now I know what you’re thinking, “oh, these people were forced to resign in order to give the appearance of change to raise President Bush’s dipping poll numbers.” But you’ve heard the man say he doesn’t pay attention to poll numbers. He’s above that, so what the hell are you talking about? And wouldn’t he fire these people if he wanted to give an impression of change? It just doesn’t make any sense. Even the head of the CIA has resigned. Something about poker games, strippers and limousines.
It sounds like honest to God change to me, and I for one am looking forward to a productive final three years. Maybe we’ll finally be able to stop those goddamn Iranians. We should have no problem surprising them, what with all our troops already being strategically situated in Iraq. You have to hand it to Donny Rumsfeld, he really thinks ahead. I bet he’d be good at chess.

There’s so much for us to discuss, and so much for me to fix, and I plan on doing it all in the next few months, or at least until I get bored with this again. Oh, and sorry about the Summer Serial, for those of you just dying to finish it, the main character died the next day. No one went to his funeral.
Oh, and when we get a chance, someone will have to fill me in on this whole immigration thing. Is it true that people are crossing the border illegally? How did we not know about this?Anyways, you can rest for now. I am back at my desk, drinking again, and listening Charlie 97 FM, only the greatest music stretching over the entire span of the history of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Right now, there’s this great song I used to listen to while making out with my dry-hump friend in the back of the family Previa in college. It’s called “Don’t Stop Believin’” by some group whose name I can’t recall. Good night.