Friday, November 04, 2005
First stop for the Liquid Ghost Musical Juggernaut: The City of Brotherly Love ( A love which Ricky, Shelby, your humble narrator, and yes, even Dolly/Dali proceeded to practice in all it's most vile, humiliating and satisfying manifestations.)
Off to Grape Street where our avenging angel and ablest of hostesses, Miss Missi, pistol whipped the chatty and Ruebenesque camp followers of the following acts into quietude, all to the syncopated beat of "Big Brass Finger" and "dub-dub-dub-dub-nacious". Now that's class. Further unpleasantness was avoided as the Bacchi caught up with their people and I was comfortably seated in front of a Flyers power play with $1 beer and whiskey. Only narrowly however, as we were being goaded to violence by a couple sweater wearing fellas singing a Cyndi Lauper song [this blog is rife with lies and exaggeration, this is neither.] Cooler heads and the promise of cheesesteak deferred violence temporarily.
Out to the Sweet Black Greivous Angel (our motor transport for our expedition into the betrayal of the American Dream) and off to South Street and Jinx Clothing Co. for a bit of a backyard fashion party, compleat with a steam tray spread, two adorably nasty looking pit-bulls in hoodies, cheesesteak sandwiches for which to nourish our tummys and our battered souls and the sacrificial burning of minibike tires in a roaring outdoor furnace.
After jimmying open the garage door, we popped 'round the corner to Tattooed Moms where King Richard and I loaded up the downstairs jukebox, only to wander upstairs to the shimmering strains of "Reign in Blood" and the cheerful "clack" of pool balls. As punishment for squandering our $5 and our record selecting abilities, we hustled the locals for every last dime (Ricky also took a fellow for a dazzling 3-piece, abalone inlaid pool stick that plays "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" every time you break with it) and beat a hasty Atomic Bitchwax fuelled retreat to Chez Missi and Jimmy.
There we debriefed, watched "Steel Magnolias" and tormented their mini-pinscher, Tia, into greater and greater displays of "fat lardishness".
Well rested, our merry band was off to Kim Montenegro's Very Bad Horse Shop for all manner of scintillating denim wear. Though I had trouble finding a halter in my size, Kim promised to tailor make one to my unique requirements and send it along directly.
An auspicious start to merry mayhem which will no doubt hold the entire country rapt as we caper nimbly across states, newspaper headlines and police blotters.
Nothing can go worng.