Lord of the Dicks

Before I get started on a day in the life of Kidner Transport let me touch briefly on the events of last evening.

I stopped by the Galaxy Hut to see a show that some folks I knew were playing and lo and behold I went on the wrong night. The drummer I went to see, (who has a nifty little teeny-tiny drumset) plays in two bands and I was planning to see his band A when in actuality he was there to play with his band B. Not a big deal except my friend John was also supposed to play the same night as band A with his own entirely different band. They’re called Gleek.

Anyway, I was there and happy to see band B regardless and just chatting away with a friendly English dude and a guy named Gordon when the opening act started. Out of the men’s room came a body shambling along with a blanket over his (presumably his) head. Shambles the Blanket starts talking into a wireless mic (strike one) in a Darth Vadery style voice about how he was about to blow my mind, (along with everyone else’s in the room). Yeah…..

He got to the front of the room and WHOOSH with a dramatic flourish off spins the cape and emerges Lord of the Yum Yum or Something or Other, (strike two). His schtick is to be a “WHACKY” performance art douchebag in an ill-fitting powder blue tux, singing and beat-boxing through a digital delay machine, (strike three). If the Gong Show and Napoleon Dynamite hadn’t been done already it could have been pretty interesting, (interesting good), instead it was sorta amusing at first and simply irritating shortly thereafter, (irritating not so good. Strike Four). Thankfully the Breakfast Club was on closed caption above the bar and I had a good sight line so I could tune it out but it just got me to thinking bad thoughts, (surprise. Strike Five for the aggravation). Soon Shambles the Blanket Lord of the Yum Yum was running around the room like a nitiwit beat-boxing and generally being an asshole while I was trying to drink a beer and relax and it was just not going my way. I couldn’t even enjoy the beer for the caterwauling going on around me (strikes Six through Ten).

Lest you think I am not a fan of the avant garde and the delicate artiste let it be known that the lovely Mrs. attended the Parsons School of Design and is as artsy as you could imagine and I do dearly love her for it. I just get pestered when artsiness becomes a commodity that some fuckhole feels compelled to shove down my throat. It seems acting like a stupid wang has somehow gotten confused with being funny. As stated so eloquently in Spinal Tap, “there’s a fine line between clever and stupid.” and the problem seems to be that only stupid motherfuckers seem to want to walk that line. So what happens, I get continually subjected to Adam Sandler wannabes and the bastard son of Chuck Barris when I could be hearing actual decent music or listening to the rednecks opine on a movie like, “Red Heat”

“That ain’t Schwarzenegger’s ass, that’s a stuntman’s ass!!!!!”

You know real solid entertainment.

Mercifully lord of the shit stains kept it pretty short, (and still managed to drive more than half of the folks out of the room). By the time he was done and band B was set up and ready to roll it was time for me to roll as well so my trip out was pretty poor. I did get a blog and a spike in my blood pressure out of it though so I guess it’s all for the good. I still want to stab him in the face with a Galaxian machine but other than that I’m pretty much over it. I mean if the good lord wants to damn him and his stupid ass suit to the eternal fires of hell just for shits and grins that’s fine with me.

But that’s just the way I am.