Castor Oil...sickeningly good

Monday, December 12, 2005

Wiping Bill Kirchen's ass

I’m not exactly sure what precipitated the fiasco but out of the blue Drunky the Clown was yelling and screaming about how Bill Kirchen and Tom Principato are the two best guitarists in Washington, D.C. and how I was the embodiment of all the disrespectful punks not fit to wipe the asses of these esteemed guitar twangers.

What the fuck you say?

To set the scene I was up at the idiots bar to watch the Redskins game with my friend Marucs Aurelias. We were all at the, Marc, Scotty, Slim, the Busdriver, Anthony Quinn, Dumb Jack, Massage Parlor Vinne and a few others including the heretofore never seen by me (amazingly) Drunky the Clown. The bar itself is about 25 seats long and Drunky the Clown was at the far right end facing the Alex the bartender and I was halfway down square in front of the TV set (having wiled my way to the Pole Position for watching the game as was my purpose for being there in the first place). As Drunky was yelling Alex asked my opinion about Tom and Bill and if I knew them. I said I had met them both and opined as it comes to being THE BEST that I think they're great (which I do and have made many trips to see both of them) but not the best I have heard in town. Simple as that.

Drunky leered down the bar and hollered, “Tell me again what you just said cuz I’m hoping I heard you wrong!!!!”


Here is my reply to Drunky in full context and if you can’t believe I was this self-effacing and polite I totally understand but I was. I simply said, "in my opinion and it's just my opinion and is no better or worse than yours I think those guys are completely and totally awesome but TO ME for the music I dig they're not THE BEST I have seen around here." Let me clarify that statement a bit because I want it to be clear that I think both Bill and Tom are astounding guitarists. I spent many evenings at the Sunset Grille nodding in pure joy when Kirchen would peel the paint off the walls. But I’m not a huge blues or blues-rock guy and never have been. So for me to say that someone is THE BEST I have to put it in the context of what is the best FOR ME. Trying to quantify that shit is idiotic anyway, another chucklehead jumped in saying Keith Richards is the best guitarist ever and you know what, if he believes who’s to say he’s wrong? Drunky the Clown obviously.

But to get back on point…………..

Somehow by the time my quiet little statement of opinion reached the ears of Drunky the yeller it had translated into me saying that I'm a better guitar player than both Bill and Tom not to mention Danny Gatton and Jimi Hendrix and that I didn't know "my place" and was disrespectful of “people who have put in their time.” I politely told him that I didn’t say anything like that, that I’m an admitted extremely limited guitarist which is why no one will ever see me attempt a guitar solo and that he was either surely deaf, way too drunk or mentally challenged or a mixture of some or all of those ingredients and besides Bill Kirchen moved to Texas so his theory was half fucked anyway.

Well I said it in a nice tone at least.

At some point during the exchange he started referring to me as Young Buck which was intended as an insult but came across like a sweet affectation for a principal character in Brokeback Mountain. Things kept going on and on and on and on with this guy and I’m just sitting there getting yelled at and laughing with my friend Marc about the idiocy of this whole situation but over time he stopped being unintentionally funny and there was a fair bit of annoyance building up not just with me but with everybody else who was still conscious (not all the patrons I assure you) and had to listen to his shit. He had a loud and awful voice, like the sound of a dumpster full of glass being emptied into a trash truck made of chalkboards and it made the skin creepy crawly as he got more progressively more drunk, angry and loud.

He had fallen backwards off his bar stool and crashed his thick head hard to the floor and from that point on went reasonably berserk with full on about to have a stroke red-face when I wouldn’t relent to his opinion. After the skull thumping and associated laughter at his expense from all his buddies it was pretty quick that he started crossing over from drunken loudmouth to aggressive lunatic.

Some choice tidbits from the latter part of the conversation…

"Who the fuck are you...what makes you so great?!?!"

"What are you...19 years don't know shit about a goddamn thing you little baby!!"

“You couldn’t wipe Bill Kirchen's ASS!!!!”

“Something about you make you think your shit don’t stink Young Buck, makes you think you’re so much better than these MEN. You isn’t no man young Buck, you’re just a fairy who can’t even tune his guitar!!”

“You think because you’re young and pretty you can play guitar better than Bill Kirchen. Well let me tell you something Young Buck being pretty will only get you so far.”

The bartender replying with “How the fuck would you know?” really was an astoundingly funny moment.

As I was getting yelled at I was answering back as best I could amusing myself while trying to get him to calm down but the more I placated and tried to play the nice card the angrier he got. He was like the Hulk, only a Hulk that weighed around 115 pounds and had early onset Emphysema and thinning hair and wore an ill-fitting Redskins sweatshirt that saw its best day back when Billy Kilmer was getting arrested for drunk in public the night after a game, (that was the 70’s for you non-Redskins-o-philes out there). The entire bar at this point was either laughing at or cussing at Drunky which got him ever more hostile. Probably not the best comment to make to defuse him was - "I've met both Bill and Tom a number of times, I'm sure they'd be thrilled to have a fucking dumbass clown like you waving their flag for them." but I made it, it seemed so right at the time.

That witticism was the straw that got Drunky off his stool and the bartender around the corner. Apparently I needed to get some of my "attitude smacked off". Now its one thing when some old brokendown douche is yelling at you across the bar but when they shuffle off the stool and start breathing the breath of the damned in your face it’s just too much. I have not been in a proper dust-up in years and have no interest or intention of ever getting in one again. They almost always ended up with me getting punched really hard and trying not to cry. Rarely was there that kind of punishment given to or reaction seen on the other side of the argument so I’m not throwing out the bad-ass card at all, just retelling the tale as it happened.

I was pretty sure that I could push Drunky over with a finger or concentrated breath if Alex ever let things get to the point of actual altercation which there was very little chance of. Alex is bigger than me and Drunky combined and is a friend so he would never allow a mess to be made that way over something as stupid as this. Being in a pretty safe position and tired of laughing it off I told Drunky in as stout and manly yet amused voice as I could muster (it’s an affectation worthy of trip to “Inside the Actor’s Studio” if you want to know the truth) that if he wanted to continue I'd be happy to bust his narrow ass and shove it up the coinslot of the payphone he was standing next to.


Drunky followed the laws of the Slobberingly Pathetic Wino Universe and immediately softened the eyes, rocked back on the heels, raised his arms and tried to BRO hug me. You see "he was just kidding Young Buck!!!" It’s amazing really the politics of the drunks. Once you know the game plan it all unfolds like A-B-C every time. I sat back down and Drunky shuffled away with a muttering and a grumble. For the record I did not engage in a single fisticuff, push, shove or Bro hug with him. For this I am glad as touching him even cursorily would have meant a trip to the Doc’s for a Tetanus shot and I just don’t have time for that in my busy schedule!

To wrap it up; the bartender transferred my last beer to and then bought me a shot on Drunky's tab as a way to make him pay for being an asshole and peace was restored in the Kingdom. Marc dropped me off at la plaza de magnifico (my house) and upon my joyous arrival after the blaring of the horns of rapture had faded and the doves had flown away the lovely Mrs. asked how the game was. I said it was ugly but the Skins won and that the idiots were idiotic and all in all things were jolly and well. Later on I thought about asking her to refer to me as “Young Buck” but thought better of it, without the context it would be a little creepy.

Why do I keep going there you ask?

Why for you of course. Someone needs to make a sacrifice for your pleasure!!!


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