Let's Go To Memphis!

A brief slide show my good friend Iggy put together, with images of our recent pilgrimage to Memphis, in search of the roots of Rock & Roll, The Blues, and Southern cuisine.
This features my song "Lets Go."

CLICK RIGHT HERE AND GO TO MEMPHIS WITH US!

AV Guy Rant (from 2002) Foot Odor & A Weird Day, (Parts 1 & 2)

Today weird stuff just kept happening.
I went to work and these people from some miserable country had taken over the hotel... In the ballroom...
It's this religious cult with some name so friggin' long and hard to pronounce that you get hernia trying to say it.
They were having this wacko-cult slurpie burpin', chant and bang fest in the grand ballroom.

All they rented from me were 6 easels to put giant pictures of some ugly rat faced hag on.
She ( The divine Rat-face Hag) was walkin' around getting adored all over the place, and all these hippies and vacant faced zombies were following her around throwing flowers and moaning, and banging tabla drums and finger cymbals while howling her name.
People were stumbling around dazed like they had all been huffing tilex, with long white robes on, and you could smell burning punks and bad B.O.

I retreated into my office to nurse a slight hangover, to have a cup of coffee and watch Maury Povitch sending bed wetters to bootcamp on TV.

When I stepped out, I tripped and almost did a header- Someone had piled about twenty pairs of shoes in front of my office door while I was in there watching the bed wetters do pushups.

It turns out that if you wanna be in this cult, you have to remove your shoes and leave them at the door before you stumble inside the ballroom to howl at Mother Rat-Face.
So now there's 1200 people in there bellowing like drilled sheep, and 2400 hippie sandals by the door, (give or take an amputee)

I have to pee my coffee out, so I go into the men's room. I stand at the urinal and this bald headed old cretin moves right up next to me and says in a seven-eleven accent, "Would you please help me untie the knot in my robe, sir?"

I'm right in the middle of makin' Godzilla cry, but Ghandi's slip-knot needs attention. So I finish the prance & dance part, and start helpin " Grasshopper" untangle his robe, but the knot is too tight, and I can't seem to loosen it, and while I'm struggling to undo his friggin "Mandress" I realize that if anyone walks in from the hotel, anyone that knows me, they could get the wrong impression and think I'm pullin' a "George Michael" here. A rest area robe-probe.
As I try to untie the belt of this robe I get a whiff of this cretin.
Woof!
Gunga Din here stinks! BAD!
So I just stop, and tell stinky-twinkie "I'm sorry,I can't get it." ...And I left him there still fighting the knot.
Screw him. Smelly wierdo! Buy some friggin' pants! ...or a knife.


So I get outta there, go hide in the office again, so I kick twenty more pair of stinky shoes away
from my office door, wondering,"if I call him, will doctor Scholls make house calls?"

I decided I'd had enough Ratface worship and bathroom encounters with Robe-probing Ravi Shankar look-alikes, so I decided to go home and take a shower in Desinex.

Part (2)

I picked up my kid and brought him to his karate school for a lesson
at 4 o'clock, and well, it isn't really Karate, it's Martial arts called Chung Moo Doe, which to me sounds like some Chinese guy who can't decide about hiring a cow as a prostitute.

Again I find myself in a place where all I can smell is foot odor.

I'm gonna get athlete's f*ckin' NOSE soon, I swear! I considered chopping up a Tic-Tac and snorting it.

The instructor is teaching the kids 2 things today;
(1) how to kick someone in the balls, and (2) how to keep someone from kicking you in the
balls.
I'm sitting in the waiting room with more smelly shoes, all this foot odor is makin' me goofy.
I secretly fantasize about kicking various people in the balls.

Meanwhile, This blouzah "Aunt Vicki" is in there with two bratty kids about 2 and 3 years old. The 3 year old, Salvi, is having speech problems, the 2 year old is having problems with the speed of light.
He's bouncin' off the walls like ricochet rabbit.
Speech impediment Salvi is playing trucks. But he calls them F*cks.
He rolls a small white one under the bench where I am sitting, he then goes under my legs and under the bench trying to get it.
Vicki sees this. "Salvi! whaddayou doin'?" she cackles hideously.
"I'm gettin' dat F*CK, aunt Vickie"
"No it's TR*CK Salvi boy," she snaps.
"F*ck," he sings.
"No no no! TRUCK! TRUCK!
T-R-U-C-K
and what kind of TRUCK is it?" She asks sweetly.
"A ICE CREAM F*CK!" says Salvi.

Zippy, the accelerated 2 year old, wings a red iron vehicle dangerously close to Swearing Salvi's head. It lands and becomes visible in the foot fungus cultivation area.
The two brats lock into mortal combat to gain control of the red toy.
"Fire Fu*ck!" I want dat Fire F*ck!

Vicki to the rescue..."Salvi you let Zippy have it!"
" I want a FIRE F*CK! He can take a DUMP F*CK!"
"What about this white one?" Vicki says.
"No! No I don't want a ICE CREAM F*CK!
I WANT MY FIRE F*CK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I stood up and walked outside, waiting in the rain for my kid to come out and kick me in the balls.

WEIRD DAY, huh?