I have a lot to say about our time in Denver and Colorado Springs, particularly my new 38-year-old Hispanic girlfriend, Diana. But she and the state of Colorado must get the back burner. Last night was one of the wackiest nights of my life.
Now, you may or may not realize that here on Tour Blog, we take certain liberties with the stories. But what I am about to tell you actually happened. By the end of the night I was sure that I was trapped inside a bad acid trip.
We begin the story on interstate 80. The Fart Van was struggling through the mountains and Kyle had his shirt off. I got a call from the bar at which we were to play in Salt Lake City. She wanted to know that since she didn't book any other bands if we still wanted to play that night. This was a very good sign that there were going to be a lot of people attending our show and that we'd get paid a lot of money. Or the exact opposite.
So we kept driving. We had to pass through SLC anyway, so why not take our chances. We've already experienced the worst. Can't get much worse than that, right? We pulled up to the bar and found Kurt asleep on the sidewalk. He had flown in from Illinois and spent the day in the city. He rode a bus, saw a movie, and got a girlfriend who bought him pizza all in one day!
While we were waiting on the bar to open up, a large man waddled out of a tattoo shop next door. We never got his name or at least I don't remember it (I'm sure it got lost somewhere in the crude things that he said), so from this point forward, we'll call him Fat Elvis because of his Elvis style sunglasses he supported on his head. It turned out Fat Elvis was from Evansville, IN, and used to run Punk Rock Night at Lanhucks. He also remembered the guitar player from Redemption Song who tried to arrest Away with Vega and Husband&Wife.
Fat Elvis mentioned in passing that Agent Orange was playing down the street from us. I walked into the bar at which we were to play and looked around. Bartender, sound guy, and an old tattooed man with an oxygen tube in his nose. So we formulated a plan. Kyle and Kurt were to go down to the other venue to beg and plead that we could open for Agent Orange. And I was to get to know the bar. While taking care of some business, Dillon came in and said, "Hey, we're opening for Agent Orange."
I said, "Get out of here you nosy little pervert, before I slap you silly!"
So two hours later, I emerged from the bathroom and we drove the block and a half to Burt's Tiki Lounge and loaded in. How did this happen, you're probably asking. Kyle simply asked the guy who owned the place. He told him that the other bar screwed us over and we didn't need to get paid. If only it were always that easy!
So we played a pretty good set, if I do say so myself. And instead of playing for our tattooed friend with lung problems, we played for a bar full of old punks. And they loved it! We were received very warmly by the older Salt Lake City crowd. Everybody had really nice things to say. We loaded out and gave the stage to the second band, Tough Tittie. It was around this time when things started to get a little wacky.
Fat Elvis waddled in and found us. He barked out some crude conversation for a while. I loved every minute of it, but had to wash my ears out with soap when he finally took a break. It was around then that I noticed a movie was being played on about six televisions around the bar.
That's kind of weird, I thought.
Then Tough Tittie began to play. I watched as they marched in unison to the beat and the singer emerged from beneath the stage sporting a headlamp and a baby harness strapped to his chest with a baby doll dangling there. They played some pretty intense music. But I was a little distracted by their bass player. I guess the mystery of their band name was revealed! Also, I'm pretty sure they met their guitar player at a bus stop on his way to a conference on software engineering.
During T.T.'s set, I began looking around in fear. Evil Dead 2. Fat Elvis. The little person at the door who took people's money. The black guy at the bar in the patent leather snakeskin jacket. What was going on? I looked back at the band to find the singer's face covered in flour and sporting night vision goggles. I looked back at Dillon to express my concerns when a black man dressed head to toe in traditional cowboy get up was boot scootin' boogie-ing across the room with a video camera pointing at Tough Tittie.
I had to get some fresh air.
Agent Orange still hadn't shown up by the time Tough Tittie finished their set. We waited around until about a quarter til midnight and finally had to set off to our host's home who needed to wake up early. So we didn't even get to see them! I thought this was pretty fitting for how bizarre the night was.
We ended up selling about 5 CD's and made some friends in Salt Lake City. What could have been a horrible night playing to the sound guy turned into one of the best nights on tour so far. And not just because of the bass player's big boobies.
So remember, friends: All you have to do sometimes is get the courage to ask. And all your dreams will come true. Last night I dreamed that I tried to hack into Jeff Beaver's super computer and I was caught red handed. See what I mean?