There's A Party In the Woods Tonight

I did not even have time to think. As I rounded the corner all I could see was fucking cops. It was a roadblock. The Hammer was already growling in the back seat, she hates uniforms. Sonja was beside me up front. "Fucking pigs," she growled as she quickly undid a button on her blouse. Sonja's cleavage had got us through roadblocks before.

We were on our way to a party in a hamlet on the outskirts of Camelpoops. If our car were to be looked into by the police this blog may have gone on a hiatus longer than my summer vacation. Of course I had been drinking. I could feel my heart pounding on the side of the steel flask inside my jacket pocket. As the car ahead of me escaped to Freedom I pulled up. It was a woman cop. She peered inside, lingering impolitely at the sight of Sonja's tits.

"Where you headed?" she asked without looking at me.

"We're on our way to Derriere," I lied.

"Go on then," she waved us through.

As we left the roadblock dispersed. Two of the cars, one of them a ghost, followed us into Derriere. Cocksuckers. I pulled into the parking lot of the first pub I saw. Getting yourself a drink is always a good idea. The cops continued on.

"The fuckers are probably going for dinner," Sonja guessed.

"You think we should drink up and get out of here right now?" I asked her.

"No. Let's have one more."

We both love our Black Bear Ale.

The cops did not follow us as we rolled out of town. Fuck them.

The party, held the next day, was a howler. The host, an old roomie of mine, hired a couple bands from Dope City. The first band, extraordinarily named Simon Wilde's Bollocks, entertained us (as curious a mixture of punk rockers, bikers and redneck motherfuckers, young and old, as you will ever see) with a mixture of original songs and punk rock favourites. The crowd watched them with about as much interest as any warm up act gets until the host got up on stage to play a song with the band. The crowd then surged to the stage to gob all over the poor man. He had been a stage gobber once himself. Now the tables had turned on him. Now at last, he was a true mucous covered punk rocker.

Before long the headline act, Dope City legends Do It Eh, got on stage and really turned up the volume. The cops must have wondered what the noise was all the way back in Camelpoops. I must have seen the band over two hundred times in the past. This would be the longest and perhaps best Do It Eh show of them all. They began by showing their colours with a little Black Sabbath and did not leave the barn stage until over two hours later despite twice overwhelming the power supply.

The host joined them on stage to play the Subhuman's classic "Slave To My Dick." He had been practicing the song for thirty years and absolutely nailed it to the floor. We did not gob on him this time. When he came on stage he let everyone know he would piss on anyone who gobbed on him.

We went motherfucking wild. Bit of a blur after that, it was.