Friday Night Fun

I remember Friday nights when I was young. Chase some pills down with some beer, party with the Devil and his close friends for fifty four hours, sleep, go to work and then dream about Friday night all over again. I could not understand people who did not live like me.

I do not do that any more. Some beers in the pub, a walk in the park with my dog, a few minutes with Dan Russell is all I can stand.

Last night was different. After the beers in the pub, instead of going home, I drove downtown, to Dope City, motherfuckers. There sure were a lot of cyclists on the road. I fucking near hit several of them.

I wanted to keep drinking, like I usually do, but the night was still young and I had no pills to give me the energy to pretend it was 1980 all over again. I went for coffee instead.

After a cup of steamed milk coffee in a shop constructed of 100 year old Douglas fir timbers, I stopped nearby to look for a record to add to my collection.

I was going to buy

Motorhead's "Kiss of Death"

Had it in my calloused hand

Then I saw

Stompin' Tom's new record

Motorhead or Stompin' Tom?

Stompin' Tom

Hands fucking down

From the record shop I drove to the neighbourhood where the rock show would take place later on. In a book shop there I talked to an Anarchist friend about old relatives, long dead. His great-grandpa, or some fucking thing, was Cyrus Hall McCormick III, whose anti-Freedom and anti-labour deeds led to Chicago's Haymarket riots in 1886. He has been trying to balance his family's devilish past with uneven results ever since he learned what an asshole his great-grandfather was.

I got another cup of coffee, even though every cell in my body was screaming for beer, and visited another record shop. Picked up a copy of the Strangler's "Rattus Norvegicus." My old copy had disappeared long ago. I talked to the shop owner about old records, we agreed, they never die.

I needed something to eat and it was time to start drinking again. I walked around the street where there used to be another record store that once put out records by bands like DOA. Right near where that store used to be I chose a cafe and went inside. It was a lesbian run place. Lesbians and I cannot seem to keep ourselves apart.

I had some macaroni and cheese and some Pheonix beer. It is weird, you know, being the only man in a room of tattoo'd ladies. After my second beer a bunch of people started to show up. Many of the people were men like me. I asked one of them, "What the fuck is going on?"

He told me, "We are having a video contest. The videos are supposed to bring attention to homelessness." He was a member of a do-gooder commie group the royal police and the fucking government hate.

Pretty soon the place was full except for the three seats by me. I have a weird effect on people that way. Just like when I used to take the bus, people would rather stand than sit by me.

On my way out the door I dropped a twenty in their collection box. Anybody the police and government hates does not have to ask me for support.

By then it was time for the rock show. Four bands. When I walked in the door the MC5's "Ramblin' Rose" was being played by the dj. Reminded me of when I was young, when I searched and destroyed.

First band were three skinny fuckers. I liked them a lot. Next up were three more skinny fuckers. I liked them even more. Maybe it was the beer. After that about twenty fuckers, some of them as old as me took the stage. They were all playing these teeny wireless electric guitars except for a drummer and two singers. God damnedest thing I ever saw. It was like watching six Rude Nortons playing together at the same time. I fucking near died I had so much fun. I think they were called Little Guitar Army. Go see them, you will not believe your eyes or your ears.

After a few more beers DOA came out. I liked their new single, "I Live In a Car," best, which is saying quite a lot for someone who has been deafened by them for over thirty years.

It was quite the crowd - from 19 to 70. We had a real good time together.

I had one Hell of a time driving home. The freeway is like a god damn obstacle course because of all the night time construction going on. I knocked over a couple pylons. Good thing I am still driving the old Cadillac. It is like a trusty horse, it always gets me home.

Before I got home I went into a McDonald's drive through. The cops were throwing somebody into the back of their car and towing away his car. I talked to the pretty girl who took my money as I waited for my food.

"I don't know why they don't just set up a roadblock here in the parking lot all night long. All we get is drunk people driving through," is what she said.

"Fucking drunk assholes," I concurred.