Gretchen, The Hell's Angels....And Me. Part II
When our story left off, a stunning little biker chick had captured my um....well, let's just say that I was hooked. A crazy biker who resembled a hairy phone booth had 'offered' me a gig at the local Hell's Angels clubhouse and ole Bull had been silenced by the aforementioned biker babe.
Back to the tale.....
As promised, a veritable hoard of black leather clad hairy dudes made short work of loading out our equipment. I suggested that we leave the lights and special effects stuff since we were just doing a one night stand.
Gino stared me down for a minute or two.
"Bro....it's Gretchen's fuckin' birthday party." he growled.
Gino could have been a friggin' vetriloquist because, I swear, his lips never even twitched as he spoke. Of course,..... my eyes were glued on his right hand as it hovered menacingly near the big shiny pistol on his hip but still......I don't think his lips ever moved.
"You're right Gino...what the hell was I thinkin'? Nothing's too good for Gretchen." I said.
"Fuckin' A bro." he said. (turns out....bikers say that alot!)
Gino bellowed for a person by the name of "Guthro" and shortly, yet another bearded black clad hairy dude came walking up to where we stood.
Gino introduced us and I shook his paw.
"Good to meet you Guthro." I said innocently.
Jeez...the guy actually growled like a freakin' Rottweiller and jerked his hand away violently. With his left hand, he lifted up his bushy beard and with his right hand, pointed to a tattoo on his NECK!
You know.....on that really tender part around your Adam's Apple......
Damn...it made my rectum twitch at the very thought of undergoing THAT ordeal!
Imagine my embarassment as I, for the first time in my life, actually read another man's neck.
I had indeed, it turns out, committed a serious, albiet inadvertent faux pas......the hirsute gentleman's name was definately, NOT 'Guthro'".
Yep...right there in India black and dripping blood red ink, I could see it clearly.....
This insane lookin' hairy dude's name was ACTUALLY.....
"Cut Throat"
Now I'm certain Miss Manners could have offered a better way out of this breech of biker etiquette but....all I could think to say was.
"Nice Tat dude."
He wasn't expecting that but, then again.... neither was I but.... I've always been quick with my mouth in sticky situations. It's a survival skill which has served me well through the years.
"What did you call me?" he demanded.
Bold as brass, I never even blinked and said.
"Cut Throat" I said quickly but, I made it come out as a slurred, choppy "Cuh-Throw" thus introducing a degree of doubt into his obviously feeble mind.
He looked like a big old hairy puppy hearing one of those high pitched whistles they advertise in the Sunday supplements.
He wasn't quite sure if I had insulted him or not.
Not wanting to let it go, he growled.
"It's 'Cut Throat' bro."
"Listen man...I laid my Sportster down and the handle bar caught me in the throat. Sometimes my words come out funny." I said indignantly.
Even though I had never been on a Harley in my life, I added....
"My Ole Lady died in that one bro."
He thought about that for a second, gave me a sincere look and offered his right hand in one of those patented biker hand shakes.
"Been there bro. We're cool."
Gino had been watching this exchange and gave me a look which told me that he, Gino, wasn't buying my bullshit but, was satisfied that Mr. Cut Throat had.
"Cut Throat and Weed are gonna take your stuff to the clubhouse right now. When are you guys gonna set it up?"
"Whenever you say Gino....late in the morning would be fine." I said.
"Ok, that's good, be there around 3:00."
"In the afternoon?"
He laughed and said,
"Bro, that's as "morning" as I get."
Turns out, bikers and musicians keep similar hours.
The house lights had come up and the place was emptying out quickly.
Even inside the bar, you could hear the roar of numerous Harley's cranking up and performing their obligatory fifteen minute warm up that you could feel in your chest.
Gretchen was standing beside me at the stage where I had retreived my guitars as Gino came up.
"C'mon little girl, we'll follow you home."
Gretchen looked at him and then, looked at me.
"I'm taking him home with me." she said.
"No you're not." he growled, looking at me with a, less than friendly expression.
"Yes I am Gino, I don't wanna hear your shit either."
Side Note:
I had just seen several thousands of dollars of our equipment ride off into the night destined for God knows where in the possession of the Hell's friggin' Angels and NOW....NOW...the behemoth in charge of the situation was getting pissed at me because his little sister wanted to take me home.
Why ME Lord?
Suddenly, he dropped the biker persona as he got close to her and led her by the arm a few feet away.
Evidently, Sasquatch had learned to whisper in a freakin' saw mill because I could hear him quite clearly.
"Gretch....you can't take him to Mom's house! You know she ain't gonna go for that!" he pleaded.
"Mom's in Florida Gino and I'm takin' him home." pointing to me.
He just shook his big old shaggy head and then, re-assuming his biker persona, turned to walk out.
I watched him walk away until he got to the front door and turned.
"Three o'clock bro." he growled.
"I'll be there." I said.
Gretchen and I walked to the almost empty parking lot.
"You want to come to my place?" she asked.
"Anywhere short of hell....yeah." I said.
We agreed that I would follow her in my car.
I realized, after fifteen minutes or so, that we were headed for Seabrook Island, miles away from my place on James Island. We were heading for the land of, as my buddy John C. says...."People What's Got Money"!
A few minutes later, we pulled into a gated community and wound our way down towards the ocean. We pulled into the driveway of a very nice two story house not fifty yards off the Atlantic.
I got out of my car as she was getting out of hers.
"Let's go to the beach!" she said.
I followed her.
We reached the sandy beach as the waves pounded in.
She sat down on the beach and, of course, I followed suit.
We must have sat there for an hour or so during which time I learned that she was not a "biker chick" at all. She was a college student at the University of South Carolina marine biology school. Her family was very 'well to do' and that Gino was the proverbial "Black Sheep" of the family.
He had already been convicted of, and done time, for murder, AND was presently under indictment for two additional murders as well as conspiracy and racketeering.
Jeez...........salt of the friggin' earth huh?
Needless to say.....I really didn't give a shit about Gino's rap sheet but....I had to listen intently so as to insure that, once she had spilled her guts....I WOULD indeed, get laid again.
Hey.....I was a "giver".
To Be Continued....
Back to the tale.....
As promised, a veritable hoard of black leather clad hairy dudes made short work of loading out our equipment. I suggested that we leave the lights and special effects stuff since we were just doing a one night stand.
Gino stared me down for a minute or two.
"Bro....it's Gretchen's fuckin' birthday party." he growled.
Gino could have been a friggin' vetriloquist because, I swear, his lips never even twitched as he spoke. Of course,..... my eyes were glued on his right hand as it hovered menacingly near the big shiny pistol on his hip but still......I don't think his lips ever moved.
"You're right Gino...what the hell was I thinkin'? Nothing's too good for Gretchen." I said.
"Fuckin' A bro." he said. (turns out....bikers say that alot!)
Gino bellowed for a person by the name of "Guthro" and shortly, yet another bearded black clad hairy dude came walking up to where we stood.
Gino introduced us and I shook his paw.
"Good to meet you Guthro." I said innocently.
Jeez...the guy actually growled like a freakin' Rottweiller and jerked his hand away violently. With his left hand, he lifted up his bushy beard and with his right hand, pointed to a tattoo on his NECK!
You know.....on that really tender part around your Adam's Apple......
Damn...it made my rectum twitch at the very thought of undergoing THAT ordeal!
Imagine my embarassment as I, for the first time in my life, actually read another man's neck.
I had indeed, it turns out, committed a serious, albiet inadvertent faux pas......the hirsute gentleman's name was definately, NOT 'Guthro'".
Yep...right there in India black and dripping blood red ink, I could see it clearly.....
This insane lookin' hairy dude's name was ACTUALLY.....
"Cut Throat"
Now I'm certain Miss Manners could have offered a better way out of this breech of biker etiquette but....all I could think to say was.
"Nice Tat dude."
He wasn't expecting that but, then again.... neither was I but.... I've always been quick with my mouth in sticky situations. It's a survival skill which has served me well through the years.
"What did you call me?" he demanded.
Bold as brass, I never even blinked and said.
"Cut Throat" I said quickly but, I made it come out as a slurred, choppy "Cuh-Throw" thus introducing a degree of doubt into his obviously feeble mind.
He looked like a big old hairy puppy hearing one of those high pitched whistles they advertise in the Sunday supplements.
He wasn't quite sure if I had insulted him or not.
Not wanting to let it go, he growled.
"It's 'Cut Throat' bro."
"Listen man...I laid my Sportster down and the handle bar caught me in the throat. Sometimes my words come out funny." I said indignantly.
Even though I had never been on a Harley in my life, I added....
"My Ole Lady died in that one bro."
He thought about that for a second, gave me a sincere look and offered his right hand in one of those patented biker hand shakes.
"Been there bro. We're cool."
Gino had been watching this exchange and gave me a look which told me that he, Gino, wasn't buying my bullshit but, was satisfied that Mr. Cut Throat had.
"Cut Throat and Weed are gonna take your stuff to the clubhouse right now. When are you guys gonna set it up?"
"Whenever you say Gino....late in the morning would be fine." I said.
"Ok, that's good, be there around 3:00."
"In the afternoon?"
He laughed and said,
"Bro, that's as "morning" as I get."
Turns out, bikers and musicians keep similar hours.
The house lights had come up and the place was emptying out quickly.
Even inside the bar, you could hear the roar of numerous Harley's cranking up and performing their obligatory fifteen minute warm up that you could feel in your chest.
Gretchen was standing beside me at the stage where I had retreived my guitars as Gino came up.
"C'mon little girl, we'll follow you home."
Gretchen looked at him and then, looked at me.
"I'm taking him home with me." she said.
"No you're not." he growled, looking at me with a, less than friendly expression.
"Yes I am Gino, I don't wanna hear your shit either."
Side Note:
I had just seen several thousands of dollars of our equipment ride off into the night destined for God knows where in the possession of the Hell's friggin' Angels and NOW....NOW...the behemoth in charge of the situation was getting pissed at me because his little sister wanted to take me home.
Why ME Lord?
Suddenly, he dropped the biker persona as he got close to her and led her by the arm a few feet away.
Evidently, Sasquatch had learned to whisper in a freakin' saw mill because I could hear him quite clearly.
"Gretch....you can't take him to Mom's house! You know she ain't gonna go for that!" he pleaded.
"Mom's in Florida Gino and I'm takin' him home." pointing to me.
He just shook his big old shaggy head and then, re-assuming his biker persona, turned to walk out.
I watched him walk away until he got to the front door and turned.
"Three o'clock bro." he growled.
"I'll be there." I said.
Gretchen and I walked to the almost empty parking lot.
"You want to come to my place?" she asked.
"Anywhere short of hell....yeah." I said.
We agreed that I would follow her in my car.
I realized, after fifteen minutes or so, that we were headed for Seabrook Island, miles away from my place on James Island. We were heading for the land of, as my buddy John C. says...."People What's Got Money"!
A few minutes later, we pulled into a gated community and wound our way down towards the ocean. We pulled into the driveway of a very nice two story house not fifty yards off the Atlantic.
I got out of my car as she was getting out of hers.
"Let's go to the beach!" she said.
I followed her.
We reached the sandy beach as the waves pounded in.
She sat down on the beach and, of course, I followed suit.
We must have sat there for an hour or so during which time I learned that she was not a "biker chick" at all. She was a college student at the University of South Carolina marine biology school. Her family was very 'well to do' and that Gino was the proverbial "Black Sheep" of the family.
He had already been convicted of, and done time, for murder, AND was presently under indictment for two additional murders as well as conspiracy and racketeering.
Jeez...........salt of the friggin' earth huh?
Needless to say.....I really didn't give a shit about Gino's rap sheet but....I had to listen intently so as to insure that, once she had spilled her guts....I WOULD indeed, get laid again.
Hey.....I was a "giver".
To Be Continued....
posted by Rantin' Ron | 7:14 PM
11 Comments:
You're just like the damn TV, always stop at the best parts for the commericals......
Hah..."and now a word from our sponsors".
Sorry, early bedtime last night. I'll try and do better.
Thanks Ron may you rant on. I am from West Virginia originally and spent some time at Ft Bragg while doing that Army thang back when I was young, horny and womanizing. Now I am old, still horny but I have a wonderful wife of over twenty five years with children who call me grandpa.
Ron, some people have an aura that surrounds them. It acts like a magnet, attracting certain types of creatures. My aura attracts every stray cat and dog in a 20 mile radius. They all come to live at my house. Your aura seems to attract...CRAZY DRUNK CHICKS AND HOMICIDAL MANIACS! Oh, Ron, I guess you've lived a charmed life!
I LOVE these stories. I don't mind the cliffhanger endings at all.
Alnot...thanks for dropping in. Sounds like you raised a little hell too.
Rocky....you nailed it darlin'...of course, as the old saying plainly states.."When you lay down with dogs...etc."
Drinkin', drugs, partying and LIVING in bars pretty much guarantees you're gonna run into some crazies. What the hell, it was alot of fun.
Keeper...I love ya' girl. Thanks for the kind words.
Have you heard from Teresa? I haven't. Hope she's alright.
Libby....I enjoy your blog as well. The "cliff hangers" are not designed that way intentionally...I just can't stay awake long enough to finish the damn things!!
Ron, you are TOO COOL!! Anyone would love the way you van spin a tale!! Love it.
Yep, seen hell, smelled like hell and glad to have come home alive from it. I was sent to advise some hillbillys half a world away and we got along great. They hated communists even more than I did. Sorry I guess I fall under the homicidal maniac catagory although I have yet to kill anyone as a civilian. Still there is always a first time for everything.
Joe Rose..thank you sir. I'm glad you enjoy my life tragedies!!
Alnot...WTF?
Two words..."seek help".
LOL Thanks Ron! You make me laugh. I am nice to people who make me laugh. I got help but I am stubborn and learned a black emergency room/graveyard sense of Yuma.
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