THE GROUPIE FROM HELL...Part II

I wished like hell I knew how to change the order of my posts! My last story took FIVE installments to get finished and I had people reading the damned thing "back to front". What a concept!

Hell, it might be better that way...I don't know.

Anyway.....back to our story..........

Everyone within earshot of the bar was "losing it".

Just watching Lisa stalk off was hilarious!

She got halfway through the room, bumped into a huge bald headed old dude seated at a table, and staggered to a semi-stop.

Placing her hands on her hips, she did that wierd "black chick neck thing" and said,

"Ohhhh no.....you ain't gotta chance at this motherfucker! I'm HIS!" she screeched.

Like a crazy assed, gash mouthed, Uncle Sam poster, the demented bitch was pointin' directly at me.

I was friggin' mortified. I just wanted it to stop.

All I could think was...

Why ME God? Why does this crazy shit always happen to me? It really does you know.

Well, the big old bald dude immediatly turned to look at me. He slowly got up looking PISSED and started toward me.

I gave him a sheepish, "What the hell did I do" look.

John hopped off his barstool and rushed to stand between us.

"Sir, you'ins gotta forgive Ron's "Ole Lady". She just got out 'da hospital the other day. You'ins seen her face did'nt ya?" he scrunched up his face at the very thought of it.

Unfazed, the old dude still looked pissed.

"Come on man...have a heart!!" John walked over and placed his hand on the big man's shoulder.

"Mister..... Ron's 'lil boy perished in that acci-dent" he was actually wiping away an imaginary tear.

John turned and shot me sly grin. He was looking proud of himself... as though he'd settled the matter.

I was ready to kill the little prick.

Believe it or not, the old guy was STILL pissed off!

Side Note:

Now, I ask you...What kind of prick could still be pissed off at a poor guy like me who had, allegedly, just lost a son and GAINED.....a hideously disfigured "Ole Lady"?

A big old Yankee prick....that's who!

I digress.....

Unimpressed by my recent, albeit fictitous, personal tragedy, the Yankee got LOUD as, of course, Yankees will do every now and so often.

Sorry...another side note here:

Have ya'll ever noticed how a Yankee can whisper, "I love you" and somehow, it comes out sounding more like....

"Why doncha go FAWK urself ya fawkin' Jag-awv?"

Yeah...me too....maybe it's an "inflection" deal. Hell, I don't know.

Sorry....back to the infuriated Yankee bastard old dude.

"I wanna see the manager and I wanna see him right fawkin' NOW!" (it's hard to type in Yankee-ese folks but, I'm tryin'.)

I spoke up.

"Listen mister, that woman ain't my "Ole Lady" and you've got no call to get all crazy about it anyway. The poor girl's drunk.Why don't you sit back down and finish your meal?"

See? I can do diplomatic.

"How 'bout if I kick your fawkin' ass ya fawkin' Jag-awv?" he was screaming now.

In the midst of this guy's tirade, John speaks up.....AGAIN.

Kill me now.

"Sir, 'scuse me a second, I hate to interupt, I truly do but,...... what the fuck is a "Jag-awv"? John asked.

I swear, the old man looked as though he was gonna have a stroke when he turned to John and told him to stay out of it.

Not one to be deterred by good sense, John put on a pained expression.

"Sir....I'm jus' tryin' to get all this shit straight for the po-lice report. I'm a profesh-nal journ-list and enquirin' minds has GOT to know....what in the name of hell is a Jag-awv?"

"Fawk you!" the old dude was trembling now.

John, not missing a beat, adopted a beligerent demeanor and, with a straight face said,

"No sir!! Fuck You'ins!"

Everyone in the place was roaring with laughter and applauding John's performance.

Of course, John was eating it up. He was definately in his element.

My head was about to explode!

I was witnessing a "Clash of Cultures" right before my eyes as John strolled back to his barstool like Clarence friggin' Darrow closing a case.

We were all howling at John's antics.

Everyone except George.

Ole George finished his Crown and ginger, carefully placed his glass down on the bar, got off his bar stool and walked slowly over to where the old guy was standing.

"Who the fawk are you?" Yankee man asked.

Did I mention that George had a pathelogical hatred for anyone bigger than himself especially if they possessed a big mouth?

And.... did ya'll know by chance, that George ALSO hated Yankees?

Oh yeah....the shit was ON!

We had all seen it before so... pretty much, we just settled in to watch the show.

George was a good foot shorter, 100 lbs lighter and, not much younger than the Yankee guy but George was in good shape for his age.

Well...if you took away all the heavy drinkin' till four in the morning every night, the smoking of two packs a day and of course, the crappy food he ate all the time....George was in great shape....for his lifestyle.

Aw shit.... the truth is that George was all to hell... but.... he looked great, carried multiple weapons, could fight like a miniature Chuck Norris and was a MEAN little fucker when provoked.

Evidently, George was sufficiently provoked.

"Sir...I'm the owner of this establishment. How may I help you?" he asked politely.

The mad Yankee relaxed a bit.

"Did you see what just happened?"

"Yes sir I did." George said.

"Well, what are you gonna do about it?"

George gave him a wicked smile.

"I'm gonna give you two minutes to pay your check, tip your waitress well and get the fuck out of here."

"And if I don't?" the old Yankee guy asked.

George smiled and pulled out a big assed pistol from the back of his jeans.

"Listen asshole, you're in the mountains of North fawkin' Carolina...I've got a legal gotdamned right to shoot your fat ass just 'cause you talk funny!"

The man started to say something when, all of the sudden, he crumpled to his knees.

Standing there, with a beer mug in her hand stood Lisa.

I swear....I ain't making this shit up.

While the poor old cranky Yankee dude was struggling to regain his wits and his wife was trying to help him, crazy assed Lisa just stood there, holding a beer mug.....smiling that hideous smile.

After a second or two she looked at me and said. And I quote......

"I don't like him!" looking down at the groggy Yankee man.

"I like YOU Ron....are you gonna play me some more songs?"

John looked at me and said, with a deadpan grin.

"Damn son, I believe it's time for you'ins to pick a gotdamn tune."

To Be Continued.... Again.

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THE GROUPIE FROM HELL

In a comment regarding my last story, Rocky jokingly said that she was now my "groupie". Of course, Rocky was being funny and, thankfully, complimentory.

I am extremely flattered that she or ANYONE bothers to read my drivel.

However, her remark reminded me of a time, not so long ago....maybe seven years or so, when I had an encounter with...

"THE GROUPIE FROM HELL".

Let me preface this by making the following statement:

ANY person who has EVER played music long enough in public has had admirers, fans, hangers on, followers, sychophants, and yes....even groupies.

It is not so much a testament to the talent, appearance, sexual magnetism or image of the musician but rather, the by-product, I believe, of the absence of a life, respect for the ability carry a friggin' tune and, the consumption of drugs and/or alcohol that allows even half assed musicians to gain a following.

In any case, in the interest of full disclosure, I must say that, while I was never, "THE SHIT".....I WAS, at the very least, "THE SHIT'S" second cousin. I was pretty damned good.

I made a nice living, had a lot of fun, got to know alot of people (women) and did it for almost thirty years.

I said all of that just to say this.

While I DO have a massive ego, I'm not delusional enough to believe I was ever worthy of the adoration I received from.............

"THE GROUPIE FROM HELL"

First, allow me to set the stage for this tale.

Damn, this could be another LONG one.

For over four years, I played almost every weekend and the occasional week night at a restaurant and bar in Banner Elk, NC called Nick's.

Almost anyone who has visited the North Carolina ski area has probably been to Nick's a time or twelve.

It was a fun place to play, mainly because of a close knit group of local regulars we called "The Golden Liver Club". We even had gold plastic membership cards made up for our elite group.

We didn't allow just anyone into our club. You had to be a serious drinker, possess the ability to tell a good joke and be willing to buy a round of drinks at least once a week. It was a pretty small but loyal group of charactors.

Another wonderful aspect of playing at Nick's was the fact that I had a brand new audience almost every week due to the influx of skiers (ski bunnies) in the winter, Leaf Gawkers (beautiful women in tight fitting sweaters) in the fall and of course, tourists (scantily clad women) escaping the heat in the summer.

What a gig!

Lastly.....there was George, the owner of Nick's. He was and is, a great friend. He was a true charactor.

Picture a fifty-ish, fiesty little Leprechaun who would just as soon shoot you in the ass as he would stay up all night drinking with you.

Women LOVED the cocky little little bastard...hell, they still do. I could and probably will write a long story about George in the near future.

Lord the brain cells we put to death together "back in the day".

On with the tale........

One summer night, I was in the middle of playing a set when a very large group of people came in. I could see the wait staff hustling to put several tables together so as to accomodate the small mob. They were pretty loud and obviously, a few of them were not fixin' to have their first drink of the evening. Some of 'em were already sloshed.

Much to my displeasure, the wait staff had chosen to put them directly in front of me, about midway in the big room. Thirty or so men and women in various states of inebriation forty feet away.

This could be a long night.

I Wished I Was Dead.

As I finished up the tune, "Amy", by Pure Prairie League, the audience applauded but the new arrivals exploded!

Jeez, they startled the shit out of everyone in the joint!

You'de have thought someone scored a friggin' touchdown on TV but, there were no TV's.

A big guy came up to the stage with a big grin on his face.

"Lisa told us all 'bout you so, we all came up to listen at you play some tunes."

"Well great man...glad to have ya'll here. I'm Ron."

I shook his hand, took a big chug of beer, lit a cigarette and waited for him to leave.

Of course....he stayed.

"Yeah, my name is B0." he said.

"Nice to meet you Bo but I need to get back to work, I'll talk to you later."

I began to pretend to tune my guitar listening intently to each string. Hoping against hope that he would beat a hasty retreat.

The old, "dedicated musician tuning his instrument" ploy had worked a thousand times before.

Of course......he stayed.

"You know, she 'gon be here purty soon I 'spect. She's always late."

"Who's SHE?" I asked innocently.

"Lisa, I done tolt you before, Lisa sent us." he seemed a bit irritated.

I knew a few Lisa's but none who would send a gaggle of bumpkins to hear me play. One of the Lisa's I knew might have sent a hit man but certainly not a bunch of admirers of my questionable talent.

"What's Lisa's last name?" I was trying to be polite and, of course, I was pretty curious now.

He gave me the ole RCA Victor Dog look. His big ole shaggy head cocked to one side with a goofy George Bush grimace on his face.

"I'm a talkin' 'bout Lisa Cooney man, you'ins know Lisa." he was exasperated.

Did I mention that he was tall, half drunk, stoned or both and, oh yeah....BIG?

So.......I decided to put this thing to rest with an Oscar quality performance.

"Oh....LISA COONEY! Sure, I know her. Nice lady. Sorry, my mind is a million miles away tonight dude what with all the troubles over in Equador."

"What's goin' on in Equador?" he asked.

"You know, the revolution. See, my uncle Juan Valdez is the dictator down there, and everyone's tryin' to kill him.... I'm just all to hell over it." I said.

He cracked me up by giving me a truly sincere look.

"No shit?....damn son, I'm sorry to hear 'bout that."

I told him I needed to get back to work and thankfully, he returned to his table.

Before I could start another song, a waitress came over with a fresh beer and some sort of drink.

"The lady in the red shirt at the end of that table bought it for you. She said to tell you that Lisa is here."

"What's in the glass?" I asked.

"It's a Vodka Kamakazi, just like you like 'em." she smiled.

I looked over to the table and there she was.....a woman I HAD actually met before but had never really talked to.

She was easy to remember because she was about six feet tall, big boned and looked like a cross between Martina Navrotalova and a bleached blonde Greta Van Sustern, complete with the whole lopside mouth thing going on. Her mouth looked more like a nasty gash than a mouth.

She was just plain scary looking.

I raised the Kamakazi, looked at her and gave her the universal,

"Thanks for the drink and please, dear God don't come over here" look. Ya'll know that look...we've all used it before although, to my knowledge, it NEVER works.

Didn't work this time either.

I'll be damned if she didn't hurry up to the stage, climb the two steps and give me a huge hug followed by a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Thank the Lord for small blessings.

Jeez what a hideous mouth.

"I told you I'd come see you soon. I brought some of my friends and family with me." she gushed.

"You told me?" I didn't recall ever saying more than "hi there" to her before.

"Sure I did, remember when I came to the studio? You, Teddy and that other guy were recording?"

Well, it was true.

She had come over with Teddy's wife and, I remember that she was absolutely snockered!

She kept telling me over and over again how great I was. How wonderful my songs were and, now that I remembered it.... she was really coming on to me. A lot of double entendre remarks which made me uneasy.

She was not my type but....apparently, I was hers.

Finally, I persuaded her to leave me alone and finished the set.

After every song, her table went wild.

DURING every song, she stared a freakin' hole through me while smiling that demonic gash mouthed smile.

It was more like a pained grimace masquerading as it was a smile but....you get my point.

When I got through, I quickly put my guitar on the stand, stepped off the little stage and grabbed Rachel, a friend of mine and a waitress who happened to be walking by.

I told her I wanted her to kiss me. Quick!

"Hey big boy....we've already tried that don't you think?" she asked. She was referring to a brief encounter we had during which it was mutally decided that we would be better off being good friends than bad lovers.

"You'll be saving my ass. The big amazon woman with the red shirt is out to get me. I've gotta nip this shit in the bud....now."

She hugged me around the neck and planted a long slow kiss on my mouth. I remember thinking that maybe we'd been a bit too hasty in our previous decision.

I put my arm around her waist and together, we walked into the other room where the restaurant and main bar was located. I thanked Rachel for saving my ass and sat down at the bar with George and a maniac named John C.

I sat down beside George and ordered another Kamakazi, lit a cigarette and nodded at John who was seated to George's right.

Side Note:

John was a thiry-ish ex tennis bum who had gotten a bit plump. Until recently, he had been a career college student who had been tossed out of several schools over the years only to finish up his so-called education at our local diploma mill, Lees McRae College or, as the locals called it, "L.M.C" (last motherfuckin' chance).

John's father was loaded and owned the local newspaper at the time. As luck would have it, John had recenty been given the job as the paper's sportswriter. We were all shocked that John had landed such a great position just out of college.

Shocked I tell you.

The goofy little dude still lived in his parent's house, drove a car his daddy owned and was terrified of his parents.

He looked like a cross between John Lovitz and Jack Black.

He was a friggin' genius but had an annoying habit of wearing what he referred to as "outfits".

He would come in almost every night and ask...

"How ya'll like ma outfit?" the son of bitch would ask it with a straight face.

"John....MEN don't wear fuckin' outfits! We wear gotdamn clothes." George would holler. "You come in here one more fuckin' time showin' off your gotdamn OUTFIT in MY gotdamn bar and I'm shootin' your faggot ass!"

John would always look at him like a hurt puppy.

"George, if I was a faggot, legally, you be s'posed to call me a homosexual. 'Course, I'd be a country queer so, youin's could call me a "Homer-sexual" but, sadly for you, I don't go that way."

Every night, the same silly shit back and forth between the two.

Ok...back to the tale.......

"Howdy brother Ron....who's the girl up 'ere kissin' ya all over ya face?" he was grinning like possum.

"Screw you John"

George grinned and looked at John.

"Yeah John, ole Guitar Boy here's got him a live one tonight."

"Fuck you George."

"Well damn Ron....she's lookin' purty good from where I'm sittin'. Hell I'd do her right ch'ere on the bar."

George and I cracked up. Fact is, John probably would have done just that.

"J.C., have you seen her up close? Man she looks like somebody didn't get the hook set right and it ripped her face clear to the gill." George said.

John looked up and said.....

"Well bless her heart.....I'll bet that poor ole gal could use a dose of ole John's sexual healin 'bout raht now. I'm a special needs care giver you know."

I thought I'd die laughing. That was John in a nutshell.
I was just beginning to relax when someone ran their hand through my hair from behind.

"Hey there Ron."

Awwww MAN!

Yep, it was her alright.

Standing there with that spooky, lopsided so-called smile.

Remembering my manners, I spun around on the bar stool.

"Hey girl. What are you up to tonight?" I asked.

She was wobbling a bit.

"I'm jus' having a couple of drinks and waiting for you to get back in there to sing me some songs."

She was trying to pull off the classic, "I'm trying not to sound drunk" thing.

Unfortunately, she was also trying to pull off the whole, "I'm not hideously disfigured" thing but.....she wasn't gettin' it done. Lord she was rough.

Just then, she sort of stumbled and fell against me.

"Don't you think you might ought to sit down and have a cup of coffee or something?" I asked.

She took a couple of steps back, shot me an evil grin and said.........

"Oh.....you think I'm drunk? Well, watch this!"

Without warning, she slammed her drink down on a nearby table, hitched up her skirt and performed a slow, backward flip.

I had to hand it to her........she nailed it.

The place erupted.

People were hootin' and hollerin' like the freakin' rodeo had come to town.

Did I mention that she was wearing a very short skirt which was now bunched up around her waist?

Oh yeah, she also forgot to wear panties.

The crowd went wild.

Lisa basked in her accomplishment.

After a few minutes, an older lady seated near by motioned for her to pull her skirt back down.

Lisa pulled her skirt down, picked up her drink and strutted back to the bar.

"What do you think about that?" she snapped.

Before I could formulate a thought, George spoke up.

"Darlin', you might wanna trim that sumbitch ever so often. Some of these boys carry guns and that thing looks like a 'coon caught in the fork of a fuckin' tree."

I thought I would collapse.

Not to be outdone, John piped up.

"Sugar, maybe you could get somebody to transplant them hairy lips up 'ere on your poor face. 'Course you'de have to learn to handle a razor but still......"

George and I were damn near crying.

John looked at us with an innocent grin.

"Well.....they could probably fix that shit is all I'm sayin'"

People were spitting drinks all over the bar. George and I were slapping each other on the back. Everyone was howling.

Lisa gave us all a big, "screw you" look and marched back to her table.

Just to cap it off, John said....

"Well shit...I try to help the poor ole girl and ya'll start actin' all crazy!"

I couldn't breath.

To Be Continued..........

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The Double L Club And Me....The End!

I seem to be making a career out of this one story!

Some folks like the serial nature of this tale....others, such as the ever delicate JackieSue of Yellowdog Granny fame simply says, "Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck"! Damn that gal can turn a phrase!

Back To The Story....

Ok....there I am being confronted by Stephie as the room begins to fill with Lesbians and Cops. Stephie looks like something the dog puked up. Man, she was no ravin' beauty before this but, she was all to hell now!

She was wearing a ripped up, blood stained white shirt, bloody, soaking wet jeans and had her right arm in one of those air cast contraptions. Her short blonde/gray hair was, as my Granny used to say, all over her head.

Childhood flashback: "Where else should her hair be Granny?" Slap!!

Frannie was screaming at the cops to make Stephie get away from us and leave us alone. US? What the hell? All of a sudden Frannie and I are an US?

The Lesbians were talking all at once about God knows what. Hell, it sounded like one giant hum to me.

The cops were hollering for everyone to quiet down which, of course made things much quieter. Sure it did.

I decided that I had endured all I was going to take.

My plan was simple....I was going to work my way through the crowd, slide behind Stephie (who was standing just inside the door), make it to the hallway and get lost. Sure, I couldn't go home because of the ice and snow but, I sure could get away from these crazy people. At least for a little while.

As I worked my way through the crowd, nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to me. I manuevered behind Stephie and was just entering the hallway when a nuclear weapon detonated, wiping out civilization for miles around.

Ok, you got me. Surely ya'll would have read about a bomb wiping out the ski capitol of North Carolina! So........ I'm lyin'.

What really happened is that an approximately five pound antique lamp from the "Really Heavy Shit" dynasty literally exploded into the back of my, well documented, "fuckin' head".

As I lurched into the hallway, I was amazed that I didn't go down and... I'm damned glad I didn't because, as I spun around, there she stood. The Lesbianator was holding a bent and shattered lamp. She had a terrifying look on her face.

Dear God, she wasn't done with me!

Now, I had never hit a woman in my life but, at this point, alone in the hall with Stephie, I called an impromtu meeting with my morals and they decided to grant me a waiver on this one. If she came near me again, I was gonna drill this crazy bitch right between the eyes with my best shot.

As she began to come at me again, one of the male cops came up behind her and, of course, screamed....

"FREEZE"!!

Does that shit EVER work?

Before the dude could get the "Z" out of his mouth, Stephie hurled the lamp at me.

My hands flew up to guard my face and "fuckin' head" which, in keeping with spirit of the entire evening, was precisley the wrong thing to do.

Have you ever had a five pound antique lamp from the "Really Heavy Shit" dynasty chunked into your shin? Not tossed, thrown, slung or lobbed but CHUNKED?

If Randy Johnson had been witnessing this event, he would have been shamed by this crazy bitches' left handed, low hard one.

Miraculously, all of a sudden, my head no longer hurt a bit. Not even a twinge.

However, the noggin' pain was quickly replaced by a degree of pain I had not experienced since I blew out a knee. Oh Sweet Jesus, make it stop!!

I went to the floor, completely "ass over tea kettle", screaming like a small girl child.

I didn't give a cup full of shit who heard me.

Thankfully, they finally subdued Stephie but no one had managed to shut her up.

"He broke my lamp! He broke my fuckin' lamp!" she screamed.

I took time out of my agony to look up in amazement... just in time to hear Wayne (the idiot cop) say, and I quote....

"Don't worry ma'am, he'll pay for it."

I wanted to get up and kill that little prick but I couldn't imagine even trying to get on my feet just yet. My leg felt like it was broken in two and I was praying that I would pass out till this whole night was over.

Of course, I ain't that lucky.

Two EMS guys came over to check on me. One was checking out the bump on the back of my head while the other guy was turning my leg this way and that to see if, indeed, it was broken. It wasn't.

"We gon haf to get some ice on this thang. You'ins got much pain?" EMS #1 asked.

"Dude...I've got a fuckin' PATENT on pain! You want some?" I said.

He looked at me and chuckled...

"Yeah buddy, I reckon that bad boy IS singin' purty good right now.....look at that thang.... You'ins want a shot?"

"Like a dog wants to lick his balls."

"Are you'ins 'lergic to anything?"

"Other than freakin' unbearable agony? Nope, not a thing. Hit me with your best shit."

To this day, the EMS dude, Ernie, is in my damned will! We exchange friggin' Christmas cards.

Within seconds, I was laid back against the wall asking old Ernie all about his wife and kids. We were almost to the part where he whips out the wallet to show me pictures when..... idiot cop Wayne walks over.

Apparently, morphine doesn't even touch pains in the ass 'cause.....there he was.

"Ron, the owner wants to press charges on all ya'll."

"Why the hell would Franny want to press charges?" I couldn't believe my ears.

He laughed a bit, spit a stream of tobacco into a 16 ounce Mountain Dew bottle he was holding in his right hand.

"She ain't the owner pardner.....SHE is." he pointed a long boney finger down the hall.

Dear God In Heaven!

He was pointing at Stephie.

She was sitting on the floor with a cop on either side of her. One of which was the female cop from Hell.

For the entire insane evening, I had been under the impression that Franny owned the house. Didn't ya'll? She acted like it was her place. She even looked like she owned the joint. Right?

"Son, she can charge you with anything she wants to and we're gonna have to lock you up until you make bail....could be Monday morning till you're out."

Wayne was enjoying the hell out of my predicament.

Stephie was starin' me down like a boxer before a championship bout when I decided to try something.

I made it to my feet with an enormous amount of effort, staggering against the wall. Thankfully, my leg didn't hurt a bit. I've never been a dancer but just then, I could have done a friggin' foxtrot. Hell, I felt great!

Well, I staggered over to Stephie and sat down on the floor beside her.

She was still giving me that Lesbianator stare as she looked at me.....until I said..........

"Stephie, I gotta tell you....I came over here tonight to get laid. Hey...I'm a guy.....it's what we do! Yes, I wanted Frannie but hell, almost any one of you girls would have done. Well... not that short little red head with the nose rings but, pretty much anybody else would have done nicely. I didn't even know you girls were Lesbians and besides Stephie......Franny came on to ME damn it!"

She still had that steely gaze thing going on when she said....

"That's my niece."

"Who's your niece?"

"The red head with the nose rings."

I couldn't believe my sorry luck this night!

"Well....just fuck me to tears Stephie..... if I keep talkin' we just ain't never gonna be friends are we?"

Believe it or not. The Lesbianator started laughing. A little at first but soon, she and I were laughing our asses off. We couldn't quit.

People were looking at us like we were nuts but, we couldn't stop laughing to save our asses.

Finally, Stephie looked at me and said,

"Franny is straight you know." she said.

"Then why the hell is she calling you her partner?"

"Because I want her to be. We've been living together for three months now and she hasn't even let me touch her. All she does is spend my money and tease me. She says she's thinking about it."

She was crying now.

"Thinkin' about what?" I asked.

The pain in her face was real....this poor chick was going through a self inflicted hell and suddenly, I felt bad for her.

"She says that she's thinking about whether she wants to try it or not." she said.

"Try WHAT? Spending all your money? Taking over your house? Flirting with a dumb ass musician? Driving you crazy? Damn woman, she ain't trying shit! She's doing it!" I was on a bonafide rant.

"Stephie, what you oughta do is tell the girl to pack up her Cruise Missile dildo and hit the fuckin' road!"

I swear, she looked at me and starting laughing again.

"Did you SEE that friggin' thing?" she asked.

"See it? Hell, I'll never get that picture out of my head!"

She leaned over and asked me a question that was forever etched in my memory.

"Is your dick that big?"

"Damn girl, I don't think my dick is as big as the fuckin' battery that runs that sumbitch!"

She fell over into my arms laughing like crazy. We were both laughing our fool heads off.

Since no one could go ANYWHERE till morning, we ALL stayed there that night.

The cops decided it was best if everyone retired for the rest of the night.

It was somewhere around 4:00 am and the cop in charge said that there would not be a snow plow clearing the road until at least nine o'clock or so....we might as well relax.

As per usual that night, the cops didn't run anything but their mouths!

What proceeded was the damndest party I've ever seen!

The cops and EMS staff were shown to the guest house where they promptly crashed I suppose.

Frannie stayed in her room, never to be seen again while Stephie, me and twenty Lipstick Lesbians spent the rest of the night with me playing guitar and everyone drinkin', snortin', smokin' and bitchin' about how women will screw you everytime.

After the snow plow came and cleared the road, I was heading out to my car when Stephie yelled at me.

I put my guitar in the car, started the engine and climbed back out.

Stephie reached out to shake my hand. I did the same and she passed me a wad of bills.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to get paid but....I'd say I earned it."

She grinned at me and said....

"I'm sending Franny and her Cruise Missile down the hill. I thought about what you said and I'm tired of her shit. I figure you saved me a lot of money and well, I was pretty hard on you."

She gave me a big hug after which, I climbed in the car and headed back down the mountain. It wasn't until I got home that I counted the money she gave me.

There were fifteen one hundred dollar bills and Stephie's business card with a note on the back.

It read........"Call me".

Good Lord....kill me now!!

Thankfully, I never saw her or The Lipstick Lesbians again.

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The Double L Club And Me....Part IV

The Plot thickens....

As we left our hero...ME...I was lying face down on a sheet of ice and snow in the middle of a Lesbian couple's driveway with six pistols aimed at my "fuckin' head". (I must actually possess a "fuckin' head" because, every single cop on the scene said so.....REPEATEDLY!)

Stephie was lying on the ice, whimpering like a puppy while repeating over and over again.

"Don't let him kill me. He tried to kill me."

As I lay on a solid sheet of ice wondering how I got myself into this pathetic situation, I heard Franny's voice calling out in the cold mountain night."Don't shoot, don't shoot!!"

Franny stood between my prostrate body and the police while continously screaming at them to not kill me. Believe me, the gesture was greatly appreciated even though, I blamed her for every damned bit of this crazy shit.

Things calmed down a bit from there as the cops carefully approached the scene. The EMS types tended to Stephie as I was frisked, cuffed and told to get on my feet. With a great deal of effort, given the ice on the driveway and, of course, the additional degree of difficulty introduced into the equation by having my hands shackled behind my back, I finally made it to an upright position. (If a fella's lucky he don't get to practice that shit very often).

Suddenly, twenty or so Lesbians flocked to the scene, each one telling the cops that I was innocent of any wrong doing. Five of the cops relaxed a bit. One of them however, a female officer still had her stainless steel pistol trained steadily on what I had recently come to realize was, of course,..... my "fuckin' head".

Like a card carrying dumbass, I asked the big cop holding onto my right bicep, something like,....

"Hey dude, would you ask the lady to point that pistol somewhere else?"

Holy Shiite Muslim! You would have thought I'd said something more like.

"Would you tell that bitch to put down the gun?"

She moved towards me, pistol still trained on my "fuckin' head", screaming at the top of her lungs.

"I am a Law Enforcement Officer!!"

"Yes ma'am, I ain't real bright but even I picked up on that." I said.

"I'm a victim of domestic abuse ASSHOLE and I'd just as soon shoot you as take you in so, you better remember that!"

"Yes ma'am....I can remember that." Hell, she looked like she WANTED to shoot me!

"Officer!!" she screamed, scaring the bejeesus out of me. Her pistol was a foot from my forehead and the barrel looked as big as Hillary Clinton's ass!

I heard her scream "Officer" of course. After all, she was damned near inside my shirt but,..... I thought she was hailing another cop! So.......... I just stood there watching the hole at the end of her pistol getting larger by the freakin' second.

"I said "OFFICER ASSHOLE"!! she screamed.

I thought my head would explode before she even pulled the trigger. Damn......that woman could have won a hog callin' contest with a sore throat! She was LOUD.

Suddenly, I realized she meant that I was supposed to call her "Officer" and cut out the "ma'am" shit. BUT...being the consumate smartass.....I looked towards the group of cops behind her and said.......

"Hey guys....she's callin' ya'll"

Do I need to tell ya'll that this was NOT what she wanted to hear?

She reached around me, grabbed a handful of my longish hair and led me to the backseat of a cruiser. As she was closing the door, she gave a look that would have killed a lesser man.

"It's a long way to the station asshole, you could still get shot."

Now damn it...I can understand her hating me because she believed that I was a woman beater and, to be honest, it DID look bad to someone just arriving on the scene but I was getting really pissed off.

Having lived in this close knit, tiny community for years, I was invisioning the headlines to come in the little, twice a week, newspaper.

"Ron (no last name needed in a town of 800) Arrested For Battery On A Female"

"Local Musician Arrested At Homosexual Sex Party"

"Who Knew Ron Was A Lesbian Battering Monster?"

You know...great shit for your Mom's scrap book.

After ten minutes or so, one of the male cops opened the door and told me to get out of the car. He spun me around gently and removed the cuffs. Just like every cop show you've ever seen, I immediatly began massaging my wrists. Must be human nature like yawning when someone else does so.

Anyhow.....

The big cop told me that the girls had all sworn that I was NOT a woman abuser and that Stephie had started all the trouble. Talk about relief!

Great relief.... UNTIL the next words came out of his mouth.

"Sir, let's get you inside and talk about this a bit. We need your statement."

"Sure officer, no problem." I said.

As we made our way to the front door, I could see the ambulance carrying Stephie beginning to pull back down the driveway. All I could think of was that we were going into a house virtually filled with drugs and illegal liquor!

Well, I thought, at least I'd be going to jail as moonshine drinkin', drug abusing common criminal and NOT an abuser of women. Around these parts, that's a pretty typical Friday night police blotter entry.

I could deal with THAT.

Upon arriving into the living room, I almost passed out with relief. Apparently, when the Double L girls scattered earlier, they had set a land speed record for house cleaning. The place looked as though it was set up for a Sunday afternoon tea party with attractive young ladies sitting before a roaring fire. To a woman, they were fully dressed, perfectly coiffed, sipping coffee and acting as though nothing was wrong. (yes.....I did have to spell check "coiffed".)

Like the idiot I am, I remember thinking....

"Everything's gonna be alright!"

Just about that time, a cop I knew quite well come into the living room. He was, shall we say, named "Wayne". Now Wayne was in his mid 20's, skinny as a rail, a local guy, born and bred....or,... should I say, "inbred"? He made Barney Fife look like Clint friggin' Eastwood!

Suddenly, things didn't look so promising after all.

"Hey Ron....got a little party goin' on here do you?"

"No Wayne, it's a reading club"

"Don't get shitty with me man!"

"Wayne...don't make me tell your Chief about the gun thing." I said.

Side Note: Wayne was hanging out at a bar I played at in Banner Elk, while on duty. The place was packed to the walls with ski tourists and Wayne was showing off his brand new pistol to a group of waitresses when, suddenly, the damn thing flew apart! Pieces of the pistol flew all over the darkened main room.

To this day, some of us who were there at the time call that experience, "Wayne's Baretta Crawl". He NEVER lived down that night and was pissed at anyone who had seen him crawling desperately on his hands and knees trying to put his gun back together while screaming at the top of his lungs.......

"Turn up the lights....I'm a Police officer!!"

However, I digress AGAIN.........Damn....I'm NEVER gonna get this thing told!

Wayne was just about to say something when a set of double doors on the right side of the room flew open. A tall man in a uniform came staggering into the room. He had blood running down his face and was limping badly.

"Call 9-11!!" he yelled.

I looked at Wayne and said........

"Wayne.....I thought you guys WERE 9-11. Ain't he an EMS guy?"

Wayne shot me an angry look and said, "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Again...........I ain't making this up folks..........

The ambulance had gone over a twenty foot drop after losing control on an icy curve going back down the mountain. Apparently, no one was seriously hurt but the ambulance was lying on it's top with Stephie trapped inside screaming her damned fool head off.

Wayne came trotting over and said, "Don't go anywhere...I'll be back."

"Jeez Wayne, a mountain ambulance just crashed...where the hell do you think I'm goin' in my damned Toyota? I'll be right here when you get back."

Once he left, I wandered over to the bar where Franny was seated. She was speaking with a cute litte blonde who promptly left as I walked up.

"I think everything has settle down now." she said.

"Damn girl, you call THIS "settled down?"

"Oh, it'll be alright. Trust me." she smiled at me and reached across the bar to hold my hand.

"You know....all this shit is YOUR fault Franny. How the hell did I get mixed up in all this?" I asked.

"You know why Ron....Why don't you come with me a minute? I want to show you something."

I KNEW that I should ignore her. I felt it in my bones but....unfortunately, the only bone that mattered just then happened to have a head and one unflinching eye!

Naturally, I followed her narrow, well proportioned ass as she slowly walked up an immense rustic log staircase to the second floor.

Reaching the landing, I followed the previously mentioned backside down a long hallway lighted with antique gas lamps. It was actually pretty cool looking but....I don't know...strange.

She opened the door to a bedroom that was as large as the entire ground floor of my house! That sumbitch must have been 1500 square feet!

She turned and kissed me AGAIN! Now damn it, I wasn't well versed on the rules of homosexuality (still ain't) but..... I'm pretty sure that kissing a dude is a no-no for a Lesbian. Call me naive.

After she kissed me, she gave me a sexy grin and said....

"I'm not really a Lesbian you know......look at this."

With that, she reached into the drawer of an ornate nightstand and whipped out an object I shall never be able to forget.

As a Navy veteran, I had seen a Cruise Missle before but, never once had I seen a hand held model in the hands of a beautiful woman!

She began rubbing that monster against her cheeks....both sets.

"You know, we could have some fun while Stephie is gone." she purred.

I looked at her then...... I looked at the Cruise Missile and said.

"Lady, it's no wonder you gave up on men! I've been in hundreds of locker rooms, seen dozens of porno flicks and I've seen myself in the mirror a million times....if that's what you need to get off, I'll just sit back and watch!"

She laughed at started to unbutton her blouse.

She removed her shirt, revealing a black bra and a set of "more-than-ample" boobs. (my tribute to JuneBug)

Before anything else could take place, I heard someone storming down the hallway outside the bedroom door.

Suddenly, the door flew open and there stood Stephie.

Son of a bitch!! The woman was like the friggin' Terminator! She WOULD NOT die.

This broad had broken an arm, survived an ambulance crash and yet, somehow, here she was standing there swaying back and forth screaming at the top of her lungs!

"I'm gonna kill both of you bitches!"

I remember thinking, "Again with the "bitch" thing?... What the hell am I doing wrong? I'm a "bastard" damn it!"

Franny screamed.....hell, maybe it was me, maybe I AM a "bitch"...I don't know but, I do know that suddenly, all hell broke loose!

The room became filled with Lesbians, three or four cops and, of course...ME. Damn it all to hell!

I'm dreading this but.....sorry folks..........it's damn near one a.m. and I've tried like hell to finish this but...it ain't gonna happen tonight. Sorry. More to come tomorrow.

To Be Continued...........

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The Double L Club And Me....Part III

For those of you who may have just stumbled across this blog thanks to blogging stalwarts such as Guyk, Libby, Straight White Guy, Yellowdog Granny and more, I feel compelled to tell you that this is one wierd tale which has been told in chapters. Not intentionally but, hell, life gets in the way and I couldn't finish promptly. So sue me......

Having said THAT...check out the first two installments of "The Double L Club and Me" before reading this one. I would say it will help to make sense of it but.....the truth is it will NEVER make any sense!

Now.....BACK TO THE STORY!

You may recall the words Stephie screamed when last we joined this bizarre tale.

"You fucking bastard...I'm gonna make you my BITCH! Franny's MINE!!"

I pondered that statement for a few seconds while she writhed in pain on the ice.

First, she calls me a bastard and within a fraction of of second, I'm going to be her BITCH? Just how the hell does THAT work? Must be some kind of Lesbian, gender confusion deal but, I distinctly remember trying like crazy to get my puny mind around it.

Suddenly, Franny comes running up screaming at the top of her lungs followed by, oh hell, I don't know.... a dozen or so scantily clad Lesbians who were ALSO screaming like the hounds of hell.

I thought I was gonna be the only man in the history of the world to be lynched by a homosexual mob.

Frankly, I wasn't exactly fired up by the prospect. Call me crazy but........what the hell would my family think?

Much to my surprise and everlasting gratitude, the women were going postal on ole Stephie NOT me!

There IS a God!!!

The scene before me was something out of a friggin' low budget B movie. Half naked women on an icy driveway trying to drop kick another woman with a broken arm through the goal posts of life! Drugs and alcohol aside....this was, what I would call, a surreal occurence in the grand scheme of things.

Now, I'm no hero, but they were kicking the livin' shit out of poor, defenseless Stephie! So.......of course, I went to the rescue of the broken armed Lesbian damsel in distress.

Of course I did.

SIDE NOTE:

Have I mentioned that I've been tested SEVERAL times?

Turns out, I'm a freakin' MORON!!

I digress.........

As I was trying to pull the half naked women off of Stephie, I felt a sudden change in the whole wierd situation....they started attacking ME!

Have you ever heard the phrase, "No good turn goes unpunished?". Well..... it's true.

I was clawed, spit on, punched in the mouth and bitten... TWICE as I tried to save Stephie from being stomped to death and attempting to calm everyone down.

Finally....I miraculously got the girls settled down by the sheer force of my masculinity.

Ok, Ok, damn it.....I'm lyin' like a dog......

What ACTUALLY happened was that THREE police cars AND an ambulance slid to a stop not twenty feet from us. They came in with sirens wailing, lights flashing and spot lights blinding anyone with the capability of sight within half a mile.

Just in the nick of time!

Those girls were, to say the least, kicking my ass!

One of the cops must have had a bullhorn or loudspeaker into which he screamed....and, again folks...

I Ain't Makin' This Up..........

"FREEZE"!!! (just like on TV)

Naturally, not ONE freakin' human being actually FROZE! That shit must only work on TV because, immediatly upon hearing the word "FREEZE", Lipstick Lesbians went running all over the place.

The cop might have well as said, "Run your asses off and DO NOT stay here for questioning!"

Suddenly, I'm standing there, freezing my ass off both literally AND figuratively..... ALONE except for a beaten up, whimpering woman lying at my feet!

This could NOT have looked good to the cops.

The only sounds I heard was police radios crackling in the night, faint sounds of half naked, disappearing women squealing and giggling AND......just to add an air of "I'm Totally Fucked" to the situation....a pathetic, injured, drunk and drugged Lesbian saying over and over again.........

"Don't let him kill me. He tried to kill me."

Oddly enough....go figure....one of the officers just happened to mention that he would promptly.......how did he put it? Oh yeah, now I remember......

"BLOW MY FUCKIN' BRAINS OUT if I didn't get face FUCKING down on the ground!!"

SIDE NOTE: If you check out the Guiness Book of World Records, you'll find that I STILL hold the record for "getting face fucking down on the ground".

So.....I've got THAT going for me.

As I lay on a solid sheet of ice wondering how I got myself into this pathetic situation, I heard Franny's voice calling out in the cold mountain night.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!!"

To Be Continued.....sorry ya'll.

I've actually got to go to the office tomorrow morning so.....I've gotta cut this short. Hell, this damn story doesn't seem to end but I'll try and wrap it up tomorrow.

Hey........it could happen.

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