![]() ![]() ![]() He bent toward me and whispered, in an almost conspiratorial tone. “Well, you see, it was some time in the early or mid seventies when I left Chicago for a joy ride. I’d recently quite my job as a carpenter. ![]() The pay sucked and I had a frightening suspicion that my boss had it in for me. “I’d just got paid and had a lot of extra pocket change, so I decided to look up an old friend in Austin. It wasn’t too difficult tracking him down and, as I suspected, he was open to my suggestion that we find a biker bar where we might be able to hook up with a little ‘tush’. I think he must have lived behind a rock somewhere most of his life, because he had no idea what ‘tush’ even was. He thought it had something to do with bacon and eggs. When I filled him in on the details he became extremely excited and put the pedal to the metal. “So we found us a broke down pre-fabricated building with one of those hoaky yellow signs in front…You know, the kind with the light bulbs and pointing arrow? I know you’ve seen ‘em - they’re everywhere. ![]() Big black tile letters spelling ‘WELCOME’ and the name of the establishment that owns it…This one said, ‘HARLEY CHARLIE’S DEN OF INIQUITY: BIKERS WELCOME’. “‘I think we’ve just found the place,’ I said to my tush-challenged friend. He pulled the car into the drive and shut down the engine. “Apparently Harley Charlie was a very popular individual because his den was packed to the gills. A lecherous smile as I’ve ever seen, and says one word: ‘JACKPOT!’” We could hear the sounds of drunken debauchery at least 50 yards from the building, parked in the car, splashing liberal doses of Hai Karate on our chests to make a good, solid impression on the ladies. I had no choice but to agree as I opened the door and stepped in. All the rumors about insanely wild biker parties? They’re true! That place was ALIVE with foul talk, the smell of burnt weed and rancid breath, ugly chicks with their shirts off, more Harley Davidson paraphernalia than I’ve ever seen in my life. Hell, someone had even put a nickel in the jukebox and played a Steppenwolf tune. John Kay’s intoxicated, weary voice was pumped loudly through speakers that sounded as if they had been blown a long time ago. He was singing something about smoking a lot of grass and popping a lot of pills. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |