The Surreal Life

Saturday
August 05, 2006
The Player's Club
Mt. Vernon, Texas

The Player's Club seems more and more like "Porky's" each time we go.

Mary, the super-cool bartender, was showing me her tickets to the Dallas showing of the final Tool tour and cutting up w/the O'Neal boys and me when I looked over at the dance floor in front of the stage and noticed two finely hand-crafted stripper poles on both sides.

Naturally, I inquire immediately...

So she goes on to inform us that she had in fact constructed them from the ground up with her own two hands and parts from the local Lowe’s. I congratulated her for what looked in my eyes to be pretty good workmanship for a female bartender. It certainly looked as thought it could hold a heavy heifer while she grinds her swollen crotch into the metal, driving the local slobbering-drunk sinners into a hot frenzy of whore-lust.

A fine job, she did…

I go on to ask, “Well, when does the fucking fun happen?”

“Sundays”, she says.

So as I sit typing this, there are a group of local gals in Mt. Vernon, Texas gearing up to be physically and emotionally molested for dollar bills by the cream of the crop of the local perverts. Nothing gives that fuzzy feeling and says, “Sunday evening” like a $5 table dance in some filthy road-side shit-hole. Mt. Vernon, Texas certainly has to be the armpit of the earth.

But I’m sure that even Jesus has a soft spot for a heart-felt, finely-tuned lap-dance to Tool’s “Prison Sex” on dad’s day off.

Indeed.

As for the show, it was typical for the venue – we played our sets with adequate spirit, had a good time, and sounded great, but still heard the crickets after each song. Then you always get that special someone walking up to the stage to let you know just how bad your taste in music is compared to theirs and demanding to “hear some country music.” After hearing this a few too many times, and after a patron finally asked us to stop because she wanted to play the jukebox we decided to have a seat, whereupon the locals played everything from Cher to the new Tool album. Fine by me, I love Tool.

How’s that for “country” music?

After about 7 minutes of sitting, the club owner quickly let us know that he couldn’t give a small percentage of a large fuck what the clientele wanted to hear and ordered a lengthy encore for dessert. That’s when the story comes full circle.

Some gal decided that she needed to warm up the goods for her “dancing” gig the following night and took it to the poles, shaking her money maker to our non-county music and giving the locals something to think about when they get home and rub one out.

No amount of Wild Turkey makes this shit bearable.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

See you down the road…

Love the hat, Wayne...