Grilling on a Habachi at an unGAWWD-ly hour is fun when you're a Vampire, isn’t it?
The unearthly smell of charred meat charming its holy hot awesome scented smoke into the air, burgers and steaks, a’la violently slaughtered cow, sizzling to the tortured howls of neighborhood dogs left chained out in their yards, unable to escape the torment that my grilljitsu brings upon them.
“SHAAADUP DOOOG” can be heard over and over again like a broken record throughout the night…or aka…my time to unplug.
I don’t care.
Even when one of these asforeskin-mentioned neighbors in my building pops out on the fun-sized patio of their apartment and is like…” HEEEY, Are…are you grilling up there??”
“Nah…I’m just up on the roof burning the bodies of a few clowns and orphaned kittens I ritually murdered for all mighty Odin…but I decided to throw a scent called ‘Liquid Steak’N Burgers’ on there to cover it up because I was out of ‘New Truck Smell.’ Hope Y’all don’t mind, heehee!”
You’d be AMAZED how many of those poor bastards believe me!! ‘Tis crazy what insane poppycock you can shoot out there in the wee hours of the morning and they’ll just nod and go along with it. Sarcasm used on the sleep-deprived is sarcasm well used!
Anyway….why YESS…I’m grilling up quite a few steaks and burgers and YESSS…they’re all mine! NO SOUP FA YOU!!
Hey hey…don’t give me that judgmental look through the screen!! You lady blogfriends out there have your death-by-chocolate covered-testicle shaped chocolate-y treats y’all like to grub down hard on when you’re feeling sad and/or…”contemplative” so let me have MY comfort food for crissakes!!
Hard on….(snicker, fangy snicker.)
I dunno why…because I’m hungry enough and I know I can eat all that food by myself tonight…and uh…to quote Will Smith before he was mucho famousa and big ballin’ and stuff, “There’s something about the smell of a grill that sparks off nostalgia.”
Right now, nostalgia is exactly what I need…or at least….what I crave…perhaps even more than the cerveza or the goat’s blood whiskey I’m about to partake of.
You see blog-yolkels, there is another reason that I’ve never told y’all as to why my super keen senses ain’t so keen-ish on the summer, summer, summer…tiiiime.
I knew I had to get to it eventually…but perhaps, not quite this soon.
Yasee, THIS was roundabout the time I was MADE…a long time ago, in a galaxy not so far, far away…
Like say, in the
HOUSTON star system…ye need not begin breaking out into the parsecs and your TI-2019 Graphing Calculators or anything….NERDS!!
(Playful wink, wink)
The Year….(slipping into his ultra sexy
Don "That Late Announcer Dude" Lafontaine voice) ….was….1985.
Or uh….some year around there-a-ways….. ’85, 86, maybe even ‘87…ummm you get the idea.
I had been driving all night with my hands wet on the wheel….with a voice in my head that drives my heeeeel…..
Actually, I lied, it was a wee voice coming from my we…well….down….below…and it wasn’t singing…it was screaming, “LET ME THE PHUCK OUT ALREADY!! WE’VE BEEN DRIVING FOR FOUR HOURS STRAIGHT AND IF YOU DON’T LET ME OUT SOON, I’M GONNA EXPLODE WITH PISS ALL DOWN YOUR LEGS!!”
FUN FACT: Pissing all down your legs isn’t very sexy….UNLESS….welll….nevermind.
So, even though I was oh so close, maybe less than 20 minutes from the friend in H-town I was coming in to see….I….the Chet had to stop….and thus take a tee-tee.
(Truly exciting and suspenseful story so far, no?)
Sure, I could’ve gone right then and there…..as in a turn off exit from the interstate and at a REST AREA ( I never meant in my car,ya sick perverted paper nimrods) but I also knew that I was only about a minute or so away from the Houston city limits and there’d HAVE to be SOMETHING better up ahead for that sorta bodily functions kinda thing….
Rest Areas, after all, are just TOO LOVELY in their natural splendor to be WASTED on such menial tasks as dropping our…waste in them….right? Conceiving children and conducting drug deals there are so much more important for our nation’s sagging economy!
So I reckoned thus if I held back the waters of the “Yellow River” just a little longer, I might spy me a McDonalds exit sign, who knows, maybe even procure me a Big Mac or something too as a late night snack…and eventually get to do more than take a piss there….
Going in for a “McShit” is an eons old American family tradition.
But alas, alack, there was no such sign….surprisingly….nothing but the miles ticker signs and the stars of midnight darkness stretching endlessly on down the highway behind and before me, our hero. (Okay it was more like 11:30 in the PM, but what’s the difference, I rounded up!)
But then, all of a sudden, this random feeder just seemed to pop out in front of my tired eyes…I can’t tell you why…but for whatever reason, despite being a near stranger to that area, I toke…err…TOOK this new old looking road.
No…no truck stop….no hotels…no pancake purgatory (a.k.a. the Waffle House…Americans’ most trusted name for diarrhea with their pancakes!) Not even a Motel Six…(a.k.a. Cheaters/Swinger’s Heaven.)
I was in dire straights blogfriends…so dire in fact, that not even Sting could save me as my guest vocalist…well not THAT sting anyway!
And then, I saw it…
The most leathery leather bar I had ever seen in my entire life.
Or was it technically an Icehouse?? Hmmmm…..
Seriously, if this place were any more biker-chic’ I was sure I’d go in and find Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholsen a’la Easy Rider splitting a strawberry milkshake (and the same straw) together in a corner booth. Yet, I had to stop…I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Of course the insanely sputtering gravel chards from the “rough” parking lot didn’t help the wee donuts on my prized metallic silver ’83 Civic with purple flame decals on the doors.
EY! QUIT IT WITH THE SNICKERING LOOKS!! It was a good little car man!
Anyway, when I finally “peepee skipped” my way in through the double doors, the bar appeared just as one would’ve expected. Typical interior, dark low lights with sign sprinkles of beer logo neon…and a few…uh…charming…figures at the bar. Well, from what I could tell anyway…like Uncle Chet said, I was in a bladder-induced hurry.
Oh, don’t EVEN think I’m going to give you any details on what this place’s shitzerhauf looked like, I mean, come’on…like you’ve never seen a men’s CAN-tina before? Or at least smelled one….from the outside? (Smirky, smirk smirk!)
So then, I strolled up to the bar as coolly as I could manage and ordered a beer. (A Bud if you must know, I NEVER drink Bud Light!) It actually wasn’t as bad as you might think in retrospect. Sure, there were a few “post apocalyptic” looking leatherboys skulking around here and there, but I gotta tell you, for the most part it was pretty quiet. I don’t suppose any bar of this type does a heck of a lot of business on a Thursday night.
Quiet was good.
Hell, I had been pinned into a rolling tin can for FOUR FREAKING HOURS (don’t ask me why it took that long to get to Houston, it’s an even longer story than tne trip) so it was quite nifty to be finally taking a load off with an ice cold one in my hands. Other than the occasional crack and pop of pool balls in the corner the place was practically a tomb.
Yeah, so what I’m only twenty minutes away? I haven’t been able to do ANYTHING but watch my ass on the road and dodge crazies who insisted on driving like rebel-yelling maniacs all day….why shouldn’t I unwind a little?
It’s not like there was anything on TV at this hour…and I’m sure as hecksicles my buddy’s not going to be waiting up for me….
Unless you count a pretty young thing “spotting you” during a set of naked skin flute thrust exercises on your chesterfield as waiting….UP.
So I chucked a few extra bucks over to the barkeep, as required to rent out one of their three…uhh….we’ll call them “antiqued” tables for the hour.
And so I’m just shooting around every-which-a-way, not really caring about keeping score, just letting my mind go in the mellow zen-like sound of a chalked up cuestick smacking around a set of balls….normally that doesn’t sound like such an inviting thing, but in this particular case it was.
I gotta say, for the first twenty five minutes or so that I was “playing” I was fine. No one seemed to notice the clean-cut college boy with the spikey-perfect hair and the UT shirt in their midst. So it was like, totally RADICAL that I didn’t have to “squall” with any rivals deep in A@ M territory.
Apparently there aren’t too many biker Aggies…who knew?
Then, right about the time I was pocketing the 8-ball for the first time, I heard coins dropping into the jukebox at the opposite corner of the bar. Sure, it’s totally a free country and all, but I’d be a bold-faced pale liar if I said if it didn’t annoy me that SOMEBODY was spoiling my peace and pocket popping quiet.
Somebody who I HOPED wasn’t a tough guy, in case I felt like saying/doing something about their unwelcome disruptiveness. Somebody who had apparently been there the whole time. Someone I in my then Normie Daywalker perceptibles completely failed to notice, but in turn couldn’t help but notice me. When I raised my aggravated eyes from that green felt, I found those eyes already upon me.
I saw HER staring me down from the jukebox corner….and she was coming my way….
Picture a LOOKER my book-comrades….and not just ‘cus she was perving up and down at yours truly…but because she was (and dare I say IS) a looker.
See in your mind’s eye a young looking woman of about….emm…maybe 24 or 25 (though she’d definitely LIE and SAY she was made at 18…vain debutante!!)
Long straight hair of a natural golden wheat blond, mixed with a few small highlights of hyper punk dyed pink tresses of hair in there. A tall (make that VERY tall) drink of damsel-oh-so-delicious water. Fair features, the kind of heights and perfect bone structure to be a Tolkien-esque Elf chick…the kinda freakish Amazon babe (like 5’10…if not OVER 6’) who could make that pansy ass Legolas weak in the jimmies. Curves upon curves, perky bust, hips that erupted outward from nearly skin-tight crisply blue straight-legged Lee jeans (or was she a Jordache babe? I forget. She’s got the look…for either!) Long legs for days in chic’ “ro-DAY-o style” cowboy boots, wee little girl lips that seemed to be in an ever perpetual “model pout” with a V- necked bright blouse of a velvety looking red, eyes soylent jade evil green with RIDICULOUSLY large pupils, perfectly tweezed eyebrows and long eyelashes, with soft skin of a nearly pristine porcelain babydoll shade. Did I already mention she has an ass so very firm, that you could kill someone by ricocheting a fifty-cent piece off one (or both) of her butt cheeks?
The classic halfway down the ice, double diagonal air hockey bank shot….of DEATH…Mauhahahahahahaha!!
( For some reason I found this ad so much more...interesting than the Jordache 80's ones they had up on YouTube...funny, I can't imagine why lol. Check out how young
Brooke Shields is in this one!)
I honestly didn’t know whether to piss my pants….or make trouser-fresh….umm….”Man-Butter” in them. Also, what this stylish foxy hose-beast was doing in a biker bar at nearly midnight on a school night…to this day I haven’t a clue. Or why she chose “ Take Me On” by Ah-Ha…THAT SONG SUCKS!!
I’d of said then, and even now, that a certain hit by
was far more suitable for her big entrance...
…..”Heeeeellllo….I love you won’t you tell me your naaaame, Helllooo, I love you wont’cha let me jump in your game….she holds her head so hiiiigh….like a statue in the skkkkkky…her looks are wicked and her legs are long….my brain screams out this sonnnng…
What can I say? The girl’s always been full of surprises.
“So…you up for the competition, College Boy?”
For starters…THAT one. I HAD expected the first time she opened her mouth to be one lightly salted with a Swedish (okay maybe even Danish) accent…and for her to immediately want to “rape” my innocent young college self…perhaps while a naked midget German man is filming us from atop a large, overweight yak.
A colourful mind? Who MEEE?? Yadon’t say!
But, it wasn’t to be…her voice albeit it VERY saucy in its own deeply feminine and young Lauren Bacal kinda way, was also all too American, though definitely NOT from Texas…perhaps upper-crust New Yorker, or from Massachusetts, I thought.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t of been more precise than that at the time… I never asked her to PAWK my CAWRR…while eating a bowl of CHAOW-DAH….har har!
In any rate, I was ready for a little bit of company…especially some company that looked that saucy.
“Does a frog shit in the woods, or a bear bump his ass when he hops?” Yours truly so “cleverly” replied, chucking her a cue from the rack, with a little bit of panache.
( Did I mention that she caught it with like, REALLY quick reflexes…and even more panache?)
“I don’t spend enough time around the asses of frogs or bears to know what they do…but I’ve got fifty bucks here that says I can whip your ass in 8-ball before you can even get a shot in!” Gigantor McBlondy-locks retorted with sarcastic flair and a smile.
(Did I also happen to mention that I LOVE hot chicks and sarcastic flairs…particularly when they’re TOGETHER?)
I could take or leave a smile…and frogs asses!! (insert sly fangy smile here.)
Perhaps I should have found SOMETHING about this young woman suspicious…the way her eyes seemed to look through me, or that perpetually devious cockeyed smirk coming forth from the left corner of her mouth, her gnarly Shaolin level reflexes, or the darkly deep feminine vocals of her voice…but again I was kinda sorta in college…which means I was basically much too horny all the time to be apprehensive (like 24/7 actually.)
And then there was the matter of my double major to consider…
Pool Hall Slackernomics and Applied Air Hockey Physics…and I “studied” for these majors all the time…perhaps even when I SHOULD’VE been studying for other classes!
Like Hell, I was going to let some mamby pamby (sexy Nordic looking) chick intimidate the Chet!
“You’re on….ummm….actually I didn’t catch your name….”
(Gawd, I was a subtle beast with the mackin’ back then wasn’t I?)
“That’s right, you didn’t!” Von-Helga the blonde Yetti answered me with a playful sneer, “Tell you what, if you can beat me, I’ll throw my first name in free, at no extra charge.”
Dayuuum! What a sweet deal! Not only did I get to play a smoking hot blonde giant goddess at the sport I practically lettered in, but I’d also get fifty bucks and a few good glimpses of ‘dat ass!
There IS a God after all I thought…
Did I ALSO happen to mention that this God fellow hates me??
AAAAT! Whaddyaknow people, my steaks are done….
….guess I’ll have to put this children’s fable here on pause for a bit-ish while I go and do some SERIOUS grubbing…
Doncha just LOOOOVE Cliffhangers?? HA!!
I shall be back before yaknowit to finish my tale, blog-folk….