Can't Take Me Anywhere (Blogophilia 49.10)

All I could do was shake my head. Bo Peep wasn’t the only one into sheep, although Blue Dude wasn’t exactly a willing participant. This was getting good. There had to be more.

I feel like a fish looking at a piece of bait, Geraldo Rivera in Al Capone’s vault.

Over on the dance floor, Beasley and the lady were leaving hand in hand, silly grins on their faces an heart lights glowing. Grabbing a bicycle, She hopped on the handlebars and they rode into the setting Blue Moon. They made me uncomfortable, though. Too much in my face with the affection.

Karaoke had ended and a goth punk band, The Chrysanthemums, had taken the stage. The group consisted of a short fat girl and three homeless dudes. Her assets were barely contained in a rainbow dress with lace fringe. The boys dressed in all black with dreads matching the dress. It took me back to the 1990’s, kind of.

And like the 1990’s, the group played for beer because they weren’t good enough for money. Chunky chick, alternated between a flat monotone and head drilling sharp squeal. Autotune would seize up and run away. The drummer was a quarter beat behind and the guitarist must have trained the Beezlebub school. The song they were playing, if you could call it that, was “Worse Than This”. The anthem’s screeching matched the title. Really, it can’t get worse.

Just as that thought left my head, the song changed. “Playmate of the Year” is what it sounded like. I had the distinct feeling of being on a carnival ride. Ms. Off-Key started working the stage. Starting slow, she began tracing along her cleavage. Soon, the cocktail dress melted to the floor, leaving a slightly diaphanous pink foundation set. It was more than what I asked for, really. I tried to only focus on the lipstick and not the rest of that saying.

She made a bee line to us, since we were the only customers left. A poorly drawn tattoo of E.T. on an ample white thigh startled me to attention. A bandanna of cherry red garter snaked around his head, making him look like an out of this world gangster. Myke buried his head on the table. He looked like wanted to be anywhere but here.

The alien thundered at eye level, ready to give a my empty heart healing touch for a small donation. I couldn’t stop laughing, she was so ridiculous. Allen Funt has to be around here, somewhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed, the bar manager heading toward the breaker box. With a pop, the industrial noise ended and he grabbed the girl and drug her down to a chair. Dreadlocks took the hint and hit the road.

“No, Daddy!” Off-Key cried as she tried to get out of the manager’s grasp.

With a snarl, the lingerie coated lump was tossed tossed over his apron covered knee. Pop...Pop...Pop. Myke and I cringed as the spanking only a Daddy could give was administered. The voice stuck in sharp mode, rising and falling, rattling off the walls. When the spectacle finished, we helped throwing her out the front door. She landed flat on her back, mascara river contrasting against the pink bra. Slinking off, she whimpered something about how empty was her heart.

“Sorry about that, fellas, she pops up when I least expect it. She’d wake the Devil himself with that crap.” The manager shook our hands. “The drinks are on the house. After all this, I’m closing up early. I’m beat. ”

We nodded our understanding and quietly left. It had finally gotten dark. The broadcast vans were still where we left them, thankfully. It would have been bad if the Aliens had decided they needed some over sized Matchbox toys for the menagerie to play with. Myke opened the door and I climbed up, only to go face first into a pink fleece.

I wish I hadn’t done that. I’m allergic to wool.

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Topic-(Empty is the Heart) Dahlia Ramone

Pic-Stormy Gail Dormire

Pic Guesses: Heart Light (in blog) E.T. (In Blog), Healing Touch (In Blog), Chrysanthemums (In Blog), Alien (in Blog), Phone home, Childhood. Ride into the moon (in blog).

Oh and I used three Zebrahead tunes (Worse Than This, Anthem and Playmate of the Year).