genres: psychobilly,punk rock,big band,country and western.

based:Ft lauderdale fl.

influences:
link wray
the meteors
frantic flintstones
the clash
horton heat
zombina and the skeletones
hank williams sr
frank sinatra
elvis
ernest tubb
johnny cash
deadbolt
the cramps

sounds like

with the vocals of this

ooc:on paper,very atomic war bride with female vocals,but i'm taking it in another direction.


cast:

Bettie Antonov-vocals

Elvis Winchester,your humble narrator.-upright bass

Eddie coolsville-drums

Pavel Antonov-lead guitar

monica perez-rhythm guitar (eventually)


elvis's '55 cadillac


al

darcy


Hi,im max keller.......well not exactly, my birthname is always assumed to be an alias,so i never use it.i was born elvis winchester.dont know if we're related to the winchester rifle folks or not.if we are,i never saw a red cent from it. Its bout midnight on a saturday,so that means i'm sitting in my car,smoking out with eddie.eddie's a good guy,known him since i was a kid.he's gotten me into more shit than i care to recall.....usually he is kind enough to get me out of it too.we work at this rat trap jazz club.eddie's the drummer,and i handle bass.it aint exactly the rockstar life,but it pays the bills and we dont have to worry bout passing a piss test.eddie and i have already tore through the first bowl of the night,and eddie is packing it anew.like i said,eddie is a good guy.waiting for the fresh bowl gives me a chance to enjoy the comforting vertigo that comes with a good buzz.i close my eyes and feel the cosmic trapeze swing back and forth,eventually it starts going all daiagnal.this builds until it crests over to a torrent of images and the feeling of zipping through time and space.eddie nudges me back to reality,annld we again work at getting further away from it.id like to carry on a conversation with eddie right now,but all i an think about is how pissed the original owner of this car would be that two musicians are smoking weed in his caddy. I imagine that back in 55, caddilacs were something special.now,anyone seems to be able to get one.eddie and start talking about his cousin,she's finishing med school and here we are sitting in the same fucking car,at the same fucking club,hell, in the same fucking parking spot as we have for the past ten years.
Before we could delve into the fresh bud,or our directionless lives,al is knocking on the window. He has a really terrible smokers voice.he sounds like a fucking zombie frog when he's yelling at us to get "our useless, lazy,pot smoking asses on stage".ive known al since i was a kid too.he's the sort of person parents warn their kids about.i dont mean he's a pervert,or anything like that.its just assumed he is some minor player in the mob.i know i've ran "deliveries" for him since i was about thirteen.50 bucks to take a box a block away seems like a fortune to a kid.al also gave me the switchblade i keep in my back pocket.a real swell vintage model.

Eddie and i think better of gettng one last hit before starting work.....besides, we're higher than anna nicole right now.eddie and i start warming up. Eddie basically is just going through the motions.nothing we ever play is a challenge for him.

Eddie:*in between short bursts of drumming* you know what i hate most about this job?

Elvis:that cute bartender,darcy not giving you the time of day?

Eddie: the fact we spend every night in here,backing some wannabe ella,or satchmo imitator that comes through.actually,i take that back.....i'd love an ella right about now.playing this kenny g bullshit is killing me.and darcy and i did pass some time,several times.

Elvis: bullshit,man. Darcy doesnt even look up when you walk in.

Eddie:*laughs* she puts on a good front,right?

Elvis:....yeah,something like that.* notices girl fussing with the mic* say*nudges eddie*......check out tonight's act.

Eddie:yeah,she's cute enough.but look at her setlist.

Elvis:whats wrong with it?

Eddie: "summertime", " deed i do"," a kiss to build a dream on"? This shits tailor made for uppity middle management types to get thier groove on to.


Eddie was right.if i had a quarter for each time we played those songs,while two bmw driving assholes awkwardly made out....well, i wouldnt be a millionaire,but i could buy my own bmw. While im tuning my bass,eddie gives me his glance that says," we got five minutes,you got the lighter,and i got the bud.lets smoke!" As you can see,eddie and i go through quite a bit of marijuana.it aint like we got anything better to do,right?
Eddie and i sneak off backstage and light up.we get about two good hits each before she comes around the corner,catching eddie mid-toke. We brace for the inevitable.a lot of these "singers" get kinda pissy when we smoke on the job.they tell al,al comes out of his bat cave and gives us a good what for.granted,its just to make it look like he cares about peoples concerns.he sells the shit to us in the first place.charlie,the club's guitarist is also one of those uptight folks.i guess jazz is now "grown up "music. I guess the days of it being for beatniks is long gone.
After giving eddie and i the once over,she finally asks for a hit.we gladly oblige,its part of the stoner code,and horrendously rude to refuse to share."by the way,name's bettie."she croaks,trying to hold in the smoke,and not be rude at the same time. Eddie and i crack up at that,she sounds just like al.
"Fuck you both,i know exactly what you're thinking
." She manages after exhaling. And like he knew we were referencing him,al comes round the corner and shoves us on stage.

Honestly,i cant say how the show went.between being high,and watching bettie's wiggling backside,i was pretty much on autopilot all night.not that i'm some sex crazed maniac or something like that.but pretty girl, plus stellar vocals that are delivered with a slight russian accent equals a big distraction.

At closing time,eddie and i are drinking pabsts at the bar.not the best beer around,but it does the trick.darcy and eddie are in their own little conversation,and i'm the red headed step child.guess eddie was right about her.darc is a real cool girl and all,but i wouldn't be any more than friendly with her.she's al's niece or grand daughter or some shit.like i said,nobody knows for sure about al's mob ties.but i aint tempting fate.
Being on the outer banks of the eddie/darcy love river,i nurse my beer and take stock of the assorted bar patrons around me.you never know how good life's been to you until you see a bar at closing time.then,like a rose floating in a shit filled toilet,bettie comes strolling up.

Bettie:so which one of you fucks is taking me home?

Elvis:*finishing his beer* eddie'll do it.

Eddie: sure.where you heading?

Bettie:the foutain bleu.

Eddie:*glancing towards darcy* hell no! Im not about to drive down to miami at 6 in the morning! I got ....things to do. Sorry,lady.

Bettie: what about you? Dont you southerners have to rely on the kindness of strangers?

Elvis: fine,lets go.see ya eddie.

Eddie: monica is gonna kick your ass,man.see you tomorrow,player.

Monica? who the fuck was monica?......shit.that monica.the monica i have been with since high school. The monica who......made a man of me,so to say. Eddie is right ,She is going to kill me. Though i cant pull out now,bettie is already leaning against my car,waiting to go...
i bet monica is going to be able to pin point the exact spot betties ass made contact with the fender.
I hop in the car,and bring that 409 to life. I swear the car had never started this quickly,or idled this smoothly.damn i was kind of hoping it wasnt going to start.i put it in gear, but bettie remains outside.she's filing her fucking nails,like she has all the time in the world."you coming?", i ask though the window.
"You cant open a door for a girl?",she replys,not budging from where she is standing. leaning over,i push the door open and she hops in.she admires the rather hard earned.....patina of the caddy's interior.she nods with approval and we begin to make the trek to miami.the dread of what's waiting for me at home makes the journey out the parking lot seem like a cross country journey.we travel for days it seems in silence,luckily the 409 under the hood is loud enough to discourage any small talk,running straight headers,it screams like a rabid tiger getting punched in the balls.....unless someone doesnt get the message,and takes advantage of the expansive bench seat.before i know it,her back is braced against my side,and her feet propped out the passenger window.

elvis:hey,mind the chrome!

bettie:ah,so you can speak! what chrome? the chrome hidden under the protective layer of rust?

elvis:just be careful,she's a classic.

bettie:so....what is your name? i dont think i caught it.

elvis:sal,sal paradise.

bettie:* gives a pitying smirk.* that's the best fake name you could come up with? the character from "on the road"?...you scared i'm going to find out where you live and kill you? c'mon,what is it?

elvis:*sighs* elvis.

bettie:*giggles* elvis?!

elvis:it gets better.my last name is "winchester".

bettie:like the gun?

elvis:yeah.now you know why i went with sal paradise.now,if you dont mind me prying...how does a girl who lives at the fountain bleu, not have a car to transport herself in?

bettie:my brother works maintenance there,he knows all the people who are on vacation.so we just move from condo to condo.some rich bastard is always going on vacation.


I say nothing back to her.to engage her in conversation would only tighten the noose around my neck.i'm just giving some girl a ride home,nothing wrong about that,right? Bettie flips out a cell phone and starts dialing.good,maybe she got the message i've been trying to convey.she's speaking russian to whomever is on the other end of the phone.this has me concerned.......at first i think im being set up to be robbed, but i quickly 86 that idea.i've got 5 bucks in my pocket,and my car is worth only slightly more.then i think im about to fall victim to a 'hostel" sorta thing. But that movie was stupid,and i doubt anything that stupid could be based on a true story.

Bettie:*shutting phone quickly*shit! Pavel isnt going to be there to meet us.you mind waiting around a bit for him?

Elvis: i really cant.im sure pavel is a swell cat,whoever he is. But im already two hours late getting home.

bettie:he's my brother.and so what if you're late getting home?you're a man arent you? tell monica you'll be home when you get home.*hands elvis her phone* here,use mine.

elvis:i got my own.i'm not a cave man.

bettie:.....oh. *puts lipstick on,while checking it in the rear view mirror* she's fucking someone.

elvis:what?! no way.

bettie;yeah.she is. think about it. you work in a seedy club,you're two hours late getting home,and she hasnt even called to check on you? she's fucking someone.right now,i bet.

elvis:one has nothing to do with the other.....*checks phone in dismay.there are no missed calls.*

bettie:i think i would know.i had a boyfriend once,motherfucker was in a car accident.broke both legs and cracked his pelvis,i didnt find out till three weeks later.you know why? i was fucking someone.

elvis:*says nothing and keeps driving*

bettie:*checks time on phone* pavel wont be home till noon.let's go bust her!

elvis:no.

bettie:oh come on,it'll be a hoot....do it,or i'll give you a hickie,try explaining that to the little lady.

elvis:fine,but i aint driving you back home.i live all the way up in ft lauderdale.

bettie:i got a better idea,i'll bet you for it.if i am right,and she is fucking someone right now,you gotta drive me back to miami,and join my band.

elvis:and if you're wrong?

bettie:i wont be.

we turn around and rip northways on i-95.luckily rush hour is over,so we make good time.though i may get more than i bargained for.it may be rather difficult why i got this random woman with me.bettie and i pull into my driveway....well,as much as we can.there seems to be a battered civic occupying the spot.

bettie:see? told you.

elvis:that could be anyone.

bettie:you are quite the optimist,aren't you? let's go,we can still get some good seats at dennys.

elvis:she coulda bought the car.

i leave bettie in the car and enter my house.i really shouldnt have left bettie in the car,she could steal it.then i'd really be up shit creek without a paddle.eddie swears that nobody else would want the car,but i know he's wrong.that car fucking rocks.inside the house,everything seems normal....at first.i hear monica ask "elvis,is that you?!" and following that is a "elvis?! his name is elvis?! oh my god" and a bunch of poorly stifled laughter.sure enough,looking in the bed room i see some guy and monica.at first,i was really pissed...but i dont know about what. the fact the monica was cheating on me? no,not really. the fact the guy looks like zack morris? i dont think that was it...because he was hung like a bull moose? perhaps....

elvis:what the hell?!

monica:i really didnt want you to find out like this....or ever.

i pull out my flask,and sit on the bed between them.i take a swig and offer it to monica and ...whoever that is.nobody wants to take me up on my offer.i dont know why they are so stodgy,i imagine we've shared more than spit.i imagine this would be alot less awkward if i had something to say.so i do the next best thing,and take another drink.like a tolling of heaven's buffet bell,it comes...the horribly undersized sounding horn from my car."uh,i gotta run.you two have fun".
what? like anything else would be sensible.would ranting and raving solve anything? i walk out the room and take the walk of shame to the car.bettie is at the wheel.if i wasnt in such a state,i'd tell her to move her ass.i dont even let my own mother drive this car.getting in on the passenger side seems so.....wrong.

elvis:ok.let's go.you were right....how the hell did you know?

bettie:like i said,i did the same thing.......and i used to work with monica,she did everyone at jd's.it was a rigged bet.

elvis:god dammit. *drinks more*

bettie rockfords it out of the driveway and we head back down to miami.my flask is dry before we reach our destination,and this upsets me greatly.i might as well be drinking zima,i guess the old flask needs re-filling now and again.a few sips of scotch doesnt do much for one's spirits.but drinking out of a flask is great dramatics.

elvis:hey,you mind if i catch a few z's at your place?

bettie:oh,so now you want to be around me? the petersons might mind,but i wont mind.

ooc:these always end abruptly.that's just the way the cookie crumbles.oh,and the reason why i have pictures of al and darcy is the original idea involved pics of every person the band came in contact with showing up under the cast.

Edited by user 16 April 2011 15:43:11(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

OOC: You're definitely not given the credit you deserve. This is great.

ooc:thanks for the kind words.i've been doing erich hess since this place was called zigire.com,i figured it's time for a change.
i'll gladly join that label you got,but the band exists only on the boards here.






Later that day,after the whole Monica thing,Bettie and i did finally meet up with Pavel.Pavel is one cool cat,but is a 180 from Bettie.he is real quiet and calm.the Peterson's condo was lavish to the point of obscenity.loads of garish pseudo roman decorations garnished with the latest stainless steel appliances. Meeting with Pavel,we had a good yak about the band,bettie and pavel had been kicking round the idea of getting a psychobilly outfit together.pavel would be on guitar,Bettie on vocals,and now myself on bass.mostly all we did was talk.For kicks we played a bit of stray cat strut.mainly just to see how we meshed


That was bout two weeks ago.i haven't heard from bettie since.i guess they weren't too impressed with me.now, id like to tell you i held strong and didnt let monica bother me,id like to say i nailed bettie that very night, to celebrate my new found freedom.but....i hate telling fibs.the truth of the matter is i've been laying low in a Hialeah hotel.theres a buttload of them,each one seedier than the next.they are all in close proximity to the airport,they dont advertise hourly rates,but i'm sure they'd be more happy to accommodate if asked.i know this,as i've heard at least 4 different couples going at it in the room next to mine.the whole monica thing has me pretty blue,but jack is here to help.mr daniels isnt much for conversation,but he is damn fine listener.
This room smells too much of bleach.i cant help but think the previous renter was murdered in here....or perhaps they killed someone in here.in any case,i just wish they could find a better smelling cleaner. Ive tried my damnedest to drown it out with weed.but it aint helping.i havent been to work in ages,but al's pretty cool with it.he even offered to set me up with darcy.poor bastard doesnt know whats going under his nose.eddie swears al says darcy if off limits cause he is black
That has nothing to do with it.it has everything to do with eddie beating the shit out of a guy back when he worked the door.the guy was a brother of a cop,so it turned real expensive,real fast for al.that is why al doesn't like eddie running around with darcy.

Eddie has kinda pissed me off.he hasnt even called to see if im alive.neither has bettie.she was all " join my band,join my band.Im going to show you your life is a lie." Then she doesnt have the decency to call me? Fuck that. Flipping on the tv,im Greeted by who's the boss.tony danza pisses me off,i never can put my finger on the reason though.i drunkenly yell at the tv.tony keeps smiling that dumbass grin of his.how dare he ignore my verbal berating! I grab my bowl and try to smoke tony into submission.one skill i'm particularly proud of is blowing smoke rings,it looks cool and well worth the effort to learn. Sure being a doctor or something is nice and all.but smoke rings? Pure class.now if you're a doctor that can blow smoke rings,you're Like the fucking fonz. You wouldn't even have to open people up.just smack em on the chest and say " hey",and their ticker is good as new.a booming knock startles me out of fonzeralli medical technique contemplation.

I frantically wave the smoke around and shove my stash under the pillow.only cops knock like that.its not an asking knock,its a telling one. I straighten my shirt and run a comb through my hair.anything to make myself look less high.
I open the door,planning to try and run for it. I about trample eddie as i open the door and attempt to run out of it at the same time.

Elvis:eddie?!

Eddie:what the fuck are you doing.....besides trying to kill yourself with bleach fumes? God damn,open the windows.

Elvis:how'd you find me?

Eddie: i saw your car as i drove by.you know,you should really pay your phone bill,im not your fucking secretary.that girl you drove home keeps looking for you.

Elvis:well,that'd explain why nobody had called me.what did bettie want?

Eddie: hell if i know.did you fuck that girl?

Elvis: no!

Eddie: you sure? As persistent as she is,im thinking you're the father of her baby .

Elvis: not unless she harvested my seed when i was asleep.

Eddie: " harvest your seed"? I dont know what weird ass shit that is,but the girl looks like she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.

Elvis:its nothing like that.

Eddie:if you say so,man.damn,that bleach aint stopping.

Eddie i and adjourn the meeting and take up new posts ,sitting on the hood of my car like some gargoyles or shit like that. They sure dont make cars like they used to.if two guys sat on a modern car's hood,it'd be dented to hell and back. Sitting out there i hit eddie up for the fifty i need for my cell phone bill.i pull the bowl out.to help lubricate eddie's pockets,not that he'll deny me if he has it on him.but its still good manners to show i'm not a total dead beat...granted,if i didnt buy the weed,id still have the fifty and wouldnt have to bum it in the first place.eddie grumbles and hands me a crumpled hundred.fifty for the phone,and fifty to get him some of this bud.it is good shit.sticky and purple.though color isnt always an indicator of quality.the last purple i had was barely better than the crap weed with seeds all in it.eddie and i start walking to the crner store to pay my bill.its nice out and with the traffic,its quicker to walk.during our walk,the subject of conversation drifts back to monica.

Eddie: so bettie told you about monica and zack?

Elvis: yeah.it was fucked up.bettie knew the exact time and everything.apparently it'd been going on since monica worked at jd's. I guess bettie worked there too.

Eddie:you ever see bettie there?

Elvis: nah.but i only worked there for a few weeks.the whole "dave"thing,remember?

Eddie:oh yeah.you beat the brakes off that motherfucker.

Jd's was a little pizza place i,and half of dade county worked for at one time or another.it was a nice little
Place,it had two tables and a pac man machine in The dining room. I always wanted that pac man game.not that i like pac man.i hate it actually.but the machine was unique in that it was shaped like a table,and two people could play while sitting on either side of it..boss as fuck,right?
I worked there as a delivery driver,monica worked the counter.as we all know now,she had exceptional people skills.dave was the owner of the place and a grade A tool.dave looked like ric flair's anorexic brother,and had a big booming voice......just like richard simmons. Everyone in the place imitated dave.it was just too funny to resist.anyways,i got into it with dave after he shorted me twenty two bucks.it wasnt the amount,it was the principal.in retrospect,he was probably fucking monica too.so a thorough ass whooping may not have been an overreaction.so,needless to say,dave fired me after that.oh well,jd's sucked.it was the sort of pizza that was awesome fresh out the oven,but terrible five minutes after that.
Eddie and i pay my bll,and eddie spots me enough for a bottle of sisco.the girl at the counter is quite pretty,id guess columbian.straight black hair and a shape like......one of those things with sand in them....they're usually used as timers in board games.fuck if i remember what they are called.i try to pick her up.but she resists my charms.id guess because i'm outta my gourd and smell like a brewery that specializes in distilling dog carcasses into booze.i really need to fix that.after we get back to the hote,eddie splits and heads to al's .he also informs me that bettie suckered him into her band as well. Im sure it didnt take much.eddies been itching to get a band gig for a long time.plus eddie and i are kinda a package deal. We've never been in separate bands, i couldnt imagine working with another drummer.eddie drives off in a cloud of black smoke.eddie drives a 70's Mercedes,mustard yellow and diesel powered. I aint much for foreign cars,but i love this one.it hasnt had an oil change in twenty years and it stil runs.we call it "kremetoriA" on account of its smoking and german heritage.i say my goodbyes to eddie and start the bath.
The knobs turn with an appropriate squeak.the water,however barely trickles out the faucet.nothing pisses me off like not having water pressure,nothing.i wrestle the cap off my sisco and flick the cap into the tub and watch it vainly try to bob in the shallow water.shit,i could fill the tub quicker by pissing in it.
seemingly one hour and one bottle of sisco later,i finally get in the tub.

Not to sound fruity or anything,but there is nothing a hot bath cant fix.it is great to lay there,semi buoyant,n water just shy of scalding.the far too sweet sisco making its way through my already overheated circuits.everything goes heavy as the main controls come unsoldered from my motherboard.my last thought is " shit.in going to die in a Hialeah hotels bath tub.the maid is gonna see my junk.....and the water is going to make it look all shriveled." And with that,everything went black.

An hour, day,a century later? All systems came online to the sound of my name being called by a familiar,female voice.i start to get my bearings and get dressed.i must not have been out too long,the tub water was still warm.i stagger out and see bettie sitting on the bed,twirling a set of keys around her finger.

Bettie: about time.i was about to steal your wallet and car.

Elvis:how'd you get in ?

Bettie: im happy to see you,too. you left the door wide open.any nut off the street coulda came in here and had their way with you.you should be thankful i found you first.you sober enough to drive?

Elvis: i really,really doubt it.

Bettie: you'll take my car then. Move your ass,we dont have much time! Heres the keys,drive north on Okeechobee for about half an hour.ill meet you there.dont speed,run red lights or draw any attention to the car.

Parked next to my caddy is a bright red ferrari.the thing looks like a blowjob on wheels." Tell you later,lets scoot!" Bettie yells over the screaming tires of my car.not that my car is exceptionally powerful,its just my tires are really bald.so the slightest moisture will cause them to break traction.i fuss with the ferraris doors until i get it open.i guess normal keys and locks are too "poor person" for ferrari owners....or im far drunker than i think i am.
The car drives like a dream,even drunk off my ass i can keep it straight.thankfully Okeechobee opens up to desolation,one cant enjoy italy's finest export with the blue balling traffic lights.once the road opens up,i punch it and time seems to stop.everything becomes a blur as the speedometer climbs.the odometer seems to click off a mile each rotation of the tires.somewhere a heavenly choir sounds. Then the ugliness of a phone ringing brings me back to the land of mere mortals."unless you want to be on the receiving end of prison anal sex,turn around.im parked just passed the overpass." Bettie's voice crackles through the speaker.i do as i'm told and meet bettie on the side of the road.it's about 3 in the morning,so only the odd semi is witness to what we are doing.

Bettie:gimme your shirt,we gotta wipe the prints off this thing.

Elvis:i aint giving you my shirt,use your own.

Bettie: which is going to draw more attention,you without a shirt,or me? Now stop being a pussy and give me the shirt.

Bettie takes the shirt and wipes every inch of the car.she then puts it in neutral and we watch the doomed car roll into the adjacent canal.we stay until it finds its parking spot on the canal bed.bettie hands me my shirt back,which is now black with road grime.

Elvis: you know,at least i got to fuck the last woman who bossed me around like you do.

Bettie:*winking* the nights not over,yet.

She hops in my car,like she owns it and we leave the ferrari to its fate. Even though the girl seems to be the embodiment of chaos,i cant help but be thrilled to see bettie again.

Elvis: ok.im just going to ask....what the fuck was that about??

Bettie: doctor cohen's son should just be getting off the plane now.he wasn't due till monday.

Elvis:so?

Bettie: dr cohen was on vacation,where he met an unfortunate end while scuba diving.so i kinda borrowed the car.his son would have no idea what the mileage should be and everything would be cool. I would have the car back home,detailed so no one would be the wiser. I didnt have time to get it cleaned,or even back home.it was a matter of time before someone activated the gps.

elvis:we coulda just left it on the side of the road.

bettie:*drives for a few seconds,while contemplating.* nah.it was insured,so it's not like anyone is out anything.plus,it was a lot more fun ditching it in the canal.

elvis:well,the one guy is out a father.

bettie:fuck him.dr cohen was an asshole.his son isnt much better.*yawns and stretches* you about ready to turn in?

elvis:yeah,lets get back to the Hialeah executive.i've got the room for 2 more weeks.

i love the Hialeah executive.it basks in it's sinfulness.each room includes a garage so your wife wont notice you're shacked up with your mistress.you can even get a heart shaped bed if you're so inclined.bettie wisely disregards the garage.with the caddy's exhaust,we'd be carbon monoxide poisoned in minutes.like two wounded zombies we stagger towards the room.inside i kick off my shoes and lay down.i've had the same shoes for years.a green pair of doc martens.from back when the made in england ones were the only ones.normally i think ill of people spending such lare amounts on shoes.but 130 dollars for 10 years of faithful service? seems like a damn fine bargain to me.bettie sits on the bed and flips the tv on.she's watching some goofy ass infomercial about some pasta cooker you put in the microwave.if you're too much of a dumbass to cook pasta,you shouldnt be allowed to eat it.each time bettie shifts her weight,the bed springs squeak.she starts bouncing up and down and giggling like mad at the dirty sounding squeaks.i hate sleeping with the tv on,but i'm too drunk to care.

OOC: Excellent RP!!!!!!

"Hey" he slurs again," want some coke.?" Shake my head and tell him I'm broke. "Hell,i don't want any money,I'm Erich fucking Hess,money is pretty useless at this point and time." He then thrusts what i can only describe as a brick of coke in my hands. I've never used the stuff,or know that much about it.but i can tell I'm holding a small fortune of it right now.

Elvis: uh..thanks?

Erich: you're welcome. Karoliena forbids me to use it

Elvis: why?

Erich: you got a girl?

Elvis: yeah.

Erich: you'll find out.* makes a deflating sound and dangles a paper towel limply.*

Elvis: oh.

Erich:fuck it,give me a bump or two.* opens his knife and snorts some off the point.* daaaamn,that's some strong shit.

Elvis:*does the same with his knife*

Erich: i like the cut of your jib,whats your name?

Elvis:Sal,Sal paradise.

Erich: really?! That's the stupidest fake name I've ever heard.

Elvis: ok,my name is Elvis.

Erich:* nods in agreement and washes his hands* you play,Elvis? With a name like "Elvis" i hope the answer is yes.

Elvis: i damn sure do.I'm the bassist for bettie and the star chiefs.

Erich: never heard of ya.want to open for us next week? We're playing the culture room.

Elvis: yeah,hell yeah.we'll be there.

Erich:*walking out the bathroom door*you got a car,Elvis?

Elvis:yeah,a 55 caddy.

Erich: nice.but you need something more economical,man.with the Mideast in turmoil,and fuel prices changing by the hour.a four cylinder is the way to go.now you got a Saab.*throws Elvis the keys* titles in the glovebox.see ya around,Elvis.*throws Elvis his switchblade* stay golden.

Great,we got a gig in a week.the "band" hasn't so much as been in the same room at the same time.its said booze will make you feel ten foot tall and bulletproof.that may be true .but, Coke makes me feel a mile high and gamma ray proof.so at the time,the bands in,inexperience didn't seem like a problem.i hear the music winding down outside, better go check on bettie.
I do a few more bumps off the blade of my new knife
It is a nice one for sure.ivory handled and fires like a son of a bitch.it takes all of two more hits to come to the conclusion coke isn't my thing.it tastes like medicine and the high is too short.i finally exit the bathroom and find bettie sitting on the bar. I try to keep it straight and take a stool in front of her.she slips off of the bar and onto my lap.I'm wired like a motherfucker right now.i wish some music would play,i swear everyone is looking at me,and can hear my internal wiring trying to cope with the excess voltage running amok.bettie eyes me suspiciously

Bettie: just where the hell have you been? Its been like an hour.

I try not to speak. My lips are the dam holding back a flood of words.seriously,no more coke.ever.my heats beating like mad,and i can feel the sweat running off my nose.

Elvis: the bathroom.

Bettie: with the shaking and sweating,that musta been some shit.you're getting a shower before you get in my bed .* laughs*

I don't say anything,but i open my jacket so she can see the packet Erich gave me.betties mouth opens,and her eyes look like beach balls.

Bettie: how..much is it?

Elvis:i guess a kilo.hell if i know what a kilo weighs,
Nobody uses the metric system.

Bettie:....ok.a better question is,where did you get it.

Elvis: Erich Hess gave it to me.turns out he is a really nice guy.he also gave me a car* jingles the keys* and we got a gig next week.he is like an alcoholic Santa Claus,that pisses in trash cans.

Bettie: oh..did you....see it?

Elvis: bettie, i was not looking at his wang.

Bettie: if i saw karoliena verlinden whizzing in a garbage can,id look.id try to remember every detail so i could relay it t you.whether she was au natrale,bare,landing strip,etc.

Elvis: she strikes me as a bare kinda girl.

Bettie: really? I was thinking a landing strip...or a little upright bass.that would be cute.

Elvis:*looking at karoliena on stage* mmm mmm.

Bettie: that's enough! You said he gave you a car,too? Perfect! Now we don't have to make up some story about getting a ride.

Truth be told,i still don't find the whole Darcy thing a good idea.all it will serve to do is piss Eddie off...on the other hand,bettie and Darcy? Lets just say tempting fate sounds pretty good when you look at the possible result.does it make me a bastard? Absolutely. But i can live with that.the coke is subsiding,and I'm starting to feel normal again.id feel pretty ripped off if i paid for that.bettie and i take our leave of the bar to visit the parking lot.Al's parking lot abuzz with non activity,there are about five people milling around,smoking cigarettes.ugh.how i hate tobacco.whats the point? It doesn't do much,tastes terrible,and makes everything else taste bad too.i ponder offering them some coke.i don't want it,and i am nervous carrying it around.bettie and i walk past the group,i cant overcome my nerves.with about 2 pounds of cocaine in your pocket,everyone looks like an undercover cop.

We finally find a Saab in the lot.it has to be it,how often do you see more than one Saab? Bettie and i climb in and start it up.it sounds quite tame in comparison to the caddy.its has a satisfying burble,and makes a cool little air slurping sound when revved.but it ain't a v8. The interior is tan leather and smells of it.....and crayons oddly enough.as bettie and i are admiring the car,we see Eddie and Darcy arguing.we cant hear whats going on,but it looks intense.Darcy is holding a purse and throwing stuff out of it.80% of which seems aimed at Eddie.Darcy storms inside the club,leaving Eddie to Wonder what the fuck just happend.bettie and get out of the car and go over to see Eddie.he has the look of a defeated man.so i try to offer a friendly hand,in spite of my ex girlfriend's purse contents scattered over the ground.bettie notices a crumpled five and slips it into her pocket.i see a picture of Monica on the ground.it was taken when we visited key west.we had a good time that weekend.we had an assload of cash due to our tax return.we ate and drank till we puked,than ate and drank some more
Eddie sees me looking at the picture
I kick the picture,and behind it is a picture of her and Eddie.Monica as green hair in the pictire,that's really fucked up,she hasn't had green since last Christmas.Eddie sees me and knows I'm doing some math in my head.

Eddie:so? Its not like you're gonna do shit about it.are you?

Elvis: this ain't the time or place,man.

Eddie: that's because you're too much of a pussy.

Eddie shoves me to punctuate his point.i can tell hes been drinking,Eddie has the tendency to be a mean drunk.i let it go,mainly because......i know i cant take Eddie.he knows this,and more importantly he knows i know this.he pushes me again,this time into the side of a parked car.this time i came up swinging.not because bettie is there and i want to look like a bad ass in front of her.mainly because that is what is going to come from Eddie next,so i hope to get him off guard.

If this was a movie,music would play and i would knock Eddie out.but......this isn't a movie.
I swung.
I connected.
Eddie decks me with a punch to the mouth.
i fall,things go black.
seems like music does play,sorta like some movie i saw once.....

i come to in the snug of al's office.bettie is wiping the blood off my mouth with a very red towel.al is there,looking kinda peeved than i'm bleeding on his couch.i dont know why,i'm doing him a favour.the couch is ugly as shit.it looks like a lumberjack's flannel shirt was used for a couch...only not as cool as that sounds.trust me.when something flannel is the size of a small car,it's hideous.i ask bettie to leave so i can talk to al.she reluctantly leaves.i think she thinks i'm going to ask al to wack eddie.i'm not saying the thought hadnt crossed my mind.but i dont have that kinda money yet....maybe erich hess'd give it to me?.....i pull the package out of my jacket and show al.

al:god damn,boy.where'd you get that??

elvis:a little bird gave it to me.you want it?

al:*wipes his forehead* i dont have that kinda cash on me.i can get it tomorrow.

elvis:i aint interested in a profit,like i said,a little bird gave it to me.how much you got on you,right now?

al:*takes out his wallet and thumbs through it* i only got 8 grand on me.

elvis:i'll take it.*hands al the package*

al:*tastes it* you sure,this is uncut,it's worth at least 22 grand.

elvis:yeah,i just want to get rid of it.*pockets the money* thanks al.

al:thank you.you want this rolex too?

elvis:what the fuck am i going to do with a watch?see ya,al.

i leave al's office.he's so fucking happy,i could bend darcy over the bar right now and i bet he'd fucking applaud.hell,i could probably get his mom too.i meet bettie outside al's office,slip my arm around her waist and we walk out to the parking lot.eddie's already gone,good thing erich gave me that car.bettie and i lean against the car and smoke one of her blunts.

bettie:so....what'd you talk to al about...we still have a drummer,right?

elvis:in retrospect,i probably coulda got al to throw in a whacking.*fans out cash* we're living it up tonight!....hey,you want a rolex?

bettie:*opens purse* no thanks,i got 6...wait,you sold the coke for 8 grand?!

elvis:yeah,pretty good haul,huh?

bettie: you moron! you coulda got 3 times that much!

elvis:from who? you know anyone in the market for that much? i sure as hell dont.

bettie:...good point...your lip's bleeding again.

elvis:fuck.

bettie gets starts the car,and i get in the passenger side.i gotta hold a towel on my mouth,or else i'm gonna drip blood all over the inside.she burns it around the club's parking lot and onto the street.she slams the brakes and the little car turns sideways.darcy is sitting out front of the club,looking pretty glum.bettie rolls the windows down and tells darcy to hop in.manual windows are a rather overlooked luxury these days.have you ever heard of manual windows breaking? neither have i.power windows break left and right.darcy climbs into the back,and bettie accelerates madly.the engine is small,but the turbos fully make up for it.

bettie:this is great!....*notices blood all over her shirt.*i know this is a little late,but you're clean....aren't you,elvis?

Edited by user 21 April 2011 03:52:43(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

for a change,now it's bettie's turn.



I roll out of the bed and rub my eyes.it was a long ass night.ugh,i still taste the putrid sisco.how elvis drinks that shit is beyond me.next time i see him,ill tell him i forbid it. Yes,ill allow threesomes,but will forbid a drink.dont judge me.
I take a stroll to the perkins' balcony.its fairly early in the morning,so its still cool.i dont bother getting dressed.not that im running round naked,ive got my wifebeater and pj pants on.
From way up here,miami looks fantastic.course,if i could afford this veiw,miami would BE fantastic.i guess its like that every where.but miami seems to have a special knack for reminding you how bright fortune smiles on people...other people. I hock a very unladylike loogie and ptooey it ovr the edge. It hurtles towards someone's mercedes at sets off the alarm.
In a few seconds the bitchy owner will be out,demanding to know why some lowly worker didnt stop the offending fluid with his body.......and there she is,like clockwork.itd be fun to drop a used condom on her head.
I settle for hocking another one on her head. It's mostly just normal spit and dissipates before it gets to her.my aim was true,and it did get her right above the ear.this really pisses her off.she dramatically ransacks her purse and dials her phone.no doubt screaming up at me " just wait till i tell my husband,he heads the homeowners association!". Bitch please,even with your new boobs,he's still fucking the girl who hands out towels at the pool.i know this because Pavel had to fix the massage table they broke. I give the woman below a good taunting,and beat it before the rent a cops arrive. Taking a casual stroll towards the elevators,i leave the perkins' condo behind.a real shame,its a nice place.they could get nicer carpet,Ive got carpet burns all over my knees and elbows. Snapping me out of the ghost of sex past's spell,i hear the shrill volice of the perkins' neighbor," hey! Who are you, and what are you doing coming out of that house?"

I consider making a break for it.but this is the kind of old bat who calls the police,and has a photographic memory.she cant remember her husband died six years ago,but can damn sure remember every detail of yours truly. I tell her I'm from housekeeping,and was tidying up.

She looks me with great disapproval," uniforms should be mandated.you look like a,prostitute."

A,prostitute?! I'm wearing a tank top and pants.....i guess back in the eighteen hundreds hookers wore more,clothes than they do today.
Buying my story,she slowly turns towards her condo door.she pauses briefly before reaching in her purse and retrieving a hundred dollar bill." Listen,sweetie. Showing off your goods may bring better tips,but it won't get you respect.take this and promise me you wont debase yourself today."

I try to avoid taking it.even though this lady thinks I'm a whore.but she shoves it my hand and walks off.feeling pretty good she did her part to help the rabble.her intentins were good.so in the course of my day, i will try not to blow anyone in exchange for cash.....that shouldn't be too hard.but who knows,they say there is a first time for everything.

I make my way to the garage to find my car.i hate parking garages.if you watch TV,nothing good ever happens in them.murders,rapes,DVD piracy....it all happens in parking garages.the film industry says all of those are equal crimes.as a musician i could care less about piracy.you cant pirate a show,and you cant pirate t shirt.so if you want to pirate the take home version of my efforts,go ahead.its not like i can stop you.the cat is out of the bag with free music.you either change with the times,or don't.personally,id never pay to download a song.if I'm paying for something,i want something physical in my hands. I find my car in the sea of ultra posh luxoliners.granted, a Saab isn't exactly a spartan ecnobox,but mine is old enough not to be lumped in with the typical fountain bleu crowd. The closed garage really amplifies the around of my car.monocles are falling out,kids are screaming, big important calls are ruined.i punch it when i exit the garage,and leave a cloud of disintegrated dunlop rubber to remind them i was there.



Ooc:and with that the maven and rsg storylines are in sync.now i can start writing new stuff

Brenda: Elvis is one fucking funny guy!

Bettie,Pavel and i take my car to the culture room.its plenty big enough to fit my bass,Pavel's guitar,a plethora of amps,and three passengers.we all have to squeeze in the front seat,but i ain't complaining.this squishes bettie in nice and close.its times like this where I'm glad i dont have a stick shift.in spite of all the innuendo involved,i doubt bettie would enjoy a gear shifter to the crotch each time i needed to change gears.i start humming some song by cake.i forget it's title,but it preaches the downside of bucket seats and stick shifts.they also have a tune with a line comparing white fuzzy dice to a pair of testicles.in spite of how it sounds at the moment,i ain't too keen on cake.be it the band,or the food.pie is far superior to cake.they dont have a number called " cake", now do they?

We make it to the culture room early enough to park out front.I'd hate to have to lug all this shit over from the target parking lot.the culture room is tucked away in the corner of a little strip mall.it's real easy to miss.the first time i came here,i fucking walked right by it.but its cool because it has free parking,mainly in the form of the super target across the street.ft lauderdale's other venue,revolution has parking where you have to pay. Which is lame.the culture room is far cooler,but the ultimate venue in south Florida is churchhill's.it sits in little Haiti and is the very antithesis of south beach.you ain't going to find Kim kardashian partying at churchhill's

Eddie is already here,he and Monica are leaning on his car.one day I'm going to steal his hood ornament.I've always wanted a Mercedes three point star....maybe I'll come out later tonight and nab it.Eddie hops off of the hood as he sees us pull up.i park next to him.i may not be on good terms with the guy,but amps are heavy,and Pavel and i can use an extra hand.bettie gives me a quick kiss and say" I'll go ahead and bring this in,meet you guys inside." .....she grabbed a Ziploc bag full of guitar picks.

Pavel,Eddie and i Sherpa the rest of the equipment inside.it only took three trips,as opposed to the five it took just Pavel and i.the culture room is fucking freezing.seriously,not being gross or anything,but i swear my right nad is frozen to my inner thigh.we better enjoy it while we can,by the end of the night,its going to be hot as the devil's jockstrap in here.....the venue,not my pants.
Eddie catches my eye and nods towards the door.he holds up a blunt the size of a prosthetic leg.i can smell it from 12 feet away,and over the sweat,booze,smoke,...urine? Smell of concert venue.hell, id smoke with Hitler if he offered something like that. I couldn't keep a straight face if i smoked out with Hitler.that mustache is just too much.ever smoke with someone funny looking? It gets real hard not to laugh at them.i know I'm no prize pig.but i used to smoke with a cat that looked just like Jim varney.you know,the guy in all those Ernest films? I shit you not,he coulda been the guy's twin. Can you imagine being blazed around that,and not busting a gut?

Eddie and i sit on the ground between our cars.the bulky forms of America and germany' finest automobiles provide a decent fortress against prying eyes and noses.on second thought,open flames around either of these cars is akin to having a death wish.Eddie and i go through several rotation before he speaks.

Eddie: listen,man.I'm really sorry about.....everything.

Elvis: yeah.*looks out towards the road.* dont be
It was for the best,i guess.bettie is real swell,and she was bound to see me get my ass kicked sooner or later.at least the first time it was by someone i knew.

Eddie: you wanna deck me in front of Monica?

Eddie is a big balled fuck for saying this,but honestly i could care less.Monica is like a picked scab.once she was part of me,now she is not.

Elvis: what about Darcy?

Eddie: *laughs* shit,i guess i should tell you....we're both fired from Al's. Darcy felt guilty and finally told me about your guys' little ..thing.hell,i didn't care.i always assumed Darcy and i were friends with benefits.Darcy got pissed at me for not getting pissed.pissed at you and bettie for causing it.so she got AL to fire us.

Elvis: hope this show is a good one then.

This isn't that big a deal usually.Eddie and i have been fired by AL no less than forty times.AL gets a bug up his ass about something or the other and fires one of us
Al once fired me because i farted in a butter bowl and left it on his desk. Al is one of those people who dont find farts funny.at all.but with Darcy involved,id say this firing might be for real

Bettie pokes her head out the clubs door and tells us to get our asses inside.she even does her AL imitation,which causes hysterical laughter from Eddie and i.we make our way inside.its good weed,so i feel like I'm walking like the guy in that " keep on trucking'' Picture. We pick up our instrments and warm up.maybe its the weed,but we sound fucking killer....we also spawned a second guitarist,Monica.i keep playing and shoot bettie a questioning look.bettie responds with a shrug of her shoulders and a smirk.i cant complain too much.Monica is a hell of a guitarist,a decent vocalist,and the one who introduced me to psychobilly in the first place.

We fiddle fuck around until its time to go on.the curtain goes up and we are staring at a massive crowd of about 15.well,that takes alot of pressure off our shoulders.if we stink it up in front of these few people,who cares?



Bettie weaves her way to the mic.there are cables,amps,bottles,and assorted bric a brac on stage.bettie is greeted with a polite amount of applause,and some wolf whistles thrown in for good measure.

Bettie:hello,I'm bettie.these fine people behind me,are the starchiefs,unsurprisingly.this is our first show,so you guys get to pop our cherry.please remember your first time.its going to be awkward at first,perhaps a little painful.but if we muddle through,the end result will totally be worth it.




Ooc: most of the time these write very easily.this was not one of those times.

OOC: These are funny, reminds me of the one where Atomic War Bride(I believe) were recording on the Ship, except way more personal.

Ever have that dream where you are naked at school? Our first show is like that....but now the school day is forty eight hours long,and your pecker has shrank to
The size of a jelly bean.
Yea,its that bad.at least i can bury my head and pretend to really be concentrating on my bass.bettie is out there undefended.its not that they hate us,that would be a step up.we are getting zero reaction from the crowd.
We finally finish the first song, "your pretty face is going to hell",by the stooges.no applause,just one guy trying to be funny and making cricket sounds.hell,for all i know,it might BE crickets.lord knows they could have free run of the floor.it ain't Lek they will be stepped on by people dancing.i glance up and see Bettie's shoulders droop a little.even bettie isn't immune to the apathy death ray these people are wielding. Especially seeing as that stooges tune was our strongest song. I cant see Eddie,but i know he is thinking the same thing i am : "maybe playing Kenny g shit wasn't so bad."

Bettie looks back and tells us ".44".which is one of my favorite frantic flintstones songs.the flintstones are seriously underrated,id dare say they are as good as the meteors.we tear into the song like a fat boy eating a twinkie wrapped in ham. Still nothing.

Bettie signals for us to cut the music.and she puts the mic back on it's stand." OK,what do you want to hear? I'm getting paid whether you like what we play or not.i want you to be happy though,so what do you want to hear?"

inevitably someone yells " freebird!".

" OK,smart ass.this is for you.you get a free request,and you want freebird?!" Bettie shoves her hands into her back pockets and starts humming the intro to freebird.we try to join in,but honestly? None of us know how to play freebird.nobody should.i wonder who started the "play some skynard" thing and why....and would it be right to yell at an actual lynard skynard show?
We produce this orgy of bastardized skynard until bettie finally cries" OK,OK that's all of it i know. And more than i can take! ugh,i feel like i just had sex in a camaro.no more skynard!''

This seems to loosen everyone up.bettie is one of those people where its impossible not to like them. If i got up there and said what she said,id just look like an asshole and probably caught a battery to the teeth.

Next up was our final tune,"he ran all the way to hell.". This was our one original tune.bettie and i wrote it in that bleach infested hotel room.pretty bad ass title,huh? Too bad the movie its from is just fucking terrible. "Red zone Cuba"...good god its terrible.but had a cool song at its opening credits.our " red zone" inspired song wasn't too shabby considering it was written in hour. It starts with a pretty typical rock a billy bass riff that gets faster and faster.Pavel starts in with a dick dale sorta thing and it just goes from there.finally the show is over.bettie takes a bow and says "good night,and thanks for making our first show as pleasant as getting a dirty Sanchez from your drunk uncle."

The curtains close and we are done.now comes the salt in the wound.we gotta sit at our merch booth and watch people not buy stuff.though we might luck out,neither atomic war bride or the harlots offer tshirts.i always found this odd,who doesn't like band t shirts?
I hope that is the reason our show tanked.it seems only the harlots were supposed to open,maybe people were all excited see them.

I take a chair at our booth.we have a mountain of t shirts.we got a hell of a deal from happy endings printing. I know,i know.i dont know what they were thinking with that name either.surely someone has bought a mess of shirts and wanted a " happy ending." Maybe I'm just a pervert.after a few minutes bettie plops down in the chair beside me,within seconds she props her feet up on my lap and hands me a bottle of water.

Elvis: no thanks.

Bettie: went through the trouble of stealing a bottle of everclear and putting it in these bottles,the least you can do is drink it.

I oblige her.though i actually hate everclear.it smells and tastes like lighter fluid.but its good for what ails you.




Ooc:see? I told you they can end abruptly. And i do know i misspelled lynyrd skynyrd

Edited by user 29 April 2011 07:44:32(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified