The cars make a sort of swoosh and growl sound as they pass our window. Its been raining like hell all day,and it shows no sign of letting up. bettie and i have holed up again in the Haleigh executive.there is inspiration here for sure. it floats like a turd just daring you to flush it .we lucked out and didn't get the bleach room,this one smells of motor oil of all things. This is what i love about low end motels.you never know what sorta shit is waiting inside.several years back.Monica and i were at this little place in ocala. I don't know about you,but the first thing i do in hotel rooms is search for treasure.if previous hotelees left a million dollars behind,I'll be damned if I'm not going to find it. I could tell right off this place was home to something cool.it had green shag carpeting,that was oddly and universally moist.and a bed with "magic fingers". This thrilled me,because i thought such things only existed in legend.and there,in that room.... i found it. A shitload of horse stuff.a saddle,some spurs,a riding crop.bitch ass Monica wouldn't let me keep any of it! Not even a single spur.
Our current dwelling is nowhere near as ....colorful. but i guess few places would be.the company is far better though.we're laying on the bed and bettie is using my stomach as a pillow and much like before,she is clad in a t shirt and underpants and pretending to be oblivious to what she is doing.i finally ask her, " bettie,if we found a bunch of horse stuff in here,would you let me keep it?"

Bettie looks up over her notebook and gawks at me.she looks me up and down before saying " Elvis,i don't know what kind of girl I've lead you to believe i am.but i want no part of that.". She giggles and stretches her shirt dramatically to her knees."........then again,i guess it depends on who wears what." And she starts making a whipping motion with her arm.

Bettie reminds me of one of my favorite lines from " on the road" :"because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..."

With little else to do,and our creative aquifers dried up for the day,bettie rolls over on to me with clear intent.off pops her shirt and so begins what would require a cut scene with a train and a tunnel. But this train never made it out of the station. Eddie's tell tale knock Has visited upon our door. Bettie glances at the clock above our heads and buries her head against me with a groan of despair. Eddie's our ride now since my car threw a rod and is permanently benched. We have a gig at Al's tonight,see? I told you he fires us on a near monthly basis.

"Hey Eddie,be a pal and come back in like ten minutes.bettie is in the shower.you know how girls and showers are.'' I yell towards the door.trying to sound as uninterrupted as possible.

Eddie yells back," OK,i gotta put some gas in the car anyway.you still going to go in half,right?

"Sure." I tell him.bettie and i wait slightly until we are sure he is gone and start to put the train back on track.its gotta make it through that tunnel and quick. Instead of a train sequence, we get Eddie and Monica pounding on the door and yelling " OH GOD! YES! YES!" loud enough that dogs start barking and car alarms start going off. Bettie and i compose ourselves and re-robe? I guess that's the opposite of disrobe. I Put on my standard uniform of a black t shirt and jeans.boring,but it makes shopping a snap.bettie goes a little more colorful and re wears her red thrush shirt....is that company even around anymore? My dad used to have a thrush sticker on his jeep.a bird with a flaming head is fucking logo gold,man.bettie completes the look with some Capri's.the height of fashion or what?

Monica and Eddie meet us with gestures of "shame shame". Bettie and i return the favor and give em the finger.we all pile into the ancient Mercedes and clatter off towards Al's.

Eddie:* looking at us in the rear view mirror* i dint want no freaky shit going on back there.mi carra not su carra.

Bettie: i speak Russian,not Spanish.

Eddie: put some fucking subtitles on it then.

Bettie:* laughs* besides,i dint put on shows.i dint want any of my trade secrets getting out.

Looking out the window,i cant help but think this is a small miracle of sorts.by all rights,every one in this car should be at each others throats.between us there is at least 2 pistols and 4 knives. Everyone carries a pocket knife,its a handy thing to have.Eddie keeps a .38 in his glovebox,and I've seen some sort of small pistol in Bettie's purse.So we definitely have the means to hurt each other. i carried a .38 as well a couple years back,but have since quit.having it on me made me nervous.not that i have a fear of guns or anything like that.i do have quite a temper and an instant death machine in one's pocket just isn't a good idea sometimes.

Lourdes the neighbor.


Sarah winchester
Ooc: back to the plan of giving everyone mentioned a face.



Sometimes all the decadent hotel antics and rock n roll shows catch up with you and you need to just go home.not the kind of home where you live,but home as in with mom. My mother lives down in Miami beach,personally i dint know how she stands living there.but its free,and our neighbor is just drop dead gorgeous.if there is one thing Miami has,its beautiful girls.pretty soon we'll have to start exporting them by the truckload. They are like rats in Calcutta,you cant take a step without squishing one. I get my morning cup of coffee and kick back on my bed,ready for a half hour or so of appreciating the various curves and angles of Lourdes.sunday is the day she washes her car,so my morning is set. It kinda makes me want to wash my car,but washing a car that doesn't run is just wrong.

Soon the familiar sound of Bettie's Saab resonates through the neighborhood.Lourdes looks up in disgust at the loud Swedish machine. I said Lourdes was pretty,i never said was my type.she drives a fucking prius.i dint care if gas gets to be twenty bucks a gallon,i ain't gonna drive one of those ugly bastards.

In a flash bettie is in my room,and looking quite perturbed.i was just looking at Lourdes.it ain't like i had my junk out on display.so i dint know whats up with her.
" OK,who the fuck is that? I know i may not seem all that conventional,but this?!" Bettie starts while waving her arms around.

"Fine,so i was watching her wash her car. Big deal." I reply back,very annoyed.

This either confuses the hell out of bettie,or just pisses her off more.its hard to tell with her." Washing her...car? " she says,then looks out the window at Lourdes.who has now has very wet and see through sweat pants on.....and a hot pink thong apparently.why she wears sweat pants to wash a car,I'll never know.but she drives an ugly car,so her mind clearly is compromised. " oh...her. hell, id watch that too. I'm talking about the woman who answered the door,then ran out of here!" She continues.

Elvis: you mean my mom,who is very late for work?

Bettie: your mom? Ive heard some lame excuses in my time,but come on.most people claim its their sister or cousin.if that was your mom,your mom is pretty hot.

Elvis: its true.that is my mom.look, here is her holding me as a baby.

I rummage around in the drawers until i find the picture and hand it to bettie.she snatches it and has the same reaction most people have when they realize what the picture is of.mouth slightly open,and eyes growing larger each second.
The picture shows a little girl,about 11 holding a baby.if you just glanced at it,without knowing its story.it looks like a little girl none too happy about having a baby brother.its almost cute if you think of it like that.once you know its a mother and her son,its fucking horrifying. I was the end result of a terrible rape,but my mom's parents ,being religious nuts,forced her to go through with the pregnancy,and thus here i am.mom got custody of me when she turned 18. Happy birthday,or what? She renamed me Elvis,on account of his legendary love of his mother.i guess you could say I'm
A momma's boy.....just not in the creepy norman bates way.

I tell bettie this same story,and she kinda looks at the ground.hell,i wouldn't know what to say either if someone told me the story either.bettie and i spend the rest of the the evening writing some songs.we have a show coming up down at churchhills.churchhills will let just about anyone on stage.even Marilyn manson played there way back when.......I'm not sure if that's a good thing,or a bad thing. Florida is like the Canada of the USA when it comes to the bands we release on the world.i ain't got a thing against Canada or its people
It looks to be a nice place with decent people.but Bryan Adams,nickleback,alanis,Avril lavagine,Bryan Adams,rush,sum41....I'm just saying,their track record isn't the strongest.factor in : limp bizkit,matchbox 20,creed ,and jimmy fucking buffet and the case isn't looking too good for Florida either.

After a good twenty minutes or so of just the sound of pencils scraping their way onto paper,bettie finally speaks.

Bettie:Elvis.....I'm sorry.

Elvis: dont be.besides the whole issue of incest,my mom would be pretty flattered you thought i was cheating on you with her.

Bettie: *clearly uncomfortable and looking to change the subject* i talked to Pavel this morning,he knows a guy who can book us in new york.

Elvis: yeah?

Bettie: yeah. He runs a little place in queens and grantees we wont make enough to cover the trip.

Elvis: fuck it,lets do it

With a spaceship metallic clang, the elevator bell wakes me from my stupor.the aluminum of it's interior is cooling to my three mile island flesh.the small room on a rope hurtles upwards,leaving my innards far,far below.it is bed i want,and bed i am searching for. I waddle forth,like a club footed duck.the morning's indulgences are catching up to me with a fucking vengeance. The hotel's rental bed accepts me as it's host,the folds and wrinkles of the blanket envelop me and start to suck the consciousness from me. I start to wonder just how many people have used this bed,and of those, how many have of those have"used" the bed..how much collective semen has been where i am now laying my head? Is the hotel industry allowed a bit of leeway ,like the food industry when it comes to cleanliness? Only now instead of rat droppings and insect filth,we're talking spent bodily juices and latex residue.as i lay there,i swear i can feel things wiggling all over me.

I flip the TV on to try and distract my mind from it's current path.anyone that says drugs ruin your mind,must be using the wrong ones.right now I'm firing on all cylinders ....plus some i didn't know i had.its been days since i last slept. Hell,i don't even remember what sleep is like.dutch TV does little to distract me.i turn off the set and retreat to my blanket bunker. Where is tony danza when you need him? I bet he is a fucking riot dubbed in dutch.

I'm currently stationed in Amsterdam,the city god ignores.bettie got the band a spot on the field trip festival.i guess its like the English version of woodstock,or something.all i know is it's held on a farm....and bettie has been working us like dogs,and not in the fun way.we changed a lot about the band.changed it's oil.chopped and channeled it,so to speak.this is partly why i am here and nobody else is.needed some time away,Elvis time.

In the city's confines,i have sampled it's wares......and went back for seconds...with some mid meal snacking too. Been here for a week,but it seems like only hours.speed is a helluva drug,no doubt about it.amazing,I'm in a city with legal weed,and I'm speeding like a nitrous fueled go kart.i wonder if there is a little Mario at the controls behind my eyes?

I turn over onto my back and look up at the ceiling.its lumpy and stained surface stares back at lumpy and stained Elvis.we continue this war of attrition for quite some time.the door opens with a fitting squeal.i cant help but think of Ned beatty in "deliverance". I giggle to myself as i play the scene in my head.its not supposed to be funny,but lets face it,it kinda is. Male rape is just more fun when a rotund man is being told to squeal like a pig.

My contemplation of Burt Reynolds cinema classics is put on hold when my department door opens and bettie walks in.she is wearing full on dominatrix gear.and man,can she fill out some black vinyl.her heels click on the floor as she draws near.it must be some sort of hallucination.everything looks all wavy,like when its really hot out and the heat rises off the blacktop.....either its a hallucination,or i really need to get my eyes checked.is this what having cataracts would look like? I doubt it.with the various chemicals swimming in my aquarium and lack of sleep,it was only a matter of time before that little Mario in my head started making his own courses to drive on.

Halluci-bettie sits on the end of the bed.i know she isn't real,but she clearly does not.i swear the bed depresses under her weight.the bed doesn't want to agree she isn't real either.ever notice how sometimes it seems the whole world is out to get you? Bettie sort of frowns and asks me "so,this is really what you want?"
I don't give her a response.hallucinations are like bullies,just ignore them and they'll go away.i pull the covers up and try to let the blanket eat away more of my consciousness. Even if she isn't real,the bettie makes me feel a little guilty. One of my stops here in Amsterdam was Erica's parlour.the premier dominatrix establishment in town. It was expensive,but well worth it.its not every day that one gets smacked around by karoliena verlinden. She has a very exclusive client list.there lies the guilt.it wasn't where i was,but who i was with.

Before i can give it any more thought,i hear bettie speak, "hey,check it out!" This is the real bettie.her voice makes the parts inside my ear move.hallucinations cant do that.being so ultra aware,that you can feel the very workings of your ears is amazing.if not more than a little maddening. I peak out of my Day pillbox and look face first at.... Betty boop?

Bettie is kneeling on the bed,sans trousers. A freshly tattooed Betty boop is sitting right below where Bettie's underpants would reside.miss boop is winking and twirling a pistol around her fingers.its done in just black. Betty boop just doesn't look right in color. "Just got her this morning" bettie says,gazing down at it.

I give it the once over and render my verdict: "nice.but its going to look like shit when you get old."

Bettie laughs and replys," no way.I'm going to look this sexy far into my seventies.you better hope you do too.I'll hate to trade you in for a younger model,but that doesn't mean i wont." She pulls her pants back on." Cmon,i want to hit the cafe before catching the ferry."

I rub my eyes and get out of bed.hopefully i can get some sleep on the ferry...and a blueberry muffin.Ive got an intense craving for one.i put on my shirt,a red Hawaiian shirt.i fucking love Hawaiian shirts. Bettie spits out her drink when she spots the bruises all over me." Jesus Christ! What happened to you?"

I tell her the truth.even though I'm sure i coulda gotten away with a fib. I'm a terrible liar and rarely chance it.bettie doesn't flip out or anything,she just smirks and says " Kari does have a wicked backhand,doesn't she? Lets go,you nut."

I never really understood how the whole "I'm so over come by loss,let's fuck" thing worked until i experienced it.hell,i still don't understood how it occurred,but it certainly did occur.its a great feeling,steeping in your own decadence. Lourdes' head is stationed on my chest.she has the sort of hair that always looks good.it's black volume makes my chest look like it has some sort of endless void in it.her hair smells slightly of apple.with trouble my aching mind considers the hair atop it. Mine certainly doesn't smell of apples.i ran out of my usual pomade,Murray's.and went with my back up,royal crown.ugh royal crown smells horrible,Murray's has a nice sort of smell to it.

Lourdes has a pretty swell pad.it looks exactly how you would picture a prius driver's house to look. All sorts of exercise equipment,and granola shit.spotless and nothing out of place.i bet i could find a Dave matthews CD if i looked hard enough.

Her bed is comfy though.its one of those fancy tempur pedic jobs they advertise on TV...shit,we should have set a glass of red wine on the bed,then fucked on it.it'd been boss to see if it would have fallen over. If it did,I'd insist Lourdes call the company and get her money back.the ad clearly showed people jumping on the bed and the wine not spilling.i finish an orphaned drink that's within range of my arm,and sink into the Swedish sleep system mattress.squeeze Lourdes in close and close my eyes..i quickly open them again.i spy the Dave matthews CD.i can just make out the "Dave matthews ba" peeking out from underneath Lourdes ex-underpants.i knew it,you can just tell a Dave matthews fan. I close my eyes and caress Lourdes' back.ending right at the curve where back becomes backside.i doze back off thinking life is pretty good.

A few minutes later a very familiar sound wakes me with the same feeling getting bit on the spinal cord by a rabbit wearing dentures would give. The raspy burble of Bettie's Saab making its way towards me. Shit! Suddenly making time with Lourdes seemed like a very,very bad idea. My slightly sober mind struggles to come up with a plan....i could remain where i am and hope bettie thinks I'm not home.that runs the risk of her waking Lourdes up with her pounding on my door.okay,option A is a no go.the little elvises in my noggin submit option b,which is sneak out,without waking Lourdes.sneak into my house greet bettie like nothing is wrong and take this to my grave.one tiny Elvis offers option C,which is much Like option B,but involves murdering Lourdes.i ain't a religious guy,but I'm sure something is wrong about committing murder and cheating on your girlfiend within 24 hours of other.after 48 hours,things might be cool,but 24 hours is just too soon.

With all the stealth of the mythical ninja,i cause my atoms to disperse and re-materialize out of Lourdes' slumbering entangle.if i knew i was this flexible,I'd have taken up limbo long ago.i snatch all my bits and pieces,silently thanking Lourdes for having such a clean pad.within seconds i am out her door and peeping over the hedge as Bettie's car rounds the corner.i duck behind the shrubbery and put my clothes on.shirt? Check. Jeans? Jeans?! JEANS?!

For the life of me i cant get the jeans on.i tug and i tug, but they ain't getting passed my knees.then i notice...these are Lourdes pants! Fuck,my wallet,knife,car keys,and near a half eighth is in the pockets! How am i gonna get them back? I hear bettie shut her car off,so i tunnel through the hedge.i cant help but hum that operation ivy tune "hedgecore". I make it into the house and to the front door.luckily we never lock our back door.i wish i had time to stop by the shed and spray a little paint on me.i used to get blazed in that shed,and cover the weed smell with spray paint.it works pretty good and the spray paint makes a handy excuse for bloodshot eyes.now i would like to cover the smell of Lourdes.i know bettie will pick up on it.

Bettie is pounding on the door loudly,she must assume i am passed out from last night.cause she is pounding like a motherfucker.i take a deep breath and swing the door open.through my fear and the mid morning sun,she's never looked more beautiful.she gives me a kiss then licks her lips.i can tell if she thinks hard enough,she'll place that taste.

Bettie: hey ...... where are your pants?

Elvis: oh..i was sleeping.

Bettie:good thing i wasn't a little old Jehovah' witness.you got a Little something hanging out your shorts there.

Elvis: you wanna come in? We,i got waffles in fridge.

Bettie: fuck no.lets get to Al's i got some good ideas for the band.

Elvis: cool.uh,we'll need to take your car.mine is broken.

Bettie:god damn you are tough on cars.put some pants on,and lets go.

About this time,When i was starting to feel i pulled off the perfect crime,lourdes emerges from her house and meets us in my yard.she is holding my missing pants,bettie instantly puts two and two together and the scowl turns down her lips's corners.lourdes,the oblivious woman she is,hugs me and says "looks like you grabbed the wrong pants.you'll have to be more careful tomorrow morning."and kisses me.bettie lets me a have a punch in the stomach and storms off."be at al's by 5.you're a shit boyfriend,but you're still my bass player.so fucking be there!" her little black saab fills the street with squealing tires and white smoke.

lourdes looks down and my crumpled form and rears back her foot for a good kick.i brace for what is coming.but her ked clad foot returns to the miami sand/dirt. "you said she wasnt your girlfriend! you're an asshole,elvis.you can swim for you fucking pants!" she strides off to her back yard and tosses my pants in her pool.she goes inside with a slam of her door.by this time several neighbors have poked their heads out of the their dens to see what the commotion is about.lourdes' door pops back open,and she yells at me, "and the sex was fucking lousy! the worst i've ever had!" and slams the door again.me? i go swimming.i need those car keys.

Bettie

Twilight rainbow studio looms ahead of me,it's shitty sign reflects off the hood of my car as i park.it isn't run down in a cool way,it's just run down.the exterior is brick,which has its charms. Red brick sticks out like a sore thumb in Miami.Elvis,Eddie and Monica are sitting between their respective cars.the tell tale puffs of smoke remove all doubts to what they are doing.starting without me?! Oh no,no.this will not do.

Taking off my shoes,i sneak towards the triangular bunker of cars.the asphalt hurts my bare feet,but the heels i wore today make a lot of noise on hard surfaces.i cant lose this opportunity just because i wanted to wear cute shoes. Tasting impending victory, i speed up my sneaking and yell in my most manly of voices," all right you,fucks! Hands where i can see 'em!"

The ensuing chaos is something i will think about on my deathbed as the credits roll for bettie antonov. Eddie looks like a deer in the headlights as he stuffs a little Ziploc bag in his mouth.Elvis jumps straight up and takes off running,and Monica attempts to crawl under her car.unsuccessfully,i might add.

I pick up the still smoldering blunt and sit on the hood of Elvis's car to put my shoes back on.i know this pisses Elvis off to no end.so i scooch around to get comfy,daring him to say a word.he responds with silence,i counter with a smirk.

Eddie is the first to speak," god damn,you trying to kill me? "

" oh no,no.you're my favorite drummer,Eddie. Whatever would i do without you?" I tell him,while pinching his cheek in a grandmotherly way.this seems to bug Monica a little bit.so to rub salt in her wounds,i point out she has dirt on her face from trying to crawl under her car.

Before she can get snippy ,Erich pops his head out of the studio's door and orders us inside.Erich Hess is sort of producing the record.truth be told,i am not too keen on that.the man is a little too....."out there" for my liking. But on the flip side if of things ,he is a pretty respected name in certain circles. So maybe that will help us get a foot in the door.

Inside,the studio is very.....Miami.well make that Miami circa 1986 as imagined by "the golden girls" creators.lots floral printed rattan furniture and pastel everything else....not that i ever watch the golden girls..OK,maybe a couple of times.but only because i was drunk and couldn't find the remote.but that is another story ,for another time.i only hope i have as much sex as the golden girls were having at their ages on that show.i haven't had it in 32 days,4 hours and a couple minutes,and its driving me batty!

Being the last one to arrive has its advantages.all the instruments were already lugged inside and set up,all i had to do was turn the mic on.we warm up by playing "blue sunshine",by the meteors.it sounded good,if i do say so myself.i might be biased though.we do "blue sunshine" a couple of times through,and that morphs i to "fucked up ford" by Horton heat.the song is a lot of fun since it is so fast.

Eddie nods at Elvis,Elvis nods to Pavel,Pavel nods to Monica,and Monica nods to me.i give Erich the "ready signal",which appropriately enough is saying "we're ready." Into the mic.
Erich is laying the control room's couch,his hands behind his head and his eyes are closed.he acknowledges us by swinging a stick at the controls until he hits "record".I'd be really pissed if this was costing us more than the two quarts of old English he charged us.

We tear into "Jayne mansfield". It is one of our more recently written songs. Its the kind of song that writes itself.big bosomed blondes getting killed in car wrecks is tailor made for psychobilly. The song is blisteringly fast and fairly intricate when it comes to the guitar work.to their credit,Pavel and Monica never missed a note.we all are pretty pleased since we nailed it in one take .up in the control room,Erich is still laying on  the couch,swinging the stick wildly.after a few minutes he gives up and presses a note to the glass," cant find intercom button.bettie,come in here."

I look at everyone,and they look as puzzled as me. I run a hand nervously through my hair,i hate being put on the spot like this. And knowing this nutty son of a bitch it could be anything from wanting to share a bowl of corn flakes to wanting something of a more....personal nature.if so,he'll be picking a size 6 stiletto out of his shin and a 11 inch stiletto out of his gut...i probably should give Elvis back his knife....nah,I'm keeping the fucker.i deserve it.

I open the door to the control room.ugh,it looks the part of a room where many amoral things have happend in the name of furthering many a naive girl's career....it has the smell of that sorta room too. Erich sits up and shoves a bottle in my hands. It makes the trip from his hand to mine and directly to the trash bin,without a layover to my mouth." What?"  I ask in the bitchiest tone i can manage.i got a job to do,and don't have time for Erich's nonsense....or lame attempts to fuck me.its been a long time,but I'm not desperate.

Erich frowns ever so slightly at my snubbing of his hospitality.he shrugs his shoulders and drinks from his own bottle,then lays back down.

Erich:not a whiskey person,i can respect that.

Bettie: you got a particular thought you wish to share,or  you just enjoy wasting time?

Honestly,i have no idea why i was being a total bitch cake.something about Erich reminds of Elvis,i guess.to his credit,Erich remained his usual good natured self.

Erich: both.but mainly to share an idea. You happy with the star chief's sound?

He plays the previous take.i cant see what he is getting at.the way he asked me sorta implies that i shouldn't be.i listen and scrutinize everything inside my head.my singing,the lyrics,the guitars,bass,drums...everything it still sounds good to me.nothing is too distorted.i finally give in and shake my head.

Bettie: OK,whats wrong with it?

Erich:nothing and everything all at once.it sounds right,and would sell like hot cakes.

Bettie:just what are hot cakes?

Erich: really short shorts.but that doesn't matter . You guys sound like a paint by numbers psychobilly band.loads of people may like it,but i know you guys are better than this.you ooze sex in puddles, on this song? You sound like an elderly bingo junkie with closet full of sweaters with cats on them.sex it up a bit.

I was half offended,and half agreeing with what Erich said.truth be told,sexy was the last thing i felt like.then,if i was a cartoon character,a light bulb would have appeared above my head.if i was a cartoon,I'd want to be betty boop before they cleaned her up,or who
ever the girl from tex Avery's " red hot riding hood" was...i don't think she had a name.maybe? I dunno.some vintage cartoon fan i am.
I hug Erich in my moment of inspiration.i notice his hands are dangerously close to my ass,i raise a concerned eye brow at him. He winks and says," you know i got a reputation to uphold,toots.now get outta here ,you crazy kid." And tousles my hair like I'm a fucking kid or something. I leave the control room and head back to my waiting band.i unbutton my shirt a little and sprinkle some water fountain water on my brow.i greet my waiting star chiefs with a dramatic,yet satisfied sigh." Whew,that's just what i needed!" The look of absolute whore-or from Monica was worth it's weight in gold.i continue," i guess all that jostling around shook something loose,i have a great idea.lets do it like we did that first night at Al's." I hum a jazzy little tune,which Eddie instantly picks up.i wish i had that kind of talent.i cant play an instrument worth a damn,Elvis tried teaching me bass..lets just say i wont be usurping his position any time soon. Pavel also tried getting me to play guitar.he is a great brother and guitarist,but a lousy teacher.we didn't speak to each other for weeks after he pissed me off and i threw his telecaster out the window. Luckily,i got a good voice or I'd really be up shit creek.

After a few minutes of fucking around we finally started getting a neat lounge sorta sound going.we give Erich the "ready signal",and see the stick waving around The control room,followed by several expensive sounding crashes and electrical buzzing,then finally the "recording" light blinks to life. We try "Jayne mansfield" once again.this time,if i put any more sex into it,I'd be dry humping the mic stand.

Elvis is dead. Even as i repeated the words to myself,i still couldnt make my mind comprehend the finality of it all. But i saw the body,i made the arrangments,i even delivered the eulogy.i played the part of the grieving girlfriend.i had the large,black sunglasses to hide my beyond bloodshot eyes and running mascara. There wont be any doubt,unlike elvis's more famous namesake... elvis is dead. Claimed before his time by rock and roll's deadly roadie....heroin. A pathetic end for anyone,even more so for the man i loved. He deserved better..fuck, i desevered better. A car accident,murder? Just bad luck. Suicide? A conscious effort. A fucking drug overdose? Stupidity. I want to say he never really got over the death of his mother. after she died, he didnt have to worry about upsetting her. Deep down,elvis was a mamma's boy.with her gone,he had no one left to approve or disapprove of his actions,at least in his mind.so......it was open season on all of life's offerings. Too much,too soon....and all that. I'll miss the shit out of him.

Im currently driving elvis' prized 53 cadillac on i-95 south.it's loud as fuck,and rattles the windows of square's i pass. I love it now as i loved it the first night i met elvis. It's the one of elvis' i possess. After he died,his slimy brother,jimmy swept in and took everything of value. I got the car since jimmy couldnt start it,and assumed it didnt work. Also,being elvis' only living relative,jimmy owns elvis' royalties,publishing rights,and near half the band. This made the decision to disband the star chiefs that much easier. I wouldnt imagine someone else playng bass for us,neither could eddie or monica. None of us NEED money that bad. Our one album has long been out of print,so jimmy gets nothing. Elvis hated jimmy and is probably pissing ghost whiz in his bed right now.

The cadillac squeaks to a halt as i reach my destination: the port of miami. I've booked permanent passage on the duke of winchester...winchester. it is an odd sort of thing that the hesses were such a large part of the star chiefs' brief,yet intense rise to fame,and their ship share's elvis' surname.
The ship's cargo ramp lazily swings down and waits for my dryrotted tires to make their way inside the cavernous interior of the ship. I gun it and the car struggles up the steep incline.the bald tires slip beofore finally taking hold. The squealing of rubber on metal is deafening,but is quickly lost amid the port's other sounds.

Once inside, i park the car next to all the other decaying relics of mid century america's motoring heyday. Nina and erica greet me,each one taking a turn to hug me and kiss my cheek through the open driver's window. Putting the car in park,i roll up the window and rev the engine once before cutting it off. I never knew the reasoning behind doing this...other than it feels good and looks cool. I pop open the chrome encrusted glovebox and toss the keys inside. They make a metallic "clank" when they bounce off elvis' old switchblade that he must have put in there a while back. I swore he always kept it with him. I click it open once,and slip it in my back pocket with a smile. Before closing the little door in the dashboard,i spot the cherry stem i gave elvis so long ago. I pop it in my mouth,and promptly tie it in a knot with my tongue. I return it to the glovebox and go to meet erica and nina.


Ooc: after a certain point i ran out of ideas for this band,and i didnt want them damned to limbo. So,die die my darling.