Friday, March 19, 2010

Preparation GBH



Instead of watching our Ewe Ess women Oh-Limp-Ick curlers take on the stoner-and-sweeper lasses from Norway like I'd planned for Oh-Two/Eighteen/Oh-Two, my gopher-the-gold spirited ass luged the not-so-winding track that is Interstate 64 and ice-braked at Chicho's Not To Be Confused With The More Often Than Not Mexican Restaurant Rock 'N' Roll Bar That Has Great Pizza in Vaaaa Beeeech.

Since I had sought Oh-Limp-Ick glory in only the single-man luge and not the two-dude double stack, my pre-anticipating-a-bronze-medal beer was of the root strain. The games of this Oh-Limpy-Add began with The Dirty Politicians from take-your-shirt-off-and-wave-it-around-like-a-helicopter North Carolina. With a singer who proposed bills at the podium by actually singing (NOT SCREAMING!!!), and a backing band who melodically assisted in those
soon-to-be mandates, DP, like Congressional members The Vigilantes from Massachusetts, Reducers SF from California, and The Beltones from Florida, got unanimous "Is" in their session.

Voting concluded, Tanka Ray took the floor of the house chambers. They and their constituents are from the City Slash State where Willie Wilson used to steal all those bases. Much like Charm City, Maryland's National Razor FDIC, TR addressed the senators with a street rock/punk/whateveryoucallit pitch in a Naked Raygun-esque tone (an extended quote from those Chicago, Illinois lawmen would be their final order of business). Before TR spoke so fondly of NR, MC Speakah Of Da House Lare May had rocked the mic and had rapped 'bout George Brett's Hemorrhoids. Insightful, but I thought it had been fellow 1980 World Series participant Mike Schmidt with the asshole complications. Next time around, TR, could y'all serve some "Wonder Beer" ("wish Roy Orbison could tell me what to do...") for us beachcombers who "Understand?".

Because I didn't get turned into a seal steak by a going-90-MPH 1983 Malibu Classic with Virginia license-plate number DEMAND ("Yes, sir!") on my luge return, I was able to put out the Oh-Limp-Ick torch at one thirty-seven in the AM. Later the same day, I was awarded a silver for my combined runs. In Canada, that makes me an Oh-Limp-Ick Champ-Eh-On. Pass me a Coors Light to match my golden glow.

1 comment:

  1. Another fine night at Chicho's. The Larry May-era was the best time to visit the place, due to the quality bands he arranged to play there. Being a great bartender/DJ didn't hurt, either.

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