broke my truck
"I'm not a prude,
but..." As soon as you hear those words, "I'm not a prude," you're
going to be hearing from a prude very shortly. Same deal with, "I'm not
a racist, but..." A racist will soon speak.
(... I got nothin')
Well, I'm not a whiner, but shit's been messin' me up lately. After a
very busy South-By-Southwest (SXSW) music festival in Austin, I was
looking forward to getting back to some serious writing and recording,
but the damn computer went out for three days.
No audio, then no email. No good.
I finally solved the computer mess this morning, but when I jumped into
my Ford 150 in anticipation of a victory breakfast at Jim's Restaurant,
I discovered my truck's back right tire was flat. Must have been from
all that truckin' I did for Bombay Bicycle Club. And that ledge I
took the truck over at a particularly crowded parking garage.
I'm not gay, but I was guitar tech for Bombay Bicycle Club during SXSW.
Oh, snap! I did not just say... oh, snap. (See how it is with me?)
I'm no procrastinator, but I'll have to table my long story about my
misadventures with the British alt rock band whose initials are BBC and
the escapades that ensued during what will now be known as The Great
St. Patrick's Day Melee of 2011.
Hey, I'm no liar, but I might have made that last paragraph up.
And I'm no mechanic, but I've got a motherfuckin' tire to change. It
was my understanding that in exchange for my support for feminist
causes and liberal ideals that I would forever be excused from anything
remotely resembling car mechanics, as well as most handyman chores and
any activity that could possibly earn me money.
Thing is, if I don't change the tire myself I'll have to hire some
tea-bagger to do it (they all work on cars, you know). Then I'll have
to pay him money, because (ironically) most tea-baggers aren't gay, so
I can't just blow him for his trouble. Worse yet, if I pay him he'll
probably just spend the dough on either bullets, gasoline or a
Republican BJ at a public restroom, and that ain't right.
What the hell? I might as well just march down to the ballot box and
vote for Donald Trump right now and be done with it.
Meanwhile, I'm at the point in the column where I usually throw in one
gratuitous remark about licking pussy. Truth is, this week's
cunnilingus reference seems a tad more sincere, since I'm trying to get
rid of the taste of the hypothetical blow job I just gave a tea-bagger
two paragraphs ago.
Still with me? No? It's simple, really. Life bit me on the ass this
week, so I won't put up a real column about SXSW and my adventures with
Bombay Bicycle Club until next week.
Hey, I'm no blogger, but at least you can't say I missed deadline again.
This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it,
you're on your own.
is a writer and musician living in Austin, Texas.
from the San Francisco Bay Area, he claims strong ties to Seattle, St.
Petersburg, Florida and North Platte, Nebraska.