Thoughts while landing in Toronto
One time I met this guy at a bar and he'd had too many glasses of loudmouth soup and he was bragging about his high school football fame he once had in Sioux City. Once he got an earlock on you he wouldn't let go. Yak yak yakkety yak. I couldn't get a word in edge wise. I got bored of listening to him and I started fantasizing about duct taping his mouth shut. It was snowing outside and I was stuck at a trade show in Minnesota in the late 1980s and greed was good and hair styles were big. I was selling pipe nipples and somehow snuck out of the convention with sleepy eyes and intentions of pouring as much beer and whisky down my throat as possible. I hated my job and should have been grateful just to have work but I didn't give a crap about PVC products and irrigation pipes. It was then that I realized I wanted to only play my guitar and sing. I had a hard time paying attention to things that didn't involve music or death. Some people call it ADD but I call it IGBE- I Get Bored Easily. Anyways, I stumbled out of the bar at closing time with a couple of Iowa girls who were also selling some sort of shit that people didn't know they needed. We went back to my hotel room and proceeded to empty out my mini bar and break things. We ripped the curtains down and danced in our underwear and pretended the curtains were paisley robes. Finally they coaxed me to take out my guitar which I always brought with me. I finished the last of the ass flavored Schnapps and started singing. I sang song after song after song. I made up songs and sang songs I didn't even know I knew. Next thing I know some guy from a Shriners' convention staggers into my room at 5am with a key that somehow matched mine. He pukes all over my sink and floor and his fez tumbles off of his head and lands in his own vomit. The smell wafts up into my nostrils and instantly makes me puke on top of the Shriner's chowder. The Iowa girls are laughing so hard that one of them loses her balance and slips in the chunks on the floor. They run out of the room in their underwear screaming down the hall and the hotel detective threatens to kick us all out. I have to get another room and pay for damages. I leave The Shriner passed out on my floor and to this day I wonder if he's still there. I also wonder what ever happened to the crazy Iowa girls selling plastic products.