Don't ever go to Hurley

[Russ]

We played a show in Hurley, Mississippi the other night.
When we pulled up to the place, I noticed the sign said "Live band to-night: Five Card Studs, B.O.C." I figured "B.O.C." couldn't mean Blue Oyster Cult. I was right. I was later told it stood for "Blood On Cindy". "Are those the two bands we're playing with," I asked Ponytail, knowing i wouldn't get a reply. He had fallen asleep 30 minutes ago with a cigarette in his mouth, but i was still commenting on the situation. This is a habit i've picked up with Ponytail. I still converse even though he's passed out half of the time. I dreaded getting out of the vehicle because i was chaffing so bad in between my legs. That shit hurts. I woke up Ponytail and we hopped out of the station wagon. As we were walking in "The Slammer" an almost albino looking redheaded gal came up and asked Ponytail for a smoke. He handed her one reluctantly. "Are you here for B.O.C.," she asked. I told her no, then asked who they were. She chuckled and said "Man, they're like if Tool was more into trippin' and shit." We just kind of stared, then i ripped a big one. I think she was scared after that. We walked up to the door and peaked in. There were tables set up with wrapped gifts and some cake. Balloons were all over the fucking place. There seemed to be maybe 30 young looking kids all in different circles socializing. System of a Down was blaring out of the PA system and i think there were at least four moms there. We stepped inside, only to be stopped by a plump pinkish gentlemen with a short buzzed like mohawk and a Sepultura shirt. "Hey, it's 5 bucks," he said. "We're one of the bands," I replied to him. He stood up. "You guys must be Five Card Studs from Alabama." Ponytail looked at me. "Well....we're from Alabama, but we're the Super Nice Bros.," I said. He looked at us for a second and said "Oh...." He stamped our hand and as we walked away he said something along the lines of "I thought you guys were them Five Card Studs." We walked up to the bar looking for Rebecca, the bartender lady who booked us. We spotted a lanky woman sporting a muscle-t at the end of the bar. She saw us and moved her way down the bar. Her neck looked like the loose skin around a hairless dog's legs. Her eyes were so sunken in her head that she looked like someone beat the shit out of her everyday for 20 years. "What can I git for ya?" We told her we were the Super Nice Bros. from Alabama. "I thought you were called Five Card Studs," she said. Confusion began. It took me a few seconds to realize that there wasn't another band from Alabama playing called Five Card Studs. I began to panic. Ponytail and I talked for a moment and then decided to just set up, play and maybe drink as much free beer as we could. As it turned out, before we even got our things out of the wagon, we were full of the sauce. I mean full of it. At least 5 pitchers went down our throats, not to mention the shots. "You guys need to play," Rebecca said to me around 11:30, her breath stinking of grass and mothballs. I slowly took myself outside to unload the equipment. When I came back in with the keyboard, I noticed Ponytail lying on the ground. He had passed out. At this point I was too drunk to realize the mistake I was about to make. I set up my keyboard into the PA and began to play a solo set. About halfway through "Gourmet Resteraunts" by Ray Stevens, I began to vomit. The orange spew covered my keyboard and my pants. The smell was simply awful. So awful that I couldn't focus to get off the stage. Two guys, maybe in their mid 20s came to help me off the stage. I denied their efforts forcefully and knocked my keyboard over, breaking two keys. I took the vomit covered keyboard and threw it in the wagon, not even realizing that I had left the car door open the whole time. I walked back in to The Slammer, feeling the stares of the young goth kids and their parents while i was trying to find Ponytail. I was pissed. I yelled at several kids, calling them "friutcakes" and "cum wranglers". Ponytail was missing. I figured I'd take a look in the bathroom and sure enough, there he was....passed out on the floor. Some fat older looking goth chick had one of the legs on his shorts pulled up and she was sucking his limp dick She didn't even hear me walk in the door. I stepped out of the bathroom, walked back to the wagon and passed out by the rotten smelling keyboard.