SIS #3

The Limits of Respectability

chapter three - the return to nasty tree

Journal Entry- Day 1 I don t know why, but it s always the beginning or the ending of winter when we head out on tour. Likewise, it s always a long drive to the first gig. Thankfully the winter hasn t blasted us full force yet.

We still have twelve hours of driving before we hit the first job. We have affectionately titled this tour, The Return to Nasty Tree. Hope it s better than our last time out, The Nasty Tree Tour.

We have a new guitarist, Peter Manierka. We call him Thumper. He s a little guy with a stage presence that reminds me of Angus Young from AC/DC.

He s been with us for two weeks and thinks we re all insane . . .

wonder what took him so long? Although Thumper s a good guitarist, I still miss Rooster.

Rock of ages still rolling .

. .

Early October can be unforgivingly cold in the north east, a foreshadowing to winter s existence.

As we traveled further north piles of muddy snow greeted us by the roadside, from the battlements for dark tree lines on either side. The cities, with their light pollution had long ago melted away, swallowed whole by the earth and clasping onto the ribbon of asphalt now leading us away. Only the lines on the road, illuminated by our headlights, guided us, as they dripped out of the darkness--- dotted, then solid, then dotted again.

Occasionally two luminous eyes appeared in the distance, some unseen animal creeping closer until swishing by in a blur of metal, rubber, and oil, to a destination unknown, a welcomed guest to our past while we anticipated the future.

If there s a way to feel crowded yet all alone, this is it. There is nothing to do and see except for the occasional faint flicker of light, or a smoking chimney far off in the distance, peeking out though the foliage.

It was a solace. It left you to ponder the people living inside those four walls, cursing their offspring, beating their significant other, or maybe, beating themselves in front of a Hustler magazine? I on the other hand, surrendered to the lulling hum of our own vehicle as it sliced through the night.

The endless soundtracks of Def Leppard, Black Sabbath or The Fixx, and the gift of gab in the voices that surrounded me. The rambling battles of conversation, point and counterpoint. The stories of cause and effect, sometimes just extended prose.

But better than to watch mile after mile of pavement slide by like slow brain death.

This time we had rented a U-haul trailer for all our personal items, as the Ghost, ( our affectionate name for the bread-van carting us around for the next six months), was full and busting of on-stage equipment. Everything from amplifiers to crates filled with lighting rigs, fog machines, and coils of snake cables supported the cocoons of sleeping bags with us inside them.

Usually in the depths of midnight, the truck is silent, but it was the first night of a new tour and we were not only awake, we were animated. We yakked about everything. From our potential stops on the way, to sex, to favorite music, but mostly about sex.

After all, we were young, dumb, and full of cum. Horny males driven more by testosterone than the truck carrying us. We were dying for a piece of what we went into music for in the first place--- poon-tang, or Chub-stock, as we called it.

Wires, as always, was driving, a constant halo of smoke wreathed about his head. His eyes gazing forward, blinking his nervous blink. For the most part he was mute.

The only words I heard him speak we re, we were almost empty and would have to stop at the next station for gas. That was twenty clicks and two cigarettes ago.

Space was in the shotgun seat because it was where he sat when he wasn t sleeping.

Magic sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. His back to the engine casing, he faced Wally, Thumper, Barlow and I, on makeshift mattresses atop the ton of equipment.

Magic began the conversation.

I like women s legs. Long, smooth, nicely tanned . .

. mmm. I look for the three of diamonds Baby.

That s when you can tell if a woman has what I want.

Space retorted, What the hell do you mean three of diamonds?

If you look at a woman from behind when she is standing with her legs together

What chick have you ever known that keeps her legs together Magic?

Let me finish Space...

If you look at where her legs meet, you can see the three of diamonds. One at the ankles. One at the knees.

One at the luscious ass. Magic cupped his hands as if he was holding the world s plumpest derriere.

Bullshit Give me a full set of tits.

I turned over and entered the fray, Real or fake Space?

Real, pu-lease None of those flotation devices. I need something I can get my mouth around while I lie there and let her work.

Sounds like you. You lazy bastard.

.

..and nipples.

Oh God. Give me nipples I can hang my bandana on.

Oh man just give me a woman who can feed me.

I d thought Wally was sleeping, but apparently not.

Just like you Wally always thinking of food over women. Everyone laughed, even Wires who had perked up and was now listening intently to the free-for-all.

I want a woman just like my wife, with a good personality. Everyone s mirth changed to groans with Thumper s comment.

Get the fuck out-a-here

No, really.

Shut your mouth rookie, Space said. You can tell it s your first time out with us, Thumper. Shit Six months from now you ll be singing a different tune.

I love my wife and love my daughter.

You love your dick too. We ll see who you love more, three weeks from now.

Space had everyone laughing again.

Turning to Barlow, I said, What about you Doc?

Give me a big set of piss-flaps.

He propped himself up on his elbows and wiggled his fingers under his chin to accentuate his statement. Big lips. The bigger the better.

The kind you can pull over your head. To emphasize the point he pulled his imaginary labia majora over his skull.

What You trying to get back into the womb Doc?

You asked me what I like. I m telling you. Piss flaps, with lots of pubes.

We re talkin big hair like the women back in the seventies. That s when women were women no landing strip no shaved clam, just bush far as the eye can see. Something you can floss with after you re done.

Ugh Doc.

Oh and camel toe. You know when women wear their jeans so tight they get that indent?

That puffy sweet Venus mound, parting the pussy down the middle like Mosses is ready to lead the Israelites through it. He began to wiggle his fingers under his chin again.

That s enough Doc.

Shit. I m sorry I asked.

So Sparky what do you like?

Same as you guys, women and lots of them.

Space grumbled. Copout.

You re not getting off that easy. Come on. It couldn t be any worse than Doc Barlow s fascination for kite-size vulvas.

Everyone had their eyes trained on me and were taunting me to give it up.

There must be something you like about chicks that we have, or haven t said.

Ok.

I ll tell you, if you all promise not to laugh.

Where do you think you are, the dinner table with your family? Space said.

We can t make a promise like that Malveen. Come on, what is it?

I like feet.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence while they all contemplated this information followed by guffaws. You re shitting us? Feet?

That s what I said. Feet.

Well tell us Dr.

Scholl. What s so mesmerizing about feet?

Women s feet.

Not all feet, I said. I noticed Wally had retracted his under the covers probably for fear I couldn t contain myself and would be lunging at his toes.

Ok women s feet.

What s the deal?

I just think they re sexy. But they have to be nice feet, soft, with cute tapered toes, well managed.

No hammer toes. No bunions. No deformities.

I don t want a woman who needs sidecars for her shoes because she s spent most of her life shoving her poor feet into pumps.

Doc had become very interested, So, what you re telling me is, if a gorgeous woman with ugly feet walked up to you and said, take me now angel drawers, you d turn her down?

Exactly.

I don t care if she s Miss frickin Universe. I can t sleep with a woman who s got nasty, splayed, banana-tree climbing, feet. This brought on a boisterous commotion from everyone in the vehicle, except Wires who focused on the road between puffs on his cigarette, but kept his ear involved in the proceedings.

The questions were coming fast and furious now.

What about toe polish?

As long as it s all one color and not chipped.

Are you an out of the shoe man, or an out of the shower man?

Out of the shower. Although, I ve sipped beer from the odd high heel.

When did you know?

Sometime in highschool . .

. I think . .

. I was in science class dissecting worms. The smell of formaldehyde was in the air.

I looked down at Betty Sussman s feet. She was wearing sandals and I thought, man, she has really nice feet. Massive boner.

I ve never looked back.

Do you find it hard to function around women with bare feet?

Let s put it this way.

I walk into a lot of walls in the Summer.

Do you just like to look or do you actually suck on them?

Hey my friends, you have to give them some tongue play.

There are twenty-eight erogenous zones on the foot alone.

Really?

I shit you not.

I m still looking for the last two. But t-wen-ty-eight. If you know the pressure points, you can get a woman to do anything.

Wally had slipped his hands under the covers and converged into a ball. I could tell he was pressing on his own feet, trying to find an elusive Pandora s box of pleasures.

Je-sus, Wally, Doc Barlow moaned, as he felt Wally s knobby knees hit his ribs.

You d turn down the most gorgeous chick? Space still couldn t believe what I had said. You re a fuckin freak.

Hey Space, if a woman walked into the bar with her breasts exposed and her bandana nipples in your face, wouldn t you be aroused?

That s a stupid question.

Well feet are my breasts Space, that s all.

Breasts for feet, that s really strange, Wally added, still with his toes and hands out of sight.

I just think tits are a healthier obsession than feet.

So because I don t subscribe to your ideals I m a freak?

I happen to think physically, feet are the most sensuous and erotic part of a woman s body and deserve the attention.

This sparked a new round of controversy as everyone began to boast their own fetishes.

Legs you idiots

Big tits or give me death

Food.

In fact, corn, mash potatoes, beef Wellington

I miss my wife.

It s only been six hours Thumper. Christ!

Ok legs and tits.

Doc was wiggling his fingers under his chin again. Big hairy piss-flaps.

Ten succulent toes. You don t know what you re missing

Tits, tits, tits

Wonderful, beautiful, bountiful piss-flaps.

Strawberry cheese cake, deep-fried chicken .

..

Even Wires had joined in and was now vocalizing his desires.

Moose.

Stuffed pasta shells in a cream sauce.

huge, gigantic flaps

long slender

orbs of

What did you say Wires?

Moose!

What kind of pussy is that?

That s messed up.

Wires shouted as he slammed on the breaks. MOOSE!

Directly ahead of us, the lines on the road were now dripping out of a moose.

A gigantic antlered creature becoming alarmingly large in our line of vision. The truck fish-tailed in its skid. The road was slippery and we could not find traction.

The moose stood its ground in our game of chicken, gazing with dark eyes, the devil s eyes, as we approached.

Wires fought with the wheel but had lost all control. We braced for impact as the truck skidded sideways toward our foe.

Slow motion. Yelling muffled voices. The sickening thud of impact.

The sudden thrust of bodies toppling over one another to the passenger side of the truck. Then silence.

No moans.

No motor.

No moose.

The truck felt slightly on an angle like we were on an incline of some sort.

My first thought after, is everyone ok? , was, my god the trailer. After a collision like that it has to be damaged.

Slowly there was movement and groaning. Space ever the leader was the first to recover. Uhh .

. . ugh .

. . Is everyone alright?

The role-call ensued until we were all accounted for. Surprisingly, nothing broken only bumps to give birth to bruises. The passenger door was a sliding door but it was dented and wedged shut.

We climbed out through the driver-side into the blackness beyond and the cold, damp, dank. The headlights were still shining, casting a sinister glow on the forest now in front of us. We must be facing sideways.

One by one, we exited and gathered on the roadside to survey the damage. The trailer, thankfully, was still intact and attached to the Ghost, although one of the doors had sprung open and a few of our bags had been tossed onto the snow. Some had even burst open and laid there like wounded soldiers spilling their underwear intestines through split zippers.

Doc moaned, I guess this is what they mean when they say never work with animals?

Good thing we didn t hit it head on. We d all be dead.

Crushed by the gear, Thumper said. I m too young to be buried in a tuna can.

And I m too good lookin , Space vocalized.

Where is the moose?

We all looked around but there was no sign of our hulking adversary anywhere on the ground.

Perhaps it s wounded and hobbled off?

Wires responded. I don t know Wally. We hit it pretty hard.

I don t think with the road being as iced as it is, we stop dead like that.

Cautiously we all crept around the front of the truck to the passenger side of the vehicle. The moose was there, half-pinned beneath our front wheel and caught up on the bumper and wheel-well.

The rest of its massive frame slumped against the passenger door. It was dead.

I guess that explains why we couldn t get the door open, I said.

I m hungry.

Je-sus, Wally. How can you think about food at a time like this?

I have a package of ham in my sleeping bag. I m hungry.

Doc gasped in disbelief.

Ham in your sleeping bag?

Space spoke up, Listen guys we ve got to get this thing moved off the truck. Magic you and Doc get the ass end.

The rest of us will grab a part, and pull. Wires try to back the truck up slowly.

Why do I get the ass end?

Because that s where I want you Magic. You and Doc are the biggest guys here and I pay you.

You pay me to set-up,tear-down and do lights.

You didn t say anything about getting behind the ass end of a dead moose. Fuck that!

I interjected, Fine I ll do it.

Come on Doc.

Better unhook the trailer first, Wires said.

Magic was all too happy to volunteer for the job and took Thumper with him.

Soon we saw the trailer move to the side and alarmingly begin to roll down the embankment as Magic and Thumper tried frantically to keep it from doing so. They grabbed at the trailer hitch and dug in their heels to no avail. Their boots could not find traction in the snow.

Magic let go, and poor Thumper was left alone to be dragged face first down the gully while he clutched on to the hitch and emitted high-pitched squeals.

Space spat in disgust, Can t those guys even perform a simple fuckin task? I swear I m surrounded by freakin idiots.

Magic, sucked on his bruised fingers and ran down to collect Thumper, now with a skid-mark of mud up his middle ending at his chin. Magic helped him up slowly and the two returned with heads bowed. Thumper had his injured arms tucked under his armpits for warmth and Magic still had the base of one hand jammed in his mouth like the barrel of some fleshy gun ready to end it all.

Without a further word we all assembled at our places including Wally who had meandered back from the truck with a slice of ham hanging from his mouth.

Wires fired up the engine. It still worked with a slight pinging noise.

Space yelled above the rumbling knock of the truck, Ok, on three guys. One . .

. two . .

. three.

We all pushed or pulled depending where we were and what our job description entailed.

We tried four times unsuccessfully to remove the beast from the side of the truck

Fuck this. It s three o clock in the morning. I m freezin , my fingers hurt, and this thing is bleeding on me.

What are you gonna do Magic? Get in the truck and go to sleep? I guarantee, that without your help, this little problem will still be here in the morning when you get up, if you don t die of hypothermia.

Magic was one of those roadies who considered themselves a part of the band and deserving of special treatment. He didn t like Space bossing him around, but he finally gave in and grabbed hold for another try. Knowing Space, it was going to take a lot for Magic to earn his respect.

It was only last tour our drummer had stopped calling, Wires, Neville. It had been a brutal gig where everything had gone wrong and Wires had tackled each problem, one by one, resolving them all.

I don t think we re going to lick this dilemma easily, Wires said.

He hung out the driver side window, a fresh cigarette wagged affirmatively from his mouth. We need a new plan of attack.

What do you have in mind?

Wires disappeared inside the truck and returned moments later with a tire-iron and a small saw.

Wires the moose is dead. I think it s a little late to operate on it, Doc said.

Wires handed the tire-iron to me and the saw to Wally. We need to pry it away from the door. I think we should start looking for bits of solid wood to use as levers.

Use the saw to cut what we need. This moose probably weighs about 1,600lbs.

I knew that, Doc added.

Also largest member of the deer family don t ya know.

Wires continued, We may have to change the tire. We don t know what condition the wheel will be in.

There s a couple of flashlights in the glove box. I ll get them and we can get to it.

After a short search we all had implements of one sort or another to aid us in our cause.

Slowly we returned with various sized tree branches, snapped easily from rotted trunks, without the aid of our cutting tool.

Wally had not joined us in our scavenger hunt, electing to stay back at the truck next to our foe. When we returned, we found him.

He had been sawing like a madman. He was halfway through an antler and was a bloody mess.

Christ, Wally, did you hit an artery?

Wally looked quite insane as he gazed up at us from his crouched position. His white eyes peering from a face covered in dark steaming blood. His teeth in a sinister grin of triumph.

You were supposed to use the saw to cut wood, not reconstruct the dead Dr. Frankenstein.

I cut off the tail and his little beard too.

He held up his prized scalps.

It s called a dewlap Wally.

Sparky s right, Doc concurred.

Je-sus Wally, what s that going to do? What s the tail and the dewlap weigh, a pound?

I m just trying to help.

Oh right. You ve got more ham waiting for you in your sleeping bag.

I think if he keeps at this, Wally s ham coming right back up, Doc.

Wally had also made several incisions with the saw near appendages but had hit bone and given up. The wounds now oozed dark and wet from split, red flesh.

Again we tried, with Wires behind the wheel, to pry the brute from the front of the truck.

The gashes Wally had made didn t help and soon we all looked like him, covered in blood from the spinning front wheel on the hairy carcass.

Magic in his frustration began bludgeoning the deceased creature with the tire-iron. Mother whap, fucker whap, get off whap, the God-damn whap, truck.

I wondered how this scene might look to a passing motorist or an animal activist. Seven grown men attacking a poor defenseless 1,600lb moose with a saw, tire iron, several long shafts of wood and backing-up over it with a truck for good measure.

Finally the moose began to move to the side and the truck shot back suddenly and stalled.

The moose fell into the slope of the ditch in a collapsed heap of mangled flesh. Likewise we too collapsed panting and dripping in blood. A constant steam of perspiration rose from our bodies like souls departing.

You want me to keep sawing?

Shit, Wally

Wires tried to pull the truck forward but he had gone too far back and was now stuck in mud and snow. After a short break we shifted duties and began to push the truck forward.

A fine film of wet mud and snow added to our blood soaked clothes as with great effort the Ghost was pushed up the embankment and back on the roadside. The trailer was easier to pull out but had to be unloaded of its contents first.

Finally we were ready to roll.

We washed our faces as best we could in the snow at the side of the road.

All right Wires, kick it. Let s get the hell outta here.

Wires hit the gas. The truck lurched forward, sputtered and then stalled. Wires tried again but the engine whined and wouldn t turn over.

eRrrr-er-er-er-er-rer We re out of gas.

Magic pounded the dash, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Magic, relax man Just relax.

Wires, how far do you think the next station is?

Not far Sparky, if memory serves me. Four, maybe fives miles down the road.

I believe it s 4.7 miles.

Ok Doc, since you know so much, you and Wally come with me.

We ll walk it. Do we have a gas can?

Wires looked at Space, No.

Then we ll just have to buy one.

Space fished for his black satchel full of documents, (contracts mostly), and drew out a twenty. Thumper was busy comforting Magic and Wires had kicked back with a lit smoke.

I want the change, Sparky.

Damn I was hoping to stop at a boutique on the way and buy myself something frilly.

Don t be such a smart ass.

Right back at ya.

See you girls soon, Doc offered. He joined Wally and I.

The three of us set out for fuel.