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Crank County Daredevils |
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I’m known to kick, squirm, writhe, punch, and yelp in my sleep. The only thing I can figure is I must sleep rock during it. The next day I’ll wake up with severe neck cramps as if in my dreams I was at a Faster Pussycat concert. My shoulders are jolted from giving piggy-back rides to topless chicks. My mangled hair may indicate that I went head first through a hair pit. The covers, aligned with everything but my body, gives me reason to believe I got backstage afterwards. This has been happening even before the Crank County Daredevils played last month. As a matter of fact, it’s been happening almost every night since I was a tike when even my mother and sister made complaints about it. |
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The condition seems to be worsening or I’m
getting too old to be doing this every night. My partner is pleading for me to sleep on
the couch. Restraints don’t appeal to me just yet, but him and I are
negotiating it. Anymore, even the humor in it has became stagnant.
Regardless of this subconscious state, I make it a point, at times, to be
the only one rocking in audience. It almost goes without saying when
Crank County Daredevils were in Detroit, Billy Velvet made this
comment. “We played in front
Spring, and that’s all that counts.” |
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I arranged to meet up with the County boys and bring some Wayne County cunts earlier at Electric Superstition, Detroit’s busiest and noisiest tattoo shop. When I walked through the back, Scottie was getting his guitar pinstriped from the legendary Jeff Shea, which later peeled off. I escorted Billy next door, who was covered in tatts, chains, leather, and bullets wrapped around his ankles, to the liquor stop. Mark “Hammer” was out back cutting carpet for a drum mat. Adam Fever, who resembles a Stephen Tyler and Joe Perry mix, was next in line for the ink all three of them got. “Broke & Shitty N’ Detroit City” was caddy-cornered and inches apart from their previous ink from the previous state, “Fucked By Rock.” Later when I asked Mark, why he chose not to get the tattoo, I was in for reality check. |
 “Do you dig chicks with tattoos,” I asked?“It doesn’t make or break them,” he remarked. “Then why haven’t you, yourself?” “I’ve thought about it, but nothing I want, yet. Around four years ago, I was on my way to a friend’s house, and was stung by a bee. It hurt, but I didn’t think much about it. The road came to a T and one way was my friend’s, and the other was a hospital. I thought to myself, you know, I better get this checked out. I went into the ER and was seen by the nurse. She measured my blood pressure, and said, “Surely this can’t be right.” She measured it again and checked my heartbeat. She immediately called for back up, and the doctor rushed in. They both we’re looking at me amazed, and saying “I can’t believe your talking to us right now. This can’t be right.” From there, I dropped. After they revived me, I learned that my heart had stopped which later taught me life is too short, you gotta live, you got to rock! I got a drum set and that’s where it all started. Rock. Before then I use to travel a lot.” |
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“So your inspiration for a tattoo could be a bee? Across your heart?” “No, fuck that!” His eyes lit up. “If I see a bee,
I run for my life. When the right idea comes, I’ll get it.” |
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They didn’t miss a beat, change off, or even duck at a thumbtack I might have tossed. Adrenaline was it’s peak, while I still for the life of me couldn’t figure out why everyone remained planted on their feet. I’ve came to realize audiences are reluctant to rock, either because I’m going to step on their feet, or “real rock” is too much for them to greet. This is what real looks like, though. It’s so scary at times that you can’t move your feet. It’s so sudden and spontaneous, that only jaws can drop when evil has been realized. The End... |
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| Yeah, fucking right! It doesn’t end here, because as long as there is a fifth of Jack Daniels, Crank County Daredevils never fucking sleeps. We later ventured to Tony’s house in order to kick into full sleaze. I came equipped with drugs and chicks. Liz, my all around Motor City She-sleaze was looking mighty fucking chic. I’d imagine applying for a strip club earlier had something to do with it. Basically, from here we showed the boys what we were made of which is wet white panties and tits. Morning came quicker than any wet spot I’d ever seen, so I bailed out earlier. I left Janelle in leather chaps running down the street with school buses weaving past, only to sit in morning rush hour traffic with a fucking headache. Luckily, I had booked them for second night in Detroit, and had all day to sleep. |
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Before playing at Small’s the first night I
drove them around this abandoned city in search for a show to book for the
Kings Of Sleaze. The Painted Lady was my first pick. It once was called,
Lily’s 21 which in the early eighties was place to be. Under new
ownership, and slated for the grand opening the next day, Crank County
Daredevils, once again, pissed on Detroit.
- FIN (really) -
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