Week 72: Guest Post by Todd Cobra, Rock Chronicles 4
My friend, Todd Cobra, excellent songwriter, guitarist and rocker from bands like The Spinns and The Gondoliers concludes his guest post series. Thank you Todd for some excellent road stories. And now the conclusion, for now, of the Rock Chronicles... Chronicles... Chronicles...
Driving to the west coast has both its beautiful and, as it is a long haul, boring moments. There are snowy mountainous landscapes that descend into vast, arid plains. As you get closer, cactus appear. Then other-worldly landscapes featuring mountains that are made up of giant red/sand colored boulders. Then descend into plains again until finally it is night and lights begin to emerge on the horizon. Our humble band had made it to LA. This alone gave us a feeling of accomplishment. Our tour partner band/friends had been to the west coast before so they had their own places to stay. We stayed with an old friend of our drummer, Jolson's, in LA very close to Hollywood. Apparently we were on the same block as Glenn Danzig's house. Our hostess (let's call her Lucinda) was incredibly hospitable. She loved rock and roll, especially metal, and smoked giant doobs with us every day. She also had two bottles of some presumably expensive clear booze called Potcheen, that she had been given by her boss. She rode with us to all of our west coast gigs. We went up the coast and played a few gigs. We met up with a friend of mine I hadn't seen for over a year since he moved out west, who put us up in his practice space/studio, which was nice. We picked up a gig with a killer band we'd really wanted to play with, thanks to another friend's band that was also on the bill. On the drive back down our bass player Ralph and I got hammered drinking the Potcheen. The weather was incredible.
Then we went down to San Diego. We played a really cool bar, the building of which was slanted like The Leaning Tower Of Pisa due to a truck that ran into it years ago. The next day we went to So. Cal. Beach. We ate burritos and went down to the sand. There had been talk about going to Mexico. A bunch of hospitable locals said they were going to get a keg. That's the last thing I remember hearing before Ralph and I got in the van and left for Tijuana.
This was before entering Mexico required a passport. All one had to do was find a place to park, then walk over the bridge. Ralph explained that this very high bridge was were a drummer/friend of ours had drunkenly fallen off! This would have been a life threatening fall which must have caused a scene. When you enter TJ on this bridge, you see a mountain with a city on it. In the middle of this big hill flies a GIANT Mexican flag. Once you find your way through the tourist trap maze that exists before entering Tijuana proper, you find yourself staring down a kind of main drag. As a couple of shaggy gringos, Ralph and I were easily perceptible to the business owners on either side of the strip. They loudly beckoned us from several shops away.
Tijuana must be the most lawless, debaucherous place on Earth. We had heard that one could enter a pharmacy and leave with any pharmaceutical known to man sans prescription. We didn't want to go out of our way to investigate this but that turned out not to be a problem. Every other storefront was a 24 hour pharmacy with no front wall and a man in front of it's counter pushing product, "anything you want". Besides the strip clubs and leather shops, we were constantly being approached by people in the street who offered to get us "anything" we wanted. We got sucked into a strip club. We were taken to a table where we were immediately set up with personal female companions. These ladies didn't waste any time sizing up (so to speak) a potential customer. Then I was grabbed underneath my jaw and had my head pulled back. Some cat poured Tequila down my throat. THEN he stuck out his hand for my money. We got out of there pronto before our loot was completely drained. After that a cat on the street took us to, "a place where we could just sit and have a few beers". "There's prostitutes upstairs too" he explained. When we were out of cash we attempted to get friends and family to wire us money. Luckily that didn't work or we surely would have got into serious trouble.
We got out of Mexico and drove to a venue to meet up with everybody. Our friend's band had picked up the gig of their dreams; opening for a band they loved for a record label (that they wanted to be on) showcase. Ralph had some pills. I'm still not sure where they came from. I ate one or two and he ate a bunch. A little while later I was zombiefied. The name of the record label in question was Swami records. I was told later that in between songs during the headliner's set, there was a moment of silence during which I was heard to moderately opine, to the offended bewilderment of all in attendance, "Swami Records sucks". Later when we went to our van, it and Ralph were missing.
Jolson, Lucinda and I woke up the next day in our friend's van. Our buddies were inside sleeping with their new friends whom apparently didn't care for us. When our friends finally came outside, shower fresh, they found us in the little alcoholics' community adjacent the van, playing guitar (and being served some terrible food) with the residents. We returned to the scene of the crime. For hours, despite intensive effort, we could find no sign of Ralph or our van. There was a gig in Las Vegas that night and our friends had to go. Jolson, Lucinda and I stood at the top of an exit ramp leading back to LA. Jolson suggested hitching back to LA. I figured that I was a third wheel in the situation. Jolson had been talking about moving to the west coast (did I mention, he and Lucinda were "old friends"?) and I figured this was "game over" for our band and the tour. I optioned to go with our buddies, leaving behind my gear, my clothes and my dreams.
It didn't take much driving to realize that the worst part about leaving was the uncertainty of the safety of my friends. I think, looking back, I can honestly say that I simply did not know what to do. I had no money and no legitimate place to go besides back home on the only train leaving town, so to speak. With every additional mile I knew I had made an increasingly questionable decision. Then the storm broke. A call from Ralph's ex-old lady back home. She, being in a successful touring band and having received a call from us while we were still looking for Ralph that day, knew the territory and knew how to proceed. She told me that she had contacted a police station that we had somehow missed. Ralph was in jail and the van was impounded. Apparently Ralph had tried to drive our van somewhere and hadn't got far before hitting a parked car. Ralph's ex was also able to concoct a plan for the wellbeing of Jolson and co. It turned out that Jolson had optioned not to hitch hike and walked back to town. There he picked up a paper where he found out that a friend's band (also successful) was playing in town that night. Our friend back home called the club owner and got them into the show with the additional hospitality of a few free beers. As luck would have it, this friend's band was on their way to LA the next day.
Later that night we rolled into a really cool bar in Vegas. There was already a good sized crowd in the joint. Video gambling was built in to the bar so that drinks could either rest or be served on it. They served a homemade concoction, Ass Juice. We announced our presence to the bartender and were directed toward the door man. He took us aside and, unlike any pay for play situation I've ever encountered, he gave us our drink tickets (chips in this case) and envelopes with our pay upfront. There was $150 in there and fifteen drink chips per band! As far as Vegas was aware, our band was here and ready to play. I had only played solo gigs a few times in my music career up until then but I wasn't going to say no to this money which I so desperately needed. I went to the van, wrote a set list of tunes that could be played solo and quickly practiced songs I hadn't played in months. When I returned to the bar and announced to my buds my plans to play, something great happened that I hadn't counted on or even considered. The drummer from my friend's band said he wasn't gonna let me do it alone and that he would play stand up style drums with me. This is a moment I can never repay him for. We started playing and it sounded pretty good. We did two more songs and it sounded even better. Then I announced to the sizeable crowd that I'd never played with my bro here before, and that my band was still back in San Diego in jail. As you can imagine, the crowd went ape shit! We finished off the set and were met with thorough congratulatory applause. Another tour partner, (let's call her Regina) keyboard player for the band I was now riding with told me, "if I were you I would have been in the van crying after such a bad day". Her and the guitar player of their band watching from the edge of a nearby pool table was a motivating factor for me and I am eternally in their debt as well. Many audience members approached me with either a "good show" or to hear the jail story. Some people bought me beers. I drank many free Heinekens while my friends' band played an awesome set and the local band followed suit. They were the tastiest beers I ever drank.
The next few days were rough. We got nicked by an 18-wheeler which was terrifying. The four of us slept in the minivan in upright positions for a few nights, thanks to my presence. We had a stroke of luck when we hit Albuquerque however. While traversing the town to try and scare up a gig I heard a voice call my name. I looked up and saw a friend from back home getting off a bus with a small girl. My friend informed me that she just happened to be in town in order to acquaint her daughter with her estranged father who lived there. As soon as this explanation left her mouth her cute daughter exclaimed, "yay!" and threw her hands up. My friend said she was staying in a local hotel and that we could call her after the gig (if we found one or not). We did find a gig, which was a rocky endeavor musically, despite free food and booze. Later, we slept horizontally for a change. The next day my brother wired me some loot.
By now, back in San Diego, Ralph was out of jail and our van was un-impounded. We ended up playing about five gigs, my friend's band drummer and I opening two-piece style if for no other reason free beer and/or food before we got to Texas. We had a nice place to stay in Austin thanks to my friend's band. The other two members of our band had since been streaming across the country and arrived in Austin relatively ready to play. We played the gig. Our band was accommodated by our friend's band's friends. It seemed however, that the mental state of our band was less than healthy as we were not as gracious to our hosts or our friend's band, as we could have been, in my opinion.
We drove through an incredible storm on our way to Nashville. We barely made the house party gig. After playing Ralph was drunk and in a foul mood. He damaged, though not fatally, my amp slamming it, I imagine, into our van after the show. The last time we had played Nashville we blew the roof off the joint, so it was a bitter disappointment to show up again and perform poorly. That night there was dissension amongst us. I took the van for a drive late that night in a pissed off, drunken rage and thank god, didn't have the same thing happen to me as happened to Ralph in San Diego. I slept in the van and when I woke up, I went to a laundromat. I did my laundry and cleaned and organized the van. I decided then that I'd had enough of playing in this band.
After playing another crappy show at a bar in Atlanta we had only just been allowed to play again, (we were banned for missing an important gig there which is a story unto itself) I was approached by our drummer. He confided that he too could take no more of this band. I told him I'd break it up when we got home as I was the choice candidate for handling confrontation of this sort.
At the risk of ending on a sour note…when we got home I broke up the band.
Almost a year later, Jolson, Ralph and I found ourselves living in Raleigh, NC as opposed to Chapel Hill where we started. We agreed to do a reunion show. We practiced hard and got the best set together that we ever had. The show was a huge success. We did it again, although it was not as great as the first one. We are at least still bros. There is a very good chance we will do another tour, this November in Mexico as certain members of the band have spent time and made many contacts there.
For previous parts of the series, click on the link below.
* * *
Rock Chronicle 4: Cross-Country 2Driving to the west coast has both its beautiful and, as it is a long haul, boring moments. There are snowy mountainous landscapes that descend into vast, arid plains. As you get closer, cactus appear. Then other-worldly landscapes featuring mountains that are made up of giant red/sand colored boulders. Then descend into plains again until finally it is night and lights begin to emerge on the horizon. Our humble band had made it to LA. This alone gave us a feeling of accomplishment. Our tour partner band/friends had been to the west coast before so they had their own places to stay. We stayed with an old friend of our drummer, Jolson's, in LA very close to Hollywood. Apparently we were on the same block as Glenn Danzig's house. Our hostess (let's call her Lucinda) was incredibly hospitable. She loved rock and roll, especially metal, and smoked giant doobs with us every day. She also had two bottles of some presumably expensive clear booze called Potcheen, that she had been given by her boss. She rode with us to all of our west coast gigs. We went up the coast and played a few gigs. We met up with a friend of mine I hadn't seen for over a year since he moved out west, who put us up in his practice space/studio, which was nice. We picked up a gig with a killer band we'd really wanted to play with, thanks to another friend's band that was also on the bill. On the drive back down our bass player Ralph and I got hammered drinking the Potcheen. The weather was incredible.
Then we went down to San Diego. We played a really cool bar, the building of which was slanted like The Leaning Tower Of Pisa due to a truck that ran into it years ago. The next day we went to So. Cal. Beach. We ate burritos and went down to the sand. There had been talk about going to Mexico. A bunch of hospitable locals said they were going to get a keg. That's the last thing I remember hearing before Ralph and I got in the van and left for Tijuana.
This was before entering Mexico required a passport. All one had to do was find a place to park, then walk over the bridge. Ralph explained that this very high bridge was were a drummer/friend of ours had drunkenly fallen off! This would have been a life threatening fall which must have caused a scene. When you enter TJ on this bridge, you see a mountain with a city on it. In the middle of this big hill flies a GIANT Mexican flag. Once you find your way through the tourist trap maze that exists before entering Tijuana proper, you find yourself staring down a kind of main drag. As a couple of shaggy gringos, Ralph and I were easily perceptible to the business owners on either side of the strip. They loudly beckoned us from several shops away.
Tijuana must be the most lawless, debaucherous place on Earth. We had heard that one could enter a pharmacy and leave with any pharmaceutical known to man sans prescription. We didn't want to go out of our way to investigate this but that turned out not to be a problem. Every other storefront was a 24 hour pharmacy with no front wall and a man in front of it's counter pushing product, "anything you want". Besides the strip clubs and leather shops, we were constantly being approached by people in the street who offered to get us "anything" we wanted. We got sucked into a strip club. We were taken to a table where we were immediately set up with personal female companions. These ladies didn't waste any time sizing up (so to speak) a potential customer. Then I was grabbed underneath my jaw and had my head pulled back. Some cat poured Tequila down my throat. THEN he stuck out his hand for my money. We got out of there pronto before our loot was completely drained. After that a cat on the street took us to, "a place where we could just sit and have a few beers". "There's prostitutes upstairs too" he explained. When we were out of cash we attempted to get friends and family to wire us money. Luckily that didn't work or we surely would have got into serious trouble.
We got out of Mexico and drove to a venue to meet up with everybody. Our friend's band had picked up the gig of their dreams; opening for a band they loved for a record label (that they wanted to be on) showcase. Ralph had some pills. I'm still not sure where they came from. I ate one or two and he ate a bunch. A little while later I was zombiefied. The name of the record label in question was Swami records. I was told later that in between songs during the headliner's set, there was a moment of silence during which I was heard to moderately opine, to the offended bewilderment of all in attendance, "Swami Records sucks". Later when we went to our van, it and Ralph were missing.
Jolson, Lucinda and I woke up the next day in our friend's van. Our buddies were inside sleeping with their new friends whom apparently didn't care for us. When our friends finally came outside, shower fresh, they found us in the little alcoholics' community adjacent the van, playing guitar (and being served some terrible food) with the residents. We returned to the scene of the crime. For hours, despite intensive effort, we could find no sign of Ralph or our van. There was a gig in Las Vegas that night and our friends had to go. Jolson, Lucinda and I stood at the top of an exit ramp leading back to LA. Jolson suggested hitching back to LA. I figured that I was a third wheel in the situation. Jolson had been talking about moving to the west coast (did I mention, he and Lucinda were "old friends"?) and I figured this was "game over" for our band and the tour. I optioned to go with our buddies, leaving behind my gear, my clothes and my dreams.
It didn't take much driving to realize that the worst part about leaving was the uncertainty of the safety of my friends. I think, looking back, I can honestly say that I simply did not know what to do. I had no money and no legitimate place to go besides back home on the only train leaving town, so to speak. With every additional mile I knew I had made an increasingly questionable decision. Then the storm broke. A call from Ralph's ex-old lady back home. She, being in a successful touring band and having received a call from us while we were still looking for Ralph that day, knew the territory and knew how to proceed. She told me that she had contacted a police station that we had somehow missed. Ralph was in jail and the van was impounded. Apparently Ralph had tried to drive our van somewhere and hadn't got far before hitting a parked car. Ralph's ex was also able to concoct a plan for the wellbeing of Jolson and co. It turned out that Jolson had optioned not to hitch hike and walked back to town. There he picked up a paper where he found out that a friend's band (also successful) was playing in town that night. Our friend back home called the club owner and got them into the show with the additional hospitality of a few free beers. As luck would have it, this friend's band was on their way to LA the next day.
Later that night we rolled into a really cool bar in Vegas. There was already a good sized crowd in the joint. Video gambling was built in to the bar so that drinks could either rest or be served on it. They served a homemade concoction, Ass Juice. We announced our presence to the bartender and were directed toward the door man. He took us aside and, unlike any pay for play situation I've ever encountered, he gave us our drink tickets (chips in this case) and envelopes with our pay upfront. There was $150 in there and fifteen drink chips per band! As far as Vegas was aware, our band was here and ready to play. I had only played solo gigs a few times in my music career up until then but I wasn't going to say no to this money which I so desperately needed. I went to the van, wrote a set list of tunes that could be played solo and quickly practiced songs I hadn't played in months. When I returned to the bar and announced to my buds my plans to play, something great happened that I hadn't counted on or even considered. The drummer from my friend's band said he wasn't gonna let me do it alone and that he would play stand up style drums with me. This is a moment I can never repay him for. We started playing and it sounded pretty good. We did two more songs and it sounded even better. Then I announced to the sizeable crowd that I'd never played with my bro here before, and that my band was still back in San Diego in jail. As you can imagine, the crowd went ape shit! We finished off the set and were met with thorough congratulatory applause. Another tour partner, (let's call her Regina) keyboard player for the band I was now riding with told me, "if I were you I would have been in the van crying after such a bad day". Her and the guitar player of their band watching from the edge of a nearby pool table was a motivating factor for me and I am eternally in their debt as well. Many audience members approached me with either a "good show" or to hear the jail story. Some people bought me beers. I drank many free Heinekens while my friends' band played an awesome set and the local band followed suit. They were the tastiest beers I ever drank.
The next few days were rough. We got nicked by an 18-wheeler which was terrifying. The four of us slept in the minivan in upright positions for a few nights, thanks to my presence. We had a stroke of luck when we hit Albuquerque however. While traversing the town to try and scare up a gig I heard a voice call my name. I looked up and saw a friend from back home getting off a bus with a small girl. My friend informed me that she just happened to be in town in order to acquaint her daughter with her estranged father who lived there. As soon as this explanation left her mouth her cute daughter exclaimed, "yay!" and threw her hands up. My friend said she was staying in a local hotel and that we could call her after the gig (if we found one or not). We did find a gig, which was a rocky endeavor musically, despite free food and booze. Later, we slept horizontally for a change. The next day my brother wired me some loot.
By now, back in San Diego, Ralph was out of jail and our van was un-impounded. We ended up playing about five gigs, my friend's band drummer and I opening two-piece style if for no other reason free beer and/or food before we got to Texas. We had a nice place to stay in Austin thanks to my friend's band. The other two members of our band had since been streaming across the country and arrived in Austin relatively ready to play. We played the gig. Our band was accommodated by our friend's band's friends. It seemed however, that the mental state of our band was less than healthy as we were not as gracious to our hosts or our friend's band, as we could have been, in my opinion.
We drove through an incredible storm on our way to Nashville. We barely made the house party gig. After playing Ralph was drunk and in a foul mood. He damaged, though not fatally, my amp slamming it, I imagine, into our van after the show. The last time we had played Nashville we blew the roof off the joint, so it was a bitter disappointment to show up again and perform poorly. That night there was dissension amongst us. I took the van for a drive late that night in a pissed off, drunken rage and thank god, didn't have the same thing happen to me as happened to Ralph in San Diego. I slept in the van and when I woke up, I went to a laundromat. I did my laundry and cleaned and organized the van. I decided then that I'd had enough of playing in this band.
After playing another crappy show at a bar in Atlanta we had only just been allowed to play again, (we were banned for missing an important gig there which is a story unto itself) I was approached by our drummer. He confided that he too could take no more of this band. I told him I'd break it up when we got home as I was the choice candidate for handling confrontation of this sort.
At the risk of ending on a sour note…when we got home I broke up the band.
Almost a year later, Jolson, Ralph and I found ourselves living in Raleigh, NC as opposed to Chapel Hill where we started. We agreed to do a reunion show. We practiced hard and got the best set together that we ever had. The show was a huge success. We did it again, although it was not as great as the first one. We are at least still bros. There is a very good chance we will do another tour, this November in Mexico as certain members of the band have spent time and made many contacts there.
For previous parts of the series, click on the link below.
Labels: Thursdays, Todd Cobra's Rock Chronicles
15 Comments:
Todd - Thanks for guest posting. Your chronicles (echo, echo, echo) take me back to my own Rock and Roll Tomfoolery; back when I thought being broke on a group trip with a tight schedule laid out for me was freedom.
I'm gonna lay some stuff on you now because I'm feeling spitzer today and because I don't believe you are a real person. Anyway take everything I have to say with a huge pile of salt because who am I to criticize your posts? My own posts hardly garner any interest at all and I seem to be getting worse at it.
Besides this site is about as solopsistic (sorry for the buzz word) as a group blog can get so it's not like I'm holding your posts up against a higher bar. But thing is, I do hold the guest post up to a higher bar, higher than the shit that gets posted here day in and day out that is. Believe me any criticism I make about how generic and regurgitated this Rock Chronicles is could be made about almost all the daily entries but us stupid shits have been doing this for over a year, still making the same jokes and carrying on the same lamely executed arguments for what is starting to seem like an eternity. It's not like anybody is reading anyway. The daily stats for this site are flat my man. I mean there's on average about 43 returning unique visitors every day but whatever. I think that's John getting on 36 different machines and the rest of us logging in from one machine.
Solopsistic, shit, man more than a couple people here will spend hours putting together a napcast of their own little jerkoff fest but don't bother to listen to any of the other casts posted weekly for the past year and some change. And those whiney voices you hear in your head? Those are real man. I've met most of these folks. Know some of them. Never met John which could explain a lot about his internet punkin'. Anyway those whiney voices are real. With the exception of your friend (or creator) Carlos, this bunch has about as much personal charm as a nutria.
But the thing is, that's why I appreciate the guest post. 'Cept what you did was like a shorty going up to a gangster and telling him about life on the streets. Shit nigger I know that shit. On top of that you're leaving out names and not looking for the true color.
Hey man I've heard your music so I know you got some art going on a little more creative than this writing gig. And I know it's hard too. Alright brother, come back but try to dress up these posts a bit and give us something we haven't already lived.
Here. Check this out for some good rock and roll road trip writing. Will you? I doubt it and not just because you're not real but because I'm being an asshole also.
And let me know when you're in Chicago - any friend of Carlos is a friend of mine...as long as he swears your band don't act like these characters in that post I just linked. From your telling, don't sound like you do.
Wednesday, you are a snob and a half.
(try reading your comment with the british accent of the dad in Mary Poppins and you'll see what i mean ;)
And it's solipsistic, I in the thick german accent says.
That was soloppy wasn't it?
And by the way, Todd is a very real person. And I don't think he was trying to educate anyone or outdo anyone or do a great post or anything. It's just a few road stories as far as I can tell. Many people have em and they're all a little different and a little the same.
I'm sure you've shared some of your own at some point and probably will again, at the park, at the gaybar, family reunions, etc. Most of us have done it and done it without thinking that the story we were telling was anything all that special or educative beyond that they are someone's stories, and we can pass the time and entertain each telling them to each other. But I'll stop trying to talk for Todd. I think the stories he told us are highly entertaining, but maybe it's better for me cause i know the people involved.
I do think that it is extremely unfair to hold guest posters to a higher bar or any bar at all. If anything I hold each of us(the regulars) to the highest bar. We've been doing it for over a year, we should be better at it than someone just jumping in as a favor (cause from where i'm sitting, guest posters are all doing us favors, not like they're calling me asking me to please let them write for our blog).
For those that have guest posted for me, I'm just glad they did it, whatever they do, they've at least participated and given you a break from me and me a break from you, well, almost.
I found it entertaining. It even had a potcheen reference!
Another confusing comment by Mr K. Actually, you have met me, and on the night in question, you referred to my band, Project Grimm, as good in "that southern rock way," which I still take to this day as somewhat snide.
Not that it matters, but we did meet is my point.
As for your claim of solipsistic leanings, I wonder if you lump yourself into the same category, because if you do, who are writing to, and who are you commenting on, if in fact you don't believe we actually exist? Calling us all self-centered would be more accurate. And isn't that sort of how we all approach our posts, from our own point of view?
Not only that, but what could be more solipsistic than to doubt the existence of the young Mr. Cobra?
Why did I get roped into this rant anyway? I was out here, minding my own business, thinking up ways to bother Ramon, when you go drag me through the mire. I'm hurt. If you hate this forum so much, why keep doing it? Wait, I know the answer to this one. You do it because it's fun, same reason as me. I also like the weekly deadline as it keeps me thinking at least a little (contrary to what my writing may actually say of me). No one reads us because we're boring. Isn't that obvious?
And hey, what's with all those snakes out east anyway?
Hey Man, Mr. Cramer, this ain't Mr. K this is Wednesday. But K-dog he tells me he don't know you for nothing but what you write right here regardless of what you say. If y'all met it wasn't memorable. The K-dog doesn't give off snide compliments to musicians so no doubt that's coming from your own mental.
Not that I'm agreeing with you but it don't matter true enough, so you didn't get roped into nothing but a little preoccupation same as I.
Now Carlos, I met a Todd Colberg and his buddy Josh from a N.C. band called the Spinns at a piss pot of a bar on the South Loop once. Missed their show because it was over before 10:30 and there wasn't a soul there save Mike but Mike is good enough. Looked like they were having a hell of a time on the road and I don't exactly mean in a good way.
Anyway that's Todd Colberg and that's not the snake making these posts and only one machine is posting in here from Carolina way and that one smells latin to me. No doubt you're telling the truth on this one. I'm just saying no Cobras participating just generating.
And I'm mouthing off in the wind. I told you. I'm feeling spritzer today. You feel me?
Sorry, W, please send K my regards. It's getting pretty deep under this damn bridge.
When we meet for real, I get the first round, deal?
If you can beat me to it brother.
My last comment inspired by the character Omar from the TV series the Wire, verbalistikuly speaking. I'll beat you to the punch line on that one - yes I am as big a faggot.
Indeed.
Thanks for that meaningless waste of a comment, Sly. Am I the only who doesn't get it at all? Like, at all?
Is this why we monitor comments? I'm taking it out.
There. Thats much better now.
Oh, was it a swipe? Wow, that was lost on me. Oh well.
I dont know if it was a swipe or not, I have no idea what it was either, but I decided, it's my day of the week, I'm monitoring the comments, that comment was meaningless waste (as you well pointed out), so why keep it. Whoever it was, or whatever they were trying to say, they might as well just keep to themselves, or if they indeed have a point, they are welcome to try an express it again in a way that is not bullshit. If it is I'll delete it again.
Give 'em hell, Carlos.
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