Monthly Archives: January 2014

On the road

Audio link for the blind

The kid can play. He is not the best ever heard but he ain’t the worst either. I can’t say the same about his bandmates. The hotel bar will have better musicians than these kids. I guess that’s music these days. Everyone uses computers to correct their mistakes no one learns the art of their instruments. Listen to me. I’m the old man I never thought I’d be. Hell, in reality I’m better than I thought I’d be. 32 years as a roadie. 32 years of rock and roll. 32 years of living the dream. I’ve seen it all. I watch AIDS get invented. I watched cocaine, come and go, then come again. I’ve seen orgies that you wouldn’t believe and some you would but shouldn’t. I have no regrets. Well, I have a few regrets. They mostly involve the eighties. And booze. And mescaline.

This band will never make it. You can tell by how they take the stage. You can tell before you even hear their first song. It’s how they carry themselves, It’s how they hold their instruments. Sure, the guitar player is good. Better than he should be at his age. But these guys are half drunk already in the show is barely started. And they had what three beers each? I watched Slash drinking a fifth of Jack in the morning just the wake up. Plus if my beard doesn’t vibrate with the first note, then you suck. These kids ain’t shit. Normally I wouldn’t take a gig like this. But I of the month before the next tour starts with a real band. And money making band.

    I remember my first tour. AC/DC 1981. I was 15 years old and a high school dropout. I got hooked up through a friend of a friend. I went from absolutely lost in my life to discovering exactly what life was. Bon Scott had died from drinking too much. You want to know what the boys in the band did to handle his death? They didn’t cry and give up that is for sure. They got themselves and use singer and drank twice as much. Fuck yeah. I’ve worked with everyone. Aerosmith, Megadeth, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, Pearl Jam, Poison, Bruce Springsteen, you name it. If they matter, I toured with them. I remember working for Bon Jovi in ’87. He was a handsome guy. Hell, the whole band was. And the girls would do whatever it took to get to them. What I mean by that, is that they would suck their way through us to get to the band. What I mean by that is that I got blow jobs from groupies. And when I didn’t need blow jobs, I got drugs. Free drugs. When I started I told myself I when I started that I didn’t want to be one of those guys that spends his life using drugs and drinking. Two days later I was one of those guys who spends his life using drugs and drinking. I remember bringing one girl in for the band. She had given me about ½ pound of cocaine and some of the best mouth love I had ever had.

“Look what I got here boys. Two tits and a shit ton of Yeyo. They misunderstood me. The whole band and the girl ended up doing lines off my bare chest for half the night before I clarified what I meant. It was all good though because Tico Torres gave me a coked up hand job half way through it.

Jon Bon Jovi looked up, “Livin on a prayer mother fucker!” his face covered in white gold. “This is some Bad Medicine.” A lot of people don’t realize how often front men talk about their own songs. Eddie Vedder used to always talk about how “Alive” he felt after a show. He would emphasize “Alive” and kind of pause so we would get it. He would also love it when someone was named Jeremy and would always talk about how at his wedding he won’t have a best man but will have a “Better Man”. It’s just part of the life. I remember in ’88 I had just scored some weed and vodka for the boys in Def Lepard.

“Thanks, mate. Let me get a “photograph” joked Joe Elliot. But he wasn’t joking. He would take a picture then go around bragging he just took a “photograph”. “I’m just “foolin” everyone. Don’t mean to give you “hysteria”. Now tell that whore to “pour some sugar on me” specifically, my balls”. He would shout as he laid down and took out his balls waiting for coke to be poured on them. This is why I hated being around lead singers.

One time I was hanging out with CC Deville from Poison and we were seeing how many baby shoes we could fit up a groupies ass. It seems like a sick thing to do but when you are on heroin and coffee laced with acid and shrooms, it seems like the right thing to do to bring you down off the Adderall crushed up with the Valium that you took earlier. All of a sudden Big Tom Thomson, head of security kicks in the door. “Some dude out there is claiming that a bearded roadie made him finger his butt for a backstage pass.” Lucky for me 15 of the boys had beards and all of them had fingers in their butts at some point in the night. I was too out of it to care at the time. Another time when touring with Aerosmith a mother had come backstage saying “Some filthy member of the crew just had sex with my 16 year old daughter and told her she could meet Steven Tyler. I am taking legal action when I find out…” she stopped and looked around at all of us loading gear silenced with disgust. I think the last time I had showered was three days earlier. The last time I shaved was 1979. That would be about the same story for most of the crew in those days. “Look lady. We say a lot of things. We do a lot of other things. But if there is one thing I know for sure is that none of us EVER had sex with any underage girl. On this tour. This week.” I jumped down from the truck. If your daughter got herself in trouble then I see that it is your fault for poor parenting. What kind of person thinks they can have sex with a roadie and automatically meet Stephen Tyler? Who could be manipulated that easily? Now, if you want to talk to Mr. Tyler about this and let him hear your complaints then that can be arranged.”

She stammered her response. “well, yes…he’s here? Like I could actually meet him?”

“Yes, if that will help the situation then I am sure he would be happy to of course, nothing is free now is it mam?” I said while adjusting the buckle on my pants. Me and the boys would have a good time that night. She never got to meet Stephen Tyler because he was getting a rim job from her daughter. Road Life.

 

-“Swampy” Jim Sorgan

March 2013

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Santa’s Lap

Audio link for the blind

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry easy money time of the year. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that being a mall Santa was the way to go. There I was sitting in my living room watching my VHS tape of “Thar she blows!” which is my favorite nautical themed adult movie, when it hit me. Children. Why am I not taking advantage of children? Well, not the children really but we know that parents will open their wallets when it comes to their kids. Especially at Christmas time. Enough of sitting on my ass collecting retirement/disability from the aglet plant. I was going to make some real booze money this year. That was 15 years ago and the rest is history.

Well, maybe it isn’t that simple. Let me tell you a little about me. I am a big man. I very big man. I don’t know how much I weight but I have trouble fitting into most seats. That is one problem with being Santa. I have the beard. That is for damn sure. I have the rosey cheeks, due to the booze. And I am usually jolly when properly liquored up unless I am pissed off then from what I gather from the police reports I can be more than a handful. That is all great but I look unhealthy. I sound unhealthy when I breath. I feel fine but parts of my body spill out from under the Santa costume so it is a bit unsightly. I have tried exercise and diets but they just don’t work for me. By that I mean like I tried skipping a meal one day and I thought about exercises one time. Look, I am fat. That is me. All of me. Everywhere.

The first gig I got was at the local mall. Their Santa was a joke. An old skinny guy with a beard who would make cute excuses like “Ms. Clause put him on a diet”. Pussy. When my ex wife told me to diet I would smack her and tell her to bake me a bigger pie. This doesn’t sound good in court when you have to repeat your lines. She easily won the house and kids. I didn’t have to wait long before the previous Santa moved into a retirement home and I stepped it. Lucky me they didn’t have much choice as it was already November when they caught him taking a dump the mouth of the Hamburgler at the McDonalds playground thinking it was his wife. Yep. You heard right. Apparently they had some serious scat play back in the day based on the things he was saying while doing the deed. So I walked into the mall managers office and just said, “I know you don’t like what you see but you got no choice. I am your mall Santa. Deal with it.” So there I was. They had to reinforce the Santa throne because I am a fat fuck. Just a disgusting fat pig of a man. I rely on the thick Santa suit to keep a majority of the smells in and the booze to make my body in hospitable for most bacteria.

People don’t understand how tough it is to be a mall santa. All day. All fucking day you listen to these little shit monsters tell you how good they were and they want all these bullshit toys. Mom and Dad trying to take pictures with cell phones instead of paying for a picture from a professional like
“Two Eyes” Burt who was the photographer at the time. We called him that because he wished he had two eyes like a normal person but somehow in the fetal process something rather cycloptic appeared to have happened. He scared the living fuck out of the kids so we use to try to draw a couple of normal eyes on him but it only seemed to make things worse. He deserved to make a living like anyone else so when I lost my shit on some sexless high pantsuit mom and smashed her IPhone the cops were called and I was ejected from my first gig. Too bad you may be thinking but this is not the case. It turns out most mall Santa’s are pedophiles working under false identities. I would just walk into another mall. Walk up to the Santa and say “Beat it pal or I tell them everything.” Those sick fucks wouldn’t even blink. They would just get up and leave. I would sit down and Christmas would continue.

I think one of the worst parts about being a mall Santa is who you have to try to hide the drinking and remember that you are face to face with some kid who is going to tell you that “your breath smells like angry Daddy”. The cool thing is you can just chase with mouthwash AND get fucked up off mouthwash. Not knowing how to pace myself on the job is what led to me losing my second job. A smoking hot Milf brought her kid to see me. I hadn’t noticed her until she was up to the front of the line. Tight jeans, cut off shirt and a three year old kid. Yep. Had to be a stripper. Now I was half in the bag and by that I mean flat out drunk. She didn’t look like she was doing to hot either. Having trouble balancing in her pumps. After her kid was done being shy I asked “maybe Mommy wants a turn on Santas Lap.” She played along and I stuck a $10 in her waist band and instinct kicked in. Turns out she was a stripper and started giving me a lap dance in the mall. The smell of money and a fat guy boozed out of his ass along with her own buzz triggered her to think she was at work. The police report said that I had stated in a loud “Santa Voice” that I was going to “Cum Kris Cringle Style” and that is when mall security had stepped in. However, being that is was near Christmas time and people were spending all their hard earned money a number of the fathers who came with their families were also a bit liquored up and had begun throwing singles at us and arguing who was next. Which of course led to couples fighting and some of the fathers battling mall security for trying to stop us. Meanwhile mommy stripper was licking the vodka out of my beard and I don’t even know where her kid was. Regardless I missed a few days that season but I miss days every season. Still had a good haul. The next year I learned to dress Two Eyes Burt up like an elf so he made more sense and then we worked as a team. Since then it has been smooth sailing. Easy gigs. Easy money. Easy women. Strippers go for guys dressed as Santa. I keep the outfit on for the clubs after. I don’t go for strippers as much as to get a whore. Strippers and whores. Same shit.

 

-Harvey Patterson

-Dec. 2011

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