On the road
Its a little known fact that I used to be in a band. There were only two of us, my mate Richard and I, but we were making waves until one shortlived and traumatic week out on the road on a very low-key tour. I should just point out that Richard and I were close, we were tight, I always used to refer to him as "my man," because he really was. We were best buddies.

We started at the Colusseum in Coventry and fucking rocked the place. We were pretty tight and incredibly good, if I do say so myself.

The next night we were in Northampton at the Roadmenders. Nice intimate venue. We nailed that one too.

After the gig we're tired and sweaty and lugging all the gear in the back of Richard's van. It was a refrigerated van he'd borrowed from his old man, who was a fishmonger. I recall opening the doors, sliding the crates of fish to one side, and storing my guitar. I was absolutely fucking knackered.

"'Scuse me, mate," said a rather throaty voice. "I could help you out there."

I turned and peered in the direction of the voice. The fella looked big and strong. His arms were the size of tree trunks.

"That would be fucking great, matey," I replied. "We've got Richard's drumkit inside - if you could sort that out I'd really appreciate it."

And this fella wanders off inside the venue. After everything's safely stowed I start talking to the fella. He asks where we're playing tomorrow. I say Wolverhampton. He tells me he hasn't got anything much planned for the next few days so offers to tag along and act as our roadie. I shrug: "Sure, mate - that would be fucking great!"

Only Richard wasn't too pleased. "Err, Spanky... Haven't you noticed something weird about that fella?"

"No, what?"

Richard looks at me as if I'm stupid (which I am, but that's besides the point). "He's got the head of a fucking bull!"

I hold up my finger as if to say 'one moment, please', and I study our new roadie.

"Shit, you're absolutely fucking right, Richard! Head of a bull! Well, fuck me! But he's fucking strong as fuck and we don't have to pay him anything. He told me all he needs is a bale of hay and some oats every night as payment."

Richard isn't too sure, but after a while he comes round to my way of thinking. "Well, ok. But he'll have to stay in the back of the van with the fish and the instruments."

So, we go to Wolverhampton.

Harsh crowd. We went down like the proverbial lead balloon. Oh, well. There's always Manchester the following night.

But Manchester was even worse. They just didn't like our style of music at all. I imagine they're just not ready for an acid rock hillbilly ska combo in those parts just yet.

After the gig things started to get even worse. Our new roadie was acting strange. He didn't talk to us at all. He just scooped up the equipment in his massive arms and stalked off to the van with it. We followed behind, tired, hungry, and just a little pissed off with how things were going. The dream of Top of the Pops was dwindling.

Suddenly, the roadie lets out an almighty roar. He's in the back of the van and the whole thing starts rocking and shaking. Shit! Then crate after crate of refrigerated fish products start flying out the back of the van, crushed beyond recognition. It was like a witnessing a weird snuff movie, for fish.

"You're coming with me to my domain!" screamed the roadie.

Richard and I were routed to the spot, scared shitless.

The roadie leapt from the back of the van and shot a bolt of lightning from his fingertips. The electric charge slammed into Richard's chest and he froze. He'd been turned to stone!

Mother-fuckering-shit!!!

"I'm not pissing about, Spanky - you're coming with me!"

I noticed my feet were getting wet, sort of sticky. I looked over at my mate Richard and realised he was melting and letting off an awful smell. The stone statue that was once my mate was falling apart and puddling in a sticky, stinky pool of goo on the pavement.

"Ok," I breathed. "I'll come with you..."

In a flash we were transported somewhere hot, somewhere with fire, somewhere with loads of fucking demons!

"Now, Spanky - I want you to meet my boss!" said the evil fucking roadie.

From the flames a figure appears. Short, fat, with a tash.

"Aren't you Tosh Lines from the Bill?" I ask.

The short fat bloke nods: "Yes, I am. Well, I was. Now I'm Lord of the Fucking Underworld! We had a vote and everything, it might be hell but we do run a democratic process down here."

"What do you want from me?" I whimper, feeling my trousers fill with hot, sticky shit.

Tosh Lines, I mean, the Ruler of the Fucking Underworld, holds out a hand: "A quid. Give me a quid."

A FUCKING QUID!!!

I open my wallet and hand over the coin. Then the ex-roadie steps forward: "Me too," and he holds out one of his massive palms.

"And me," said another demon, who suddenly appeared.

"I require a pound too," said another.

"Shit! Has anyone got change for a tenner?" I asked.

After a while I was flat broke. It appeared I'd given a quid to every fucker there.

The next morning, I woke in my own bed and wondered if it was all a dream. I rang Richard's house, but there was no answer. I went down stairs and turned the TV on, and nearly shat myself when I saw the news - the liquified remains of a man had been found in Manchester next to a refrigerated fish van...

...it hadn't been a dream...

I sat down and held my head in my hands and tried to figure out the course of events in my addled brain.

Minor tour turns bad, smashes the plaice up, my Dick went rock had and made a sticky stinky mess, and then there was all hell to pay.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 9:30, 6 replies)

that
is well good!
(Errin C, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 9:50, closed)

*clicks*
the more stuff of yours i read the more i wonder if your on drugs. this is wicked!
(Save Us All !!!, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 9:52, closed)

Excellent!!!
Absolutely excellent!!!
(Grrrrr Tigers, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 10:47, closed)

cheers
well told. enjoying your posts. *click*
( cackers, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 14:07, closed)

Heh heh!
But it's not entirely true though, is it? Bet you've embellished some bits... :-)
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 16:34, closed)

I'm shocked...
and disgusted...

only please don't ask me for photos....

please....

....for the love of Santa and all his little helpers....
( SpankyHanky, Fri 6 Mar 2009, 16:54, closed)