It’s 8:16pm in the Black Rock Saloon in Gerlach, Nevada. We all just ate, at least. Thankfully. Lining for the stomach.
Dukey and Charlie and Vaughn and Party Guy and Fraser are holding court behind the bar at the Crack Rock, already shirtless and/or partially de-pantsed. Dollar bills and cigarettes tucked in thongs. Bouncing their junk and molesting incoming customers and crawling around on the bar like strippers.
They’re calling it ‘Coyote Icky.’
Dr. Dre is thumping on the sound system — no wait, now it’s Lionel Richie — and bow ties are being paired with hotpants and old lady wigs. There’s an electricity in the air that says: Someone is going to puke tonight.
(Wait, now it’s Culture Club.)
I feel sorry for whoever passes out with their boots on first.
he love you long time
UPDATE, NEXT MORNING:
Please stand by.
Someone knocked over my computer in the Crack Rock last night after accidentally swallowing too much alcohol. My DJ set came to an abrupt end, just at the start of the panic attack. I didn’t lose any data but now the thing won’t close and the charger doesn’t work, so I’ve only got 7 minutes left on my battery. I’d talk more about it but I lost my voice (again) singing along to Journey with everyone.
It was a full moon. That’s all I think I can say about the party without getting killed.
Gerlach High School girls’ volleyball game tonight. DPW is all invited. We’re not allowed to cuss or bring booze but I think it’ll be pretty awesome anyway.
The Ladies' Guide to the Apocalypse 