On the Road with Verona Red Day 3: Dallas, TX

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Before the Show

It's always a good morning when you actually wake up after falling asleep in a small hotel room with a meth head in a bed rather than a tub full of ice. I don't how extensive the black market organ trade in Arkansas is, but I wouldn't put anything past these people. I went out to the van to wake the boys and tell them about the shenanigans of last night. Since I was the only one who had a chance to shower the night before, Adam, Mike and Chris took their opportunity to get clean. Steve, for reasons incomprehensible to the rest of us, opted to remain in his current olfactory-molesting condition. He smelled like a Tijuana port-a-potty. He smelled like a Frenchman rolling in dog feces. He smelled like Liz Taylor's bifkin. In it's current state. But I digress.

We were able to scoot out of their with minimal awkwardness and we were ready to hit the road after a quick stop at the local Wal-Mart to pick up some oil for the van and a few other supplies. While walking towards the automotive department, we happened to come across an item that I had never encountered in a Wal-Mart up in the Chicagoland area before: an 18-inch machete. It was reasonably priced at $7.99 as well. Now, I know the experts probably wouldn't buy their machetes at Wal-mart, but it seemed fine for an amateur.

In the midst of filling up the oil, Steve realized that he had left his cell phone at the hotel. This meant we had to do an awesome, completely smooth and in no way uncomfortable revisit to the meth den. After that fun experience, we hit the road again for Dallas. The ride was short and easy compared to the long haul of the previous day, and we pulled up to the Doublewide with plenty of time to spare. We had so much time in fact, that we went to the local McDonald's to abuse their free WiFi to take care of some business.

While there, we were cornered into sitting next to an old lady in a wheelchair who was making some of the most horrible wheezing noises I've ever heard come out of a human being. She was on death's doorstep; in fact, the door was open and she was about to roll herself into the parlor. She began to talk to us, and being compassionate people, we conversed with her for quite a while. Well, Chris did. I immediately got up and walked to the van due to the unmistakeable odor of Polident and death wafting from her. She was a bit mentally off as well, whether it was from senility/dementia or some good old-timey parent/teacher/husband induced blunt force trauma to the head, no one knows, but I think from the stench and squirming she may have filled her Depends as well. When I came back about thirty minutes later, she was still babbling. I think she had gotten more comfortable with Chris, or her medication was wearing off, because the conversation had turned rather racist on her end. She saw me and began to tell me that I would be perfect for her daughter. She was trying to play matchmaker, setting up her only daughter with a transient who, only hours before, was contemplating the purchase of a machete for an as of yet undiscovered purpose. We left.

We drove back to the venue and parked the van. The sun was still shining on this beautiful day in Dallas, so we decided to make use of the frisbee that Adam had brought and the nearly empty lot that was across the street. Chris, Adam and I were tossing the frisbee for a while with moderate success. And then Steve joined. One of his very first throws was about thirty yards off target, splitting Chris and Adam almost perfectly, over into a fenced in property. Now, this wasn't a cute little white picket fence. This was a tall bastard made from gnarled lengths of wood, overgrown with vines and weeds. Through the gaps in the fence we could see several rusted out cars on cinder blocks and a tumbledown old shack. The kind of lovely real estate one might find in some back regions of the Appalachians. Real Deliverance type of place. Not wanting the tension between Adam and Steve to grow any further, I summoned my once finely honed fence jumping skills from high school, and leapt into the wilderness. My nerves were a bit frayed, as with every step into the abyss I expected the explosive report of a shotgun or the manic baying of a rabid dog. I finally located the frisbee and scrambled up and over the wall to safety.

The Doublewide in Dallas, Texas

The opening band had just gotten signed onto a record label, so they had brought in a pretty sizable fan base. The venue was cool, the drink menu was wonderful rednecked out and the staff was friendly. Everything about it seemed like it would be a great show. The first band was solid, and we found out later that the lead singer, who was probably 15 years older than the next oldest person in the band, had toured with Oasis for a while in some capacity. They wrapped their set up, and began to offload. We loaded the stage up, eager for the biggest crowd yet on the trip. As the time to start playing gradually approached, and the room was still pretty empty since the opening band left, temperaments started souring. Not only did half of the first band not even stick around for the other bands, the other half were busy talking to people in the other sections of the bar, effectively keeping them from seeing Verona Red rocking. A couple of the band members made it in eventually, and seemed to enjoy the set, at least the portion that they saw. Frustration still apparent, my friends finished their set and we cleared the stage.

The Aftermath

Never a group to let anything get them down for too long, the band sidled up to the bar for some drinks. We quickly befriended the bartender and were getting really cheap and really strong drinks for the rest of the night, which helped to ameliorate the earlier situation. As the night began to wind down, the bartender asked us if we wanted a round of shots on the house. My answer of "Psh... I ain't drivin'" worked for four of the five of us at least. So he lined six rocks glasses on the bar, five for us and one for him, and proceeded to pour a batch of hefty triples for each of us. The freshly opened bottle of Jameson that he started with had roughly a quarter remaining. Downing that beast was a bit rough, but it helped to prepare me for the next situation, which was undoubtedly one of the classiest moments of the entire trip.

A small group of boisterous folks had gathered around one corner of the bar. As we walked over we found out that it was time for the nightly Pickle Deepthroat Contest. The rules: Whichever lady (since it's Texas, I assume if a man tried to participate he would probably get tied to the bumper of the nearest pickup truck) could shove the pickle the farthest down her throat would be the lucky winner of... the recently double throat lubed pickle she had just taken out of her mouth. That's right.

And it doesn't take a genius to figure out which person's floor the band ended up crashing on. Yes, we partied with a champion that night. Misty Matthews (birth name, no joke), pickle-chugging champion, kindly offered her house to us scruffy children. Her friend, Kui Redeagle (again... no joke), had taken a shining to our Adam, and they insisted he ride with them to Misty's house. We followed behind, absolutely amazed as Misty brazenly cut off a police car while we tried our best to keep up with them.

We arrived at her complex, and walked to her door. Upon entering, we were rendered speechless by what lay in front of us. Appalling mess plus baby toys equals second night in a row of crashing with crazy hillbilly single mother. A few beers were passed around, some good music was played, some clothes were removed, and then Misty revealed that she had played a role in a movie. She proceeded to put on one of the most underrated but influential achievements in cinematic history - Pot Zombies. Without a doubt, the few scenes I saw clearly showed that this was the most ill-conceived, poorly written, horrendously acted and just plain awful movie that had ever crossed my path. To be fair, there is something pretty amazing about watching a topless lesbian zombie scene where one of the actresses is sitting half naked right next to you. Steve disappeared into the bathroom with Kui temporarily and then came out without a shirt. This was not a pretty sight. He then inexplicably began doing dips from the couch, in some ill-conceived attempt at impressing the ladies? Maybe? Due to his constant divulging of his workout routines during the course of the trip, and his affirmation that all the exercise was getting him "swoll", we eventually just began to call him "Stevie Swolls".

We slept then, dreaming angels' dreams.

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