Death's Door presents the Bar Years
Back “in the day” when I bounced at night and worked at the music store I had a few adventures and shit. This highlights just a few of em.Tuesday, November 02, 2004
BIG PIMPIN'
It seemed like a good idea at the time. It even made sense in a fucked up kind of way. I was doing the hardway bouncing routine at the blues club in Westport. I had a night off and was choking back a few drinks with a couple of friends. In those day’s I hadn’t yet discovered the cheap qualities of Old Crow and I drank Wild Turkey 101 instead. You know what stupid drunk is? It’s having a beard and trying down a shot of Wild Turkey 101 while it’s lit. It’s amazing the shit bikers can talk a cat into. Anyway, I’m talking to two old friends and we were discussing the Hooker problem Westport had back then. Yeah, believe it or not back in the eighty’s Westport was stupid with the working girls. There’s a lot of soccer moms nowadays running around in SUV’s that used to hook back in the day. It didn’t make it a bad thing; it was just the way shit was back then. So we were all sitting around talking about this issue when we were joined by a few of the local working women. They had the big bitch on about getting hassled by the cops and what a chore it was trying to make a few bucks. One of the guy’s said something about would it be any easier if they had a central location to work out of, and if it was he might be able to help em out. Remember, back then Westport was nothing like it was now. You had Kelly’s, Blayney’s, Buzzard Beach and a few other small bars and restaurants. You still had homes and apartments scattered throughout the area, and in the center of all this was a huge fucking bread factory. My buddy just happened to have a small house down the block he was trying to rent.
You’d think I would have learned a lesson from all that, but just a few years later I found myself once again getting drunk with the working girls.
Peace
Hmmm, whisky soaked brains and hookers, what a bad mix.We all put our heads together and worked out this plan. We would open the first whorehouse in Westport since Al Capone dropped in for a drink. It made sense at the time. I‘d be the muscle and watch over the girls. My buddy that owned the house would front the startup money and collect our share of the take. The other girls would recruit and take turns being head bitch in charge. We even thought out fucking advertising and a start date. Two days before we opened I walked into the club and saw my friends sitting in a dark corner. Without saying a word I grabbed a drink and joined em. We all set in silence smoking, drinking and thinking hard. It was me, the money guy and the girls. After about an hour I stirred and said; “well, I guess I’ll be the first to say it.
What the fuck was we thinking”?We must’a been high to think we could get away with this. Come the fuck on, I’ve done some crazy shit, but running a whorehouse? Have we lost our fucking minds? Suddenly everybody sighed with relief. The money guy said; I only own half the house, my mom owns the other half. The girls said that they were going to go back to school anyway and didn’t have time for our crap. I was having nightmares of my father the Cop busting me.
You’d think I would have learned a lesson from all that, but just a few years later I found myself once again getting drunk with the working girls.
Peace
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Name: Greg Beck
Home: first bar stool to the left, make mine a Beam & coke please!, United States
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- HEER'YAOWH, BLACK SUNSHINE
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time till my fuckin birthday and my sac drops another inch!
