Saturday, March 29, 2008


He was a midget.  Half a midget, really.  He’s gotta’ have a dick the size of a pecan.  First time I saw him was fronting this band called Fifty Eggs.  All of their songs had something to do with the movie “Cool Hand Luke” in one way or another.  And this little guy belted out songs like “Boss Keen’s Ditch” and “Failure to Cummunicate” with a passion and voice that scared me.  If I’d have closed my eyes, I’d have thought he was ten foot tall and bulletproof.  When this little turd stepped off the stage, he needed a step-ladder.  And when he mingled with the crowd of endless back-patters, he was at the same time physically invisible.  Not to say I didn’t enjoy the set.  I kind of did, I guess.  Not the greatest band, certainly not the worst.  But there are a thousand hungrier bands in this town that don’t have a half-midget singer, yet won’t ever see this side of the spotlight because they don’t have pecan dick singing for them.



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