road rot

Tales from the road
from Popa Chubby.
From the van to Milan.
From Paris,Texas to Paris,France.
From Roger Clinton
to the real Sweet Goddess

 

unfit for human consumption

I am 17 and just out of high school. I have been playing guitar for about 2 years now. It is what I live and breathe for. I spend my time in a daze of Johnny Winter, Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin riffs. I ache to be on stage and am chronically depressed by the limits imposed by the Queens N.Y. town in which I live. 
     I still live with my Grandmother and Grandfather. He wakes every morning grumbling his way to work at  5:00 A.M. sometimes throwing a grunt of disgust my way with a, "Get a job you bum."  He cannot relate to my commitment to Rock and Roll not to mention my commitment to Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort! 
    It is about noon and I am newly risen from my Draculean slumber as I help my Grandma into the house with her shopping. " I got you a job today ," she says. 
     I cringe at her excitement but she is not to be contained. "I talked to that nice Tony who manages the Deli department at Waldbaum's. He says you can start right away. Well, as soon as you get a haircut that is. " 
     I die inside as I think of cutting my beloved Afro which I have spent 2 entire years growing, but I know I am on a short thread  so I trudge on down to report to Tony. 
He is 5 foot 1 of arrogant self important shit stuffed into a paper hat and white  apron . " I'm only doing this because I like your Grandma"  he says, "And you'll have to cut that rat's nest on your head!"   "Yeah sure tomorrow," I say stalling for time. 
    All this for minimum wage of $2.95 per hour. The day drags on in torturous increments of time. I get a 15 minute break which seems like 15 seconds. I am ordered about, berated and abused mercilessly by the Napoleonic Tony. I watch as he gropes the ripened buttocks of the cashier like they were rump roasts as she complains in mock despair, "Tony,Stopppp! Giggle Giggle."
     Finally Tony comes up and puts me on the meat slicer. "I want every bit of that used up!" He says pointing to some crusty bits of salami by the side of the slicer. 
     A woman about my Grandma's age steps up eyes me cautiously and says, 
"Young man give me one pound of salami and I don't want the end."
"Give her the end" Tony whispers and glares at me. I am caught in a crisis of conscience. Not knowing what to do as she turns away to get some other things,Tony grabs the crusty end and slices it up quickly, " Wrap it up before she gets back,"  he says. I do as I am told. The woman is no fool and opens up the package for inspection. "Young man! I specifically said I did not want the end.. now, where is the manager?" 
    Tony comes running over and to save his own ass starts to scream at me, "What is this crap? You get this lady some fresh salami now you punk, and cut open a new one or you're fired!" With that I take a brand new 3 foot long Genoa salami, I walk over to Tony and smash it right over his head crushing his little white cap in the process. 
    He stammers and  yells for security, 2 guards come running over as well as the cashier and several customers .They see the salami smashed over his head and begin to laugh as he turns a deep shade of red. I take off my apron and throw it in his face, "Hey Tony, I quit.  Fuck you," I say, and as I walk out I hear a guitar solo on the radio and never look  back!!!!!!
This is Clayophus Paree.

A road relic unearthed from
a Parisian dressing room by Popa Chubby.
He is from the Plasticine era, we think.
 He's our zen funkmaster.
 

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