Ahhhhh another wild weekend of wandering drunks and social misfits who have not a single clue regarding ways to behave in public.  Yes, I’m talking about you, roving group of a-holes stumbling in from one of the many nearby bars around 2:30 in the morning.  “Hey, the bars are all closed…..let’s go engage in the loudest, most obnoxious jackassery that we can achieve….and let’s do it at that porn shop!”  I wasn’t trying to be rude, but technically you weren’t customers since none of you bought anything…..and I’d had a bike crash that day and was just mellowing out on vicodin, trying to make it through the night.  Here’s the transcript:

Them:  (Unintelligible mix of drunken voices) “Rabblerabbleblahblah….dildo…..blah….blah….duh.”

Me:  (Fairly loud) “Hey…..excuse me……I’m not trying to watch a movie or anything”

Them: (Even LOUDER mix of drunken voices) “Derpdederpdederp…….ANALBLAH-DE-BLAH-ANAL-BLAH!!!”

Me:  (As loud as I get) “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

They left in a huff, but a relatively peaceful huff.   Seriously, I hope all of you made it safely back to the suburbs of Vancouver, and I hope you enjoy the Nickelback concert.

Then there’s the many anonymous callers we get throughout the weekend nights, teenagers usually…..attempting phone pranks, but who are almost always too drunk/stoned and/or stupid to come up with any good material.   Here’s a good one from last night:

Me:  “Blankity-Blank Video”

Drunk/Mentally Challenged Young Man: (Slurring badly) “Do you have….butt sex?”  (other drunk/mentally challenged youths laughing in the background)

Me: “Wow.  That’s clever.  Did you think that one up all by yourself dipshit?”

D.M.C.Y.M. : (Gets angry/slurring intensifies) “FUCK YOU FAGGOT!!!”

Me: “Hey, just because I let your dad blow me…..doesn’t necessarily make me gay.”

Imagine that.  Gay bashed without the benefits.  I feel cheated.  Just keep those calls coming kiddies.  I’m quicker/wiser/smarter and infinitely funnier than you’ll ever be…..even on vicodin.

Best video title of the week?  A transgender gang bang flick called “Three Men And A Maybe”.

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Surviving as an artist/musician/whatever over the years has never been a financially lucrative venture.  This is where the dreaded “day job” comes into play….a necessary pain in the ass that pays the rent and other expenses.  However, being a fairly wild and untamed free spirit, I tend to go after the more unusual employment opportunities….jobs that give me a chance to have those bizarre experiences that make great stories and can even occasionally become songs.  Last year while working as a camera/prompter operator for a live tv news show in Northwest Arkansas, I learned about a strange tradition in the small mountain town Eureka Springs where every holiday season, someone steals the Baby Jesus from the downtown nativity scene.  After properly absorbing this situation, I got right to work and wrote the song “Who Snatched The Baby Jesus?” which continues to be one of the most requested in the Wizard Boots repertoire.  See how that works?  I did another one about a news anchor at our rival station across town….I had a bit of a thing for her…..even got to get her a copy of it through one of their producers….but alas…never got to even meet her face to face.  BUT the song is still out there and I’m sure she still secretly fantasizes about the wizard….or maybe I just fantasize about her fantasizing about me.  Anyway….a career with great pay and benefits is fine, but I’d much rather have a job where drinking and having sex on the clock aren’t necessarily frowned upon and I might even get the opportunity to use a flamethrower.

Since relocating to Oregon a few months ago I’ve taken on several odd jobs that have all worked out well, but the one everyone always wants to hear about is my weekend graveyard shift at a 24 hour adult video store/sex shop.  I’m in there, usually all by myself from around 11pm until 7am providing cheerful service to whomever or whatever happens to wander in off the streets of sleazy Southeast Portland.   Actually wander is probably the wrong choice of words….we don’t really get alot of wanderers.  Most of the clientele have very specific intentions when they come in…..some a bit too specific…..gotta draw the line when getting propositioned by dirty old men.

So the purpose of this blog will be a documentation of what’s going on out there in your fine city while you’re probably sleeping.  And since something really funny/sad/twisted/disgusting happens just about every night I work….there’ll be no shortage of material.  So….without further adieu, let’s kick this off with The Tale of The Burrito Queen.

She walked in alone….I was alone….and without any sort of introduction or small talk she got right to the point.

Her:  “Do you want to have sex?”

Me:  (after a long thoughtful pause) “Well….I’m kind of working right now.”

Her:  “I can see that, but……do you want to have sex?”

Now she wasn’t unattractive….not really my type but certainly not unattractive.  The thing was….she was munching down on a massive burrito while trying to secure my services and something about the way the words “Do you want to have sex?” sound coming out through a mouthful of chewed up beef, cheese and lettuce…..it just doesn’t sound as appealing.  So I went with me gut on this one.

Me: “Ummmmm…..not particularly no.

Her: (shrugging unfazed) “OK….I had to ask.”

At least once a night in there I say to myself, “My mom would be so proud of me…if she could only see me right now.”  This was the one time I wasn’t being sarcastic.

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