Re: Rover in the front seat

[George Robinson <GRComm...>]

Gee, Josh, thanks for sharing that.

George (has the bladder of a sturdy camel and hates Guinness -- I'm more
of a Bass Ale/Watney's Red Barrel kind of guy) Robinson



Joshua Horowitz wrote:
> 
> Budowitz Website: http://www.budowitz.com
> 
> Excuse the interruption, but this urgent and relevant query was waiting on
> my hard disc after being on the road, so I thought I'd share it in hopes of
> enlightening those of you with similar problems. Beware: True story,
> freakier than fiction. No offense intended. Josh Horowitz
> 
> Dear Dr. Klez,
> I¹m a bandleader with a problem: my musicians are always late to everything.
> Rehearsals, sound checks, even the gigs themselves. Please advise as to what
> I should do. Francesco Enziano
> 
> Dear Francesco ,
> Better late than sopping wet, and I¹ll explain why I say that. Normally my
> band members bring their clothes to the gig and dress there, but sometimes
> it happens that we just don¹t have the time and are in a rush. As often
> happens on our tours, our hotel was a good 20 minutes from the venue, we
> were playing acoustic, and because there was no sound check, everyone became
> rather lackadaisical about the time, the result being that we all had to
> dress for the gig before leaving the hotel and were in a mad rush to get
> loaded up, as the gig was to begin in 15 minutes. Having finally gotten
> underway, we of course took a wrong left turn and ended up on a one-way
> street going nowhere in particular.
> 
> Well, wouldn¹t you know it, one of our band members suddenly put on a wince
> and with a whining voice said he had to pee. Since I was driving, I simply
> said that it¹s gonna have to wait, because we can´t waste anymore time.
> 
> Now, how many people do you know who can´t hold it in for 20 minutes after
> the first urge hits? I mean come on. As a bandleader, wouldn´t you have also
> felt the responsibility to get to the gig on time and expect your band
> members to have a minimum of bladder control? Why on earth is it that I get
> the only musician this side of the Dniester who can´t drink a Guiness and
> wait till the next available restoom to pay for the consequences?
> 
> He repeated the need to stop again and said that it was REALLY imperative.
> Well, either I had underestimated the amount he had drunk before entering
> the car, or had simply misjudged his capacity for rebellion. Seeing that I
> wouldn´t comply, he bent down to the floor of the van and picked up the
> empty  Gatorade bottle which had been rolling around there for the past 2
> days, maneuvered himself into a strategic position, unscrewed the lid, then
> unzipped his pants and made a gesture of preparation which I assumed was
> purely symbolic. Surely, I thought, he wouldn´t follow through with it.
> 
> I was wrong. He daintily placed the object of his discomfort into the ample
> neck of the Gatorade bottle - which seemed designed for precisely this
> situation -  and began to unleash a stream which was certainly impressive
> under any circumstances. I inadvertantly became fascinated by the similarity
> in texture and color which the fluid entering the Gatorade bottle now had
> with the original substance that came in it when we bought it, and, being so
> engrossed in this comparison, did not notice that I had picked up velocity,
> nor was I aware of the particulars of the road on which we were driving.
> Right before the decisive moment, the band members in the back screamed in
> that staggered unison that Budowitz has become famous for, ³SPEED BUMP!!²
> 
> I don´t know what it was that shocked me more - the other members screaming
> at the top of their lungs or the van leaping into the air over that cruelly
> placed speed bump. It doesn´t matter now. The Gatorade bottle lept out of
> his hand, bouncing off the dashboard with such force that the contents of it
> splayed all over the windshield, the cassette player, the ceiling and, as
> fate would have it...me.
> 
> Two warm droplets landed on my right cheek. The back seat members went
> almost unconscious with laughter, which only excacerbated the situation, as
> the culprit - whose incontinence had already put us in this situation, was
> now laughing in absurd solidarity with the other members so unabashedly,
> that his diaphram began an almost superhuman force of unrelenting rhythmic
> pressure on his bladder, which was still swollen with whatever it was that
> he had voluminously poured into it that afternoon.
> 
> The effect was daunting. The organ of affliction began to spray like an
> unattended firehose, flailing wildly about as its owner convulsed in a state
> of dilerious hilarity, flooding the entire van. Liquid landed in places
> where a sponge could never dream of reaching. The windows, the vents, the
> rear view mirror. It even managed to reach the rear hatchback window, don¹t
> ask me how. The act was no less controllable than it was constant. No end
> was in sight.
> 
> I felt as though I had just been placed in an Esalen hot tub. My shirt
> changed from a dull black to a shiny, gleaming purplish tint and my pants
> were soaked so thorougly that the seams of both of them began to drip into
> the instep of my shoes - causing them to make little squishing noises every
> time I stepped on the clutch.
> 
> No one was protected from the evils of our fiddler´s digestive produce.
> Whereas I was assaulted from the right side, the backseat band members had
> been flooded from the top of the ceiling, as certain thrusts of laughter had
> a catapulting effect on the hosing, causing the heavy stream to shoot over
> the back of the head of its perpetrator, ricocheting in a hypotenuse angle
> into the backseat region onto his victims. For them it was like standing
> under a balcony drainpipe, whereas for me the onslaught was direct,
> powerful, revolting, unavoidable and utterly canine in its implications.
> But, justice be done, no one in that van had been exempt from the act. The
> entire band smelled like a Kennel at Christmastime.
> 
> When we finally reached the venue, we had our tails firmly tucked between
> our legs and our  chins collectively pressed against our chests so as not to
> incur any more notice of our condition than was absolutely necessary. The
> promoter of the venue greeted us amiably at first, but his face quickly
> changed from a nervous, yet relieved enthusiasm that the group had finally
> arrived at the venue only 10 minutes late -  to a polite, but quizzical
> disgust when the fragrance reached his nostrils and wafted through the
> entire backstage area like a pea soup fog.
> 
> Needless to say, it was difficult to make it through the concert. Perhaps it
> was the odor, the memory of the experience, the audience´s confusion as to
> where that offensive fragrance was coming from and why was the entire band
> drenched from head to foot, smirking and grimacing through both halves of
> their performance and what had they been drinking, anyway?
> 
> So, you see, Francesco, sometimes it is better to allow your band a certain
> modicum of tardiness. And if you tell them to be at their destination at a
> time which is calculated to be earlier than the actual start time, maybe
> they´ll show up only a little late. But at least they´ll be dry.
> Dr. Klez
> 
> *****************************************************
> For other stories of questionable value, visit:
> 
> http://www.budowitz.com   and click on "Ask Dr. Klez"
> 
> Please direct all complaints to:
> Senatesubcommitte (at) un-Jewishactivites(dot)com
> 
> ---------------------- jewish-music (at) shamash(dot)org 
> ---------------------+
>