Monthly Archives: May 2010

Steel Town: The Music Video

While in the planning stages for Garbage Duck Live, we knew we needed some sort of musical interlude to break up the wall-to-wall hilarity (and we also needed a pee break). Of course, when you need a song about the horrors of living in Youngstown, there’s no chanteur more appropriate than Rust Belt folk hero L.G. America — though tracking him down was easier said than done. A reclusive fellow, L.G. can only be summoned by rattling a baby tooth in a whiskey bottle in the middle of the street on a moonlit night. And when this didn’t work, we walked a few blocks to our local liquor store and found him nested comfortably in the dumpster, sleeping like a baby with terminal cirrhosis of the liver. After some high-stakes negotiations, we traded him our belts and a bottle of Popov for the gift of song.

And the rest, they say, is Youngstown history.

Adventures in Groupiedom 2

June, 2000

Debbie,

"Busty" Becky, siren of the Iowa State Fair

What a night! I can’t believe it! I’m so excited! This is a hookup for the history books. Tonight was better than that time I hooked up with Blues Traveler. It was better than that three-way with LEN.  And I’ll bet it was even better than that time my Nana got tag-teamed by Bing Crosby and Flip Wilson.

Are you ready for this?

I fucked Crazy Town.

EEEEEE! I know!

I know, Debbie! I know!

Debbie! Debbie. Jesus Christ, Debbie, shut your meth hole long enough to let me finish. Debbie! Debbie this is your Cheer Captain talking!

Heh. Just having a little fun there. I know you’re on step whatever of the Narcotics Anonymous ladder and you’re making amends or something. Sure. I’ll believe that when my Firebird you “lost” shows up in my driveway again with my Chris Gaines tape in the cassette player and my ex Jeff’s cock buckled in the front seat.

Okay. Here’s what happened: Last Thursday I was popping the cap on Zima number awesome and flipping through the Arawak Star Tribune. Just as I was getting ready to pencil in a set of tits on Ziggy, I came across a half-page advertisement for Roachfest, some hippy dippy camping and music festival they have down at this lake every year. We went there once with those guys, remember? They fished Jayden out from underneath the dock just as Weedtoes were playing their twenty-minute folk-rock cover of “Brick House.”

RIP Jayden. Wish you could have joined us for the traditional Roachfest Filth Smearing :(

Well what should grab my attention – other than that the Weedtoes were still together even after Cornmeal quit to do her own side project – but the minor fact that CRAZY TOWN WAS HEADLINING SATURDAY NIGHT! Yes! Crazy Town and the rest of his band were going to rock Iowa!

I put lil’ BT in his crib for the weekend. I triple-bagged him with three diapers, tossed him a bag of iced animal crackers and off I went!

It was everything I imagined it would be! I bought some tabs off a bearded man in a tie-dyed onesie and did all three of them right in front of Mr. Crazy Town himself, making sure he saw me sticking each stamp right on my tongue. About two minutes into “Revolving Door” everything around me turned all Fritz the Cat and before I knew it, Crazy Town was helping me up on stage so we could spend a little alone time in his very own private Astrovan.

And giiiiirl you know I can’t help but share some juicy gossip about him. Turns out CT is really into safety pin piercings. Yeah, “big whup” I know, right? There’s that one that goes through his left nipple that everyone knows about, but once those jockey shorts come off… Well, just imagine a train track that goes to a place called “Perineum Station” and you’ll get the idea.

"Sexy. Sexy. Pretty little thing, budadubaduba something something with your tongue ring."

And – I swear I’m not bullshitting you – as he’s arching over my 120 pounds of Gator Cheer Squad Pride HE STARTS SINGING THAT SONG! You know, that one! I was so digging it! And the way DJ AM stuck his head out from under the sofa, harmonizing with CT by whispering “Sugar… baby…” it was too, too, too much. This bleached-blonde Adonis was doing to me what I’m sure prison is doing to you right now even as you’re reading this letter.

And then, as I was laying there, gripping the sheets and talking in languages that take two tongues to speak, the unbelievable happened. CT’s star tattoos spun from his chest and floated up to the ceiling, followed close behind by the sparrow tattoos on his abdomen. The Chinese character tattooed above the crack of his ass leaped off and galloped across the floor and I realized I had been skimping on my birth control again. Whoops!

Thanks for the heart-stopping good time, DJ AM.

I’m telling you this because I know that you – aka. “Mrs. Third Eye Blind” – can appreciate a good hookup. Others? Not so much. The children services lady was all “you neglected your child so you could bang the trailer trash version of the Red Hot Chili Peppers?” but she makes it sound so lame. CT and I shared something that very few human beings get to share. And the way we cuddled afterword, tossing syringes at DJ AM’s bare chest like heroin-filled darts was something I’ll cherish like Bing Crosby’s special pipe Nana would never, ever, ever let us touch.

Take care, Debbie, and stay strong.

- Becky

PS – Okay turns out that “Brick” is, in fact, an anti-abortion song. I owe you a Coke over that one, Deb. But in my defense, let’s just say Ben was singing an entirely different tune a week or two ago.