Elvis and Jesus ChristSubmitted by electrictoothsyndrome at 2004-08-31 13:49:15 EDT
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At the age of 17, I was in a backing band for an Elvis impersonator. The only thing more humiliating than playing behind an Elvis impersonator for 700 drunk old farts in a hotel lounge is playing behind an Elvis impersonator for 700 drunk old farts in a hotel lounge and not getting paid for it... (Though I felt sorry for the leukemia kid to whom the proceeds went, I had no other way to buy weed, which made me resent that little bastard.... Whoever invented philanthropy was a cruel, cruel man.)
The band consisted of my close friends. We were a speed/progressive metal band converted to a rockin' and rollin', golen oldies, hip-swingin', troubador minstrel group...in a word, we were visibly displeased with the set list. Luckily, half of our audience was blind in one eye and dumb in the other.
It was with much resignation, discipline, and wisdom that we were able to resist the urge to kick our imposter friend off the stage and break out into a Slayer or Cannibal Corpse. Not that it would have mattered anyway because it would have undoubtedly set off a chain reaction of pacemaker malfunctions that would have surely left us without an audience.....and more importantly - witnesses, leaving the event safely within the realm of unexplained phenomena and alien abduction. (I wondered if the audience knew that that whole time I was entertaining them I was fantasizing about pulling a "Heartbreak Hotel" on them.)
After about two and a half hours of pure hip-swivelin' HELL, (contrary to pre-show speculation, there were thankfully enough splints and stretchers), the show was over. Sweat was beading down my forehead and onto my stupid Jordonaire-like uniform, but strangely there were no towels to wipe my forhead, only a pair of Elvis's dirty underwear...
"What the hell," I thought, "noone will ever know." And then I did it.........I traded them to this an lady, who was convinced that our pork chop-sporting frontman was the illegitimate son of Elvis (see below), in exchange for a quarter bag of some funky green shit! Turns out it was a bag full of bile from her latest surgery, but it was still a good trade...(The underwear were not in mint condition...more like winterfresh or cinnemon condition.)
A little back story is in order, for, you see, this was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill Elvis impersonator we're talking about. He claimed to be none other than the illegitimate son of Elvis Presley, which, I guess made him, instead, an ordinary, run-of-the-mill illegitimate son of Elvis. His mother, who I had met previously, had proudly confimed his illegitimacy. They had even appeared on the Sally Jesse Raphael, or some equivalent daytime trash-talking, TV Show and made this claim known to the world. I never knew being illegitimate was such a cool thing to be, but I still had a lot of growing up to do.
I am not here to say whether this man was truthful or not, I can just vouch for the fact that if he was indeed the illegitimate son of Elvis, he didn't get the "Hound Dog", or "Blue Suede Shoes" Elvis gene...he got the "Viva Las Toilet" and "Hunk-A Hunk-A Burnin' Fat-Ass" Elvis gene, which is to say - I could see the resemblance. For those who want to research it, good luck, I can't find any info on him, but his name is Kenny James (not the Buddy Holly impersonator of the same name. Let me know if you track the guy down. I'd like to punch him in the nose.)
For me, the highlight of the evening came when the other band members and I got back to the hotel room and took the Jesus Christ acid we'd bought earlier that day. It was called "Jesus Christ" acid because of the picture on the sheet, however, there was nothing Christ-like about it. For about 10 hours we sat in that hotel room watching as the walls and floors came alive with an ancient hellish force. The was one point that lasted about 2 hours where all I could say to anyone who spoke to me was "that's what I'm talking about....that's what I'm talking about". I guess, to me, the self-evidence of that statement carried a resounding meaning that at the time seemed like the answer to everything.
At one point, after having a profound moment of ESP with my friend and bass player, I stood up and watched as my legs spiraled into transparent oblivion beneath me, revealing the crawling carpet below. During this peak, I had a vision of floating down over a psychedelic landscape bursting with fiery orange colors. I saw a pyramid in the midst of this vast orange landscape and atop it sat the Buddha meditating...ancient...all-knowing. He looked at me and smiled. Then I fell into what I can only describe as a spiraling tunnel. The guitar solo of "Junk Head" by Alice in Chains ringing through as the voices of everyone I'd ever known were calling out to me.
I burst out of the door and 'floated' down the hallway, arms outstretched, aware as an owl of everything around me. I thought I was dead and, therefore, invisible.
It was then that I made the realization the hotel carpet is always bordered to make the hallways seem more friendly and welcoming and less cold and forboding. Along the hall an old couple who'd seen the show tried to talk to me, but I looked at them with my dilated, wild eyes and continued on without a word... Then someone asked me for a cigarette and I refused without giving a reason...
All I could muster was, "no."
I was out of cigarettes, so I found an ashtray with several long butts in it and I raided it, returning to the relative safety of my room with my bounty. There I chain-smoked them all down to the filters and retired to the florescent-lighted bathroom to look at my face close-up in the mirror so I could watch my skin bubble and ooze oil...
It's been 10 years now since that strange evening in the "Heartbreak Hotel", and I have finally recovered from its effects...well, more or less. For those of you who think this post is pure drivel and don't have a clue what I'm talking about....
THAT is what I am talking about!
Elvis on Acid.jpg
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Submitted by Random Joe at 2004-08-31 18:39:35 EDT (#)