A Birthday song

Well there’s a birthday today and I thought I’d send a country group to serenade her with a song to mark the event but as luck would have it as I was walking to hire a band I ran into two really hot looking Russian strippers. I could tell that they were Russian because they were sanding down the fence they were working on very quickly. So my plan was redirected as a lustful thought invaded the half percent of brain power that I have access to.

I introduced myself and asked if they wanted to boing boing on my doing doing and took out a bright shiny penny and dangled it enticingly in front of them. To which they looked at me and softly said, “so sorry…we, uhm….lez –beans.”

I told them that was cool, nothing like a couple of lesbians doing a lap dance I told them. They looked quizzically at me and one said, “let dense? We no likey pee pees you see.”

I knew that this was going to be a harder sell…time to take out the hardware to sweeten the pot for them. I pulled down my pants to reveal my manly manliness, pointed and said, “Dance on this!”

Needless to say they were indeed impressed, I could tell because they both smiled and one said, “Oh – you lez-bean too…just bad skin and small boobs”.

The other opened her purse and handed me a tube of “Clearasil” intoning that it should clear up that nasty skin blemish on my luv muffin post haste so that I could have a nice girl to scissor with who wouldn’t have to worry whether I had orgasmed or my zit had popped. I was going to correct them and try to prove that it was in fact a penis but I thought to myself that it be best to let them think I was a dermologically impaired A cupper as a method to get into their pants.

Anyway, after several more minutes of haggling they did came back to my motel room where we all got down and dirty – who lets a pot hole form in the middle of a room anyways? Long story short I had to spend the whole two dollars I had in my pocket to wash their clothes while they googled holistic therapies for women who have hairy chests. So now all that’s left to do is to close the old eyeballs and try to envision the band…

Four men with dirty brownish cowboy hats, well worn jeans and heavily cow pattied boots enter the dimly lit room with a kazoo, shoebox guitar, moonshine jug and a good ol’ boot on a stick for the beat. A hush fills the room as the kazoo and guitar start in A minor and the boot does a quarter time waltz while the jug player is desperately trying to drain his instrument in order to join in, adding a lulling sloshing serenade quality to the rhythm in a three quarter time and moist sounding chugs give it a urban orientated sound.

The lead singer strolls – baby faced with a gleaming gold lame flannel shirt and cowboy hat with a two foot by one foot belt buckle that says, “Yeah right like someone in my tax bracket would ride a horse” and leather pants so tight that one has to resist the urge to tell him that he really should get that bump on his prostate checked. His Gold gilded cowboy boots sparkle as he steps up to the microphone, his soft blue doe like eyes peer directly at you and drawls out:

If you’re a wantin’ sumthin’ sappy

Well that just ain’t me;

For that you’re gonna have ta see your pappy.

The music becomes louder and the singer puts his head down so all that can be seen is his bottom lip moving, without the sound you wouldn’t be able to tell if he’s singing or trying to cough up a large wad of phlegm as he begins to croon:

Oh you’re lookin’ in the mirror

On your birthday morn

Lookin at the reflection

That weren’t there yesterday you could have sworn

Checkin’ for any grey ya gonna have to pluck,

Whilst you’re dreamily thinkin’

‘bout having the night out

And picking up a stiff one to…

The music stops and the musicians all glare at the lead singer. He looks around, clears his throat and says desperately:

…drink! Drink! I was going to say drink!

As in an alcoholic beverage of course, cuz well, women folk don’t think like that…by that I mean you do but you don’t get all hopped up and whip it out to play ‘whack a mole’ or how many quarters you can get to stick on it for a jug of draft – well I suppose women could, but they’d have to shuck off their pants and launch themselves off the chair and onto the table…which really isn’t fair to us men folk cuz we just have this skinny pole while you all women have use of a much wider surface to pick up the quarters more at least….

Satisfied, the musicians begin again – this back beat becoming more intense as the jug player’s sloshes have now started to produce heaving sounds. The lead singer puts his head back down into the phlegm removal position and croons:

So take the time to check out some shoes

Hell maybe you’ll see a couple of pair

That’ll you make the owners toes curl

The only way women dos.

The lead singer stands away from the microphone letting the kazoo player come in and do his solo, not only is it heart rendering sweet but goes a long way to prove that the kazoo is a legitimate musical instrument and not just an over rated humming amplifier – as the player’s wife tried to suggest after she caught him and a groupie using the kazoo in an inappropriate manner which the player tried to explain as ‘testing the acoustical qualities of the inner thighs for recording purposes’. The lead singer comes back to his place and looks shyly to the right as he both begins to sing and is checking with his accountant off to the side that he has acquired 83 acres of rainforest to build the ‘Toby Keith ecological refuge and amusement park’ (where the plan is to have at least one square foot of natural foliage in the centre of the rides so that people can feel good that they are having fun in a sound and responsible ecological manner). The accountant gives the thumbs up and the lead singer faces forward, tears streaming down his face as his low bass voice booms:

Oh I know this ain’t so good as a card,

But it’s the best this poor country boy

Can do since the po – lice told me

I couldn’t be out in public nekkid and covered in lard

So remember this quasi lyrical raised fist

Give a shout that your may be another year wiser

But you’ll still can go out and get …

(lights go out and fade into black)