I know what you’re all thinking, “What the frank is Tony Spunk doing up at 8am on a Monday morning?” Well people, I haven’t been to bed yet so, hey ho.
Seems Veronica and I hit a little bump in the road, my good buddies. She was a live wire for sure, but hey, a guy isn’t a robot, am I correct? After a few days of bending over my armchair on demand she started holding out for some monetary rewards, like a diamond tennis bracelet or some French perfume. Tony Spunk ain’t made of benjamins, girl! So finally I decided it was probably best to bail.
Ok, technically, I think she sort of made the decision herself when she ran off and fucked Bald Bob the magician inside his magic tent. The guy truly is a magician if he managed to satisfy that little spitfire. Still, he’s fairly loaded in the financial department, if not the hair department, so they should be ok.
Me, I think it’s time to move on and concentrate on some new tunes. I’ve been pumping my organ big time since Thursday so I’m quite exhausted. Managed to squeeze out a few though. Tunes I mean. Some Perry Como and Bing Crosby I was learning for the old coots I entertain on Wednesdays. They like the old style oldies best. Most of them still think ‘Chicago’ are punk rock and if I tried to sneak a little loungeified Ricky Martin onto my organ, some old dear would have a coronary for sure.
Anyways, not much changes in this neon town.
Another post later when I’ve caught up on some zzzs and am sober again. I know. You just can’t wait.