Update From a Lazy Shit

June 23, 2009

Hey guys, I’ve been enjoying some good old fun in the sun. And yes, by “fun” I absolutely mean dealing the salami to some ladies in the open air. There’s nothing quite like hitting some grade A, prime lady fillet in the fresh air. You see summer turns a man’s fancy to the ladies and those of you now thinking “only summer, are you sure?”, fuck you guys.

Heh, I’m kidding. Although I don’t know, would you be up for it? I’m kinda horny.

No, you see summer is all sunny and lazy and the ladies let their guards down a bit, as well as their panties, so all is well with the world. I mean who doesn’t love a half naked lady with the sun shining on her naked ass? Who doesn’t love to look up at those bouncing Alps glistening in the sun as she’s demonstrating her rodeo skills?

Oh look, there goes the Captain again. Down boy!

What was I saying? Oh yes, I’ve been staying at my ma’s place out in the desert while she’s visiting her aunt and uncle in Bumsfuck, Arkansas. It’s the same house I grew up in – the house that used to be filled with music, laughter, drinking, wild parties and mariachi music and occasionally the poignant musical tones of my aunt Lola fucking some undesirable in the basement when she was supposed to be getting ice – the house where my uncle Dick Spunk used to slip me cigarettes and give me advice on how to entice the ladies. Uncle Dick knew a thing or two about the ladies, the drunk old bastard. He used to bed more ladies than Warren Beatty back in the day and he was only a tenth as handsome. The way he tells it though, he might be a tenth as handsome but he has a cock the size of a baseball bat and he can outperform a jackhammer and Warren Beatty can just suck it (both literally and figuratively). You remember those lame porno pens with the lady inside and when you pressed the button her clothes fell off? Well for my seventh birthday, my uncle Dick gave me a similar pen, only when you pressed the button on this pen, the lady got fucked by a donkey. He got it in Mexico, naturally, those depraved fuckers.

So yeah I’m out at the farm and the old place is creaking up a storm. It’s been here since 1947 when my grandparents built it, and now it’s getting a little much for my ma I think. I’ve been keeping it warm while she’s gone by entertaining a host of delectable female types with my expert Martini making skills and my Magnum mustache. A killer combo if I do say so myself.

Tonight’s a night off though, to go over some stuff with Pedro. Music stuff. Plus I’m sort of shagged out as the Limeys say. I was short of a date last night so I resorted to one of my crazy stalkers, Oral Olive. Before you all go getting excited, she doesn’t provide the oral you understand – not without some persuasion and strawberry yogurt at least, she just demands it. My fuckin’ tongue feels like it got caught all up in a blender. But the good thing about Olive is she’s not all that smart – I know this is mean but really, she’s dumb as packet of ice – so it’s easy to persuade her to do stuff, especially after a tongue lashing. So if you want some serious hip-thrusting, doggy-style action over a garden fence say, you just have to tell her that you heard she’s way more fun than other women and she’s all eager to prove it.

I know, I’m a dirty fucking dog, I admit it.

But come on, you all missed me.


Ding Dong

March 23, 2009

Have you guys ever been abandoned, naked on a street corner, chained to a lamp post with a bell tied round your junk? Welcome to my Saturday night.

It was all going pretty well till some dude and his huge, hairy, bromance friends showed up and tricked me into going outside (See…I actually KNOW a chick named Selma so I totally believed she was out in the parking lot waiting for me). Naturally she wasn’t. But they were. Seemingly I boned some guy’s ex girlfriend who he still had a bit of a psycho crush on and he wasn’t happy to find out. She apparently told the cops if they hurt me she’d go down there to the cop shop and tell them who did it, so instead, he and his lame assed friends thought chaining me to a lamp post, naked, was a good alternative.

The joke’s on him however, as he had to totally get friendly with ‘The Captain’ to get that bell on there. I bet that dude got a boner from handling such an awesome, prime piece of meat. Then immediately went home and put a gun in his mouth, knowing it can never be his.

Thankfully Pedro came out looking for me and lent me his coat till he could bust me free. And no, there are no photos.

Viva las Vegas.

Just Checking In With My Peeps

March 12, 2009

My favorite search term that brought some poor deviant to my blog today: “spunk in all my holes”. It’s okay dude, it’ll come out in the wash, I guess. And doesn’t that make your nostrils uncomfortable?

Pedro and I had a kickass little show at the Windemere Seniors Center last night. I know, shut up, a dude needs these kind of gigs in this town just to make everyday bread and butter money. The old geezers are pretty damn grateful too and some are even a little fruity, especially if you throw in a Tom Jones number. I don’t know why it is, when a lady becomes about 80, she suddenly gets all horny all over again. Grinding against the old dudes like they’re grating cheese. It’s disturbing. And there’s seldom any alcohol at these shindigs, which is a sort of ironic since, if there’s one place you probably want to be toasted all to hell, it’s probably any place where octogenarians are getting their groove on. All that thick, tan panty hose gyrating. It can ruin a man’s mind in a bad way.

I’d like to give a shout out to Delores-May – that’s an old dear with attitude (and fingers like pincers). Hey there Dee, you were wrong, I can sit down today.


March 3, 2009

Thanks a lot to all of you who dropped me a line about the jail thing. Okay, the one of you, but who’s counting? I was only in the cell for the night then they let us all go, no charges filed. In the morning, when we were all sober, the lady’s dude said it wasn’t the first time his lady had gotten a little over-friendly with some other fella and that until he saw my paws on her ass he assumed I was a friend of Dorothy. I wasn’t offended or nothing, I got nothing against the ‘mos. Then the other dude – the one who had the piggy wife – he piped up with, “He ain’t gay, no self respecting homo’d be seen dead in that fuckin’ shirt!” which I let slide because I am secure in the knowledge that my style is AWESOME and the fact that I could change my shirt any time but he was stuck with that face. I refrained from telling him this, however, since it could never end well.

So yeah. Anti-climax, huh?

I haven’t boned a lady in almost a week and I’m okay with that. I’m having some ‘me’ time.

In other news, Pedro has a new lady, name of Imelda. What kind of fucked up name is that? Anyway, he’s started wearing cologne which is a bad sign. To be fair, Imelda is sort of hot if you squint a bit. If you’ve just consumed a quart of vodka, that would help too. She’s a touch on the skinny side for me, but hey, each to their own. She does have unfeasibly huge ta tas for a skinny chick. She must have a deal with the God of gravity because she can walk upright and everything.

Okay, time to get back to work. I have to have a set of Brat Pack numbers ready to go for Thursday or risk death by dismemberment by a roomful of grouchy seniors.

Don’t you wish you were me?

Oldies But Goldies

August 6, 2008

Hey there darlins. Busy week for El Spunkareeno.

I had a show last night that was the equivalent of a circus extravaganza. I really had no idea when I showed up that we were playing in a big fuckin’ tent.

Now Vegas is crammed with joints. Suave joints, divey joints, glamorous joints, smoky joints, joints full of glitzy elderly women with blue hair, a glint in their eye and evil intent, joints full of mean looking poker players, joints where you can smell the mold on the walls, joints where the chandeliers twinkle along with the piano, joints straight out of a film noir, joints full of fornicating frat boys and joints that haven’t changed since 1922. But tents? Not so much.

This was a big old marquee tent outside some dude’s mansion. The occasion? His parents’ golden wedding anniversary and who better to get those geriatric feet a boogying than the barnstorming Tony Spunk?

Pedro and I set up early. Actually the whole show was early since it was full of elderly people on the verge of expiring who need to be in bed by like nine in the pee em.

The inside of the marquee looked like it had been decorated by Barbie during an aneurism. Fuchsia trim goddamn everywhere and matching pink flowers poking out of every surface imaginable. If the guests of honor had emerged with a big, honking, fuchsia rose protruding from their assholes I wouldn’t have been all that surprised.  (They didn’t.  Calm down.)

Then there was all this goddamn lace stuff hanging from the walls and the piece de resistance, some nasty little table centerpieces featuring a little plastic couple grinning from a mini cake. I’m not sure who the couple was – it sure wasn’t the celebrating couple as one of them were in a wheel chair and the other had some miraculous pants which reached almost to his chin (what’s up with the gigantor pants old guys?) but I guess those sort of authentic figures are difficult to find.

The guests were a mix of the son’s friends, their family and a bunch of people recruited from the local nursing home by the looks of things. Seldom have I seen a room more populated by people walking at a 90 degree angle to the floor than in that tent.

I urged Pedro that we should go for some smooth, slower crooner numbers because the mere idea of some of those old dears doing anything involving actual limb movement was a kinda scary one to behold. Besides, there ain’t enough paramedics in Vegas to deal with that projected scenario.

It all went down ok though. The old geezers giggled and cooed and stroked Pedro’s sombrero lovingly. Pedro was looking pretty damn dapper in a royal blue tux with bow tie and his gold tooth polished to perfection. It’s that accent man. Gets them every time.

Upside? Gig paid enough to pay this month’s rent which is always a plus.

Downside? I woke up this morning with some old gal’s number in my wallet. If you read this Geraldine, I was loaded ok? Unless you’re hot then gimme a call, ‘k sweetie?

Fight For The Right To Party

August 5, 2008

Instead of enjoying a quick, oily hand of five finger shuffle under my velvet deluxe sheets, Tony Spunk spent most of last night in the E.R. with that reprobate Pedro, freshly returned from Californ-aye-ai, after he  socked some guy in a bad tux who called him a “Wetback pickle dick” causing world war 3 to break out during cocktail hour, at which time this same assbandit kicked Pedro in the castanets.

Hell you can’t blame a guy for taking offense to that shit. Besides I’ve seen that Mexican’s wanger and a pickle it ain’t. Not unless you know where to grow a pickle the size of a baby’s arm. Still, shiny tux guy wound up with a custom snake skin boot penetrating his back exit so all wasn’t lost, except the shine on my boots and one of Pedro’s front teeth which took a punch meant for tux guy when he started to insult my midi. Guy had serious attitude. For a guy dressed like a dime store pimp he sure was ballsy about other dudes’ stuff.  My organ ain’t offended however.

So anyway, sleep was at a minimum and the Mexican got to go home only two hundred bucks and one tooth poorer but with his voice an octave higher. He’ll live.

The Ladies

July 31, 2008

It’s kind of a slow day here in Neonsville. I think old Tony Spunk has developed a touch of the lurgee. I am not sure where this dastardly pestilence came from but it is making all my orifices weep simultaneously and this is not a good look for any guy or gal.   I blame that little Veronica for keeping me up all hours when a guy should be catching zzzzzs.

No shows till the weekend, so some time to recover at least. Plus, I thought I needed a break to perform some necessary organ maintenance and some precious downtime after too many Martinis in seedy bars over a short period. Detoxing is not so fun but pretty required in my job unless you want to wake up one day look in the mirror and see Liza Minnelli staring back at you. That could put a dude off his Cornflakes.

Plus the ladies do not dig the washed out, baggy-eyed look. And the general consensus is, Tony Spunk loves the ladies and wants them to appreciate him at his full, shiny glory.

Y’all know it’s true gals.

Talking of the ladies, a little story for you. Pedro played a set with a pop piano quartet just before he left for California. The place he played was a little family bar near Henderson, which, despite the piano quartet thing, wasn’t really as classy as it sounds. Sadly, it’s also an establishment he can never visit again, after he referred repeatedly to the owner’s wife as, “Senor” and attempted to bust a wrestling move on her in the bar. He really thought that lady was a dude.

Upon questioning from me later (naturally, after the cops were done with him, “No hablo Ingles! No hablo Ingles!”) he was still in shock at his mistake.

“…pero el bigote….” he kept muttering, incredulously, under his breath.

That guy. He’s gonna get in real trouble some day.