Thursday December 6, 2001		SPECIAL EDITION * 25¢

Electric Banana: chapter 1

Once again it was Saturday night and I found myself stumbling through Chinoe Pub (the neighborhood karaoke bar) with a pitcher of Coors Light("The Silver Bullet Baby!"). I was trying to ignore the sounds and enjoy the sights of the Lexington Beauty School women's choir squawking out "Hair of the Dog" in a true Chinoe style. The tenor was making my pocket rocket commence countdown. She was wearing that wet look lipstick and fishnet stockings that really turn me on. I figured another pitcher and it would've been on! I did happen to notice that she had a small diamond in her class ring. "CLASS RING!!!" Oh hell!!!! A high school grad!!.....I felt some of my cool slip away. I had to take a quick trip to the john to make sure my hair still looked cool. It did.

I left the mens room ,with pitcher in hand, much more calm and ready for action. Unfortunately I had gotten a little too excited and was wearing a small urine stain on my jeans, but luckily my XLarge Iron Maiden T-shirt("IRON MAIDEN FUCKING RULES!!!") was long enough to hide it. I strutted towards the stage as the last chorus was being sung. I started singing along, further boosting my confidence. "Now you're messing with a son of a bitch. woooooo, I said now you're messing yeah"

I stopped by the bar and ordered another $3 pitcher a Coors Light, "The Silver Bullet Baby!", and a shot of Makers for luck. My night was made. I quickly downed the Makers followed by what was left in my old pitcher. Yeah..this high school grad wouldn't be able to resist me now! "Now yermessn'wifasumova BITCH!!!". Things get a little fuzzy from there but I'm pretty sure that I got another shot or two.

The next thing I clearly remember was some dude sitting next to me at the bar. He was acting cool yeah, but I was suspicious. He could've been a cop, or even worse.... a fag (not that I got nothing gainst faggots). I brushed it off. Maybe he thought I was a chick from behind, with my cool hair and all. He seemed a bit nervous though as he slammed down an ET and water. Then he turned to me and said "Paco!! What the hell is up man?"

That was it. He was some sort of pole smoker, and he was hitting on me. I clenched my fists with off key "FreeBird" blaring in the background. I was thinking to myself "My ass is exit only cum sucker!" It had been a while since I was in a fight, and even longer since I had won. It was definately going to come down to blows, and even though he was a fag, it looked like he could take me. So I did the only logical thing..Ordered another $3 pitcher of Coors Light ("The Silver Bullet Baby!"). You know, so it wouldn't hurt as much when I got punched. And God forbid, if he beat me down and raped me in the parking lot, I would be drunk enough to visualize that high school grad with fishnets and her back arched out there singing "Hair of the Dog" spanking her butt and then telling me to whip her because she was having unpure thoughts about her Gym teacher Mrs. Wetpouch. Hoping that she and Mrs. Wetpouch would take a big yellow double dildo shaped like a banana and back up to each other as they took the vibrating dildo into their pussies and rubbed and caressed until BINGO!!!

"HIT THE SHOWERS! HIT THE SHOWERS!".

I think some people were looking at me strangely at this point, but fuck them. Everybody has there fantasies, and I was about to take it up the ass in the Chinoe Pub parking lot at 1 am in the morning.

As I was slurping down my beer trying to get in another pitcher before last call, not to mention the ass fucking, when the truth finally came out. That dude wasn't a worm eater, and he was of no threat to me at all! Cause for celebration and another pitcher of Coors Light ("The Silver Bullet Baby"). He was just some guitarist. To top it off, he liked "Metallifags" (too later he repented). It turned out he knew me from high school and wanted to form a band with me.

That faithful night, under the influence of Coors Light("The Silver Bullet Baby!"), Makers Mark, Early Times, and poorly sung Skynyrd the blueprint for what is now known only as "Witchazel" was worked out. Looking back, I truly beleive that Satan himself was there brokering the deal. The terms were simple. I find a drummer, he (Dave Ryles) find a singer, then CONQUER THE WORLD!! Somewhere in the process ridding the planet of the cancer of rock music that was hippie dance crap and pretty boy hair bands that robbed us of our very needed spandex laden teenage chicks.

The next day didn't start out so good. I was very hung over and needed to be at work at 6 am to perform my duties as kitchen manager at the corner steakhouse. The previous night's events came back to me gradually as I chopped broccoli for the salad bar. Sure, I thought, it would be nice to quit this hell hole and go on a world tour, but I didn't know any drummers. Fucking Dave on the other hand, had some singer waiting in the wings. He even had some more guitarists (but when have you ever encountered a lack of guitarists?). It kinda pissed me off, thinking that I had to find a drummer. Why was that my responsibility? "I am Paco". Isn't that enough? Just about then I chopped the end of my index finger.

The wound wasn't deep enough to end my bass playing career, however, it would suffice for me to reassign broccoli chopping duties to one of my less hung over employees while I attended to more administrative tasks, such as finding a drummer. I spent most of the day compiling a list of known drummers. Then I took a lunch break. I ate lunch at a rival restaurant across the street at O Charlies. There I had a delicious burger and a pitcher of Miller Genuine Draft. I marked out the drummers that were losers. Then I marked out the drummers that were still in prison. Then I marked out the drummers that hated my guts. That left an empty list. I ordered another pitcher of Miller Genuine Draft and temporarily forgot about my drummer woes. Instead I wondered why O Charlies burgers were better than mine. I decided to order another pitcher of Miller Genuine Draft and contemplate it.

Some hours later, I returned to work. Amazingly my drummer woes and hangover had disappeared during my 4 hour lunch break. Actually, it was time for the dinner shift to come in. This meant that I could now go out to a bar and party. There is nothing else quite like a cold beer after a long day of work.

My first employee to come in was John Huff. We all called him Huff. He was straight forward and did what was expected of him. I never had any trouble when he was working. This meant that when the next person came in, I could leave. Huff would take care of things in my absence. Then trouble started. One of the waitstaff accused him of fucking up her order. She reportred this to Reed, a front of the house manager. Reed decided to bypass my authority and go directly to Huff. Knowing that I had a pitcher waiting for me at O Charlies, I interviened.

I saw Reed a few minutes later and I told him that I would cut his "fucking head off" if he ever talked to Huff again. It was understood. I decided to take Huff out back by the dumpsters for a quick joint to calm his nerves. He didn't seem like he needed it but I did. Actually, later, I found out that Reed was just asking him if he wanted something to drink.

As we were out back discussing Huff's pay rate and passing the joint, I noticed his car in a nearby parking space. It was old and beat up, but inside was a Pearl Export series drum kit. Upon further examination, I realized that the kit recently belonged to one of my friends and jamming buddies. After selling the kit to Huff he departed this planet. Before we roached that joint my musical path had been changed.

As the sun faded I drained my pitcher of Miller Geniune Draft at O Charlies. I then proceeded back to the Chinoe Pub to meet Dave. By now it was Friday and I was forced to drink $3 pitchers of Natural Light. That was definately not a pleasant experience. Dave seemed a bit cooler this time. We were able to set some mutual goals. 1>no fat chicks 2>no $5 pitchers. He also seemed impressed by my ability to pull a drummer out of a hat. This ability proved false in years to come and contributed to the downfall of the Witchazel empire.

That night, over the slightly out of key sounds of "Rocky Mountain Way" we negotiated the terms upon wich the band would meet. It would happen the following night immediately after work (so we would all be drunk) at "Marika's Beir Stube", the one and only bar in town at the time that hadn't either cut me off (which would eventually change), had me arrested, or banned me for life.

That next day at work Huff and I got extremely torched as we discussed our soon to be fame. It was difficult to restrain from becoming falling down drunk at work as we awaited our meeting with destiny at Marika's. Chicks were headed our way. So many chicks. If this all worked out, I would be able to do a chick!

After a lifetime of waiting...we met...."It's on now!"

~Paco~