Ex Problems, Etc

Although nearly incapacitated by my affliction, I was able to barely make it to band practice Sunday night. Not sure if my doctors would be proud or horrified. I know they will increase my medications when/if they find out. But despite a serious ring in my ears, I'm no worse for wear. Besides, having ringing in my head is better than having voices in my head.

Our fill-in drummer had a tough time with some of our weirder songs but should be OK for the show on October 5th. As to whether I make it to the show or not depends not so much on my health but the anticipated amount of Vaginal Americans (VAs) expected to be in attendance. Ole Wheelgun is sans girlfriend right now and that won't due at all. I have to find someone to give the little general new orders forthwith!

Speaking of which, Wheelgun's ex is trying to throw his ass out on the street. She has a big heart, that girl. Knows how to kick a man when he's down. So I got a cell phone just in case I need to make some phone calls from under a bridge. Despite my dire financial situation, I added the data option ($10 more a month) so I can continue to email and, far more importantly, update this blog. Feel free to send me any spare change you might have laying about since it's all about you. Or a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in a brown paper bag.

I must now trudge on over to my doctors/tormentors and face the music, as it were.

More Therapy

Due to my present woeful state, I have not been able to do much save carve the occasional blog out of the digital ether for you, my fans at Wheelgun Nation. Although not explicitly approved by my team of doctors, I am convinced that these blogs are the key to my ultimate recovery. Or at least the key to irritating a few people. Anyway, I shall proceed.

I went and visited my fucked up drummer the other day. What I mean by fucked up is that he is fucked up above and beyond the usual fucked up associated with drummers. See my last brilliant blog for an explanation. Anyway, he can't do much but wiggle a couple fingers and take pain killers. Good thing he has a hot girlfriend to tend to him. I wish I had a hot girlfriend to tend to my needs. Actually, I would take a lukewarm girlfriend at this point.

I want to start a secret society. You know like the Masons or the Illuminati. Why? I want to become part of a conspiracy theory. Plus it would be fun to come up with secret rituals and symbols. Perhaps Dan Brown would feature my secret society in his next book. I could call it the Reeses. Any of you guys remember that freakish childhood actor Mason Reese?

I would anoint myself the Grand Poobah/Wizard/Alpha-male-top-dog-mother-fucker of the Loyal Order Of Reese (LOOR) and hold secret meetings at Tens in Salisbury. In between jello shots and drooling, we will plot a new world order. What will this new world order look like? I will save that for another blog.

I wish the government would bailout old punk rock bands. They could call it “Cash for Punkers.” Any punk rocker over 50 would be eligible to be turned in for an 18 year old. I thought about getting 5 good looking kids to replace all the members of Jupiter 2. We would still do all the music and recording but these young studs would lip synch our songs on stage ala Milli-Vanilli. It's all about looks these days.

Hey, I just realized it's time for my next electroshock treatment. Don't want to be late since they will up the juice if I am. Gotta go.

Curse Of The Deuce

Due to my recent travails, you would expect ole Wheelgun Bob's blog output to suffer. Two things to say about that: 1. Don't worry about me 'cause I'm sporting a serious pair. 2. My blog output wasn't great to begin with. As a matter of fact, I will endeavor to increase my online wordsmithing since my constitution is too delicate to go back to work just yet and I need the therapy. In other words – you, my dear readers, will be the beneficiaries of my unfortunate condition.

Despite my doctor's strenuous objections, I decided that I should try and play my band's October 5th show if it's still available. So I left a message for our drummer Rodger (A.K.A. “Country” Ben Redl) concerning potential practices for the gig. He returned my call the next day and said that Jupiter 2 could still play the show but we would need a different drummer. I thought what Rodger meant was that he had wised up and quit the band (as he has done before). But the real reason he can't play is just that – he can't play. And I don't mean lack-of-skill can't play either. Seems Rodge came out on the wrong end of a scooter vs. truck smack down.

I let Rodger know in no uncertain terms that having a smashed left arm and right hand is a pussy excuse for not being able to drum. I mean the fucker could still keep time with his kick drum, couldn't he? All that other shit he does is superfluous anyway. I'm sure I could fill in any gaps with my gorgeous guitar renderings or Tom could extend his theremin stylings. Or we could add some eefing and hamboning. It's all about ambient music design in our band anyway.

Rodger did make a good point. There is definitely a Jupiter 2 curse. First our lead singer Tom almost croaks from a heart attack, I have my One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest moment and now Rodger can't even wipe his own ass let alone perform a simple flam or paradiddle. What's next? Good thing we don't need to fly on any airplanes.

Post Traumatic Blog

Hey, you blog starved muthafuckas! Wheelgun be in da house! Yessa! I have been laying low as of late due to a serious health condition. Won't give you ghouls the details but I will tell you this – it wasn't physical. Surprise! Anyway, as part of my road to recovery I figured I would exercise my creative genius by sculpting a blog out of ones and zeros just for you. So happy now you could shit, right?

I had to cobble together an old laptop from parts for the task since my other one went missing. I think perhaps a pissed off girlfriend made off with it. Can't blame her. So I was able to, through my considerable IT fag skills, make a machine able to handle my legendary blogs. I have the air/fuel mixture just about right but the keyboard doesn't work very well so if you see a wrd with a letter missing, try to figure out what it is by it's context. Well, without further ado, here we go...


Healthcare reform:

If this healthcare bill doesn't pass and I get denied coverage in the future due to a “pre-existing condition” (lord knows I have plenty), I will send my bills to Glen Beck, Sean Handjob and Rush Dimbulb. Those shit heads can afford anything, the rest of us can't. I know that I have been struggling mightily with the insurance company over my recent affliction.

Obama:

Seems to have bit off a bit more than he can chew but the jury is still out. As I have said before, I am convinced that there are a lot of people out there who can't cope with a scary negro as president – witness that jack-off who yelled at him during his healthcare speech. Surprised he was from the south?

Red Sox:

I was very worried for a few weeks there but it looks like they are a safe bet for the wild card spot. After winning 7 in a row they seem to be firing on most cylinders at about the right time. Not sure how far they will get in the play offs though. Hey, can anyone locate Pedro's midget?

Patriots:

Due to my delicate condition, I almost had a relapse watching the game the other night. In the future, lets have a few more laughers and run up the score just like old times OK?


Well, that's about all I can do at the moment. I'm off to see some nice people in white coats and I don't want to be late. Plus the battery on this damned piece of shit laptop is about dead. Gotta work on that.