Escape your family at SKULL CLUB this Saturday Night…
That’s right. And don’t bring them here, either.
Escape your family at SKULL CLUB!
You’ll probably have had enough by Saturday night, anyway.
SKULL CLUB will be open to one & all, from 9pm until, well, later.
Music, cocktails, couches & plush. Come get away…
Your Saturday Night doesn’t have to look like this….
Related Posts
Tags
Share This
It’s like you’re in my fucking head.
My family used to drink. A lot. Especially us kids. Holidays were a blur and the house was always a wreck the day after. The last straw was when Aunt Tommy came walking out of the kitchen screaming, “Oh no!! The turkey’s fucked!!” We all turned to see him standing there, naked, with his cock buried balls deep in the bird. Mom put him through a wall and into a hospital and Dad said we’d never have a family holiday at our home again.
That’s when he conceived the idea of the Lost Holiday in which we’d all pile into the Vista Cruiser amid crates of liquor, and drive to some remote motel to meet the family. We’d set the bar up on that funky dresser/desk motels have that’s always too big for the few things you’d travel with and too small to comfortably write a letter. Of course, we had to move the TV which took a while since they were nailed down in those days. It usually ended up in the tub with the younger kids covered in mashed potato fingerprints.
I think the worst Lost Holiday was the one LD somehow pulled from my mind in the photo above. Cousin Jack had knocked over a liquor store on the way to the motel but instead of getting any hard stuff, he came away with six cases of Cheery Choke Lager. I think they make it here in Tennessee. Anyway, Gramma Louise screamed at him for an hour, telling him how stupid he was and how he’d never amount to anything because he lacked ambition and clarity of purpose and all that fun holiday crap we all get from our loved ones and Jack got mad. He set the cases next to the makeshift bar and told us all they were his and his alone and we couldn’t have any and he methodically drank every last can, all by himself, while he stared at us with dull hatred in his eyes.
That was also the year Aunt Bitty showed up in her JC Penney Creamsicle polyester pantsuit. That thing was good in crowded malls because you could always find Aunt Bitty shining like the sun through a foggy crowd. Problem was Aunt Athena was deathly allergic to Creamsicle polyester. Half a case of beer and a few bottles of Night Train couldn’t keep the sickness down. She spent the rest of the night puking into that little bathroom trash can.
If I remember correctly, this mtel burned to the ground the day after our stay. The arsonist was caught in upstate West Virginia a few days later, though he had a rock solid alibi. The cops couldn’t figure out how he did it, but we knew. See, mom used to work for Social Security and before she “retired” she grabbed a box-full of files and numbers. We had ID’s from all over the country back then.
What. You didn’t think we’d sign into a cheap motel with our real names, did you?