"Let's roll" was the last thing heard over a air-to-ground phone connection, said by one passenger to another, before the passengers attempted to retake the fourth hijacked aircraft on 9-11. Instead of gaining control of the aircraft and thwarting the hijackers, they succeeded in crashing the plane into the ground and killing everyone aboard, including themselves. A fitting motto if there ever was one. -- Baron Earl (referring to George W. Bush's new national motto)
It is no mystery to many of you that I have an irrational little crush
on Chicken John. He
tickles my freak zone something fierce. He is the ultimate freak
magnet. He inspires me. He is a gawdam GENIUS! Anyone who can coax a
frat boy on stage to flaunt his third
nipple HAS to be.
Don't let him fool you. He is a thousand points of Elvis. He does
everything on purpose. That bungling loser act is just that, an act.
He is a calculated and deliberate showman. He puts the Carny back in
Carnival. He puts the Ring back in Ringleader. He puts the Big back
in Big Top. He puts the Master back in...okay, I'll stop. The point
is, he does what he wants without taking shit from anyone. He pushes
the envelope just to have a good story to tell. He boldly goes where
no man would ever want to go in their wildest dreams and turns it into
entertainment. For example, he recently undertook the arduous task of
purchasing the Odeon. He whipped
out his balls and became a business owner. Just like that. Gawd BLESS
him! A few dollars worth of glitter, some original show posters and a
new stage later and we have our very own freak show seven nights a
week. I LOVE this dive.
Looking like a cross between Austin Powers and Cary Grant, Chicken
saunters into the bar. Impervious to the massive throngs, he tends to
business. He turns on the juke box, heads for the closet to retrieve
the cash drawer, checks a few switches, and steps behind the bar for a
clandestine chat with the bartender. He exits as smoothly as he
entered only to return in a new get up ready for the night's
festivities. He shouts, "Hey you tight wads. The least you could do
is cough up a dollar and play the juke box."
Unfortunately, Chicken is having a rough go of it. Due to a light
sleeping, punitive neighbor who would rather have the coke dealers and
crack whores return to their front porch, Chicken has been side swiped
by the litigious mainstream. Although I'm confident that upon
reviewing the good faith efforts being made to placate the sleepless
citizen, the judge will toss the entire case in the circular file
cabinet: the Odeon needs all the support you can offer. If you own or
rent in Bernal Heights, or you are an avid Chicken John fan, sign the
appropriate petition. Even if
you're one of the folks unhappy with Chicken John, sign the petition to
ensure he doesn't come to your neighborhood. In these times of tenuous
civil liberties, the Alter Natives need a community center now more
than ever.
Meanwhile, that freaky punk rocks my whirled. When I grow up, I
want to be JUST like him. Plus he has a GREAT wardrobe. So come on
down to the crossroads of Mission and Valencia to experience the light,
the wonder, the chaos that is Chicken John (just don't touch him). Oh,
and if you want to know more about the club controversy go here.
