Tijuana Hercules is a band led by John Forbes.
A gifted cartoonist with refined tastes in bygone American sleeze.
These days, Tijuana Hercules is a duo with an ellipses.
John on a 12 string acoustic guitar and me on a 2 piece drum kit augmented with junk and jollies.
And then whoever else wants in.
At our last Chicago show, we were joined onstage by a man on a stool eating fried chicken.
I wasn't sure if the same ellipses applied to the trip.
But I was game.
I've always wanted to mingle with highway nomads.
Here are some highlights from our 16 hour scar down America's face:
Chicago
It took us longer than it should to leave Chicago.
Sometimes a bully just wants company.
I'm always excited to flee Chicago.
It means I'll be somewhere else.
Indiana
A state only its mother could love.
Who is Indiana's mom anyway?
The sad slob passed out in her own potato chip crumbs or the scratchy skeleton scoring meth at the bar?
Hard to tell.
Southern accents suddenly and mysteriously existed.
"The Mississippi of the Midwest", John announced.
Then he honked repeatedly at a plot of McMansions.
We stopped for gas.
Behind the counter a cute tramp texted in a trance.
She pointed like a zombie to the guy behind the counter.
He was a new hillbilly.
Shaved head, white T-shirt, and a "fuck you" face.
"Is there a men's room?"
"No," he said, but what he really meant was "fuck you".
So we went to the gas station down the way.
The one that smelled like burning hair.
John wondered what kind of piece of undergarment they were cooking in there.
The urinal said:
PARKING LOT 8PM-11 SUCK DICK EVERY NIGHT
I suppose I'm being a little hard on The Hoosier State.
All accurate observations aside, Indiana has its merits.
We just didn't have time for them.
It was already afternoon.
We scarfed down some drive thru Chick-Fil-A.
It was so delicious it narrowed my views on who should have their love acknowledged by local, state, and federal governments.
Kentucky
Some excerpts from WLLV 1240AM, Louisville:
"Amen, went to the barbershop, Amen, got a shave on, Amen."
"Two churches, Amen, one location, Amen."
"Thank God for Jesus, Amen for yourself, the needy not the greedy."
WLLV, where "Amen" is a comma.
Like a burnout's "fucken".
"Fucken, went to 7-Eleven, fucken, got a Big Gulp, fucken..."
Over on FM:"A FIVE POUND FAT DADDY BURGER!"
"THIRTEEN FOOT HD TV! OLYMPIC SIZED POOL!"
"THE SUMMER NEVER ENDS!"
AM is Heaven.
FM is Hell.
Tennessee
The cold, Kentucky rain followed us into The Volunteer State.
At a rest stop, the security guard kept his toupee dry among the Elvis leaflets and cardboard cut outs of Dolly Parton.
He begrudgingly returned our hello.
We had lost the sun hours ago.
It was time for Waffle House.
We chose the one with the waitress sitting on the cement, smoking in front of the door.
John treated me to fried eggs with diced and peppered hashbrowns.
I repaid him with selections from the jukebox.
A Waffle House jukebox always come equipped with songs about Waffle House.
I played "Sauce Master", which if I recall, was weird and might have mentioned bananas and hamburgers.
For the second selection, I wanted to play "The Meat Lover", but the 2 button on the jukebox was stuck.
It seems someone had loved their meat all over the jukebox.
I ended up playing "There Are Raisins In My Toast", a painful Frankie Valli send up.
The short order cook shot me a nasty look and disappeared into the back room.
I guess he didn't appreciate a machine that mocked his life in song.
The check came before the first chorus.
John smothered and covered it with small bills.
Alabama
We were never in Alabama.
But we did visit the Tennessee Alabama Fireworks Shop, a few miles from the state border.
It was closed.
So much for our tribute to Great White.
I guess we'd have to rely on our a cappella rendition of "Once Bitten Twice Shy".
Georgia
Georgia was nothing but thick fog and the rumblings of a bad day's diet.
The slick mountain roads behind us had scuffed up our nerves.
We added craned necks to the list of stiff limbs, as we tried to locate John's sister's house, tucked away somewhere beyond Atlanta.
It was after 2am.
The deer were up.
Partying in the streets.
Instant Venison®.
But we found the house.
John's mom offered us beer and fried chicken.
Southern hospitality rules the land, even at 3am.
It was good to be in Georgia.
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