ELVIS AND I

From the archives- March 31, 2006, my 30th birthday.  Gift to me-  juxtapose; Elvis v. Nox.

so here we are again and the year is 1987.  i'm asleep in a small food closet at the rear of a dingy little nightclub in davie, florida called SWILLBAGGZ  'er sumthin'.  No, no it was Brickyard West.  Live music of an eclectic vibe rattling, pulsating with the moving shadows, clouding the light flowing in  from under the door.  It's 4am, i'm about 7 or 8 years old, it was a school night and my mother and her latest boyfriend had brought me along 2 attend one of his performances.

he was a dirty toilet-rag plumber by day (one of the most vile fucking jobs on earth), and a pub singer by night.  he looked like elvis, but in reality was just an angry substance-abusing marelito cuban rafter.  my moms brought him home one night and for some reason, he just stayed.  i guess the boy had a lot of charisma.  and groupies.  they would even stand up at the shows (with assistance of course), and wave their granny panties and dentures at him.  some even forced their walkers over 2 approach him at the end of the gig.  they'd slobber all over him and my mother would be frontrow, laughing--not really tripping.  i mean, the chix were like in their 80's usually.  but u know like, a firm 80.

some nights i found myself up there at these clubs, extremely young, i'd watch the earlier performances while old white trash women and breathy old drunk latinas would hit on me.  one even stuck her tongue in my mouth 2 apologize for bumping into me while she was dancing.  i know.  sick, right?  but then, perhaps she wasn't just your everyday low rent pedophile.  maybe she was just a very open-minded person and in her state, assumed i was a very attractive midget.  or maybe, she was just reeeaaalllly sorry 4 bumping me.  I don't know.

So, on this balmy eve in 87, his show ends.  fuck u, goodnight; he jumps off stage and tongue kisses, i swear 2 gawd, it looked like the ghost of christmas past, skeletor and the grim reaper- wrapped in one.  they levitate in this long-winded, almost romantic tongue bath, until my mother goes, 'heyyyyy....' from the front row between marlboro puffs and the buttersauce and steamers.  i know all of this to be fact, for i had only moments earlier been awakened by a short dominican with gold teeth and greasy hair squabbed up in a net, as he clunked his way to the storage room, flipped lights on, and then proceeded 2 make more of a racket.  only after i sat up and rubbed my eyes, did pacito notice me and then jumped a bit startled and ushered himself out of the box.

i staggered over 2 my mother's table and she smiled sweetly at me and blew a thick cloud of dark gray smoke away.  'sit.  sit down, hun'.  At that moment, assface approaches with a mongoloid strapped 2 his leg sucking his kneecap, a beet-red nose with little gobs and spritzes of cocaine all about it.

"FUCK YES, I'M HUNGRY" he shouted at my mother in this gleeful yet psychotic and angry way.  she hadn't even asked him a question.  she looked around puzzled a bit then replied, 'ummmm, ok.  what do you feel like eating?'

Elvis roared like a dain-bramaged raft-monkey.  'PUSSY AND ASSSSSHHHOOLLLLEEEE!' he cried out joyfully and attempted 2 pick my mother up, and by means i'll not mention here.  her resistance got the better of him and he gave up.  eventually.  but u could tell he had that look on his face thereafter like he just got beat by a girl and all his schoolhouse buds were poking fun at him.  he eyed her viciously from across the room as he made his goodbyes with his fans and colleagues.  he was acting like a big baby.  it was like he had tourretes syndrome.  every so often between hugs and kisses, he'd holler something at my mother vulgar and inappropriate.  in retrospect, i'm kinda surprised he didn't take his shoes and socks off next, get up on the bar and attempt to eat beer nuts with his toenails.

Mom was getting more and more tense; u could feel it.  i'm standing by her car and he walks up; she's kissing some broad goodbye.  "Ah Judy Lee is a fucking fat chinese BITCH!" he screamed, laughing wild and high, and then he said something like ...'she can bite my coke!...'  he laughed, sniffled, nudged me playfully in the nuts, "right?  heh heh, right?!  that fuckin BITCH!!!  hahahaha"  i laughed but only nervously and 2 b polite i guess.

the car is roaring up the woodsy broward county backroad highways.  it was a pontiac firebird.  it was in my mom's name but he drove it of course.  she had 2 borrow grandma's car.  i was drifting in and out of sleep again in the backseat.  so, it all happened very fast- and i'm going to run thru it in a similar fashion.  the car is speeding up so she leans over and says "so and so (i ain't gonna say his name cuz fuck him) slow down.  you're driving too fast."

He sniffles, wipes his nose and whispers 2 her, "shut up".

Now, my mother has always been very big on respect.  u just can't talk 2 her like that...there's 2 things she's big on.  don't come at her with no disrespect and don't use the 'n' word in her presence.  and she's big on being a pain in the ass, but that's 3 things.  so whatever, she asks him incredulously, 'what did u just say?'  and he repeats it.  but this time, he says, "I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!" and with that, punches her dead in the face with everything he's got like a man hits a fucking man.  her head smashed thru the passenger window like some kinda scene from a gruesome action flick.

From the backseat, i jump up--all 80 or 90lbs or so of me and attempt 2 bash this fucker's brain in with my toy tonka truck.  we're wrasslin around, they're strugglin back and forth with the hands flailin, and the car is stoppin and goin...stoppin and goin...

the sun is coming up over davie and we are gump-jumpin all up the highway in a cherry red firebird with cocaine presley at the wheel and my poor mama in the hotseat of a black death chariot.  all of us scrapping and grappling, the sirens came wailing up flashing behind us like a sudden burst of gunpowder and fireworks on the fourth of july.  the officer walks up 2 the car and with thick countryboy drawl asks, "fux goin on?  guys gump-jumpin all over the road...been drinkin?"  I was hyperventilating huffing out, 'he hit her' but the cop wasn't listening.  He asked elvis 2 step out of the car and walked him over 2 the squad, then cuffed and uncuffed him.  elvis was clearly not only drunk, but high- his nose red, lips chapped, and with scrapes of blood from a recent tangle with a petrified 8 year old boy.

he told the cop an animal like a deer jumped in front of the car.  we were swerving around not to hit it.  but that wasn't what got him out of the cuffs.  the pig recognized him.

"Ain't u the boy that plays up there at SWILLFUCKERZ er whutever it's called with johnny depp's old band the t birds?"  and elvis of course replied that yes, in fact, he was that same cat.  "Man, yer good.  i love when you sing that elvis stuff, man.  U know, u look a lot like him.  I knew him.  well, i mean, i didn't know him, but hell, i been 2 memphis and hell, i done met u this morning", and with that, the ridiculous pig chuckled uncontrollably and was like gushing all over him.  he took the cuffs off quickly and rubbed elvis' wrists for him.  i think i even saw elvis raise a ring and the cop fucking kissed and licked it.  it was quite repulsive and i was still very audible saying 'he hit her' thru my sobs as they returned and senator el-dog hopped back in the firebird, victorious. my sobbing got louder; the cop ignored me again and told us 2 drive safely then.  my mother, who'd been trying to shut me up while i tried 2 rat him out 2 the 'cop', now sat back and waved at the officer thru her blood and broken bones.  we drove home in silence. 

NOW, elvis was actually discovered a couple years later, by Legends In Concert out here in Vegas and was stuck portraying The Elvis for the rest of his marielito woman-beater life.  i saw him recently (1999) and he looked so silly, like an impersonator of himself impersonating elvis.  it was sad, really.  he came up 2 me @ the bar outside the showroom very bloated and apologetic- much like the real EL in his final days and took several heinekens 2 the neck, while he hit on my hot stripper girlfriend and with torrid breath.  breath that could sink entire fleets and burn down whole villages of screaming children.  i almost whooped his ass, but instead just left.  took whats-her-snatch back 2 some run down hotel there in Atlantic City (where he gigs now, long after his drug-heavy Legends dayz in Vegas), filled the bath tub with ice and beer, and proceeded 2 pound the mound.  Never 2 look back.  ~Gabe Alberro