Monday, April 28, 2008

Native American Trade Routes

True Stories From Taco Land

By Yawn Blog

Place: Tacoland
When: Late '90s
Who's Playing: Unknown
Ram Factor: Pow-Wow!

Native American Trade Routes With its 500 year old tree that predated the Spanish establishment, Tacoland was on a Native American trade route. I’m fucking serious.

(I'm working on finding more info on this! HMK)

I can’t remember the fellow’s name, so I’ll just call him “John.” He was a really good guy - when he got to drinking we’d see his evil twin, who was a really good guy too, but a little more self-destructive than John. But that was Tacoland - if you weren’t self destructive you wouldn’t go there. It was a celebration of self destructive lifestyles leading to self destruction, to twist a phrase from a daytime TV judge.

John participated in various pow-wows and other Native American arts, and sometimes on a Friday he’d hit Tacoland for a few lukewarm frosty ones. Sometimes he brought his own Steele Reserve. On a couple of occasions, he had spent all his money and really wanted some refreshment. He’d crack open his hatchback out in front of the patio and offer to sell dance bussels, headdresses, moccasins, ankle bells, eagle feathers, and just about anything he had to get some bucks for some beer. I always liked John - he was a good guy, and when I had a couple of extra bucks (which was rare) I’d buy him a beer when I could.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

What Kind of Tequila Is It?

True Stories From Taco Land

By Rain

Place: Tacoland
When: One Night
Who's Playing: Nobody
Ram Factor: Kiss The Baby

I went in for a beer on a night that would have other clubs going strong. there was doug, ram, two or three old guys at the bar, and me. One of the guys at the bar would not shut the fuck up, he had every angle covered with a pitch. Ram, getting a bit itchy, passed the baby around. It was one of the few times I remember a real glass bottle (in a brown paper bag).

The car salesman fucker got his turn, and asked, "What kind of tequila is it?" Before he could say anything else, Ram said, "Get the fuck out, you want to drink with me or not motherfucker?" The salesman tried to say he was sorry and laugh it off like a car selling fucker would, but Ram moved (quickly) to the other end of the bar and jerked the tequila out of his hand and said, "You think getting kicked out of a bar is funny?"

He was walking out the door when Ram came my way while calling him a "Pussy" and handed me the tequila and in a much softer tone said, "Don't be a Pussy, kiss the baby". I knew i found a home with ram, and now, i'll do my best to never be a pussy again.