||For my new friend Amy
Several years ago, when the great El Duce was still with us, a few friends, a date, and I went to see the Mentors play at a local club. Long before the show had started El Duce had begun terrorizing the women in the audience with a really, really enormous rubber phallus, running up to them and waving it in their faces, or rubbing it on them, or whatever horror his tiny mind could come up with. A primitive sociology had developed in the club by this time in which small groups of unattached women would huddle for protection around any group of 2 or 3 men, protection that was usually not forthcoming. El Duce would pop up and the women would run squealing to another group of men. It was the law of the jungle.
At one point El Duce singled out my date for the evening, a very nice (well she was at a Mentors show, so she couldn't have been all that nice), pretty, ladylike, slender, fairly demure (again, she's at a Mentor's show) college student I'd been hanging out with for a couple weeks, and came over to make some sort of leering remark. When we both started laughing, he turned around and waddled off. Then, like half an hour later, we're standing at the bar and he proceeds to walk up to us and start apologizing for his behaviour, very sincerely apologizing. He became frankly maudlin at one point, calling himself a sick puppy and begging us not to pay any attention to him. At this point I'm actually reassuring El Duce that it was OK, we'd gotten a kick out of his comments, and we were fans. After making him feel a little better about himself (what the fuck?) he left to do the show and we went to watch.
After a rousing show by the band, my date and I are sitting on a table relaxing while people mill around. El Duce comes lurching towards us, fast, and far from being friendly or contrite, this time his hand rockets straight up my poor date's skirt. For a second we're both too shocked to react, his hand working the area between her legs like an enraged badger. I jump up, grab his shoulder, and lift my cane, which I carried for just such contingencies, to smack his fat little head. It turns out that the specific combination of heroin, booze, beer, goofballs, benzo's that he's soaked up makes him inhumanly strong, at least for a couple seconds, and he grabs my cane-arm and holds it immobile in his tiny, vice-like paw, all the time slapping my date's nether regions around like a ten dollar whore. Suddenly, my date collects herself, and punches El Duce right in his fat, puffy, fat little fat mush, just unloads a 500 right into his disgusting little cocksucker, POW!!!
El Duce goes flying back, trying lamely to regain his balance, runs backwards into a chair, falls backwards over the chair, cracks his skull on the floor of the club, and he is knocked completely out cold. My date and I kind of look at each other and I say "Hm, maybe we better get out of here before the roadies notice." at which point two roadies walk over El Duce's motionless form and begin laughing their asses off and calling him names. My date had to go home early, and after dropping her off, I turned to my friends and said "I'm in love."
I don't know whatever happened to my date, her name was Caroline, I forget her last name, but some lucky man out there has himself one hell of a wife.
"I'm going thru your purse!" - The late El Duce