“Good evening and welcome to Slaggers”

Was the greeting used by the MC at this

high-class joint- and if you looked at

the back of his head, there was a little

guy doing all the talking, as-well as all

the driving; implanted in the skull, quite

complete with controls that were state of

the art . . .

The bartender was literally out-of-this

world- he was from another planet, had

three eyes, but kept it covered with a

kid’s band-aid, and he was made of wood

Came complete with termites and a set of

instructions, which were pinned to his

rented tux along with his name tag; was

called ‘Woody’ . . .

The band always began at ten-to-six, were

the infamous ‘Pablo-Fanques Fair’; had just

returned from a world-wide tour- were wanted

by the Interpol Police; the only thing carried

in the violin case was a Chicago Typewriter

Expected big tips ‘cause the lead singer, Sexy

Sadie would send men into cardiac arrest; sorry

no refunds . . .

The food was four star rated ‘cause it contained

four secret ingredients- roaches, flies, rat

droppings, and finger tips; but customers knew

better than to complain ‘cause the chef, who was

an ex-ax murderer would come out with a meat

cleaver and chop you up into fish bait- and the

pastry cart was all prop food- went down easy

with petrol . . .

For any guy who was feeling a little frisky, a

femme fatale would take them up to their room

and make their skin crawl; no exaggeration- when

going to French Kiss, their mouth would open and

low-and-behold, there was a meat grinder inside

The tongue was the first to go, then the head, and

all the rest; one could say their sexual appetite

was insatiable . . .

And of course, they always got raided by the Vice

Squad- ‘cause of all their vices; but when the fuzz

showed-up, the MC would push a secret button and turn

the whole place into a department store; complete with

women’s and men’s apparel at discount prices; but there

weren’t ever any employees around, for you see, they

were all mannequins- only coming alive when the living

weren’t present . . .

‘2009’ RLS