Parrothead Ramblings

Never get between a cowboy and his better half.

There were a few classic “You Had To Be There” stories from Phins To The West last weekend, but they seem to have gotten lost in all the excitement over Jimmy’s Tuesday concert. Phins was up in Laughlin at the Avi Resort, which we shared with a bunch of cowboys there for some kind of weird cow-chasing tournament. The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog and I hit the scene Thursday night, and it was already cranked up to Parrothead Chaos Level in the "Arrow Weed Lounge." Just what in the name of Clapton is an Arrow Weed anyway? I haven’t got a clue, but if the word “weed” is involved, you can bet the Parrotheads are gonna be taking a look-see. Anyway, the always-fun Mark Mulligan was performing and, as usual, held the crowd in the palm of his hand. Though it’s not in my nature, I managed to choke down a couple of beers and wash down the road grime. By that time, a half-in-the-bag guy named Tony Baloney started performing, but his act wasn’t really to my liking. Instead of hanging out there, I began my hunt for Code Name Golf God, needing to verify our plans to participate the following morning in that most pointless and frustrating of all human activities: golf, of course. I grabbed a house phone and asked the disembodied voice on the other end to page the casino for Golf God, and ask him to call Crime Dog. She refused to page nicknames. I told her they weren’t nicknames, they were our real names, and we had the Parrothead I.D. tags to by God prove it. She wouldn't budge. I said “Check your computer, and I’ll kiss your ass if there’s no Golf God registered in this hotel.” She checked. How was I supposed to know that Golf God registered in some other name? Dude must be in Witness Protection or something. Disembodied lady wanted me to make good on the bet, but I knew The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog would disapprove. Fortunately, one of the cow-chasing guys was walking by on his way to the elevator at that moment, so I just read the name off his ID badge as he went by and gave that to her. Told her I was headed to my room and she should come on up right away, then I hung up and made a break for the bar.

As luck would have it, I stumbled upon Golf God getting his ass handed to him at a blackjack table. I got the goods on the big golf game, then rerouted back up to my room. I figured if I was playing golf with a guy named “Golf God,” I’d better rest up and get my shit together. But, wouldn’t you know it? I couldn’t sleep a wink. That was because the biggest knock-down-drag-out screaming match you ever heard was going on out in the hall. It seems this cowboy and his wife were engaged in a heated argument over some fat hotel clerk who came up to their room and insisted that the cowboy had invited her up for a first-rate ass kissing. Mrs. Cowboy was decidedly unappreciative.

Who’d-a thunk it?
  |