LeShok
Bowlink
Alley Blitzy
D AND EARL ARE TRUCKERS WHO WORK FOR THE SAME MIDWESTERN
auto parts distributor. Because this company frequently sends out large ship-
ments requiring two or more rigs, JD and Earl often find themselves on the
same assignments. This means these two boys get to spend a lot of time togeth-
er in towns and cities all across the nation. Over the years and years of hang-
ing out, it seems the boys have developed a particular taste for bowling alleys as
locations for taking a load off while on the road. Our story here dwells upon one
such evening when the boys found themselves in Long Beach. California at the Java
Lanes bowling alley on PCH. It just so happens that a punk rock gig was being
thrown that very same night in the bar of said establishment, and it wasn't long
before our heroes got themselves mixed up in it.
"Shit, Earl, I've had enough of this bowling crap. How 'bout you?" "Well ya
know JD, I am kicking the hell outta your sorry ass in this game. Howz about
we quit after this last frame here and mosey on up to that bar over there for a
few cold ones?" "Shit, that's got to be the best thing I heard all night Earl, espe-
cially since I been seeing a whole helluva lot of slick-looking punk rock hussies
shuffling in and outta there since all that loud-ass music started playin'." "I
saw that too, and hell, with all that racket and all that tail, we might just get
ourselves into some real fun before the night's over." "Fuck the last frame then,
man, let's git." "Awright then good buddy, let's git."
Slipping past a good-for-nothing bouncer at the door, the boys stumble into an
intriguing scene to say the least. The long bar is packed with tattooed surfer goons,
fake-breasted Black Flys girls, nerdy punk rock scenesters, and their nerdy yet cute
scenester girlfriends. Off to the left is the stage, where a drunken local band called Le
Shok is falling all over themselves.
"Gawd damn, JD, will you look at those guys! For chrissakes they're gonna
hurt theyselves!" "Heh-heh they sure is ain't they, and I'll be damned if I can
make out a damn word that that drunk bastard of a singer is yappin' about
either." "But, hell, they sure got some entertainment value, don't they? Just
look at that crowd spittin' on 'em and tacklin' the guitarist and knockin' their
look at
heads all together." "Uh-oh, JD, watch out for that singer-he's comin' over
that booth there-oh shit! Did ya see him smack his head on that hangin'
lamp? Well don't just stand there, JD-pick the boys up and throw
'im back onstage. He ain't hurt." "C'mon little buddy, git on up-ya
OK? What's the name of yer band anyhow?" "We're
called Le Shok ya fuckin' hick!" "Well well, you're
Frenchmen now aren't ya-heh heh, gawd damn
craziest Frenchmen I ever did see."
creation!" CRASH! "Holy hell! He's bustin' beer bottles now-duck!-
whew, that was a close one." "This is one rockin' band isn't it, JD?" "Yep,
I must say they's the best I seen yet. Les go get some more Bud Ice before
we get clobbered in the head by one a them flyin' bottles." "A most splen-
did idea-you lead the way compadre."
Amazed by the ferociousness of the not-so-weak Weaklings, JD and Earl sally on up
to the bar again to drink up as the grime is once again swept away and the head-
lining band begins to set up. Calling themselves The Stitches, these veterans of the
real punk rock scene are what this intoxicated crowd has been waiting for all night,
and our favorite truckers can feel it in the air. At the first drag of the pick across gui-
tarist Johnny's strings, the boys once again make their way to the dance floor and
are ready to let out all stops.
"Whooo-wee! That guitar player there is a big mother, ain't he, Earl?" "You
got that right, friend-and all these guys look like they seen their fair share of
low-down broads and back-stabbin' bar fights. They look downright pissed
off!" "Shit, they got themselves some good soundin' rock 'n' roll goin' on too-
sounds just spissed off as they look." "Yep, and look what it's doin' to these
bastards on the dance floor-they's runnin' around a slammin' into each other
like chickens with their heads cut off!" "Heh heh, let's join 'em, Earl-looks
like it might be fun." "Hoo hoo! Watch it, JD, that big one's tryin' to nail ya. Jes
follow me like this-run around in a circle like everyone else. Here, lock yer
arm into my arm like those two guys was doin'." THUMP! "Yee haw! That'll
teach that fat bastard to go with the flow!" "Man, Earl, this is way better than
bowlin'. We been wastin' our time on the lanes for too long." "You said it broth-
er, but we still ain't scored with none a these weird-lookin' dames." "Well shit,
Earl, let's go do some scorin' then."
As The Stitches wind up their set, the boys disappear into the crowd filtering out the
door and into the cool night air. Seeing as they never ever score (unless you consider
watching soft-core porn in a motel room till 4 AM scoring), this essentially is the end
of the night's adventure for them. It's safe to say that by next week JD and Earl will
be in another city in another town at another bowling alley, arguing with each other
over who has to pay for the next round of chili fries. They had a great time at the
punk rock show, but it's not like them to go around town searching for that kind of
stuff. Their domain is the bowling alley and that's where they'll stay. If punk rock
comes to the lanes again, they'll join in, but that pretty much goes for anything that
shows up. Tex-Mex, freedom rock,
lounge acts-whatever-they'll get on
it all as long as it's at the bowlin' alley.
-Andy Harris
he's bleedin'
all over creation!
As the band finishes destroying themselves onstage, our heroes
make their way through the throngs of rockers and rockettes and buy them-
selves couple of Bud Ice bottles, gawking at the parade of flesh that
nearly engulfs them from all sides. Within minutes, however, the blood,
guts, and broken glass is swept off the dance floor, and a new band
called The Weaklings has taken the stage. JD and Earl decide to move
in closer and investigate.
"Jesus, Earl, lookit these dirtballs with their leather pants and
cigarettes-who the hell they think they are, the gawd damn
Rolling Stones?" "Wake up JD, they ain't the Stones-they got
their name printed right there on their drum set-they's The
Weaklings." "Shit, what kinda name is that? They're callin' them-
selves pussies!" "Yeah, well, that skinny singer there don't look
much like a pussy-jes take a gander at all them razor scratches
across his chest-ouch!" "Well, I'll be damned, he's bleedin' all over
AKLINGS
it's gonna take
a whole lotta
FAT
to satisfy
ME!
Me First
and the gimme
gimmes
Good Riddance
SUBVERTING DEN
UNITED
ACY SINCE
AMERICA
1947
STATES OF
OPERATION PHOENIX
CHEAP COMP. CD/LP/CASS
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SICK OF IT ALL
CALL TO ARMS
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Fat Music
Vol. IV
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OUT APRIL 20TH
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Life in the
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The Weaklings
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