In 1999 Dugym Qycfyl was inspired by an old song of Knees Calhoon's, Nocturnal Mission, to write a similar story song about an unfortunate trip he once made through the badlands of Texas. 30 ABAB verses later the story was completely told and written out for me to add music to. And I just now got around to doing the music. The song concerns intestinal woes while traveling but Dugym envisioned it as a pretty, sweet ballad in the vein of an old classic, Down in the Willow Garden, so I gave it a simple melody over major and minor chords and polished off my best Gordon Lightfoot voice for it.
Are you ready to give up the next ten minutes of your life for an explicit journey through the peristaltic bowels of Dugym Qycfyl's diseased world? Then click on it. I dare you.
I was on the freeway cruisin'
in an all-fired rush to arrive
I stopped and ate at a drive-in
and was lucky to get out alive.
The burger was pan-fried all greasily.
The fries they were oily like wax.
And though they went down rather easily
I knew pretty soon they'd be back.
But I hit the road in a hurry.
I had a long way left to go.
I had no reason to worry.
I'd brought lots of Tums and Pepto.
But I hadn't a clue of the power and the might
of greasy potatoes and beef.
And inside of ten minutes later that night
my intestines were giving me grief.
A gurgle began in the middle
and threatened to breach my behind
I held it in for a little
and set out a toilet to find.
But I was out in west Texas that day
The exits were distant and few.
I could tell my rectum would surely give
Before I could get to the loo.
I held it in as I made a dash.
I didn't have one thing to lose.
For if I let loose I would soon have a rash
from shorts full of viscous brown ooze.
The pain like a firebrand was sharp and was hot.
It was stabbing me all through my gut.
I knew it was time now to pick me a spot
as it dribbled out onto my butt.
I nearly waited too long that day
before pulling aside for relief.
I was able to get off the right of way
but was just too damn late with my briefs.
I hadn't stopped for a moment before
my intestines demanded release.
My jockeys filled up like brown water balloons
Cause my boxers were in my valise.
So there I stood by the roadside that day
brown glop running down past my knees.
There wasn't a moment to slink away
and do it in back of some trees.
Right there on the shoulder I dropped my shorts
and proceeded to wipe up the mess.
The passing drivers were all out sorts
when they noticed my state of undress.
But there wasn't a thing I could do about that
Diarrhea must always come first.
So I pretended I just had a flat,
and smiled, 'cause it couldn't get worse.
But hubris hit me back hard that day
and Murphy had taken command.
I’d barely gotten back underway
when the gurgling it once more began.
I uncapped the Pepto and took a hit
to nip this attack in the bud.
And took an Immodium after it
to stop the screaming crud.
The gurgle promptly subsided
and I grinned me a satisfied grin.
But then I felt nauseated
so I had me some Pepto again.
It wasn't long I had finished that jug
though it said not to double the dose.
I had to forestall this intestinal bug
and hoped that a bathroom was close.
The nausea soon started rising up
and I had to pull over once more.
And though I gagged briefly I couldn’t throw up,
though it made all my rib muscles sore.
Then on the horizon a gas station loomed.
I took the next exit at once.
But I knew as I pulled in that I was still doomed
to dreadful intestinal stunts.
I filled the tank up and paid the clerk
and asked for the bathroom door key.
She handed it to me and went back to work
and I went there to poop and pee.
But as I sat on the toilet that night,
brown slush spewing from my behind.
I got me the feeling that maybe I might
could vomit if I had a mind.
I turned and faced to the sink as I sat,
my tush still attached to the head.
As the gorge rose upwards I sat there and spat,
some drool out that tasted like lead.
I tried hard to put off the puking until
the dribbling had ceased from my butt.
But I couldn't stop gagging on my rising swill,
so I gave up and muttered, “So what?”
I opened my mouth up and outward there spewed
a pink milky fluid, kerplunk.
You'd think, looking at it that it was just food,
Like a milk shake with strawberry chunks.
I filled the sink up with quarts of spew
while my buttocks still spattered the john.
And I sat there whining, "This simply won't do,
I don't think that I can go on."
But then my buttocks blew hot dry farts,
My retches stopped coming up pink.
I felt a bit better so I took heart
and started to wipe off the sink.
I flushed the toilet and flushed it again.
It sparkled all clean, blue and fresh.
I washed the vomit all down through the drain
and pushed all the chunks through the mesh
Then taking a towel I wiped the place down.
But I'm really quite proud of my aim.
There was hardly a droplet of vomit around
That didn't get washed down the drain.
I left that bathroom all sparkling and clean
though I'd dashed through the door to be sick.
Still I asked the attendant to take Listerine
and wash up the mens room right quick.
I was back on the freeway cruisin'
In no special rush to arrive
I just drove on past all the drive-ins
It feels so good to be alive.
BONUS COVER!
Most rock & rollers won't admit that a big influence when they were young were the Kingston Trio. They weren't as hip as the folkies who followed, but one of their songs is a masterpiece of sophistication, and would sound great in any bar. Written by Dave Guard.
