Tag Archives: Barcelona

What’s the upchuck factor on that?

I’ve been rediscovering my Thirsty Merc (kick-ass Aussie band, don’t ya know).

And by rediscovering, I mean chair-dancing like the lousy, legless dude from Forrest Gump. Like the wicked witch o’ the East with Dot’s house resting on her lower extremities. Head banging. Torso tossing. Rockin’ that shit like I’m drowning at a seated event.

I’m sad to say my love of the Merc has grown dusty in recent years, eclipsed by flashbacks of a tradge trip to Barcelona in 07. I’d been living in London shy a decade and the Merc was on special needs repeat (in native nostalgia). Then came the Barce. Like a monocled moustached moth, I was drawn to its architectural flame.

It shoulda been grandiose. Instead, what followed were days of great beauty and greater apathy. I couldn’t put my pulse on it, but the finger was off. Then. On the final day, to serenade of The Hard Way, I was groped by some Charlie on the train. Of all the gropes in my life, this was the lewdest ‘n’ longest. All the way from Girona to Barceloneta, baby.

For the record, if I was gonna let a meaty mid-life man lather my ladies – it’d be the actual John Goodman, not his fragrant vagrant look-a-like. But I guess you don’t get to choose your groper (she says wistfully, staring off into the mischance). Plus, how often do you find a Downey down on his luck? (Don’t answer that.)

The greatest tradge of this tit tale was losing the use of my Merc. I couldn’t listen to their songs without recalling my musical molestation. Until recently. When, in an effort to evade GP songs, I stumbled upon this past love like a carousing clown on my doorstep come 2am.

Result.

As such, I feel the need to share my lascivious lurve. And so, herewith my murky favs. Consider me your Goodman, rubbing my Thirsty Merc all over your coquettish and virginal ears. How you like them hairy apples, little one?

  1. I Wish Somebody Would Build a Bridge
  2. In the Summertime
  3. Claude Monet
  4. Wasting Time

They make me happy in my Aussie bone, unlike Baz bucken Luhrmann (insert hissing like a cat). Meanwhile, you’re gonna have to go old school on this puppy (iTunes, baby). Is your attention span better than a Bieber’s?


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