It was billed as the biggest outlaw poet gathering of all time.
Once meant we could still have plenty of standing room down out the local bar.
Poets from all over the country packed together in cars like circus clowns and others caught a greyhound to be in Houston.
The event was sold out and the who's who of the scene was here.
It was hosted by The Dope Fiend Daily so the expectations were already pretty low.
The room smelled of stale beer and I am pretty sure someone had pissed themselves.
The lights went low and a clearly drunk out of his mind John Patrick Robbins took the stage.
“Hey why the fuck is it so hot I thought this it was supposed to be cold in Alaska.”
There was nothing but dead silence over the room.
“Aw lighten up fuckers shit I know where I am. Hey miss in the front row you have great tits.”
The man was clearly wasted and being he was supposed to be the MC for the event things definitely were not looking promising.
“Get the fuck off the stage.”
“Hey you shut the fuck-”
John was cut short as he stumbled face forward hitting the hardwood floor like a ton of bricks.
The room was silent again.
Surprisingly enough John popped right up looked at everyone then just made his way to the bar.
The host took to the stage and announced the first poet to read.
K. W. Peery took the stage and ripped into the first set of the evening.
It was brilliant and fun.
Soon the show was in full swing the names read like a who's who of poets.
Todd Cirillo had everyone laughing and the drinks and the life of the room was magic.
The beers were cold and despite our surroundings this show was turning out to live up to its hype.
All were great well minus the continual heckling of Mr Robbins who somehow was still standing, well I believe the seatbelt on his custom bar stool seemed to help.
It made me question how this so called mad editor would be able to walk let alone read before closing poet Ryan Quinn Flanagan took the stage.
But other than Mr Robbins continual request for every speaker to play Free Bird.
The show was moving along nicely.
James Dennis Casey IV took to the stage.
John went to yell something out but James just shot him a look.
John shut up automatically.
Once being that he seldom shut the fuck up during the whole time he was stationed next to me was quite refreshing.
James work moved in a surreal and deeply poetic fashion with great humor and skill.
His words filled the room coloring the walls like the best kind of acid trip.
Then came the moment most of us had been dreading.
Mr. Robbins stumbled to the stage, most groaned at the thought of this nut slurring his words and fucking up his lines.
They placed a cocktail beside him on the barstool he stood next to.
We waited for a encore of what had happened earlier.
He took a sip of his jack and coke.
Stood straight up and began to read.
He pulled no punches and had clearly fooled us all.
He was done quickly everyone applauded.
“And now folks I would like to welcome my good friend.”
Ryan Quinn Flanagan.
He walked of the stage without a hitch meeting James and the Editor of the magazine at the bar.
“Fucking great job brother John.”
K.W. walked over joining the group.
“You're a fucking nut man I knew you were just fucking around.”
“Hell you think at these prices I can afford to get loaded fucker?”
John replied as they clinked glasses.
“Hey when the hell is Flanagan going to show?”
James looked to Editor Scott Simmons and asked.
“Oh he couldn't actually be here so he is on skype that's why there is a flat screen on the stage.”
Oh everyone said well minus John who was to busy ordering yet a another round and telling the bartender make sure its a double this time.
Scott took to the stage.
“Hey folks I appreciate you all coming out to support these awesome writers, but now I want to welcome our featured poet here with us via skype Ryan Quinn Flanagan.”
The room lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Hell I wish Flanagan could have been here.”
Ryan had just began to speak when John interrupted.
“What have you done you sick bastards!”
John rushed the stage leaning down in front of the flat screen that stood upon the stage.
“Ryan what have they done to you trapping you in this flat hi definition box made by those French bastards at Sony!”
Ryan laughed seemly unfazed by his friends strange behavior.
“Hey John how you doing brother?”
“Ryan don't worry I will free you just stand back.”
Scott tried to stop him but it happened in a flash.
John kicked the T.V. over smoke shot out of it and with that it bit the dust.
The room went dead silent well minus James and K.W. busting out in laughter.
Cirillo was already headed out the door with a girl in tow.
“Holly shit I've killed Ryan!”
K.W. and James yelled out in unison.
As they continued to bust out in laughter.
Scott tried to get ahold of the cleary out his mind writer.
“Dude calm down he was on skype man.”
“Duh on a flat T.V, Scott , Like they even make those it was a portal you trapped him using some weird voodoo spell he is Canadian he is like a innocent deer how could you? You son of a bitch!”
Staff were approaching the stage people didn't know what to make of the chaos.
The mic was live and picking it all up.
K.W. looked at James.
“Man you think this all part of a act?”
“Don't have a clue but nobody's tending the bar so drink up.”
James replied as he reached behind the bar grabbing a bottle of Kraken rum.
The argument continued on stage.
“Dude they make flat screen T.V.s now what do you live in the past or something?”
“Duh dumbass everyone knows I live in Carolina.”
“Look man just calm down go get a drink let me smooth this shit out.”
“Somebody's paying for that T.V. and that crazy fuckers cut off.”
John leaned in closer to Scott.
“What does cut off mean? Is he talking sexually I mean cause like I don't know what he has heard but I don't swing that way at least anymore I mean that man is clearly no Ryan Gosling I'm just saying.”
“Dude you are so fucking nuts.”
“Thank you that's very kind of you to say.”
“Dude why are you crying?”
“It's just when I kicked that T.V. over and saw Ryan's soul fly up to the ceiling it was very moving almost as beautiful as that closing scene in pretty in pink.”
Scott just looked at his clearly insane friend shaking his head.
“Wow you are so messed up inside that skull of yours.”
“Look I want you assholes out of here in fact everyone out!”
John looked at his fellow editor.
“Man they aren't taking me alive.”
“Dude stop Ryan's not dead I promise.”
John just looked his friend in the eyes fighting back the tears.
“You're right he lives in are hearts forever little buddy, like Celine Dion told us our hearts will go on even though a lot of people drown on that big ass boat that I can't remember the name of.”
“No I don't think it was that one, it was the Black Pearl Johnny Depp was the sexy sea captain everyone knows that silly.”
“Look you two loons get your shit and get the hell out of here now!”
John walked toward the enraged bar owner.
Held out his hand the man just looked at him as if he were insane.
Then without warning he kicked the man square in the balls.
And ran out the door.
Never to be seen from again.
The night was definitely not forgettable as most wondered just what the hell they had just witnessed.
As K.W. and James vanished with two more bottles into the night.
Scott Simmons was later charged with destruction of property and lying about his age.
Apparently his fake I.D. listed him as thirty eight and had him under the name Manuel Estrada.
The crowd was nuts the poets were far worse.
this was definitely not your typical poetry reading.
About Taylor Swift:
Currently makes horrible music to ear rape the masses.
So she may secretly raise the dark Lord from his resting place deep within the center of the earth.
She also is a member of the illuminati and often goes to mass orgies with the lizard people and writes songs about every man she sleeps with.
She took this job for the extra cash cause she could really use another jet to fly her spoiled ass around the world to brainwash the youth of this country into believing she actually has talent.
Follow her on Instagram with many of the other mindless humans who truly believe anyone gives a fuck what you had for dinner.
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