South by South Gomer DAY SIX: Classic Shitdick & the Deep Ellum blues...

Day six:

Somehow after a couple cases of Lone Stars and a gallon of well bourbon we woke up bright and early , if not entirely human. Young Mark Donnelly was never quite the same after that, I think he still sees the little Lone Star bottles dancing by every time he closes his eyes.

My morning may have been slightly worse...

It's hard to be best at something in life, especially when surrounded by such talented people as I was out there on the road, but I can proudly say that on that morning I was the grossest member of High Card Drifters. After packing the van I retired to the plastic throne of our executive washroom for one last bowel movement before breakfast. I realize that calling these traumatic convulsions of the lower GI tract bowel movements at this stage is generous, they were closer to rectal exorcisms. And after a couple Hail Marys and loud pronouncements of " the power of coffee compels you!" I expelled the demon and proceeded to take care of the paperwork.

I had just swabbed the decks and was going for one last pass when I felt my index finger dip under the briny waves of the black sea...I pulled my dookie covered digit from the water like Excalibur and held it aloft. It was putrid, but fortunately I was seated right next to the bath tub, so I turned on the faucet and gave it a rinse.

I was about to pull up my pants and rejoin my brothers in the van when I looked down and realized that during the journey up to my bloodshot eye, my fecal coated phalange had marked its territory, signed it's autograph, left a racing stripe, and effectively made an inverse Pepe Le Pew skunk tail out of my penis.

That's right as I looked down at what appeared to be a chocolate dipped, County Fair dessert item gone terribly wrong, I realized I was finally the best at something on this trip...I was a winner.

Needless to say, I gave up at that point and jumped in the shower to reset. As we piled into the van at long last, I shared my tale with my band-mates and for the rest of the trip (and as late as last week), whenever I did anything right or wrong it would be greeted with the soon to be immortal words “Classic Shitdick“. I'm actually pretty proud of that.

Moving on, so to speak, to the rest of day six.

After poop, we had a fine American breakfast at the Pancake House where our creepy 50 year old bus “boy” kept encouraging us to lust after our rather bored and only sorta hot waitress. It was funny for a bit, then it got a little uncomfortable, then it was funny again, like most things.

Most importantly the pancakes were good.

After that we hit the highway and aimed the van towards Dallas Texas.

We drove and drove and drove, and then we stopped for gas and drove some more. Did I mention yet that Texas is big? Five plus hours later we rolled into our rather swanky Le Quinta Inn.

Cocktail, check!

Embarrassing amount of manly primping, check!

Sitting on the toilet for 15-20 minutes each, check!

At last we were off and drove across town to Deep Ellum. When we rolled into the dag-gummed neighborhood we were blown away. Live music up and down the streets, rooftop bars, bikers, weirdos, it was fuckin' groovy, and Three Links, (the bar we were playing at) was the coolest.

It was an old converted Odd Fellows Hall with a roll up door they left open, so while the music was playing it brought folks in. Great people hanging out there and a big selection of fancy beers. It was bonafide. There was even a taco special from next door, two tacos and a beer for $6! Boy howdy!

Our bartender Cynthia was very cool and mega-sexy (she danced all through our set), she won the coveted “Bartender of the Tour Award” for sure.

The opening act was a cat named Josh Ferrell, leader of a band called The Phuss. He was rolling solo with some edgy country. Great songwriting and good voice. Solid...

The room was crackling and the crowd was hot. We took the stage next and killed it. The sound was epic, the crowd was eating out of our palms. Such a good time.

After our set was the Hazardous Dukes, lap steel, piano, drums, two guitars, and a bass player who sang lead. They were killer! Spent a lot of time with the guitar player Hank at the bar after the set, he called his style Pillbilly. Love it.

We had a handful more beers and sold a fair amount of schwag before retiring to our humble abode. All in all this was probably the greatest show on the tour. Plus Bubba Hyde and a friend of Mark's from his Dallas days made it out, always great to have some pals in the audience.

All in all this was probably the greatest show on the tour. Plus Bubba Hyde and a friend of Mark's from his Dallas days made it out, always great to have some pals in the audience.

Oh plus Callahan and I successfully flirted with a Panamanian burlesque dancer. She wanted to join the tour, ifyouknowhatimean. It's good to know you still got a snuff tin's worth of mojo left at this age.

As the bar turned on the overhead lights we rolled back to the hotel, and deposited our heads upon a rented pillow once again. Satisfied.

Next up! Day seven...Austin city limits!