Nautical Disaster

 It's 2:30 in the morning and I can't see straight. I've been drinking with the Devil all night and now he's behind the bar pouring shots. Shoulda known he'd be a tequila man. Black Sabbath and the Talking Heads walk into the place, and I can't help but try to think of a joke that starts off with “Black Sabbath and the Talking Heads walk into a bar...” The only punchline I got is “What is this, some kind of joke?” Gimme a break man, it's 2 fuckin 30. It’s too early and too late to be out doing anything. Geezer Butler's complaining about how the dartboard ain't made outta cork, Tina Weymouth just ate the worm. Daisy the stripper is sitting in the back booth. 10 minutes ago she was doing a tease on the bar, now she's talkin’ Kafka with Byrne and David Lynch. It’s getting too weird in here. The dancing chickens I can handle, but the next singin’ bitch that crawls out of the radiator gets a shiv in her eye. Such is a night in the life of the mind of Nautical Disaster. Not afraid to explore the darker regions of the human condition, the nature of being, fear and loathing, the space/time continuum, the birth of tragedy,the questions we all want the answers to. Is it suicide if you dial S for murder? What color do Smurfs turn when you’re choking them? Is Nautical Disaster the kind of Rock that bares its soul, gets drunk, and passes out on your couch? It is tonight….