Can we talk about me for a minute? In Memphis I don’t feel the evil eye when I walk anywhere. No one is scared that I’ll ask them to dance, no one would like me to get the fuck out of here. Here it’s:
“Yo, creaky couch apolstry suit dude!”
Ok, so I brought the green suit out of retirement. It’s one thing to go a place with your friends and be accepted, it’s another to be an attraction. In Memphis, I posed for well over 100 photographs.
In the south, we’ve all come to learn that the people here are slow, and if we come up with a witty comment within minutes, we are fucking Aaron Burr-quick on the draw. They love this shit. And knowing that makes us funnier.
The “creaky couch” crew spend the whole night on the same spot on the street and everytime we passed them I had to have a new couch joke for them. Theirs was lame at best. “Yo, you look corfortable, do you recline?” Throughout the course of the night I would pass them, and just to make sure they weren’t laughing at me, I would throw them a joke.
“Look guys, if you need a couple bucks why don’t you check under my cushions for change?”
At the end of the night: “Hey guys, why don’t you fold me out so your friends can sleep on me.”
As you can tell, my jokes are poorly worded and ultimately not funny. However, to a street full of southerners who have been sharing a “Fuck it Bucket” of Bourbon, we are the soul of wit.
We're not old enough to get into any of the bars, and we're too cheap to pay the covers anyway. So we walk. Up and down Beale Street. I'll pull a hand out of my pocket as I walk by and punctuate my worst lines with an index finger. ("Hey, did you guys lose the remote?")
If I were a better PR machine, I would have brought stories with the website address, but then I'd be that fat kid who runs the website BigEfromshows.com