548. Technicolor Dreamtime with Callum Z. Blabber

Callum Z. Blabber has had some time off this week, from the daily grind of updating former and current guests of Loveless Motel, or luring new ones. Far from getting away as originally planned, he's found himself stuck in his Aluminum City quarters, going through old boxes of shit he should have tossed years ago, cleaning cat boxes in "the cat room", and otherwise busying himself while his money sits unspent in his surprisingly healthy trust fund. His guilty pleasure, pursuit of a latent career in cabaret as a one man band has been on hold but he's even carved out a few hours of time to practice, despite the complaints of his nearby neighbors who complain that the thin tin can walls of a trailer seem to amplify the sound.  He's shrugged off the complaints and invited a few of the biggest complainers in for drinks and mini-concerts, and things have calmed down. His medley of Piaf tunes is particularly popular - he brings some of his pals to tears with his version of Non, je ne regrette rien, but they liven back up when he transitions to L'Accordeoniste.  Some of the guys are Certified Hustlers - it's like being in home territory. Since he can't sing and play the harmonica simultaneously, he hands out lyric sheets.  It's a fucking party!

 Of late, he's taken a few cat naps, something he looks forward to on a daily basis, because he's been having a series of wild dreams in vivid color. Not an imbiber of some of the drugs that float around the social hangouts around the resort, he's not quite sure what the source of the dreams are; there seem to be no familiar faces, and definitely no situations - just outrageous situations far out of reach of even some of the creations of Snap Wadmacher at Shutter Bug Camera Shop, but he's not too worried.  

Maybe he'll be able to use some of what he can remember as Loveless Tourist Rag fodder the next time he has to come up with a marketing campaign.  Time for another nap.

HEY CAL! WAKE UP BUDDY!  WE'RE CLOSING FOR AN HOUR SO THE SPOOGE PATROL CAN COME IN AND HOSE THE PLACE OUT!

Begrudgingly he snaps out of his dream, looks around and sees empty chairs around him, and the houselights up at the little movie theater at After Midnight Arcade.  "How long have I been sitting here?" "Buddy, you've been sitting here asleep for 8 hours,6 showings of this flick, your dick is hanging out and you're startin' to smell a little...better get a move on. See ya around.  Can't wait to read your story about this one, Cal!"

The accordionist

The prostitute is beautiful (lit. Girl of pleasure)

Over there on the corner

She has a client

Who fills her stockings up (pays)

When her job is done

She goes on her way

Looking for a bit of dreams

At a dancehall in the suburbs

Her man is an artist

He's a strange, little guy

An accordionist

Who knows how to play the java (a dance)

 

She hears the java

But she doesn't dance

She doesn't even look at the dancefloor

And her loving eyes

Follow the vigorous playing

And the wiry, long fingers of the artist

It gets under her skin

From the bottom, from the top

She has the urge to sing, it's physical

All of her being is tensed

Her breath is held

it's a work of art shaped by the music

The prostitute is sad

Over there on the corner

Her accordionist

Left to be a soldier

When he comes back from war

They will have a house

She will be the cashier

And he will be the boss

How beautiful life will be

They'll be true big-shots

And every night for her

He'll play the java

 

She hears the java

That she hums softly

She looks again at her accordionist

And her loving eyes

Follow the vigorous playing

And the wiry, long fingers of the artist

It gets under her skin

From the bottom, from the top

She has the urge to cry, it's physical

All of her being is tensed

Her breath is held

It's a work of art shaped by the music

 

The prostitute is alone

Over there on the corner

The girls who are sulking

The men don't want

And too bad if she dies

Her man is never coming back

Farewell to all of those beautiful dreams

Her life is fucked

Nevertheless her tired legs

Take her to the dive (dancehall)

Where there's another artist

Who plays all night long....

 

She hears the java

She listens to the java...

She closes her eyes...

Those wiry, vigorous fingers

It gets under her skin

From the bottom, from the top

She has the urge to yell out, it's physical

And so to forget

She begins to dance, to turn

To the sound of the music...

 

STOP!

Stop the music...

544. Snap Wadmacher's Obsession

Anyone who's met Snap at Shutter Bug Camera Shop, located off the lobby at Loveless Motel, will admit to being bafflingly befuddled, blissfully beguiled and besottedly bewitched by this man who can be just as easily annoying as hell.  To say he is immersed in his profession would be akin to announcing that one has just discovered the pairing of ketchup and French fries, that the ocean from outer space is blue, or that water is wet.  Fanaticism and Snap are old friends.  Conversationally, he's apt to speak in virtual grunts on some days, while on others, he might hold forth as if he were a gushing salutatorian who has just been ogled and cruised by Oscar Wilde himself who's seated in the front row at an Eton graduation. Some say the difference might be attributed to the chemicals he uses in the development of film; not that generally those would affect the casual hobbyist, but the extent to which Snap uses them is just short of using hydroquinone as your coffee creamer or phenidone on your breakfast cereal. He often complains of headaches, and talks to himself.

If you receive an invitation to visit him at home, you'll enter a world of seeming chaos, but like all mad men, there is an order, invisible to you, which sets in motion every device by which he can function, without your permission or assistance. Just, for God's sake, don't open any boxes or look in the kitchen. He is, in fact, a whiz at organization, but by methods which may seem strange to mere mortals. Ask him for a photograph he took five years ago of you with your leg propped up on a sheet covered box, holding a piece of rope; you could blindfold him and, plunging his hand into a certain pile of photos in this room or that, he would produce it in an instant. But then, he has a pile of pictures of men in just that pose, and the trick is he knows exactly how far down in the pile your picture is.

He can please any taste and discuss any sexual proclivity with expertise - he builds into his pricing the cost of developing an extra set of photos he finds particularly hot, for his own prurient interests, and finds pleasure in sharing them with visiting guests.  He says all photographers are voyeurs, and so are all collectors of smutty photographs, especially those of the male form. In his private digs over at Aluminum City, he's known to be the host of some pretty spectacular evenings of men interested in circle jerks, and regulars on the Loveless Motel party line recognize his seductive voice, whether uttering a chemically induced grunt, or describing in vivid, orgasm-inducing detail a photography session he once had with a triple-testicled circus contortionist.

He's an outdoor enthusiast as well, and the influx of men seen at Nutbush Campground has provided him with new professional opportunities as well as some messy interludes with staff and guests found wandering the acres of trails and backroads of that fun new fuck forest.

540. Rain - Monday - blah blah blah

What a way to start the week.  Knee deep in the big muddy, we're looking for a rainbow at Loveless Motel.  What ever happened to Kodachrome? Watch this space. Is this campy enough for you?  Meanwhile, there's a report in the office that the coleslaw lady has gone on a binge and is hand delivering Tupperware containers full of her cabbage concoction in the rain after someone from Nutbush Campground mentioned they just couldn't get enough of the stuff.  Needless to say, this is causing quite the stir among campers who thought they were living through a scene in "Some of My Best  Friends Are", as in "who told my mother where I was this week?" Loveless Motel denies we have a woman working in the kitchen at Birdwhistle's Tearoom. Carry on camping.

533. ¡Mi caballo es muy caliente!

Loveless Motel celebrates the rich diversity, culture and sabor of our guests - one of the gentlemen, Rod, in Room 222 asked for Snap Wadmacher to come in and do a photo shoot with some Cinco de Mayo props, and as luck would have it, Rod's a bit of a show off and has a sense of humor to boot. Vivid color and black and white film were used to capture the mood, hot horse cock and all.  Like Snap says, "What business goes on at Loveless is nobody's business but Loveless' business."

525. Sheriff Buck N. McBuff is no fool

These wholesome looking brother-fuckers are up to no good.  New to Loveless Motel, they'd seen flyers for Nutbush Campground and after calling to book ("Welcome to Loveless Motel - what are you wearing?")  they arrived on opening day with backpacks and are still exploring  and roughing it.  They'd heard that Loveless even has a detention center called The Hoosegow which actually houses rule-breakers and miscreants who get on the wrong side of the rules or otherwise annoy the on-site "sheriff". Tired of the great outdoors, out of money and not ready to go home, they're looking for a way to stay on management's dime. Further inquiries have led them to a fellow camper who produced a set of pictures he happened to be carrying with him, and shared reminiscences of his brief incarceration which happened as a result of  turning down a blowjob from an incognito Sheriff Buck N. McBuff, proprietor of said Hoosegow, because nobody, but nobody, says no to the Buckster. It rapidly got him a ticket to the clink, free food, drink and lodging!

 Needless to say the set of pictures have given the men ideas and with the aid of the ironmonger over at the Stables, they have constructed a set of iron bars, and are headed in the direction of the Hoosegow, carrying the 350 pound creation. gathering a following and receiving encouragement as they move back in the direction of civilization.  Their plan is to confront Sheriff Buck, and loudly proclaim outside the window for all to hear, that they wouldn't let Buck give them blow jobs if he were the last man on earth, and then dare him to incarcerate them. Surely that'll get them 5 berths in a cell!

What they don't know is that McBuff is no fool. The Hoosegow is full up and he doesn't have the space to keep these sunbaked yokels. He'll take that challenge, right in front of the Bunkhouse and the crazy campers will get their own set of photos of Buck reveling in an impromptu jizz-guzzling party, servicing each of them in turn, spurred on by a large and growing audience, and be sent back to Podunk with a free set of pictures, their 'nads drained and with smiles on their faces. Snap Wadmacher, ace photographer from Shutterbug Camera Shop, located off the lobby at Loveless Motel, can be on the scene in about two minutes. Don't let it ever be said that Sheriff Buck N. McBuff didn't get his men, one way or the other.

519: Nutbush Campground Grand Opening!

 

Yesterday was the  big day - Loveless Motel has been working for months creating a campground to expand its spring, summer and fall accommodations and despite a forecast of rain, the big parade started off at the Motorpool, as promised.  Hard Tack manager Will U Bonus kilted up to pipe the assembled crowd into the campground, the parade winding down past the Bunkhouse, through the newly constructed archway.  On the shores of the campground swimming hole, a lone player answers Will's call.  A drum and brass trio escorted a solid line of VW campers through the Nutbush Campground arch, and the day was off to a perfect start.

Coffee and donuts awaited early arrivals as some of the staff from the Stables helped out to welcome the crowd.

Some of the campers wasted no time in exploring the amenities, like the group showers and latrines

A variety of shelter, from cabins to tents and trailers awaited eager outdoor enthusiasts

Wide open spaces to see and be seen!

One of THOSE interns was still  trying to get his rocks off...some people never learn.  This man is definitely a candidate for conscription, who will work off his debt as a Nutbush Campground go-fer, owed as a result of his failed internship.

First night draws to a close at Nutbush Campground at Loveless Motel