Ashley Goes to Jail

Dear Sweethearts,

Do I need to explain the presence of soft core porn on my blog? If it's good enough for the New York Post, it's good enough for the likes of you.

Last night your old buddies steamed the windows at Cole’s in preparation for Adam Burke and the Wednesday funnies. What a great set it was.

We resolved to really push it, and see if we could go over the edge. We opened with Somebody Write Some Music, which has been a good choice for a couple of weeks now. Foz played in his best "wife beater" sleeveless white t-shirt while sucking on a can of Old Style (thanks to Leah the Bartender for providing that prop gratis). About half way through the song I launched into a mostly improvised story that I have had in the back of my mind for a long time. I got a few laughs, and a lot of astonished, even horrified stares. Dan says that he noticed that the young lady demographic really seemed to get into it. Who knew?

Since the improv did not exist in written form, I have transcribed it by memory for you.

Big hat tip goes to my old friend, film maker Scott Peterson, whose real-life roommate saga contributed to the story. Also credit goes to Dan, whose real-life roommate sagas also contributed much. Just remember while you are reading this – it is all made up, except for the large portions that really happened. Well, we don’t all live together in a big apartment. Most of the rest is truer than you’d like to think.

Ashley Goes to Jail

Improvised at Cole’s Chicago as part of Somebody Write Some Music, March 10, 2010.

OK, Cole’s. I got to tell you a story. It’s a little story of personal experience from your old pal, Foz. It’s called “Ashley Goes to Jail.”

As I am sure you have guessed by now, we all live together in a big old four-bedroom apartment over on Medill. It’s a good setup. We can play and make a lot of noise, and record or whatever. And we got this fourth bedroom that we can rent out, and that helps to cover rent and bills.

Well, roommates come and go, and a little while back we needed to get somebody into that room. Old Leon here put the ad out on Craig’s List and pretty soon we had lots of candidates. One was a pretty, 22ish woman – Ashley – and of course these old gents were pretty intrigued by that. After all, we thought, “What could go wrong?” Ha ha ha.

Things started out OK, I guess. I don’t think she ever paid anything, but we had a girl around, and we’re not home a lot anyway. But soon enough we realized that Ashley was quite the little mess. Yes, she kept odd hours – we all do – but Ashley would have a “date” at 8:00 in the morning, and another one at Noon, and 3:00, and at night. We all began to think she was a prostitute.

It was worse than that.

We came back in off the road one time, and there was Ashley and this old guy running around the apartment in their underwear, doing blow off the kitchen table. Faith No More playing through our P.A. They’re cutting coke with my Bisquick. And I had promised to make everybody pancakes. And I think Patrick says something like “what you do is OK with us, but please do your tricks in your bedroom.”

Well, that was a mistake. Ashley wasn’t a prostitute. She really did just have a lot of dates. And the old guy with the blow – well, he was her uncle.

Yeh, there was a lot of drama that time. The blender got broke.

Well, a few weeks later I’m sitting in the "Bob" – middle of the afternoon – trying to avoid the regulars. Stinky Pete was there. So was Crazy Mary, and Lobotomy Larry. Anyway, my phone rings and it’s Ashley. She’s all weeping and raging and saying “I hate him! I hate him! He dumped me.” And I say, “Who, your boyfriend?” and she says “No. My old boyfriend who kicked me out before I moved in with you. But he’s still got all my stuff, and he took out an order of protection against me.”

And I’m thinking, “How did she get my number? Did I leave my phone laying around the house and she stole it or something?”

And she’s saying she’s going to go over to his apartment and get her CD’s and a laptop he thinks is his. And I say “You’re going to get arrested,” and she says she still loves him, and I say “I’m not bailing you out of jail,” and she says she hates him and she’s going to cut his balls off, and I say “I’m not bailing you out,” and she says her grandmother gave her the laptop, and I say “I’m not bailing you out!” And then she hung up. Don’t know why she called me in the first place.

Anyway, the phone rang a couple of hours later, and…. You know. Well, rent was late that month. We had to buy the landlord a handle.

And Ashley just left one day. And now we miss her. So, wherever you are, Ashley, here’s to you. We hope you’re happy, and everything’s working out for you.

Well, that’s "Ashley Goes to Jail." We might do it again, and we might not. We’ll probably do something else.

That’s all, so “I'm not great at farewells, so uh... that'll do, pig.”*

*Woody Harrelson From Zombieland: Funniest single line in cinema in 2009.