getting the band back together is proving difficult

Come on in, kids. It's your old friend, The Haiku Master, but I'm feeling a little glum... 'cause I'm having very little luck getting firm commitments to future adventures from formerly staunch Haiku International agents and associates!

I know, I can hardly believe it myself! The nerve of those bums -- now I know how Jesus felt in the garden of Gethsemane! At any rate, here's a run-down of what some of the more notable ones say they're too busy doing to help me out if I find myself in a pinch:

• Paulo: Running a cockfighting academy in Pescados Muertos, Mexico. Think Han's island in Enter the Dragon, only replace "Han" with "Paulo," "island" with "bombed-out Mexican village," and "kung fu" with "cockfighting," and you'll get the idea.

• Professor de la Groove: Doing tantric research aboard the International Space Station, along with some call girls and his assistants Ralphus and Malphus. Not scheduled to return to Earth until mid-2007.


Ralphus







Malphus







• Texas Kelly: Managing an up-and-coming "boy band" down in Austin, TX, with the help of his longtime sidekick/Bizarro Bush clone, Dubya. He says the band, Young Taint, has superstardom in their grasp, and he can't leave them alone at this juncture without fear of some other manager stealing them away.

Dubya







• Angelina Jolie: Bitch shacked up with Brad Pitt, in case you hadn't heard. Pitt can have my sloppy seconds for all I care -- I've got my eye on Scarlett Johansson these days, anyway. Besides, I've never viewed a houseful of adopted street urchins as desireable.

So there you have it. Good thing the Haiku-Bot and new H.I. operative Brother Ko are onhand to get my back if things get hairy. Ooh, not to mention the Haiku Street Irregulars. I wonder what those scamps are up to, anyway? Guess I'll leave a bottle of hooch out by the trash cans and see how many show up. Those kids sure love their liquor.

Best,

happy cinco de mayo

Greetings, 'ku believers! No, you're not hallucinating again -- it's really me, The Haiku Master, writing from my top secret base of operations atop an exclusive Himalayan mountain to wish you a drunkenly happy Cinco de Mayo!!!

That's right! Don't expect this to become a habit, though. See, ever since leaving Baltimore I've been living with a bunch of monks, which is about as much fun as it sounds. Talk about uptight; they even have a whacko "code of silence," and force me to abide by it too. All of which leaves very little excitement with which to regale you. And like it says on my business card, "If I can't excite, I ain't gonna write."

From Left: Brother Lo, Brother Ko, The Haiku Master, Brother Po, Brother Ho, And Brother Mo

But seeing as Cinco de Mayo is the Sultan of Syllables' all-time favorite holiday, I decided to liven things up by slipping tequila into the monastery's drinking water... and brother, was it ever worth it! The whole crew is talking up a storm, and some of 'em even got into fistfights. Plus, I'm pretty sure Brother Lo is suffering from a bad case of alcohol poisoning as we speak! Talk about a fiesta!

Too bad my old sidekick Paulo can't be here to give it that authentic Mexican flair. Or Santo and Blue Demon, for that matter. Truth be told I miss all of the old crew: Paulo, the Haiku-Bot, Old Man Winter, Angelina Jolie, Professor de la Groove... heck, even slick Texas Kelly and his weird Bush clone, Dubya. But alas, those days are gone. I'll keep sending you Friday Haiku though -- assuming you people keep paying your annual dues, that is.

Best,


-----------
p.s. I hear that Haiku International's former Minister of Operations, Oswald "Oz" Carver, has started a "blog" called Oz's Funhouse. I'd check it out, but that guy gives me the creeps. Not to mention the fact he works blue. Very blue. You have been warned.

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. XII

* * *
CHAPTER XII

With Haikunestro on the run and Paulo serving as his hostage, there was scant time to spare. Fortunately -- very fortunately -- my foe had equipped his lab with two elevators; I gladly threw caution to the wind and jumped aboard the second.

"Haiku-Bot! Help Ralphus and Malphus get the Professor and Angelina to safety!" I shouted. "O.M.W.! Dubya! You're with me!"

From Left: Old Man Winter, Dubya, And The Haiku Master Prepare To Chase Haikunestro In An Elevator

"Dubya against the terrorists. Dubya with us!" Dubya confirmed as he got on the elevator.

"Crap," added O.M.W., joining us. "I was hoping to draw Angelina guard duty."

"Be careful, H.M.!" said the Professor. "I zink zat Haikunestro might have vun or two tricks still up his sleeve!"

"Well, he'd better," I said, pressing the "up" button. "Or he'll never make it out of Vegas alive!!!"

One short elevator ride later and we were back in the Las Vegas Hilton's Star Trek: The Experience concession... but where were Haikunestro and Paulo?!?

"Excuse me," I said to a pair of elderly women. "Have either of you seen a madman with a Hitler mustache escorting a Mexican fellow wearing a sombrero?"

"Oh, you again!" the fatter one said -- and I immediately recognized them as the silver-haired slot sluts from earlier! "We lost a lot of money 'cause of you and your big mouth!"

"Yeah, my mojo's still outta whack!" spat the other.

"Oh, never mind!" I said, turning to ask another passerby... and found myself face-to-face with none other than my close, personal friend, Billy Dee Williams!

The Haiku Master (Left) Greets His Old Ally, Billy Dee Williams

"Billy Dee Williams!" I said. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, baby? Cuttin' loose and getting wild!!!" he said, then took a long swig off his ever-present can of Colt 45: The Official Malt Liquor of Billy Dee Williams. "I also had to pick up my royalty check from the Star Wars slots they have here. What about you?"

"Looking for my arch-enemy, Haikunestro -- you haven't seen him, have you?"

"D-a-a-a-a-a-mn! I thought that was him I saw heading towards the parking garage, but he had some Mexican dude with him so I wasn't sure. Plus, I've been drinking this sweet, sweet malt liquor for so long I don't even trust my own senses anymore! Ain't that crazy?!"

"If it's crazy, then I should've been locked up ages ago," I assured him. "Thanks for the info, old friend; time for my partners and me to take that haiku-hating bastard down!"

"Be careful H.M.," he said. "And be sure to use some Colt 45 on his ass! Works every time!!!"

Leaving Billy Dee behind, we rushed into the Hilton's parking garage -- just as two loud gunshots rang out!

"What the--?!" I gasped, running towards the sound with O.M.W. and Dubya behind me. I rounded a corner expecting the worst, and was instead greeted by a most welcome -- and strangely familiar -- sight!

Haikunestro lay on the cold concrete floor of the parking garage in a growing pool of his own blood. Paulo was safely off to the side, and standing above my arch-foe was a large form draped in fine blue silk. This person wore an equally blue sombrero, and held a large, blue, smoking revolver in each hand.

The Blue Sombrero, A.K.A. The Mexico City Madman, Returns

"That," the stranger said in a smooth Mexican accent, "is for sleeping with my wife again. The next time it will be your life! Adios, híbrido!"

Just as quickly as he appeared, the mysterious gunfighter in blue was gone.

"Was that... the Blue Sombrero?" an awed Old Man Winter asked.

"The Mexico City Madman?" I said. "It sure was, friend. It sure was. But never mind that now; Paulo, are you alright?"

"Sí, Hombre muy Extraño," he said, brushing himself off as he rose. "But what of the robot cocks? You told me there would be robot cocks!"

"Robot cocks..?" said Old Man Winter, starting to giggle. "Robot cocks???" He then doubled over with mirth, laughing long and hard until finally wheezing to a stop.

What it was he found so funny, I do not know.

* * *
EPILOGUE

Shortly thereafter it was determined that Haikunestro was not dead, just severly wounded, and he and his Trekkie henchmen were soon rounded up by the fine men and women of the Las Vegas Police Department.

That ugly business settled, Paulo, O.M.W., Dubya, and I met up with the others in the Hilton's impressive sports book. We decided to eat there, dining on delicious hoagies and gallon-sized plastic footballs filled to the brim with beer.

"So I guess zat is zat," said Professor de la Groove, bits of hoagie clinging to his mustache. "I only hope zat my vun great fear vill not be realized!"

"Your one great fear?" I said. "What would that be?"

"Zat jou dumkopfs might have messed vith ze time-space continuum vhen jou vent back to 1960! Tell me, jou didn't interact vith any famous people, did jou?"

"Not me," I said, almost too quickly.

"Not you?!" scoffed Old Man Winter. "What about the Rat Pack, Haiku Master? Huh Haiku Master? What about them?"

"Oh yeah. There was that..."

"Oy!" said the Professor. "Und vat of jou zree, hmm?"

"Nah, nobody famous, but we did meet some pretty cool people," O.M.W. replied. "Check out our pictures!"

Old Man Winter, Dubya, And Paulo Mugging With Non-Famous People From 1960

"Nobody famous!" gasped the Professor. "Zat's John F. Kennedy, Cassius Clay, Marilyn Monroe, und Elvis! Vat do jou mean, not famous?"

"Oh! No wonder I found these pictures in a history book!" O.M.W. chortled. "You gotta admit, that's pretty funny! Hey Haiku Master, ain't that funny?"

"Feh," Angelina sneered, looking at the blurry black-and-white images. "That Marilyn was such a cow."

Hoping to change the subject, I said: "Er, I have a question Professor -- if I got replaced by Joey Bishop when I went back in time, who replaced these guys?"

"Two vinos und a mental patient."

"Huh. Well, with that cleared up I guess I can label this case as 100% 'closed'!"

Closed it was... but fabulous Las Vegas would have one more surprise for me before I left its warm embrace, as seen in this unbelievable photo!

The Haiku Master Inspects The Las Vegas Hilton's Fitting Tribute To His Bravery

That's right! The Las Vegas Hilton paid homage to yours truly's death-defying deeds by unfurling this mega-sized banner above the hotel's glittering pool on my last day in town! Talk about a perfect ending!

But when you're me, every ending is perfect... 'cause I'm The Haiku Master!!!

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. XI

* * *
CHAPTER XI

"Well well well well," snarled Haikunestro, drawing a point-blank bead on yours truly with a wicked-looking raygun. "At long last, I can say with undisputed authority that this time we really meet again for the last time this time! And it's about goddamn time!!!"

Haikunestro (Front Row, Left) And His Undisciplined Goons Prepare To Face Off Against The Haiku Master (Front Row, Right) And His Staunch Allies

"Ah, Haikunestro," I said, shaking my head sadly. "Always so angry. No wonder you flunked Master Doug Henning's serenity courses."

"#%@$ Mas... #%@$ Doug Henning!!" Haikunestro screamed. "He may have caused me to repeat freshman year, but in the end I killed him! I killed them all!! Just like I'm going to kill you!!!"

Not For Nothing, But The Haiku Master Got Straight "A's" In Master Doug Henning's Serenity Courses At The Cobra Kai Haiku Order's Temple In Ancient Atlantis, And Definitely Nothing Lower Than A "C"

"Maybe so. But while you've been going off on your latest rant, you've forgotten one very important fact."

"Oh?" he asked, sneering. "And what might that be? That you're a moron?"

"No -- that you're dealing with a Master of Haikung Fu!!!"

Just like that, the heat was most definitely on! I shoved Haikunestro's arm to the left as he fired his weapon, and the lab erupted into chaos!

"This isn't over yet, you freak!" Haikunestro said... and was immediately brought low by the combined might of Ralphus and Malphus! I would have jumped in to help, but soon found myself dealing with a pack of space judo-wielding Trekkies!

"I'm gonna crack my knuckles and sheath my blaster..." one said cryptically.

"...'Cause I'd much rather punch The Haiku Master!" said another.

"Sweet Jesus! Rhyming poets!" I cried. "Alright then, you scoundrels -- let's see what you've got!"

Four of them moved in at once, and faced the full fury of the rarely used Cobra Kai maneuver known only as Ike Turner's Tough Love!!! As their shattered bodies fell before me, I looked around the lab... and man, did I ever like what I saw!

To put it bluntly, my allies were kicking ass and taking names, and Haikunestro's stooges were dropping like flies. But where was...

"H.M.!" Professor de la Groove shouted from across the room. "Haikunestro -- he's got Paulo!"

I looked to where my old friend was pointing, and he was right; my arch-enemy was holding his raygun against Paulo's head, the other arm wrapped around the champion cockfighter's throat!

Paulo Begged The Haiku Master To Not Release This Picture, But He Did Not Beg With Money

"That's right, you retards!" said Haikunestro. "One more step and the Mexican gets it!"

"Please, Hombre muy Extraño," gulped Paulo, eyes straining towards the gun barrel. "I no want to die! I told you, I just want tacos!"

"You hear that?" Haikunestro said in a mocking tone. "He just wants tacos. And if any of you mother#%@$ers takes one step near me, he's never gonna eat a taco again!!"

Not wanting Paulo's blood on my hands, I waved my bristling companions off.

"Alright, Haikunestro, alright. You win this round," I said. "But if you harm so much as a hair on that poor peasant's head, know that you'll have the Sultan of Syllables to deal with!"

"Hey!" said Paulo. "I no am peasant!"

"Save the threats for someone who can't kick your ass, dipshit," scoffed Haikunestro, as he and Paulo stepped backwards through the lab doors. "See you in the funny papers!"

With that they were gone, whisked back to the Star Trek: The Experience concession through the high-powered elevator! Naturally, I was prepared to give chase... but to what end?

Did Paulo get rescued? Was Haikunestro brought to justice? Who replaced Old Man Winter, Paulo, and Dubya when they went to 1960, and what did they do while they were there? Did Angelina Jolie and I have another amorous encounter? Would I ever check into a Motel 6: The Official Motel Chain of The Haiku Master while in Vegas? Find out the mind-blowing answers to these and other questions in the stupendous, unbelievable, insanity-inducing twelfth and final chapter of my Big Vegas Caper!!!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'THE HAIKU MASTER'S BIG VEGAS CAPER' PT. XII---

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. X

* * *
CHAPTER X

Those who guessed the reappearance of the golden energy beam meant the four of us were about to be whisked back to 2005 guessed correctly... for when the effect wore off, we found ourselves once more in Haikunestro's underground lab!

1960 Behind Them, The Haiku Master (Front Row, Right) & Co. Head Back To 2005

"Great Scott!" I shouted, leaping off the familiar medical table in a Haikung Fu fighting stance, ready to unleash the devastating attack referred to by the ancient masters as the Boilermaker on the first Trek-themed goon who crossed my path!

"It worked, Professor! They're back, and the others are gone!" yelped a lush female voice that could only belong to the world's sexiest woman, Angelina Jolie!

I turned and saw the apple of my eye standing near the lab's massive computer bank, which was being fiendishly manipulated by Professor de la Groove and the Haiku-Bot! Ralphus and Malphus were also nearby, with no Trekkies in sight... nor that arch-fiend, Haikunestro!

"Huzzah!" the Professor said, clapping the Haiku-Bot on the back. "Nice vork, H.B. -- jou are vun hell of a programmer, mein friend!"

"All in a, day's work Mr., Professor de la Groove sir," it replied. And if I didn't know better, I'd have it say it was blushing! "Besides I was, only carrying out your most, excellent. Instructions without them I would have been, lost."

"Nonsense! In fact..."

"A-hem!" I interjected, feeling more than a little put off. "If you're all done congratulating each other over there, would someone mind telling the hero of this little adventure what's going on?"

That's all it took to get de la Groove going on one of his trademarked, long-winded, tecnobabble-heavy expositions... one that was suddenly cut off by the totally unexpected reappearance of Haikunestro!!

Haikunestro: One Bad Penny

"You didn't seriously think Joey Bishop was enough to stop me, did you?!" he sneered, barging into the lab with a squadron of Star Trek heavies at his back. "Regardless, he wasn't -- and now you're all going to die!!!"

I smell a climax in this odyssey's immediate future, ladies and gentlemen... or my name's not The Haiku Master!!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'THE HAIKU MASTER'S BIG VEGAS CAPER' PT. XI---

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. IX

* * *
CHAPTER IX

Unsurprisingly, the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 became fast friends with the Rat Pack -- all except Joey Bishop, who had apparently gone missing the same day I arrived in 1960! Moreover, with Bishop M.I.A. and The Sands' mafia-connected owners expecting five performers at the Pack's shows, Frank Sinatra soon drafted yours truly to take Bishop's place... as evidenced by this shocking, history-altering photo!

The New & Improved Rat Pack (From Left): Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford, And The Haiku Master

The change did not go unnoticed by the Rat Pack's fans -- though it did go unappreciated! Many took to attending our gigs wearing tacky T-shirts emblazoned with such slogans as "What About Joey?" and the ever-hurtful "Haiku Master Is A Disaster!"

"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Frank!" I hissed at Sinatra onstage one night, as a woman in a shirt reading "I Don't Make THAT Kind Of Cabbage!" booed me from the front row.

"Suck it up, Charley," Frank shot back. "We're giving you a nice cut of the net to sit up here and act the clown, so stop crying."

"Damn it, man!" I said, finally losing my temper over Sinatra's umpteenth mangling of my fairly easy-to-remember name. "I already told you: my name's not Charley, and it's not Clyde! It's The..."

"Haiku Master!" someone in the audience shouted. "Hey, Haiku Master! It's me..."

That voice! That grating, unforgettable voice! Could it really be...

"...Old Man Winter!!! Is that you, Haiku Master?"

"Old Man Winter?!" I said in disbelief. The band, not being able to deal with all the distractions, brought our current number to an abrupt halt... just as Old Man Winter, Paulo, and Dubya came bounding up to the stage!!

No One Was More Surprised Than The Haiku Master (Back Left) When (Front Row, From Left) Paulo, Old Man Winter, And Dubya Showed Up In 1960

"Is this part of the show?" asked the rude woman in the front row. "If so, it's horrible. I wanna refund."

"Shut your man-pleaser!" I barked at her. Then, to my teammates: "O.M.W.! Paulo! Dubya! What are you guys doing here?"

"What are we doing here? We were about to ask you the same thing, Haiku Master!"

"Sí," added Paulo. "I did not know you were a viajero del tiempo, Hombre muy Extraño."

"Dubya not intellectually curious," mused Dubya.

"Guys..." Frank said.

"I got temporally displaced here by Haikunestro," I said. "You?"

"Guys..." Frank said again.

"I'm still not sure, Haiku Master!" said O.M.W. "After getting off the plane we rushed over to the Las Vegas Hilton so I could lay some bets, and so Paulo could get something to eat."

"Sí," said Paulo. "I was hongry."

"Guys, seriously..." said Frank.

"Next thing you know, we're jumped by a bunch of goons in Star Trek uniforms, taken to some underground lab, and zapped with a time thingamajigger by a creep in a bad Hitler mustache!"

"That was Haikunestro!" I said excitedly. "He must've..."

"Alright, that's it! You bums have had it!" said a clearly annoyed Frank. "Dino, Sammy, Pete -- let's throw 'em out of here!!"

Clearly, it looked like trouble was about to erupt... much to the delight of the heavily anti-The Haiku Master crowd! But as the Rat Pack rushed us, my fellow extempriates and I were suddenly bathed in an odd golden light -- the same kind of beam that Haikunestro had used to temporally displace me to 1960!

Did this mean we were about to be sent back to our native time period? I guess you'll have to read the next chapter to find out!!!


---CLICK HERE FOR 'THE HAIKU MASTER'S BIG VEGAS CAPER' PT. X---

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. V

* * *
CHAPTER V

Not surprisingly, Professor de la Groove entered the Space Quest Casino at precisely 12:00 p.m. -- "local time" -- accompanied as always by his assistants, Ralphus and Malphus. Much to my embarrassment, however, Old Man Winter, Paulo, and Dubya were nowhere to be seen... despite O.M.W.'s glib assurances to the contrary!

Professor De La Groove (Center) And His Assistants, Ralphus (Left) and Malphus, Arrive At The Space Quest Casino

"So H.M.," said the Professor, lighting an expensive cigar. "I ask jou to gather a highly trained crew of seasoned professionals, and zis is vat jou bring me? A vell-dressed prostitute and a pack of seedy European businessmen? Zat I could've done myself."

"I knew she was a prostitute!" I heard one of the businessmen whisper. "Now pay up!"

"Alright, old chap, you win," said a second. "It's a load off, actually. A woman of Angelina Jolie's stature spending time with a mentally handicapped medical oddity such as that made absolutely..."

"Ex-cuse me? A prostitute?!" hissed an enraged Angelina, de la Groove's insinuation finally sinking in. "As it so happens, I'm an Oscar-winning actress -- and the sexiest woman alive! Besides, I'm not the one dressed like... like... like an avacado pimp!"

"Ooooh," the Professor said, raising his hands in mock surrender as he turned to me, laughing. "Ooh, she is ze feisty one, H.M.! Jou'd better vatch jourself vith--!!"

Before he had a chance to finish, SWA-MACK!!! Angelina landed a wicked slap against the decrepit old man's noggin, knocking his fine hat clear off his head! A bad move on her part; without batting an eye Malphus leapt forward, catching her in a dreaded Sleeper Hold!! Angelina thrashed wildly, eyes screaming murder! It looked as if all hell was about to break loose, until:

"No no, Malphus, let her be," said the Professor, smiling, as Ralphus retrieved his hat and placed it back on his wizened head. "Let her be. I deserved zat." Then, to Angelina: "My dear Miss Jolie, please accept ze most humble apologies of Professor Zadwick Tiberius Vilhelm de la Groove. I know very vell vho jou are, and am a fervent admirer. But I needed to measure jour fire, and figured ze best vay to do zat vas vith ze old insult. Frankly, it comes as no surprise zat jou passed.

"Zat said," he continued, "I still zink ve'll need more support, zough jou both bring considerable talents to ze table. Vhat zose guys bring, I don't know."

"What, you mean the seedy European businessmen?"

"Hey!" one of them shouted. "We are not seedy!"

"Bad form," muttered another.

"Oui, vho else vould I mean?"

"Oh, they're not actually with us. We were just playing some baccarat with them."

"Baccarat? Vhat do jou know about ze baccarat, H.M.?"

"Not much, as it turns out. They really took me to the cleaners!"

Try As He Might, The Haiku Master (Center) Couldn't Figure Out What The Hell Goes On With Baccarat

"Ah vell, live and learn. Or in jour case just live, eh?"

"You better believe it, Prof!"

"Either vay, zis is ze bad news jou are bringing me. Even vith my help, vun professional crimefighter and ze vorld's sexiest voman von't be enough to stop Haikunestro's mad plot, mark my vords!"

"Don't mark 'em yet -- we didn't come alone!"

"Oh? Jou brought a group vith jou, did jou?" he said, scanning the casino before shrugging. "Zen vhere are zey, H.M.? Hmm? Hmmmm? Don't tell me zey are invisible, my young friend!"

"No, they're not invisible! They're around here somewhere... there's a robot, and a weather warlock, and a top-rated cockfighting champ -- ooh, and a super-strong dude who might be a clone of George W. Bush! Tell him, Angelina! Tell him!"

"It's true, Professor. They just appear to be late. The robot, however, is waiting outside by the cabstand."

"Now jou I can believe," said my old ally, slyly winking at my current squeeze. "Vell, I guess ve can give zem a few more min..."

"Stuff it, old-timer," said an eerily familiar voice behind me. "The only thing you're going to be giving is the sweet, sweet pleasure of watching you all die long, drawn-out, excruciatingly painful deaths -- and you'll be giving it all to me! All to daddy!! All to the pop-a-rooski!!!"

I swung around in a Haikung Fu fighting stance... only to find myself once more face-to-face with the vilest traitor in the venerable Cobra Kai Haiku Order's long history!

"That's right, shit for brains," he said, sneering. "It's me... the one and only Haikunestro!!!"


---CLICK HERE FOR 'THE HAIKU MASTER'S BIG VEGAS CAPER' PT. VI---

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. IV

* * *
CHAPTER IV

Following a torrid session with Angelina Jolie, I happened to glance at my watch while getting dressed... and realized it was already half-past twelve!

Angelina Jolie Snuggles Up To The Haiku Master (Left) On The Haiku Plane While A Jealous Haiku-Bot Looks On

"Sweaty Mother of Arbuckle!" I gasped. "We're late, Angelina -- Professor de la Groove's going to be furious! Come on, let's go!"

"But darling," she said. "I still have to put on my makeup!"

"No time for that now; you can put it on in the cab! Haiku-Bot, you too! Let's move it, people!"

"Begging your pardon Mr., The Haiku Master sir but, my internal servo-processors indicate..."

"Less talk more go!" I barked, straightening my ascot as I locked the Haiku Plane's hatch behind me.

With that, we hustled through the airport and out to our choice of waiting cabs. We opted for a no-nonsense white model emblazoned with ads for Barry Manilow, Carrot Top, and the like, and were soon on our way.

"Where you folks headed?" the cabbie asked.

"The Las Vegas Hilton -- and there's an extra something in it for you if you can get us there forty minutes ago!"

"That's a tall order chief, but I'll see what I can do."

See he did, but it was all for naught... for by the time we arrived at the Hilton, it was already one o'clock! Needless to say, our driver did not receive a tip.

From Left: The Haiku-Bot, Angelina Jolie, And The Haiku Master Enter The Las Vegas Hilton's Space Quest Casino

"Goddamn the hands of time!" I shouted as we burst into the Space Quest Casino, startling some elderly women who were fiendishly feeding their pensions into a bank of Damnation Alley-themed slot machines. "I don't see Professor de la Groove anywhere -- they must've gone on without us!"

"Keep it down, you bozo!" said one of the grandmothers. "We're trying to win some money here!"

"Yeah!" said a second. "You're gonna throw my mojo out of whack!"

"With all due respect Mr., The Haiku Master sir," said the Haiku-Bot, "but I believe, we are. Early."

"What are you babbling on about now?! Unless Congress recently voted to change the direction in which time flows, one o'clock still comes after twelve o'clock!!"

"Tsk, this horrible Administration," Angelina said. "Is there nothing so low as to prevent them from stooping for it?"

Ignoring Angelina, the Haiku-Bot continued. "Bzzt. Correct. As of my, most recent data update Congress, has not changed the flow of time."

"Then how the hell could we be early?"

"Mr. The Haiku, Master sir there is, a three hour time difference. Between the east and, west coasts of the United, States. Of America."

"Three hour time difference... what on earth are you talking about, you overweight blob of grease?!"

"He's right, darling," Angelina breathed huskily in my ear. "I learned about it through all the travel required by my profession."

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle!" I declared. "That certainly explains a lot of the confusing situations I encounter while on the road. But no matter now. All right, let's synchronize watches! Ten-oh-nine 'local time' on my mark, and... Mark!"

The issue settled, the three of us decided to kill the remaining hours by easing into some high stakes gambling. At least, we were going to until the Haiku-Bot found itself fairly discriminated against!

"Hey!" shouted the Space Quest Bar's pudgy tender, pointing wildly at H.B. "We don't serve their kind here!"

Any Similarities Between The Space Quest Bartender And A Lucasfilm Character Are Purely Coincidental

"I sincerely hope you're not referring to Homo Cabbagiens," I growled, simmering with rage at the apparent racism.

"No, 'droids. It'll have to wait outside. We don't want them here."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's too easy for them to cheat! They got minds like computers, man!"

"Oh, I guess I can see that," I said. Then, to H.B.: "Listen, why don't you go wait out by the cabstand? We don't want any trouble."

"I heartily agree with, you Mr., The Haiku Master. Sir."

As H.B. trotted off, Angelina and I got down to some white knuckle baccarat with a crew of seedy businessmen from Europe... never realizing that every crisp snap of the cards was being watched by my sworn arch-foe, the one and only Haikunestro!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'THE HAIKU MASTER'S BIG VEGAS CAPER' PT. V---

the haiku master's big vegas caper, pt. III

* * *
CHAPTER III

Thanks to my recruitment efforts, the Haiku Plane was stuffed to the gills with six of the roughest roughnecks around when it set down at Las Vegas' McCarran International Airport that Thursday morning. In fact, before we go any further, I do believe it's time for the Vegas Roll Call:

* * *

The Haiku Master: Possessed of mad haiku and crimefighting skillz, this world-famous adventurer needs no introduction.

Paulo: Noted cockfighting champion, and one of Mexico's greatest warriors. Also a skilled mariachi trumpet player.

Old Man Winter: An oft-drunk senior citizen with witchy winter powers. Can be downright dangerous when he's off his meds.

The Haiku-Bot: A robot copy of The Haiku Master, created by the Church of Scientology and rewired for domestic servitude by Best Buy's "Geek Squad." Makes the world's finest hoagie.

Dubya: On loan from legendary concert promoter Texas Kelly. Will not back down from a fight, and may or may not be a clone of America's so-called president.

Angelina Jolie: The sexiest woman alive, and very easy on the eyes. Also an expert at recovering lost treasure and adopting alleged orphans.

* * *

Seconds after the Haiku Plane touched down on the runway, Old Man Winter was out of his seat -- clutching large wads of cash in each hand as his eyes flashed wildly!

"Haiku Master! Hey, Haiku Master! Are we there yet? Huh? Are we there? I'm dying to lay some bets!"

"Sweet Jesus, man!" I replied, lounging in the navigator's seat as the Haiku-Bot taxied us to our gate. "We're not even off the runway! Calm down -- you'll upset Angelina!"

"Thank you, darling," Angelina said huskily from her easy-massage-access position behind yours truly. "That man frightens me to death."

"Fear not, my sweet. We'll be ensconced at our love nest at the local Motel 6: The Official Motel Chain of The Haiku Master soon enough!"

"Motel 6?" she said, eyes wide in shock. "Never in hell would I stay at a Motel 6! My first husband caught syhphilis using the toilet at one of those fleabag joints!"

"Yeah, I'm not too keen on 'the 6' either, Haiku Master," said O.M.W. "I got crabs from the one we stayed at in Cairo. I'm sure it wasn't from any of the call girls, 'cause they all told me they were clean."

(Ed. Note: See "Wheelin' and Dealin'" for details.)

"Dubya think that another e-xag-ger-a-tion," Dubya retorted. "Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh."

"I don't care where we stay," Paulo added, "so long as I get something to eat. I'm hongry."

"Enough!" I shouted. "You people are driving me bonkers! Except for you, Angelina."

"Excuse me Mr., The Haiku Master sir," said the Haiku-Bot, "but we have arrived at, the gate. The captain has, extinguished the 'no smoking' and, 'seatbelt' lights and passengers, may. Depart."

"Thank #$%@ for that!" said Old Man Winter, lighting a long, fat cigar as he grabbed his carry-on bag. "I'll meet you guys at the Hilton -- time for this mad daddy to throw some bones!"

"I'll go with you, Señor Winter," said Paulo. "I gotta get something to eat. I'm hongry."

"Dubya go too," added the freakishly bearded giant. "Me survey the damage."

"Okay, but don't forget: we're meeting Professor de la Groove at the Las Vegas Hilton's Space Quest Casino at 12:00 o'clock! Don't be late!"

"Hey, don't worry about us Haiku Master!" Old Man Winter shouted back as the three scuttled off the plane. "We'll be fine, you'll see!"

With that, they were gone... and I soon found myself once more in the warm embrace of the world's sexiest woman, Angelina Jolie!

"Now that they're gone, darling," she whispered, "do you think you could fit some time into your busy crimefighting schedule for some mad, passionate lovemaking with me?"

"Could I ever! Let me just shut down the Haiku-Bot first..."

"No, let him watch -- let him see what he is missing! Let all the men of the world see what they are missing when they are not with me: Angelina Jolie!! Mwa-ha! Mwa-ha! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!"

Being a wholesome American entertainment provider, we at Haiku International will now dim the lights so that any children in the audience won't be subjected to the horribly unnatural sight of naked human beings. Don't worry, though; we'll have plenty of good old fashioned violence for them in subsequent chapters!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'THE HAIKU MASTER'S BIG VEGAS CAPER' PT. IV---

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. IX

***
CHAPTER IX

I was in dire straits. Lying in a pool of my own blood (and Brotherhood urine--Ed.) at the feet of Austin's famous Lenin statue -- body broken, wallet gone -- I felt my qi slipping free of its earthly bounds... when a familiar voice called out!

"Wart," the voice said. "Wart!"

The air before me began to shimmer, coalescing into a ghostly version of my former sensei, the late Haiku Master Charles Bukowski -- just like Ben Kenobi did in Empire Strikes Back!!

The Ghost Of Charles Bukowski Pulled A Ben Kenobi On The Haiku Master

"Sensei Bukowski?!" I gasped, weakly. "I thought you were dead?"

"I am," he said, hiccupping. "And still drunk, too, if you can believe that. Who knew they'd have booze in heaven?"

"Well, Dean Martin must be happy!"

Sensei Bukowski's eyes flew open, a mixture of disgust and hatred raging across his face. "#$@% Dean Martin!" he shouted. "Why'd ya have to bring him up?!"

"S-sorry, Sensei. I, uh, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Alright, forget it. Just forget it. That ain't why I'm here anyway -- I'm here to tell you it ain't your time to die. Not yet, at any rate." He waved his hand, and my wounds were magically healed! "There, that oughta do the trick."

"Thank you, Master!" I cried, rising from the ground in disbelief.

"No problem," he said, just as his etheral form began to dissipate. "Oh, and be sure to check out the TXRD while you're in town...it's all-girl roller derby...not to be missed..!"

My sensei faded completely... only to reveal Texas Kelly and his henchman, Dubya, quickly approaching!

"H.M.!" Kelly shouted. "Gawdammit, boy! We been looking all over town for your ass! Where the hell you been?!"

"You can run," Dubya assured me, "but you can't hide."

"Oh, here and there," I replied. "You know, 'TCBing,' as they say. What's it to you and that pack of traitors in Masters of Mariachi, anyhow?"

"Aw, hell!" Kelly spat. "Look, I didn't have nothin' to do with them kicking you out! Shit, if'n it were up to me you'd still be their lead singer, but you ain't, and getting all pissy about it ain't gonna change nothing. Word?"

I stood silently, arms folded across my chest, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Word??" he repeated, tilting his head menacingly.

"Word," I finally conceded, rolling my eyes.

"Good," he said approvingly. "I'm glad that's behind us. Okay then -- who's hungry?"

"Ooh! Ooh! Me!" Dubya shouted, jumping up and down frantically.

"Yeah, I guess I could go for a bite," I said. "But you have to take me to something called the 'TXRD' after that! It comes highly recommended."

"Roller derby, huh? No problem," T.K. grinned. "Matter of fact, the Hellcats are taking on the Holy Rollers later tonight. Now, c'mon -- tacos are on me!"

So they were. At Kelly's suggestion, I ordered the Barbacoa de Cabeza tacos. Turns out that means "head barbecue tacos," which would've been handy to know before I'd started eating. As it was, I found out halfway through my second helping.

The Haiku Master Doesn't Recommend Barbecued Head Meat

The Pharaoh of 5-7-5 vomited long and hard at that point -- much to the amusement of Texas Kelly and Dubya. Who laughed and laughed, and oh, how they laughed...

***
EPILOGUE

Sunday afternoon was a blur, having spent the remainder of our petty cash on a bottle of liquor each and three tickets to that night's roller derby festivities. When the booze was gone, we headed out, Dubya behind the wheel of Kelly's Mercedes.

The Haiku Master, Dubya, And Texas Kelly Spent Sunday Afternoon Downing A Bottle Of Sam Houston, Jim Beam, And Dalmore, Respectively

Is it dangerous to ride in a vehicle driven by a drunken 7'-tall freak who may or may not be some kind of imperfect duplicate of America's president? Of course! But one doesn't become a Haiku Master by playing it safe, kids.

As for the roller derby itself... well, let's just say I've come to realize there are greater sports in this world than cockfighting. What do you get when two gangs of hot girls on old-school skates beat the crap out of each other for a good hour or so while music blares, and a couple of punk bands perform beforehand and during intermission?

One satisfied Haiku Master.

The Haiku Master Does Recommend Austin's TXRD, Home Of The Holy Rollers

I don't know when I went to sleep that night, but I do know the morning came too fast and too ugly for the third straight day -- though much of Monday's ugliness was likely caused by Dubya's less than tender method of waking me up.

"Get up!" he bellowed, smacking me in the face with his open, hair-matted palm. "Get up! Check out time in 10 minutes -- Master Kelly tell Dubya to take Haiku Master to airport!"

"Okay, okay..." I muttered. "Give me a sec..."

"No time!" he shouted, smacking me again. "Up! Now! Or me put you on no-fly list!"

We were soon on our way, Dubya weaving in and out of traffic at a fantastic rate of speed, just as he had done on my arrival. As we pulled up to the terminal closest to my waiting Haiku Plane, I turned to shake his hand... only to receive a long blast of mace in the face!

"Gahhrg!" I shrieked. "Mufferfuggerwhathfugchewdothafer!!"

"Ha ha! That for messing with Texas!" he laughed, shoving me out of the car. "Don't mess with Texas!!"

Dubya drove off with a squeal of rubber, leaving me writhing on the sidewalk outside Austin-Bergstrom International. Adding insult to injury, my violent arrival attracted plenty of attention from airport security, requiring me to answer questions for some 32 hours before finally being allowed to return to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

And that, gentle readers, is the true story of how I had mariachi stardom in the palm of my hands, only to have it snatched away by a guy from Mexico. That's right! Me! The Sultan of Syllables -- outsourced! Now I know how all those textile workers feel!

Oh well. Life goes on, as they say. They, and me...The Haiku Master!

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. VIII

***
CHAPTER VIII

Happier Times: Masters Of Mariachi Huddle With Texas Kelly And Dubya Before The Ill-Fated Fresh-Plus Gig

The Fresh-Plus gig... well, let's just say it did not go as planned. Everything seemed fine at first -- it was a beautiful day, my hangover was rapidly receding, and the bargain-minded shoppers before us were eager for a stern mari-rocking. What could possibly go wrong?

"Eh, excuse me, Hombre muy Extraño," said Paulo, clearing his throat. Rudy nudged him forward. "The other guys, they uh, they have a suggestion..."

"Fear not, young grasshopper," I said, graciously. "You'll find the Sultan of Syllables to be all ears when it comes to ideas for improving Masters of Mariachi."

"Heh heh," said Paulo. "Sí. It, uh, it is funny what you say, señor. Heh. Uhhh..."

"Come on, man -- out with it! We haven't got all day! The good patrons of Fresh-Plus await!"

Rudy nudged Paulo again, harder this time.

"Hoo. Okay. Uh, well. See the guys, uh, they think maybe your talents lie outside of the singing."

"Come again?"

"They, uh, they think maybe you would like better the, how you say, triangle?"

"The triangle?! What the hell is the triangle?"

"Eh, you know. Three sides? Pointy? Made of, uh, metal?"

"Well, what does one do with that? Blow into it?"

"No, señor. You hit it. Make nice sound, no?"

"Make nice sound..? No, I -- oh, wait a minute. This is a joke, isn't it? Huh? Are you boys playing a trick on the old Haiku Master? Huh? Huh? Come on now, you can tell me. I won't be mad."

"Uh, no señor," he said, shaking his head slowly. "They, uh, they don't want you to sing no more. They want me -- Paulo."

"Say what?!" I gasped, incredulously. "You're firing me? You little bastards are firing me?! After all I've done for you?!"

"Señor, please," Paulo pleaded. "Don't take it so hard, eh?"

"Does he speak the truth?!" I demanded, turning from Paulo to the other MoM members. "You guys are firing me?"

To a man, and to what will no doubt be their eternal damnation, they nodded in the affirmative.

"You don't fire me!" I screamed, wagging a disapproving finger in their faces. "I fire you! You got that? I! Fire! You!"

With that, the infamous Haiku Master Berserker Rage overtook me, and the world went black. When I came to, I found myself perched at the feet of Austin's famous Lenin Statue... the necks of two smashed mariachi guitars clenched 'tween my bloody fists!

The Haiku Master Ponders His Next Step At Austin's Famous Lenin Statue

"My god!" I hissed. "What have I done? Sweet baby christ, someone tell me what I've done!"

"You've made a big mistake, that's what you've done," came a rough-sounding voice from behind me. I spun around -- only to be smacked in the face by a large, greasy catfish! Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a vicious gang of catfish-wielding heavies, each more fearsome than the one before!

"So, you got questions about The Brotherhood, do you?" one drawled, smacking a catfish into the palm of his open hand. "Let's enlighten him, boys!"

Now I'm no English major, but I'm fairly certain dictionary mogul Funkand Wagnalls doesn't define "enlighten" as sadistically catfish-whipping a person into unconsciousness before urinating on him and stealing his wallet. That is, however, exactly what happened next... as I had finally come face to face with the infamous Brotherhood of Catfishermen!

Needless to say, it's not an experience I'm eager to repeat.

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. IX---

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. VII

***
CHAPTER VII

I awoke with a start on Saturday, finding myself on a lawn chair by the Stuart Beach Inn's pool. My head was sore, pounding like a Keith Moon drum solo as it had the previous morning.

The Pool Area At The Stuart Beach Inn

"Swear to god someone's been kicking it!" I groaned.

"Ha ha, señor!" came Paulo's voice, startling me. I whirled around, and saw that my bandmates had also slept poolside. Texas Kelly was nowhere in sight. "You drink too much again last night, Hombre muy Extraño! Too much, too much!"

"Heh heh," added Rudy. "Sí, you made a real burro out of yourself, Señor Amo del Haiku! You should be more careful!"

"Yes, I suppose I should," I conceded. Still, I'd begun to suspect Paulo wasn't being entirely forthcoming on this matter.

But there was no time for that now -- not with a gig to be played at Hyde Park's Fresh-Plus in just a few hours! I headed up to the room with the other Masters of Mariachi behind me, curious as to what had become of our manager.

Throwing the door open, I bore witness to something that made me pray for blindness: Texas Kelly, sleeping in the room's sole bed with two of the mentally challenged groupies who had attacked our bus the day before! And, of course, a giant bag of Lay's potato chips.

Texas Kelly (Center) And His Friday Night Conquests

"Heavens to Hefner!" I gasped, waking Kelly up. "Talk about giving comfort to the enemy -- what the hell do you think you're doing, T.K.?"

"Aww, shucks," said Kelly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "This? Just educating these little fillies in the ways of cheap physical love, Texas-style."

"But they tried to kill us yesterday!"

"Kill us? Hell, they were just overly excited." Kelly climbed out of the bed, and started to pull on his clothes. "Don't worry, though. I wore these two plum out. They won't be no more trouble."

"But they're underage, man!" I continued. Paulo and the boys swarmed the bed, apparently wanting to verify Kelly's claims of the girls' exhaustion.

"Oh yeah, that," Kelly said, pulling his boots on. "Well, that's why I told 'em my name's the Muffin Man. It'll serve that #%@$er right to get hit with some statutory rape charges, after all the times he's tried to #%@$ my up-and-coming bands!"

The issue settled, Kelly woke the girls and put them on a bus back to their academy, handing them the Muffin Man's phone number as they left. Then, we were ready to mari-rock the Fresh-Plus... and though I didn't realize it at the time, it was a show that would mark the Pharaoh of 5-7-5's last-ever appearance with Masters of Mariachi!!!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. VIII---

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. VI

***
CHAPTER VI

Upon our return to the Stuart Beach Inn, Rudy, Sanchez, Jesus, and myself decided to bust into a high stakes card game.

"¿Eh...usted tiene dos?" said Jesus, speaking to me.

"What did he say?" I asked Rudy. "What did he say?!"

"He asked if you have any twos, señor," Rudy answered.

"Whew," I said, wiping my brow in relief. "In that case, you can tell him to 'Go Fish.'"

"Usted va a pescar, Jesús," said Rudy.

"Mierda," Jesus sighed, adding more cards to his already sizeable hand. "No otra vez."

Suddenly, the door burst open, whacking Jesus on the back and causing cards to fly everywhere! I jumped up in a Haikung Fu fighting stance, but there would be no need for violence -- for walking into the room were Texas Kelly, Paulo, and Dubya, looking no worse for the wear after their Muffin Man hunting expedition!

As it turned out, they'd been unable to track down M.M., and had instead relieved their frustration by shooting up an old boat and a plastic nativity scene Baby Jesus, the latter of which can be seen here:

Texas Kelly, Paulo, And Dubya Didn't Find The Muffin Man, But They Did Shoot Up This Plastic Baby Jesus

"Ha ha, Jesús," said Paulo to MoM's Jesus, while pointing at the plastic Baby Jesus. "We shot you up beuno, hombre!"

"Well, I suppose that's for the best," I offered. "I mean the part about you not killing the Muffin Man, not the whole Baby Jesus thing. After all, we don't need murder charges interfering with Masters of Mariachi's Sixsew domination now, do we?"

"Gawdammit!" T.K. hollered. "I already told you, man -- it's 'South by Southwest!' Not 'Sixsew!' Now stop #%@$ing around!!"

"Oh, right," I said, cowed. "Sorry."

"Judas Priest!" he said. "You guys get me so worked up I almost forgot the good news: I got you another gig, right here in Hyde Park tomorrow morning."

"Really?"

"Damn right. Over at the Fresh-Plus -- something to do with some kind of Latino advertising promotion or such shit. Still, should be good exposure."

"Well allllllllllllll riiiiiight!!!" I shouted, giving a cool Fonzie-esque double thumbs-up. "Let's celebrate; dinner's on me! I could go for some local fare..."

That said, we climbed aboard the official MoM tour bus, speed demon Dubya once again at the wheel. As we pulled out of the hotel parking lot, though, tragedy struck -- we were swarmed by a mob of groupies from an all-girl academy for the mentally challenged! Whipped into a lust-feuled frenzy, they howled in frustration as they tore at our ride, shaking it back and forth savagely!

Finally, Texas Kelly could take no more, and leaned out a window with his trusty Taser in hand! After three long blasts, the crowd began to disperse.

This Overzealous Fan And Her Companions Nearly Tore The Official MoM Tour Bus Asunder

"We're clear, Dubya!" Kelly shouted. "Floor it!"

Floor it Dubya did, scattering the remaining girls as we barreled out of the lot.

"Whew, that was close," said Kelly, holstering the Taser. "You guys are heating up like a match on an oil slick! Hot damn!"

Indeed we were... and as subsequent chapters will reveal, it was that selfsame wildfire popularity that would eventually tear our merry band apart!!!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. VII---

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. V

***
CHAPTER V

Things looked bleak. The Muffin Man was swinging his meat cleaver wildly, and the only thing standing between him and my bandmates' certain death was my battle-hardened Haikung Fu! I leapt into a fighting stance, ready to deliver a devastating technique known as the Purple Nurple... when the Muffin Man was tackled by Texas Kelly's henchman, Dubya!

Dubya

"Bring it on!" the bearded giant roared. He knocked the Muffin Man to the pavement, causing his pudgy foe to lose his grip on the meat cleaver. "Bring! It! On!"

"Aiyeeeeee!!!" the Muffin Man gasped, squirming out of Dubya's grasp. "You cheap #%@$ers! You haven't seen the last of me! You haven't! No sir, you sure haven't! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Hoo hoo! Pbbbbbbt!"

With that, he was gone, beating feet down the hot Wal-Mart parking lot.

"Good riddance to that freak," I said, just as Texas Kelly arrived on the scene.

"What in the hell's going on here?" he asked.

"Terrorist," Dubya said. "Me take the fight to him."

"Some cat calling himself the Muffin Man," I added. "Know him?"

"Know him? Do I ever!" said T.K. "I can't believe that sonuvabitch was messing with you guys -- I told him to stay away from my bands, confound it!"

Our manager took his hat off, and threw it to the ground in frustration. "Dammit!" he shouted. "Now he made me get my hat dirty!" He stooped down, picked the hat up, dusted it off, and put it back on his head.

"That's it -- I'm killing that cheap bastard this time!"

T.K. stormed over to the bus, went in, and came out with his trusty "peacemaker" -- a K-Mart brand .22 rifle!

"Dubya, Paulo! You're with me -- Dubya, go find us a taxi!" he commanded. "H.M., you take the rest of the boys back to the hotel and wait for us there!"

"Well, uh, whoa! You mean, you're really going to kill him? Like, you know, kill him? Dead?"

"Do I look like I'm foolin', boy?!" T.K. howled. "Now get on outta here!"

From Left: Paulo, Texas Kelly, And Dubya Go A-Huntin' The Muffin Man

Though the Sultan of Syllables is morally opposed to cold-blooded murder, he has an even stricter policy against arguing with angry gun-toting people. As a result, Rudy, Sanchez, Jesus, and I were soon hightailing it back to the Stuart Beach Inn... but not before stopping off for a lukewarm case of Tecate: The Official Cerveza of Paulo, Agent of Haiku!

Tecate: The Only Cerveza Endorsed By Paulo, Agent Of Haiku

It was many hours before we saw the other three, but that sweet, sweet cerveza really made the time fly while we were waiting. Ask for it by name!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. VI---

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. IV

***
CHAPTER IV

Needless to say, the Wal-Mart show was a huge success, leaving thousands of concertgoers highly satisfied... both with our performance and the store's astoundingly low prices! From our opening number, Motorhead's "Bomber," to our encore finale, KISS's "Detroit Rock City" (changed to "Austin Mariachi City" for local flavor), our mariachi covers of classic metal songs had the audience caught up in a bona fide orgiastic frenzy!

MoM Saw A Million, If Not Hundreds Of Faces At The Austin Wal-Mart, And Mari-Rocked 'Em All

Afterwards, Texas Kelly went to collect our fee from the store manager, and my bandmates and I moseyed back to the official MoM tour bus to start a well deserved post-gig celebration. But as we neared our communal ride, a strange man with a ghost puppet on his hand leapt out at us!

"Boooooooooo," he said in an eerie voice, speaking from behind his puppet. "My name is Gho-o-o-o-stie! Wo-o-o-o-n't you sto-o-o-o-o-p and talk to my friend, The Muffin Man?"

"Er, maybe," I said, sensing danger. "Where... uh, where is this Muffin Man?"

"Oh, hello," the man said again, this time in a thick -- and obviously fake -- Cockney accent. "That would be me -- The Muffin Man, at your service." He extended his non-puppeted hand, clearly expecting me to reciprocate. Which, given the way he introduced himself, is not something the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 was keen on doing. I mean, just look at this geek:

From Right: The Muffin Man And His Sidekick, Ghostie

"Let's go, Hombre muy Extraño!" Paulo urged me, tugging at my shoulder. "This guy -- he plum loco!"

"Yeah," I said, "I think you may be right, Paulo..."

"Oh, your little friend is right!" squeaked the Muffin Man, dropping the accent. "I am crazy -- crazy about your sound, baby! I have to commit it to vinyl! I wanna be your producer, baby, your producer!"

"Commit it to... Listen, no offense, but you may want to consider commiting yourself! I mean, Jesus! What's with the weird ghost puppet?"

"It's..."

"And the bowler hat?"

"I..."

"And all those freaking pens?!"

"Um..."

"'It's...I...um!' And you want to produce our record?! You are a textbook case, man -- a textbook case!"

At that point, I recalled a lesson taught to me by my former sensei, the late Haiku Master Charles Bukowski.

"Listen, Wart," he had said, reclining on his cot in a hot Vietnamese hotel room, shortly after vomiting into a nearby bucket. "Never bust a crazy guy's balls. They go nuttier than a bull goose when you do that."

"Okay, Sensei," I had said.

"Good boy," he had said back. "Now, go fetch me an ice cold beer. And a few of them local whores. Chop chop."

The Late Haiku Master Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)

Man alive, he sure would be mad if he knew I'd forgotten that one -- not to mention its countless companions. Still, probably not as mad as the Muffin Man was now.

"You dirt-eating, flower-sniffing, city-loving son of a son of a son of a bitch's bitch!!!" he shrieked, pulling violently at his own hair. "I'll kill you! I'll kill all of you! Every last one of you bastards! Every last one of you!! Ah-haha! Hahaha! Haha-hahahaha!! Hahahahahahaha!!! Hahahahahahaha!!!"

Then, he calmed down and we all had dinner together. Just kidding -- he went nuts, pulled a giant meat cleaver out of the back of his pants, and attacked!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. V---