My Friend the Fuckwit
The Shitmour Golf Club Gig


z


The Shitmour Golf Club gig Back in 1988, Karl Karma joined a band called "The Nightcappers" .... they had just pissed off their old drummer, put in an ad and Karma passed the audition; it seemed ok; nice enough guys who didn't mind a drink and smoke. They did a demo and Karma left the tape with an agent; meanwhile some of the inner- faction fighting that Karma didn't know about started to surface and two days after the agent gave them their first job, the band disintergrated. A gig with no band ..... You blow out the gig ..... the agent never calls you again, you do a shit gig .... the agent never calls you again, but at least you get paid! Karma tried to salvage the situation by getting the bass player and guitarist around; they were ok for the stuff they had played with the Nightcappers but could not read a note of sheet music for anything else. Four days before the gig .... they pulled out, leaving Karma in the lurch ..... He tried some other muso mates..... all booked ...... except for one guy he knew who was the best bedroom guitarist you have ever seen; the west suburban guitar teaching hero who still talks about the jazz-rock band he had in 1978. He said no....... and locked the bedroom door. Poor sad Karma; what was he to do? He could have fitted his wallet under a duck! He needed the gig bad!!! ...... Suddenly the light-globe above his head flickered ..... "how about if I get my brother-in-law drummer to play, I swap to guitar and the wife can act like she plays keyboards! YOWZA!!!" Four rehearsals in two days and the "KARL KARMATICS" still sounded like shit ...... except for an ok version of Rhinestone Cowboy ...... They load up their two dinky Mazdas and trek to the nebullous Shitmour Golf Club, praying for kindness from the punters and hoping like hell it will be allright on the night ............. Shitmour Golf Club; the opening day of the summer season ....... all the members out playing the 18 holes in 38 degree heat! By the time the Karl Karmatics were set up and ready to play, all the shitmour golfers were too knackered to turn up to the club's night of nights! The club president didn't think to take bookings; hoping that everybody would turn up ...... nobody did. The Karmatics played badly to about 15 people!!! At one point drummer brother-in law was so bored he was day- dreaming looking out the window whilst tapping out a passable rhumba; Karma finished the song with a flourish turning around to cue him ..... the drummer-in-law in another world kept on playing!! Wife didn't know what to do and seeing as blood was thicker than water or husbands, kept on following the drumming day dreamer ..... what a fukup! Karl Karma non-chalantly turned to the 15 people in the 200 seat room and said .... "They were three of the best endings I ever heard!" ..... at least our hero Karl thought it was amusing .... nobody else did. The atmosphere in the room was so bad the President got up to make a speech; tried to tell a joke and forgot the punchline, putting the mike down and walked off. "Ummmm .... Mr Karma, we can't pay you tonight .... ummm.... as you can see nobody is here ...... we can't pay so there's no point you playing anymore." "We have to be paid ...... write a cheque!" "Ummmmm, NO." The seething Karmatics loaded their gear into the mazdas and seethed off back to Melbourne vowing never to return to SHITmour Golf Club. A happy ending ........ a week's worth of phone calls later and Karl Karma finally got a cheque although $100 less than expected; Unfortunately the Karmatics never played again ...... The Nightcappers are still on the missing band list and the west suburban bedroom guitarist recently changed his sheets! ......... the agent recently bought a new BMW. .


z My Friend the Fuckwit

A trilogy about friends fucking up a good gig.

1978 - The "Trio de Volare" band plays their first function; an office get- together where they play some standard a-la cover le crapola and somesexy jazz musak that the punters can chew their schnitzel over. In a hurry leaving for the gig straight from work, Karl Karma takes the keys he is supposed to leave for the boss ...... a quick phone call and all is sorted out. .... the boss drops into the gig ... half-pissed .... says to the manager at the door that he's mates with the drummer and proceeds to sit at the band table and sculls a quick scotch and then another ...... Karl Karma feels like sliding under the table; he thinks he can fit, he feels about 2ft tall ...... The boss tries to tell a joke, one of the filthiest around, the band quietly get up to do the next set, people at the next table complain to the manager about the swearing, thinking its a member from the band ..... the manager comes up and says that it will be the last time the band plays here; the boss goes to get up, slips and bangs his glass of scotch on the table, the contents fly through the air landing on Karma , the manager and the people who complained about the language; the boss pisses off, the manager looks at Karma; Karma feels like his head is about to explode. Karma understands when a few days later the bass player rings and says he wants to try something else for a living .....


z 1994 - LSD stands for - Loser Sabotages Deal

Band doing nifty cover gig at inner-city venue - during sound-check, singer brings in friend who is an "authority" on the difficult type of music about to be played by the specialty cover band ........ Close to 300 people gather to hear the band .... a big night for this type of music ..... halfway through the second set, the "authority" starts to yell shit from the side of the stage, finally trying to make his way onto the stage to show the lead guitarist how it should be done .... the band looking non-plussed at witnessing the so called friend, now completely drug-fucked, ruining their gig. The publican restraining him and pulling him off stage, nearly getting clobbered for his trouble. At the end of the gig, while the band is bumping out, Mr LSD sidles up to the drummer and stands less than a foot behind him. The drummer turns around and says .... "What's happening, man?" ...... "Don't come near me, man ... Don't come near me .... I'm trippin' man, trippin!" Publican comes up to drummer .... "Who's ya fukn friend?" "He's not my fukn friend!" ....... "Just as fukn well, do ya want me to piss him off?" ...... "Yeah ..... thanx!"


z Pissant gets Zapped at Ukranian Balls Up

1991 - Reception musician and erstwhile guitar teacher hired for Ukranian Dance Night turns up soused on bottle of Vodka, virulently passive agressive, he skulks around sneering at Karma, who hired him. As the night progresses, his mood sinks even lower while the rest of band tries to battle through the night, he sings drooling and dribbling into the mike like Jimmy Page after three bottles of white wine. Somehow the combination of drool on the cheap mike, lack of grounding and poor wiring at the gig combine with his guitar rig to complete the circuit and to start zapping the soused singer/guitarist! "Be-bop-a -ZAP- fuckalula! she's my ZAP shit! ..... baby, aaarrgghhh!!! Mr. Sousedalito tries to continue singing, slobbering all the more, making the electrical connecton all the more complete. Bemused Ukranians stop to look at the manic gyrations of Fat Elvis getting zapped by this musical cattle-prod ........ Be-bop-a-ZAP! aaarrrghhh! -lula, I don't mean may-aaabbbbeee! The band falls apart laughing! The audience starts laughing, the band takes a break to find the problem ..... Fat Elvis pisses off in disgust leaving his equipment behind ....... whilst putting his equipment in a back room, bass player finds an old shoe filled with chicken bones in the back of his amp! REALLY! His amp was also his overnight bag! He comes back, grabs his equipment and pisses off. Last word is that he is now semi-retired and healing nicely. The band played on without him. The End