* I thought I’d take a second and detail what I do for HIIT training.  Treadmills only for now, as my knees still aren’t strong (in the right way) enough to do the ellipticals or stairs or even the bike.  I like the treadmill anyway.  Don’t ask me why.  :) Anyway, I do a timed 35 minutes twice a week and 15-20 minutes (depending on energy that day) on the days that I lift weights.  The 35 minute workout is much more intense...I try to go as fast as I can without hurting my knees and push the inclines pretty hard.  I actually have some workout mixes with a ding that goes off at the appropriate speed-up/slow down times, as well as two Nike+ training mixes with a coach who talks you along and tells you what to do.  Those are for runners, but I just pitch all the speeds down to what I’m comfortable doing.  When he says “Zone 2 steady run” I do an inclined moderate walk, and when he says “race pace” I push as fast as I can walk without hurting myself and usually put the incline at 25 to 50% of whatever number he gives.  His 4 degrees is my 6.

It’s working for me, takes less actual clock time in the gym, and I’m FAR less sore and half-injured than I used to be.  My feet hardly ever swell and throb like they were doing when I was going three miles an hour for 90 freaking minutes.  Plus, the weightlifting is working better, which I assume is due to a combo of the fact that I am not eating up fast-twitch muscle fiber as fast as I could build it, plus an added intake of protein on workout days.

No, I’m not going crazy with some miracle BS muscle-building powder or HGH.  Just a little whey powder in 8 oz of Glucose Control Boost.  I picked the Glucose COntrol version because it has significantly lower amounts of...you guessed it, sugar.

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Captain Jim knew this was going to be close.  Three German stormtroopers were patrolling the road ahead, and earlier that morning he spotted a sniper in the grain silo and another in a tree on the other side of the field.  He knew there must be more, as snipers always worked with spotters.  So that meant at least seven Nazis, and he only had his trusty 1911 and one extra magazine. “Sixteen bullets,” he thought, “and no gun for Private Numbnuts.”

He was, of course, referring to the shivering, cowering mess next to him in the ditch.  Private William S. Wilkes, originally from North Forks, Iowa, but more recently rescued from a German detention center in town.  In the mad scramble out of the jail, Private Wilkes dropped the gun Jim brought for him, and so they sit, sisteen rounds and a possible firefight between them and freedom.

“Wilkes” Jim barked, “Stop whimpering.  Do you want to die here today, 4000 miles from home and crying like a dame on a bad date?”

“N-n-no s-s-s-sir” Wilkes sniffled.  “I sure don’t.  I wanna go home and have my mom wash my socks and eat pie and see my girl Daisy and I...”

“Shut the hell up, Private” Captain Jim growled.  “They’ll hear you.” He lowered his voice to an intense whisper, grabbed Wilkes by the shirt and pulled him in close.  “Now listen up.  This is the plan: we sneak a hundred yards down this ditch to that drain pipe.  We shimmy through to the other side and wait for that fat one to cross.  See, I’ve been watching.  Every time the other two pass him, they never look back.  He’s all alone.  The two snipers are pointed east, looking for Allied company movement.  If we’re fast, and damn lucky, we can grab that fat one, pull him into this ditch and silience him for good before anyone notices.  Then we pop up, I shoot the other two and you run like hell.  You run west, toward the river, and you don’t stop for anything.  You hear me, Wilkes?  You run like the devil himself is chasing you.  You run like your girl Daisy is waiting at that river bank with a slice of your mom’s best apple pie and a fresh pair of socks just off the line on a warm summer’s day.  You run, you hear me?  You run and you keep running and you don’t look back.”

Wilkes swallowed hard, and some color came back to his very young face. “But sir, what about you?  Why didn’t you say you;d be right behin...”

“No time for that, soldier!  You worry about getting yourself to that river.  I have another job to do.” Jim looked longingly off into the distance.  “Those god-damned weights aren’t going to lift themselves.  They never do.  War is hell, boy, I think General Patton said that.  What he didn’t say is that so is going to the gym, and that’s where I have to go.  The god-damned gym.  I know what will be waiting for me there.  German-made machines designed to torture and break down my body.  I have to go anyway, kid.  It’s my job.  It’s what I do.”

“B-b-but sir” Wilkes stammered.

“No buts, kid!  You get out of here because you want to live.  You get out because you want to see your mother and your best girl and Iowa again.  Most of all, kid, you get the hell out of here because I gave you an order, and you are damned well gonna follow it or I’ll shoot you myself.” Jim looked deep into the young privates eyes, eyes that were now alive with an energy the boy did not have just a moment ago.

“Wait, sir!” Wilkes said.  “Is there any way I can...I mean I know I’m lousy in a fight sir, but if I could help you, I really wanna try.  I feel like this war just got on top of me after what the Germans did to me in that jail, but being here, with you, listening to you talk about it, sir, I think I can do this.  I wanna help!”

Captain Jim looked at the boy, his uniform torn and bloody, his face covered in dirt and bruises from the beatings the Germans gave him, and Jim smiled.  He felt a little proud at that moment, like maybe some of his backbone had found its way into the boy.  “You just get the hell out of here, son.  You get out and you get back with Charlie Company and you tell them Captain Jim Kenefick sent you, and you tell them I said to give you a job.  You tell them I said you are going to be one hell of a soldier someday.  And see if you can’t get a message back home for me.  Would you do that?  Would you send a message back home to my best girl?

“Of course, sir.  Anything. You just name it.”

“You get word to my girl Donna.  Tell her I went to that damned gym, and that I left around 4:30.  You tell her I’m coming back, and that I love her.” Jim choked back the lump in his throat.  “You do that for me, kid, and we’ll call it even for getting you out of that stinking German jail.  Deal?” Captain Jim stuck out his hand toward the young private.

“Deal, sir.  I’ll be honored to pass along your message.  But sir?  Please, please be careful.  Don’t make a liar out of me.  make sure you do come back for her, and when we both get back home, we’ll get together and have some of my mom’s apple pie.  me, Daisy, you and Donna, we’ll have a swell time, sipping lemonade and watching the grass grow.”

“Nothing in the world I would like better, Wilkes.  Nothing I’d like better.  Now, on my mark, count of three, we go.  You ready?  OK.  1...2...3...GO!”

Private William S. Wilkes made it out that day, and he sent the message back home via a letter, but he never knew if Captain Jim’s girl got it, or if that amazing, brave soldier made it out of the gym that day.  Wilkes never forgot him, though, and he and Daisy named their first son “James.”

Yes, I came to realize there is no North Forks, Iowa.  Still, you know what I meant. ;)

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Captain Jim, Part 2: The French Resistance

Captain Jim took the bottle of brandy in his hand, drew it up to his lips and pulled deeply on the amber liquid.  “That’s just what I needed, thank you.” he said to the French farmer who owned the bottle.  “I’ve been hiding in barns for days and days, and a bit of that takes the chill right out of me.”

Jim had been shot down over France over a week ago and had spent that time eluding capture by patrolling German army units.  It was the kindness of strangers like Aubert that kept him from being shipped off to one of the fabled camps.

“Oui, monsieur, zomtimez all you need eez a beet of brandy, no?  Ees almost as good for you as zee wine my family hass bin making for two hundred years!  Theese God-forsakeen Jherr-mahnz, now they com and take my grapes and zay eet is for zee war?  What is Aubert to do?  Whon weel the Americains come and free zee Fronche peoples?”

“I don’t know, Aubert.  I heard June, maybe August.  This is near the end though, I can feel it.”

“I hope so, Jeem.  I truly hope you arre correct in theese pree-deeck-shon.”

Jim’s face lit up with realization. “Aubert!  I have it.  I have a short-term solution for you.  Listen, do you have access to any underground tunnels or caverns you cat store grapes in?”

Aubert frowned, then smiled widely. “But ov coursse, mon ami, ov course!  I zee your cunning plan.  But how will I obtain zee grapes in zee forst places?  Zee Jherr-manz, zey watch my vines and count zee grapes!”

Jim returned the smile.  “Don’t you worry about that, Aubert.  I’m going to make a run to Stop & Shop and buy you some grapes.  Those damned Nazis won’t know about them!  Then you can get back to making wine and your family will be able to pay off the local Gestapo to leave you alone.”

“But Jeem, ziss plan, eet weel put you in much dangers, no?”

“Danger is what I do, Aubert.  It’s what I do.  Listen, if Ralph shows up, tell him to meet me at Checkpoint Alpha Niner.  He’ll know what that means.  Tell him I left at 1600.  Tell him to meet me there.  And if I don’t come back, will you mail this letter for me?  It’s for my girl back home.”

“Cap-tayne Jeem, eet would be an ‘on-herr for me to do these theeng for you.  Eeet is the very ‘eart of zee Fronche peoples, theese kind of romance for thee woo-man.  I, Aubert Pierre Broussard de Vinicole, shall pass zee message along to your friend Ralph, and eef you do not come back to Aubert’s chateau, I shall zend your lettere to your meesus.  Theese I promise you as a Froncheman!  Now go!  Be sweeft, and we shall strike a blow for zee freedoms my bro-thair!”

Jim took one last look around the farmyard.  “I will be back, Aubert.  I want to taste your wine.  Plus, I’m very lonely and your wife is the only French woman I’ve met who bathes and shaves.  Anyway, adieu, mon ami.  I shall return with much fruit de la vigne for your family!”

Aubert never saw that American pilot again, but he never forgot how one American braved the elements, Nazis and Saturday supermarket shoppers just to bring him some grapes.

I looked up French family names that had to do with winemaking and so forth.  Also, if you say Aubert’s dialogue out loud, it’s to be done in a horrible French accent and the word “Fronche” is pronounced exactly as Mrs. Meyer did in Better Off Dead.

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Captain Jim, Part 1: The Flight

It was a dark and stormy night.  Captain Jim Kenefick drew the collar of his flight jacket close to his neck, hoping to keep the chill wind at bay.

“My God, it is fucking freezing in here!” he remarked to his co-pilot.  The wind howled through the hole in the fuselage, drowning out the co-pilot’s reply.

“What did you say?” Jim yelled.

“I said there’s a fucking war on, sir!  We’re lucky that German bastard didn’t shoot us out of the sky!  Sir!”

Sergeant Ralph Gotto had been Jim’s co-pilot since the early days of the Army Air Corps’ entry into World War II.  They’d flown countless missions together, dropping bombs over tiny Pacific islands, transporting cargo over frozen Chinese mountain ranges, bringing needed supplies to troops in France.  Now they were on their most important mission yet: going to Stop & Shop.

Raising his voice to be heard over the whistling wind, Ralph turned to Jim. “So Cap, did you talk to her?”

“Whattya mean?”

“I mean did you tell her we were being sent on another mission.”

“No.  I just didn’t have the heart to wake her.” Jim’s eyes reflected the sadness his raised voice could not.  “I mean, the poor thing.  Why should she sit awake all night, imagining me struggling to get the cart down the produce aisle?  Or be faced with the idea that I might have to reach my bare hands into the frozen foods freezers?  Women shouldn’t have to know about the horrors of this war, Ralph.  Come to think of it, neither should men.  But we gotta do what we gotta do, right?  Those groceries aren’t gonna get themselves, Nazis and Japs be damned.”

“So what’d ya do, Cap?”

“I left her a note, Ralph.  It just said ‘Going out for groceries.  Be back soonest, my love.’ I left it on the bedside table.”

Ralph beamed with pride at his pilot and commanding officer.  “That’s fucking beautiful, Sir.  It’s a god-damned honor to fly with you, sir.  When this war is over, I want to buy you a drink.”

“No, Ralph.  I’ll buy you a drink.  And then we can have that gay sex we’ve never talked about.  Now get on the horn and tell HQ we left the airfield at 1500 hours.”

“1500 what?”

“3 O’clock, Ralph.  How many years have you been flying in the Army?”

“Sorry sir.  Hey, while we’re at Stop & Shop, can we get some candy and stockings for my girl Mabel?”

Jim paused, reflecting on how difficult it was to get chocolate and nylons ever since the war started. “Of course you can, Ralph.  Of course you can.”

Captain Jim is my hero!  ;) Could this be more fantasy/ego-driven?  Yes, it could.  I’m not sure how, but there must be a way.  Captain Jim part 2 coming soon…

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Cute, right?  Good lord I’m so witty.  Somehow that led to this:

Amusing and all, but I’m hardly the first to do a 419 scam joke.  Low hanging fruit and all that.  So...the next one had to be...more ambitious.  And I was going to have to type it.

1/26/08

I didn’t intend to experience the Gym Witch for real.  This started out because Mike and I wanted to make a movie about the Gym Witch.  We got our friend Josh to drive us over there.  Weird shit has been happening.  Mike found his gym bag stuffed with old socks and underwear this morning.

1/27/08

OK this is too crazy.  Josh accused Mike of making a water bottle pyramid outside his tent last night.  Mike swears he didn’t do it.  This morning I found little figures made out of earbuds and small white towels all over the camp site.  I think some of the locals are trying to fuck with us.

1/28/08

Josh is gone.  Mike went to wake him up this morning and he’s just gone.  All of his stuff is here.  I’m scared.  I didn’t want to get anyone hurt.  I just wanted to make a movie about the Gym Witch!

1/31/08

I just wanted to say to Mike’s mom, and Josh’s mom, and my mom, that I’m sorry to everyone.  I was very naive.  I am so, so sorry for everything that has happened.  Because, despite of what Mike says now it is my fault.  It was my project and I insisted.  I insisted on everything.  I insisted that we weren’t dehydrated.  I insisted that we weren’t overdoing the treadmills.  I insisted that we keep doing Group Power.  Everything had to be my way and this is where we’ve ended up.  And it’s all because of me that we’re here now.  Hungry, cold and exhausted, and the hot tub is broken.  I love you Mom and Dad, and I am so sorry.

WHAT WAS THAT?

I’m scared to close my locker.  I’m scared to open it.  We’re going to die in here.

2/1/08

We’ve found a building.  Mike and I are going in.  Tell my wife I went to the gym around 3:30.

Ok.  Game raised, level advanced, but still, a Blair Witch parody?  In 2008?  Surely I can do better.  This idea spawned the first two of the “Captain Jim Adventures.” I’ll save that for later, as they are best read in order.  Skipping ahead to a day when I didn’t have time for a Captain Jim, she received this:

Dear Guest of Room 2023,

It has come to our attention that you expect a note from your husband, a Mr. James A. Kenefick, age 37.  We regret to inform you that Mr. Kenefick will not be able to leave you the aforementioned note as he is currently exhausted, and says he’s too “fuzzy-brained to think straight and be funny, but tell her I left around quarter to four.”

We’re not sure what that means, but rest assured it is a direct quote.  The management of this hotel takes our responsibility to accurately portray the feelings and words of our guests very seriously. 

While we have your attention, we’d like to inform you that we’ll hire clown, cars or hookers for your party, business meeting or social gathering, so please think of us if you ever need a function room, a ride to the airport or wish to stage an orgy with paid sex workers.  Our concierge desk is at your disposal 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  We also do a nice bagel platter.

Thank you, and enjoy the remainder of your stay.

Yours,

The Management.

And later still, this, the style and inspiration for which regular readers will spot right off:

On last night’s episode of “Jim of Love” the star douchebag of the show just up and left early to, as he put it, “go to the gym.” The ladies went nuts!  They sat around in the kitchen drinking grain alcohol and plotting these whore-type acts of revenge.

- Summer(’s Eve) started tearing up the “secret enclave” bedroom.  Just ripped it to shreds, then peed on the big poster of Jim that he keeps on his wall.

- Tawnii (With two I’s, tee hee!  Seriously, who spells it like that?  Sex workers who never earn more than 22.65 an hour, that’s who) pulled some random camera guy in the bathroom - and all we heard were slurping sounds.

- The favorite to win, Bitch McCunterson (Amiee - with two E’s!) took a cab to the gym, walked in the front door totally nude, then proceeded to get herself off with a huge black vibrating dildo right there in the stretching studio.

Weirdest episode ever.

The messed up thing was, he left at 3:30-ish.  He was actually scheduled to go in around 4, so these “ladies” didn’t need to overreact!  What a stupid show.  Who watches this crap?

If you’re wondering why I’m leaving her notes at 3:30 in the afternoon, it’s because while I finally switched (mostly) from a nocturnal existence to a daystar-centric one, she has not.  So often I’m up and out before she even straggles down stairs.  By the way, the method I most often use to wake up early?  Not give a frig how late I actually went to sleep and just dealing with it.  It’s not like I get to sleep that much earlier these days.  Sleep is for dead people and cats.

Part 2 of this saga is coming soon.  A taste:

This brings us to the Captain Jim Adventures.  I don’t know where these came from, as I was not playing any WWII games, reading any WWII books or watching any WWII movies in the weeks before this started.  Also, they tend to pop into my head fully formed.  I can’t type fast enough to get them down.  All I know is they’re getting longer and I really, really need to learn to write short crap on envelopes again.  :)

Captain Jim, Part 1: The Flight

It was a dark and stormy night.  Captain Jim Kenefick drew the collar of his flight jacket close to his neck, hoping to keep the chill wind at bay.

“My God, it is fucking freezing in here!” he remarked to his co-pilot.  The wind howled through the hole in the fuselage, drowning out the co-pilot’s reply.

“What did you say?” Jim yelled.

“I said there’s a fucking war on, sir!  We’re lucky that German bastard didn’t shoot us out of the sky!  Sir!”

Sergeant Ralph Gotto had been Jim’s co-pilot since the early days of the Army Air Corps’ entry into World War II.  They’d flown countless missions together, dropping bombs over tiny Pacific islands, transporting cargo over frozen Chinese mountain ranges, bringing needed supplies to troops in France.  Now they were on their most important mission yet: going to Stop & Shop.

The rest to come later tonight!

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Some of this stuff is known to long-time readers who read my Rock of Love posts, but some of it is not.  I’ll try to be brief with the backstory.

Donna (my wife for those of you who found this through a search engine) used to run with a crew of girls back in the 80s.  One of the bands they followed all over the country was Poison.  None of these girls were groupies.  They called themselves “professional fans” meaning they loved the bands but would NOT blow roadies or sleep with tour managers for passes, etc.  They didn’t even sleep with band members.  They either got passes and free tickets by being friends with people or they didn’t get them at all.  It was a point of pride that none of them were groupies.  They had a code of conduct and everything.

Years go by.  Some of the girls stayed in touch and still went to shows with each other.  Often, actually.  Fast forward to 2001.  Donna was in a brief period of health between the shit of 2000 and the shitstorm that was to come (we didn’t know the shitstorm was coming, but that’s not important to this story).  She was going to a few shows in the Northeast with some members of the old crew.  One of them was Poison, in Saratoga at SPAC.  They were all members of the various fan clubs, knew tons of people on the tour, etc.  Donna’s best friend Danielle even had a Poison laminate.  Not a pass, a fucking laminate.  That’s as good as being crew.  All access and shit.  She was the absolute top of the food chain of the non-whore fans.  In fact she came first in the eyes of many of the crew and band even before some of the groupies that put out.

Danielle drove the crew to this concert.  Danielle always drives.  She never flies (massive, crippling phobia about it), and she always drives everyone else in her car.  The few shows I went to with Danielle (mostly wrestling shows when we were getting comped front row seats!) she drove...and *I* usually drive.  But not if Danielle is going.  Danielle drives.  This is important later.

Now, as can happen, one of the girls got close to Rikki and became his regional piece of ass. Not right away, mind you.  Before the events of this night they had not slept together.  She thought this was a relationship, but I mean, she was young and he was a Massively Important Rock Star™.  It’s easy to get blinded to reality in that kind of situation.  She was NOT groupie-ing her way around or anything.  They knew each other forever and a day.  Rikki decided that he was going to put her in the rotation.  She thought it was True Love™.  Let’s call her Rikki’s Girl.  Not her real name, obviously but she doesn’t know this story, and in the effort of trying to spare her feelings I hope that little ruse keeps her from finding it on Google.  I doubt it, but hey, if you are reading this, Rikki’s Girl, please know that everyone was only trying to keep you from feeling even worse.  Your only mistake here was trusting him.

The setting: Saratoga Performing Arts Center, Saratoga Springs, New York.  It’s post-show, and Donna, Danielle and Rikki’s Girl are waiting to get backstage and see the band.  if you’ve ever done that, you know the drill.  It’s a lot of sitting around waiting fro them to shower, or drink, or masturbate or whatever rockers do to decompress before the meet and greet segment of the evening.  It’s usually a room filled with the same faces all the time - differing usually only by geography, each area has a crew of regulars and friends - and some staff to keep an eye on them.  This crew, headed up by Danielle, is known to *everyone*.  I mean every crew member and manager and band member knows when these fans are in the building.

More backstory: Rikki’s Girl has been having issues with Rikki for some time and is emotional as fuck.  The specifics escape me, but I’m sure Donna will comment and fill in what I am missing.

Big John, the same one from the TV show, comes into the waiting area and tells Donna, my wife, that Rikki wants to see her.  Alone.  She’s very confused by this.  This is what they call a “summoning” and cannot be good.  Rikki’s Girl is *right there* and Rikki - and John - know this.  Donna tries to beg off, but John is insistent.  Rikki’s Girl gets really huffy and says “Have a good time.” Dripping with sarcasm and also pain, as it is she who is supposed to be “summoned.” Rikki’s Girl is pretty much dating Rikki at this point, and in her mind she’s damn near engaged.  Remember, they have NOT slept together yet.

Donna walks through the halls telling John she doesn’t want to go, she’s not comfortable with this, etc.  She never says “Please get me out of this” but John picks up on the vibe *immediately* and tells her reassuringly to not worry, everything will be OK.

She enters Rikki’s private room.  The way she tells it, it was a ridiculous site.  Some sort of almost Roman setup with two huge white couches and the room all decked out, and Rikki draped over the sofa like he was some sort of emperor/sex god.

Big John doesn’t leave the doorway.  That’s clue number one that something isn’t right.  John works for the band, sure, but he’s Bret’s guy, not Rikki’s.  He doesn’t take orders from anyone easily, but especially not from anyone who isn’t Bret.  Rikki shoots him some “Fuck off” looks and John just stands there, pretending to investigate thin air.

Donna is on one couch, and Caligula Rocket the other.  He starts macking on her.  Trying the smooove rocker talk and whatnot.  She waves her wedding ring at him and shoots John a look.  Rikki eventually slithers over to her couch and Donna starts backing away.  I know I am missing huge swaths of the sleazy nature of Rikki’s behavior, but I know Donna will fill this stuff in later.  I know she talked at length about how slimy and sleazy he was and how he made her skin literally crawl, and how she was utterly and completely grateful to Big John for never leaving the room.  Suffice it to say Rikki was a pressure machine.  He’s quite clearly the type to badger and berate and cajole and push until you are worn down and just say “yes.” in order to get out of there before the sun rises.

He’s also never spent time alone in a room with Donna before.  He doesn’t know that her boobs may be made of silicone and she may be a hottie who looks like the type you can manipulate, but her spine is made of case-hardened steel, and when she decides something isn’t going to happen, you better be prepared to move the earth three feet to the left and go the fuck around if she’s in your way, because she’s not moving.

At this point she launches into a full-on lecture about how Rikki is mistreating Rikki’s Girl and exactly, step-by-step, how he is going to god-damned well rectify this situation, oh and by the way he should be ashamed of the shit he just tried to pull.  John is doing whatever he can to not laugh.

The entire time, he keeps taking smallish steps toward the couch and not backing up.  Step, stand, watch.  Step, stand, watch.

At this point Rikki knows that this is not going how he planned.  He starts asking what he’s supposed to do about Rikki’s Girl and Donna turns into relationship counselor.  Somehow the conversation also includes a brief incident between security and Danielle.  Remember, Danielle has a laminate.  She’s one of the trusted.  A real friend of the band, and not someone that can be fucked with by stadium or even the band’s security.  Big John seizes this opportunity to move right up next to the couch and whip out his notebook, taking down the details of what happened, who fucked with Danielle, etc.  Then he stand there.  Right there.  And doesn’t step back.

Donna closes with telling Rikki that he’s going to call Rikki’s Girl in and he’s going to talk to her and work shit out

A few minutes later and John escorts Donna back to the waiting area.  She’s pissed at Rikki’s Girl from that “have a good time” line, mainly because she thinks that Rikki’s Girl should know her better than to assume that A. She would cheat on me, and B. That she would screw Rikki knowing that Rikki’s Girl was emotionally involved with him.  However, she decides that now is not the time.  When Rikki’s Girl asks what happened, Donna knew that if she told her, this girl was going into full meltdown.  Instantly a whole story sprang from her lips, one that excised the sleazy moves he put on her. Instead Donna said that they talked about Rikki’s Girl (sort of true) and he was asking Donna’s advice on how to patch things up and so forth (less true but not entirely false) and he was going to call for her any minute now.

Tears clear up.  Sniffling slows down.  Emotional breakdown averted.  John comes in and gets Rikki’s Girl.  They don’t see her for frigging hours after that.  Remember; Danielle drives.  So she;s Rikki’s Girl’s ride home. 

Donna calls me at some ungodly hour of the night to tell me all about the evening and bitch about Rikki’s Girl making them all wait.  I don’t remember how long we were on the phone but it was forever.  I told them that after so many hours she’d forfeited her right to her ride sticking around.  The venue kicked them out for fuck’s sake!  They’re waiting in the SPAC parking lot like idiots while Rikki’s Girl is getting to know Rikki’s birth name.  I mean, I know when you are going to shows with a crew that you never leave a man behind, but there are limits, and making someone sit in a parking lot until three or four in the fucking morning or whatever it was, that’s over the line IMHO.

But they waited for her.

So we’re on the phone and the tour buses roll up.  All of them.  Straight up to Danielle’s car.  Donna says to me on the phone “I gotta go.  The tour buses just pulled up to the car.” Well shit on me...that’s something you don’t hear every day.

Rikki and Bret travel on the same bus - or did then anyway - and that bus pulls up right next to the car and Rikki’s Girl pops out.  Turns out Rikki was just going to send her packin’ after the reaming, but Bret was pretty insistent that they not leave her to wander around looking for the car.  He volunteered the bus to drive her around until they found Danielle & Donna.  Sometimes he’s not a douche bag.  It really didn’t cost Bret any effort or anything, but still, it was a hell of a lot better treatment than Rikki was giving Rikki’s Girl, so that has to count for something.

They made her sit in the trunk part (it was a mid-sized SUV) the whole way home as punishment.  ;)

To this day, Rikki’s Girl has no idea that Rockett put the moves on Donna just minutes before she finally slept with him.  She did get something that night to keep forever, aside from her memory of the event though.  An STD..

So...that’s why I believe that Rikki Rockett is the type to push and push and potentially *take* sex when he wants it.  He uses women, and I have no doubt that he would take totally advantage of a young, star-stuck girl by getting her drunk off her ass and then basically date-raping her.  I have no doubt he would pull all those physical moves to block someone from leaving his hotel room: the arm grab, the “stand in the doorway” block, the whole thing.  I can see him pushing and pushing at ever step, hearing the word “No” as a challenge to try to overcome.  Throw booze on top of his massive ego, and what might be a real, “Don’t do this to me” no gets heard as “She really wants me to talk her into it, I’ll just push a little harder and get a little more physical and she’ll come around.”

Did Rikki Rockett rape a girl in Mississippi?  I don’t know.  I know that based on the couple of times I met him, and everything i know about the people who have known him much better and far longer, it’s possible.  I would lean more toward believing it than defaulting to a “He would never do that” position.  Mostly when I think of this story, I think about the fact that Big John refused to leave my wife in a room alone with Rikki.

Why?

I know this: I’m damn appreciative of the fact that he stood guard.  if I ever meet him I will shake his hand, both for his service as a Marine and for watching over my wife one night in Saratoga Springs.

*UPDATE FROM DONNA*
This is Donna peeking her head in at Jim’s request to clear up any factual errors or add in any important details to the “Saratoga Story”, as we’ve all taken to calling it. What happened that night in Saratoga is actually one of the big reasons why many of us still in the Poison fan camp stopped or slowed our going to shows, and certain related events in later years stopped many of us dead cold, including me. To my knowledge, Rikki’s Girl, who has been a friend of mine since 1989 (that’s *eleven years* going strong when the events at Saratoga took place) still doesn’t know what happened, and after all this time I’d still like to keep it that way. However, hon, if you do read this, please know that the only reason I didn’t tell you was out of love for you and the desire to keep you from hurting any more than you were that night.

Okay, first off a quick correction. Danielle, still my best friend in the world and a force to be reckoned with, was NOT the girl with the laminate that night. Danielle got her laminate on a subsequent tour - it was our very good friend Jen who had the VIP laminate. Jen lived in Texas and used to fly up to do the NE circuit with all of us, and since she did we only needed the one laminate and Jen had for that tour.

Jim’s got the essence of the story right but the order and details a bit off. After the show in Saratoga, our little crew all went to catering, which was where Rikki was holding his meet and greet. Rikki has had a little thing for me for years - he always has to hug me and kiss my cheeks repeatedly, always in that creepy way where he holds you just a little too tightly and too long and his hands move to strange places. Well, when he saw me that night it was the same routine, which I grudgingly put up with mostly for Rikki’s Girl and not to rock the boat. After he had moved on to other fans his handler, a guy everyone calls “Smoothie”, tapped me on the arm and said that Rikki had asked if I wanted to stay after everyone left and hang out for a while.

Now, here’s where my ignorance kicked in. Being off the market for so long I had literally NO idea that “hang out”, used in that sense, meant “have casual sex”. I thought it meant… well… hang out! To add to that, I know from other shows that Danielle and the girls attended that Rikki often asked them all to stay behind to talk more at length, so I honestly thought this was a simple “hey, do you and your posse want to stay and talk bit?” I reminded Smoothie that I was with Danielle and Rikki’s Girl and Jen, and he said he had meant all of us, Rikki wanted to see all of us. So I said sure and I would pass the message to Danielle, which I did. So, after everyone left catering, it was down to the small lot of us, just waiting. Which, of course, is when I was summoned.

Jim got the details of the actual summoning down right. I protested, Rikki’s Girl burst into tears, and on the trek to Rikki’s room I made it known to Big John that I was married and this wasn’t what I was into AT ALL. He reassured me and since Big John has ALWAYS been a wonderful man and someone to trust, I put my faith in him and walked in the room.

Yup, just like Jim described it. Rikki draped on one couch and the other positioned for sex. I turned to John and mouthed “help” at him. I swear I had to have been grey at this point. John very quietly said “don’t worry” and parked himself in the room, near the door but completely unmovable. I took a seat as far away from Rikki as I could and proceeded to launch into a detailed discussion about the weather. No, I’m not kidding. Rikki started shooting glares at Big John to leave already but John refused to budge. He kept his eyes firmly on me and as Rikki began to slime his way towards me John slowly inched closer to the couches. I brought up the fact that Danielle was given a load of grief by a member of venue security and John moved in like a shot. He pulled out a notepad and took detailed notes about who the person was and what happened, adding “NO ONE messes with Danielle!”. But here’s the great part - after he moved in closer to take notes he didn’t return to his place near the door. He stayed nice and close, as Rikki had already slithered from his couch to mine and was dangerously close to me. JOHN WOULD NOT LEAVE ME. I dearly love him for that.

Finally Rikki managed to worm his way right next to me, draping his arms around my back. I told him I knew he and Rikki’s Girl were together and that I had been friends with her for eleven years. He just leaned into me, hands about ready to land in very nasty places, and asked me if I wanted to “hang out” with him alone for a while. It was disgusting and slimy and full of pressure. If I had not been a friend of the band or drunk or unattached I could easily see how a pretty young thing could say yes to this and not understand what she was getting into. I, however, have not only been around the block several hundred times but, you know, I’M MARRIED. I literally stuck my left hand about six inches from Rikki’s face and said, loudly and firmly, “I’m married, so whatever you think is going to happen here just isn’t. NOTHING is going to happen here.”

Rikki backed away as if I’d maced him. I was now wholely pissed and did in fact begin lecturing him like a high school student about his behavior and how badly he was treating Rikki’s Girl. Rikki’s Girl is diabetic, and at the last show she had gotten drunk and had some insulin problems, leading to her having a crying breakdown on Rikki, which I guess embarrassed him enough for him to want to “get even” with her by sleeping with me. I told him he was being a petulant child and to deal with their problems and that his attitude generally sucked. I was on a real roll, and I could see John trying very hard not to start laughing in Rikki’s face. I stood up and told him I would tell Rikki’s Girl to expect to be called in here and he agreed. Upon my standing Big John glued himself to my side and escorted me out, telling me I had done great.

When I got back to catering Rikki’s Girl was a sobbing mess and everyone in the room was trying to console her. I made the split decision to not tell her what had happened and did just what Jim said. The rest of the details Jim has exactly right - it was about five AM when the buses pulled up to Danielle’s car at Bret’s insistence. And it’s the little things like that that Bret has done over the years that keep me from hating him or thinking he’s completely lost it. And you will NEVER EVER hear me say a bad word about Big John. He was a saint to me that night and I wish I could thank him again for everything he did. I love Big John and whatever you may think about Bret, please don’t transfer it to Big John.

Okay, now I’ve rambled for an hour and I’m sure this post is WAAAAY too long, but there you go. The Saratoga Story. Do I know that Rikki raped a girl? Of course not. But I fully and completely believe it could have happened, because I was there and I know how he operates. He is a sleazy, slimy, persistent, and frankly a repulsive person who I could easily see pressuring a girl into doing things she never had any intention of doing. I saw a dangerous predator that night and I won’t forget his face. So, yes, I think he could have done it, and I speak as someone who has looked into his eyes and knows what’s there. It isn’t pretty.

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