Advice from Elvis
“Lobster Suit”
It all started with the lobster suit. No other event could possibly put the breakup of the Surreal McCoys into a context that made sense on any given level.
A promise is a promise, and promises are meant to be kept. Many years ago, as the Surreal McCoys slithered out of the primordial ooze that was and still is the South Bend/Mishawaka music scene, brother Clinton McCoy was promised a lobster suit if he played. As the only McCoy sibling with musical talent [rumor has it that mother Maybelle got nailed by a trumpet player who was in James Brown's backing band during their "1968- You Got what I Need" tour], young Clinton was asked by his less musically talented brothers to join their group.
It wasn't going to be easy to talk him into it. He already had a successful musical career. He had a successful band. But the Brother's McCoy needed Clint if Cleetus' vision of cow-punk-swamp-a-billy was going to work. Initially, Clinton was a bit stand-offish. He listened to the proposals, the overtures from his brother, all the reasons they HAD to form a band, but none of them were compelling enough to get Clinton to commit.
Then Cleetus piqued his interest. "We'll buy you a lobster suit to play in". Clint's eyebrows went up and he began to slowly nod his head. A lobster suit....... a bassist in a lobster suit......... with big claws playing the bass...... this appealed to the youngest of Mother Maybelle's bastard children. Clinton stopped nodding his head, raised his right hand, spit into his palm and extended the arm forward. Cleetus grinned that silly corn-squeezing grin of his, spit and extended his right hand. The hands clasped atop the table, and as spittle dripped down into a dirty bowl of pork rinds, they shook on it. A deal is a deal.
The band began to play gigs and Cleetus was right. Clint was exactly what the band needed. Cleetus couldn't sing, goatboy couldn't play, all Elvis did was drink the profits and Billy Saul was just too damn loud. But Clinton could hammer that bass. He put a thumping groove into the musical maelstrom that had been the McCoys and it worked. It really worked. Bars asked them to come back and play again rather than call the police after the X-rated introductory rantings of Cholo McCoy. Audiences began to smile and dance rather than cringe and run in abject horror. Fans began to follow and track the doings of these 6 bastard brothers and the money came in sacks. But just as Carl Perkins was promised a Cadillac, Clinton was promised a lobster suit. The only difference was that Carl got the Caddy and Clinton didn't get shit.
At first, Clinton's anger simmered on the back burner. Like a pot of Mother Maybelle's black eyed peas on a warm Sunday afternoon. As the band's success grew, so did Clint's anger toward Cleetus. It took a while, but Clinton slowly began to realize that there was no Lobster Suit. There never had been a lobster suit. Clinton realized that his older brother had once again duped him. Just like that time when they were kids and Cleetus told Clint that the dog turd he was holding was a Baby Ruth bar. Clinton didn't like shit sandwhiches then and didn't like eating them now. So he just put his anger into a little spot in the back of his little pea sized brain and he laid in the weeds. And he waited..... waited for his time to strike back at older brother Cleetus.
It took 15 years of patient waiting for Clinton to decide that the time was right to strike back. It happened during the 2007 East Coast "Politicians and Pimps" tour. The morning of the NY show, brother Goat Boy unveiled a denim suit that had once belonged to his purported father. Mother Maybelle thought that Goat Boys father's name was Mike or Luther. She wasn't sure. But she remembered him being a snappy dresser. In fact, he left one of his snappiest outfits with mother the night she believes Goat Boy was concieved. You see, Mike or Luther had taken moma home from her typical Friday night at the "Mug and Jug Honkytonk" just down the road from the trailer park. Mike/Luther had driven her home to the single wide and left his clothes in a pile in the living room before escorting her back to the bedrooms. Mother Maybelle began to do what she did best and there was all sorts of racket coming out of the bedroom. It scared baby Cleetus who grabbed moma's double-barrelled shotgun and toddled back to where all the cater-wallin' was coming from. As he stumbled into moma's bedroom, he tripped and the gun went off. "Cleetus-interruptus". Kicked a hole clean through the roof of the single wide over mama's bed. Mike/Luther was so scared, he evacuated his testicles into Moma's famously fertile womb and emptied his bowels onto moma's famously filthy bed. Mike/Luther thought moma had a jealous boyfriend who had snuck into the bedroom so he shot out the window, buck naked, never to be seen again. All that moma had to remember him by was the denim suit he left in the living room.
Well, Goat Boy kept that suit as the only momento of the man who might have been his father. The morning of the Fontana's show, Goat Boy was folding up his gear bag from the night before and was dusting off Mike/Luther's suit. Cleetus spotted it and slyly asked Goat Boy if he could try it on. Now, usually Goat Boy didn't let anyone touch the suit. But Cleetus had a way of getting Goat to do whatever he wanted. Hell, Cleetus carried around a pocket full of nickles just in case he was bored, he'd get Goat Boy to eat whatever was laying around. Some thought it cruel, others thought it funny, Goat Boy just liked the shiny nickles.
Within minutes, the suit was on Cleetus who declared "it fits me like a glove". He then went on to explain that he needed a new suit to wear for this special show at Fontana's b/c he was fixin' to go a courtin'. You see, there was a lovely Irish lass that owned this bar and Cleetus explained to the boys that he was deeply in love with this woman and wanted to let her know his true feelings for her after the show. He explained that he needed to look his best for this moment as he was convinced he had found the woman of his dreams. It didn't take too long and Goat Boy agreed to let Cleetus wear his daddy's denim suit. Cleetus was beaming. Kept admiring his ass in the mirror and how the denim just hung right off the edge of his bony hips.
None of us noticed Clinton in the corner watching the scene develop. Nobody saw the smile creep across his face. Nobody noticed the twinkle in his eye as his little pea sized brain hatched an evil plan to strike back at brother Cleetus for breaking his promise about the lobster suit.
Later that night, after packing up the gear from the night before, sweeping the prior night's venue, cleaning the venue's toilets, searching for bagels, dumping 346 Peroni bottles in random dumpsters throughout the greater DC area, loading the trucks, driving to NY, stopping for chow at the Mexican Taco Factory, stopping for cinabuns and latte's, and a brief tour of Hoboken and Brooklyn, the brothers McCoy arrived at Fontans. It was at this point that Clint's put his plan into action.
It started innocently enough. "Hey Goatboy, here's a nickle... eat this candybar". Goatboy was more familiar with Cleetus' culinary offerings - dimes, dirt and dung - but his tastebuds were electrified by this thing that Clinton called a "candybar". Goat didn't know that such things existed and a silly shit-eating grin spread across his face as he slowly munched and savoured the candybar. Clinton waited for Goat's eyes to glaze over and quitely asked, "Hey Goat, can I wear your daddy's denim suit tonight". As he asked he slowly brought another candybar out of his pocket and waved it back and forth in front of Goatboy's eyes. As Goat's eyes slowly tracked the back and forth movement of the candybar, his head slowly began to nod up and down. He grabbed the candybar from Clint and ripped the paper off the top. As Goat stuffed the chocolate mess into his mouth the wrapper which said "Ex-lax" slowly drifted to the floor.
By the time Clint got the denim suit onto his bony little frame, Cleetus was making his way back to the dressing room to put on his new suit, brush his tooth and clean himself up to begin expressing his undying love to lovely Lisa. As he turned the corner into the dressing room he heard Clinton exclaim, "It fits me like a glove". Then he saw his younger brother; clad in denim, grinning evilly, slowly zipping up the front of the denim suit with a smirk on his face. "My, m-m-m-my, my suit", stammered Cleetus.
"Oh no, brother Cleetus, Goat Boy said I could wear it. You can ask him yourself. He's in the stall of the men's room shitting his brains out as we speak".
Cleetus looked like had been kicked in the nut-sack. He knew there was no way he was getting that suit on and he was going to have to wear the prison outfit as he courted his lovely Lisa. His plans to go a courting in a new suit were ruined by a brother he had lied to 15 years ago.
Clinton's revenge was perfect. He laid in the weeds, waiting for 15 years, waiting for Cleetus to get to a point where he was at the highest of high points so he could jerk the rug out from under him and send him toppling down in retribution for the promise about the lobster suit.
Some say revenge is a dish best served cold. Clinton thinks it's best served with a side of laxatives and wrapped in denim.
After the show at Fontana's Cleetus never spoke to Clinton again. The brothers broke up and the musical jugernaut that was the McCoys came to a screeching halt.
These days, the boys rarely talk. There is no family gathering over the holidays, despite Mother Maybelle's protestations. All that there is is brother Cleetus lying in the weeds. Waiting for his moment to strike back at Clinton.........
-- Cletus McCoy
