"I want you to get on your knees, eat my pussy like a rat eat cheese."

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Eddie was committed to partying and "acting crazy" as a way of life. Attempts to get him to "clean up his place" (translation: "get rid of the niggers") were greeted by him with total contempt. He antagonized police, other club owners, and anyone else he considered "square," and reveled in his own defiant stance. After two in the morning, when bars are supposed to be clear of patrons, he would lock the door, draw the curtains, and party with the players, laughing, loud-talking, snorting cocaine, and serving drinks after hours. "Ready Eddie," as he was known, presided over what he proudly dubbed "the Toilet of the Street." He had no intention of running a square or respectable joint and was furious at the predictable official attempts to force him into compliance. "They just want to get my friends out of here," he would bellow, "they don't want no niggers on their street. Well, fuck them punks in the asshole!" This attitude was well appreciated and respected.

unpopular, alienated interlopers with a penchant for cheap liquor

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The crowd at Big Joe’s confirmed that bit about madness: Clauberg had courted a perfect outcast harem. A Greek dishwasher and janitor named Popeye helped keep the place clean, rubbing oil into the floorboards as necessary. According to the former employee Henry Rinard, Popeye was a short, well-muscled man with no teeth, hair, or eyebrows, prone to mumbling to himself for hours “in gibberish not even another Greek could understand.” Clauberg let Popeye crash on the floor at night, and in exchange, Popeye performed additional odd jobs, like bringing Clauberg food from the joint where he washed dishes, cutting his hair, and helping him yank a rotten tooth from his gums using a pair of pliers. Another regular, Abbie the Agent, wore “thick-lensed eyeglasses, smoked continuously, and was seldom sober.” An outcast from a wealthy Connecticut family, Abbie fetched cigarettes and wine for Clauberg, and periodically became so inebriated himself that he passed out on the Popeye-oiled floor. (His other nickname was Horizontal Abe.) Rinard also wrote about a guy known mostly as the Sea Captain, who wore a wool hat, raincoat, and heavy, too-big, laceless boots, even in June. The Captain was something of an enigma, even to Rinard: “He was either Swedish or Norwegian; he understood English, but never spoke,” he wrote. The clientele was no less unique. “Saturday afternoons they met at Indian Joe’s, where they thumbed through the bins in between swigs from the bottles of muscatel that Pete Kaufman brought along from his store, suspending their searches briefly at three, when a man called Bob turned up with a suitcase of pornographic books.”

couples rubbing against each other in drunken, snaky dances

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James Cotton would recall the Waters band being booed when they opened for Vaughan at Washington’s Howard Theater—but at the rowdier rock ’n’ roll shows, Waters did just fine. This was a time when Wolfman Jack was broadcasting from the Mexican border, and one of his typical segments would segue from Bob B. Soxx and the Blue Jeans singing “Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah” to Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire,” then into a rap that would go something like: “Here’s Elmore James and his funky-funky slide guitar. Makes me want to get naked every time I hear it, baby…and I wantcha to reach over to that radio, darlin’, right now, and grab my knobs!”

the bums and yeggs at Mother Moustaches wine dump in Sonora Town

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The "Johnson family" became so numerous that a "convention" must be held. In any well-ordered convention all persons of suspicious or doubtful intentions are thrown out at the start. When a bums' "convention" is to be held, the jungle is first cleared of all outsiders such as "gay cats", "dingbats," "whangs," "bindle stiffs," "jungle buzzards", and "scissor bills." Conventions are not so popular in these droughty days. Formerlt kegs of beer were rolled into the jungle and the "punks," young bums, were sent for "mickies," bottles of alcohol. "Mulligans" of chicken or beef were put to cooking on big fires. There was a general boiling up of clothes and there was shaving and sometimes haircutting

his real occupations were bootlegging, card­sharping, and pimping

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He was most attached to Son House, a hapless derelict who could not be entrusted with a pawnable guitar, and had reached the stage of advanced alcoholism known as "wet brain," where a few gulps of wine were sufficient to make him drunk. Yet for three years, Waterman managed to make a concert performer out of the emotional cripple who was Son House, who could not travel alone, or perform without being given infusions of wine, the poison he referred to as "my medicine." Whether it was in House's best interests to pursue a career under such circumstances is another matter.

damnest dance I ever seen was the dance of the motherfucker freaks

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She said, “Daddy, where you been?”
You said, “Bitch, I been out gamblin’ and tryin’ to win.”
She say, “you know you lyin’, motherfucker, you haven’t laid a bet,
you standin’ there all funky and your dick still wet.”
She said, “Well, you know, daddy, you know you can find a grinder
any time that can grind a while,
but tonight I want it did on the Hollywood style.”
She said, “I want you to fall down on your bended knees
and eat this pussy like a rat eat cheese.
I don’t want you to slacken up one bit
until I pull your ears and make you quit.”

In Die Nigger Die! H.Rap Brown wrote: “Signifying at its best can be heard when brothers are exchanging tales. I used to hang out in bars just to hear the old men ‘talking shit.’ By the time I was nine, I could talk Shine and Titanic; Signifying Monkey, three different ways, and Piss-Pot-Pee for two hours without stopping”

whore and pimp had gone in hock to put Old Stackerlee away in style

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