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By Seamus O'Sparks on January 6, 2015 — 2 mins read

CONFESSIONS FROM A REPTILE: Hey everyone, before this post gets out of hand I want to let you know that this happens tomorrow: FREE WEEK @ RED 7 w/ Chasca , DUEL, Green Beard, Vanishing Race, The Bravo. Now then, the rest of this post will be very long and probably not worth your time. Dig it…So, I really want to apologize to all of you for my paranoid rant yesterday regarding Kenny Rogers and his song, ‘Coward of the County.’ I got into the anti-freeze again(plus a little nutmeg for a fuller bodied flavor) and I ended up sucking on the heavy side of some ugly thoughts. You know how sometimes you feel like a song is not just speaking directly to you but is actually directly about you? Well that’s how I felt when I heard ‘Coward of the County.’ I guess, in my gruesome state, I thought that Kenny Rogers was telling the world that everyone considered me the coward of the county. I suppose that song brings up some things for me. Maybe it all stems from the time when I went to that nudist resort and I pissed myself when these buxom pagan women asked me for a lighter? I don’t think being naked and shy and vulnerable makes me a coward. It certainly shouldn’t imbue my reputation as such across the entire countywide area. That’s not fair. I wish Kenny Rogers would not make light of my humiliation. I mean, how would you feel if one day you’re walking around a nudist resort, horrified because you can’t hide the rotten shanker you’re sporting, only to have it turn ugly when you lose control of your bladder in front of two busty Wiccans consequently ruining both of their cigarettes and almost putting an eye out and then having to fight your way to sanctuary by busting up a posse of angry dwarves dressed as cowboys? You certainly wouldn’t want someone with the rich dulcet tones of Kenny Rogers singing about it for the whole world to hear. But, this is all beside the point. After much reflection and a snack I realize, today, that Kenny Rogers was not singing about me. That song could be about anyone. At least anyone whom everyone considered the coward of the county. I think I just got wiggy when I thought that the whole world would be given the impression that everyone considered me the coward of the county. It cracked me up-the thought of it. I can carry a lot of baggage, but being labeled the coward of the county is more grist than my ego mill can grind, you dig? So, again, I apologize for dragging you all through my nervous hogwash. I should not have dumped it on the world. I’ve just been so on edge lately. Between the nutmeg and the shankers and this terrible moonshadow that keeps following me, I don’t know, man, I just feel like a Gila Monster somedays.

Posted in: Chasca

The Story of Seamus

Seamus O'Sparks is the seventh son of a Seventh Day Adventist who went on a seven-day bender starting on July 7, 1977 at a strip club called Seventh Heaven at the corner of 7th St. and 7th Ave. in the West Village.