Dating : The Indestructible Frankie Lixx (Part 2)

h2>Dating : The Indestructible Frankie Lixx (Part 2)

J.S. Lender

There was no trip to the Bahamas for Frankie Lixx. No Mai Tais on the beach, and no rest and relaxation. Frankie Lixx spent the next several weeks sitting and brooding in his Bel Air mansion, trying to devise a plan to prevent a low life doppelgänger from stealing his identity as the bass player for The Durty Bastards.

One night while watching a ninja movie marathon, Frankie Lixx was struck with a fantastic idea. The next day, he made his way to the library and conducted some research regarding Japanese poison ninja darts. After some tinkering with a narrow PVC pipe, sewing needles, and a concoction of rat poison, Frankie Lixx’s plan was almost complete.

The Durty Bastards had a gig at the L.A. Forum on New Year’s Eve. Frankie Lixx used his band ID to enter through the loading zone. He wore a black L.A. Kings hat with a long black trench coat. The kid watching the back door wasn’t paying attention, and Frankie Lixx walked right on by. He stood at stage left with his hat pulled down low over his brow, and his face glaring at the floor.

The lights dimmed and the crowd roared with anticipation. Thousands of Bic lighters created a constellation of yellow stars splattering a black ocean of anonymous concertgoers. The Durty Bastards took the stage with the “fake” Frankie Lixx on bass. Frankie Lixx stood about 10 feet away from his impostor, as the band opened with the first song on the setlist, Kneel Down Pussycat.

The fake Frankie Lixx had an enormous, sinister grin plastered across his face and his eyes were bugging out of his head like an overly caffeinated Gene Wilder. He was grinding his pelvis into the back of Frankie Lixx’s bass, while pointing at the cute girls in the front row and motioning with his index finger. Yes, I want YOU!

Frankie Lixx felt his entire body become hot and sweaty with rage. That two bit hustler is trying to steal my life, but now it’s payback time.

Frankie Lixx slowly and deliberately inched his left hand into the inside pocket of his black trench coat, removing a plastic baggie containing three needles that had been dipped in rat poison and cyanide. With his left hand, he produced a narrow, 18 inch long PVC pipe from a strap inside his trench coat. Frankie Lixx’s hands started to tremble and his breathing became labored. I only have three chances to get this right. Take a deep breath and aim for the neck.

A massive cloud of air filled Frankie Lixx’s diaphragm and lungs. He placed one end of the PVC pipe to his lips, where he created a tight and deliberate seal. Frankie Lixx closed one eye and did the best he could to aim the tip of the pipe toward the neck of the fake Frankie Lixx. A massive pocket of air exploded into Frankie Lixx’s mouth, then to his lips, then straight through the PVC pipe. Frankie Lixx quickly placed the pipe back into the strap inside his trench coat before anyone could see. I think I missed. I have just two more chances.

Before Frankie Lixx had a chance to reload his pipe with a new poison needle, the fake Frankie Lixx suddenly fell to his knees and unstrapped the bass from around his neck. He then collapsed face down onto the stage, with the stage lights painting the top of his head with a penumbra of obnoxious rainbow colors. His arms and legs shook uncontrollably, with his face staring straight into the dirty black stage, like a child looking for his pet frog through the top of a fishbowl. Paramedics rushed onto the stage.

The fake Frankie Lixx left the lighted stage one last time, on a stretcher.

The rest of the band just stood there, stunned. Frankie Lixx removed the black trench coat that had been hiding his stage clothes — a black and blue leather ensemble splattered with metal studs and spikes, with platform boots in the shape of a dragon’s head with long, sharp teeth. Frankie Lixx threw his dark black sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose and teased his hair with a comb he whipped out from his back pocket. He had removed his arm cast the previous night with a hacksaw.

Walking onto the stage, Frankie Lixx noticed the shocked looks on the faces of his bandmates. The concertgoers in the first few rows looked equally flabbergasted. Frankie Lixx coolly picked up his bass and placed the leather strap over his left shoulder. His platform boots were placed two feet apart, creating an obnoxiously wide stance. The bass was hung low, settling between his knees. At 6 foot 3 inches, Frankie Lixx looked like the most badass bass player in the history of Rock. He approached the front of the stage and placed his right hand over the mic.


The Durty Bastards tore straight into a Rock anthem that can only be described as pure Americana, Stripping On Sunset. Young men in the front row slapped high fives and drank ice cold Coors Light from disintegrating paper cups, while young women shrieked hysterically and flashed their bras at the band.

Frankie Lixx and The Durty Bastards where back.


Read another music tale by J.S. Lender here:

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