South Buffalo, NY—Before attending a show at The Caz this past Saturday night, Norbert Garfunkel, his wife, and their friends the Nolandorfs stopped at the Dog & Pony Saloon for an early dinner. Sipping adult beverages in the breezy atmosphere, both couples were impressed at the transformation of the saloon since the last time they were there in the 80s, when it was Manny’s, a great Seneca Street dive bar. Garfunkle, a music snob of some renown, quickly noted one thing that hadn’t changed since the 80s—the music. Wafting through the air was the same old tired classic rock fare: Springsteen, Seger, and god fucking help us, Journey.
At first, Garfunkel thought it might be the lame playlist of the oldish, inked up, bartender with dyed overcompensating jet black hair who perfectly mouthed the words to Seger’s “You’ll Acomp’ny Me.” But exiting the restroom, he saw that the music was emanating from a digital jukebox embedded in the wall. Though he died a little inside, Garfunkel was able to will himself through his trillionth listen of “Hotel California” and “Go Your Own Way,” but it was more than he could take when “We Built This City,” by Starship, came into the mix.
His complaints about the music to his wife and friends were met with exasperated eye rolls and his wife running her finger across her lips for him to zip it. Garfunkel, however, was beyond annoyed—stealing his eyes, he said to himself: What would Henry Rollins do? What would Richard Hell do? What would Paul Westerberg do? When Westerberg entered his mind, he instantly knew what the moment called for—a really stupid and juvenile gesture on his part.
On a faux trip to the restroom, he loaded all the cash he had, a twenty, a ten, a five, and two ones, into the jukebox, and was absolutely giddy as he dialed up “Gary’s Got A Boner,” by Westerberg’s former band The Replacements, thirty-seven times. Once past Eddie Money’s “Two Tickets To Paradise” and“Renegade” by Styx, the glorious stupidness of “Gary’s Got A Boner” filled the air. Garfunkel returned to his seat and looked out at the bar like an exalted fifth grader who shot a spitball in his teacher’s hair and got away with it.
By the third spin, just past Bob Stinson’s face-melting guitar solo, Garfunkle’s wife caught on, punched him in the arm, and said, “You ruin everything!” He just smiled, still surveying the room, as the half-witted, silly verses started to piss off the entire restaurant/bar:
Forget about the lights, girls, and the cars
They never helped somebody so far
Grab a hold, gonna hold
You’re gonna stick it to her
You’re gonna stick it to her
By about the tenth spin, after fielding numerous complaints, the overcompensating bartender and other staff members stood in front of the jukebox, hitting the “delete” and “reset” buttons on the touch screen to no avail—Gary and his boner played on and on. By about the twentieth spin from the back room, you could hear the rumble of people singing the chorus:
Gary got a boner
‘Cause Gary’s got a boner
Gary’s got a boner
Gary’s got a boner no, no, oh, oh, oh
Being that it was South Buffalo, by about the twenty-fifth spin, some of the Irish patrons in the restaurant were whipping out their unimpressive junk. When this started to happen, restaurant patrons, all white-faced, quickly settled their accounts and left. Garfunkel was incredibly pleased with himself and this turn of events.
Driving home later after seeing the Steely Dan cover band Bad Sneakers at the Caz, Garfunkel’s wife again punched him in the arm and said, “All through “My Old School,” “Pretzel Logic” and everything else, the only thing running through my head was Gary and his stupid fucking boner, you asshole.”
It was the cherry on the top of an immensely gratifying night for Garfunkel.
