Hoody, Handsome! kisser nothin'
gams footsie gams torso
nothin' ankle let's talk a little...

...about my boys, the delirious DELUSIONAIRES.  Dunno how ya made yer way to this page, but babydoll, my heart goes out to ya.  Mebbe yer just curious, mebbe got suckered in by some sweet talk on some other site.  I know how it is.  I have a lil' drink once in a while myself, kinda let curiosity get the best o' me for a bit... end up way over my head.  Just thank what lucky stars ya have that yer on the other end of the line right now.  Looka me, peeled, pawed, & plied, nothin' to show for it but some cheap skivvies & a lifetime o' bitter regret.  Not to mention one more hangover I really don't need at this delicate stage of my womanhood.

Anyway, that's my problem.  In the meantime, take a good look at the Delusionaires.  Curse all ya want, but it won't do ya no good 'less ya utilize the crummy correspondence page where ya can air yer grievances firsthand.  And a personal aside to a coupla you gals out there -- show a little dignity & don't stoop to stalkin' the shmucks, fer chrissakes.  Whatizzit they say, the pen is mightier than the Ford?  C'mon, ya make us all look psycho when ya carry on like that...  Anyway, as I was sayin'....  yeah, these are the Delusionaires, Orlando, Florida's bafflin' contribution to the world of stripdom.  Naw, don't panic, they keep their coats on, usually.  They just favor that icky, sticky, sleazy beat that brings out the stink in every drink.  That foul sax careens through yer carcass like Lebanon Lemonade while that leering bass takes liberties with yer loins, paving the path for that despicable electric guitar to have its filthy way with yer soul.  Wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for those vile drums making every "no" a "maybe", and every "maybe" a "NO !@#$%!!! WAY!!!"  Till the cheap booze kicks in...  and honey, by then it's too late...  Yer top's suddenly two sizes too tight & all ya hear is TAKE IT OFF!!!    That's cool, ya say, they're hawkin' nice roomy garments at the card table by the stage, wot's a few bucks...  Yeah, tell yerself that, punkin'.  Yer doomed.  But what the heck, if ya rilly think ya can save yerself from the unseemly spell, I'll help ya all I can.  Step one: KNOW YOUR ENEMY...



 
 

That bag o' wind to the left is Jim, "the old man with the young face" who's usually screechin' the tenor sax when he ain't fetchin' himself a brausker.  A man o' many talents, most o' which he seems to have left behind in his pursuit of the loft life.  He does at seem to know all the songs by name, at least.  He's like married with a coupla kids or somethin', so he's safe enuff, I guess.  Still get the feelin' he's leerin' at me through them shades, though...
Oh, HIM -- that's Nads doin' gawd knows what to that shmoe-fiddle.  Don't let that look of undue concentration fool ya, girls -- he's just drunk, as usual. Dunno if that's why he doesn't know what key any of their songs is in -- like, there's only like two to choose from, sugar.  Awww, he's cute, though.  Too bad he's married...   Well, it ain't hurt his busy hands, I gotta say... 
Mmmmmm, that's Brian over there actin' all coy & crap.  Lousy jerk.  Yeah, he's got a gal, as if the pucker paint on his puss didn't draw ya a map, stupid.  Not married yet, so go ahead & hold yer breath if yer that delusional, yuk, yuk...  I laff so's I don't cry.  Anyway, he pounds the skins when he ain't puttin' 'em back together mid-song.  He doesn't need to know the keys, so he gets a bigger glass.  I'd go into the subject o' his zip-tie tricks, but I'm a lady, ya know...
Great, one bachelor in the batch, and it's gotta be Aaron.  For what it's worth, he handles the guitar, organ & theremin when he's not tryin' to handle me.  Dream on, dipso.  Ladies beware!  Anyway, it's his vile hand that puts together the rest o' this site, so that should be warning enuff to you frails out there.  Lock up yer daughters, honey...  Better hide the hooch while yer at it... 

OK, ya get a good look?  Crazy.  Go ahead, have a ball -- just don't claim I didn't warn ya.  It's yer brastraps, baby.  Anyway, help yerself to the rest of this blight on the world of the web -- mebbe you'll learn somethin' for a change.  It's too stinkin' late for this girl...