Right now there are about 1,000 people in the Greater Houston area nursing crippling hangovers, and Aftermath is right proud to be among their ranks. Must've been the pills I took. No, wait, that's not it. Pretty sure it was the whiskey. And the beer. And the mainline of pissed-off, two=steppin', red-neckin', back-breaking, Skynyrd-stomping honky-tonk Hank III and his cohorts laid down before a - to put it mildly - receptive audience.
To quote Kevin Fowler, I pulled a Hank last night. Hard not to, when every song mentioned drink, drugs or Texas - or all three - and III's between-song patter was along the lines of "Let me see some horns, Texas!" Even Aggies were throwing them up without reservations. They're probably still throwing up.
Let's just go to the notebook, shall we? "Kicking it Grand Ole Opry on meth style" ("Six Pack of Beer"). "Hillbilly hellraiser - ain't we all? Serious Nashville pickin' going on... like Brad Paisley or something" ("Little Bit of Smoke, Whole Lotta Wine"). "Just like his granddad" ("Wild, Free & Reckless").
"Just about sums it up, I think" ("The Grand Ole Opry Ain't So Grand Anymore"). "I know the feeling" ("I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive"). "Jesus, some of us have to work tomorrow" ("Family Tradition"). "Like I need any encouragement" ("Cocaine Blues").
Hank III returned a little later to plug the crowd with a double-barreled blast of redneck metal with his Assjack buddies, but there was really no need. Meridian's smoking area already looked like a MASH unit, with people passed out against the wall and others on the brink. Every available surface, including the floor, was littered with empties. How Aftermath made it through without joining them, he'll never know.
But he does know this: As shitty as he feels right now, this Hankover is worth every ounce of pain. And then some.