He offers shiny gold gift bags containing CDs, magic wands and roller-skating Barbies. He introduces a mannequin in a Spam T-shirt and uses the back of her head as a guitar slide. There are balloons. There's an inflatable baby. Slam tries to sell the crowd some hairless, hoofless Kentucky blue goats.
Someone turns off the lights, so the Palookas groove by candlelight.
As cigar bar oxygen deprivation takes hold, the audience loosens up. He pops a tape into a player behind him. This is a Buckra original. Slam, gripping the microphone in one hand and a cocktail in the other, sways slightly through a multi-versed karaoke tribute to alcoholism. I may fall down and crawl.