The Powder Blue Tuxedo Boys & the Mongo Bongo Band

The Powder Blue Tuxedo Boys & The Mongo Bongo Band,

September 13th, 2025

It’s a beautiful September afternoon in Los Angeles. The Powder Blue Tuxedo Boys are in their usual booth at the Frolic Room on Hollywood Boulevard. Beck’s Beers are on the table. “Mambo #5” is playing on the jukebox.

Patrick’s phone rings.

Patrick: Mombo! How are you?

Mombo: Patrizio! How is my favorite cousin?

Patrick: What do you want, Mombo?

Mombo: I just called to see how my favorite cousin is enjoying life in the city of angels.

Patrick: Ha! When the ‘Ndrangheta in Calabria kicked our family out of the toe of the boot of Italy across the Atlantic, I was hoping your family landed in New York.

Mombo: Do not mention the ‘Ndrangheta. They are everywhere listening. No. How would you like to come visit my pizzerias up here in Sonoma County?

Patrick: So that’s where my Mom’s pizza sauce recipe went. I could never find it.

Mombo: It’s a great recipe. People love my pizzas. This weekend is our grand opening in Healdsburg. I need you to pick up the band.

Patrick: But I’m In LA. You are north of San Francisco.
Mombo: C’mon. Don’t you and your deadbeat longhaired blondie friend want a road trip? You get all the pizza you can eat and the beer you can drink. You’ll like the band, too.

Timothy: Did Mombo just call me a ‘deadbeat longhaired blondie’?

Patrick: Text me the details, Mombo. Click.

Eddie: Road trip? Band? Pizzas? Count me in.

Patrick: We’ll need some T-shirts and some sound equipment. The usual promo kit.

Eddie: Send me the band’s name and Mombo’s logo. I’ll make up some t-shirts.

An hour later, Patrick has all the details from his cousin Mombo.

Patrick: So, we drive the Frolic Room RV up to San Francisco Airport and pick up the band. It’s called Mongo Bongo and is flying in from Edinburgh, Scotland.

Timothy: Mombo wants a Mongo Congo band to play at Mombo’s grand opening?

Patrick: Yeah. There are three Scots: Arthur, the manager; PeriUrban, the guitarist; and Angus, the roadie. The rest of the band are bongo players from the Congo.

Timothy: So, let me get this right, Mombo wants bongos from the Congo to play at Mombo’s and three Scots.

Patrick: That’s about it.

The Powder Blue Tuxedo Boys and Eddie drive north in the Frolic Room RV. They pick up the Mongo Bongo Band at the San Francisco Airport.

Five bongo drummers from the Congo board the RV and head to the rear. Arthur, PeriUrban, and Angus climb onboard and take seats behind Eddie, who’s driving, while facing Timothy and Patrick on the opposite side of the RV.

Arthur: Why are you both dressed in powder blue tuxedos? Is this a wedding?

Angus: You look like a couple of fookin’ eejits!

PeriUrban: Are we getting paid for this pish job?

Patrick: My cousin Mombo has already sent Arthur the money.

Peri: Well, I ain’t seen none of it.

Eddie starts up the RV and heads north on the freeway for Healdsburg.

Timothy: Oh, this will be a great trip.

Eddie drives through San Francisco. As they approach the Golden Gate Bridge, he grabs the microphone for the RV’s public address system.

Eddie: We are now approaching the famous Golden Gate Bridge. You may want to get out your cameras.

Angus: It’s so foggy, we might as well be in fookin’ Dundee! Can’t see a fookin’ thing!

In the back of the RV, the five bongos from the Congo have lit up huge spliffs of marijuana. The back of the RV is a fog of smoke.

Arthur: Roll down a bloody window for fook’s sake!

The RV goes over the Golden Gate, trailing marijuana smoke into the fog.

Timothy: Why does Mombo want this band playing at his pizza joint’s grand opening?

Patrick: Mombo always loved the bongos. He loved the Mongo Bongo Band as a kid. That’s how he got his name. He kept trying to say ‘Mongo’ but it came out ‘Mombo’ so that’s what we called him.

Timothy: So his pizza joints are named after this crazy band?

Patrick: Yeah.

Angus: Are we fookin’ there yet?

Peri: Does this RV have a heater? The cold fog is worse than in Glasgow. My bawbag is freezing to the seat.

Arthur: As if ya had a fookin’ bawbag.

The bongos from the Congo start playing their bongos in the back of the RV.

Arthur: Gie it a rest! Save it for the show!

As the RV goes over the Marin-Sonoma County line, the fog dissipates. The sky turns blue, and the temperature goes up to 85°F.

Peri: Now I’m sweatin’ me bawbag off.

Timothy: Did you guys bring your kilts?

Angus: You two really are fookin’ eejits!

The Frolic Room RV pulls into the parking lot at the strip mall in Healdsburg. Mombo’s Pizza has a stage set up in front of the pizza parlor on the south side of the parking lot.

Mombo comes out to greet them all.

Mombo: Patrizio! Timoteo! So good to see you! Ah! And the Mongo Bongo Band!

Mombo shakes Arthur’s hand.

Mombo: You are my heroes. I’ve loved the Mongo Bongo Band since I was a kid in Calabria.

Arthur: Where the fook is Calabria?

Mombo: The toe of the boot of Italy.

Arthur: Looks like they booted you the fook out.

Patrick: That was the ‘Ndrangheta.

Mombo: Do not speak their name! They have spies everywhere.

Timothy: Arthur, please set up the band onstage. Angus, hook up the sound and lights.

Angus: Your bum’s out the windae. No fookin’ problem.

It’s a good crowd of families eating Mombo’s pizza, having a few beers, some wine, and soft drinks. The children are dancing as the Mongo Bongo Band begins to play their rhythmic African beat.

Everyone is having a great time.

Mombo: Thanks, Patrizio, for bringing my favorite band to Mombo’s grand opening.

Patrick: No problem, cousin. It’s a pretty good band.

Timothy: Great pizza!

Four black Maseratis pull into the parking lot. 8 heavy-set men wearing expensive Italian suits step out of the cars. They are carrying Uzi submachine guns. The men fire into the air.

The leader walks over to Mombo.

Leader: My name is Alberto. The ones whose names cannot be mentioned have sent me here to collect our money.

Mombo: I am in California, not Calabria! I will not pay!

Alberto: Oh, you’ll pay.

The crowd is terrified. They try to run away, but the four Maseratis and 8 men in black Italian suits block any escape routes.
Patrick: Did you bring the pyrotechnics?

Timothy: Of course. They are ready to go.

Patrick: Hit the button.

Timothy hits the button on his phone. The fireworks that Patrick, Timothy, and Ernie placed around the stage go off one after another. The crowd thinks it is all part of the show.

The Maserati Men are confused. They fire their Uzis wildly into the air at the fireworks’ red glare.

Patrick: Time for the M80s.

Timothy: Let’s go!

The Powder Blue Tuxedo Boys leap into action, throwing M80s (1/8 sticks of dynamite) at the Maserati Men.

Alfredo: We go!

The eight men climb into their Maseratis and flee the scene.

The crowd applauds the show. They yell and scream their approval.

Onstage, the bongos from the Congo have never stopped playing their bongos. PeriUrban does a great guitar solo during the fireworks show. Arthur beams in the background.

Mombo shakes Patrizio’s hand, hugs him, and kisses him on both cheeks.

Mombo: Cousin! You are fantastico!

Timothy: Do I get a hug and a kiss on the cheek?

Mombo: No.

Eddie begins selling the special t-shirts for the Mongo Bongo at Mombo’s Show. The boys make a fortune. The t-shirts soon become collector’s items.

Patrick, Timothy, and Eddie get in the Frolic Room RV and head south for LA.

Timothy: What about the Mongo Bongo Band?

Patrick: The Scots and the bongos from the Congo will get back to Scotland eventually. Mombo will see to that.

Timothy: Do you think the bongos left any spliffs in the back of the RV?

Patrick: Jayzus!

The RV heads south on the freeway with smoke billowing out of the windows.

Fin