We open on a montage of Thomas Kinkade's paintings, with Kenny G's Songbird as the musical opening theme. We settle on a painting of a cabin as the music fades away. The title reads Thomas Kinkade's Cavalcade of Whimsy in soft white letters. We then fade out and in to a portly man sitting on a living room couch, surrounded by Kinkaid paintings. He has a poofy moustache and he is smiling a bit too wide. His beady eyes reveal a not all together pleasant sense of the man that lives behind them.
Man (with a thick southern accent): Hey y'all and welcome to my show! Who am I? I am just the goddamn best selling painter in the the whole fucking world! Thomas Mother Fucker Kinkaide.
He slaps both his knees and chuckles
And Don't you forget it!
He points menacingly at the camera and then smiles again.
Kinkade: Today We're going to have a lot of fun and you're going to buy a lot of my merchandise! But first, I have some business to take care of.
He pulls a Picasso and a Rembrandt from behind the couch.
K (Shouting): These bastards think their better than me. Don't you, you stupid sons a bitches? Well I got news for you Mergatroide, I am the best painter that ever lived. No one comes into my house and tries to steal my crown! Take this!
He then proceeds to stomp up and down the paintings before unzipping his fly.
K (Peeing): Oh yeah, how do you like that?
He finishes and zips up his fly.
K: (Looking at the camera again): I paid 2 million for those paintings and it was worth every penny! But now I've got something really special to show you folks at home!
He walks into his kitchen and sits down at the table. He picks up a knife that has a painting of his on the handle.
K: Now, I've got a little contest for you people at home. And all of you should be watching. Uncle Kinky wants you to find anyone that isn't watching this show right now and stab them in the face with a soldering iron. You will get Kinkaide points when you get to heaven. Now then! What was I talking about?
He looks puzzled for a bit and then looks down at the knife and jumps a bit in his chair.
K: Oh, okay! I remembers now! My contest! (Chuckles). This summer I'm coming to one of your houses. You won't know what time it is or what day I'm just gonna show up! And if you don't have any of my merchandise prominently on display, (Gets a serious look on his face) I'm going to kill you and your whole fucking family!
He laughs again and swings the knife around his head.
K: Now, I've got some products that you sure a shit are gonna buy. (Lower voice almost a growl) Don't get me angry. (Happy again)
K: You're about to get a peek into my super secret workshop! (Low voice) But remember, it's a secret! (Yells) SO DON'T TELL ANYONE!
We fade out and back into a basement room. There's rows and rows of artists sitting at easles, chained to the floor. They're painting bright landscapes and whimsical cabins. They look dirty and malnourished.
K: This is my secret workshop! This is where alllllllll the magic happens! Lets chat a bit with one of my helpers, shall we?
He swings his arm wide at the camera and then walks over to one of the artists, and puts his hand on his shoulder.
Artist: (Jumps) Oh, oh, uh, Mr. Kinkaid sir, I'm um almost finished with...
K: Why is this not done yet?
A: I'm, I'm working as fast as I can. I need food, I don't' have any energy to fin...oh God, I'm gonna die here! (Sobs)
Kinkaid frowns and looks mad. He scans the picture for a long time.
K: (Grabbing the easel.) This is crap! Pure trash! And you know what we do with trash?
A: N-n-no Mr. Kinkaid, sir!
K: We live in the trash we create!
He slams the painting on the artists head, who falls off the chair and lies still on the dirty floor. Kinkaide approaches another artist.
K: Lets see what we have here....hmmm.
Artist: It's...It's not finished yet Mr. Kinkaide, sir.
Kinkaide grabs the painting and stares at it. He shrugs his shoulders.
K: Eh, good enough.
He throws the painting into a huge pile of easels in the middle of the room.
K: (Yelling) BOSTWICK!
A very malnourished looking man in a business suit comes shuffling in as fast he can. He looks like a younger Mr. Burns and he talks like Peter Lorre.
Bostwick: Yes, sir, what is your wish today?
K: (Points) Take those down to the lab and have them made into steins and shower curtains.
B: Yes, master (Shuffles away and comes back with a large wheelbarrow. He starts loading the paintings in, in the back ground. As Kinkaide address the camera.
K: Now that you've seen the wonders of my shop, lets look at some products!
Artist: (In the background) Ummmm, can I have some food now?
K: (Angrily) No, not till you give me some quality work! Don't make me get my whimsical cane!
We fade out and back in on the living room. Those several objects on the table.
K: Now there's several objects that I want you to buy. (Mad) And you will buy them. (Growls) (Happy again) The first piece is this beautiful porcelain dildo. Look at that, isn't that lovely?
The shaft of the dildo has a Kinkaid landscape on it, the head is a whimsical cabin.
K: And it vibrates! (Chuckles) For when you've got an itch that only Kinkaide can scratch.
He puts the vibrator on the table and picks up a brightly painted S&M mask.
K: Now this is for when your kids are bad! Ya just put it on their head, shut the zipper and lock it with my trademarked Kinkaide padlock, Like this. And your child will learn his place while also learning about the world of art! See, it even has a painting on the inside!
He turns it inside out, there is. He picks up another objects, it looks almost like a flashlight but it has a strange looking end.
K: Now this here is the pride and joy of Kinkaide labs. I call it the, whimsicator! Now to really test this baby out, we need to go out on the town and find a someone to test drive it for us! Lets go!
We fade out to Kinkaide lurking in the bushes watching a shirtless sweaty man pushing a lawn mower. He jumps out of the bushes at the man.
K: (Yelling) HEY DUDE, IT'S THE BIG K AND IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY!
Man: OH SHIT, OH DEAR SWEET JESUS, MY HEART!
K: (Chuckles) You're on the Cavalcade of Whimsy dude! And you're going to test drive one of my fine products!
Man: I am?
K: Of course you are! And if you don't I'll tell your wife about that little thing you've got going with your daughters slutty friend. You know, the one that wears the pigtails all the time...
Man: (Scared) I'll do anything you say! Please for the love of god...
K: (Pats him on the back) Of course you will. (Turns to the camera) Now for the folks at home, here's how you use the Whimsicator!
He points it at the lawnmower and flips a switch. The top opens and shoots a beam of pastel light. It hits the lawnmower and suddenly it's made of porcelain and has a lightly colored forest painted on it.
Man (Forcing a smile): That's um...that's great! (Laughs nervously) Um, is this thing still gonna work?
K: No way in Heck! But now it's a collectors item! And watch this!
He points the thing at the guy's house which transforms into a whimsical cabin. Kinkaide laughs and runs around laughing turning the trees into cookie cutter chocolate box art.
Man: (With his jaw wide open) Oh my sweet Jesus!
K: And it works on people too!
He points the beam at the man and hits the button. Suddenly the man is wearing leiderhosen, wooden shoes, and a funny German hat. Kinkaide looks down at the thing.
K: (Puzzled) Ah shit, I've got this thing stuck on Hummel!
He starts hitting the bottom of the thing and it shoots a beam of light into the sky, which transforms into pastel blues and oranges and reds.
K: (Scared) Oh shit, better jet!
As he runs off back onto the bushes the man takes a peek down his pants.
Man: (In a thick Swedish accent) Vhere did mah genitals go?
We fade back into the living room, Kinkaide is sitting on the couch, the knife is still in his hand.
K: That's all for today folks, and remember, buy my art, or I'll fucking kill you!
He starts waving the knife around and slices the side of his neck open. He rubs some blood on this fingers as it runs down his neck and soaks into his shirt.
K: Ah crud, accidents happen. Too bad I can't use this for my paintings, it's too bright! But I do use a whole lot of urine!
He points the knife at the camera.
K: Okay Teddy, shut that thing off. (Angrily) I said shut it off!
Teddy: (From behind the camera) (Scared) I can't uncle T!
K: (Getting up and advancing towards the camera with the knife) Why you incompetent...
We hear a scream and the camera gets knocked over. We can see Kinkaide chasing around a teenager with long hair, who is screaming his head off.
K: Get back here, so I can carve a whimsical cabin on your back!
We fade away to the same montage of paintings and Kenny G.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
31 Posts in 31 Days - Day #2
Pinch
I used to hate going over to my grandmother's house. For one thing, it always smelled really bad; stale dirt, and mothballs, and cat shit. For another, I was kind of scared of my grandmother. She was always telling me these weird stories about when she was a little girl, growing up on a farm in South Dakota. Stories about cows that were born all messed up, and her older sister that had some weird deformity and died when she was sixteen. She would point at me with her bony old finger and tell me how good I had it, not having to get up at dawn to milk cows. I had no real chores to do, no real problems. She was right of course, but when you're five years old, that stuff sinks into your head. I lay awake at night thinking about the cow that was born with a beak, and how I was going to grow up to be a bum like grandma said I was. I could see myself in tattered clothes with a long beard, walking down the road looking for something to eat.
Those stories were bad but the worst was when I would sleep over and she would tell me a story that her mother had told her, and her mother before that, all the way back to some very distant past. It was the story of Mr. Pinch, and it gave me nightmares up till I hit puberty....
Kids do bad things either because they don't know any better, or because of some desire, some thing that they want more than anything. Sometimes adults forget that to a kid even small things seem very very important. Generally, however, good parents don't like when kid's do bad things. It makes them feel like they haven't been doing their job right. So when little Billy gets into the jam jar for the fifth time after being told not to, even after being beaten severly, and actually dropping the jar and breaking it the last time, Billy's parents are at the end of their ropes. That's when they would call Mr. Pinch.
Mr. Pinch was a wrinkley brown troll about the size of a large cat. Instead of hands, he had two fingers like lobster claws, whith long sharp nails on the end of each one. When you were really bad your parents would say the secret magic words and, while you were sleeping, Mr. Pinch would steal you away in a burlap sack and take you to his secret lair, far far underground. You'd be strung up by your feet from the roof and Mr. Pinch would take his long nails and pinch you until you screamed that you promised to be a good little boy or girl from then on. And then, maybe, he'd let you go home. Otherwise you'd stay in his lair and eat nothing but worms for the rest of your life. He had a pit full of very bad children that would never grow up and could never leave.
It sounds silly, but like I said, when you're little, everything seems like a big deal. Everything seems like it could be real.
I saw Mr. Pinch many times in my nightmares. I would getting a can of peaches from the basement and he'd be there, his tiny red eyes staring at me from the under the stairs. I'd scream that I was good boy but he'd still come, snapping his fingers at me. Then I'd wake up crying. He showed up a lot in my early drawings; a perfect representation of my worst childhood fears: abandonment, hunger, pain, and never being able to go home ever again.
But you know what? All of those fears become realized when you grow up and have to live on your own, so Mr. Pinch is in a way, very very real.
And I still hate the fucker.
I used to hate going over to my grandmother's house. For one thing, it always smelled really bad; stale dirt, and mothballs, and cat shit. For another, I was kind of scared of my grandmother. She was always telling me these weird stories about when she was a little girl, growing up on a farm in South Dakota. Stories about cows that were born all messed up, and her older sister that had some weird deformity and died when she was sixteen. She would point at me with her bony old finger and tell me how good I had it, not having to get up at dawn to milk cows. I had no real chores to do, no real problems. She was right of course, but when you're five years old, that stuff sinks into your head. I lay awake at night thinking about the cow that was born with a beak, and how I was going to grow up to be a bum like grandma said I was. I could see myself in tattered clothes with a long beard, walking down the road looking for something to eat.
Those stories were bad but the worst was when I would sleep over and she would tell me a story that her mother had told her, and her mother before that, all the way back to some very distant past. It was the story of Mr. Pinch, and it gave me nightmares up till I hit puberty....
Kids do bad things either because they don't know any better, or because of some desire, some thing that they want more than anything. Sometimes adults forget that to a kid even small things seem very very important. Generally, however, good parents don't like when kid's do bad things. It makes them feel like they haven't been doing their job right. So when little Billy gets into the jam jar for the fifth time after being told not to, even after being beaten severly, and actually dropping the jar and breaking it the last time, Billy's parents are at the end of their ropes. That's when they would call Mr. Pinch.
Mr. Pinch was a wrinkley brown troll about the size of a large cat. Instead of hands, he had two fingers like lobster claws, whith long sharp nails on the end of each one. When you were really bad your parents would say the secret magic words and, while you were sleeping, Mr. Pinch would steal you away in a burlap sack and take you to his secret lair, far far underground. You'd be strung up by your feet from the roof and Mr. Pinch would take his long nails and pinch you until you screamed that you promised to be a good little boy or girl from then on. And then, maybe, he'd let you go home. Otherwise you'd stay in his lair and eat nothing but worms for the rest of your life. He had a pit full of very bad children that would never grow up and could never leave.
It sounds silly, but like I said, when you're little, everything seems like a big deal. Everything seems like it could be real.
I saw Mr. Pinch many times in my nightmares. I would getting a can of peaches from the basement and he'd be there, his tiny red eyes staring at me from the under the stairs. I'd scream that I was good boy but he'd still come, snapping his fingers at me. Then I'd wake up crying. He showed up a lot in my early drawings; a perfect representation of my worst childhood fears: abandonment, hunger, pain, and never being able to go home ever again.
But you know what? All of those fears become realized when you grow up and have to live on your own, so Mr. Pinch is in a way, very very real.
And I still hate the fucker.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
31 Posts in 31 Days - Day #1
Scarlet
Scarlet is the color of my true love's hair
And also of her blood
A deep red puddle that never seems to go away...
When they came to take her away, I was there
I saw the lights
I heard the screams
I saw her skin melt off
Like ice cream in the sun
Dripping onto the ground
Before it vanished
I could see everything she was made of
Bones, muscles, organs, blood
As she fell apart
And faded away
What did I feel that night?
Standing there in the field by grandpa's woods?
I don't think I cried
I loved her
But I don't think I cried
I was sad, but this was inevitable wasn't it?
The grey ones had told me she would be taken
Told me so I could steel myself
And get her out of my heart
I did love her
I really did
Scarlett
Probably named after her deep red hair
She was beautiful
But at the end, I saw what she was really made of
Beauty really is only skin deep
Inside we're ugly
Outer beauty is a sack to hold organs and flesh
I don't love her anymore
I don't love her anymore
But what I can't get out of my head
Is her eyes
Deep green
One of the last things to go
Staring at me
Imploring
Screaming where her vocal cords could not
But I am doing good things for the grey ones
They assure me that I will be rewarded
My place among the great ones is certain
Scarlet is the color of my true love's hair
And also of her blood
A deep red puddle that never seems to go away...
When they came to take her away, I was there
I saw the lights
I heard the screams
I saw her skin melt off
Like ice cream in the sun
Dripping onto the ground
Before it vanished
I could see everything she was made of
Bones, muscles, organs, blood
As she fell apart
And faded away
What did I feel that night?
Standing there in the field by grandpa's woods?
I don't think I cried
I loved her
But I don't think I cried
I was sad, but this was inevitable wasn't it?
The grey ones had told me she would be taken
Told me so I could steel myself
And get her out of my heart
I did love her
I really did
Scarlett
Probably named after her deep red hair
She was beautiful
But at the end, I saw what she was really made of
Beauty really is only skin deep
Inside we're ugly
Outer beauty is a sack to hold organs and flesh
I don't love her anymore
I don't love her anymore
But what I can't get out of my head
Is her eyes
Deep green
One of the last things to go
Staring at me
Imploring
Screaming where her vocal cords could not
But I am doing good things for the grey ones
They assure me that I will be rewarded
My place among the great ones is certain
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Adventures of Cox Hunter
Please do not read the following story if you are easily offended. Please?
When Cox woke up that morning, he knew it was going to be a bad day. He knew it because the first thing that happened was that the afternoon sun burned his eyes. The second thing was that his stomach lurched and he had to run for the bathroom to keep from puking in his bed. He didn't make it and ended up splattering reddish-brown stomach bile and beer all over the hallway. He groaned and leaned against the wall, surveying the damage. Mom was not going to be happy. Not that she ever was...
After throwing a bunch of paper towels on the unholy mess he had made, Cox Hunter, 25 years of age and wearing nothing but a pair of worn out boxer-briefs, finally set out to start his day off right. He scratched his ass and dug through the cupboards for some cereal that he hadn't consumed yet. Way in the back behind an ancient can of creamed corn, was a just as ancient box of Fiber-bran. He looked at the box for a full thirty seconds, as if actually trying to decide on the inevitable. This was the only food in the house, and big Cox had to eat.
Pulling a bowl from the cupboard, the last one since he hadn't done the dishes in what was probably going on a good month, he dumped the last powdery bits of stale cereal out and then dug in the mostly empty fridge for something to pour on it. There was no milk because he distinctly remembered drinking it all the day before. I'll have to get on Mom about buying some food, he thought. But then he remembered her screaming at him for not contributing anything or doing any chores the last time he had brought food up. It was better to just keep quiet and play video games all day. That was how you stayed in someone's house. If they never saw you, they couldn't kick you out. Of course, there was the high school keggers and beer parties he was addicted to that kept getting him into trouble...
The only thing in the fridge to drink was an opened can of Fresca, which turned out to be half empty. He shrugged to no one and poured it into the bowl. Taking a bite, he gagged and pounded the counter top in agony. Then he spit the mouthful of cereal and soda into the sink and frowned at the bowl. Then he shrugged again and shuffled off into the living room. He'd find some actual food later. Right now he had a more pressing issue at hand...
Cox Hunter's penis was very small. So small in fact that jacking off was very hard to do since his gut was so big. But if he sucked in just slightly and grabbed it with both hands and thought hard enough, he could get an erection that he could hold onto and stroke. The problem was finding something good to get him off. He wasn't allowed in the computer room anymore since he had almost ruined mom's PC by downloading some farm porn that had a rather nasty Trojan virus on it. Now she locked the door and all his riffling through her room didn't help find it.
He lay back in the easy chair, thinking as it squealed alarmingly under his girth. He didn't have any porn lying around since he has sold it all to his buddy Keith for weed money. He did have his old high school year books, but he had jacked off to the half way decent pictures too much. Finding himself with no other options, he turned on MTV.
What luck! It was some dumb show about stupid rich girls. But they were hot! His penis became slightly engorged with blood and Cox set about pleasuring himself. Just as he was starting to get off, the show ended and he lay back in the chair, exhausted.
Shit, he thought, the next show had better be...oh no! His eyes opened in terror and his erection went away. It was a show about queers! He quickly grabbed for the remote and switched the channel. That was a close one! He thought. But now what? He looked at the limp penis in his hand. He shrugged again to nobody and started channel surfing.
A half hour slipped by. An hour, two passed as Cox mindlessly channel surfed looking for anything that might arouse him. Oprah? No, too fat and ugly. Rachel Ray? Nah, looked too much like mom. Suddenly his finger stopped clicking. Girls in swimsuits! Wait, this was Nickelodeon. They were like, twelve. Still, they were kind of cute....
Anita Hunter had gotten off of work early. Or rather, she had taken off early because she had a blinding headache. It didn't do to manage group therapy sessions in that state of mind. And it would be good to just lay in a dark room and sleep. She sighed loudly as she pulled up to second street and turned off to the suburban block that she called home. She silently prayed that Cox hadn't made any messes. Well, anymore than usual...
Cox was just about there. Sitting as close to the TV as he could, thinking dirty thoughts about the girls on the show, what they would feel like, what they would look like. His cock was at full attention and he was jerking so hard that later he would find sores all over penis. His tounge hanging out, he concentrated on the skinny ass of the main character, a twelve year old blonde girl making a mess in the kitchen. Almost there, almost there...
Anita paused for a second with her hand on the doorknob. Something didn't feel right. What was she going to find? She sighed loudly again and turned the handle...
Cox didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear anything. He was inside his head, doing things that would land him in jail for a very long time if he had done them in real life. When he finally came it shot out in long jets that covered his hands and dripped on the carpet. He sat slumped over, breathing heavily. He turned when he heard the scream, just in time to see his mother bolt out the door. He shrugged as he heard her car drive away. He stared at the mess he had made in his hands for a second and then set about cleaning it up with his tounge.
When Cox woke up that morning, he knew it was going to be a bad day. He knew it because the first thing that happened was that the afternoon sun burned his eyes. The second thing was that his stomach lurched and he had to run for the bathroom to keep from puking in his bed. He didn't make it and ended up splattering reddish-brown stomach bile and beer all over the hallway. He groaned and leaned against the wall, surveying the damage. Mom was not going to be happy. Not that she ever was...
After throwing a bunch of paper towels on the unholy mess he had made, Cox Hunter, 25 years of age and wearing nothing but a pair of worn out boxer-briefs, finally set out to start his day off right. He scratched his ass and dug through the cupboards for some cereal that he hadn't consumed yet. Way in the back behind an ancient can of creamed corn, was a just as ancient box of Fiber-bran. He looked at the box for a full thirty seconds, as if actually trying to decide on the inevitable. This was the only food in the house, and big Cox had to eat.
Pulling a bowl from the cupboard, the last one since he hadn't done the dishes in what was probably going on a good month, he dumped the last powdery bits of stale cereal out and then dug in the mostly empty fridge for something to pour on it. There was no milk because he distinctly remembered drinking it all the day before. I'll have to get on Mom about buying some food, he thought. But then he remembered her screaming at him for not contributing anything or doing any chores the last time he had brought food up. It was better to just keep quiet and play video games all day. That was how you stayed in someone's house. If they never saw you, they couldn't kick you out. Of course, there was the high school keggers and beer parties he was addicted to that kept getting him into trouble...
The only thing in the fridge to drink was an opened can of Fresca, which turned out to be half empty. He shrugged to no one and poured it into the bowl. Taking a bite, he gagged and pounded the counter top in agony. Then he spit the mouthful of cereal and soda into the sink and frowned at the bowl. Then he shrugged again and shuffled off into the living room. He'd find some actual food later. Right now he had a more pressing issue at hand...
Cox Hunter's penis was very small. So small in fact that jacking off was very hard to do since his gut was so big. But if he sucked in just slightly and grabbed it with both hands and thought hard enough, he could get an erection that he could hold onto and stroke. The problem was finding something good to get him off. He wasn't allowed in the computer room anymore since he had almost ruined mom's PC by downloading some farm porn that had a rather nasty Trojan virus on it. Now she locked the door and all his riffling through her room didn't help find it.
He lay back in the easy chair, thinking as it squealed alarmingly under his girth. He didn't have any porn lying around since he has sold it all to his buddy Keith for weed money. He did have his old high school year books, but he had jacked off to the half way decent pictures too much. Finding himself with no other options, he turned on MTV.
What luck! It was some dumb show about stupid rich girls. But they were hot! His penis became slightly engorged with blood and Cox set about pleasuring himself. Just as he was starting to get off, the show ended and he lay back in the chair, exhausted.
Shit, he thought, the next show had better be...oh no! His eyes opened in terror and his erection went away. It was a show about queers! He quickly grabbed for the remote and switched the channel. That was a close one! He thought. But now what? He looked at the limp penis in his hand. He shrugged again to nobody and started channel surfing.
A half hour slipped by. An hour, two passed as Cox mindlessly channel surfed looking for anything that might arouse him. Oprah? No, too fat and ugly. Rachel Ray? Nah, looked too much like mom. Suddenly his finger stopped clicking. Girls in swimsuits! Wait, this was Nickelodeon. They were like, twelve. Still, they were kind of cute....
Anita Hunter had gotten off of work early. Or rather, she had taken off early because she had a blinding headache. It didn't do to manage group therapy sessions in that state of mind. And it would be good to just lay in a dark room and sleep. She sighed loudly as she pulled up to second street and turned off to the suburban block that she called home. She silently prayed that Cox hadn't made any messes. Well, anymore than usual...
Cox was just about there. Sitting as close to the TV as he could, thinking dirty thoughts about the girls on the show, what they would feel like, what they would look like. His cock was at full attention and he was jerking so hard that later he would find sores all over penis. His tounge hanging out, he concentrated on the skinny ass of the main character, a twelve year old blonde girl making a mess in the kitchen. Almost there, almost there...
Anita paused for a second with her hand on the doorknob. Something didn't feel right. What was she going to find? She sighed loudly again and turned the handle...
Cox didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear anything. He was inside his head, doing things that would land him in jail for a very long time if he had done them in real life. When he finally came it shot out in long jets that covered his hands and dripped on the carpet. He sat slumped over, breathing heavily. He turned when he heard the scream, just in time to see his mother bolt out the door. He shrugged as he heard her car drive away. He stared at the mess he had made in his hands for a second and then set about cleaning it up with his tounge.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Late Night Playlist #2
I need my own radio station...
1. GG Allin and The Jabbers - Don't Talk to Me
2. The Rolling Stones - Shattered
3. R.E.M. - Gardening at Night (Chronic Town Version)
4. GG Allin and The Jabbers - Cheri Love Affair
5. Public Enemy - She Watch Channel Zero?
6. Banjo & Sullivan - I'm at Home Gettin' Hammered (While She's Out Gettin' Nailed)
7. Buck Owens and his Buckaroos - Who's Gonna Mow Your Grass
8. Led Zeppelin - Hot Dog
9. The Offspring - I Choose
10. Riz Ortolani - Cannibal Holocaust Opening Theme
11. Terry Reid - Seed of Memory
12. Third Eye Blind - Narcolepsy
13. Third Eye Blind - Horrorshow
14. Roy Orbison - Leah
15. The Sex Pistols - Bodies
16. Mike Watt (With Eddie Vedder, Krist Novoselic, and Dave Grohl) - Against The 70's
17. The Dead Milkmen - Methodist Coloring Book
18. Terry Reid - Brave New Awakening
19. Johnathan Coulton - The Future Soon (Live)
20. Steve Earle and The Pogues - Johnny Come Lately
21. Chumbawamba - The Smashing of the Van
22. Luke Kelly - Join the British Army
23. Luke Kelly - Go to Sea No More
24. Jarvis Cocker - A Drop of Nelson's Blood
25. The Pogues - Drunken Boat
26. The Rolling Stones - Can You Hear Me Knocking
27.Joey Scarbury - Believe It or Not (Theme to The Greatest American Hero)
28. Andrew W.K. - Party Hard
29. Prodigy - Smack My Bitch up
30. Johnny Cash - Sunday Morning Coming Down (Live)
31. GG Allin - Guns, Bitches, Brawls And Bottles
1. GG Allin and The Jabbers - Don't Talk to Me
2. The Rolling Stones - Shattered
3. R.E.M. - Gardening at Night (Chronic Town Version)
4. GG Allin and The Jabbers - Cheri Love Affair
5. Public Enemy - She Watch Channel Zero?
6. Banjo & Sullivan - I'm at Home Gettin' Hammered (While She's Out Gettin' Nailed)
7. Buck Owens and his Buckaroos - Who's Gonna Mow Your Grass
8. Led Zeppelin - Hot Dog
9. The Offspring - I Choose
10. Riz Ortolani - Cannibal Holocaust Opening Theme
11. Terry Reid - Seed of Memory
12. Third Eye Blind - Narcolepsy
13. Third Eye Blind - Horrorshow
14. Roy Orbison - Leah
15. The Sex Pistols - Bodies
16. Mike Watt (With Eddie Vedder, Krist Novoselic, and Dave Grohl) - Against The 70's
17. The Dead Milkmen - Methodist Coloring Book
18. Terry Reid - Brave New Awakening
19. Johnathan Coulton - The Future Soon (Live)
20. Steve Earle and The Pogues - Johnny Come Lately
21. Chumbawamba - The Smashing of the Van
22. Luke Kelly - Join the British Army
23. Luke Kelly - Go to Sea No More
24. Jarvis Cocker - A Drop of Nelson's Blood
25. The Pogues - Drunken Boat
26. The Rolling Stones - Can You Hear Me Knocking
27.Joey Scarbury - Believe It or Not (Theme to The Greatest American Hero)
28. Andrew W.K. - Party Hard
29. Prodigy - Smack My Bitch up
30. Johnny Cash - Sunday Morning Coming Down (Live)
31. GG Allin - Guns, Bitches, Brawls And Bottles
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A Talk With The Old Man
I hear you want to travel boy
Well let me steer you clear
There's things out there
That will curl your hair
And strike you mighty queer!
Sometimes at night I pray to God
When I lay down to sleep
That my head's still on come morning
And nothing eats my feet!
Our house is full of knives and things
Their sharpness warms my soul
If the world gets in
I'll just slug some gin
And stab it full of holes!
Don't you know that it's impossible
To fly with broken wings?
You'll sail away a little ways
And fall into the sea!
Down there at the bottom
The fish will eat your eyes
You can't move
And you can't speak
But there's no way to die!
No girl wants a dapper Dan
Who's rotting all the time
She'll take one breath
Of your ghoulish stench
And then she'll start to cry!
But the ladies love a dapper Dan
That gives them shiny things
A little golden pocket watch
Some beeswax or some rings
But they don't like when you take your knife
And give their throats a smile
But at least then
When they've lost their heads
They're quiet for awhile!
Your mother was a woman
Who would eat the tar off roads
Make me chew my toenails
And have affairs with toads!
But then one night I found her
In the field behind the house
She was clearly dead
For she had no head
But she still called me a louse!
Don't look so sad my boy my lad
For my advice is sound
Take two years
And then your fears
Will be buried in the ground
The worms that eat the baseboard
They sing a merry tune
Lets take a swig from my powder keg
And dance around the room!
Well let me steer you clear
There's things out there
That will curl your hair
And strike you mighty queer!
Sometimes at night I pray to God
When I lay down to sleep
That my head's still on come morning
And nothing eats my feet!
Our house is full of knives and things
Their sharpness warms my soul
If the world gets in
I'll just slug some gin
And stab it full of holes!
Don't you know that it's impossible
To fly with broken wings?
You'll sail away a little ways
And fall into the sea!
Down there at the bottom
The fish will eat your eyes
You can't move
And you can't speak
But there's no way to die!
No girl wants a dapper Dan
Who's rotting all the time
She'll take one breath
Of your ghoulish stench
And then she'll start to cry!
But the ladies love a dapper Dan
That gives them shiny things
A little golden pocket watch
Some beeswax or some rings
But they don't like when you take your knife
And give their throats a smile
But at least then
When they've lost their heads
They're quiet for awhile!
Your mother was a woman
Who would eat the tar off roads
Make me chew my toenails
And have affairs with toads!
But then one night I found her
In the field behind the house
She was clearly dead
For she had no head
But she still called me a louse!
Don't look so sad my boy my lad
For my advice is sound
Take two years
And then your fears
Will be buried in the ground
The worms that eat the baseboard
They sing a merry tune
Lets take a swig from my powder keg
And dance around the room!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Lucky
The first thing I remember when I woke up was the smell. If you've never smelled a dead rotting body before, it's indescribable. One is bad enough but when you've got a room full of them, nailed to the walls, piled up on the floor, it's unbearable and the first thing I did when I woke up, was to puke. And then I screamed because there was one lying right next to me, a young guy looked like he was barley out of puberty. He had no nose or eyes...
Do you remember how you got there, to the trailer?
All I remember was that I had driven home from work. I got to my apartment, pulled over to the curb, got out, and was walking up to the front door when something hit me on the head and I blacked out, and that was it.
Did he ever abuse you sexually?
No, all he did for a long time was bring me food in a little bowl. I think it was supposed to be food anyways. It was always the same chunks of raw meat. Of course I didn't want to eat it at first. But I got hungry. If you've never been without food for weeks you have no idea...
What do you think he was feeding you?
I don't want to think about it, okay? I did what I had to do to survive. You would have done the same thing.
But he never touched you, in a sexual way?
I don't understand why you care, but I already said no. He wasn't into live girls. He had plenty of them that wouldn't put up a fight. I don't think he was into violence if he could help it.
But he killed so many people...
No, he killed about four or five. The rest he got from graveyards.
You were the only living person in that trailer besides him?
Yes.
Why do you think he kept you alive?
I think he wanted a pet, thats what I think. He treated me like one, except he never unchained me to take me for walks. But he would pat my head and talk to me like I was a baby. And sometimes he would just sit and stare at me, like I was a bug or something.
Tell us about your escape.
Well it was real simple, one day I heard him get his truck and drive off somewhere, which didn't happen often. I pulled at my chains till they ripped out of the wall and then I ran.
Into the woods.
Yeah, I was out of my mind, I didn't know where I was going.
And you ran right into him.
Yup, he hadn't gone very far. I didn't know it was his truck. He was digging a hole in the ground, bent over and I grabbed his shoulder. Stupid, so fucking stupid.
Why do you think he...did what he did next?
Easy, he didn't want me to try and escape.
Then why didn't he take your legs?
I think he meant to take them. Later. I think his thought process was that he needed to do something to keep me from pulling my chains out of the wall again. And...other things.
Well, um Miss Grace, Thank you for your time.
Oh, it's no problem.
And we're very sorry about your...
Yeah yeah, everyone is. I don't need any more pity....
Do you remember how you got there, to the trailer?
All I remember was that I had driven home from work. I got to my apartment, pulled over to the curb, got out, and was walking up to the front door when something hit me on the head and I blacked out, and that was it.
Did he ever abuse you sexually?
No, all he did for a long time was bring me food in a little bowl. I think it was supposed to be food anyways. It was always the same chunks of raw meat. Of course I didn't want to eat it at first. But I got hungry. If you've never been without food for weeks you have no idea...
What do you think he was feeding you?
I don't want to think about it, okay? I did what I had to do to survive. You would have done the same thing.
But he never touched you, in a sexual way?
I don't understand why you care, but I already said no. He wasn't into live girls. He had plenty of them that wouldn't put up a fight. I don't think he was into violence if he could help it.
But he killed so many people...
No, he killed about four or five. The rest he got from graveyards.
You were the only living person in that trailer besides him?
Yes.
Why do you think he kept you alive?
I think he wanted a pet, thats what I think. He treated me like one, except he never unchained me to take me for walks. But he would pat my head and talk to me like I was a baby. And sometimes he would just sit and stare at me, like I was a bug or something.
Tell us about your escape.
Well it was real simple, one day I heard him get his truck and drive off somewhere, which didn't happen often. I pulled at my chains till they ripped out of the wall and then I ran.
Into the woods.
Yeah, I was out of my mind, I didn't know where I was going.
And you ran right into him.
Yup, he hadn't gone very far. I didn't know it was his truck. He was digging a hole in the ground, bent over and I grabbed his shoulder. Stupid, so fucking stupid.
Why do you think he...did what he did next?
Easy, he didn't want me to try and escape.
Then why didn't he take your legs?
I think he meant to take them. Later. I think his thought process was that he needed to do something to keep me from pulling my chains out of the wall again. And...other things.
Well, um Miss Grace, Thank you for your time.
Oh, it's no problem.
And we're very sorry about your...
Yeah yeah, everyone is. I don't need any more pity....
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