Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
11.30.06 (8:02 pm) [edit]I went back. I got her phone number. She was QUICK to give it to me. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH H!!!!!!!!!!!!!! $20 says she has a dick. Who wants to bet? Like I care at this point. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! !!!!!!!! Dougie
-------------
The above (Two hours ago? One? Thirty? I can't recall)looks so funny without paragraph markers that I'm gonna leave it that way.
One hour 'til I call her. Cranking up Back In Black, which seems to help somehow. You have to understand something about Dougie, fine readers - I'm a DOUCHEBAG sometimes, I get really fucking wound up and unable to think clearly and I over-analyze and can't relax and...
Why am I telling YOU fuckers this? You read this fucking blog, you know I'm an idiot already.
So, I'm cooling down, ready to go about this a little more relaxed. For an hour, I was sure she has a dick, or she's actually 15 and part of some diabolical plot to bring my ass down, or has AIDS, or is with the Russians too (how was I to know?), or maybe it's Amanda in disguise and SHE actually has a dick, or it's all a fucking game and she gave me the number to a fucking Pizza Hut or something. Some bitch did that to me while I was in Indy last year. Shit happens.
Oh, the phone number is her. I called ten minutes ago and she told me to try back in an hour. She sounded...like she was trying not to be noticed. I think she's still at work. It was hilarious how she gave me her number. I hadn't even asked her for it or asked her out yet (though I was 10 seconds from just that) when she yanked a bit off the receipt roll on her register, scribbled down her number, and gave it to me, telling me to put it away before somebody saw it. Hehe. Girl doesn't even know me but ALREADY she is smart enough not to want to be seen in public getting too friendly with my dumb ass. These girls today are QUICK, I tell you!
That whole scene (predicated on me going back for "forgotten" pasta sauce, an obvious ruse that she seemed very amused by) had the feel of a really nice straight-laced girl (she seems to be just that) suddenly up to something really naughty. Like "Wow, some long-haired fat guy twice my age is after me, he just told me he's in a band and travels a lot. THIS is the momentary escape from my dreary small-town life I've been waiting for." Quick, I tell ya.
Or maybe I imagined that, but she definitely had the vibe of a girl looking for something out of the ordinary. Hoo boy, poor kid has no clue, does she? Maybe I should take my copy of the Satanic Bible along and some Stanhope bootlegs. She'll be huddled in a corner filing restraining orders by dawn. Wheeeeee!!!!
OK, all this stupid shit has been therapy to ease the rush of chemicals making my brain function like a team of chimps on truck-stop speed chasing after the meat. Time to relax and move slow. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Damn, she's cute.
Love,
Dougie
-------
Called twice. No answer. I have nothing to do now but drink and sleep.
Fuck.
These Young Girls Won't Let Me Be
11.30.06 (5:10 pm) [edit]"She was just seventeen, you know what I mean
And the way she looked was way beyond compare"
- The Beatles
You guessed it, ANOTHER one. Well, 18 this time.
In the cheap supermarket for a few items. Come up to the checkout and there she is. Not a knockout, but damn cute. Dark blonde hair pulled up nicely, round face, adorable smile. She could use a dentist, but that somewhat crooked smile only added to her cuteness, I thought.
She took care of the woman in front of me, and got to my stuff, asked if I'd found everything alright.
"Yep. And how are you tonight?"
"Oh, OK I guess. This is only my third night here."
"Really? Well, good luck."
She kinda laughed a bit, "I'll probably be OK, but I went home crying the first two nights."
"Oh?"
"Just trying to do eveything and keep up. I shouldn't let it get to me."
"No, you shouldn't. I bet you'll do fine, just give it a while." I wanted to say "Shit, honey, it's just a crap job. Loosen up a bit." But that smile and the overall high level of downright fuckin' cuteness held me back. I'm trying to get laid here, don't tell her shit like that.
"Thank you." Damn, what a smile.
"If it makes you feel better, you have the CUTEST smile I've seen in a long time."
Oh, that wonderful reaction. The way her shoulders went down and her round face lit up. Woo hoo!
"Thank you so much!" She looked flattered as all hell.
"I bet a girl as cute as you has a boyfriend already, don't you?"
"No." Now she looked embarassed. In a really fucking cute way. Damn, I can't take my eyes from her.
"Why not?"
"Nobody thinks I'm cute!"
"You've gotta be kidding me. I think you're a doll."
I do, too.
She finished ringing me up and bagging my few items. (Huhuhuh, "bagging", huhuhuh.) Gave me that smile again with something else behind it. "How old are you?"
Oh shit. I hadn't even been thinking about THAT at all this time. She's really cute, and...uh...oh shit...
"Well, now I'm scared. Maybe you better tell me how old you are first." I laughed. "OK, I'll go first. I'm 36."
"Wow, you're 36?" That's all she said, but it came out like she thought I was younger than that. Which makes a creepy old fuck like me feel good, ya know?
"I'm 18."
"Oh Lord."
She just laughed.
"I take it you're not into older guys."
"Age is just a number."
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. Give me two or three more like this, let me actually nail 'em, and I might even believe your shit again, carpenter-boy.
"Well, that's how I feel about it too." I think that actually came off charming somehow, but don't ask me how I pulled it off. Shit, I pulled the whole damn thing off good. Enter THAT one into Ripley's, motherfucker!
"You should come back and see me soon." Oh fuck, that look on her face when she said that. Honey, if you smile at me like that one more time, I ain't LEAVING...
"I will most definitely do that."
She looked pleased. VERY pleased. Woodrow, meet Pant.
"I'll be here Saturday." She told me the hours.
"I'll do my best to see you soon."
"Bye!" Oh fuck, you are so damn cute...
I walked out the door and promptly forgot her name which I'd looked at on the tag six times, because chemical reactions were flooding my brain and electricity was shooting through...uh...OK, mostly my cock.
Then I remembered that I'm not going to be here on Saturday, and hardly ever will be for a long time. Shit-fuckin'-fuckity!
I had to drag my ass across the parking lot and not look back, because the crazed urge to go back and talk to her more nearly overtook all logic. As if there was much logic to be had at this point. Mostly just chemistry, electricity, and my pants suddenly not fitting so well.
I better start drinking like a bastard so that I don't try to go out. I'm STILL wanting to go back now. No, don't do it, assface. The way she reacted, the tension of waiting might just fuck with her head as much as it is yours, and that's only gonna help in the long run, motherfucker.
God DAMN she's cute.
Oh, I took the day off work today. Fuck 'em. Got a couple things done at home, even.
Love (and cock),
Dougie
She Put The Finishing Touches On Me?
11.30.06 (12:47 am) [edit]I go to all the trouble of being pissed off at you and writing this slab of frustration and then you send me an email. I love you, girl. :)
Fuck it, I'll post it anyway. It's pretty good stuff, my little angel dressed in black.
Waiting like an addict for his trunk of junk
'Til I figured out your promises were the most manipulative bunk
Prove me wrong, and I'll worship you all night
In all the ways that I promised you, I know you won't put up no fight
His love ain't shit compared to what I have in store for you
Funny that you once told me that I'd taught you those things that bring him back to you
So strange what long distance conversations can do to a woman and a man
And I'm left holding my own bag, fool enough to think that you'd understand
That's what I get
It's what I deserve
Just deserts on the plate of another old perv
Half my years spent pulling shopworn shit from my brain
Same time you've spent on this Earth, here come those feelings again
I ain't fuckin' around, I don't have time for your games
I'd close those 1000 miles between us in an instance if I thought I'd have your heart to gain
But that's what I get
It's what I deserve
Just deserts on the plate of another old perv
Pissed all over convention
Just to show you a good time
Now your blatant inattention
Is fucking with my rhymes
But that's what I get
It's what I deserve
Just deserts on the plate of another old perv
Don't take me for granted, 'cause I've got some news for you
I'd rather have your half-formed promises than only a ghost of you
This ain't built to last, we both know it's true
But I'll ride these rails westward just to breathe in one drop of you
That's what I should get
It's what I fucking deserve
A slice of you on the plate of this tired old perv
That's what I get
It's what I deserve
Don't leave my tray empty, I'm here to serve
Tell me what do you get
For your sudden reserve?
I'm holding my dish out with both hands, longing for your curves
This is what I get
I really should learn
Just another tired old man with desire to burn
----------------------
Thank you, love. I needed to know you still cared.
They tell me love requires a little standing in line
And I've been waiting for you, lover, for a long, long time
I've been pacing the floor
I've been watching the door
Meanwhile I'll keep searching for a heart
You bring out the most amazng mix of emotions in me, honey.
From pure deranged animal fuckery to the most gawd-awful sentimental drippiness.
Damn, you rock.
Love,
Dougie
Six (No, Make That Seven) Things That Happened To My Ass Today
11.29.06 (10:06 pm) [edit]1.) Took a really rancid wallpaper-peeeling shit after thrashing around in bed for half an hour saying "Fuck my job! I want to stay home!"
2.) I went to work anyway. It didn't suck TOO much. I think it's over soon, though, so I get to crawl back to my agency and bitch some more. Oh joy.
3.) I picked up Katie and had a very nice time with her. We ate fish and mac & cheese and watched The Emperor's New Groove and talked about school.
4.) I saw A - the little teenage vixen I wrote about a while back. Hadn't seen her in a while. I tried to ignore her, and I think I pissed her off. Good. THe little bitch fucked with my head good the last timje I saw her, and I hope she finds another guy twice her age to torture. I got my beer and got the fuck out.
5.) Came home and cranked up some Zevon, surfed the net for Hunter Thompson stuff, and flipped through my fresh copy of Doug Stanhope's Fun With Pedophiles - The Best Of Baiting. I'd read the download versiuon the night I posted about it, now I have hard copy for the authorities to find next to my lifeless corpse some night.
6.) Now it's ten years later, and he still keeps up the fight. I'm drinking a Steel Reserve for my favorite headless Thompson gunner. Can't wait 'til this weekend. We're back at the bar I met Nova at, and I plan on drinking this time around. Why not? Tomorrow is another day. Or something.
Doug
-----------
7.) I guess A wasn't the only girl who chose to fuck with me tonight. I saw you online for fifteen minutes, Abby. It's been a month. write me. I'm worried about you. I probably shoulnd't be, but I am, dammit.
---------
So, who has their copy of Stanhope's Fun With Pedophiles? (evil cackling Herbest-West-On-Meth laughter)
I Was In The House When The House Burned Down
11.29.06 (9:53 pm) [edit]I should just rename this blog "My Favorite Warren Zevon Lyrics Page" and get the shit over with.
I had the shit till it all got smoked
I kept the promise till the vow got broke
I had to drink from the lovin' cup
I stood on the banks till the river rose up
I saw the bride in her wedding gown
I was in the house when the house burned down
I may be old and I may be bent
But I had the money till it all got spent
I had the money till they made me pay
Then I had the sense to be on my way
I had to stay in the underground
I was in the house when the house burned down
I was in the house when the house burned down
I met the man with the thorny crown
I helped Him carry his cross through town
I was in the house when the house burned down
I was in the house when the house burned down
I met the man with the thorny crown
I helped Him carry his cross through town
I was in the house when the house burned down
I had the shit till it all got smoked
I kept the promise till the vow got broke
I had to drink from the lovin' cup
I stood on the banks till the river rose up
I saw the bride in her wedding gown
I was in the house when the house burned down
Yet Another Pic
11.29.06 (9:33 pm) [edit]
Somehow hadn't seen this one yet, it's from a few weeks back.
ABC Thing
11.27.06 (9:36 pm) [edit]Stolen from Sheryl's blog:
The Letter A
Are you available?: Yep
What is your age?: 36
What annoys you?: Damn near anything if you get me at the right time
The Letter B
Do you live in a big house?: I'm sure the bugs on the wall think so, but I don't
When is your birthday?: April 13
Who is your best friend?: A bottle, a CD player, and the darkness. They're kind of a trinity most nights.
The Letter C
What's your favorite candy? Twizzlers. And thanks for reminding me, now that's half of what's on my mind.
Who's your crush? I still have some weird 12-year old puppy-dog thing for a girl I call Layla, who is married to one of my best friends.
When was the last time you cried? Probably in the middle of a Zevon song while drunk, not long ago. Funnily enough, that would also be the last time I danced around the room like a loon.
The Letter D
Do you daydream? I live in one.
What's your favorite kind of dog? One that isn't in my Chinese dinner
What day of the week is it? Monday
The Letter E
How do you like your eggs? very done, omelette with mushrooms, garlic, onions, black pepper and hot sauce
Have you ever been in the emergency room?: Yes
What's the easiest thing ever to do? Thinking about pussy
The Letter F
Have you ever flown in a plane? Yes, my dad used to be a pilot
Do you use fly swatters? Nailed a bug for my kid just last night
Have you ever used a foghorn? No, but I have a really big leghorn. OK, I don't, and that was an abominalbe joke. My apologies.
The Letter G
Do you chew gum? Not often, a bit more these days though
Are you a giver or a taker? I've got taking down to a science, and I'm trying to learn how to reverse that into something more balanced.
Do you like gummy candies? Every once in a while. I think those were invented for kids, though.
The Letter H
How are you? Merrily semi-drunk. The veggies I'm chewing on seem to take the edge off the beer.
What's your height? 5'10"
what color is your hair? Brownish, some white.
The Letter I
What's your favorite ice cream? Chocolate
Have you ever ice skated? No.
Do you play an instrument? Several, a couple of them well enough to get paid for it.
The Letter J
What's your favorite jelly bean? Red, maybe black
Have you ever heard a really hilarious joke? Well, I was in this talent agent's office the other day, and...
Do you wear jewelry? No, but a year and a half later, I sometimes think I feel a ring where one used to be, which is an odd feeling.
The Letter K
Who do you want to kill? Ehhh, I'd rather make 'em work third shift in a BP station.
Do you want kids? The one I have is so great, I think I'll stick with her. I ain't gonna get that lucky again.
Where did you have kindergarten? Jonesboro, Indiana
Letter L
Are you laid back? Not really. I try and usually fail.
Do you lie? Not nearly as much as I used to, but let's not talk to the tax man about this one, 'k?
The Letter M
Whats your favorite movie? Arsenic And Old Lace
Do you still watch disney movies? Required part of being a dad
Do you like mangos? Damn, that sounds realy good right now...
The Letter N
Do you have a nickname? Doug Stanhope called me "Captain" in an email recently. I called him "Cunthair" in return.
Whats your favorite number? 667, The neighbor of The Beast
Do you prefer night over day? I'm funnier at night, but it hurts more then.
The Letter O
Whats your one wish? That I'll pull my head together enough to finally feel like a decent human being and be more productive and serve my loved ones better. But I'll settle for a handjob, Captain.
Are you an only child? No
Do you wish this was over? Nah, this is the most fun I've ever had with my underwear up the crack of my ass.
The Letter P
What one fear are you most paranoid about? Losing my daughter.
What's a personality trait you look for in the sex you like? The necessary insanity to want to be around me. The ability to impersonate an industrial vacuum cleaner is a close second, I should add.
The Letter Q
Are you quick to judge people? Too quick.
The Letter R
Do you think youre always right? Shit, I'm wrong at least half the time. It's called thinking for yourself.
Do you watch reality tv? I barely watch TV at all.
Whats a good reason to cry? Warren Zevon songs that remind me of who I really am.
The Letter S
Do you prefer sun or rain? Sun, but I've nothing against the rain.
Do you like snow? When I can look at it but not have to drive in it, it rocks.
What's your favorite season? Not sure, but I think I'm leaning towards summer.
The Letter T
What time is it? 9:47PM
What time did you wake up? 7:30
When was the last time you slept in a tent? I made a pup tent...
The Letter U
Are you wearing underwear? That and a ratty shirt that's about to fall apart.
Do you prefer underwear or thongs? Nothing at all when I can.
Underwear or boxers? Well, I tried to wear a boxer on my cock once, but he beat the shit out of me. Fucking big gloves on that guy...
The Letter V
Whats the worst veggie? Hmmm....I can't think of one offhand...
Where do you want to go on vacation? All alone in the desert, just like Georgia o'Keefe
Where was your last family vacation to? If you count me and the kid, this weekend to Indiana
Letter W
What's your worst habit? Guilt
Where do you live? North of Cincinnati
The Letter X Have you ever had an x-ray? A few times
Have you seen the x-games? Nope.
Do you own a xylophone? Nope, but I've got a keyboard with several keys missing that I just put a xylophone patch on and played the melody of Montana badly on.
The Letter Y
Do you like the color yellow? Only as a friend.
What year were you born in? 1970, three days after Paul left the Beatles.
Whats one thing you yearn for? A big fuckin' guilt-eraser.
The Letter Z
Whats your zodiac sign? Aries
Do you believe in the zodiac? About as much as I believe anything I'm told.
What's your favorite zoo animal? Dubya. Throw him a peanut!
Fuck You, Eddie Money
11.27.06 (6:38 pm) [edit]I had Think I'm In Love stuck in my goddamn head long enough I had to come home and blast Zevon's Boom Boom Mancini six times to get it out.
Heard it on the radio on the way to buy beer. Then I heard it in my head when I saw her.
40-ish brunette. I think I wrote about her a few weeks back. Married, but flirts with me a lot. I hadn't seen her in a while.
"Wow, I don't see too many people buying that beer anymore. It's usually Budweiser or something."
"Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!"
David Lynch - director of fine films, supplier of lines that make really fucking hot women laugh at me.
"You're funny."
"And you are the most beautiful married woman I ever wanted to steal from a man who would probably kill me by shoving me face first into a gallon of this stuff when he found me hitting on her."
She laughed a lot at that, then said, "Nah, he'd probably just run over you with his truck."
"Cool! I had half my body shot off in Korea, and I'm all steel plates like Lloyd Bridges in those Hot Shots movies. I bet I could survive a truck on my skull. So, wanna cheat on your husband with a guy who likely isn't half the man he is? Come on, I'll buy you a pizza."
She was about to collapse laughing. Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!
"Sorry, I'm a nice girl, but you make sure to come back soon. I need the entertainment."
"Nice girls finish last, sweetheart. Bad girls finish...uh...all the bad girls avoid me like the plague too. SHIT!"
I love hearing a woman laugh. When she looks vaguely like Teri Hatcher and plants fucking Eddie Money songs in my head on the drive home, that's even cooler.
Earlier tonight I wrote a song borne out of alcoholism and Zevon-worship. It needs music and some tweaking. But the first draft is something I'm pretty proud of.
The dead man is singing a Prince song for me now. I'll have a beer for him now.
Love,
Dougie
The MILFage Was Large
11.27.06 (3:03 pm) [edit]I had a great time with Katie this weekend, just beautiful fun. I was laying half awake at 7:30 this morning when I heard her voice from the sleeping bag on the floor. "Good morning, Daddy!"
Ready to rock the day in half. That's my kid.
We went to a park for an hour. She latched right onto another girl and away they went. They came around a corner and the girl stopped and looked at me. The way kids usually do - "what the fuck is that big hairy thing on the bench?"
Katie said matter-of-factly, "That's my dad. He's really nice. His name is Doug, but I just call him Dad."
I wish I could convey the way she phrases stuff like that. I nearly shit myself laughing.
There's a definite added plus to going with your kid to places where other kids are at - MOMMIES. A few weeks ago there was an open house at her school, and I thought I'd been given front-row seats to MILF Fest '06. It's always fun to catch one of the other guys looking around at the scenery. You kinda look at each other with that half-hidden smile that says "Yep, I see it too." That happened a couple times that night.
Today there was only one such lovely example of wood-inducement, but oh my GAWD she was wonderful. And utterly ignored me. Killer blonde in tight jeans and a leather jacket, totally poised and in control, with her little boy. The other kids were running rings around him because he was half their size, but she just looked on with a smile that said "Let him get in there and find his place." Usually these yuppie SUV-owners have this half-panic air like they're terrified of Junior going up two steps or he'll crush his precious little head. Or they get on their cell phone and ignore the little fucker as he and another kid pound each other over the skull with sticks. This one had the balance down perfectly.
And she was HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. I wanted to go up to the kid and say, "Excuse me sonny, I need to lock you into your car for ten minutes while I take your mommy down to the bushes and suck her snatch."
Listening to Link Wray right now. The Satriani of the '50s, baby. I think I'll see if the guys want to have a go at Rumble.
Signed up another student up north today, and made vague plans with two parents down here to start their kids up with lessons at the beginning of the year. It'll take a while to get where I want to be with this stuff, but it's looking better.
Damn, I'm tired.
Love,
Dougie
Bedtime Stories
11.27.06 (12:01 am) [edit]Just got off the phone with Sheryl. Sounds like she had a great day too, and I really enjoy talking to her about our girl. It was a very nice conversation.
We had a fun drive back, and she took a short nap at the end of it. Then we came home and watched a ridiculous movie called Hoodwinked, a spin on the Little Red Riding Hood story. Patrick Warburton as the voice of the wolf - PERFECT.
Katie loved the little caffiene-buzzing squirrel. I liked the extreme-sports-loving Granny. (Voiced by Glenn Close.) And Andy Dick does the bad guy's voice, which is...well, I'm glad Andy Dick turned out to be good for SOMETHING. Nice to know.
I worked part of that movie into her bedtime story.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl and her daddy. And they drove to Indiana to see her grandparents and aunt and cousins. But on the way, a crazy squirrel ran in front of the car and rammed his face into the windshield and went "bog085jgoijgutbrnor tgvirtmbs;tfg;orv;r."
(That's my typed version of the squirrel on a caffiene buzz. Work with me here, you fucks. This is for the KIDS, damn you.)
And once they made him pee in the cheese toilet until the caffiene was gone, he finally settled down and told them, "You're going the wrong way. If you drive this way, you'll drive into the woods and hit a tree."
So they turned around, and the squirrel was right! They drove in the right direction, and the squirrel said "novglrvgnsgmvprtmgb kpsrt"
(She's looking at me with the best face-of-joyous-anticipati on at this point...)
So they had a happy holiday with their family, and she came to see her daddy play music, and fell asleep before he did terrible sadistic things with a whammy bar during a Kinks song.
(OK, I just added that part in...)
Then they went out into the woods by Grandma's house, the woods that Daddy had played in when he was five years old. And they saw all kinds of animals. They saw deer and birds and squirrels sitting around the coffee table going "nourevjgngresvgpr,k gpodrskgpors,kgre;skg;&qu ot;
By the way, Katie, I don't know if you realized this, but the woods has a coffee table right in the middle of it. It's a table, and it has coffee on it. And the squirrels LOVE it there.
Then the daddy helped his beautiful little girl climb up in a tree, and they climbed together to the very top and looked down into the woods, and saw all the other trees, and all the animals, and they had a very good view of the woods for miles and miles and miles around.
Then they climbed down and sat around the coffee table with all the other animals and drank coffee and played with animals and went "odsnvo;rejvgfjglrgs rtk;lstrtlvgbkrt"
And the moral of the story is that if you drink too much coffee, you'll get deer poop on you.
She closed her eyes with a content smile and laid her head on the pillow. I was telling her the other story about the mommy and daddy who had the amazing little daughter that they were so proud of when she fell asleep.
Oh yeah, and I almost told the Aristocrats joke onstage last night, but the singer stopped me.
Sorry, had to loosen this post up some. But man, I had a great day with the kid today.
Happy,
Doug
Rockin' The Cheese Toilets
11.26.06 (10:13 am) [edit]A whole six hours sleep after a gig? Weird...
I picked up Katie yesterday morning. The car was loaded with extra stuff - my gear, the new fender to put on the front, laundry, etc. I told Katie that I didn't have any room and she'd have to ride all the way to Marion strapped onto the luggage rack on top of the car.
Gotta keep 'em on their toes...
But there was room in her seat, and we spent several minutes going off to Sillyland, concocting absurdities together.
She won, by the way.
"Then you put the hams in the cheese toilet! With peanuts! And there's purple pee, and green pee,. and RAINBOW PEE!"
I'm a proud daddy...
Then she explained the basic principles of Toilet Tag to me. "When somebody tags you, you have to stand next to the toilet, then they flush it."
What do they flush? YOU? Peanuts? Bricks of cheese?
"No, they just flush the handle."
Oh, OK. Perfectly clear.
We had lunch at my parents', then off to Grandma's. Katie's favorite two cousins came over. Our little cousin A is feeling much better - he was the one who spent a week in the hospital after an asthma attack. But he was doing great, and they had a great time togvether.
At one point, she was telling him, "My Daddy's bass got stolen from his car! It was BANDITS.'"
"Bandits?"
"Yes, they dress in black just like ninjas so that you can't hear them...or something."
"Like ninjas?"
"Yes. I've been reading about bandits. I'm a bandit expert."
I cut in, "Katie, I didn't know you were a bandit expert."
"Oh, I didn't tell you yet."
I nearly shit right in the cheese toilet laughing.
I'm gonna start carrying a hand-held recorder with me when I have her. Then I'll have stuff to rely on when she's 16 to embarrass the shit out of her with in front of her friends.
"Hello, Johnny. Nice to meet you on your first date with my daughter. Oh, I was just cleaning the shotgun, no worries. Hey, you like roadkill? Anyway, she's upstairs getting ready, so ya wanna hear a tape of her talking about toilets when she was five?"
"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Yesterday was my parents' 39th anniversary. We went to a Bob Evens. After placing my order, I ran out to the lobby with my cell phone and a list - the waiting list for students. I signed up three new bass students, two next week, one starting a couple weeks after that. So now my extra income up north here is going to start coming in. I still have four names to call, and they might have a few more for me. I've only planned on opening up space for six, but I'll take more if all goes well. They charge slightly less here than what I'm used to, but I get a larger cut of it, and half a dozen students will me I drive home with a mimimum of $140 between teaching and the gig, all for one Saturday's work.
A good start.
I took three aspirin before the gig. I don't know if it was that - and I do that often enough that I don't see how - or dinner - which I really enjoyed and noticed nothing wrong with at all - but I felt weird all night. Head was fuzzy, I was disconnected from most of what was happening, and I was on the verge of being nauseous.
Yet I still managed to play very well for the most part, and pulled out much better vocals than I thought I would.
We had issues with the guitar amp all night (by the way, my bass amp is back and working) and it hampered a couple solos. The distortion channels were all fucked up, some weird nearly-unusable sound like a fuzz pedal with a bad battery. The clean channels were fine.
But I got out a couple of my better solos, and none of them sucked. Just a pain in the ass adjusting tones all night.
Katie ran around like a loon for a few songs, then KLONK. Fell alseep like a rock, right on top of the table in front of Mom. When I picked her up on the first break, I had to make sure she was ALIVE. 35 pounds of dead weight in my hands, about to knock me over. Finally she stirred some, but she was a tired kid. Of course, then they left and she was wide awake for them for a couple hours.
The magnificent Spock was in attendance, with his cousin. Great to see you again, you bloated Vulcan fuck. Have a safe trip back to CA, and enjoy traffic! Whee!
I feel pretty good and relaxed now. We're not in a hurry to go back home, and it'll be dark when we get there. Katie will stay with me tonight, and go back to her mommy tomorrow afternoon. I get lots of time with my girl! Wheeeeeeee!!!!
Love,
Dougie
I'll Be Homo For Christmas
11.24.06 (11:02 pm) [edit]I love my band, but every once in a while, somebody will come up with an idea so terrifying, of such Lovecraftian horror, that I must find a way to shield my eyes while I play my bass.
FIVE Christmas songs to learn. Fucking FIVE.
Blue Christmas? OK, I can handle that. Mellencamp's version of I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus? That's kinda cute, I can deal with that. Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree? OK, whatever. Springsteen's Santa Claus Is Coming To Town? It's so ridiculous I'd HAVE to derive some enjoyment from it.
Jingle Bell Rock.
Jingle Motherfucking Bell Goddamn Rock.
Guys and gals, I have no quarrel with our homosexual friends and neighbors, and I'll suck your cock myself if you doubt me. Like I have any kind of reputation to defend or protect at this point in my spiritual growth. Fuck it. I'm all for my queer buddies, because they are helping to keep traffic volume down. Suck a cock for me, boys.
That said, Jingle Bell Rock is FUCKING GAY. That song is gayer than eight guys blowing nine guys. With a dick left over to go in the ear. "Mmmmph! Mmmmph! Happy holidays, sweetie! Ow! Not so fucking hard this time! Ow! Ow!" I know gay guys who would say "Oh my God, that's fucking GAY!"
I'm just gonna close my eyes, play the fucking bass part, and pray for rain. I'm listening to some Mars Volta right now just to ease the pain. I don't know what the fuck an exoskeleton has to do with the rest of this post, but I'm screaming along with it so I can cleanse myself of Jingle Queer Cock.
Love,
Dougie
End The Hate
11.24.06 (6:55 pm) [edit]Since so many other people seem into this Michael Richards story, here's my observations:
1.) Wow, he really fucked up, didn't he? I watched the video, and it's obvious that he's trying to turn this stupid thing into something funny, but he fails so miserably it only makes me that much less sorry for him in the end. You fucked up, dude.
2.) When white people do the "but I'm not a racist" speech, it makes me want to slap them, even if they aren't as stupid as Richards. Oh, well, maybe you aren't a racist, but you sure are a fucking IDIOT.
3.) I never really followed Seinfeld, but I enjoyed it when I did see it. My main picture of Richards is the part he played in Weird Al's UHF movie.
But he certainly just proved that you can be a good comedic actor but still be a shitty excuse for a stand-up comedian. This was all brought on by a HECKLER? Jesus Fucking Christ, man, ANY comedian worth two shits can deal with that. If he can't deal with that shit in any better way, I'm amazed at his stupidity.
4. ) Contrary to what some well-meaning people like to tell you, "nigger" is not a bad word. There ARE no bad words, and we need to cut that shit out. CONTEXT is what matters. White people tend to have little clue of what context works for this particular word, but I've got Carlin and Stanhope CDs to prove that it can be done, let alone the Richard Pryor and Chris Rock stuff where the black guys use it in great context.
5.) Pryor and Rock are prime examples of excellent racial humour, as are Carlos Mencia, Sarah Silverman, and countless others. You can not only do racial humour without being a racist, you can make people really fucking uncomfortable and still be hilarious and not cross the line. Want some good racial humour? Check out Mencia - that guy is AMAZING at this shit. Unfortunately, Michael Richards is just a racist asshole.
6.) In all this, one thing that bothers me the most is that Richards - who hardly has had much of a career in standup - is being brought down by this, yet Larry The Cable Guy - who is a hugely popular standup - can get away with HIS racism. I guess it's OK when you're talking about towelheads though, eh? It also helps when you're as one-dimensional as Larry is.
7.) I'll let Stanhope carry this one out. Following a bit on midgets, he delivers this lovely thing:
"That is what our generation has to show for itself. No great depressions, no cold wars, no Vietmans. We've got angry midgets to contend with. That is how bad it is for us. Everybody's angry. They have nothing to be angry at, so they're angry about NOTHIN'.
I saw a bumper sticker, it said "Stupid people shouldn't breed". Is that the solution? Yeah, clap it up girly. 'Cause you know why? I'm pretty stupid. And I shouldn't breed? My dad is completely stupid and my mother is half a fuckin' idiot, and I am tired of this hate being thrown at my people!
You want to get rid of the stupid people, fine, we won't breed, there will be none of us left. All the fast food will be self-serve, but other than that you will get by OK. But let me ask you something - who's next? Where does it end? Assholes, huh? They will come after them next. 'Yeah, now that we got rid of all the stupid people I noticed Larry is kind of an asshole.' They'll get rid of them. I bet you have a few friends that are assholes. Pretty close to them too, they're gone. Then the dickheads. Hey, all the heads, fuck it. Shitheads, dickheads, fuckheads, put them all in a bus and send them back to Fuckheadville. Then are you going to be happy? Is it going to be Utopia now?
'Well, I don't really agree with what they did to the dickheads, but now us sacks-of-shit can live in peace' Not for long, girly! Then who, the cocksuckers? You want to get rid of the cocksuckers, then who is going to suck all the cock? You think the douchebags will do it? No. You ever get your cock sucked by a douchebag? It's like a chore to them. Is that the way you want to live?
My great-great-grandmother was a cunt in the late 1800s, long before it was popular to be a cunt. Just to shop at the Mercantile she had to pretend she was just surly. Is that the way you want to live again? I don't think so. I say end the hate."
Love,
Dougie
Validation
11.23.06 (10:51 pm) [edit]Stanhope wrote me back tonight from a myspace message wherein I drunkenly ranted about the spiriutal upliftingness of his new book. I replied, and called him a "cuntstain."
It's all good.
Love,
Dougie
PS Now, if I can just get one paragraph through to George Carlin about how he changed my life for the better, I can die happy...
If Ya Wanna End War And Stuff, Ya Gotta Sing Loud
11.23.06 (8:53 pm) [edit]I just engaged in one of the few Thanksgiving traditions I still hold to, and danced around the apartment with beer and whiskey while singing along to Alice's Restaraunt. I know every goddamn word, as I imagine most good Americans do.
Thank you, Arlo Guthrie, for making us laugh about life and love. Again.
Kill! Kill!
Dougie
Why, For All My Efforts To Be Open-Minded, I Only Really Give A Shit About Music Recorded Or Inspired From The Years 1967 To 1975
11.23.06 (8:25 pm) [edit]The Pink Fairies. 1972. "What A Bunch Of Sweeties."
A version of Walk Don't Run that will grow thick cords of canine fur on your ballbag. Even if you're a woman.
I love rock and roll, just like Joan jett, but FUCK that pretend little poseur.
Love,
Dougie
Kill A Turkey For Me, Ya Swine!
11.23.06 (7:20 pm) [edit]"You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaraunt" - Arlo Guthrie
What's so funny abour peace love and turkey death?...Gratefully not-dead...parents suck...white people suck...David Lynch's Fowl...family matters...grace...aloneness is next to godliness...booze is my friend...thankful
I honestly don't feel too much of an attachment to holidays, but it makes sense to set aside time to remember the stuff you have to be thankful for, and if you can do it on a day off work where you have an excuse to eat and drink as much as I have so far today, that's a pretty good time to be a human being.
I have a lot to be thankful about. I'm reasonably healthy, I get to do something I really love once a week with some great guys, I have some really good sick fuck friends I can share my more depraved thoughts with, my love of alcohol hasn't got me or anyone else killed yet, this Genesis CD I'm listening to kicks ass, and I have an amazing daughter who loves me and brings true satisfaction into my life during the times I have with her.
Good stuff, and there's lots more as well. But you can only blog about that for so long before you think, "Hey, I need to bitch about something, because what the fuck else is writing good for when you've had an entire 12-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and half a dead chicken and you're off work for a day with time on your hands?"
So let's get on with some of that shit.
I'm rethinking my position on random acts of violence and general frontier justice after a trip to the store today for more beer. (I started drinking at 11AM, and it never ceases to amaze me that while after a long day at work, the act of drinking in the evening slows me to a crawl; drinking early on a day off pulls my brain cells into focus and I get LOTS of shit done around the apartment.) I witnessed something so stupid, so thoughtless, so full of self-important SHIT, I wantd to pull out an old-style revolver and do some kind of John Wayne on this ignorant cunt.
Kids, kill your parents. I know it's not "socially acceptable", and you might spend a long time in prison, but look at it this way - you've made more space in traffic for others who aren't as fucking stupid as the shitbags who brought you into this fucking world.
It was like something out of a bad SNL sketch. Stereotypical bloated redneck mother, with a shopping cart full of trans-fat-riddled snack items and 3-for-a-dollar mac and cheese, asserting her Godlike Rights Of Parenthood on some poor kid of about seven who has the misfortune of being born into Middle America in these, our first years of the 21st century.
You better hope Darwin was right, motherfuckers, because if Gawd Almighty took the time to create each hair on the head of THIS sack of shit, we are COSMICALLY FUCKED.
Cunty The Cheese-Doodle Cunt was aimlessly looking through rows of carbonated sugar water when Junior saw something attached to the side of the racks. They like doing this in grocery stores - randomly putting cheap-ass toys in places they don't belong, so that your kids will go apeshit over a plastic shit-object while you're trying to buy strawberry jelly to lick out of your significant other's snatch once the little fucker has gone to sleep, thereby reducing the money you have left over to buy the lite cheese to put on your otherwise deadly midnight snack.
Now, I don't know these fine upstanding rednecks, and I don't know the back-history of toy-whining of the kid in question, but here's what I observed:
1.) A distractable staring-into-the-distance bloated sack of trailer shit posing as a mother (and hey, I've got about 60 pounds to lose myself, so there ya go) who was UTTERLY IGNORING the child at her feet until it opened it's mouth to interrupt her glazed-eyed gaze at shit that'll fuck her metabolism even more in the ass than she already has.
2.) A small child who merely ASKED for a toy. I saw no serious sense of panic or unreasonableness in this kid, no "gimme gimee gimme", not even loud about it. He ASKED A QUESTION. "Mommy, can I have that?" And that was IT. I've seen kids go nuts in stores over shit they don't need and turn into whiny little fucks about it - this kid was NOT in that category. At least not in this particular situation.
3.) The afore-mentioned cunt, COMPLETELY over-reacting to what was nothing more than a request.
The kid (rather cute little booger, I must say) seemed ready for the results even before his cunt mother turned around and...WHACKED THE FUCK OUT OF HIM ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD.
"NO! You're not getting a fucking toy! Shut up!"
Wow. Mighty impressive there, Mother Teresa.
The kid started bawling and howled "But Moooom!!!"
Now, I ask you, if somebody twice your size just whacked you in the head, what would YOU do?
"Don't talk back to me!" ANOTHER whack.
Raging rivers of bipolar fuckyouintheassness trying to break down my ability to hold back...
This scene continued for at least 90 more seconds, and the kid - who no longer was allowed to get ONE word out - got hit FOUR TIMES.
I slowly and painfully walked past this shit, desparately wanting to throw some kind of support behind this kid and tell his fuckfaced mother just how much of a thoughtless selfish TWAT she was, but I managed to not do it, because I knew nothing I'd say was going to help ANYTHING.
Some people would say, "Yeah, and it was none of your business." Go fuck yourself. If you saw two adults somewhere and one of them started wailing away on the other on the back of his head, you'd call the cops. When parents do it to kids, that's just "discipline."
Fucking idiots. i hate people who think this way. I know it's not "nice" to hate, but fuck you. Some people are fucking stupid hypocritical shitbags.
I got the fuck out, unable to rationalize ANYTHING going through my brain, because I mostly just wanted to turn the table on this bitch, grab a two-liter bottle of shitty soda, and beat HER on the back of the head until she learned a thing or two about what it means to be violently publicly humilated. But I don't want to go to jail.
I did knock three bags of chips into the end of the aisle as I left, though. Fuck knows what that means, but I had to do SOMETHING.
Now let me clarify something here - I'm not against certain forms of discipline, I'm not even against whacking a kid on the back of the head if he did something that DOES call for such extreme measures. Hey, we've all been there. Sometimes you see a little bastard that makes you wish child-beating was in the public domain, and you could line up behind 40 or 50 of your closest friends and take turns beating the fuck out of the little brainless cocksucker with a baseball bat. We all know how that FEELS, even though we never want to admit it. Some kids are fucking retards with no sense of right or wrong or respect for anything, and sometimes it's not even the parents' fault. (Although in 99.9% of all situations, I bet the big person in question fucked up SOMEWHERE along the line.) So pound the little fuck until he shuts the hell up. See if I care.
But let's be serious - how often that does happen? REALLY? Be honest now.
OK, three times a week if you shop the way I do, $20 at a time, but I'm trying to put some gravity on the other end of the teeter-fuck-totter here, guys and gals.
Parents can be assholes. Period. End of story. Not all of them, and plenty go the other way and turn into over-sensitive douchebags who won't do a fucking thing about the fact that their kid is an annoying little prick. We all know that.
But In the past week, I've heard two people (both of whom are really into Jesus and Toby Keith) say that "nobody disciplines their kids anymore" or some shit like that.
Even people who otherwise are very intelligent and insightful say stupid shit like that. One of my heroes, Bill Maher, has regularly made incredibly over-arching bullshit statements like that on his shows, and it makes you wonder what the fuck people who don't even have a kid think they know about the details of child-rearing. They don't know SHIT. Fuck them. Shut the fuck up and talk about something you KNOW a little about, assbag.
Well, maybe they aren't "disciplining" in YOUR trailer park, Tex Fuck-knob, but the cunthair I saw today is NOT an exception to a rule.
Parents, learn a thing or two about subtlety and what works in each particular situation, and don't be simple-minded assholes with three pre-arranged reactions to your children - that's nice, shut up, and WHACK. You fucked, you went the nine months, you showed up at the hospital - but your responsibility does not end there.
CHILDREN ARE NOT PROPERTY. They are human beings, and very likely their relative lack of experience in the world has them unencumbered by the years and years of bullshit that you are operating out of. You have to maintain control and be the boss, but you DON'T have to be some kind of fun-cop squashing every little thing the kid thinks or does just because you don't happen to LIKE it. Maybe you don't know everything, eh? Maybe if you LISTEN to the little bastard instead of assuming you are fucking right about every fucking thing on the fucking planet, you might fucking LEARN something, you fucking fuck. Imagine that. Somebody out of school learning some shit? Who knows, it might even work, it certainly hasn't been tried in most parts of our country.
Most of these shitbags are religious in some way, which makes the irony more fun. Jesus - who was into weird liberal shit like tolerance, forgiveness, second chances, and looking beyond oneself in an effort to better understand others - today used as some kind of extension of an Old Testamebt-derived one-dimensional sense of Authority and Power to keep in line the weak and helpless among us. These parents are the most pathetic overgrown children imaginable, who have to compensate for their failures and lack of self-respect by taking it out in violence on their own children, who possibly would choose abortion as an option if they knew they could have had that instead of having to endure a life of fear and loathing at the hands of self-righteous, simple-minded trailer-dwelling JESUS FAGGOTS.
And I am "immature" for liking dirty jokes and wanting to have buttsex with 17-year olds. Go fuck yourself.
I'm glad to be making beautiful noise with good friends on weekends and being near my girl, but I'm really not a fan of living in the middle of a high concentration of Jesus-based shitbags with Git-R-Done hats and the intellectual curiosity of a deformed gibbon. I know it's not politically correct to make broad generalizations about race, and I also know that on an individual basis, most people I come into contact with are pretty reasonable, but fuck it - white people suck. Find my inconsistencies and hypocrisies within that statement at your own leisure, my freshly-scrubbed liberal friends (and your two-baths-a-week Larry The Cable Guy-alike conserva-fuck counterparts) but be very aware of a simple truth that few of you care to accept - MOST STEREOTYPES ARE BASED TO SOME EXTENT IN TRUTH. Sorry. I didn't make the rules, I just observe them and come back to report my findings. Feel free to modify these meanderings, but think them through first. Maybe then we'll ALL learn something. I'm willing to take the time to consider further input - are you?
I brought a chicken home last night. Given the story I read in Larry Flynt's autobiography (An Unseemly Man, taken from my library along wih a couple Barclay James Harvest remasters early in the week, and goddamn I love my library) I found myself somewhat hesitant to let the poor bird in my home while I also had access to alcohol, but no chicken-fucking was to be had. I just jerked off the normal way and thought about the 17-year old Waffle House waitress I've had my brain bent by twice now. Insert yer own Bill Hicks references here.
I'm pretty fucking funny when I'm drunk, I think...
I have forever had my view of cooking whole chickens ruined by David Lynch. I can't help it, once I pull the sorry little headless bastard from Frank Purdue's death-plastic like some de-feathered miniature rotisserie-ready Laura Palmer, I HAVE to play with it a little, jiggling the little legs and wings like it's dancing in that scene in Eraserhead. Between this display of personal neurosis and the demilitarized-zone-like state of my dangerous kitchen (who the fuck wants to clean it?) it's no small wonder that I'm single and cocksucker-less on this holiday Thursday, as my family enjoy themselves hours away. I'll see them Saturday. Right now, I don't give a shit for Thanksgiving, I just want to take my day off and eat a lot of chicken (Mom's making turkey when I go up Saturday, so I'll wait on that feathered-species a while longer) and drink shitloads of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Bushmills while everyone else watches fucking football and celebrates the anniversary of the one time we were nice enough to share a meal with those red people before we handed them our smallpox and stole their land.
But no, I'm not THAT fucking cynical, I just think it makes for better writing. The hoiiday season is amongst us, and yay for that. It's good to have an excuse to be with family and friends for a day, and these moments are necessary, proper, and well. I have no quarrel with the basic human need for that kind of contact with loved ones.
But our capacity for over-seriousness and blind devotion to a tradition we barely even know enough about is something I feel the need to punch several gleefully dark little holes in with my jizz-soaked fuck-needle like the destruction of many an overfilled balloon, and...
Goddamn, I MUST be drunk. I don't write shit THIS ridiculous after testing laws of the land following a night of hops-drenched bass-raping gigs. Ahhh, sweet alcohol. Brings to mind a quote of some drunken note:
"The most important thing to remember about drunks is that drunks are far more intelligent than non-drunks. They spend a lot of time talking in pubs, unlike workaholics who concentrate on their careers and ambitions, who never develop their higher spiritual values, who never explore the insides of their head like a drunk does." - Shane MacGowen
An utterly biased and unscientific opinion perhaps, but there is a kernel of truth somewhere at the bottom of that bottle. Think I'll have me a go at finding it.
I enjoy being alone on days like these. Family stuff can wait a few days. I miss my daughter a lot, since we're going a bit longer between visits this week (she's a couple hours away with her mom's family) but frankly, our time will come. Right now, I need this bit of aloneness to settle my brain some. I feel that I am coming to a burst of over-activity, with a very full December of gigs and work and the need to stay ahead of the bills I've finally got a small handle on in the past few weeks. I am ready for this to a point, but I don't want to end up like one of Uncle Hunter's jackrabbits, burning out the circuits on some winding Indiana state road at 2:30AM, all energy expended in the few hours previous in an attempt to woo some inebriated MILF with the Power Of My Rockin'. (TM)
Talked to Mom a while ago, and it sounds like I missed a good day up there, but like I said, I'm happy to be here alone. Still, I missed the biggest family gathering on my Dad's side in years. They're not good at getting together anymore, and aren't even bothering for Christmas. Lots of cousins who I've only very recently tried to connect with were asking about me and Katie. Damn. We'll shoot for next year. I've gained more respect for my Dad's family in recent years - now that I realize most of them are more interesting than he is - and I regret that i ignored them for so long in favor of Mom's side, who are really far more fucked up and neurotic.
Our singer copied me a CD of the Pink Fairies. Good raw geetar-grinding '70s rock. Current listening.
Some things find their place in different ways at different times. A couple nights ago, Jeff Buckley was singing for my pain at being alone. Today, I cranked up Grace and rejoiced in my solitude, in the sense that somebody understood, in the knowledge that eventually it'll all come together in some weird random way, just like it always has. My faith in things I can't see is at its lowest ebb. But my faith in one pertinent wide-awake observation - that my basic instincts somehow prevail even in spite of the stupid shit I often put in front of their filter - carries me through. I am learning things I have no memory of knowing as a child - confidence, hopefulness, fearfulness - and I am becoming more like the child I once was in the process. I see that mirrored in my daughter. Her love of life and her insatiable thirst for fun, knowledge, and that wonderfully blurry line between absurdity and importance is fucking inspirational. She doesn't really even know it, because she's headfirst in the middle of it and having too much fun to analyze the way us old fucks do. I know I have things to tell her and teach her, but I want to do everything I can to be awake to her own observations and knowledge. My ideas about being a father have been radically altered in most respects since she was born, but the main thing I knew even before that remains unchanged - I've allowed myself to join everyone else in this stupid pretend excuse for a society in forgetting what it means to be a child, to not only have that sense of wonder and excitement, but to revel in it, to drink it up and charge through the playground of life in search of more, more, fuckin' more.
But with her help - and hopefully as much of mine for her - I can remember. I feel it sometimes. When I'm laughing with her at some impossibly goofy construct we've come up with ("You're a ketchup-head!") When I'm gleefully and viciously stacking Frippian dissonances on top of Roadhouse Blues with a white Strat copy. When I choke on my tofu-burger laughing my fool ass off to Sarah Silverman or Patton Oswalt or Doug Stanhope or Bill Hicks. When I write a drunken paragraph and spend three minutes re-reading it and cackling with mad-scientist mirth at some deranged twist of the language I've come to love fucking with so truly and stupidly.
When I'm all alone on a Thanksgiving evening and don't give a shit. Because I'm alive. I'm well. i'm drunk as an irish wedding. I'm as full of inconsistencies as I am truth, yet I love, love, fuckin' love it, because this is what I find so rich and joyous in this absurd Ives-on-meth composition I call my life.
Thankful as a frat boy alone in a whorehouse with unlimited credit. My God is this universe we're engulfed in and inseperable from, and on this November 23rd, 2006 I give thanks to it for somehow combining atoms in such a way so as to allow me to write this stupid shit in hopes that somebody out there gets a laugh from it.
Happy Thanksgiving, you fuckers. I love you all.
Love,
Dougie
I Wanna Fuck Sarah Silverman
11.22.06 (8:02 pm) [edit]"I want a funky little Jewish Princess
A grinder; a bumper, with a pre-moistened dumper
A brazen little Jewish Princess
With titanic tits, and sand-blasted zits
She can even be poor
So long as she does it with four on the floor"
- Frank Zappa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?...
Also go here and check out her Comic Relief appearance:
http://sarahsilvermanonli ne.c...
And this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?...
Wait In The Fire
11.21.06 (8:32 pm) [edit]"Kiss me, please kiss me,
But kiss me out of desire, babe, and not consolation
Oh, you know it makes me so angry
'Cause I know that in time
I'll only make you cry,
This is our last goodbye"
- Jeff Buckley
I feel a lot better now, but an hour ago I was taking myself entirely too seriously.
Still, Jeff Buckley's Grace is a perfect album to be alone and drinking to. I recommend it to all.
Two women fucking with my mind. One I haven't written about yet. The other I haven't in a long time. Both are probably far too young for me, both are bringing out emotions that I should feel good about, but I don't.
I'm gonna crank up a Stanhope CD and try to forget about this shit for a while.
Love,
Dougie
Dear God, My Spleen
11.20.06 (6:56 pm) [edit]http://www.lulu.com/content/487914
Stanhope is without a doubt the most twisted fuck I know of right now. The entire premise behind this book is so utterly wrong and sick and depraved, I simply NEED a copy.
Stocking stuffers for the kiddies.
Love,
Dougie
-------------
Stanhope promised that it was the funniest shit he's ever written. I'm only 22 pages in and i'm about to vomit with glee. Serious, I was laughing so hard, I tasted last night's carnitas.
Tool MY Sweet Ass, baby...
------------
"13 and a quarter inches of unwashed jungle cock flops into your face."
I can barely breathe...
---------
59 pages in. I have suddenly lost my desire to ever fuck a teenage girl in the ass. ROTFLMAO.
--------
Page 66, Now he's pretending to be a 12-year old girl in a wheelchair. This man is a Libertarian candidate for the president of the United States. And I'm not even queer but I want to fuck him now.
-----------
"Fuck the gay shit, eat my ass!"
Wheelchair. Remember...wheelchair...
-----------
"My ass is like a shopping bag."
I've found my new Bible, kids....
-------------
The book ends with him pretending to be an abortion doctor, baiting a religious nut. Folks, get yer ass to www.dougstanhope.com and check this shit our. I just read a book! Whee!
More Stuff About Cunts You Might Not Have Noticed
11.20.06 (5:28 pm) [edit]Wow, the things I learn online. Gee, thanks, Wikipedia!
"Vagina" is from the Latin for "sheath", or "scabbard."
In common speech, the term "vagina" is often used inaccurately to refer to the vulva or female genitals generally; strictly speaking, the vagina is a specific internal structure and the vulva is the exterior genitalia only.
The female clitoris corresponds to homologous parts of the male penis, i.e., embryologically it comes from the same tissue that forms the penis. The trigger for forming a penis instead of a clitoris is the action of testosterone in utero (see clitoromegaly).
The first use of clitoris on television in the United States is believed to have been by Dr. Rich O'Brien, a Harvard colleague of Garabedian's, on the Dr. Ruth Westheimer show.
Now the word twat is an interesting word. Twat! Yeah, right in the twat. Twat is an interesting word because it's the only one I know of, the only slang word applying to the, a part of the sexual anatomy that doesn't have another meaning to it. Like, snatch, box and pussy all have other meanings, man. Even in a Walt Disney movie, you can say, "We're going to snatch that pussy and put him in a box and bring him on the airplane!" - George Carlin
Love,
Dougie
I Know It's Only Rock And Roll, But I Like It
11.19.06 (9:11 am) [edit]"You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, you just might find
You get what you need." - The Rolling Stones
Ahhh, home at 9AM. Rock and motherfucking roll, baby.
I certainly don't expect every gig to beat the whimpering shit out of a massive whale ass the way last week's did. And we didn't last night, but about halfway in we did get into some damn fine rockin'.
The most confident and the most skronkinest guitar solos I've done in this past couple months of taking to my beat-up white Strat copy. It served me well last night, and I was pretty fucking proud of the way I had the other guys watching me while I dipped into my low-rent Hendrixian noise-merchant mode. I ain't SHIT next to my heroes, but I'm working on it. I've never felt as good about myself as a musician as I have in these past few months, warts and all.
A is sending me phone numbers this week. I'm going to start teaching up there on Saturday afternoons, hopefully in the next couple weeks if we can get people scheduled. We had to clear it with the boss (who I've known for years but hadn't seen in at least five) and it took all of about ten seconds. "Sure, why not?" was essentially his attitude.
Yay! Progress is being made. I'm in for some hellishly busy weekends, but I'm ready, baby.
Slept on and off at the same rest area this morning, wrapped up Dougie-burrito style in my new comforter. (Try not to think about that burrito thing too much, kids.) When I moved in with Sheryl, I pretty much stole a blanket from her right away, and she let me take it with me when I left. I'm like Linus with these things - I use them until they have huge fucking holes in them and STILL feel weird about letting them go, and still have a hard time adjusting to a new one. I've still got that one, but the new one was needed.
From skronk guitar solos to security blankets. Welcome to my fuckin' world, boys and girls.
I worked Merle Haggard's Reasons To Quit into my solo set, appropriate given the absolute lack of booze in my veins for this gig. Water, honey, and a thermos of hot tea fuelled my ass last night. Felt fuckin' good, too. Oh, I'm still gonna drink SOMETIMES at gigs, fuck, why NOT? But it's now all dependent on where I'm spending the night afterwards.
I've been doing this solo thing for almost a year now, but I haven't sang a lead vocal on top of the band until we did a pretty damn good Bang A Gong last night. Credit T for snaking his way through that groove, building just the right foundation for the rest of us to work off of, and for me to do my fat hairy bassist rendition of Marc Bolan. It KILLED, and now I know I've got something to look forward to at each gig.
I thought about you the whole time, Abby...
The shit drive down SR35 at that time of night, buzzing with caffiene just to survive, is not my favorite part of the week. Nor is waking up every 20 minutes in my car on a cold night at a rest area. But I'm out to prove something to myself, and I'm doing it.
Jesus fucking shitbaskets, I can't write about this crap without sounding far too proud of myself. Hey, I spent ten minutes looking for my capo last night before finding it in my pocket. I'm still a dumbass sometimes too! Whee!
Drove home through Dayton and down SR48 listening to Let It Bleed. Something about singing along to Stones tunes on a Sunday morning drive home from a gig just warms my little black heart. The tape flipped over to Sticky Fingers, and I was raving along with Mick about them tasty black girls when I pulled into home.
I came through the door and my alarm clock had already gone off, spilling the classical station through my apartment. I think it was Mendelssohn that was greeting me, welcoming me home from my dirty life and times. I wonder if Zevon was a Mendelssohn fan...
Grab the stick, shift gears. Time to go get my daughter and re-enter the other side of life.
I seldom feel as alive and real as I do right now. Fuckin' hell. HAPPY? ME???
You betcha, bitch!
Love,
Dougie
Mysterious Semblance At The Strand Of Nightmares
11.17.06 (8:51 pm) [edit]So I'm sitting here changing guitar strings while listening to Tangerine Dream's Phaedra, a collection of gurgling synth noises recorded back in the '70s by some German guys who named songs stupid things like the title of this post, and I'm wondering to myself:
Why does pussy avoid me like the plague?
Surely there must be some reason.
Love and some serious gawdawful geekitude,
Dougie
-----------
A - the guitarist/bassist in my band - is a huge Yes fan, but has never heard Chris Squire's Fish Out Of Water, which I regard as One Of The True Lost Masterworks Of Progressive Rock. So I'm copying it for him.
My above point so richly and profoundly proven, I remain,
Dougie
-----
Old Silvertone guitars have METALLIC DOGSHIT for bridges.
---------
"It could be a spoonful of coffee
It could be a spoonful of tea
But one little spoon of your precious love
Is good enough for me
Men lie about that spoonful
Some cry about that spoonful
Some die about that spoonful
Everybody fightin' about a spoonful
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful"
- Willie Dixon
It's late, I'm drunk, and I need that spoonful.
The Heart Of The Matter
11.17.06 (7:31 pm) [edit]"You cross a lawyer with the Godfather, baby
He'll make you an offer you can't understand."
- Don Henley
One of my friends is recovering from a tonsilectomy tonight. Take care, Abby. Get well soon.
As of tonight, my Dad is officially retired. Almost twelve years ago he was forced into an early retirement from the corporate pilot job he'd had for over twenty years. He got a great severance deal, but he had to accept half the retirement money he would have got if he'd been able to wait until age 65, so he had to take on another job, selling tools at a home improvement store.
They're throwing a going-away party for him tonight. He turned 65 back in January, and it's time. I'm very happy for him.
I still carry an awful lot of resentment in me for what he did to me psychologically when I was younger, but I have to be fair and say that he's loosened up considerably in the last several years. Becoming a grandfather has been good for him, and even before then - I remember looking out into the crowd during my wedding and experiencing one of the very, very few times I've seen my father cry - he's become easier to deal with. Still far too confident in his mastery of the universe than is good for anyone, but he's TRIED to do what is right his whole life, and while I feel he's chosen the easy way out again and again...I have too sometimes. I have more in common with him than I usually care to admit, but maybe that's not always such a bad thing.
I've been told that the current job will last past Thanksgiving. it's been somewhat day to day since I started a few weeks ago (and I had two days off this week because of a lack of communication) but it's really not been that bad. Essentially, I'm a janitor, cleaning up behind a construction crew. But the people are mostly good to work for, the pay is better, and I'm mostly left to myself.
One guy is a bit annoying, though also somewhat entertaining. One of the contractors. He's WAAAAY into Jesus, and feels no inhibition about telling EVERYONE. He at least has SOME sense of humour, but it gets old quick.
I've mostly kept to myself (the only reason I went on the drag race run with a few of the guys was because I happened to be pushing a broom by them when they started talking cars, and I mentioned my friend's Chevelle) so few of them have any idea of me being anything other than the quiet guy with the broom and mop.
The Jesus freak apparantly gets on more nerves than mine. He has a habit of going into ridiculously over-serious "blood of the lamb, sacrifice of Christ for the sins of the world" nonsense that makes my skin crawl. But I got a good laugh from the Chevelle guy when I said "Damn, he must have drank a LOT before he found Jesus." I mean, come on, to be that much into that shit you either have to be born into it or have to have fucked up your life so bad that you are essentially trading vices - Jesus ultimately being no better than alcoholism when it comes to douchebags like this.
So, from now on, in tribute to his narrow tunnel-vision, I christen him The Jesus Faggot. Given his tirade today about "the evil of homosexuality in the sight of the Lord", I think it's only appropriate.
They spent ten minutes today arguing over the radio. The other guys (who cranked up a Pantera CD after he left yesterday, and lemme tell ya, that's some great shit to push a broom to) were wanthing the heavy alterno-rock station. The Jesus Faggot wanted country.
Now why isn't THAT a fucking surprise?
After whining about "that heavy metal crap" the others were into, he yelled over at me. "Hey, what do you like to listen to?"
I'd planned this one in advance. Shit, I'd never have done this good on the fly...
"The sound of young children and their pets screaming as I sacrifice them on a bloody altar of sin to my dark Lord Satan."
The other guys EXPLODED laughing. The Jesus Faggot - to his credit - waved me off with a baffled redneck chuckle and turned the radio to the country station.
Going back to some old Don Henley albums tonight. I've usually regarded Don as a bit too rigid and soft to be as cool as he wishes he could be, and too polite to have the edge he tries to pull off, but I've been surprised tonight to go back to The End Of The Innocence and Building The Perfect Beast and find more examples of thoughtful, incisive, and creative shit underneath the layers of production and radio-friendliness than I'd remembered.
I've come a long way in the past couple years since she asked me to leave, and I've managed to drop all but the last traces of the anger I felt for far too long, but I hope she doesn't mind me going the other way and entering into some sentimentaiism tonight as I find myself crying a little while listening to one of Don's sappier yet somehow highly effective hits
I got the call today, I didnt wanna hear
But I knew that it would come
An old, true friend of ours was talkin' on the phone
She said you'd found someone
And I thought of all the bad luck,
And the struggles we went through
And how I lost me and you lost you
What are these voices outside love's open door
Make us throw off our contentment
And beg for something more?
I'm learning to live without you now
But I miss you sometimes
The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again
I've been tryin' to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think its about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don't love me anymore
These times are so uncertain
There's a yearning undefined
And people filled with rage
We all need a little tenderness
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They're the very things we kill I guess
Pride and competition
Cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us
You know it doesn't keep me warm
I'm learning to live without you now
But I miss you, baby
And the more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I'd figured out
I have to learn again
I've been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But everything changes
And my friends seem to scatter
But I think its about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don't love me anymore
There are people in your life who've come and gone
They let you down, you know they hurt your pride
You better put it all behind you baby, 'cause life goes on
You keep carrying that anger, it'll eat you up inside, baby
I've been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think its about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don't love me
I've been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
Because the flesh will get weak
And the ashes will scatter
So I'm thinking about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don't love me
Sooner or later it all gets real, walk on,
Dougie
Things I Think About During Breakfast
11.17.06 (7:30 am) [edit]"These are the thoughts that kept me from climbing the corporate ladder." - George Carlin
Guys, next time you meet a woman who is a really hugely annoying pain in the ass, I've got a word for you:
The Hindencunt
I picture some giant airborne cunt coming down from the sky. But then, I often do.
Ladies, you should use it too. It's much more interesting to hear a woman use the word "cunt" in a really vicious context. We need more of that. Come on girls, catch up!
Love,
Dougie
Flying On The Ground Is Wrong
11.15.06 (8:57 pm) [edit]"Some people will tell you that slow is good - and it may be, on some days - but I am here to tell you that fast is better. I've always believed this, in spite of the trouble it's caused me. Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba..."
- Hunter S. Thompson
And fast cars, baby.
I got to have some good ol' fashioned redneck fun with some contractors today, the kind of fun that can land your ass in a small room overnight while pigs in blue poke you with sharp sticks and refer to you as a degenerate for merely putting yourself and others in high-speed danger. I scoff at their nonsense.
For today I sat behind the wheel of a shiny black 1977 Chevorlet Chevelle. Deja vu was running rampant in my veins, because years ago, I'd done this very thing - one of my best friends in high school had let me drive his '77 Chevelle, which he'd put similar work into that the contractor had his. This was a big gas-guzzling motherfuckbeast souped up for action.
Back then, I'd done the approximately 40 minute drive from the south end of Ft. Wayne to Marion in 17 minutes, with my friend's brother glued to the back window screaming "I see a cop! I see a cop!" the whole time.
There were no cops. Hardly any other cars. I think I passed six of them the whole way. Not that I was counting anything other than what was on the dashboard.
165, if memory serves. Hoo boy. That's a form of adrenaline that will both give you wood and scare the whimpering shit out of you, Bubba.
I followed the contractors to the north end of the county, one of them driving his modified Camaro. The Chevelle was at the other guy's house, along a three-mile stretch of county road that I was assured only had a 1 in 10 likelihood of carrying other vehicles while we took our little joyride.
There was space on each side of the road for a car to plow through the grass. I asked the Chevelle owner if he ever had to take to the grass on one of these once-a-week journeys they do.
"A couple times", he flashed a Neandrathal grin. Big Toby Keith fan, this one."Ain't hit nobody yet!" A giant corn-dog fuelled cackle.
Today, I thought to myself, I might finally learn if there is an afterlife.
We pulled out to the end of the road. Me in the pasenger seat of the Chevelle. Two guys in the Camaro. Hoots and hollers filled the air.
Did I mention that it was raining like a motherfuck all day?
I think I know what g-forces are now. I watched the needle hit sixty before I'd completely drew breath, and one hundred before I was half done exhaling. Sumbitch, these fuckers can move...
It was over as fast as it began. One massive rush of adrenaline, ending at a stop sign three miles and what felt like three seconds later. We'd gone through one intersection that had no sign for us, trusting that the poor fools coming the other way would follow theirs.
The Chevelle won. By a long margain, too. The Camaro never stood a chance.
He turned around and came to a stop, reached for the door. "Your turn!"
I hadn't expected this...
Part of me - the part that hangs onto such quaint outmoded notions as safety and longevity of life - began to protest, but my better instincts won out. It's been 18 years since that trip from Ft. Wayne. Time to roll, baby. Time to fuckin' roll.
The other car traded drivers as well. And I took the wheel.
I looked to the sky to see if there were any bats. I thought of Hunter, and wondered if they sing the song of the sausage creature up there in Heaven, where Hunter undoubtedly is racking up quite an impressive room service bill.
Jesus creeping shit. No turning back now, Dougie.
The rain still came down, but we rolled our windows down for this one. B, the Camaro's new alternate driver, yelled "You fuckers ready?"
"Eat my tire remnants, motherfucker!" I howled into the wind. More hoots and hollers. I was in some kind of modern Dukes Of Hazzard, and I'll be damned if I wans't loving it.
He hit his gas before I did, but I hit mine harder. We overtook the Camaro in nanoseconds. My passenger screamed "They NEVER beat this car, bitch!"
When we went through the one intersection, I saw the needle hit 140. Only one response was correct in this situation.
"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
My passenger threw his head back and screamed it as well. I thought I heard a long series of e's from somewhere behind, but that was probably my fevered imagination as I realized something...
I had to STOP this fucking thing.
In the other direction there had been a stop sign, but road had stretched in front of it. Perhaps for miles.
Mere seconds from me was another stop sign. At the end of a road, an empty cornfield directly in front of my path.
135.
"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Ahh, fuck it.
I slammed the brakes, but not TOO hard. There was a delicate balance to be found here, for sure, I just didn't know where the fuck it was.
The Camaro was at least ten car lengths behind as my tire remants presented themselves to its driver.
The Camaro came to a stop at the sign. I had overshot it by just enough that three-quarters of the car was off the road.
I exchanged high-fives and yee-haws with my new comrades in arms as we went in the house for a beer before darkness fell.
An 8-year old girl met us at the door. "Daddy, you're gonna get killed doing that."
Laughter all around. Except from his wife.
But she was the one passing out the beer, so it was all good.
I pulled out of the gravel driveway in my Saturn. I thought about spinning the new tires, but why? Like my car stood a chance in hell against the mighty Chevelle.
I drove off to an open-house at Katie's school. A shot of domestication probably was necessary.
Ah yes, this is what life is all about. Four good old boys in souped up machines just before sundown on a weeknight in Butler County, Ohio. Just off work. Waiting for light beer. Twisted on adrenaline and speedism.
Good people.
Love,
Dougie
Mr. Bad Example
11.14.06 (9:29 pm) [edit]"I don't want to grow old gracefully
I don't want to go 'til it's too late
I'll be some old man in the road somewhere
Kneeling down in the dust by the side of the interstate"
- Warren Zevon
1.) I wish I could convey everything that happens when Katie is here these days. It's so good to be with her, and she amazes me with how her mind works and the things she's figuring out. The things she says are incredible, but it's the way she says them. She is SUCH a five-year old girl. There's an innocence and purity of intention there that kills me. She's also got a fabulous sense of the absurd.
Last week I was telling her what was going on with the band, and told her how important it was for me to do that, but that I was doing everything I could not to let it affect our time together.
She said, "Daddy, if you move back to Indianapolis, that will make me VERY mad."
I appreciate that bluntness and told her so. And assured her that moving back was no longer an option. I liked it there, and moving back has cause numerous financial problems, but now that I'm back, I'm staying. Maybe a bit farther up the road when the lease is up here (and I have NO attachment to this particular place, unlike the old apartment in Indy) but not far.
I picked her up tonight and hugged her, and she pulled back for a moment. We looked into each other's eyes, and I told her how proud I am of her, how great a kid she is, how beautiful and funny and fun she is. She looked back at me with such an amazing look of contentment and love, and I saw for a moment the depth of how far she's travelled inside herself in only five years. "Thank you, Daddy."
She has a lot to teach me.
2.) I'm feeling the urge to sit down and work on other people's guitar stuff. I've not done much of this on guitar, only on bass. The only guy I ever learned a complete solo of was David Gilmour, and several of his. But tonight I remembered while listening to Steely Dan's The Royal Scam that I'd also nearly nailed down Larry Carlton's intro solo on Don't Take Me Alive, probably my favorite Dan tune. There's a nice blend of edge and tastefulness, attitude and intelligence in Carlton's best playing. That and Kid Charlemange are on the top of my list right now.
I can pull out some good skronky basic blues-rock, but I feel my chops have declined considerably since moving back to bass, and even my ideas are much more limited. So it's time to get back to that shit. The past month is the first time I've got a chance to really explore my lead guitar side anywhere other than my own room, and I like the challenge. I'm not going to do anything that hasn't already been done, but with my love for mixing and matching different references and trying to make people piss themselves in the process, who knows? Maybe I'll find a way to stick entire Angus Young solos on top of All Day Ad All Of The NIght and at least get a good laugh from it.
3.) I admit it, some paranoia has seeped into my night driving. I tend to go ten miles an hour slower on SR42 at night, and Sunday I saw a deer on the side of the road, watching me and the cars behind me go by, only fifteen feet away. BIG fuckin' deer, too.
I got new tires today, all four, for more money than I wanted to put out. BUt they're better tires than what I'd planned on, and I got to give my money to a local business that gives a shit. I'm trying to do that more often, because these big corporate assholes are pissing me off. I actually was stupid enough to go to Wal-Mart again (which I try to avoid as much as possible usually) and got blown off by the punkass kid behind the register, who disappeared for 15 fucking minutes. I left and went to another place, a tire chain that would have been fine, but they were busy enough that I'd lose the entire afternoon. Fuck 'em. I probably paid 40 bucks more for my tires than I'd have to otherwise, but my TIME and my BLOOD PRESSURE are as important to me as my money. I hate these fucking corpo-cocksuckers and every goddamn thing they stand for. Why I bothered trying again, I have no idea. OK, I wanted to save a buck. But I know better than that shit. From now on while in this town, I know who to go to for tires, and it ain't goddamn Wal-Mart. I wouldn't buy a glass of water from those cunts if my dick was on fire.
4.) My dick IS on fire, and nobody is putting it out. I'm trying to be optomistic about my new online quests, but mostly I'm fucking tired of even trying. I'm still not even sure the amount of other shit that I'll be inviting into my life is worth the pussy. Fuck knows I don't want to inflict MY shit on some poor girl who is just looking for some dick.
Sometimes I think that if I could rout out every trace of my sex drive, I might finally be able to get shit done. Then I remember that the things I enjoy doing the most are essentially fuelled by my drive, and I'm not ready to be a shitty musician or a shitty writer for the sake of the convinience of not worrying about poon anymore. Jizz, adrenaline, and alcohol are my sources of energy, and I'd rather go through the pain in the ass I'm going through now than to cave in.
I saw an article recently about how testosterone levels have been dropping steadilly in men over the past 20 years. Well, why not? We've been bullshitted into thinking that our testosterone is bad somehow. The pussification of men in American society is reaching epic proportions, and quite a few women have to just LOVE this shit. They're taming us, guys. They're domesticating us. And they're WRONG. When they remove our basic instinct to roam and wander and fuck and eat raw venison from the side of the road, THEY WIN. Don't let them win. Don't apologize for being male. They can't have it both ways - a hard dick and an empty nutsack are NOT compatible.
I refuse to back down from my fuck-drive, my dark sense of humour, my love of the absurd, and my anger. These are the things that make me who I am, and any woman who can't deal with that can go buy a new dildo for herself. I realize reading personal profiles online just how little I share with most people in priorites. I'm not interested in their shit. Hey, I'll lay down and be quiet someday. When I'm fucking dead.
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Bombay gin
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Straight from the bottle, twisted again
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Well, I take this medicine as prescribed
I'll sleep when I'm dead
It don't matter if I get a little tired
I'll sleep when I'm dead
I've got a .38 special up on the shelf
I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid I'll shoot myself
I'll sleep when I'm dead
So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead"
- Warren Zevon
Sleep well, Warren. Me, I've got shit to do among the living dead.
Love,
Dougie
Brotherly Love, My Asspipe
11.14.06 (12:40 pm) [edit]"They've got a name for the winners in the world
I want a name when I lose" - Steely Dan
A few errands to run today. I was heading off to one of the temp service's different offices when I got a call from them - I'm going back tomorrow to the job I had for the past couple weeks. This makes me happy, though I haven't a clue as to how long it will last. Since nobody else does either, I guess I'll just enjoy the ride.
After paying my insurance (I'm having them add on renter's insurance, something I'd done months ago if I had any brains) and having Thai for lunch (goddamn, that was good, best I've had there in months) I stopped for gas.
Woman behind the counter, 35-ish. Dark hair, short. Kinda looked like Sally Field back in the Smokey & The Bandit days. Not quite as cute, but not bad at all. Very pretty smile.
We bullshitted for a couple minutes, and I made my move. I loved the way she turned red when she told me she was married. "But you're very nice. I love your hair."
It was mostly the way she said it. I wonder how much of a shit-eating grin I actualy had.
"You look a lot like my brother. Same build, same hair even."
"Oh yeah, what does your brother do?"
"Oh, he's in prison right now."
Well gee, I sure feel better now. Could you stick that in my ass a little harder? That felt a bit like being kissed then kicked in the nutsack.
I'm feeling like a totally oversensitive douchebag today.
Love
Dougie
Still Not Fucking, Still Dreaming
11.13.06 (11:28 pm) [edit]"That's right, shithead! I'm gonna have another drink! And the reason I'm gonna have another drink is because the dogs are still barking in my head! Got it? I pay a psychiatrist a lot of money to stop the dogs from barking, but that shit doesn't work. It doesn't work!"
- Lewis Black
I paid the 20 fucking dollars and upgraded to a silver membership on adultfriendfinder.com tonight.
I sent about 30 winks out tonight, and I'm not very optomistic about any of them. Even the women who basically just want to fuck seem to be looking for anything other than ME. But who knows, it just might work.
I did most of my searches between ages 28 and 50. I want to fuck an 18 year old, but that doens't mean I EXPECT to. Most of the women I sent winks to were within 5 years of me.
The best was the BBW with massive tits (and she wasn't bad to look at, if not anything to write home about) who wanted somebody to fuck her while her husband shot video of the event. I sent her a wink. Come on, you wouldn't? That's at least gotta amount to a good STORY the next morning. Hey, when a girl includes shots of herself chowing on dong in her profile, you've gotta at least read the rest out of CURIOSITY, ya know?
Liatening to Jack Bruce's Shadows In The Air right now.
Getting shit done around the apartment and in the immediate surrounding area - I didn't leave Lebanon all day - but not much else. The day job lasted two weeks, but ended Friday. I didn't mind being off today at all - I needed the goddamn sleep after this psychotic weekend - but they better have shit for me soon. I'm not thrilled about not working tomorrow, but I've gotta admit that I'm not crying over it. Wednesday will be another story, though...
Boilermakers from Pabst Blue Ribbon and Echo Spring bourbon tonight.
I got a check from the insurance company for the last deer accident. This represents a decent breakthrough for me - I can do the job for at least a third of what I got, so I put most of it on the credit card, which makes my credit report look better for once. When I get the work done, I'll use the card to pay for it. I'll now have enough money to cover (within reason) additional problems with the car as they come up, and I'm in better all-around financial shape. Not great (especially if I'm not back to work Wednesday) but definitely better.
I need to fuck something right now.
Love,
Dougie
Reasons To Quit That Merle Haggard & Willie Nelson Never Sang About
11.13.06 (12:21 pm) [edit]"You've seen the transvestites, you drive past the gay bar on a Saturday night and they're all lined up, dressed up like Judy Tenuta or Diana Ross, but you're seeing the night-time dolled-up transvestites, all dressd up and ready to lip-synch to a Billy Ocean song or something. You don't see the breakfast transvestite, and that'll queer you away from the night-time transvestites. When you see them shuffling in at 8:30 in the morning, and they don't have a wig on, the makeup is all smudged, 5 o'clock shadow coming through. They've still got nice tits, but the dick is flopping around in sweatpants with no underwear, and you're going "Man, thank God I didn't have that last shot of Jagermeister."
- Doug Stanhope, the next president of the United States Of America
I'm listening to Stanhope's Deadbeat Hero while I clean the apartment. Wow. I'm Pat Sajak next to this sick fuck.
Love,
Dougie
This post is very greasy. You shouldn't read it, you should wear it on your hair.
11.13.06 (10:06 am) [edit]I've benn waking up to a classical station for a couple monhts now. Everything else seems to give me a headache that time of morning.
This morning I woke up to a orchestra pounding out the final bars of the first movement of Dvorak's New World Symphony. They played the entire thing. I think they said it was Slatkin with the St. Louis symphony.
That's one of my favorite things.. I know Sheryl says it's her favorite classical work. It's full of killer melodies and hooks, and things that could be turned into some really cool guitar riffs. I'll never get to it, but I'd love to work out a rock arrangement of the entire thing. Keith Emerson stuck some snippets of it into his version of Bernstein's America when he played with The Nice, but what's in my head would require at least five people to pull off.
Then as a total change of pace, I got up and checked my downloads. A had a very goofy idea the other night. We've been closing with Louie Louie. Whoever is on guitar at the end of the gig gets that song - I did my one-note Neil Young solo on it Friday night (which I think it about the best thing to do on that beautifully mongoloid riff, Louie Louie being about as good an example of everything that's both cool and ridiculous in rock music as you can get) and A did it Saturday.
A wsnts to work in part of the song Summer Lovin' from Grease into it. That's built on the same riff. He wants to be Travolta and wants ME to be Olivia Newton-John.
Now you know why I love these guys so much. Any chance I have to take some fucking Grease song and piss all over it in a bad falsetto, I'm gonna LEAP for that opportunity, motherfucker.
So I just listened to it again and laughed my balls off.
The vicious irony? When I was 9 or 10 years old, I had the most ludicrous crush on Olivia imaginable. I was a complete pre-teen cheesehead for her. In fact, my Mom reminded me of something else this weekend - I also had a major puppy-dog thing for my first piano teachver, who looked a lot like Olivia. I figure she was in her early 20s then, which puts her in her late 40s now. I wonder whatever happened to her. Mom tells me when I was 9, I was about ready for my lesson when I ran into the bathroom and grabbed some of my Dad's cologne, just to be more ready for her.
Gawd, that's so fucking embarrassing I HAD to admit it publicly here.
I also never really liked Olivia after the late '70s. She lost me when she went to the leather at the end of Grease. I wanted that sweet innocent Olivia who sang lightweight country songs.
I'd say times have changed, but ya know what? I still want a sweet innocent little blonde who sings sappy tunes. We could take a walk on the beach, sit down for ice cream, and hold hands across the table as the birds chirped. Then we'd look lovingly into each other's eyes and proclaim our everlasting love for each other, our hearts joined in unison.
Then I'd destroy her and turn her to the dark side. BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA !!!
Dripping with melted cheddar this morning, I remain,
Dougie
Alien Ant Poop!
11.12.06 (12:02 pm) [edit]My daughter is apparantly a full-blown meth-head or something. She's been INSANE this morning, and an absolute joy to behold. Little wacko is becoming a short female Brak on loon-steroids. "I've got to take a whiz! BWA HA HA HA HA! I'm killing me!"
And the day together has only begun.
Love,
Dougie
Turn Those Speakers Up Full Blast, Play It All Night Long
11.12.06 (9:26 am) [edit]"Indiana wants me,
But I can't go back there."
- R. Dean Taylor
Well, I can on weekends. And I think I will be for a long time.
FANTASTIC gig last night. The last half of the first set and the first half of the second had the best bass playing I've done in fucking years, but I'm not the one to blame - T was STICK-SLAMMIN' MY ASSHOLE with the best fucking drumming this band has ever witnessed. I went after some ridiculously over-the-top Entwistle-isms and nailed those little greasy cocksuckers to the wall and took a big ol' fuckin' glorious piss all over their grimy heads. But I'd NEVER have pulled that shit off without T there knockin' on my back door.
He did a lot of that Friday night too (including a superbly absurd snare fill on Billy Joel's You May Be Right that had me and the keyboardist almost in tears laughing) but last night fuckin' RAWKED. We did a version of Jumpin' Jack Flash that made the Stones sound like the bleeding Mantovani Fucking Orchestra on bad barbituates after being pummeled in an alley by Nazi youth on crack. That one caused me to deliver the best backing vocals of my life.
Not that we don't still have shit to work on. T is getting better with intros and endings, but he's still chumping some of them, and I'm still feeling very weird - sometimes completely out of place - on guitar, though I'm still getting plenty of nice comments, so it might just be my self-conciousness while playing songs on my beat up Strat copy that I used to beat the bass to. I certainly did some good shit, but it's tentative in too many places. I'm fine with that, though. Not completely, I don't like that feeling, but I know it's pushing me forward. Having a crackerjack group of fuckers like these guys to climb those peaks with makes all the difference in the world.
My family are being fairly silent on the issue, but I know they are baffled by my insistence on this split existence and the drive that goes along with it. Fuck them. When did THEY ever put their asses on the line sleep-deprivation be damned and fight for something they believed in and loved? I sure as fuck never saw it.
Saturday morning, Mom and I drove up to Ft. Wayne. We had lunch at a familiar Chinese restaraunt on Coldwater Rd. - I used to go there all the time, but it's been years. I always said it was my favorite, and yesterday confirmed it. They've got a hot and sour soup and a Hunan chicken plate that will knock your ass clean off yer...uh...the place where your ass is attached.
Then we spent a few hours at the library. They've got the second biggest genealogy collection in the country there, and it's all out on the shelves (I understand that Cincy's is third, but much of it is in storage, so I've never got a feeling for the scale of their collection) and is a MOTHERFUCKER to behold. I've spent a lot of time in county libraries in the past few years, but their history and genealogy collection alone is bigger than the entire holdings of most of the other libraries I've been to.
Mom got me out some CDs too. I've finally heard Zevon's Transverse City, and I'll revisit David Torn's Tripping Over God, one of the most outrageously cool slabs of guitar skronk this side of Robert Fripp's bidet.
I wanna have a band called Robert Fripp's Bidet. We'll do classic country. "Hi! Welcome to Bob's Country Bunker! We're Robert Fripp's Bidet! That last song, of course, was I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry, by the master Hank Sr., who I'm sure didn't mind having his picture taken. Sit back and relax, here's a Faron Young toon. Bootleggers choosing to rob the spirit of music from this performance with their vampiric methods will be taken out back, beaten with cattle prods, and shot."
I've got another bizarre story of genealogical coincidence (involving a town in western Kansas I drove through last year, and my inability to draw straight lines in my head while looking over my notes) from yesterday's library visit, but I have to leave to pick up Katie soon.
I got home just before starting to write this, about the same time everyone else is leaving for Sunday School. No Backyard Bible Adventures for this bass-blasting white boy. I spent four hours at a rest area just past the state line this morning after forcing my dead ass down State Road 35, waving to the fuckin' deer. Didn't sleep for shit, but I feel good, just like James Brown. OK, if James Brown was a fat pseudo-funky white asshole with attention deficit disorder.
M and Layla were there last night. M came up to provide harmony vocals on a couple tunes. They danced some, which I loved seeing. They looked happier than ever. She was as beautifully radiant as I've ever seen her, and magnificently overflowing with every single thing that I love in her.
When I left, my brain was wanting to revisit all that shit I wrote about her a few months ago, but I resisted. OK, I jerked off all over myself. Funny thing - masturbation has a great way of clearing the mind and making you refocus onto the shit that really matters.
Like the fact that Nova wasn't there last night. Damn. OK, I've got pics. More jerking off! Woo hoo!
The below picture will be disappearing later today. Enjoy.
Further note on last night's gig - I've done a few special gigs (last week's car show, a recent outside thing for veterans) without the aid of alcohol, but last night was the first full four-hour bar gig I've done stone sober in a very long time. That shit is going to happen more often. (Given the longer drives now, it has to.) I was SHOCKED how much I enjoyed myself with only water and a jar of honey to rely on. The honey is my effort to take up one of our lead singer's better ideas - my throat went to fucking HELL for a while Friday night right in the middle of Rockin' In The Free World. Last night's version (along with Lawyers Guns & Money and Heart Of Gold) was much better. I'm learning a lot about dynamics doing this solo shit, and even when I'm not at my best, I'm better at it now than I've ever been. All the insecurities I've felt for so long are exiting like a well-formed turd, and thank Jeezus for that particular steaming shit.
Time to reprogram the brain cells back onto more domestic things. I've got a day with the best five-year old kid on the planet to look forward to. You fuckers be well, ya hear?
Love,
Dougie
When You Wish Upon A Star...
11.11.06 (2:57 am) [edit]"Supernova:
1 : the explosion of a star in which the star may reach a maximum intrinsic luminosity one billion times that of the sun
2 : one that explodes into prominence or popularity; also : SUPERSTAR"
The gig tonight went well, and between A buying a new Fender Cyber Twin amp and me bringing my wah pedal, I had good enough tone to bring out the best guitar playing I've done yet with these guys. Still not nearly what I know I'm capable of. But getting better. I pulled out some nasty grinding chordal shit in a few places that I was pretty proud of.
But holy fucking Christ. The girl that bent my mind tonight...
Straight thick blonde hair, an incredible tight curvy body. The kind of hips and ass that Jenny had. (The woman in Indy who I was nuts about last year, the one I WORKED for.) I could just run my hands along those curves for hours and hours and it would be glorious. She was happy, full of life.
Absolutely killer, and she came out to dance a lot, which had me totally locked in on her. SHe saw me looking her way often, but I kept my gaze on her, and she seemed to really like it. She smiled at me, worked her body a little harder. Giving me something back for my interest. Something was happening between us, though I neve found out what it actually was. There was sexuality there, but there was nothing dirty. She wasn't flirting with me. She seemed to just BE there, and letting me be there. It was...sharing, of a sort. Energy was flying around us.
There's no bass on the verses of All Right Now, and I usually do stupid shit during the third verse - unplug and run around the room, something - and this time I unplugged and went right to her. Hell, she was only 15 feet away.
I'd just had our singer's wife (who came by to take pics) buy her a drink for me.
I was blown away when I got close to her. I had figured her for being in her 20s, maybe 30. That killer body was too perfect.
But no. I looked into that face and saw a woman who had to be in her mid 40s, but that wasn't anything bad at all, baby. She was a KNOCKOUT. The animal instincts gave way to pure admiration at the WORK OF FUCKING ART that I now was sorta dancing with while the other guys played. We had to nearly yell at each other.
"Thank you for the drink!"
"What's your name? You are an incredibly pretty lady."
"Oh, thank you so much. My name is Nova. Like the car."
Wow. Nova. Unusual, but it fit her perfectly somehow. She was like an explosion across my soul, drawing me into her orbit. It was sexual, but it was so much more than that. I didn't know her in the slightest, but I felt driven to make her happy somehow. To give to her long before trying to take anything. Just to be NEAR her and absorb the incredible energy that came off her. She seemed so vibrant, confident, powerful. And beautiful. God, she was beautiful.
"Nova, thanks for coming out. I love watching you dance. I gotta get back up there. But I wanted to tell you that you are the prettiest woman I've seen in a long, long time."
And that was no bullshit.
"You're very nice. And you're an excellent player."
Things started happening in my chest. I managed to stutter out my thanks. She was being sincere, I could tell it. Shit, the WAY she said it. Thousnads of volts of electricity shot through me when her voice met my ears with those words.
I thought I looked like shit. My hair was acceptable tonight, not great. i haven't shaved in three days. I didn't sleep worth a fuck last night and got out to work late.
But she seemed...not incredibly into me, just interested. She liked what I was doing up there, if nothing else. It was distant, but it was there. Good fucking lord, those eyes. They seemed to contain years upon years of experience. I go on and on about my love for much younger girls, and I do love 'em, but Nova...wow. This happens, but not every day. She was definitely reconfiguring my chemicals in an interesting way.
Then, at the end the the second set, she left. FUCK. She was walking to the door, and I asked her to stay longer. But she has a kid she had to go to. And I know what that's about. So I said goodbye. She did too, and while I couldn't really read her, she was putting out SOMETHING at me...
I watched her leave. Those unspeakable tight-jean-clad hips and that perfect ass. That lightning bolt of blondeness coming down her back, as she carried herself out the door with an air of goddess-like power and control, but no sense of arrogance. She seemed to know that she was having this effect on me, but it didn't seem that she was overly proud of herself.
And all I really wanted was to talk to her, maybe hold her close for a second, get a longer look into that worn-yet-lovely face, feel some warmth.
Yeah, I wanted to fuck her too. But tonight (after a really shitty day which had to have been the worst drive up here from Ohio in a few years, delays and construction were FUCKING me) I was mostly tired and just wanting...her.
I'm really tired of feeling so goddamn alone.
I drove home listening to Hendrix. Jimi wrote some great fuck-tunes, and I certainly felt some of that while watching her move out there on the dance floor. But mostly I felt something more like what Jimi would write when he got idealistic and sweet. He could do that sometimes.
Angel came down from heaven yesterday
She stayed with me just long enough to rescue me
And she told me a story yesterday,
About the sweet love between the moon and the deep blue sea
And then she spread her wings high over me
She said she's gonna come back tomorrow
And I said, "Fly on my sweet angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Tomorrow I'm gonna be by your side"
Sure enough this morning came unto me
Silver wings silhouetted against the child's sunrise
And my angel she said unto me,
"Today is the day for you to rise
Take my hand, you're gonna be my man,
You're gonna rise"
And then she took me high over yonder
And I said, "Fly on my sweet angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Forever I will be by your side"
I'd give nearly anything to fly with her.
Love,
Dougie
---------
Morning.
I never sleep well at my parents', but I did better last night than I did in my own bed the night before. I fell asleep imagining her next to me.
We're playing tonight not far from last night's gig. (We don't do Fridays often, but this weekend and one next month will have Fri/Sat together..) I told Nova about tonight's gig. She acted interested, but I don't really expect to see her. I HOPE, though. It's a cool place, the one where they like our heavier side the best. I'm gonna beat the fuck out of a guitar or two tonight.
Fear And Loathing In A (Now Somewhat Less) Red State
11.10.06 (1:26 am) [edit]"A world of secret hungers
Perverting the men who make your laws"
- Frank Zappa
"Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination."
- Leviticus 18:22
Dedicated to the memory of Hunter S. Thompson (July 18, 1937 – February 20, 2005) You'll never be forgotten.
I burst into the offices of the county Republican headquarters and yelled, "Dear God! Only two days after the election and the damn liberals are ALREADY at it!"
One lone figure behind the desk. He jumped to his feet. "Oh no! What is it?"
"Haven't you seen the NEWS, man? In the two days since the Democrats have taken Congress, the abortion rate has risen 370 percent!!!"
He fell back a step in horror. "For the love of God! NO!"
He had on a gray suit, brown shoes. His dark hair was showing much gray. Glasses and an air of superiority. Like the City Hall Fred in a Zappa song of some note. In fact, we'll call him Fred from now on.
I had on the only suit I own, and a bow tie I'd stolen from Tucker Carlson one night in an alley after beating him senseless. Dick.
Fred staggered towards me, obviously caught off guard by the terrible news. "You are...I haven't seen you before."
"Raoul Duke. Just a good American like yourself, sir."
We shook hands. Firmly, like men. Republican men.
"Fred, these are troubled times for America. In the two days since the election, we've gone crazy! These damn liberals are insatiable!"
"The murder of innocent unborn children..."
"It's not just that, Freddy-baby. We've been listening in on the Democrats' meetings - the Patriot Act assures us that right - and they''ll be raising taxes before you can say Jack Sprat. These are truly reprehensible swine we are talking about."
"No! It can't be true!"
"It's only just begun, Fred. I heard from my sources today that the FBI barely averted an Al-Queda attack on the NRA headquarters. If the Democrats have their way, there will BE no NRA to assure that our second-ammendment rights are secure."
"Dear Lord!"
"It gets worse, my friend. I've heard tell that Nancy Pelosi wants to enter into talks with Osama Bin Laden. Before you know it, that rat bastard will be on Oprah discussing his childhood, and beyond the swift arm of justice. These Democrats are the worst kind of scum, Fred. 9/11 will soon seem like a church picnic after these liberals destroy our basic God-given freedoms. Within six months, I bet we'll see more buildings crumble at the hands of the Godless terrorists."
"But we still have our president! The terrorists wouldn't DARE attack our nation with George W. Bush at the helm!"
"Well, of course not. They wouldn't do that...uh...again..."
We fell silent. Fred sat back behind his desk. I took a naugahyde chair in the corner.
"Fred, they're coming for your children."
"WHAT???"
"They want to corrupt our children, Fred. Degrade them. Turn them to a life of Christ-less sin. You've seen the newest Disney movies, haven't you???"
He had. Poor bastard.
"Next thing you know, they'll be molesting them in the halls of Congress."
"You must be joking."
"I never joke about The Children, Fred. But have you heard the one about the guy who walks into a talent agent's office?"
"Uh, no..."
"Didn't think so." I slammed my fist onto his desk. "This is serious shit, Fred! The future of our great nation hangs in the balance! It has been foretold in the book of Revelation! The beast with ten horns is among us! You've read the Left Behind series, haven't you Fred?"
"Of course. All good Americans have."
"Now you're talking! Do you think these swine liberals have read the words of the prophets? They're too busy reading about art and science and other pagan pursuits! Their minds corrupted by Darwin's Origin Of Species!"
"Damn satanic liberals!"
"That's right, Fred. And you know what they'll do next, of course." I paused for effect. "The...queers...will be allowed to marry."
HIs reaction was exactly what I wished for. The slightest trace of hesitation before he shouted "The homosexuals are an affront to our Lord! The sanctity of marriage must be preserved!"
"Damn faggots! They must be driven into the dirt! Right, Fred?"
Another hesitation. Ahhh, I have chosen this one well...
"Uh...Yes! Homosexuality is a SIN!"
I fixed a warm smile upon my new white friend. "You really hate those queers, don't you, Fred?"
A longer pause...priceless..."Yes! They are destroying America!"
"Fred, have you ever...of course you have, it is written on you...you've felt the desire for man-flesh, right?"
He recoiled in terror. But his eyes were like those of a deer in the headlights. He stammered, trying to find his voice. "N...n...n....no! Of course not!"
"Come on, Freddy." I pulled my face down and gave him a smile, like Laura Palmer addressing her hoodlum boyfriend. "Come on, Freddy, just a little bit?"
He shrunk back. His bluff was called. Nowhere to hide now.
"Fred, it's OK. I'm gay too. Many of God's children are."
He was as red as the state of Wyoming on a Fox News map. "I...I..." He began to cry. "I've sinned! I've lusted after my own kind!"
I went to him, comforted him with the love of Christ. "Fred, it's OK. Let it out. Let out the pain and repression. Our Lord Jesus still loves you, dear sweet Fred."
He sobbed like a toyless child. Poor pathetic sap.
Finally, he looked up. "You...you have been with men?"
"Of course, Fred. I used to be quite promiscuous. A sinner. At one dark time in my life, I served more cock than a Chick-Fil-A."
He looked at me with pain, horror...and...intrigue?
"But I knew that a monogamous relationship was best. I found my soulmate - we met at an Elton John concert, our lighters joined in unison - and remained faithful to him for 12 years."
"What happened?" Oh, the concern on Fred's face...
"He left me for some fag in San Francisco. Probably on a chorus line as we speak."
Fred's face dropped down. "You must have been crushed."
"Not as much as when he called me a week later to tell me he had AIDS."
"Dear Lord..."
"The Lord was nowhere to be found, Fred. He'd been cheating on me with Asian waiters for years. For a time, I thought even I might be infected with the virus that our God invented to punish our sins."
"You must have been scared."
"Scared, Fred? You're talking to a man who has laughed in the face of death, sneered at doom, and chuckled at catastrophe... I was petrified."
He looked confused...
"Fred!" I grabbed him by the collar. "We're not in Kansas! Our sin of gay love is nothing compared to letting our children grow up under the spectre of evolutionists, abortionists, and liberal free-thinkers!"
"I'm so confused. I feel these things towards other men, but the Bible..."
"The Bible is God's word, is it not, Fred?"
"Of course. But it says that homosexuality is..."
"A sin?"
"Yes. My desires...sinful." Oh, the hurt on his face.
"Fred, those verses were likely planted there by evil Jews trying to undermine our faith. Haven't you read The DaVinci Code?"
"My pastor said it was a work of the Devil."
"And so it is, Fred. So it is."
I stood and walked about the room silently. Finally I spoke.
"Fred, these desires were put there by God. You know it and I know it. We can't let the liberals own this issue any longer. They must be defeated, Fred. Just because we were wrong on this one issue doesn't mean we're wrong on abortion or the war or that other shit. We must wrest the gay issue from the liberal hands of the Democratic Party and be proud of our gayosity. God will forgive us, Fred. But not if we allow them to win again. The children, Fred. Think of the children."
His head hung low. Finally he looked up. "But how do we fight back, make our country safe for our values again?"
"Fred, we must start at square one. God understands our desire for other men, let us start there, and make a statement, no longer allow the liberals to have sole proprietership on our sexuality."
"But how?"
"Fred..." I stopped. Looked into his eyes. Conveyed my longing. "It starts with you and I, Fred. We can be the harbingers of freedom, Fred. Let us go into the heart of America and proclaim our gayness. Then and only then will we begin to see the fruit of our endeavors. We will be mocked at first. Driven out of our families and churches. But they will come around. Fred, face it. The church is full of fags like us. Repressed agents of man-love denied their God-given urges by false teachings. You know this in your heart, right Fred? The blood of the Lamb extends even to us, the lowliest of queers."
Tears came to Fred's face. I took him in my arms.
"Make love to me, Fred. In front of God and everybody. It is the only way to reclaim our country, this great nation, from the liberals."
He looked up at me, tears dotting his face.
"Fred, you..." Dear Christ, how long can I hold onto this charade? "You find me attractive, don't you?"
He paused. A little too long. Shit, if I wasn't already having enough problems with women, now even the confused repressed faggots won't fuck me. Damn my luck!
After a lifetime, he finally replied. "Yes."
Holy fuckin' Jesus. It's gonna take a whole lotta Wild Turkey to survive this night...
"Come with me, Fred."
"Now?"
"No, in a public place. Only there will our message be heard."
He hesitated, but his firm American resolve won out in the end.
"Tell me where."
We drove to a nearby park. We walked to the edge of a clearing, next to the trees.
"It is time, Fred. Let us join in holy union together."
Tears and angst across his face. He'd been waiting for this moment so long...
"Duke...I...I've never done this before..."
"What?"
"I've only desired a man. Not been with one. Oh, I have magazines. And...video..."
"Those broadband connections sure come in handy, don't they, Fred?
A terrible grin crossed his face. A mild but Satan-based chuckle from his chest.
"Don't worry, Fred. I'll be gentle."
I slowly began to take off my jacket. Just as I'd guessed, he removed his clothing faster. I'd only removed my jacket and Carlson's wretched tie by the time Fred was down to underpants and socks.
"Fred, you're shivering. It's not the warmest of fall days. But never fear, my love...Christ's love...will warm you."
He fell to his knees.
"Fred?" I still only had my jacket and tie off. "Pitch or catch, Fred?"
"Uh...I'd rather...suck..."
Praise Jesus. Somebody needs to cornhole this stupid bastard, but thank God it wasn't to be ME.
I started to remove my belt. He was on his knees before me. A 57-year old Republican in socks and underpants. My revulsion fuelled my next act.
"Fred?"
"Yes?"
I pulled my hair from the pony-tail holder. Shook my hair out and gave him my best come-hither look, like some hellish parody of a Hollywood starlet. I even tried to do it in slow-motion. Batting my eyes with lust.
His pathetic need only underscored the terrible reality - anyone else witnessing me doing such things would have had their sexuality reduced to nothingness. No other living male, female, primate, or reptile would have fucked me after that terrible Lovecraftian spectacle. But Fred would. Dear sweet stupid Republican Fred.
I moved closer to him. "Fred?"
"Duke..." His eyes closed, his lips opened in anticipation of my sanctified meat.
"Fred, I'd rather fuck a pile of dogshit than you."
He had no time to react. With one swift kick to the balls, City Hall Fred crumpled to the ground. I grabbed a stick, fallen from a nearby tree, and beat out a familiar refrain on the back of his skull.
"Shave and a haircut, TWO BITS, MOTHERFUCKER!"
Fred lay unconcious. My non-violent liberal friends may be horrified at my outburst, but until you've known the satisfaction of delivering ball-crushing defeat to a follower of George W. Bush's Christ, you don't know shit, my friend.
I pulled out a tube of mascara (purchased for the possible event of things becoming more terribly desparate in my ruse) and wrote the words "BUSH-ITE FAGGOT" on his naked chest. As I stuffed the mascara back into my pocket, I noticed something else there.
A packet of tartar sauce from Long John Silver's. Leftover from some rushed heart-clogging lunch earlier in the day.
Chuckling at my good luck, I opened the packet and squeezed exactly one drop onto his leg, next to his shrivelled two-inch penis. Only one drop. A gift to those who would find him there. A cheap laugh for the authorities.
I kicked him in the ass, and dialed the police on my cell phone. Informing them of a crazed naked man wandering the woods next to the park, exposing himself to children and women.
Then I called the local news station.
"Hello. My name is Horatio Alger." I gave them my location. "Hurry, man! There's a forest fire!"
"A fire???" he repeated.
"Well, something's flaming," I replied, and hung up.
I took three steps towards my vehicle, then remembered in a flash. Ahh, the piece de resistance. Perhaps even the true reason for this day's work.
I pulled the letter from my jacket, typed and printed off at home just before I had entered the Republican HQ. And Fred's heart.
"My Dear Sweet Ricky,
I am so sorry to hear of your defeat in the Pennsylvania senator's race. My heart goes out to you in this time, not only for all the times we shared, but knowing that our Lord's work is momentarily halted in your fine state.
Since the first time we met at the convention, I've known you to be something special. I am filled with schoolboy mirth just to think on you, Ricky. Oh! That a mere county official such as myself could find love in the arms of a SENATOR!
Those long hot nights, sneaking into Ashcroft's office, only to find him and Rumsfeld on the floor, all of us pledging secrecy. Ahh, those were the days, sweet Ricky.
I long for our nights together, but in these days of scandal, I understand your desire to be careful. I too cried the night that Foley was brought down by those damn liberals. Oh, the parties we had with him, right, Ricky?
Have you seen this website, my love?
www.spreadingsantorum.com
If only they knew the truth, Ricky. If only. Haha!
Yours in Christ,
The Iron Sausage
I rolled him over and placed the letter under his chest. Then, as an afterthought, I pulled a small softcover New Testament from my pocket, marked "Propertee of Geeeorge W. Busssh" on the inner cover. I grabbed one of Fred's asscheeks and pulled him open. Slammed the Word Of Our Lord into place.
And skipped away towards my car full of good humour. My head flung back to the clouds, I yelled to the sky, "Suck a dick for me, Fred!"
I drove away and lit a Winchester. As I pulled onto the highway - sirens in the distance behind me - and brought the smoke into my lungs, I reflected on the day's work. For a time, I managed to cast aside the ambivalence I feel about this election's results and my cynicism about what will actually be the fruits of it all, and found hope and faith in my heart again.
It's a great fuckin' time to be an American, Fred. I just betcha it is.
Love,
Dougie
Gilbert Gottfried Is My Personal Lord And Savior
11.09.06 (8:25 pm) [edit]I just got done listening to Gilbert Gottfried's CD Dirty Jokes.
Sick fucks in the audience? You are NOTHING. My man Gilbert rules you all.
Much of it is jokes most of us have heard, but the way he delivers them is usually killer, and he often slips into asides that have me howling. Then he does a ridiculous Seinfeld impersonation that nearly made me die.
But...
The version of The Aristocrats joke on this CD (not the same as in the movie) is enough to make a man CRY with laughter. Disgusting bloody incest and beastiality abounds.
By the way, Gilbert does voices for children's programs.
I'm in awe of The Master's Voice. Gilbert Gottfried, I love you like the molesting uncle I never had.
Love,
Dougie
My Arm Hurts
11.08.06 (10:31 pm) [edit]"I wanna take you home, yeah
I won't do you no harm no
You got to be all mine, all mine
Ooh foxey lady"
- Jimi Hendrix
I saw her again tonight.
She told me I've got great hair. I told her that her eyes were killing me. She laughed. I asked her how married she was to the idea of being married.
Fuck your moral judgements. I haven't been laid in almost two fucking years.
SHE DIDN'T ANSWER. Fuckin' Christ. How is it that women just seem to KNOW I'm a complete putz who is easilly fucked with, and then know exactly HOW to fuck with me?
She had another customer. I left. After waving and telling her that I hope her husband knows what he's got. She gave me the NASTIEST smile.
Gawd, I love women.
Love,
Dougie
----
Asked my daddy when I was thirteen
Daddy can you tell me what love really means?
His eyes went glassy, not a word was said
He poured another beer and his face turned red
Asked my mother, she acted the same
She never looked up, she seemed so ashamed
Asked my teacher, he reached for the cane
He said, don't mention that subject again
So I read about love - read it in a magazine
Read about love - Cosmo and Seventeen
Read about love - In the back of a Hustler, Hustler, Hustler
So I - know what makes girls sigh
And I - know why girls cry
So don't tell me I don't understand
What makes a woman and what makes a man
I've never been to heaven but at least
I've read about love
My big brother told me when I was fourteen
it's time I showed you what love really means
Girls like kissing and romance too
But a boy's got to know what a man's got to do
He gave me a book, the cover was plain
Written by a doctor with a German name
It had glossy pictures, serious stuff
I read it seven times, then I knew it well enough
Read about love - now I've got you
Read about love - where I want you
Read about love - got you on the test-bed, test-bed, test-bed
So why - don't you moan and sigh
Why - do you sit there and cry?
I do everything I'm supposed to do
If something's wrong, then it must be you
I know the ways of a woman
I've read about love
When I touch you there it's supposed to feel nice
That's what it said in reader's advice
I've never been to heaven but at least
I've read about love
- Richard Thompson
You Nasty Little Thang
11.07.06 (11:23 pm) [edit]"Need your love 1,2,3
Stop starin' at my D cup
Don't waste time, just give it to me
C'mon baby, just feel me up
C'mon, just give it up
Go on and take it off"
- The Donnas
I just spent a few minutes getting my brain cells FUCKED with by a really hot brunette who works at a convinience store down the road. She's around 40, dark hair and dark eyes, She had on a uniform shirt, but REALLY tight jeans and the kind of ass that would make a man cry. The little BITCH bent over right in front of me and TOOK HER TIME standing back up straight. Oh my fucking GAWD, that ass...
Kind of a Teri Hatcher vibe. Reminds me of the mother of one of my students back in Indy that I used to drool over here. She used to walk in wearing these killer flashy clothes and sit down and cross her legs and fold her arms and look at me like "OK, just try not to check me out while you're supposed to be showing chords to my son."
This one had a smile that could knock the shit right out of your asshole and make it flush itself down the loo. The way she looked at me when I told her how pretty she is...wow...
Oh yeah, it turns out she's married. Shitfucky. But even the way she told me THAT was dripping with the stuff I'd have to clean off my face after what I'd do to her for hours. Christ, you little tease.
Yep, even being married didn't stop her from playing with me and paying me one hell of a nice compliment after I asked her out. DELIVERY was everything. I love when a woman pulls off a perfect mix of sweetness and dirty-love. She said something really nice to me, and I got one FUCK of an ego boost. And an erection to match.
My left arm is gonna hurt like a motherfucker in the morning.
Love,
Dougie
-----------
Fucking carpal tunnel syndrome...
How could I forget the very best detail of all?
Her name?
AMANDA
AAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Things I Think About While Voting
11.07.06 (9:13 pm) [edit]OK, I lied. Here's the extent of my political humour tonight.
If I'd had more foresight, I would have shown up in this heavilly Republican area (where county races have often not even had Democrats running) with a copy of The Koran and a yellow highlighter. Stood in line frantically marking select passages, mummering "Hmmm...oh...very interesting....AHA! Now Allah hath revealed which of the American pig-dogs to cast my sacred vote for!"
Or I could have shown up in a flannel shirt and denim overalls, with a straw hat framing my pasty white visage. When I hit the desk to show my ID, I immediately jump back and yell, "What! You're not gonna let me vote? Is it because I'm BLACK???"
Jean Schmidt sure is a cunt.
When I walked up, there was a guy stumping for Ken Blackwell out front. He didn't bother me, but I had a reply pre-written if he'd asked me if I was gonna vote for Blackwell.
"I'd rather get caught in a bear trap and chew my own leg off while being anally violated by congressional pages. But you go ahead. Enjoy!" and wave vigourously as I saunter off to the line.
I wanted to pull out a cigarette lighter when I got to the smoking issues on the Ohio ballot and set the fucker on fire. Then take a big shit on the floor and ask my fellow Christian soldiers which smells worse.
I'm all for raising the state minimum wage, but until these shitbags can write this thing up in language that isn't more vague than the book of Revelation after six joints and a bag of Cheetos, I'm witholding my vote on the issue out of desire to know exactly what the fuck is going to happen when I say yes or no.
I find a mild irony that in today's political climate, I had to go to a CHURCH to vote. It only served to underscore the distance I feel between myself and this entire process.
Maybe tomorow I'll write about the Jesus-fucks I had to listen to at work today. Right now I'm tired and more into this Dylan CD.
Love,
Dougie
-----
Thank Jeezus that Pennsylvania stuck a big ol' no-vote up Rick Santorum's asshole.
http://www.spreadingsantorum....
Turn It Off Again, Please
11.07.06 (8:06 pm) [edit]I'm not going to write a political post tonight. Everybody else is, and there's nothing of any worth I have to say tonight other than that all this shit makes my head hurt. I voted mostly Democrat today, Libertarian in the Ohio governor's race, and left the ballot blank on a few spot swhere I didn't feel informed enough to make a rational decision. Fuck it anyway. The things that matter most to me won't be adequately addressed by any government in my lifetime, so it's all just pissing in the wind as far as I'm concerned.
But I'll be glad to see that cunt Jean Schmidt kicked out of office. THAT, I will say.
So, onwards towards something that really should matter to no one at all.
Twenty years ago, I decided that I wanted to be a musician. This was because of a concert video containing passionate and unique performances from one of the most distinctive drummers in the history of rock music, playing (but usually singing) some of the most individual and engaging music I still have heard in my lifetime, written by or with his equally unique and distinctive bandmates.
These days Phil Collins is mostly known as the pathetic douchebag who does Disney soundtracks. Oh, how times have changed...
The music of Genesis changed my life forever and is directly responsible for my immersion into a way of life that has caused nothing but fucking trouble since, but that I wouldn't give up for anything.
Genesis announced today that they are reuniting for a tour next year. This should excite me. It does not.
This is the Genesis that existed after 1977, one that certainly made some damn fine music and played some fucking excellent shows, but steadilly declined in my opinion year after year. The three main members of this lineup - Collins, Mike Rutherford, and some confused twit named Tony Banks who I once was deranged enough over to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to do a tribute concert for - have spent the 20 years since I first watched them one fateful night on MTV (back when music was actually a part of that network) pissing all over the corpse of what they once were. Their newest writing (nine fucking years ago)is the saddest of echoes of former glories, their tours have been increasingly limp-wristed and based on their sorry ideas of what an audience shows up to a concert to witness, and their statements to the press reveal little more than a desparate desire to be loved by the ill-informed masses who were responsible for making arena-puke garbage like Invisible Touch into hotshit radio fodder back in that most reprehensible of rock msuic decades, the '80s.
With no new music, likely few genuine classics in the set list, and two decades of floundering, spineless live performances to set up this charade with, it is my best guess that the Genesis reunion next year will be an overpriced exercise in cheap nostalgia, performed by very tired old rich men who lost sight eons ago with what is was that made their best music so viable and thrilling to begin with. It's been a long fucking time since any lambs lied down anywhere near these and-then-there-were-three motherfuckers, and since Steve Hackett and Peter Gabriel have continued to do far more interesting work without them than they have mustered themselves since the early '80s, it is my honest conviction that the spirit of the music that made me want to pick up an instrument and play is long since dead in these men.
But it ain't dead in me. FUCK the Genesis reunion. If you want nostalgia for bygone days, go see the countless bar bands who recycle ancient tunes because they REMEMBER why they were good in the first place, and skip over these shitbag fucking fossils who don't even remember who their fans actually are.
Take a little trip back,
Dougie
Tonight's The NIght
11.07.06 (6:41 am) [edit]People like to encourage everyone to vote. "No matter what you believe, just get out there and vote,"
That's really fucking stupid.
People who can't be bothered to come to their own views, who need to be led sheep-like by political trends or media or whatever, who are fundamentally STUPID and willfully ignorant - they shouldn't vote. Don't encourage them.
But most of you fine people reading this are quite intelligent, so get your ass out there and vote today. Well, the Americans. You damn foreigners mind your own business, then we we can go about OUR business of fucking up YOUR business. Whee! We're America!
Sorry, thought I was a Republican for a moment there.
Anyway, vote. If you're smart. If you're not, stay home and masturbate. Me, I'm gonna vote, THEN masturbate, then I'll come back and try to describe the difference between the two activites.
Love,
Dougie
---------
The difference? Not much. But jerking off felt better, didn't take as long, and at least I've got a little something to show for it.
George Carlin Is My Personal Lord & Savior
11.06.06 (10:37 pm) [edit]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eENwS5gUssA
It's The Classics That I Love, You See
11.06.06 (8:19 pm) [edit]This is what happens when I spend all day pushing a broom.
When I was just a little boy
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be a pornstar, will I have a big dick
Here's what she said to me.
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.
When I was young, I fell in love
I asked the hooker, what lies ahead
Will we have buttlove, day after day
Here's what that fucking whore said
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
Your weiner's not mine to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be
Now I have lotion of my own
I ask my senator, what will we be?
Will we be impeached, will it be on Fox?
I ask from on my knees
Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The sentence's not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be
Bet'cha Doris Day never thought of that shit.
Two more sips!
Dougie
Raise Yer Glasses
11.06.06 (7:46 pm) [edit]It's Richard Thompson night here at Casa Dougie. Been spinnin' Rumour And Sigh, which features this little heartwarmer:
Will there be any bartenders up there in heaven?
Will the pubs never close? Will the glass never drain?
No more DTs and no shakes and no horrors
The very next morning, you feel right as rain
'Cause God loves a drunk, lowest of men
Like the dogs in the street and the pigs in the pen
But a drunk's only trying to get free of his body
And soar like an eagle high up there in heaven
His shouts and his curses they are just hymns and praises
To kick-start his mind now and then
O God loves a drunk, come raise up your glasses, amen
Does God really care for your life in the suburbs?
Your dull little life full of dull little things
And bring up the babies to be just like daddy
And maybe I'll be there when he gives out the wings
But God loves a drunk, although he's a fool
Oh he wets in his pants and he falls off his stool
And he can't hear the insults, and whispers go by him
As he leans in the doorway and he sings Sally Racket
He can't feel the cold rain beat down on his body
And soak through his clothes to the skin
O God loves a drunk, come raise up your glasses, amen
Will there be any pen-pushers up there in heaven?
Does crawling and wage-slaving win you God's love?
I pity you worms with your semis and pensions
If you think that'll get you to the kingdom above
Oh God loves a drunk, although he's a clown
Oh you can't help but laugh as he gags and falls down
But he don't give a cuss for what people think of him
He screams at his demons alone in the darkness
He's staying alive for just one more pint bottle
Won't you throw him a few pennies, friend?
Ah God loves a drunk, for ever and ever, amen
I'll drink to that,
Dougie
Good Riddance, Saddam, You Sack Of Shit
11.05.06 (10:38 pm) [edit]I have no sympathy for anyone tonight.
Saddam Hussein, FUCK you. I'd gladly hang your ass myself.
To all the Bush-ites cheering this shit on, fuck YOU. You've have the blood of thousands of Iraqis and Americans on your hands for supporting a stupid, unnecessary war that has NOTHING to do with terrorism, despite your pathetic pleas to the contrary. You are WHORES for your idiotic leader, you have more loyalty to people than you do principles, your "values" are fairy-tale horseshit, and I hope you're all ass-raped by hordes of Massachussettes faggots.
To the limp-wristed liberal pusbag cunts decrying the death penalty for Saddam, fuck YOU. You want to spare his life? YOU pay for it and put up with his ass, you spineless faggots. Yeah, this IS a political ploy by scumfuck Americans unable to take responsibility for their own sins. And Saddam is a sack of shit who is responsible for the deaths of far too many people to take your whiny shit seriously. Is it hypocritical of the US to fuck him over and get away with our own shit? Of COURSE it is. Does that change the fact that this world doesn't need his stupid ass hanging around? NO. it doesn't. What are you going to keep him around FOR? Verizon commercials? Fuck your pathetic self-righteous pseudo-humanity. You want something to protest? It takes no balls at all to protest war or the death of a shitbag dictator. Try protesting RELIGION - the root cause of ALL this shit - and then I might have some repsect for you. Otherwise, you are spineless faggots. And if you think my use that word in this context has a thing to do with sexuality, I'll suck your cock myself. It's a great word, we need it back, and you are the best cunts for the job. FAGGOTS.
I'm tired of all you fucks and every fucking thing you stand for. Every pseudo-conservative cocksucker who can't look past their own backyard from their backwards nationalism, and every pussy liberal who doesn't know fuck about justice can all BLOW ME. There's people in this world with real problems. Saddam Hussein isn't one of them. Go to Hell, Saddam. If those South Park episodes are to be believed, you'll stir up as much shit down there as you did here, you worthless cunt. The world might not be a "better" place for your death, but it sure as fuck isn't any worse.
Hate,
Dougie
Forty Cups Of Coffee (And Three Cans Of High Gravity Lager)
11.05.06 (9:27 pm) [edit]"Pace the floor, stop and stare
I drink a cup of coffee and start pulling out my hair
I'm drinking forty cups of coffee
Forty cups of coffee
Forty cups of coffee, waiting for you to come home"
- Danny Overbea
I got a GREAT double CD from the library called Chess Blues Guitar, a killer compilation of old blues stuff that is making this shit night far more tolerable.
I had a couple bad hours tonight. Tired as hell, and anyone who really knows me knows how unreasonable I am when I'm that fucking tired. I couldn't see the future past having to wake up tomorrow morning to another work week in hell. Nevermind that "hell" hasn't been that bad this past week. But this weekend has been wonderful in that I got to do an easy gig for easy money, and spend extra time with Katie. And now I'm back into this fucking grind I despise so much tomorrow.
I spent an hour on the bed flailing around feeling miserable while Katie watched a Blues Clues DVD. She came in at one point and I pulled her to me. "Honey, I'm sorry I'm not being such a great daddy tonight. I want to be more fun, but I'm really tired. Thank you for being so sweet to me this weekend. You really are such an understanding girl."
"You ARE being a fun daddy. I love being with you."
I don't deserve this kid.
Later, I took a call from my mom about our cousin A. His mom is my mom's half-sister. My aunt is ten years older than me, and my strongest memory of her when I was a kid was of my cousin and I out playing and a few older kids coming out to throw rocks at us and harass us. G came running out the back door yelling "You fuckers! Leave my nephews alone or I'll beat your ass!"
I remind her of that sometimes.
My middle name comes from her dad, who was killed in a car/train collision before she was born. My mom has very good memories of the step-dad she only knew for a year and a half. I found the newspaper articles about his death in 1960 while doing genealogy research a couple years ago. It affected me nearly as strongly as the local newspapers in 1909 writing about my great-grandmother's death, and how my great-grandfather suffered third degree burns saving his three children and trying to save his wife from a house fire she accidentally started.
A is a month older than Katie. He's been in the hospital since Tuesday, and has a major lung condition. He might be out tomorrow, and Mom tells me that today he finally was able to leave his room and walk around some. She went to see him.
He and Katie have a great time together., When I told her tonight that he was still in the hospital, had been there since Halloween night, and was finally starting to feel better, she said, "If it's OK with his mom, I'd be glad to share my Halloween candy with him."
She's so genuine about her desire to help others. She's already a better person than I've ever been.
I forgot my checkbook when we left to head back to her home. I needed to drop off the check for this month's rent - last day of the grace period and I finally had the money for it.
I nearly broke down over having to turn around and drive less than a mile for a fucking checkbook. I told her I was tired and it would be OK. I didn't tell her that I didn't want to take her back home, that I didn't want this weekend to end. That I wanted to go do another thousand gigs at car shows in Richmond and come back to spend a day with my girl, over and over again with no dread over the appearance of Monday morning.
But I can't. And I can't say that to her. it's bad enough that she has to see me turn into a douchebag from losing five minutes of time over a fucking checkbook.
I'm set through payday Wednesday. What little I have left is going towards Steel Reserve and another bottle of Ibuprofen.
Coffee is cheaper than beer, and I have enough of it for three months. But it doesn't do as much good on a night like this.
White people don't know shit about the blues. If I played what I'm listening to right now for 90 perecnt of the people I know, they'd wonder why I was trying to depress them. Dumbass motherfuckers. This shit is supposed to HELP. Pick up the mirror, take a long look in there. Somebody else has already seen that shit and wrote a song about it. Odds are, he was darker and more interesting than you.
There's a lot to be learned on two CDs from the back catalog of Chess Records.
I need a blowjob.
Love,
Dougie
---------
I have nothing at all against the advances in guitar technique over the years, but when I hear Lowell Fulson do Reconsider Baby, THAT is the shit I want to steal licks from.
----------
What did I know when I first heard this music? NOTHING. Until you've fought to pay rent and keep gas in the car, until you've eaten third-rate chicken noodle soup and drank cheap beer while having your heart torn out by not being with the ones you love, until you've known the pain of being told to fuck off by people you thought loved you, and until you've lost sleep just trying to survive, you don't know SHIT about the blues, you pathetic pale-ass motherfuck. It took me 36 stupid fucking years.
This Is What I'm Talking About
11.05.06 (12:59 am) [edit]My band does this classic Everly Brothers song. It reeks of sap and cheese, but I think about her when we play it, and I know what it's like to feel the way a song like this is telling me to feel at the same time I desparately want to make fun of it. I LOVE this song the way Jack Black probably does.
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
When I feel blue in the night
And I need you to hold me tight
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam
I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine
Anytime night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz
I’m dreamin’ my life away
I need you so that I could die
I love you so and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam
I can make you mine, taste your lips of wine
Anytime night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz *
I’m dreamin’ my life away
I need you so that I could die
I love you so and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
* Our singer actually replaces "gee whiz" with "Cheese whiz" the second time around which is so PERFECT I have to hold myself back from laughing every time.
Sleep well, my sweet one,
Dougie
Seven Things I Observed At Tonight's Gig
11.05.06 (12:32 am) [edit]1.) I play considerably worse on coffee than I do on booze.
2.) I am apparantly the only person in the room who hates my guitar solos. This is a good thing, and it serves to motivate me, because I know I'm better than what I played tonight.
3.) It's good to have friends come see you. Dave and Toni, you guys rock. Thanks for the Zevon bootleg, it shall be worn out in good time. :)
4.) Tone is everything. I've already adjusted to my new bass tone now that my own bass is gone and my SWR amp is in the shop and I'm playing through A's stuff. I haven't adjusted to the guitar tones, which are fine, but not ME. That makes the actual playing very difficult. I need to find the Zappa quote about the relationship between what your fingers are doing and the sound coming out of the amplifier. It's not happening for me yet. But hey, I've been doing this for what, three weeks? It'll happen eventually.
5.) Katie has no business being such a cool kid. She was PERFECT tonight. Very well-behaved and a joy to watch out there. She's sleeping right now. I can't begin to catalog all the fun we've had today, just being goofy with each other. I love having her there at these gigs. It's important to me that she knows who her daddy really is. He certainly isn't the asshole who spends Monday through Friday in a life he can barely tolerate.
6.) If we could get one of these $1000 gigs a month, my life would be easier. I'm hoping for two or three.
7.) I can't stop thinking about her. I played her riff tonight, and thought about how great it would be to see her sitting out there with the other women connected to the band, to be able to focus all my energy onto her. This was a good gig. Not a great one. And I'm very tired of being alone.
Love,
Doug
Sounds Like A Meal To Me
11.04.06 (2:50 pm) [edit]Katie and I are playing guitars together. I was just with the 12 string, singing my version of Robin Trower's Bridge Of Sighs.
The gods look down in anger on this poor child.
Katie hears this and says "Pork chop? Did you say pork chop?"
"The gods look down in anger on this pork chop!"
We laughed our asses off at that. I've got a great kid.
Love,
Dougie
Was the pork chops overdone? Do the gods prefer their pork chops leaner? Perhaps they like it oven baked and not on the grill? Questions, questions, flooding into the mind of today's young person...
Devour
11.04.06 (8:09 am) [edit]You, the dream I'll devour
Those green eyes cut through me, they scour
My brain cells, low on power
When I think on you
You, the dream I consume
The pain of you not in this room
Consumes me, a smokey plume
All that's left of me
You, the dream I chew
With relish I savor each taste of you
My desire, your flesh brand new
To me, you're new to me
I want to devour you
Motion Pictures (For Abby)
11.03.06 (10:46 pm) [edit]From the album On The Beach, arguably Neil Young's best album,
Motion pictures on my TV screen,
A home away from home, livin' in between
But I hear some people have got their dreams.
I've got mine
I hear the mountains are doin' fine,
Mornin' glory is on the vine,
And the dew is fallin', the ducks are callin'
Yes, I've got mine.
Well, all those people, they think they got it made
But I wouldn't buy, sell, borrow or trade
Anything I have to be like one of them
I'd rather start all over again
Well, all those headlines, they just bore me now
I'm deep inside myself, but I'll get out somehow
And I'll stand before you, and I'll bring a smile to your eyes
Motion pictures, motion pictures.
We're all just pissing in the wind,
Dougie
It Took Me So Long To Find Out, And I Found Out
11.03.06 (9:20 pm) [edit]"Romeo locks his basement flat,
And scurries up the stair
With head held high and floral tie,
A weekend millionaire
I will make my bed with her tonight, he cries
Can he fail armed with his chocolate surprise?
- Genesis, "The Cinema Show"
About a year ago I met a striking young lady here on tblog, full of personality and with the most amazing green eyes I've ever seen on my computer monitor.
We talked a lot for some time, then she disappeared. We're back in touch again, though not as often as either of us would like.
She wrote me tonight. And I've felt the damndest feeling in my chest since, aching to travel 1000 miles away just to see her in person for the first time.
I laid down tonight for a while and listened to The Pogues, which I've been doing damn near non-stop the last couple days. Listening to Fairytale Of New York (my new favorite song, I've heard it a thousand times this week) I imagined us together at a piano in a hotel (which in my mind looked a lot like the one in Trenton, New Jersey I hung out in during NEARFest a few years ago), her singing Kirsty MacColl to my Shane MacGowen. Then I'd pick her up and carry her to the elevator up to our room. Well, about halfway to the elevator. Then my back would give out and she'd laugh at me all the way up to the room, having to help me not fall over.
The age difference is notable, but whereas every other encounter I've had with a significantly younger woman in the past year and a half has left me confused and guilt-ridden, talking with her has made all of that seem beside the point. She says that she's learned things from me. Well, I have from her - how to latch onto a connection despite the false boundaries our horseshit society puts up.
Tonight I drink and dream of her. Whenever I stick the riff from a certain Beatles song (she took me half the way there) underneath the rest of my band playing Orbison's Pretty Woman, I'm thinking about her. So I've thought about her every weekend since we've met. Shit, damn near every night. She's been on my desktop for weeks now.
She represents something to me, something indefinable and abstract, which will only become concrete if we can ever bridge that 1000 mile gap, but I want to touch it, feel it, be a part of it tonight.
There's something so sweet and loving between us, and something so utterly filthy and wrong. I live for shit like that, Abby. I hope your dreams are close to mine this cold lonely night.
Can't make it all alone, I've built my dreams around you,
Dougie
--------
From Neil Young's Harvest album:
Think I'll pack it in and buy a pick-up
Take it down to L.A.
Find a place to call my own and try to fix up
Start a brand new day
The woman I'm thinking of, she loved me all up
But I'm so down today
She's so fine, she's in my mind
I hear her callin'
See the lonely boy, out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay
Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and
Can't begin to say.
She got pictures on the wall, they make me look up
From her big brass bed
Now I'm running down the road trying to stay up
Somewhere in her head
The woman I'm thinking of, she loved me all up
But I'm so down today
She's so fine she's in my mind
I hear her callin'
See the lonely boy, out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay
Can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and
Can't begin to say
My Version Of The Joke
11.03.06 (7:02 am) [edit]I think this meets all the vile criteria for a good Aristocrats joke, don't you?
A guy walks into an agent's office and says, "I've got the greatest act! You've gotta book us!"
The agent says "Tell me about the act."
So the guy begins:
George W. Bush appears onstage with two gay men. He performs a marriage ceremony, and the gay men begin buttfucking, after which his wife Laura comes out stark naked with an 18-inch dildo hanging from her asshole. She pulls it out, gives it a kiss - sort of a lingering affectionate kiss you'd give to a friend - and shoved it down W's throat.
He pukes up his wife's shit along with the enormous dildo, then picks the dildo up and signs the Patriot Act into law with it. Sudenly his two daughters come out. Jenna shoots her sister in the head, grabs the dildo from her father's hand, and fucks her dead sister in the bullet hole with the dildo while singing Hit Me Baby One More Time.
W screams "Cunt! You stole my writing utensil!" after looking up the word "utensil" in his wife's dictionary, and grabs his daughter Jenna from behind, spins her around, and tries to shove his two-inch cock down his daughter's throat. Well, Jenna's already given six blowjobs that day to Republican senators more well-endowed than her father, so she spits his little dick out and starts laughing at him. W punches her in the face and sends her off to Guantanamo, where she is ass-raped by guys in turbans. Then she comes back with three of them to introduce to her father, who punches her again and has Donald Rumsfeld kill the three prisoners. Rumsfeld stops to eat a big shit sandwich (with pickle and onion) and leaves the stage.
Suddenly, Dick Cheney appears in a Hitler uniform and sings Frank Zappa's Jewish Princess. At the end of the song, Joe Leiberman comes out in drag and begins sucking off Dick Cheney, whose jizz could fill a thimble.
Undaunted, W cuts off Jenna's head and begins fucking her in the ass. HIs parents arrive, and George Bush Sr. sticks his cock in Jenna's empty neckhole while Barbara Bush goes down on Laura. W is fucking his daughter from behind while his dad is fucking her from the front, and he cries out "I always wanted to be just like you, Daddy!"
Meanwhile, an angel in a Bill Clinton mask dangles from the ceiling, covering it's eyes.
John Kerry runs out on stage, covered in ketchup from his wife's family business. A batallion of Marines begins gang-fucking him in the ass and mouth while he tells the audience to study hard or they'll end up onstage getting gang-fucked by Marines.
W can't stand the competition, so he shoots his load in his daughter's asshole, grabs her by the cheeks, pulls them apart so far you can see halfway up her intestinal tract, and begins eating his own splooge out of her asshole. Then he jumps up, straightens his tie, and denies everything while Cheney takes a big shit onstage and the entire crew of CNN eats it. Bush Sr. finally comes down his grandaughter's bloody neck-stump and tries to find a ladder so he can ass-rape the angel in the Clinton mask.
The angel takes off the mask to reveal that it's actually the real Bill Clinton in a bad angel costume he stole from a Republican. He starts running around bellowing "Blowjob! Blowjob!"
Colin Powell and Barack Obama appear and begin 69-ing right in front of Barbara and Laura Bush, who stop eating each other and try to pull the black cocks out of the black men's mouths so they can suck them.
Hundreds of members of Congress rush the stage, all naked except for g-strings. They all take turns butt-fucking Mark Foley, who appears quite content.
Then, a monkey in a t-shirt reading "The American People" strolls out onstage. Everyone stops what they are doing and piles up on the monkey and begins fucking him in the ass. Finally, the stage is covered in splooge and shit so they all plop down and slide around in it. All except for the monkey, who grabs W by the throat and rips his head off. The monkey begins cheering and singing Ding Dong the Wicked Witch Is Dead, but all the Republicans and Democrats in the room are so busy sliding around in all the jizz and shit, they don't notice.
Then they all stand up and take a bow, and the curtain comes down. The curtain man takes off his mask to reveal that he's the real W (the other one was one of Foley's pages in costume) and begins jerking off, then runs out into the audience, who tear him apart. The lights come up.
The agent says, "Wow! That's amazing! What do you call that!"
"The Aristocrats!"
The Aristocrats!
11.02.06 (10:27 pm) [edit]I finally got to see this movie tonight.
Doug Stanhope's contribution is heavilly edited in the movie. Go look for the whole thing on YouTube. It makes the rest of the movie look like a Disney flick.
(Later note - it's an extra on the DVD.)
Bob Saget telling the joke is just a joy to behold. Martin Mull's is unspeakably funny.
But my favorite has to be Sarah Silverman. I recently saw a bunch of her stuff on YouTube and she KILLED me. Her Aristocrats joke (also unedited as an extra on the DVD) is fabulously wrong on every level, and I don't care if Joe Franklin's semen is still drying in her cooze, I wanna FUCK Sarah Silverman. That's one funny fucking Jew girl.
Love,
Dougie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?...
Music To Drink And Punch Out Your Friends To
11.02.06 (5:29 pm) [edit]"I'm just following the Irish tradition of songwriting, the Irish way of life, the human way of life. Cram as much pleasure into life, and rail against the pain you have to suffer as a result. Or scream and rant with the pain, and wait for it to be taken away with beautiful pleasure." -Shane MacGowan
I'm always years behind the curve on stuff this cool.
My friend D9 introduced me to the wonderfully inebriated world of The Pogues this weekend. I'd heard a couple tunes before, but now I have two albums - If I Should Fall From Grace With God, and Hell's Ditch. D9, you are a god among men.
This is INCREDIBLE shit. Killer Irish music delivered with punk attitude, dripping with booze and balls. I'd wonder why the fuck I didn't get into them sooner, but I doubt I'd have appreciated it as much before as I do now.
It's viciously celebratory stuff. Full of pain and sweat and jizz and drink, but delivered through the clenched teeth of stark realistic HOPE. It's goddamn inspiring. It's OK to be human, have another round, ya bastard.
It's also making me want to throw my head into a vat of whiskey, which I'm not so sure I need right now, but...ahhh, fuck it. Why wake up clear-headed on a Friday, for fuck's sake?
I have visions in my head while listening to this of hundreds of Irishmen drinking and beating the shit out of each other. One big fat Irish guy in front juggling pipe bombs.
Apparantly Shane MacGowan is taking the money from a recent tour to buy some new teeth. LOL.
Thanks, D9. This made my week.
Love,
Dougie
----------
I just made up a boilermaker and ate a bunch of boiled potatoes and corned beef. It's a good night to be alive. Fuckin' 'ell.
Interesting...
11.01.06 (9:04 pm) [edit]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyclothymia
Recently feeling some of my bipolar tendencies stronger than I have in a while, I'm finding something to this.
Dougie
Because This Is The Way My Mind Works
11.01.06 (2:36 pm) [edit]I was looking up crash statistics in Ohio. Apparantly there were over 27,000 crashes involving deer here last year.
Guess who was involved in over 40,000 Ohio crashes?
Teenage girls.
Now you tell me who I should be more fucking scared of.
Hellbound,
Dougie