He KISSED Me
03.01.07 (12:31 am) [edit]"At least the black people KNEW they were slaves. YOU people have no fuckin' clue," - Doug Stanhope
Just before I left the bar, he took my face in both hands, and kissed me.
One of the most important people in my life in the past couple years KISSED me.
Think of me what you will. Call me a faggot. I'm the faggot who was kissed by somebody more in touch with realiity than you cocksuckers willl ever be.
I'm honored, humbled, and awed.
Love,
Dougie
Dinner
02.28.07 (4:40 pm) [edit]Crank up a pot with some navy beans. Throw in a lot of garlic powder, salt, pepper, basil, and thyme. Some hot paprika and cumin. Shitloads of hot sauce. Cut in some onion and carrots. Wait a couple hours.
Crank up a Chris Rock CD. Enjoy.
Stanhope in 3 1/2 hours.
Love,
Dougie
The Triumphal Entry Of The Savior
02.28.07 (1:26 pm) [edit]“And when they drew near to Jerusalem, and came unto Bethphage, to the mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying unto them, ‘Go into the village that is just ahead of you, and straightway you shall find a donkey tied, and a colt with her: untie them, and bring them to me. And if any one says anything to you, you shall say, The Lord has need of them; and immediately he will send them.’ Now this is to happen that it might be fulfilled which was spoken through the prophet, saying, ‘Tell the daughter of Zion, Behold, your King is coming to you, Meek, and riding upon a donkey, And upon a colt, the foal of a donkey.’ And the disciples went, and did just as Jesus had instructed them, and brought the donkey, and the colt, and put on them their garments; and he sat thereon. And most of the crowd spread their garments in the road; and others cut branches from the trees, and spread them in the road. And the crowds that went before him, and that followed, cried out, saying, ‘Hosanna [save now!] to the son of David: Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.’ And when he was come into Jerusalem, the entire city was stirred, saying, ‘Who is this?’ And the crowds said, ‘This is the prophet, Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee’” (Mt. 21:1-11; cf. Mk. 11:1-11; Lk. 19:29-44; Jn. 12:12-19).
I've got a great idea for Stanhope, and I'm gonna share it with him tonight.
Imagine the above story set in modern times. With Stanhope coming into town riding on a donkey, and a bunch of people in "Stanhope In '08" t-shirts going before him, spreading clothing (dirty underwear and g-strings being the most obvious choice) and tree branches on the ground, crying out "Hosanna to the son of the Kool Menthol-smoking cranky mother! Blessed is he who comes in the name of personal liberty and freedom, eat whichever substance gets you the highest!"
And when the cops come and ask us who the fuck this guy is, "This is the next president of the United States, Doug Stanhope. Call the local news outlets immediately."
Oh, the ideas for mischief deserving of CNN spots that are forming in my noggin..........
Love,
Dougie
Always Nice To Know Where You Stand
02.28.07 (11:58 am) [edit]
Conversation with D from last week, Wednesday, I believe.
"So, you going to be there Friday?"
"Oh, yes. I went out last night and bought a new outfit just for you. I'm so looking forward to seeing you. I'll be your biggest fan. It's so good to see you in your element, doing what you love. You really rock. I love watching you, I love how you make me feel."
The Bullshit-O-Meter was slamming against the red, and I took every last word as the opposite of what it said.
And guess what? I was right. She didn't show. She DID have the decency to call, then leave a text message later. I knew before the gig that if she'd show up, she'd be late. I knew at the end of the second set that she wasn't coming. So that was nice. Props to her on THAT, at least. Big improvement on wondering what the fuck was going on all night.
She had a hard week at work. She was tired. She was sick all weekend, totally drained. She told me this late Sunday.
And today, she posted pictures on her blog of when she went out Saturday night, with her sister, several friends, and, oh yeah, the ex that is such an asshole. Looks like they had quite a spectacular night doing karaoke and dancing and stuff. A couple nice shots of her and the ex together, too.
There's a word beginning with the letter "C" that you might anticipate my imminent use of...
Actually, I'm amused. Somewhat irritated, but mostly amused. By the way, I wrote back to her message yesterday, but my policy now is to not start any conversation. I'll be nice, I'm just not interested in putting any effort into such obvious bullshit anymore.
Women, can you all have a meeting? I know you're not all lying manipulative cock-teasing cunts. I KNOW that. But can you get together and call out the ones that are, and tell them "Hey, back off on the fat hairy guy. Sure, he's kind of an idiot with dumbass expectations, but he TRIES to be a nice guy, and all he really wants is a blowjob or twelve. Stop fucking with him." Could you do that for me? Thanks. Mucho appreciated.
Love,
Dougie
Tropical Hot Dog Night
02.27.07 (9:13 pm) [edit]
"Tropical Hot Dog Night
Like two flamingoes in a fruit fight
Ev’ry colour of day
Whirlin’ around at night
I’m playin’ this music
So the young girls will come out
To meet the monster tonight
Tropical Hot Dog Night" - Captain Beefheart
I wrote three entries in the past couple days and deleted them all. Ungodly navel-gazing pretentious narcissistic horseshit, every last word.
So, since I have little worth saying right now, I'll make it short:
1.) I had Katie singing along to They Might Be Giants in the car tonight. "Shoehorn??? With TEETH??? That's weird, Daddy!"
2.) One look into the heart-rending eyes of a beautiful young woman in her 20s (the one in question I've known for years now) can make me into a complete ball of shit. I'm terrified of myself and my capacity for self-destruction, but mostly I'm scared of how good it feels.
3.) Tomorrow night. I'm scrambling for cash to be able to do it (and to drink with him afterwards) but tomorrow I'm gonna see Stanhope. I've also decided to totally throw myself into his campaign, and ask what I can do to help in any way that I'm capable. The more he talks about it, the more I want to be there, just to see what the fuck happens. This is gonna be one hell of a fun ride.
4.) I have guitars for sale. If I don't sell them at the store tomorrow (they're there now waiting for the boss to show up) I'll sell them on eBay or something. Neither is worth much, neither is hardly ever played by me. An ancient Silvertone with a Stone-Age bridge, and a de-fretted Fernandes Jazz-bass copy.
5.) Am I the only one that thinks the whole uproar over the supposed bones of Jesus being found is funny as shit? It's probably all bogus sensationalism, but it sure is fun to watch religious people take their stupid shit so seriously.
6.) I feel like some Beefheart tonight. I mean, hey, if you're guaranteed not to get any pussy, why not have the kind of soundtrack that will cement the deal?
Love,
Doug At The Radar Station
----------
I'm 40 pages into a very entertaining book - The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins. I think I'm gonna have a new favortie person in the very near future.
Hmmmmmmm.....
02.27.07 (10:31 am) [edit]"If you look up "happiness" in Webster's dictionary / You would find / That it is defined / as / Lucky / Fortunate / Contented with one's lot / Glad / Or pleased?
If you were to look up "unhappy" in Webster's dictionary / You would find / That it is defined as / Not happy / Miserable / Causing misfortune / Unsuccessful / Disastrous.
I say if it's four a.m. and you're looking up either of these words, you're in a little bit of trouble either way, my friend." - Bruce McCulloch
Friday Night's Alright For Fucking
02.25.07 (10:35 pm) [edit]
I'm still too far gone for a real report, but here's Friday night's set list as best as I can reconstruct it. I'm very proud of this selection of tunes. As I said before, I felt like ME that night, more than I ever have onstage. This is a drug stronger than heroin, people. Maybe even stronger than blowjobs. I've never felt so natural, so in my element, so...I actually felt like an "artist" that night. Hardly the best one you're gonna come in contact with, but I felt it was pure and unencumbered by the bullshit you normally have to do in a "covers" situation, and while audience reaction wasn't overwhelming, I felt accepted and appreciated. I give myself a 97, and I could even dance to it. Wish You Were Here might have been the best vocal performance I've ever delivered. Even that prick Simon would have liked it.
SET ONE
Opening Improv - Cunts On Fire/A Reading From The Book Of Hunter
Splendid Isolation (Warren Zevon)
What's So Funny 'Bout Peace Love & Understanding? (Elvis Costello)
Bang A Gong (T. Rex)
Drive (Incubus)
Searching For A Heart (Warren Zevon)
Ankle Bracelet (Mike Keneally)
Octopus (Syd Barrett)
Diamonds & Dominoes (D. B.)
The Mayor Of Simpleton (XTC)
James K. Polk (They Might Be Giants)
Never Enough (Adrian Belew)
It Won't Hurt (Dwight Yoakam)
Well All Right (Buddy Holly)
SET TWO
Improv - Not Enough Puppies/Ash Baskets, Behind You/Devour (D.B.)
Pigs On The Wing/Pigs (3 Different Ones)/Pigs On The Wing (Pink Floyd)
King Of The Road (Roger Miller) (w/Mark - vocals)
Werewolves Of London (Warren Zevon) (w/Mark - vocals, Steve - piano, Andy - bass, and R.J. - trombone)
What's He Building? (Tom Waits)
Heartattack & Vine (Tom Waits)
The Big Goddamn Neil Young Double-Drop-D Medley - When You Dance I Can Really Love/The Loner/Cinnamon Girl/Mr. Soul (Neil Young)
Karma Police (Radiohead)
SETS THREE & FOUR (My notes are out of order, so I know this will be too, but it's close enough. Set four opened with Requiem... instead of an improv, probably because set 3's improv was such an unfocused pile of shit, the only part of the night that I was truly dissatisfied with)
Improv - Pointless Meandering Bullshit (w/ sample of Bill Hicks' "Time To Evolve") (w/R.J. on flute)
Lawyers, Guns & Money (Warren Zevon)
Something (The Beatles) (w/R.J. on flute)
What's The Ugliest Part Of Your Body?/Zoot Allures (Frank Zappa) (featuring Dougie's suddenly near-useless left-hand index finger on Uncomfortably Numb barre chords)
Another Reading From The Book Of Hunter
Ziggy Stardust (David Bowie)
Rock & Roll Ain't Noise Pollution (AC/DC)
I Talk To The Wind (King Crimson)
Lucky Man (Emerson, Lake & Palmer)
Bridge Of Sighs/Breathe/Wish You Were Here (Robin Trower/Pink Floyd) (w/ R.J. - flute, Adam - guitar)
Sugar Mountain (Neil Young) (w/ R.J. & Adam)
Lay Lady Lay (Bob Dylan) (w/ R.J. & Adam)
Requiem For A Head Laying In A Field In Butler (D.B.)
Scarecrow People (XTC)
The Mayor Of Simpleton (XTC)
James K. Polk (TMBG) (This and Mayor repeated by request of Andy, my fellow geetar-slinging band member)
From The Beginning/Wang Dang Sweet Poontang (Emerson, Lake & Palmer/Ted Nugent) (w/ R.J. & Adam) (featuring a lyric change in Poontang from Ted's "Nadine" to the name of my personal favorite teenage queen)
Get Behind The Mule (Tom Waits) (w/ R.J. & Adam)
Fuckin' Up (Neil Young) (w/ R.J. & Adam)
I Was In The House When The House Burned Down (Warren Zevon) (w/ R.J. & Adam)
The Piano Has Been Drinking (Not Me) (Tom Waits)
-----------
I just left this comment on Lewis Black's myspace page:
Lew, if I had a more interesting and funnier twin brother pop out of my mother's vagina about 20 years ahead of me, it would be you. Everytime I listen to you, I think "That's ME, but the cocksucker beat me to it!" I love you, and few things bring mirth and happiness to my little black heart the way you do. Or maybe it's just the Bacardi. Oh, fuck you anyway, I'm going back to drinking now.
--------
A myspace message to Stanhope:
Rockin' In Spock's Hometown
02.25.07 (9:36 pm) [edit]
These pics are all from last night's gig. I like how they're all looking at me in this pic like "What the fuck is that bastard gonna pull out of his ass NEXT?"
What A Fuckin' Weekend
02.25.07 (12:12 pm) [edit]"Re-DUN-dant!" - Mr. Bungle
The first Bungle album makes for a fuck of a soundtrack at 3AM driving on ice somewhere outside of Muncie.
I'm too fucking tired to type at length, and Katie's here, but I had a damn good couple gigs. Friday went ludicrously well, and there were a couple times I thought I delivered the best vocal performances of my life. I somehow got BETTER across the four hours. Several guests came up (including the first guitar player I ever jammed at length with decades ago, and I don't think I'd seen him in at least 6 or 7 years) and I hit a zone early on that felt amazing - I felt like MYSELF onstage for the first time. It was...humbling. And ego-building. Incredible mix of feelings.
Last night's gig was a buttload of fun too, and the drive was goofy as shit on the way back due to slush-strewn roads and people who don't know how to drive and Bungle in the tape deck and Bacardi Select and not havng slept for shit in four days. I felt like some weird-ass winterized Hunter Thompson. Then I pulled over in a parking lot just outside Muncie and slept like a fucking brick for three hours. The alarm woke me up HARD. Jesus creeping God, I'm tired.
OK, I think I'll record an audio post later today to go into details. Right now me and Katie are watching The Horror Of Party Beach. Cookie!
Love,
Dougie
H. P. Lovecraft Fans Are Fucking NUTS
02.23.07 (8:52 am) [edit]
http://callsforcthulhu.blogsp...
Watch all three of the videos at the top. The Old Ones would want you to.
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!
Love,
Dougie
-------
Spock, you're gonna LOVE this one:
The Perfect Closer
02.22.07 (11:40 pm) [edit]Tom Waits is my personal lord and savior.
The piano has been drinking,
My necktie is asleep
And the combo went back to New York,
The jukebox has to take a leak
And the carpet needs a haircut,
And the spotlight looks like a prison break
And the telephone's out of cigarettes,
And the balcony is on the make
And the piano has been drinking,
The piano has been drinking...
And the menus are all freezing,
And the light man's blind in one eye
And he can't see out of the other
And the piano-tuner's got a hearing aid,
And he showed up with his mother
And the piano has been drinking,
The piano has been drinking
And the bouncer is a sumo wrestler
Cream-puff casper milktoast
And the owner is a mental midget
With the IQ of a fence post
'Cause the piano has been drinking,
The piano has been drinking...
And you can't find your waitress
With a Geiger counter
And she hates you and your friends
And you just can't get served without her
And the box-office is drooling,
And the bar stools are on fire
And the newspapers were fooling,
And the ash-trays have retired
Because the piano has been drinking,
The piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking,
Not me, not me,
Not me, not me, not me...
Love, Laughter & Truth
02.22.07 (9:48 pm) [edit]
"Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work." - Gustav Flaubert
Ahhh, if only...
I actually got shit done today. Yesterday was my first full day of work in almost a week from my lovely employer, and today I got a whole hour in before being sent home.
Fuck 'em. I've got shit to do.
I tightened up some songs for tomorrow, and ran through all my gear. Most of the night will be on my Alvarez acoustic-electric, which I can plug right into the bar's PA along with their own mics.
But I also have a cheap acoustic tuned down a half step for a few tunes, and a Yamaha 12-string for a few others. Another mic for that.
Plus the setup for the improvs. I'll be running A's Squier Jazz bass (I still haven't replaced the stolen one) into a Crybaby Wah into an Electro-Harmonix Memory Man Delay, into a Digitech Whammy Pedal into a Morley Volume/Wah into a DOD Delay/Sampler. Hopefully a fuzz will come my way through the store up there, which is kind essential for the true brutal assault of my angry-ambient concept, but if not, I can just make disturbing unfuzzed noises and all will be well...
This setup (along with my electric on a few tunes, and the CD player - I'm about to compile that Hicks/Stanhope thing tonight) will go into my Carvin portable PA. A four-channel combo with amp and speaker in one unit that Sheryl bought me a few years ago but I haven't used yet. Finally it will see its debut tomorrow, and I'll run a line from that into the main PA.
I'm leaving my keyboard (complete with an octave's worth of broken keys) at home. The bar has a piano, and none of the tunes I'd planned on doing at the keyboard are worked up enough to play out, though I might bullshit my way through Tom Waits' The Piano Has Been Drinking (Not Me) on the house piano. That might even be the closer. Seems appropriate somehow. If my band's keyboardist comes up for a tune (and it seems he will, we're going to do Werewolves Of London) he can take the house piano.
I am calm and confident tonight. Some edges still seem rough, but nothing I'm worried about. I've been waiting for this night for almost seven years, and I've never felt so sure of my ability to do it. The past year and a half with the band has given me confidence I've never had. Not only in my performance ability, but in being able to communicate with an audience. I've always felt lacking in that area. it's not something you think much about when you're sitting in your room playing guitar. But it's an essential part of performance, and I finally feel I have my onstage persona in place. Coming to grips with the importance/utter absurdity of what I do for a living has been the key. People LOVE what I've been doing onstage for this past couple years. It's also ridiculous. I'm not a great musician. I'm adequate at best. Most of what I do is bullshit. But it's FUN bullshit, and I've learned how to project that fun along with my own bemusement at the all-encompassing silliness of it. I try to find ways of inserting actual ideas and artistry into it, but the fact is, capital-A art is not a major part of what I do. That's OK for now. I want to find more ways of doing it, but I'm so far removed from it - just from being in a situation where I HAVE to consider other factors first - that finding my way back to feeling like an "artist" again (cough, hack, choke) is something I'm letting sit on the horizon a while longer.
What I do now musically is marginal at best, but fuck it. Beats the shit out of working in a goddamn warehouse for a living. And tomorrow might just end up being as close to the true goal as I've ever been allowed to get. This is a start.
Listening to Jean-Luc Ponty's Enigmatic Ocean as I type. Primo 70's fusion, Allan Holdsworth melting brain cells on top of Ponty's graceful creations. To be on the level of a Holdsworth.............probably never. Oh well...
The store I stopped at was out of my favorite cheap-ass beer. So tonight it's Colt 45. I feel so...well, white, actually.
I got all my shit packed for tomorrow (leaving early) and cleaned the apartment better than it's been for weeks. Meanwhile, I let a Chris Rock DVD run.
I LOVE Chris Rock. I love black comedy. The best of these guys cut right through and make me laugh my balls off.
But my favorite funny white man is in town next week. I'll sell shit if I have to (and given my present income, it looks likely) but I'm gonna see Stanhope at least twice next week, and since he was kind enough to tell me where he's drinking, I NEED to be there. If I have to sleep in my car behind a dumpster from being too fucked up to make it home, so be it. I'm gonna LIVE next week. I'm also going to ask him how I can help his campaign. I don't believe in our chances to make a true difference. I DO believe in the basic degenerate integrity of the cause - SOMEBODY has to stand up and defend the rights of the common man in this country, and you can't name me one cocksucking Republican or Democrat up for the job. This is important - religious and corporate interests have turned out nation into a whining bunch of terrified pussies afraid of our own shadows, afraid of life, afraid of FUN. Those of us without a strong interest in living forever and never having to suffer the consequences of actually ENJOYING ourselves need a voice too. Our country needs a LOT of voices. We need to break down this two-party system of shit and let some goddamn variety in. I don't expect to see it in my lifetime. But I'd rather piss in the wind than be pissed on. I no longer feel any special attachment to this society or our preconcieved notions. I want to drink and smoke and eat too much and say "fuck" a lot, because IT DOESN'T MATTER. If you think it does, you are a FOOL. We need to fix OTHER shit. War, poverty, stupidity, religious facism.
But it won't happen anytime soon, so I'll settle for a cold brew with like-minded assholes. We're not owned by the people who own our leaders, Republican and Democrat alike. The tyranny of the rat race is not yet final. The few of us who stand outside of this circus of shit (or at least stand as far outside of it as we are currently able) can still afford to drink and laugh, because we KNOW better. I've swung hard away from the right-wing in recent years, but I also lost all interest in the mainstream left immediately after the 2004 election when they decided to start "healing" and finding "our similarities other than our differences" and insisting that their values were ultimately the SAME as the right.
Well, fuck you. I DO NOT share these fuckers' values, and nor do I yours. I do not give a fuck about God and country and the sancity of whatever it is you hold sacred. I respect the INDIVIDUAL and his need to be as unhampered by his government as is possible. Anyone who thinks that EITHER of the major parties have this interest at heart (but especially the Republicans - so if you take my rant as somehow still less about YOUR ignorant shit than that of the left, who might suck but are still INFINITELY more tolerable than your Jesus-based hypocritical nonsense, then you can go elsewhere, because you are FAR worse) needs to open their third eye.
We are capable of more than this, people. I am not cynical about our potential. I'm cynical about how we've SQUANDERED it, and how - even in light of all the arguments to the contrary - we still hold on to outdated and useless systems of belief and governance that no longer serves any true purpose. We do not NEED religion. We do not NEED more than the basic bones of government. We do not NEED our desparate dependence on technology and our undying thirst for "safety" and "convinience."
We need to learn and live and grow and be human and make mistakes and learn from them and explore and dream and take chances and fall on our faces and drink and laugh and find the satisfaction that lives within ourselves, no "God"/middleman required.
But since so very few of you fuckers are willing to do so or even know what the fuck I'm talking about, I'll do it myself. Fuck you, anyway. I'm still building my bridge across troubled waters AWAY from your shit. I WILL find a way to operate on the outside. Or die trying.
And next week, I'm gonna sit and drink with someone who's done it already. Who's found a way to sit out on the edges and make a living pissing down your throats.
Vote Stanhope in '08,
Dougie
Two Years Ago Today...
02.20.07 (4:39 pm) [edit]Hunter S. Thompson left us. I'd write about it, but somebody else here on tblog already has, and done a fine job of it. Go read this.
evilmammoth.tblog.com
RIP Hunter.
Love,
Dougie
I Love This
02.20.07 (1:48 pm) [edit]“Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ''the rat race'' is not yet final.” - Hunter S. Thompson
Back To The Brine
02.20.07 (3:47 am) [edit]
"Cuz I'm praying for rain
And I'm praying for tidal waves
I wanna see the ground give way.
I wanna watch it all go down.
Mom please flush it all away.
I wanna watch it go right in and down.
I wanna watch it go right in.
Watch you flush it all away.
Time to bring it down again.
Don't just call me pessimist.
Try and read between the lines.
I can't imagine why you wouldn't
Welcome any change, my friend.
I wanna see it all come down.
Suck it down."
- Tool
I drank and went out for late-night fast food, listened to the soundtrack of the Apocolypse, and laughed a lot.
Stanhope wrote me back. Here's the conversation:
we will drink at sneaky petes, my friend.
Fuck yeah, we will. Goddamn, dude. You have no idea how much I need to shake your hand and thank you for how much of a fucking inspiration you are.
I've been playing classic rock with a band every week for a long time now. This Friday, I'm doing my first solo gig in almost seven years. Along with shitloads of acoustic rock (loads of Zevon, Neil Young, etc) I'm doing weird improv bits with a bass guitar through various effects units. I intend to compile a CD of my favorite bits of you and Bill Hicks to play over the top of this shit. Then I'm gonna plug your campaign. It won't mean shit in a town as backwards as Marion, Indiana, but the fact that I have the chance to do this at ALL is a fucking great thing. I have no faith in our power to prevail over this goddamn stupid system we find ourselves in, but I have plenty in our ability to fuck with the edges and have a goddamn good time doing it. I love you, you disgusting bastard. See you next week.
Au contraire, Pierre. You have plenty of power in Marion.
Those dark cracks in the country are where the change will come.
Trust me.
stanhope
--
I told him that I'm praying to gods I no longer believe in that he's right. But other times, I pray that Tool is right, and I'll someday get to watch Mom flush it all away.
As much as I laugh at their superstitious nonsense, I feel a certain kinship with my literalistic Christian friends. I long for the end of the age too. Not for their reasons. I know of no Heaven to go to, and theirs sounds fucking boring in the first place. No, I just wanna see it all flushed away. I wanna stand on the precipice and witness the end of this failed experiment called humanity. I'll laugh, drink another can of Steel Reserve, then jump into the brine. 2007 - a merman I should turn to be.
Bill Hicks spoke of southern California sliding into the ocean and becoming Arizona Bay.
350 million years ago, this part of the country was covered by a shallow sea. For the purposes of this demonstation, we'll call it Pennsylvania Bay.
With any luck, a reprise of this geological event will be one of the results of global warming.
I'm getting my aerosol cans ready. Learn to swim, motherfuckers.
Love,
Dougie
-------
"...That's why I like natural disasters. All these natural disasters that been going on, I fuckin' love 'em! I cant get enough of 'em. When nature's going crazy, throwing things around, scaring people and destroying property, I'm a happy fuckin' guy. I'm a happy fuckin' guy! I look at it this way... For centuries now, man has done everything he can to destroy, defile, and interfere with nature. Clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over-fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes, destroying wetlands and aquifers... So when nature strikes back, and smacks 'em in the head and kicks 'em in the nuts, I enjoy that. I have absolutley no sympathy for human beings whatsoever, none, and no matter what kind of problem humans are facing, whether it's natural or man-made, I always hope it gets worse. Don't you? Don't you?! Don't you have a part of you, a part of you that secretly hopes everything gets worse? When you see a big fire on TV, don't you hope it spreads? Don't you hope it gets completly out of control and burns down six counties? You don't root for the firemen do you? I mean i don't want them getting hurt or nothing, but i don't want 'em putting out my fire. That's my fire, that's nature showing off and having fun. I like fires...
"You know something else i like? Those spring floods in the midwest! Aren't they great? Like clockwork, spring floods in the midwest. Now I'm starting to notice, I'm starting to catch on, that every year... it's the same story! Another flood, in the same place, with the same people, on the same river - SAME FUCKIN' PEOPLE! And these people do not move, they will not fuckin' move! They repaint, put down new carpet and wallpaper and they move right back into the same fuckin' house on the flood plain, next to the river, and then they wonder why grandma's floating downstream with the parakeet on her head! Fourth time, again, fourth fuckin' time. There's no learning curve with these people. It's very hard to feel sorry for them. Every year, same people, same rowboats, out there paddling around, rescuing a chicken! What the fuck kind of a life is that? 'Well our kids love it here...', Oh really, what do they got, gills? And while they're showing all that shit on the screen, the announcer's saying to me ', It's been raining steadily for 3 months now, the ground can't hold any more water, the river's cresting higher than it has it 2 centuries, the levees have washed away..." And i just hope it keeps raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining and raining, and it rains steadily for 5 years... and then after that, for 10 years it's cloudy... with occasional showers... and the river never returns to it's natural banks, it becomes a completly new river, and the borders of 3 states have to be changed, and all the maps and atlases have to be redrawn and reprinted... and no one's couch ever completly dries out. For years and years, every time they sit down there's always that little 'Squish...' 'Dan, Linda, come on in you guys, have a seat - squish squish...' I like that, I'm an interesting guy...
I always hope that no matter how small the original, it's going to grow into bigger and bigger proportions, its going to go completly out of control and I'll give you a concrete example...
Let's say a water main breaks in downtown Los Angeles and it floods an electrical substation, knocking out all the traffic lights and tying up the entire city and emergency vehicles can't get through. And at the same time, one of those month long global warming heat waves comes along, but there's no air-conditioning, there's no water for sanitation, so cholera, smallpox and dissentary break out and thousands of people start dying in the streets. But before they die, parasites eat their brains, and they go completly fuckin' crazy and they storm the hospitals. But the hospitals can't handle all the casualties, so these people rape all the nurses and set the hospital on fire. And the flames drive them even crazier, so they start stabbing social workers and garbagemen, and a big wind comes and the entire city goes up in flames. And the people who are still healthy, they get mad at the sick people and they start crucifing them; nailing them to crosses, trying on their underwear, shit like that! Then everybody smokes crack and PCP and they march on City Hall where they burn the mayor at the stake, strangle his wife, and take turns sodomizing the statue of Larry Flynt. And at this point, this point, it looks like pretty soon, things are going to start to get out of control...
So everybody panics and tries to leave the city at the same time, and they trample each other to death in the streets by the thousands, and wild dogs eat their corpses, and the wild dogs chase the rest of the people down the highway. And one by one, the dogs pick off the old fucks and the slow people 'cause they're in the fast lane where they don't belong. Get the fuck out of the fast lane if you're an old fuck, if you're a slow fuck, get over on the right, get over on the right. And then, and the lucky ones, the lucky people who managed to make it all the way outside of town, they discover when they get there, that big sparks from the city have lit the suburbs on fire, and the suburbs burn uncontrollably. And thousands of identical homes have identical fires with identical smoke killing all of the identical soccer moms and their identical kids named Jason and Jennifeeeerrrrrr!
And now, the fires press into the farmlands, and the farmlands burn intensely at 425 degrees creating millions of baked potatos. And, as the farmlands burn, as they burn, thousands of barns and farmhouses begin to explode from all their hidden meth labs. And the meth chemicals run downhill into the rivers and streams, where wild animals drink the water and get completley geeked on speed. So bears and wolves, amped up on crank, start to roam the countryside looking for people to eat, even though they're not really hungry. And the fire spreads to the forests and the forests burn furiously and hundreds of elves and trolls and fairies come out of the woods screaming 'Bambi is dead, BAMBI IS DEAD!' And he is, he is, finally that little cunt Bambi is dead, DEAD!
And now, hundreds of regional fires come together into one huge interstate inferno, and all 12 of the western United States are burning out of control, except for Utah where they don't allow fires. And the fire spreads across the Great Plains, toasting the wheat and cooking the cattle producing...hamburgers, actually. Then it leaps the Mississippi and races through the South, blowing up stills, interrupting lynchings, and killing millions of imbred people!
And then, it turns northeast and heads for Washington DC where George Bush can't decide if it's an emergency or not! He can't decide because Dick Cheney is in prison. So instead he takes a nap, he takes a nap! He puts his empty brainless head down on the little pillow his mother gave him at Christmastime, and he takes a fuckin' nap! So the fire moves to Philadelphia, but it's a weekend and Philadelphia's closed on the weekends. So the fire moves to New York City, and the people in New York tell the fire to 'Go fuck itself!, Go fuck yaself!' And it does, yeah, and it does, so instead it burns down Long Island and Connecticut, killing all the rich white assholes and completly destroying their evil faggoty golf courses.
And while all of this is going on, Canada burns to the ground but nobody notices...
And now the entire North American continent is on fire, producing a huge thermal updraft and creating an incendiary cyclonic macro-system that forms a hemispheric mega-storm, breaking down the molecular structure of the atmosphere and actually changing the laws of nature! Fire and water combine! Burning clouds of flaming rain fall upward. Gamma rays and solar winds ignite the ionesphere creating huge clouds of ionized plasma. Bolts of lightning, 20 million miles long, begin shooting out of the North Pole. And the sky fills up with green shit! And then suddenly, the entire fabric of space-time splits in two!!! A huge crack in the universe opens, and all of the dead people from the past begin falling through. Babe Ruth, Groucho Marks, Davey Crockett, Tiny Tim, Porky Pig, Hitler, Janis Joplin, Alan Ludlin, my Uncle Dave, your Uncle Dave, everybody's Uncle Dave! An endless stream of dead Uncle Daves falling through the crack.
And all the dead Uncle Daves gather together around a heavenly kitchen table. They light up cigarettes and they begin to talk. They talk about how they never got a break, how their parents never loved them and their children were ungrateful. They talk about how the government screwed 'em out of money and they just missed out on the big job! They say the Jews own everything and the blacks get special treatment. And all the bitterness and hatred drips out of these people and forms a big pool of liquid hate. And the pool of liquid hate begins to spin, round and round it spins, faster and faster. And the faster it spins, the bigger it gets. Faster and faster, bigger and bigger, until the whirling pool of hate is bigger than the entire universe.
And then suddenly, it EXPLODES into trillions of tiny stars, and every star has a trillion planets, and every planet has a trillion Uncle Daves. And all the Uncle Daves have good jobs, perfect eyesight, and shoes that fit. They have great sex lives and free healthcare. They understand the Internet, their kids think they're cool. And they all love their neighbors. And every week, without fail, Uncle Dave wins the lottery. Forever and ever until the end of time, every single Uncle Dave has a winning ticket, and Uncle Dave is finally happy...
Now do you see why I like it when nature gets even with humans?"
- George Carlin
Doug Stanhope In '08!
02.19.07 (10:57 pm) [edit]
My hero is in town next week. Here's his newest myspace bulletin"
| Subject | Ohio, MI and NYC...Here I Come with a Boner and a Grudge
|
|---|---|
| Body: | Send out some bulletins, faggots! The ugliest state at the ugliest time of year with the ugliest comic that's willing to do it. And Andy Andrist as well. Let's get together and drink the whole thing pretty. Feb 22nd High Five Columbus, OH Feb 23rd The Foundry Dayton, OH Feb 24th Beachland Ballroom Cleveland, OH Feb 28th - March 4th Go Bananas Cincy, OH Get tickets now and throw the word around. And maybe afterwards we'll all fingerfuck without gloves on. Or whatever. Then... March 7th at Rhino's Pub in Plainwell, MI- Call 269 685 2220 for tickets. March 8-10 at Wiseguys in Novi, MI - call 248 919 3216 for tickets. And finally - I'm filming an hour stand-up special for Showtime in NYC - Gotham Comedy Club March 12th at 8 and 10pm. Make your resvervations asap at 212 367 9000. Bring the more unpleasant members of your social circle and, as always, thanks for spreading the word. |
Since prices are better than I thought they'd be, I just made reservations for three of the Cincy shows. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!
----
Just wrote the fucker:
I just made reservations to three of the Cincy shows.
I'll be the fat hairy guy laughing too hard and drooling on himself that'll make you want to call security. But I'm the best fuck you'll ever have, so don't deny me, cunt.
Learn To Swim
02.19.07 (9:05 pm) [edit]
"Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this
Bullshit three ring circus sideshow of
Freaks
Here in this hopeless fucking hole we call LA
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any fucking time. Any fucking day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona Bay."
- Tool
"You see, I'm an entropy fan. When I first heard about entropy in high school science, I was attracted to it immediately. When I found out that, in nature, all systems were slowly breaking down I thought, 'What a good thing! What a good thing - perhaps I can make some small contribution in this area myself.' " - George Carlin
"Folks: It's time to evolve ideas. You know, evolution didn't end with us growing thumbs. You do know that, right? Didn't end there. We're at the point, now, where we're going to have to evolve ideas. The reason the world is so fucked up is we're undergoing evolution. And the reason our institutions, our traditional religions, are all crumbling, is because … they're no longer relevant. They're no longer relevant. So it's time for us to create a new philosophy and perhaps even a new religion, you see. And that's okay 'cause that's our right, 'cause we are free children of God with minds who can imagine anything, and that's kind of our role." - Bill Hicks
Tool has seldom left my player in the past few days. I've been a fan for a long time, but Aenima has recently become my nighttime-driving catharsis mechanism. I like their other albums a hell of a lot (10,000 Days is in right now, and it fuckin' kills) but Aenima is THE SHIT. (Poetic little phrase there, eh?)
I love what I do with my band. I love what I'm working towards Friday night. But if I could find a god-like crew of deranged rhythmic misfits into aural carnage on a bone-crushing level, I'd JIZZ MY JOCKEYS to be able to play twisted prog-metal shit like this.
I hadn't been paying enough attention to the lyrics, though, and even though I've owned a copy of Aenima for years, it was only a few days ago that I found myself hitting rewind and almost screaming "DID HE JUST SAY WHAT I THOUGHT HE DID???"
"Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona Bay."
I was in awe.
I already knew they were BIll HIcks fans. Shit, you can't miss it from the the samples of him on Third Eye. But when I realized what Maynard was singing on this tune (and by the way, I'd give a nut to science to be able to sing like that guy) I about lost my shit laughing and crying at the same time.
Last night, I decided to nick their influence of Hicks' influence, and make up that CD I mentioned in my last post. Bill Hicks will be heard Friday night in Marion, Indiana while I do terrible things with delay pedals.
I used to sit in my room and think of music in purely aesthetic/mathematical terms. These days it's a direct extension of my personality and emotional state, and it's a bazillion times more fun for that. When a band like Tool hits my eardrums with BOTH the skull-pounding angst AND the intellectual interest, I'm fucking THERE, baby.
They're on tour now but not anywhere near here. They're gonna be headlining Bonnaroo this summer. THAT should be a fucking hoot and a half.
I can't imagine why you wouldn't welcome any change, my friend,
Dougie
--------
The detachment I feel these days from American society feels somehow much more tolerable witha little help from my friends. With spiritual allies like Tool and Hicks, who gives a fuck about enemies? Evolution, bitch. Embrace it or die.
Four More Days To Get This Shit Together
02.19.07 (12:50 pm) [edit]
"Splendid isolation, I don't need no one." - Warren Zevon
My first solo gig in six and a half years is Friday night. I had a dream last night that I was compiling the set list, and I realized just how much I knew was left off that list, meaning that the challenge for four hours won't be having enough material, but getting through without my throat going to hell. I'm giving myself some opportunities to ease that worry by extending a few guitar moments, not to mention the ambient shit I'm working on.
Running a bass through an Electro-Harmonix Memory Man delay unit is one thing. This is a pedal once described by Guitar Player magazine as capable of sounding like (I'm paraphrasing) "a giant squid munching on potato chips at depths of thousands of feet underwater."
But then I'll run it through a Digitech Whammy Pedal and a DOD delay/sampler that will allow me to record four -second loops. If the store up there will allow me one (mine are long since sold off or in need of repair, or stolen by some sack of shit from my car last fall) I'll also use distortion, hopefully a really evil Fripp-ish fuzz. I'll also be using the volume knob quite a lot. (My Morley volume pedal kinda sucks, so I doubt I'll use it.)
I'll probably do at least two or three improvisations with this setup, and if the guy with the trombone shows up...oooh...the possibilities for audio carnage...
I'm gonna open with an improv, finally settling on a quiet loop to let go for a while, over which I'll read a passage (not sure which one yet) from Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas.
Then I'll switch to acoustic guitar and get folky for the entire rest of the first set.
Here's my current (though quite likely to be modified) first set:
Opening Improv/A Reading From The Book Of Hunter
Splendid Isolation (Warren Zevon)
What's So Funny 'Bout Peace Love & Understanding (Elvis Costello)
Bang A Gong (T. Rex)
Drive (Incubus)
Searching For A Heart (Warren Zevon)
Ankle Bracelet (Mike Keneally)
Octopus (Syd Barrett)
Diamonds & Dominoes (D.B.)
The Mayor Of Simpleton (XTC)
James K. Polk (They Might Be Giants)
Never Enough (Adrian Belew)
It Won't Hurt (Dwight Yoakam)
Diamonds & Dominoes is a song I wrote last July 11th, the day I heard about the death of Syd Barrett. The only recording I have at the moment is shit, but I hope to lay down something better to put up here sometime soon so y'all can hear it. Octopus will be recieving at least a somewhat extended guitar section, since I like fucking about with chordal ideas in E for a while on that one.
Throughout the rest of the night, I intend to also sprinkle in a few bass pieces I've written over the years (Including Requiem For A Head Laying In A Field In Butler, which many of you have heard, and which I butchered a few weeks back when I went in there late one night for a brief open-mic after one too many shitty beers and the sting of D standing me up - don't worry, the alcohol will stay unopened this Friday night until the last set) and some spoken word stuff. Possibly other people's, possibly some of my own.
I'm also hoping to find the one recording I have of a song I wrote years ago called The Next Thing. I've got the words, but I can't remember how to PLAY the fucking thing. I used to do it when I did these kind of gigs in coffeeshops back in 1999/2000. It's kind of a Kevin Gilbert-ish thing.
I'm also going to make up two CDs. One will be for breaks, just general stuff to fuck with people while I go for a piss (I might have to put some John Zorn sax-mangling on there...) and the other will be full of edited snippets of various Bill Hicks and Doug Stanhope rants, which I intend to play during the bass/electronic impovs. I WON'T be doing any long political tirades, but I do have a short-yet-direct plug for Stanhope's campaign ready to go. I want to make that shit concise and get back to making noise, but I have no qualms whatsoever about getting a point across.
Now I've gotta go work on constructing set two.
Love,
Dougie
-------
Current contender for Set Two:
Improv/Devour (D.B.)
Pigs On The Wing/Pigs (Three Different Ones)/Pigs On The Wing (Pink Floyd)
King Of The Road (Roger Miller)
Werewolves Of London (Warren Zevon)
What's He Building?/Heartattack & Vine (Tom Waits)
When You Dance I Can Really Love/The Loner/Mr. Soul (Neil Young)
Requiem For A Head Laying In A Field In Butler (D.B.)
What's The Ugliest Part Of Your Body?/Zoot Allures (Frank Zappa)
Little Wing (Jimi Hendrix)
Karma Police (Radiohead)
Rockin' In The Free World (Neil Young)
Devour is a short poem (I want a garden!) I wrote a while back. King Of The Road and Werewolves Of London will feature a couple members of my band as guests if they show up. If not, I might drop both out and do some other shit.
Conversation With A Five-Year Old
02.19.07 (7:55 am) [edit]
She was telling me about boys at school.
"I think S is really going to miss me today since I'm not there. He REALLY likes me."
"Well, I can understand why."
"But L, he likes me too, but he tried to tell me how many boyfriends I can have! That's crazy! He said I can only have one, but I'm NOT doing that!"
I about pissed myself laughing. "Honey, you can have as many boyfriends as you want."
"I only have FIVE."
"Is that all?"
"Yeah, five."
"Well, that's probably enough. Boys can be a real pain sometimes, so any more than five might be more than you want to deal with." I'm still laughing.
Then she told me about C, who is really silly and uses bad words and is too loud and gets too crazy and they had to call his mom because he got in BIG TROUBLE because he was being so crazy. "But he's SOOOOO funny! He's the funniest boy in school."
Still saving up for that shotgun,
Dougie
Fuck
02.18.07 (10:37 pm) [edit]Just spent a while browsing myspace profiles of women near me.
All the ones my age are boring as fuck. 90% of them have horrific country songs on their profile that make me want to shove a spoon up my ass. Because if I'm gonna hurt that much, I'd rather do it to myself.
The interesting ones are all ungodly hot and under 20 years old. 90% of them are into hip-hop tunes that my white ass is totally unable to comprehend.
I have a feeling I'm gonna be spanking it for a long time.
There's not enough alcohol in the universe to accompany this feeling,
Dougie
Introducing Katie Hoek
02.18.07 (8:54 pm) [edit]A little audio file for the Ren & Stimpy fans:
tinyurl.com/ywp5ho
You May Kiss The Cod
02.18.07 (7:35 pm) [edit]Katie and I just shared a tender and special moment in time together, our hearts joined in father/daughter union as we witnessed a touching display of...uh...something...
We just watched Son Of Stimpy, quite possibly the most ridiculous thing to ever grace the television screen. For those who are not Ren & Stimpy fans, let me explain - Stimpy farts. The fart disappears and Stimpy tries to find him. He spends most of the show pining for his lost fart. The pathos throughout this episode is REMARKABLE. It's also INSANE. Finally, the fart comes home and they are reunited. But the fart has to go his own way, and he introduces Stimpy to his fiance - a dead fish. The fart and the fish get married. It's a happy ending.
Katie and I were laughing our butts off. Thank God we didn't fart. She's running around the apartment now going "He was crying about a FART! That's CRAZY!"
I'm so proud.
Love,
Dougie
---------
Things took a bizarre turn right after I posted the above.
Katie wanted to watch it again. I typed the above, then I saw her sit down on the floor beside me. She looked sad. And I SWEAR to you - she looked more than a little like Stimpy sitting in front of the TV pining for his lost fart.
"I miss Squeaky, Daddy."
She took Squeaky home after the post I recently wrote about him. And while she's here with me tonight, Squeaky is back at home.
We had a very sad several minutes (including a call to Mommy) and talked through how it feels to be apart from those you love. I gave her my own examples, such as how I felt the first several months I had to be apart from her. And I told her we'd see Squeaky tomorrow morning. Just like Stimpy finally got to see Stinky again.
Understand that this was a very serious and sad few moments, and that I was doing my best to be a good daddy and help her through her feelings.
Also understand that in the context of what we'd just watched, I was having a difficult time not coming apart laughing. I'm pretty sure it didn't show, but it took effort.
Finally, we got out her soft frisbee, and threw it around, and within minutes she was happy and bouncy and laughing. The way she is the vast majority of the time. Sadness hits Katie very hard sometimes, in ways that I find somewhat disturbing to watch given my fears of my bipolar tendencies being passed on to her, but the truth is, she's nearly always incredibly happy and a joy to be around.
See ya tomorrow, Squeaky.
Love,
Daddy
What I'd Like To Hear
02.17.07 (9:40 pm) [edit]"Well, Doug, I do like you and you're cute and you rock and my pussy gets wet when you play Werewolves Of London, but the truth is, you're number 97 on my priority list and I've got shit to do. I'll see you when it's convinient to do so."
Instead of:
"You are so important to me and you make me feel so good and I can't wait to see you and I miss you so much and I love how you kiss me and you are so wonderful and awesome and you rock so much and I am so happy just thinking about you and...oh...my friends just got tickets to see Larry The Cable Guy, so I'm gonna stand you up AGAIN. Have fun jacking off, fuckface."
Guys, you ever notice how women like to go into these horseshit spiels about "All we want is to feel special and important and just a simple nice word is enough" but there isn't ONE woman on the fucking planet worth two shits about returning the fucking favor no matter how far you go out of your way to give far more than you actually feel like giving, probably because you've yet to see any evidence that they are WORTH the extra time and effort?
Yeah, I've noticed that too.
For all the shit I get about my attraction to girls half my age, I've noticed something else - all that shit about the "difference in maturity" they like to smugly hand you? It's a LIE. When I meet one woman over 30 who doesn't do the same goddamn shit that high school girls do (and you'll notice something else - I've NEVER ONCE claimed to be any more sexually/emotionally evolved than I was at 17) then I'll buy your arrogant smug self-righteous horseshit. Try getting over your need to control every fucking situation and imagine yourself superior to men just because the balance between our need for pussy and our need for actual love is slightly less balanced than your need for cock and your need to have the moral high ground over anything with a penis. UNTIL then, go fuck yourself while I jack off to an issue of Barely Legal. Guess what? Even with tendonitis, THAT hurts a fuck of a lot less than dealing with you stupid arrogant self-absorbed cunts. And they look better than you ever will for the rest of your pathetic soulless lives. Deal with it, bitch.
Gee, I've not got a very good attitude tonight...
Dougie
----------
I just re-read this and laughed my nuts off. Wow, I'm a real sonofabitch after dark, ain't I? But I stand by it.
Let's Lynch The Landlord
02.17.07 (8:39 pm) [edit]
Earlier in the week, we got a shitload of snow, and I was impressed that the roads through my apartment area were plowed at all.
Since I left Friday, we've got not even HALF the shit weather, but it was JUST ENOUGH to keep my car from being able to get up the slight hill to the parking lot tonight, me looking like an asshole trying to keep from sliding down another hill right through somebody else's front door, until I had to park out on the street - DIRECTLY IN THE PATH OF ANYONE TRYING TO GET THROUGH - all because the stupid cocksucking sacks of shit who own this fucking place don't know how to DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS.
Though the actual rent is $50 a month less, I've ended up paying more for this place than what i did for a MUCH better situation in Indianapolis, and it's SUCKED COCK. I HATE this goddamn place. As far as I'm concerned, it's worth HALF of what my old apartment was, and I don't get one TENTH the feeling that anyone gives a good goddamn about anyone who actually has to live in this fucking degenerate shithole.
I'm going to put all my shit in storage when the lease is up and live in a fucking tent if I have to. I'm fucking sick of being dependent on you stupid fucking cocksucking humans to hold up your end of the fucking deal.
Ain't it America. Land of the unfree. Home of the businessman COCKSUCKER who can rape your asshole if you're two days late on rent, but YOU can't do shit if he can't even be bothered lift a fuckng finger to make your goddamn monthly payment worth a damn. FUCK these cunts.
Hate,
Dougie
------
I finallly got into the parking lot after 50 tries and the wonderful smell of burnt tire tread gracing my nostrils. Which I wouldn't have bothered doing except that some CUNT was blasting her horn at my car (hers was small enough to go around, and she's in a section where she can go DOWNHILL into a parking lot, the worthless whore) and I hadn't drank enough to not care yet. I just spent ten minutes watching some OTHER sorry cocksucker try to perform the same feat before giving up and ramming it into the end of the driveway, where he's likely going to be stuck a few days.
I wanna live alone in the desert.
I've Got The Funk In My Trousers
02.16.07 (12:12 pm) [edit]Making black beans and rice. Jalapenos, cumin, garlic, pepper. Shitloads of Frank's Red Hot Sauce. My kinda eatin'. Grand Funk is the soundtrack.
I really enjoy having these kind of times with Katie, having her stay overnight and taking her to school in the morning. She woke up very sweet and happy and ready for her day.
I'm leaving in a couple hours for Indiana. No gig this weekend, just teaching. I'd planned on calling off students and staying here this time, but I'm going to wait a few weeks for the next band week off. Tonight I'll go by the place I'm doing my solo gig next week, and get an idea of what PA will be available. They have their own shit, I'm just not sure how much of it yet.
Working up ideas, many of which seem perfectly normal to me, but fucked if I know. The left-field ideas of taking form nicely, and I do intend on a bit of audio fuckery. But mostly I'm gonna play a lot of Zevon, Neil Young, and Pink Floyd covers, so it shouldn't be too scary this time around.
We're now scheduled at the place we played last Friday on Friday April 13th, my birthday. It would be cool to be at one of the more rockin' places, but I like it there too. I'll be turning 37, so there will be Monty Python references.
Supposedly getting with D tonight, but she just wrote to say that her mom just went into the hospital this morning. I hope she's OK, And I hope D is too - she's got enough to stress her out right now already.
Ahh, yes. Sin's A Good Man's Brother. Sing it, Mr. Farner.
Oh, yeah, just thought of this - I dropped a bit of margarine on the floor while making the rice, and found myself saying "Damn! Shit! Damn! Shit!" Twice, like that.
Then I suddenly began laughing my ass off going "Damnshit! Damnshit! Damnshit!" Try it as one word, kids! It's FUN!
Love,
Dougie
Heroes
02.15.07 (10:50 pm) [edit]
"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 MacGowan
tinyurl.com/37jta4
Elephant Farts & The Meaning Of It All
02.15.07 (9:50 pm) [edit]
"I love child things because there's so much mystery when you're a child. When you're a child, something as simple as a tree doesn't make sense. You see it in the distance and it looks small, but as you go closer, it seems to grow - you haven't got a handle on the rules when you're a child. We think we understand the rules when we become adults but what we really experienced is a narrowing of the imagination."
- David Lynch
A small child is asleep with an inflatable flower behind me.
She took Squeaky home last week. She's been very attached to him since. I kinda missed having him here. But she brought him along tonight to visit. She's sleeping here, and I'll take her to school tomorrow.
I told her a story of a little boy who played in the woods and climbed trees and dreamed. He grew older and had to do adult things that he didn't really like to do very much. Then he had a little girl, who reminded him of what it was like back when he played in the woods and climbed trees and dreamed dreams, and he wanted to be more like her.
Then I told her about an elephant who got really hungry and pulled a monkey out of a tree and ate him up. Then he farted the monkey right out his butt and the monkey looked at him and said "THAT'S GROSS!!!!!"
There's nothing like making a kid laugh to the point of nearly pissing themselves.
I'm tired. Good night, sweet motherfucks.
Love,
Daddy
Die, Cunt, Die
02.14.07 (10:41 pm) [edit]Ya ever want to grab some worthless sack of shit by the throat and scream "DIE, WHORE! YOU FUCKING CUNT! i HOPE YOU SLIDE UNDER A GAS TRUCK AND TASTE YOUR OWN BLOOD! DIE, FUCKFACE, DIE! I'LL RIP YOUR GODDAMN HEAD OFF AND SHIT DOWN YOUR NECK, FUCK! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Of course you have. Don't deny it. Oh, it's not a NICE thing to think, but yes you have, fucker.
Love,
Dougie
Keeping Him In Our Hearts
02.14.07 (8:16 pm) [edit]
There is finally an official myspace page for Warren Zevon:
www.myspace.com/officialwarrenzevonmy space
There's a nice bio there (with mention of two re-issues and a book by his ex-wife coming later this year) and several clips from YouTube, including a version of Roland The Headless Thompson Gunner from his last performance on Letterman.
And, if you look through the top friends list, those of you who don't know where my myspace page is can find it. I've been perverse about not linking to it from here, so there ya go. I also just left an enormously sentimental but sincere comment. You can also find a link to his son Jordan's page, and I rather like the tunes Jordan has up there. Check out The Joke's On Me. Great song.
I quote him often, but I don't know that I've ever truly expressed just how much Warren's music has meant to me in the past two years, and how much it's done to sharpen my personal quest for the kind of individulaity and freedom of expression that Warren himself had. I look at him as something of a musical Hunter S. Thompson, but he's so much his own. It pains me to know how long it took me to finally "get" him and run headlong into his twisted world.
If I'm wrong about that God shit and there actually is more ahead of us after this life, I sincerely hope I can meet the guy and make him a sandwich.
Love,
Dougie
---
Gin and tonic with a bit of lemon, singing the dead man's songs at my guitar. You know, isolation really IS pretty fuckin' splendid sometimes, Warren.
For My Sick Fuck Friends
02.13.07 (9:59 am) [edit]tinyurl.com/32wcbc
A veritable smorgasboard of Bill Hicks bootlegs on mp3. I even found one there I didn't have already.
Enjoy, motherfuckers!
Love,
Dougie
Why the FUCK does tblog screw with all the links I post? Between that and how fucking slow it is to navigate around this goddamn place, I'm about to move this fucking blog elsewhere. I'm sick of this shit.
Jesus Was A Gay Magician!
02.12.07 (9:49 pm) [edit]
I'm getting some weird hits on this blog from Google searches.
How do I get rid of the pain of past sin in my life
Steel Reserve, motherfucker. A bottle of gin, some boxed Indian hot and sour soup, a Louis Armstrong box set, and Bart D. Ehrmans' Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet Of The New Millennium.
I mean, hey, it worked for ME anyway. Not telling you how to live your life, just offering a possible alternate route.
It takes a lot of booze, some good hot jazz, and a book about Jesus to make me feel as good on weekdays as I do on weekends playing music in tiny bars. I don't know what this says about me, but I'm rolling with it for a while. I'll most ceraintly clue y'all into any unforseen results of said experimentation.
Love,
Dougie
PS I've laughed more at Ehrman's writing in just the preface and first chapter of this book than I have at his other books from front to finish. I like this guy a LOT.
----------
Following the soup up with something else I bought at the Indian grocery today - a product of the Swad company called Undhiu, curried mix vegetables.
Ya know, my decision to cut back on meat again (I've got completely out of control in the past couple months and have gained probably 10 to 15 pounds) is suddenly easier than I thought it would be. For some shit that comes out of a can, this is GREAT.
--------
Another Google hit:
you motherfuckers need Jesus
I Love My Job (Slight Return)
02.11.07 (4:17 am) [edit]
"I can wait to love in heaven
I can wait for you
Far away, I'll treat you better
Better than down here
Cuz I've done wrong
And I'm a little afraid
And I ain't too strong
And this ain't easy to say:
Take this bottle
Take this bottle
And just walk away - the both of you
And let me feel the pain - I've done to you
I can hope we'll be together
With a better roof over our heads
I can hope the stormy weather
It passes on - it passes on
But I've hoped too long
Hoped for me to change
And that hope is gone
So listen to what I say:
Take this bottle..."
- Faith No More
"Hey, you're a crazy bitch,
But you fuck so good I'm on top of it.
When I dream, I'm doing you all night.
Scratches all down my back to keep me right on"
- Buckcherry
Last night might have been the best gig we've done since January 6th, which was pretty fuckin' special.
Tonight kicked it right in the ass and left its whimpering pathetic nutsack hanging in the wind.
My second favorite place to play is a tiny bar/restaraunt 20 minutes down the state highway from where I grew up and am right now. A little nothing town, but it's always a goddamn blast to play, and I get free shots of Jager and Cabo Wabo, so you know I'm into it.
Last night T pulled some drumming out of his ass that surprised me a few times. Tonight he didn't surprise me, but he DID free my mind so my ass could follow. Jesus motherfuckin' shitballs, we GROOVED tonight.
It's not that he's exactly a metronome. His time wavers around like most drummers I've known, but he makes it WORK, because the fucker can groove his balls off. I might have to follow through on all the stupid queer-innuendo we joke around with now, because I bet that gnarly little drummer/gravedigger might be the best fuck I'll ever have.
D2 showed up and might just have to be re-promoted to D1 status for how she set my weenus on fire with one simple brush of her hand. Jesus, her EYES alone obliterate me.
I thought we might have been done after last weekend, but we talked through things, and she's very understanding and I'm trying to return the favor. I don't really believe it's going to develop too far, but it MIGHT. She's talking abo0ut getting back with her ex, but I'm not so sure now that her heart is into that. I'm trying to help her out - she says she feels weak, but I know she';s stronger than she thinks she is. Shit, *I* have turned out stronger than I thought I was, I KNOW she can do better. Not that I think she's going to do better with ME, but I really don't think she needs to go backwards, and I hope I can help her see that. Sounds like her other friends are trying too.
We got our second-ever slow dance tonight. It was...wow. A single touch and I was gone. And she thinks she's weak. Jesus creeping shit, any woman who'd give me the time of day could fucking OWN me at this point. That scares the ever-loving FUCK out of me.
We had a little high-school level makeout session in her truck on our third break. I was a good boy and didn't turn into a whiny pathetic douchebag ("Dear God, please just TOUCH it???") but it took effort. I can sense her internal conflict, the amount of shit going through her head, and I can tell that she'd like to throw herself totally into me, but she's just not sure. I understand. I'm not sure either. But...fuckin' shit...she can fuckin' KILL me with one look.
We've got next week off. My next gig is on the 23rd, the first solo gig I'll have done in over six years. I think I might have a familiar audience, talking to the band and our small crew of followers. As much as I'd like to totally own that night, I'm gonna have to let my ego accept some guests onstage, because I know I'll need the variety, and it'll take some pressure off.
I did three songs alone tonight. Dwight Yoakam's It Won't Hurt (likely far better than the drunk version I posted here recently, but that one kinda fit the mood) and two I hadn't done before - David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust (which I dedicated to our singer, who did more than anyone to get me deeper into the Bowie back catalog) and Nick Lowe's What's So Funny 'Bout Peace Love & Understanding (everyone knows Elvis Costello's version), which seemd to come off quite well. Given that the upper 20% of my vocal range has been rather problematic for a few weeks, I think I picked the right shit. Ziggy nearly did me in, though...
I didn't get to do Roadhouse, but I did get to do some rather evil Neil Young-on-crank chord voicings over the end of Turn The Page (which fucking deserves that treatment, if you ask me) and quite possibly the most asinine version of Louie Louie I've pulled out of my wretched asshole yet. Vicious AC/DC-In-Hell chordage. And a few Wes Montgomery-as-a-retard ocatves.
I forsook my regular one-note solo (a unison bend on an E note) for this stupid shit:
-0000-0000-0000-0000--
-5555-6666-7777-8888--
----------------------
----------------------
----------------------
----------------------
keeping it going up to, oh, I don't remember now...the 17th fret? Who gives a shit anyway. Chromaticism rules.
Towards the end of the night, after D left with her friends, an incredibly hot blonde was dancing up front with a guy. She managed to accidentally get her top up enough to expose a really nice firm belly, and she noticed me noticing.
So she came back and lifted her top for me.
OK, she still had her bra on. But I nearly fell over the bass trying to keep a Roy Orbison song going while laughing my fool ass off at this HOOOOOOOOOOOOOT woman and her...wow...can I run my face all over that?
Just before the solo (we do this weird E-to-F pseudo-flamenco thing under a keyboard solo during the middle of Pretty Woman) I got up into the mic.
"I love my job."
Gales of laughter from the front seats.
When I switched from bass to guitar immediately afterwards, I got to the mic again and addressed my new lovely female source of inspiration.
"Thank you very much for your audience participation. The guitarist most definitely appreciates your input."
She yelled back at me. "You want some more?"
"Well. of course, this is your decision and you are free to do what you deem appropriate. But I will most certainly support your decision to continue with your present course of action."
I don't think I was QUITE that articulate (Fuck, how COULD I be under the circumstances?) but that was pretty close to the actual conversation.
She was laughing. I made a hot girl with killer long blonde hair and a sinfully delicious body laugh with my sexual innuendo! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cut to a several hours previous, just before I got to the gig.
I bought a rather large bottle of gin at a CVS pharmacy. I went up to the counter. Very cute girl with shoulder-length blonde/brown hair pulled back tight at the counter. Probably about 25 years old. Or so I think.
You see it coming...
I invited her to the gig after she got off work, since it was almost across the street.
"I can't. I'm not old enough!"
Holy mother of Jesus.
19.
OK, 19 is perfectly legal and all, but it ain't far off, and this shit happens to me CONSTANTLY.
I told the guys I'm fully expecting to soon walk into a convinience store or pharmacy or something, and open my mouth, and just as the first word comes out, a bell will ring.
"DING DING DING DING DING! You've just hit on your one-millionth underage chick! Tell him what he wins, Bob!"
I'd LIKE to win a trip to South Dakota. But she's not talking to me now. Text-messaging song recommendations then telling me she can't talk to me, but...
It's frustrating and has caused a few Kinison-esque moments (She's been checking in on me here recently, so I hope you fucking read this, girl) but I'm not taking the explanation offered me by my laws-of-tradition-bound friends - that this is what I should expect from going after 17-year olds.
Fuck you. I know women 20 years older than ME who do the same exact sort of shit. Take some mushrooms and squeegee your third eye, fuckers.
Thing is, I love you for it as much as it makes me insane, honey. You know that, of course...
We began load-out and one of the bartenders came over to load up the jukebox. I talked to the lady who owns the place, and I DIG her. She's just a damn cool woman. Also has incredible thick blonde hair and she gave me some hair-care advice, with a few very nice comments about my own hair. When a woman says that stuff to me..........jello. Fucking jello, boys and girls.
He cranked up some Ramones, some Pistols, some Ween, some Primus. (Those Damn Blue Collar Tweakers - I thought about you, L.A. and Stone...)
Then Buckcherry came on. I don't keep up with newer music much anymore, not that I'm proud of the fact, I just live in a different world most of the time. But I knew this tune, and I found myself dancing with a Winchester to Crazy Bitch. I mean DANCING. I was goddamn movin' out there, baby.
I fucking love that shit. Ah yes, a song about my kinda girl. Caitlin has it on her myspace page, and it's MOST appropriate.
We said our goodbyes, and I drove back here, a quick stop for gas, and a nice Hunter-derived drive down a straight shot home. Listening to what might just be my favorite Faith No More album.
King For A Day, Fool For A Lifetime.
How perfect.
I got to be a king today. Doing what I do best. What makes me feel strong and alive and full of power and soul.
Tomorrow I head back home. It's a lovely place, and the moments I get with my daughter are certainly enough to bring balance to the week away from this rock-and-roll love-machine I have to say goodbye to for a while, but most of my week is not strong, not alive. I have to crawl into a bottle nightly and dream.
This is what I have to do right now. I don't regret it, it just makes for a very bipolar ride.
Someday she'll ask me about it. Someday I'll have to explain this all to Katie. ANd I don't know how yet. How to put into the words she'll need to hear. How Daddy ended up in this place, somehow doing the thing he loves to do the most in the part of Indiana he spent 30 years trying to get the fuck away from, while being near the person he loves the most, three hours away. How he goes from very adult pleasures back to her world of innocence and constant eyes-wide-open wonder.
I have no fucking clue what I'm going to say when that day comes, but I pray to the gods I no longer believe in that I'll have the sense to be honest with her.
I hope she gets to dip her toes in this rain one day when she's older, when she's able to deal with it. It'll be at a younger time than I did, I'm sure, and that will be good for her. I'm going to teach her love and respect, for herself as much as for others, and I firmly believe that will see her through and help her make far more balanced decisions than I've had to make in this flailing attempt to make sense out of the shitbox I've found myself tethered to, but...
Goddamn, that was pretty fucking pretentious...
You get the fucking point. I'm gonna go drink some gin with my invisible headless friend Roland now.
Be excellent to each other.
Love,
Dougie
Honesty With Oneself
02.10.07 (7:21 pm) [edit]You know how guys complain about how long women take in the bathroom getting ready?
I've yet to meet ONE woman who can take as fucking long as I can when given that much time.
And I STILL look like shit.
I'm such a little cunt,
Dougie
My Asshole Is A Doom-Laden Tract Of Despair
02.10.07 (4:54 pm) [edit]
I've been playing some nicer melodic guitar solos the last couple weeks (almost veering back into my David Gilmour-isms, though I've not quite hit where I was with that a few years ago yet) and working in some good ideas, but I hadn't got to play Roadhouse for a few gigs until last night. I LIVE for that shit now. Giant slabs of anal-violating audio clunge with which to scare the old folk.
Get some mongoloid to play the Roadhouse Blues riff behind you for a few hours straight, and fire up the 'ol Dissonance Motor.
This will be a pain in the ass to write out, so I'll do it the easy way:
-----------------
-8-8-8--9-9-9----
-7-7-7--8-8-8---
----------------
-7-7-7--8-8-8-----
------------------
Keep moving that shape up a fret at a time, playing triplets on each one, until you get to the 14th and 15th frets. Then do the whole thing again. A couple times. Make 'em know you're there, dammit.
Then, when you're sick of that, stay on the 14th fret.
-----
-15--
-14--
-----
-14--
-----
Then add a finger on the top string for this:
-16--
-15--
-14--
-----
-14--
-----
Or this:
-18--
-15--
-14--
-----
-14--
-----
Beat the shit out of that for, oh, an hour or so. Or until your singer throws something at you. Your mileage may vary. Some people will recoil in terror. Others will scoff at you because Real Musicians play evenly-spaced cleanly-picked John Petrucci notes. (Yawn.) The people whose opinions you should CARE about will be laughing their nuts off and ordering more beer. Know your target audience, my audio-terrorist friends.
Then, here's a nice little bit of Fuck The Tonality you can inflict on the line-dancers.
-------0-----0-
-4h6---6p4---
---------------
---------------
---------------
---------------
Triplets, repeated endlessly. On top of an E blues riff.
And I wonder why I can't get my cock sucked on a regular basis.
Enjoy, fuckers!
Love and skronk,
Dougie
It's Pudding Time, Children!
02.09.07 (1:35 pm) [edit]
"To defy the laws of tradition, is a crusade only of the brave" - Les Claypool
Revisiting an old friend this afternoon - Frizzle Fry, probably still my favorite Primus album.
Damn, I haven't listened to these guys often enough lately.
If you own a copy, whip it out and enjoy. If you don't, get yer sorry buttcheeks down to the nearest purveyor of quality audio cheese products, and snap up one. You can thank me later.
Guess I'm still writin',
Dougie
Insert Sam Kinison Scream Here
02.08.07 (9:11 pm) [edit]AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! 1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We're Not Hitchhiking Anymore! We're RIDING!
02.08.07 (6:57 pm) [edit]
Katie just killed me with the ball three times in a row. Now we're watchng Ren & Stimpy.
Life is good.
Love,
Dougie
Dream
02.08.07 (9:23 am) [edit]
I was moving into my new house. An old one actually, probably well over a hundred years old. A patio around the front and both sides, a sort of dark yellow color. Hardwood floors, rooms painted in different pastel colors that seemed darker somehow than they should be.
For some reason, many of my family (and now it occurs to me that it was only the women of the family) were in a house across the street. As if one of them lived there, but it was empty too.
At some point, I grabbed my white Strat and went out for a while.
I set up on a dark stage, in front of very few people I couldn't actually see. I was going to play a Warren Zevon song.
Then Warren walked in the door on the opposite side of the stage. Good trick for a dead guy.
Somebody else was with him, by his side the whole time, but I had no idea who it was.
Warren didn't talk to me. He didn't really even acknowledge my presence, except that I could tell he wanted me to play with him. He sat at the piano. I plugged in the guitar. We played Werewolves Of London. He sounded really good, but tired. I did a good job, but didn't feel like I was needed.
I don't remember anything else about that part, except that I felt like I was seeking his approval somehow, and never got it. But I did get to play music with the dead man, and for that I felt lucky.
I'm back at the house across the street from mine. I'm talking to a woman I do not know. Shoulder-length black hair. Soft warm eyes. A very pretty lady, maybe a few years younger than me. I don't know what we said, but it was as if I'd been friends with her a long time, even though I have no idea who she might be.
My grandma starts coming up the stairs. She looks tired.
I become aware quite quickly that she is going to fall down the stairs.
I find myself not reacting fast enough, feeling powerless as I watch her trying to get up the last few steps, still talking about God knows what in her quiet I'm-an-old-woman-who's-se en-everything way, but she keeps going one step back down for every one she makes.
She falls backwards, hitting halfway down once, then landing at the bottom on her back.
I find speed too late, and immediately I'm there beside her. She still has a look of contentment on her face, completely resigned to whatever comes next.
"Call 911!"
"CALL 911!"
"WILL ONE OF YOU STUPID FUCKS CALL 911 FOR FUCK'S SAKE??? ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE, ASSHOLES???"
I'm screaming this at my family. Who aren't doing a thing. One of them is just looking at me.
I stay by her side for some time. The brunette I was talking to has disappeared.
It seems no one but me gives a shit. But, for whatever reason, I apparantly decide that my grandma will be OK, because I get up and go try to find the brunette.
She's over at my house.
We talk (about what, I can't recall) and I admire the cabinets in my new home and wonder how I'm going to pay for it.
A weird sort of detachment comes over me. My grandma is laying on her (possibly broken) back at the bottom of the stairs across the street, it feels like at least an hour now since it's happened, and no ambulance has arrived. But somehow it seems that everything will work out. That the best thing for me to do is to get used to my new home, and this new woman.
Some of the former owner's things are still in the kitchen. A set of blue plastic plates and cups. Several glasses on a high shelf in one cabinet.
Outside, I have a white rocking chair, and a couple stools. One of them has a revolving seat. Why I remember this but not one word of the conversation with the brunette, I do not know.
I go back across the street. I ask if anyone called 911. I get no answer, but it somehow seems they have. But it's been an hour and a half, where are they?
Grandma seems to be quite content to lay on the floor.
Everyone else is in their own worlds.
Apparantly, so am I. Detached. Not totally in the moment.
The brunette gives me some kind of reassurance that everything will be OK.
I look out the window, across the street, to a dark yellow house, and see the chair and the stools outside. I wonder how I'm supposed to pay for this. But I seem to feel confident somehow that it will happen.
The brunette girl just looks at me, smiling. She's very pretty. I wish I knew who she was.
I wake up.
Love,
Dougie
Sweet Baby Jesus, I Love Me Some Cheese (AKA Workin' On Some Night Moves)
02.07.07 (8:09 pm) [edit]
Gorgonzola.
There IS a god.
Cheese and rum. I'm gonna be so fucking constipated soon, you'll be able to hire me out to be a fuckin' Bob Seger impersonator.
Speaking of which, here's my new line whenever that asshole's name is mentioned:
"What entry-level Mel Bay Book Of The Damned did that cheese-eating cocksucker learn to write his fuckin' songs by? I eat cheese and get constipated too. I don't do my goddamn vocal takes immediately afterwards, for fuck's sake. Yeah, he's working on some night moves, alright. It'll take all fucking night to move ANYTHING down his rancid dumbass redneck colon. Fuck Bob Seger and everyone who looks like him."
Like a rock, my ASS,
Dougie
Come On, Guys, Tell Me You Wouldn't Suck On This Woman's Clit For Hours On End
02.06.07 (11:00 pm) [edit]
My Kind Of Girl
02.06.07 (8:06 pm) [edit]
"Wickedness lies in your moistened lips
Your body moves just like the crack of a whip
Blackness sleeps on top of your stray bed
Do you wish that you could see me dead
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me"
- Black Sabbath
I wonder if L.A. remembers the night we got drunk and watched The Hand That Rocks The Cradle. 15 years ago.
I ended up puking all over your bathroom wall.
Then I was at Spock's apartment listening to the new Peter Gabriel album. Us. We listened to it and ate pizza.
I'm watching this movie for the 5th or 6th time now.
I want to eat Rebecca DeMornay's pussy.
Jesus motherfuckin' gawd, those unspeakable blue eyes. The kind of look that says "I shall destroy you", and I'm dumb enough to go looking for more.
I might have to jerk off tonight.
Blowjobs and home-made lasagna,
Dougie
--------
Oh, you sweet luscious evil little cunt. I bet you're DELICIOUS.
------
I have a dream. Just like Martin Luther Fuckin' King.
I wanna grab that little vixen by her asscheeks, shove my face in that blonde snatch, and MAKE HER LOVE ME. Message to the women reading this - I'm pretty lousy at everything ELSE, but goddammit, I'll eat your pussy like you've never been loved before.
And that's important.
Personal Ads Of The Damned
02.06.07 (6:57 pm) [edit]36 year old bass player seeks barely legal teen of his dreams,
17-year old redheads into Hendrix and acid preferred. Owners of Bill HIcks and Beatle albums given first consideration.
Turn ons: Blowjob-addicts, girls who don't shave their pubes, girls who text-message Simon & Garfunkel lyrics and prefer the hot steamy lovin' of dysfunctional older men.
Turn-offs: inhibitions, Christianity, people who watch American Idol on a regular basis,
eraserhead667@yahoo.com
Don't Eat The Yellow Snow
02.06.07 (6:33 pm) [edit]
"And these other musicians today who don't do drugs and in fact speak out against them? Boy, do they suck. What a coincidence. Ball-less, souless, spiritless corporate little bitches, suckers of Satan's cock, each and every one of them"
- Bill HIcks
Listening to Bill Hicks' Relentless, drinking Steel Reserve, cooking Zatarain's Jambalayla with sausage.
There's three or four inches of snow on the ground. People bitch about this. Personally, I've noticed that this is what is SUPPOSED to happen in SW Ohio at this time of year. You know when I was scared? When it was 60 degrees on January 14th. FUCK you. It's Ohio. Get a shovel or shut the fuck up.
So I sucked down another beer, then stood at my apartment door and took a big long piss in the snow.
Doin' my part for the environment. Have a good evening, ladies and gents.
Love,
Dougie
Bittersweet
02.06.07 (12:57 pm) [edit]
"On the one side, truth towers like a cliff
On the other side, love dangles by a thread.
And here is a climber who cannot find his eyes
And a falling woman wishing she was dead.
Both sides, why is it always bittersweet?
and the broken cloudy days
when I need the sun’s heat.
I need the heat, oh both ways
Why is it always bittersweet…
And the broken cloudy days
When I need the sun’s heat
Oh, I need the heat
Why, why is it bittersweet?
And the broken cloudy days
Is when I need the sun’s heat
I need the heat"
- David Crosby
I got a nice surprise at the library yesterday, when I found something I didn't even know existed - Rhino's 3CD David Crosby set.
Everyone knows I'm a Neil Young freak. Obviously that would include CSNY. But I love those other three guys too, and Crosby is my favorite of them.
He's a master of harmony and a wonderfully individual songwriter. You know there will be some interestng shit going down when a Crosby song comes on. There's a sort of romantic impressionistic warmth to his best work that sucks me in every time. He's also a great rhythm guitarist - his penchant for altered tunings and inventive chord voicings is a mark of many of my favorite Crosby songs.
Guinnevere. That song makes me think of Abby now.
I'm on the second CD, which continues the anthology of his work from the Byrds to the present. I can't wait for the third disc - all previously unreleased stuff, lots of demos and some live stuff.
If you like your hippie rock full of atmosphere, hope, and harmony, you can do much worse than David's first solo album, If I Could Only Remember My Name. My Keneally-friends among you might recognize that title as one of Mike's main influences on his Wooden Smoke album. Mike's a smart guy. Check it out.
Staying in today. No work, once again. And I'm tired of running around to different places, making phone calls all day. My phone bill SUCKS COCK this month because of all the time spent calling the offices looking for work.
I've had offers, but none of them are workable. Everyone wants your ass on nights and weekends, and that's when I'm doing the stuff that's making me what money I do have right now.
I stayed in bed half the morning. Fuck it. Then I got up and made bacon and got online. Listened to an mp3 of one of Bart Ehrman's lectures, this one showing his funnier side. It was about various end-of-the-world prophets over the years. He's usually so polite that it's nice to hear him have a little fun with bozos like Hal Lindsay.
I put the Crosby collection in, made tea, and started on lunch. My work of art for the day - a stir-fry with chicken, baby corn, carrots, straw mushrooms, yellow bell pepper, onion, and garlic. Lots of five-spice powder and curry powder in with the teriyaki sauce. Some basil on top. White rice with cumin.
Contentment.
It's backed down the frustration. D2 wrote. She's going back to her ex. Which makes no sense after what she's told me about him, but nothing else about her has made sense either, so it's not a surprise. Girls, do me a favor - if you're gonna tell a guy how important he is to you and how great he is, FOLLOW THROUGH or shut the fuck up.
D1 probably won't go far. She's very cool, but doens;t seem to be interested in more than having a friend. She's had almost no meangingful contact with anyone other than her kids in a couple months, and just wants someone to talk to. Which is cool, I like talking to her.
But that's not exactly what I was hoping for.
Oh well, Crosby helps. My culinary composition turned out quite well. I've got books and guitars.
And porn. Don't forget the porn.
I'll be drinking tonight. It will be necessary. It's easier to feel hope and contenment in daylight. But sometimes I pull out Crosby's imaginary owner's manual for life and turn to page 43, and then shit don't seem so fuckin' bad for a while.
Look around again
It's the same old story
You see, it's got to be
It says right here on page 43
That you should grab a hold of it
Else you'll find
It's passed you by
Rainbows all around
Can you find the silver and gold?
It'll make you old
The river can be hot or cold
And you should dive right into it
Else you'll find
It's passed you by
Pass it round one more time
I think I'll have a swallow of wine
Life is fine
Even with the ups and downs
And you should have a sip of it
Else you'll find
It's passed you by.
Love,
Dougie
The Ballad Of Dougie Lee And Judas Priest
02.05.07 (3:22 pm) [edit]
I wonder what Dylan would make of my horseshit...
First of all, let me say I'm not remotely a sports guy, never have been, but the one time I ever went to a pro football game (with my dad, years ago) it was a pre-season Colts game, and while I mostly don't give a shit, it's kinda nice to see them finally go all the way. The year I saw them, they sucked cock so badly it was laughable.
But enough of that shit.
I just finished reading Bart D. Ehrman's book The Lost Gospel Of Judas Iscariot. I wrote about his previous book - Misquoting Jesus - a few months back.
I'd love to talk to Ehrman. He's a scholar and a historian who began as a literalist evangelical Christian, but years of study later he calls himself an agnostic. He wrote about this in his last book - an actual investigation into "scripture" can only leave one with the realization that you can NOT take these ancient writings literally. They are so loaded with contradiction, so obviously tampered with over the years by the people who copied them down (either changing things or outright adding shit on, such as the entire last several verse of The Gospel Of Mark) that on has to seriously question one's beliefs if - as Ehrman and myself were brought up to believe - one considers these things to be infallible documents of the word of God.
The Bible is about as much the word of God as this fucking blog is. You might get a good gut laugh out of it (whether it's me wanting to fuck 17-year olds, or Lot's daughters getting him drunk and fucking him after God killed everyone in Sodom and Gomorrah but THEM) or a few nice insights (love your neighbor as thyself, E7#9b5 chords kick ASS), but if you take either the Bible or anything *I* say as gospel, you are FUCKED, my friend.
Ehrman is more respectful than I am, which is why he'll sell more books, and probably should. He does this shit for a living and is damn good at it. Me, I just like pissing in the coffee cups of religious people and haven't figured out a way of getting paid for it yet. He's a respected scholar. I'm a drunk asshole.
But I bet my take on his excellent and informative book and its implications are FUNNIER than what he writes, so let's get on with some of that crap.
The Gospel Of Judas was finally announced to the public a couple years ago, but was actually discovered in the late 1970s. It's been carbon dated to the late third/early fourth centuries CE but quite likely was written in the second century, probably around 125 years after the events it describes - converstaions between Jesus and his good buddy and closest pal Judas.
Yep, you read it right. This book claims that Judas was Jesus' closest disciple. Not only that, it claims that Judas was DOING THE GUY ON A STICK A BIG FAVOR by "betraying" him.
You can see how drunken ex-Christian assholes like me might take an interest in such delightful literature.
The Gospel Of Judas is quite firmly set in a Gnostic understanding of Christ. For those of you who haven't read The DaVinci Code, let me set out a nice brief history of the first few centuries after Uncle Jesus bought the farm and those lovely followers of his started building their church.
First, Jesus got his ass killed by Romans. Mel Gibson might confuse the issue for you, but let's get this one straight - "the Jews" didn't kill Jesus. They were busy writing immoral Hollywood screenplays and buying everything up dirt cheap. You know, JEWS. Actually, the Romans got their hands on Jesus because a few Jewish leaders turned him in, but you can't blame a whole fucking race of people for the actions of a few leaders, or those Muslims might have as much reason to hate Americans as they think they do.
So, Jeezo The Wonder Boy snuffs it, and people start writing shit about him.
The stuff they write doesn't always agree, and people's ideas about him don't always agree. From the very beginning, Christianity (which was started AFTER he died, never forget that part of the equation) has been loaded down with arguments and factions. Which is kinda funny since supposedly the guy they're all into was telli