Welcome to the Whiskey Rebel's Diary
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12/29/01 to 10/02/01
We went looking for a 2nd vehicle that I'll be driving around to thrift stores, the post office, liquor store, etc. Since we had to buy a brand new damn car in November we're only looking for something that'll last a couple years or so. The best we saw was a 1989 Fleetwood Cadillac..white with marroon pimpedout interior. Only $2,500..we could probably walk in with $2,000 and leave with the title. We're mulling it over..the blue book says it should be listed at $4,175.00 retail....Hhmmmmm. It's not possible that there isn't a catch somewhere along the line. Is the tranny ready to go??
The extent of my mechanical ability is my knack for changing tires which stems back to owning a lot of beater cars. Once Marla and I had 3 flats in a 300 mile round trip!! That's fucking hard to top. I can't change a tire using modern tiny little jacks..only the old fashioned kind. I can add oil and transmission fluid. I'm helpless beyond that.
We've owned some fine cars over the years...especially when we were prosperous hard working young Republican types (note; I never VOTED Republican..I only earned money like one for a few years long ago).
In the late 70's we owned a flashy Buick Regal..white with a black roof..leather and power everything. Sitting behind the wheel was more comfortable than lying in my bed. I dream about that car sometimes. We also owned a Red 72 Ford Maverick with a powerful engine more often found in powerful Mustang's...a "302" I think. It was fast as fucking Hell. You could pull alongside a Corvette at a stop light and roar past them with ease when the light changed. Maybe that's why Marla started getting speeding tickets. We got rid of it all too soon. We also owned an OLD'S 98 that had the same body and many of the features of a large Cadillac. It was smoove Brutha'. We lived near the tiny Portland Oregon ghetto; when we put a "for sale" sign on it one day we were bombarded with stylin' pimps knocking on our door looking to buy it. We eventually got rid of all of our cars except for a brand new 1980 Dodge van we bought one superbowl Sunday. In those days I felt very comfortable arguing back and forth with the sales staff; I called their bluff during negotiations and started walking out the door. The sales manager and salesman literally ran after me begging me to come back into the office to hear another offer from their side. I used to get off on that sort of thing...but, for years I've been incapable of dealing with human beings in ways like that. I can't sell encyclopedia's door to door either.
We had a lot of memorable experiences with that van. We drove it to California for several early Rancid Vat shows in the early 80's for instance. The boycrew newspaper job i wrote about in JOBJUMPER took place in it. Oddly enough, Marla's Brother still owns the damn thing. We sold it to him in the mid 80's and he never got rid of it. He's used it to haul his lounge musician equipment to occasional gigs. I haven't had anything to do with him in years....but if I ever had the chance and ever set foot again in the State of Washington I'd like to see it one more time.
Hell's fucking bell's..I heard the Sex Pistols and Hank Williams both for the first damn time in that van. We used to drive and drink and drive and drive and smoke pot and drive and drink some coffee, sober up so we could get drunk again and ride all over in that van. Along with some of my friends from back then I'd make impulsive drunken drives to the Oregon coast..and once even all the fucking way to goddamned Idaho.
I don't feel "old"...but I feel like my time was up a long time ago in terms of being able to get away with drunk driving. If you want to go somewhere with me and we're both drunk...YOU'RE gonna drive..unless you're one of the few people I know who are older than me. I had so many goddamned narrow scrapes..sheeit. When I lived in Portland and drank with 300-500 pounder's 5 nights a week I was the skinny got who was sent to pick up more beer and wine. I've earned over time the right for other people to fetch my beer and drive my ass around. There's a good column I wrote about some of my close brushes with Johnny Law in an older issue of CARBON14.
Oh hell...Elvis has programmed a 3 man tag team in a WWF video game featuring: GOD, JESUS and JEROME. Somehow, the Whiskey Rebel wrestler he programmed has pissed them off..and he's about to give them a crack at stomping me in a 3 on 1 hardcore match. I better go see it. Cross your fingers and hope that somebody interferes on my behalf.
12/28
I got the bad news a couple days ago in an email from Jeff Clayton about Gus..singer for the Australian band RUPTURE. Here's the email he forwarded from Gus' girlfriend:
Jeff,
This is claire Gus'girlfriend, i don't know whether you have found out about Gus, but on sunday 23rd dec he collapsed in the street and stopped breathing.... he died before the ambulance got to him and couldn't be revived....i was actually speaking to him on the phone a few minutes before he died....he just sounded a bit pissed that was all....at the moment we cant say what happened to him, its just a big shock.....Anyway if you have anything you want to ask me dont hesitate to email me...all the best..claire"
I'm embarassed and upset at the way I treated Gus when he was still there to talk to and write to. He sent me out of the blue one day a HUGE package of CD's, singles and cassettes of his band. RUPTURE was way..WWAAYY out there..sometimes delightfully obnoxious..sometimes rocking. Kinda reminded me of mid 80's Rancid Vat and early A.U. stuff. I emailed Gus back that I thought I understood where they were coming from..and identified with it enough that I could've sat in and played with them (I can't say that about many damn bands). I should've sat down sometime within the next few days and sent him a package..but NNnnoooooo. I procrastinated and procrastinated. I became so disgusted with myself..I'd be filled with feelings of self loathing for hours at a time; but STILL...it took months and months before I sent him a stack of stuff. I've never treated anybody that sent me a pile of great CD's so rudely.
I finally sent a proper package overseas..he seemed good humored about my apparent rudeness...but he had every reason to think I'm a dickhead. Mind you..he never ASKED for anything in return. I WANTED to do it. That's how it works with those of us who are amongst the "elite".
Now, in the wake of the man's death some people might wonder why i'm obsessed with my procrastination towards Gus over a package of CD's....well, it gets worse. He called a few times on the telephone...he sounded jolly and drunk everytime I played back his message. Since I drink by night and sleep by day and he probably did too down under I was always asleep or out when he called. WHY didn't I ever call him back??? Yeah, a phone call to Australia is expensive..but FUCK...GUS had a lot to offer...and I'll never know the privilege of talking to him man to man now.
I've already saluted Gus with a several shot salute of the best whiskey in the house. That's not enough of an effort to make for a man as creative and full of attitude as Gus. RUPTURE worked a heel angle in their country that made them about as popular as the fucking CLAP. They made our Rancid Vat heel work seem like a Sunday school singalong. Gus's enemies (and DAMN he must've had a lot) are probably all high fiving and happy over his demise; I publicly vow to do whatever I can to turn their smiles back into sour grape scowls.
Gus..wherever you are...your enemies are now my enemies. COME AND GET ME you fucking creeps. Maybe I'll have to come over THERE some day and meet some of you in person. If and when I do I'll be waving the RUPTURE flag high. I'll maybe use it to strangle a few of you lousy fucks..
It's important to TAKE ADVANTAGE of your friends while they're still around; give 'em encouragement and an occasional big ol' Christmas goose in the rear end when you're in close quarters to tell them you care.
My favorite Gus lyric??? It's from The CUNT OF GOD:"the cunt of god is dripping moonshine and I'm fucken thirsty..."
So long Gus. To all of Gus's friends and bandmates...I think you all know what he'd want you to do most at this time..so do it.
12/27
WOW...I found the best beer bargain in I don't know how many years at a local San Marcos grocery story...18 COORS longnecks for $7.99!!!!!!!! Un-fucking believable. It was $14.99 at least on sale for 24 bottles in Philly. 70's beer prices..what a great State to live in.
On the down side Marla and I tried to find a bar to drink at last night at midnight. We were shocked and disgusted to see that bars were closing up early?!?!?!? the day after Xmas when the people REALLY need to drink after having endured snotty relatives for a couple days. To be honest, we passed a roadhouse beer joint on the way into town that was full that we didn't bother to stop and check. Maybe we're gonna need to drink at neck joints like that instead of campus oriented bars that people recommended to us.
An open warning to the "Triple Crown" bar...you almost BLEW your fucking chance to be home bar to the Whiskey Rebel and Intoxica by closing up early. Since we are fairminded drinkers we'll give you ONE MORE SHOT. BE READY this time...
We used a bar-b-q set up located by a basketball court here in our apartment developement to grill a 9 pound beef brisket on Xmas day; I LOVE brisket..and the one we got was topnotch midwest beef as opposed to second rate East and West coast meat we've been eating all our lives. Let there be no mistake folks..the best stuff stays right here in the central time zone.
I've been eating so much beef and Chex party mix the last 3 days I've taken 3 or 4 big heaping dumps on and off each day. Our new bathroom is very quiet and comfy...and I've been reading a fine mass-murder book "the Sunset murders"...so it's been time well spent.
It looks like our email address will be changing...the old one will be forwarded to the new one for a couple months. We're going to move our website to a domain name I think. Nothing drastic..so that all loyal Whiskey Rebel-Roos can find us.
Time to go....I got to scan and post Ebay items..it's my first night back in weeks..and I'm loaded for bear. I've found tons of great stuff. Just today I found 35 70's-80's country albums in beautiful condition for $1 a pop. Also found 5 Japanese animation laserdiscs for $1.99 apop!!! Day by day these good things begin to slowly pay us back for the hell of moving from lovely Hostile..er, I mean "cautious" city USA.
12/23
Our new apartment complex has only a few rules. One of them applies to our dumbass cat; we are supposed to set up his litter box on a formica floor covered portion of our apartment..which means it's going either into kitchen (NO!!!) or the master bathroom (HELLLL NO!!) or Elvis's bathroom.
Imagine my chagrin when I rounded the corner into Elvis bathroom with a bladder full of PEARL beer-piss..and saw Mr. JINX in the middle of relieving his hairy assed fucking self. My initial reaction when I saw the dumbass frown was to say "oops..excuse me!"..then I realized I was apologizing to a lazy welfare bastard animal who owes it to us to entertain us and please us and provide companionship. I should've booted his ass out of the way and pissed...
That I did can be considered a sign of weakness I guess...but I promise to be stronger in the future and not be freaked out at the sight of him squeezing out a fecal-rock of friskies. I could've just whapped it out in front of him, couldn't I??
I was double-tough today when it came to keeping my cool shopping at the local San Marcos WALMART SUPERCENTER and a couple other stores. The stores were all JAMMED..I wouldn't have made it through at a Walmart in Philly or L.A...I would've bolted for the door..and the nearest drink. The locals here are damned good at minding their own business, I can see that already.
Most people visit relatives at this time of year. We nutty Irwin's sit around and get drunk and watch video tapes of "CAR 54 where ARE YOU??" and "DRAGNET". I can't wait. Tonight we dug up a pile of old USWA & ECW videotapes from early 1997. They fucking rule of course. I really admire this guy named Mike Samples who worked in Memphis..primarily for his schtick of posing as a Hollywood actor. We watched a classic Eliminator's vs. Sabu & RVD match that reminded us why we loved both those teams so much.
RHINO made an appearance as "Bobby Bolton"..a fan favorite with a friendly attitude and no mustache. Same big-ass looking thighs though. Hhmmm. I can't wait to see pre-WWF Kane and Rock in the tapes we haven't re-watched yet.
In retrospect I did a pretty damn good job keeping a videotape record of ECW. The earlier years are the most important. The Justin Credible years were mediocre in comparison..I've written about it somewheres or other...HITLIST perhaps?? (NOTE!..WWF hasn't been able to do SHIT with "Justa-wigga" to date. I respect his skills as a professional, but I can't help but feel that in the waning days of ECW they could've appointed a stronger champ).
I wish I could find a decent collection "Yogi Yorgesson" recordings in any format. I have a few very scratchy 1950's 7"er's of his stuff. He worked a dumb-Swede comedy angle..with references to his battle-axe Wife, humorless mother-in-law and brawling, disfunctional extended family that all meets at holiday time...just like so many of our families. It's topnotch funny stuff that sounds even better the drunker you are. My adoptive family was Norwegian and were as fucked up as "Yogi's" people. They ate goofy shit like Lutefisk (sp??) and always spent hours and hours slurping down dozens of cups of strong coffee while backstabbing relatives that didn't show up.
ICK!! And to think I'm a bit embarrassed to be part French!?!?!
Anyway, I never related to their ethnic Scandanavian ways. They all claimed to be saved and sanctified Christians, which was my first in depth exposure to Christian hypocrisy. They were nasty, argumentative, bitter, self righteous assholes.
Well, before I get wound up I'm gonna pick up my bottle of Beam and go watch "YOGI BEAR" (Yogi night, eh?) on the "Boomerang" channel.
12/22
Here's a good one from my email bag:
"..The fact is people love the Reb..a select few anyway..mabey you once got no reaction..drinking aroung the clock, or carbon14, or even hitlist. Jobjumper was your last stand..the diary has has
made you a drunken hero to too many fools with computers. You dig that happy crappy? You are well liked by everybody exept me I just check this site to report the Rebs work rate and say that he would make a better heel.." (Joey..BP PSYCHOS we are ALL HEELS!!)
The email heading Joey accompanied this with poses the question "the Reb as a babyface?"
I like Joey (even though HE'S turned heel on me?!?!? or has he??) and I'm glad he threw that angle at me. Heel's from all walks of life turn "babyface" all the time..some to a greater degree than others.
What we have here is a case once again of life following the lead of pro-wrestling; a hypothetical situation in which I will ponder the realities of personality twists I've encountered utilizing wrestling jargon.
First off, Joey's just busting my balls a bit; he knows damn well that I'm on the same side of the fence as him as long as we are commited Brothers of the bottle. You can begin to worry that I have turned "babyface" when you hear from my own lips or read here that for various reasons I have:
A) given up drinking for any other reason than imminent surgery or a dead liver that will no longer function.
B) "turned over a new leaf" from a spiritual standpoint..since I have been an aggressive agnostic and cynic for many years it's one of the basic reasons I am who I am. I'm a goddamned lonely voice along the lines of Ambrose Bierce when it comes to despising all things religious. Even people who pray to statues and candles and demons get on my nerves from time to time. The joy of getting pleasantly drunk everyday is MY basic bedrock philosophy and "creed". You can't seriously consider me a "babyface" until I turn from that.
C) I haven't made a fucking cent from this diary (although I'm willing to!!). The best description I've heard of it is that basically it's a "SOAP OPERA". I'm flattered...some of the entries are mundane..but for fucks sake that's because it's "real". When I have too many happy, comfy days it's almost always followed by a few hellish ones; I haven't re-read this damn thing to check..but that's gotta be true. I started doing this because I enjoyed reading Bill Nelson's online diary. We computer owners NEED stuff to checkout and entertain ourselves. The number of websites out there must add up to jillions. A tiny, tiny, percentage update regularly. Even the best wrestling websites are slower than fucking molasses when it comes to updating with quality material.
You can read here about my crappy day or great day..and once in a great while there'll be a profound thought or eulogy to a fallen musician or wrestler.
The political stuff I include as a sense of DUTY. Unlike most of YOU..I'm NOT affiliated with any political party..and I don't simply say that to appear "open minded". Most Republicans would hang me if they had a chance..I'm a drunk Satanic sympathizer. The Democrats won't have me..because for the most part I'm sure..DAMN SURE that the human race is a BAD BAD BAD BAD SPECIES...which is probably not WORTH saving; THAT runs against the grain of their touchy-feely ways I'd say, eh?? (Do I still sound like I've turned "fan favorite" Joey??) There are damn few places on the net or anywhere else where you can read a slant on the "issues" of the day from the perspective of a dedicated black hearted alcoholic.
I've experienced many "babyface" turns over the years. I've watched more than a few outspoken atheists quietly convert to Christianity for example. I've watched as burnout acquaintances who used to value the thrills of drink and recreational drugs turn into moralizing assholes who don't want ANYBODY to have any fun if they can't. I've watched several generations of snarling, fist pumping, colored mohawk sporting punk rockers turn into Nordstrom-sweater wearing insurance agents.
Not me though....even if you think I may be going soft when I let my "sensitive" side show by writing a few nice words about our dumbass cat or preaching tolerance to American citizens who've immigrated legally from the middle East..just when you think I'm getting soft due to the dozens and dozens of Whiskey-Rebel-Roo's out there who send me thoughtful emails and packages of booze...remember, until I actally see prospects of raking in some COLD HARD CASH by softening my positions, it's not likely I ever will.
Maybe I'm simply on an ego trip?!?!? Isn't that a GOOD thing if so?? I suspect that most of the wrestlers I've worshipped my entire life are on ego trips of their own. I see it as a healthy thing. The fucker's I'm suspicious of are the touchy-feely bastards who claim to be no better than the lowliest 'tard.
Well, I'll sign off and drink a few more cans of fine Texas PEARL beer and reflect over some of the assholes I've known over the years who've REALLY done an about face.
12/20 pt. II
The worst part about being on the road traveling is having to miss all the hours sitting in front of this damn computer. Over the last few years I've experienced more excitement sitting here (you know what I mean..sitting THERE at my old perch in Philly) long after clock punching workers and students have gone to bed. I never know when I sit down here whether or not I'll hear from some long lost friend or friend of a friend; maybe I'll bang out a few pages of a column or work on a book. Maybe I'll play "Klondike solitaire" for 4 hours for that matter. Maybe I'll read something amazing..like when I first located all the stories at Dory Funk Jr's website..or when I could read Bill Nelson's diary as often as people can read this one.
I've paid in pain..unending, nagging tendonitus pain from sitting here so long. It almost goes away when I'm away from the computer. I have to find a specialist here in Texas to cure me by either cutting my arm open or off or something. The one option I WON'T consider is giving up the damn computer.
I'm such an old fashioned fool when it comes to asking for help..I'm sure there are experts or Doctors you can call in to arrange your computer or your furniture so that it doesn't aggravate an injury. I'll be damned if I know who to call though.
Oh hell....I just drained another shot of JIM BEAM and my arm and I are having a little talk...
REBS ARM: "hey asshole...quit your whining. There are people out there with REAL problems..such as being forced to visit relatives over the Holidays. Alot of them have had to swear off of the bottle for one reason or other; man, you should be happy you aren't one of THEM!!"
Whiskey REBEL: "but it hurts when I try to do the simplest things. I can't even pick my nose with the fingers on that hand.."
ARM: "oh BOO HOO HOO fucking hoo...you big pussy!!"
REB: "shut the fuck up already. It's not the pain really..simple pain would be ok. The worst part is having to ask people to do things for me.."
ARM:"you're a big fucking pussy boy..why haven't you gotten me fixed then if it's so fucking traumatic??"
REB:"because I fucking hate and distrust doctors. Remember the one who looked like Bo Derek...I went in to talk about a virus I couldn't shake..and she wound up ramming several fingers up my ass!!"
ARM: "HAH!! A lotta guys would KILL for that!!"
REB: "NOT ME!!
ARM: "look you dumbass...use the Widowmaker as your role model; GET ME FIXED...FUCK all the psychological crap and..Get..ME..FIXED!!!!"
I'm damn glad I can drink to kill the pain.
I'm damn glad that when I finally lick the problem I'll be ready to drink to celebrate.
Of course, if it doesn't work out..I'll be damn well ready to drown my sorrows.
This writing nook is a lot different than the last one. The immediate downside is the fact that I crack my head on a goddamn artificial chandeleer (sp?????) every damn time I get up for more beer. On the plus side the piles of moving boxes have created a panorama of shadows and dark spots that have taken up a life of their own. My old lair in Philly was poorly heated and ventilated, cramped and musty; but you could hear every fart or belch or drunken giggle reverberate all over the damn house. This one is like wrap-around doom. I could keel over from a heartattack or stroke and they'd never know until morning..I'd be drawn into the dark canyons of rectangular boxes like a whirlpool. I kinda like it I guess.
12/20
This is the "Whiskey Rebel's" Aunt Petunia. "Reb" (as most of you know him) and his Wife and Son never made it to Texas..they all three became embroiled in a domestic dispute while en route and apparently did away with one another. As a few other relatives and I clear the hard drive of his computer and prepare his records for a funeral-sale listing in GOLDMINE, I thought it only proper to notify any folks who've been reading this drivel of their fate.
JUST KIDDING of course. I have an Aunt Selma and an Aunt Fern, but not an Aunt Petunia. We pulled into San Marcos on schedule a few days ago. Unfortunately, it's fucking well impossible to update this diary on the road..or I would have.
Our final days in Philly were busy as fuck. Luckily enough help showed up (including Emilio...I almost fainted!) that we got our shit loaded half a day early. A good solid core of friends showed up to say goodbye at a local bar. I doubt I'll have as fine a turnout at my funeral. The next morning we met to sign the papers. The stubborn ass we sold the house to made a last minute demand that caused me to storm out of the room lest I "get violent" as I told the escrow and real estate people. The problem was solved without any further $$$ coming out of our pockets.
We climbed into our car and headed South with our only problem being the fact that we had our dumbass cat "Mr. Jinx" along. Like a senile old coot, for days he wouldn't shit or eat or drink water. Everyday in our car it was a "kitty soap opera". YUCK!!! Little fucking asshole. In Virginia I swam in a great indoor motel pool. Elvis and I were farely drunk..we had TON'S of booze along thanks to our loyal goddamned Philly friends. I was mannerly enough to wait for him to get out before I pee'd in it. The next day we reached Chattanooga. Another good drunk in a motel room which is my favorite place to get drunk. We met Alan King the next morning for a fine CRACKER BARREL breakfast. We ate Gator' tail at UNCLE BUD'S the night before. MMMM---mmmm--MMMM.
We navigated our way through Alabama on Saturday morning. I know alot of snobs from all over the country assume that Alabama is a dirty State with foul bathrooms to shit in. You couldn't be wronger based on my mid-afternoon fecal deposit at a rest area that was so clean, I disgusted Marla and Elvis by saying for $1,000 I'd eat fried Gator' tail off of the toilet seat I had sat on. There was a fan placed to blow shit stench out a window, freshly mopped urine-free floors and spotless commodes. So much for THAT stereo-type!
Saturday evening was spent in lovely Hattiesburg Mississippi after we all paid our respects to Jimmie Rodgers at his birth place museum in Meridian. We spent an evening getting soused with some of our favorite friends on earth..Walt and Heather Wheat and Joel Rivers. We had a great time..even the dumbass who was eating and shitting and sniffing by then.
Sunday we stayed in a sumptous suite in Lake Charles Louisianna. It was a cheap deal we found on the net. The booze selection had been hit hard by this point; we still had plenty to choose from though. Monday morning we drove through Houston and made it to Elvis new school in San Marcos in time to register him that day. He was told it was finals week and that he'd have to begin taking final exams the next day. His first day he happily met the local "longhaired weirdo" club; they were happy to add another to their ranks. The school counselor was delighted to admit a kid from a bona fide big-city performing arts school. He's taking TV classes and similar "creative" courses. He'll do pretty damn well here.
We moved our shit into our new apartment Tuesday and Wednesday. We had 15 minutes of obligatory arguing..and then settled into a productive routine. I like this complex; it's really got it's advantages. We're on the edge of town which is gradually sprouting restaurants, gas station convenience stores, etc. A few hundred people live here..half students/half normal people. Almost NO KIDS..very quiet. The pool, jacuzzi arrangement reminds me of a resort hotel. This town empties out during Summer and holidays. We were told this complex will be empty as hell over the holidays.
The biggest difference between here and "Hostile city" (which I will henceforth refer to deservedly as "cautious city") is the way that things GET DONE here. It took 45 minutes to get auto insurance that is HALF what we paid there. It took 10 minutes to get our car TEXAS plates..no lines, no scams, no parking headaches. Our auto registration would've cost $1,100 or so in Philly!! It cost $175 here. It took 60 minutes after we first conceived the thought of renting a small climate controlled storage space..to actually be loading boxes into it. No weird taxes, no disclaimer forms or hogwash like that. You simply lay your first month rent down (no deposit..no last month) and load in.
Everywhere I turn I expect to get hit with rules..RULES..but I'm always pleasantly surprised so far. We made a stockup trip to a grocery store today; Elvis and I laughed at the low prices and fantastic selection.
The locals warn us..it gets HOT here..and COLD too..sometimes the thermometer dips below 30 degrees....BBRR!!!
Of course we just politely nod and grin when we hear that stuff. We survived hot L.A. weather..and miserable cold winters in a lot of places.
We Irwin's are made of fucking iron. We are adaptable to many different environments..( King El says: "we're as adaptable as cockroaches") unlike the majority of you who never will know what its like to live somewhere else. More power to you..but frankly don't be SURPRISED when you find yourselves stuck in a rut and miserable..stuck in lame hometowns simply because relatives that drive you nuts live there.
Hey, Wayne Hancock's playing the Continental club in Austin 25 minutes away tomorrow night; I can't decide WHICH of 3 local Dale Watson performances I wanna go see in the next 10 days. For Christmas we're cooking up a 9 pound brisket outdoors under sunny skies....
HO HO HO!!!!
12/10
Last night in this house for us. Last diary entry here. I think our email address is going to change soon..but, I'm not really sure. Fuck..I hope not.
We loaded out every box (248!!) in the damn house today and managed to finish up a half day ahead by taking it to the truck terminal and loading it into our trailer that they'll haul directly to our door in San Marcos Texas. Tomorrow we have only our crappy furniture and computers and TV's to tote. 2 out of 3 scheduled helpers showed up (including the ol' crack-baby from Kensington Emilio..pay up Marla!!). Then, we douche the place out a bit on Wednesday and prepare to sign papers and hit the road Thursday. The biggest remaining problem seems to be a litter box system in our car for fucking "Mr. Jinx" our cat. The little bastard is going to really owe us by the time we smell his stench for several days in a small car, get to Texas and pay a deposit on him at our new home.
If he was a snotty, aloof cat I'd insist on dumping him..but he's naive, a bit dumb..and fun to play retarded tricks on from time to time.
Here's a shot of Ezra Brooks in honor of the tiny handful of decent bands remaining here in "Cautious city"...C.O.S bro's LIMECELL, the PARTY WRECKERS and the BAD VIBES.
Here's a BUDWEISER salute to the people at thee REB'S beer distributor "BELL beverage"; I hope you don't have to lay off anybody with me moving away folks. Here's to the efficient crew at the "good" post office I ship from. They're the closest thing to co-workers I have. I haven't told them we're moving..I'm sure they'll wonder eventually what happened to us on a slow day when they notice we don't come in everyday anymore. To the "bad" p.o. I pick up at...may you all choke and die on unsanitary pretzels!
To the PHILLIES...thanks for sucking so bad that we could comfortably attend games in 70% empty bleacher seat sections. You are poised and ready to have a great season..but, of course you'll probably fuck it all up. We'll still wave the flag for you until it feels natural to be ASTRO'S fans (fuck! the Ranger's and the A.L.).
Here's another shot of Ezra for our handful of local friends. I'd hoist several, except I expect to be in touch with them for a long while.
Yeah, I'll miss alot of the food more than anything else. But, suddenly Mexican food (which is far superior to Italian) will be re-entering our lives. Along with topnotch BARBQ and "What-A-Burgers" a few hundred yards from our apartment.
The live music we're gonna see in Texas makes this move worth it alone. Dale Watson, Junior Brown and Wayne Hancock are ALL scheduled to perform in Austin a few miles up the road within a week of our arrival.
It's gonna be so great to have redneck bars with country music to drink in compared to the fucking mummer bars near our South Philly home..where Donna Summer and Billy Joel rule the roost. I may run up to the first Stan Hansen look-alike I see the first time I sample the taverns of San Marcos, and give the fella a big hug to show how much I appreciate him!!!
Texas won't be perfect..but it WILL be different enough to keep us interested for a few years; that's the secret to moving every few years my friends and Whiskey-Rebel-Roo's.
12/8
One of the fun things about doing this diary is trying to figure out who the fuck is reading it. For example, I haven't heard from a couple people in a while who used to comment on what I've written. Is it because they're pissed off at some of my recent comments about the war?? HHmm??? Or do we have a case of me wondering about them..when in reality they simply have better stuff to do??
Do I care..?? A bit. Do I do anything different when I figger I might be offending someone..??? Well, even though I'm supposed to be in hardass mode here and say "NO!"....I'll admit to a weaker "sometimes..but not very damn often".
Let me put some minds at ease here. It's just as hard for me to be supportive about the Bush administration U.S. war effort as it would be if Gore were elected and were somehow magically handling the situation correctly. I've got to pay credit where credit is due and all that shit. This doesn't mean I'm a Republican..I HAVE no party. Until Gov. Jesse forms a party to attempt Presidential election that is. Certain debates recently about American civil liberties are definetly worth discussion; on the other hand many of the folks who are the most upset on this issue don't seem to draw any difference between the rights of American CITIZENS and visitors to our country. Enough of our people have been slaughtered that I DON'T GIVE a damn about inconveniencing visitors from the part of the world the 9/11/01 assholes came from. Until they've earned citizenship, they haven't EARNED the rights that those of us who are citizens have.
I don't expect to enjoy "equal" rights as the locals do when I'm in a strange foreign place, whether it be Istanbul, Peking or the South Bronx.
I'm glad to have heard from a few Texan's who we'll look up when we get down there. We're loading the truck up Monday and Tuesday mornings..and loading it into a trailer Tuesday and Wednesday. Elvis, our humongous physical specimen son will be instrumental in this.
We'll sign the papers and split former Hostile City (now "cautious" city) on Thursday. We'll arrive in San Marcos at our already rented apartment on the 19th or so. We'll have a chance to see Dale Watson, Wayne hancock and Junior Brown all in our first ten days in Texas. We'll eat "What-a-burgers" and try to get together with the guys from the band SHIT in San Antonio to get good and shitfaced Texas style.
Elvis and I have decided to provide y'all with a holiday treat...even though it has little or nothing to do with the fucking holidays. Take it El...!!!!!!!
Okay, It is I Elvis. First off,I'm typing in Italics like this. While the Reb will take the other font. Okay, here goes.
I was walking down the brightly lit hallway of the building, approaching the throne room wondering what the king could've sent me for. Could it be because I harrassed the small people? Heckled the poor? Or Maybe it was for doing something bad like eating the last Klondike bar. Either way, I knew this was going to be important.
I arrived at the throne room..checked my pitt stench one last time and banged on the damn door. A couple big guards swung double doors open. As I started walking up towards his majesty's throne I couldn't help but notice he was standing up in his throne clad in a "Barney" costume without the head; he was waving his arms bellowing "I am KING DINGDONG!!" I now pronounce myself..KING DINGDONG!!"
"Of course you are your majesty." I said in a baby voice.
"Well, I am." He replied sadly. I went over to him and put my arm around the saddened leader.
"And you're the best Ding-dong in the world."
"Really?" He was beginning to perk up. "Well, then not only am I king Ding-dong, but I'll make you my Dingo!"
"Dingo?" I didn't really like the idea, but the guy was nuttier than a bad cook's batch of toast. So I had to pretend to like the name and the idea.
"That's right, Dingo. And your first order of business is to go out and kill the 5 headed, fire breathing, poison spitting dragon to get me some corn chips."
"With GLEE your majesty!!" I bowed and scraped my way out of the throne room..wondering what the hell I had just gotten myself into. The big double doors slammed behind me; I reached into my cloak and found my flask filled with "ye-olde spirits". I tipped it back and chug-a-lugged. I came back up for air a bit refreshed...at first!
Standing in front of me decked out in sheer panties and brasierre was the 400 pound Queen with her jiggling thunder thigh flesh and "rocks-in-the-socks" boobies.
Her face was covered with ugly, sprouting warts. Oblivious of her disgusting mug and bod, she flashed a smile..and warbled in my ear..
"You know, you don't HAVE to fight the dragon; instead you can spend the weekend with ME, baby..!?!"
"Okay, That's it, I don't like this anymore" I said. I reached up and grabbed my sword, and with my mighty words, "By the power of grayskull...I, have, the poweeeeeeerrr!!" Nothing happened. I still had balding red hair, not a cool 80's blonde head of curls. Instead of a He-Man manly chest of muscular pecs, I still had the beer gut that I've had for the past 19 years, and there were no sidekicks. No She-Ra, no battle cat, no nothing.
"Damn toy!" I yelled as I cast the plastic sword away in anger. Then I observed the current situation. The incredibally obese woman was now dampering more mascara on her blob face, then she started to fluff up her balding purple hair. I figured I'd better take my chances with the dragon.
In other words, I turned and ran like HELL.
I made the royal stables in nothing flat, hopped on my trusty jackass "Daisy" and slowly headed down the trail towards the 5 Headed, Poison Spitting goddamned dragon den. Daisy was in a decent mood for once and spent an equal ammount of time on the trail as she did shitting and sniffing and pissing along the side of the trail. We ambled along for a few hours and made camp in a clearing in a heavily wooded area. I reached into the pack strapped to my loyal fucking donkey and found a full fifth of "Ye-olde". I re-filled my flask and took a couple good long pulls. I tied the damn jackass to a tree and sat on a log in front of a small fire getting loaded. I ate some beef jerkey and finally wrapped up in my bedroll for the night.
That night I kept waking from nightmares..big fat mama's with swinging, fleshy warts and stretchmarked rolls of belly. Finally I rolled out of the sack at dawn, took another hit off my flask..slapped Daisy on the ass and headed down the trail.
It wasn't long until I found it, the bathroom. Hell I had been drinking like a sailor on leave, and boy I had to piss me a river. After the refreshing piss, I hopped back on Daisy and started heading toward the dragon's cave again. In about an hour, I had it in my sights, no not the dragon, another bathroom. God I had never pissed this much in my life!! As I was standing there for what seemed to be eternity, I glanced over to a couple of urinals over and I'll be damed, but there he was. He had his leather pants unzipped and was pissing enough to fill the Grand Canyon! The fucking dragon!!! I finished quickly, and pulled out my sword. Then I put my wiener back (rimshot) and pulled out my real sword.
"All right you son of a bitch, King Ding-dong ordered me to kill you. And I will do so."
"Feeble little creature, you can never beat me!" The dragon boomed. He was probably right, but death was better than facing that queen again. So I readied myself, and...
"Go go Gadget copter!" I yelled and flew up and out to the end of the story.
"Hold it, wait a second!!!" Elvis said. " You are my character, and this is our story, and dammit you son of a bitch, you are finishing this fuckin' fight!"
"Do I have to?" The "Dingo" replied.
"Yes!"
I was scared as hell now. Facing a fuckin' dragon with five heads all spitting fire and venom. So I reached for my flask and took a couple swigs, only to spit it out gagging. Now I was pissed. Some ugly, evil asshole had replaced my "Ye olde booze" with skim milk.
"That's it, now I'm mad!!!" I yealled like an Apache warrior. I started hackin' and slicin' away at that fucker. In 5 minutes, I killed the dragon and was playing jumprope with one of his neck/heads. I had killed the dragon, but I wasn't going to go back to the castle. I had to find the son of a bitch that put something (Uck) healthy in my flask.
I boarded Daisy, and started the journey that was yet to come.
End Part one.
ALMOST..that is. I reached into the saddlebags strapped to good old Daisy and found a backup fifth of hooch. I cracked it open..looked ahead down the trail and said..
"Try and make one person happy each day. Even if it's just YOURSELF!!"
I took a HUGE hit and slapped Daisy on the ass.
(End Pt. 1 for real...)
12/6
That little California puke they caught slinging hardware for the Taliban is a CLASSIC example of a pathetic little asshole. He's 20 fucking years old..you can only use the "naive, impressionable kid" argument to defend somebody a helluva lot younger.
As for the parents who claimed he must've been "brainwashed"..
Well, where in the hell were they while their dumbass son was converting to a religion that has declared open war on their country?? Good clean fun you say??
FUCK YOU!! If you don't realize that what we have here is a case of a fucking boob who was lucky to have an upper middle class Mommy and Daddy to finance his braindead mistakes.
I'm sick and tired of people kowtowing to idiotic dumbfucks with wealthy parents. I say, question him..squeeze everything you can from him..and then either string him up by the balls, or perhaps better yet LET HIM LIVE over there if he thinks it's so great. But only if you cut him off from any assistance from Mommy and Daddy!
It was fun to see Mr. McMahon sop up some of Rikishi's anal juices with his face tonight. I understand alot of "wrestling fans" (pardon the expression) are upset over his "ass kissing club". I read the Wrestling Observor internet updates everyday, and I have to admit that even though the commentary is way above average, still it smacks of the sort of snobbery I associate with college Shakespeare 301 classes (I got an "A" in that course incidentally). What a bunch of old Grannies bitching and pissing and moaning for more boring "technical" matches. Rob Feinstein's new promotion sounds like something to check out for people who wish Philly was still "Hostile city USA" (which it's a far cry from anymore). The card features nothing but WWF outcasts or wannabe's. The WWA promotion featuring main events such as "Bagwell vs. Jarrett" seem about as appealing as reading a 6 year old issue of "National Geographic" while taking a crap at Grandma's house. Or perhaps "Readers Digest's" latest joke columns.
I read that Chump Hogan will be making an appearance in Puerto Rico for a big card. You know what?? If THAT'S exciting to anybody, they should take up another sport to follow.
I have to piss. This hasn't been a very long entry...but if I'm taking the easy way out it's only because my mind has been on Chump Hogan and his boring work ethic.
Hell, Come to think of it..why not liven things up a bit and have the chumpster battle against American taliban turn-coat John Walker??? Now THERE'S a Hogan match that'd be fun to watch..for ONCE..
12/4
Hello All! This is the Rev. King Elvis 2000. I'm here today to set you faithful readers up for the following diary entry. Now I've known the Whiskey rebel for 17 years, 2 months and 10 days. Never in that span of time have I heard him go off on such a turn around over somebody. He has gone in a 24 hour period from idolizing a man to absolutely loathing him. I was surrised at his words to me, and I'm hoping you all will be too.
So Here goes.
Thanks,
Rev. Elvis
Dear Bobby Fischer..
Even though I've never met you in person, up until what I heard about you this morning, I would've given you the last dollar in my pocket. I would have taken a beating for you...and I know as well as you do that people have been lining up for the privelege of whipping your ass for a LOONNnnnggg time. As of tonight..I question myself why I haven't joined the ranks of those who wanted to kick your chickenshit ass a long time ago.
You have been a hero of mine since I was 9 years old..NINE FUCKING YEARS OLD. I wasn't alone of course. In the 1960's and early 70's you were the Babe Ruth of chess. You inspired a helluva lot of chess players..most of whom have either given it up long ago, or are too damn focused on the game itself to take note of your recent HORSESHIT TRAITOR TURN on your country.
I heard today (thanks to my pal Duke) about your fist-pumping celebration of joy on live radio in Manila concerning the sneak attacks of 9/11/01. I had my doubts prior to hearing this about what kind of man you had become since you went into isolation many years ago. I always gave you the benefit of the doubt...in the past.
Isn't that the attitude most of us take towards our greatest hero's??? I'm sure it was a big letdown to fans who looked up to O.J. when he went on his rampage.
But, Bobby...you're not an out of control, hothead dumb-jock athlete. You're not only the greatest chess player who ever competed; when you won the championship you did so while oozing class like Ali or Ric Flair.
When I was a nerdy kid long ago chess saved my life at a time when daily dealings with the asshole kids at school had me considering suicide. I most likely wouldn't have taken up the game if it wasn't for you not only kicking ass over the board, but also waging war on society.
You declared to a reporter when you were 15 or so.."teachers are jerks"..remember?? You were RIGHT! As a living miracle..a bonafide national legend...as the greatest child prodigy the world had ever seen even a brash statement such as that was reported by the media in an even handed manor.
A few years later when you were engaged in topnotch international competition you accused the Soviet players of working in kahoots with one another. It would've seemed like sour grapes coming from anyone else. In the long run, you were proven right.
You won the world championship finally, after forcing a horde of people ranging from chess officials to your own friends and backers to jump through hoops catering to your every whim repeatedly.
In retrospect, THIS is when I should've woken up and realized what a goddamned dickhead asshole you are. I allowed my respect for you to distract me from the fact that NOBODY worth idolizing treats their friends like that.
When you refused to defend the championship against Karpov most of the world pointed out the fact that you were merely holding out idealistically for things that would elevate the world chess championship in the long run; as if you were doing it for the GAME.
It's clear to me now that you were just a nutcase who had already gone over the deep end. You threw in the towel like a pussy. Everybody that defended you (including myself) was misguided by your earlier greatness.
The next sign you were loco was your involvement in that wacky cult-church in California. The chess world anxiously awaited your return. I knew damn good and well at that point in my life that people who give their fortunes to religious cults are goddamned fools..KOOKS. Still, for some reason I never questioned you, Bobby.
When you eventually made your "comeback" in the 90's it should have been clear to me that you had lost it. Your uninspiring games didn't impress the grandmasters who analyzed them. For the first time there were rumblings in the media that you had LOST IT. Your INCREDIBLE chess strength that is. What's more, your decision to take on Boris S. who was WAY THE HELL past his prime in a rematch was an indicator (if only I had looked at it with an open mind) that you were past your prime..AND KNEW IT!
After taking a whopping pile of money from that match, you disappeared after talking shit to reporters claiming you were still hot shit. You RAN like a sissyboy away from the worlds strongest competition.
The impression you meant to leave upon the world was that you were biding your time waiting for your terms to be met for a match. You had the world fooled..INCLUDING ME.
Until today.
I read accounts a while back of your screwy, outspoken anti-Jewish attitude which of course seems strange in the light of the fact that you are half Jewish. I had by this point several OBVIOUS CLUES that YOU Bobby had either flipped your fucking wig or were a world class ASSHOLE.
Still, I always thought warm thoughts about you..ny HERO. My CHILDHOOD hero. The guy I worshipped while other kids worshipped Joe Namath or Johhny Unitas.
I'm not a "super-patriot" who is touchy about the flag or Mom or apple pie. I'm a part time writer, musician and fucking alcoholic who once was considered a "minor" chess prodigy.
My chess game may have deteriorated over the years..but my COMMON SENSE and ability to spot BULLSHIT artists has increased to WORLD championship level.
You Bobby, are the lowest form of fucking traitor. You didn't just turn on your country over philosophical differences; you waved the flag for the Taliban because it was a convenient way to throw a childish temper tantrum towards the grownups in America who will no longer tolerate your acting like a spoiled fucking brat. BWAHH!!!!!!! BWAHHHHHH!!!!!
That's what you sound like you fucking overgrown, no-class, pouting baby!
You must be 60 fucking years old..and nobody has EVER challenged your childish outbursts in an effective way. I think you'd be better off if a long time ago..A LONG TIME AGO somebody turned you over their knee and administered a god-damned Billy Robinson backbreaker.
The world has given you the benefit of the doubt for a quarter century over whether you're a mis-understood genius or a common asshole with no class. Well pal, in the wake of 9/11/01 you've SHOWN us all your true colors. From this day forward if you want to worship Allah, or Garner Ted Armstrong or whatever wacky cause your "great mind" is suckered into this month, you can do it without THIS former suckered fan's support.
To all of Mr. Fischer's supporter's and spokesmen and backers and wet-nurses and apologists over the years who made his brief career possible..I SALUTE YOU. But, I'm sure you didn't expect the ingrate to wind up like this..who could have??
Let's face it..he's a washed-up asshole.
I never thought I'd say it..but it's true.
12/3
HOLY CRAP!! It's official..10,000 fucking hits on this diary since we installed a counter on 5/28/01. Not bad..now if I can only learn how to sell advertising space...hopefully not the annoying pop-up shit. Maybe a wrestlers website needs a boost?!?!?! The best part about the 10,000 hits is the fact that it's all LEGIT as opposed to more websites (especially bands) than you want to believe.
I just poured the ceremonial 10,000th hit shot (George Dickel) into my "Dern tootin' I'm a rebel" shotglass which was a gift from my good pal Jeff Clayton. I'm gonna wash it down with an entire can of Colorado Koolaid (COORS..stupid!)...here goes!!!
OOhhh..yeah.
We drank with our drummer Eric Flawless (not to be confused with previous drummer and pal Eric Perfect) on Friday. He said that his girlfriend or Sister or SOME lady he knows (we were a bit sauced) reads this diary..and says it's like a "soap opera".
I was touched to be ranked as such; I WANT it to be as addictive as a soap opera. Yeah, it's self indulgent..but I know from experience that it's titillating and magical to locate a website that actually has the balls to UPDATE on a regular basis. When I do I bookmark it and check it everyday.
I'm considering having Marla install an interactive fucking bulletin board to this diary when we hit Texas. If I do, I'll make sure to make the entries as over the fucking top as I can so people aren't discussing a bunch of tired crap. I CAN do better. If I find a business to buy an add, I can do MUCH better. Yes..I AM a whore. Aren't we all?? Hasn't Vince McMahon proven over the last few weeks to what extent people will go to succeed??
Anyway...we met Eric at a bar that had plastic 60 ounce pitchers shaped kinda like thunderbird totem pole carvings. We gave him a copy of our first album "STAMPEDING CATTLE" which has been selling on Ebay for $75 consistently lately as a parting gift. I wonder how long it'll be until he sells it..??????
We got fairly drunk and returned him to his home in LEVITTOWN..a classic post-war developement with the most incredible mazelike streets in the U.S.
How does he find his home each night??
Our old A.U. drummer told a story about visiting somebody in Maryland; he got sauced and staggered back to what he thought was his friends apartment; unfortunately for him, it belonged to a couple old farts in an adjacent, similar looking unit who FLIPPED their fucking wigs when they saw him sawing logs on their couch.
In the upcoming issue of CARBON14 (it's gonna be a great one..THE CRAMPS were interviewed!) I wrote a column about movies and movie criticism. I took to task a talkradio movie critic with a show here in Philly on Sunday nights for his constant pissing and moaning about "Barfly" and Bukowski. Well, I've tuned in two weeks in a row to his crappy show for about 5 minutes each time. Guess what??? YEP!! He was talking about Der Buker BOTH times!!
What a chickenshit little puke.
He gave a bullshit eulogy directed towards the hindu frigging Beatle himself..convicted plagiarist George Harrison.
("My sweet lord..DOO LANG DOO LANG DOO LANG")
I RARELY tune into this guys show,,,
But it seems even more like all he does is whine like a pinprick about the greatest writer of the 20th century. He's a goddamned prude with no imagination.
Well, read my damn C-14 column if you want the full scoop..it'll be out soon.
Meanwhile, here's another shot of Dickel and another bigass beer back?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!!?!?
12/1
Hell, in a week I'll be packing this computer up. I really hope to update this while we're in the physical process of moving; I'll be either in the worst fucking mood I've experienced since the last one, or giddy and goosey with joy if it's not going as badly.
I know one thing...I've done a topnotch ***** job packing our shit way ahead of time. Marla and Elvis don't seem to even notice..but it's probably the greatest domestic oriented accomplishment of my life.
Saturday morning I came as close as I've ever come to shitting the damn bed! No..it's not what you think. It has nothing to do with flatulence or diahrea (sp?). I was peacefully lying in bed around noon and I was fucking SHAKEN awake by a tremendous explosion. My sphincter muscles were uneffected by that first blast. Next I heard a jet airplane engine screaming overhead and then a HUGE explosion!!!!!!! And then silence. It was the goddamned SILENCE that scared the shit out of me. I thought for fucking sure that a damn airplane had creamed the fuck out of some stretch of Hostile City real estate.
And then it happened..or rather, ALMOST happened.
Shit that is. SHIT ALMOST "happened". I almost let go. I got out of bed pissed off I was being woken so early terrorist attack or not. I took a leak and while I did I listened for any post crash sounds. I glanced out the window towards center city. Liberty 1 and Liberty 2 were still standing there.
So, I went back to sleep. Later I learned it was part of an airshow at the "Army-Navy" football game at nearby Veteran's stadium.
Motherfuckers ALMOST bluffed the Whiskey Rebel into shaming himself. Oh hell...what do I mean shame?? It only would've meant this diary entry would have been funnier.
My life for years has been a back and forth pingpong existance bouncing from the most lowlife habits, friends and sources of entertainment to what are considered by many egghead pursuits such as (alledgedly) sophisticated literature and chess tournament competition. On the one hand I'm the biggest Jim Varney fan in the world; a daily drunk who posts stories of almost shitting the bed for sick people to read on the internet. I like nothing better than to watch videotapes of bloody Japanese hardcore wrestling. On the other hand, I can get a bit dewey-eyed over certain classical music pieces; I can play over grandmaster chess games in books and actually understand and appreciate the unique qualities of each game. I'm currently reading a book of Sinclair Lewis letters...and a scholarly sci-fi anthology. But, I've also read in the last few days a handful of "Andy Capp" paperbacks and a few old "Sargeant Rock" comics. Elvis and I in the same night will watch a cooking show filmed in Japan with great interest; and 20 minutes later be sitting on the floor rolling a 20 cent red plastic animal toy back and forth to one another. Eventually we'll be throwing other toys, books, cans and chairs at the ball. Are we fucking insane or what???
Well...yes.
I couldn't or wouldn't want to change though.
I'd have more friends I guess if I was either "Joe Sixpack" more of the time..or if I acted "mature" or "educated" more often. My friends as it is range from towering intellects of world reknown..to regular Joe's who crush beer cans against their noggin's. No matter which side you identify with, be forewarned if you ever meet me..BOTH sides are a bit suspicious of me for letting the "other" side show too much.
I don't think all this makes me anymore clever than anybody else..or more interesting or exciting.
On second thought, I must at least a bit..or else why do I bring it up?? HHmm??? I guess I'd better go lay down on the friggin' couch and analyze myself and my feelings carefully....
On the other hand...a few more beers in front of the cartoon networks "Boomerang" channel might be more fun (it's time for Quickdraw McGraw).?? Hhhhmmmmmm...
11/29
Well, there goes George Harrison..bye bye George.
I'm a bit drunk..but not THAT drunk. I know the right thing to do still. I'll march downstairs and get the bottle of Dickel.
OK. Here we go...GULP!
Now that I've done the "right thing" I'll confess I'm glad it wasn't Bill Wyman or Jerry Lee Lewis or Charlie Watts or Eric Burdon or Little Richard or especially Hasil Adkins.
Art Bell has finally made an appearance on his own radio show; he's lamenting George's death.
C'mon Art..I'll agree I like the songs "Taxman" and "piggies". The rest..I dunno.
Everytime there's a celeb death I ask..why not Bob Hope??
When I was 17 or so I made a 160 mile trip to Seattle from Portland Oregon to see ol' George play. Why?? I went through a HUGE Beatle's phase at that time in my life. The show was the loudest I've ever experienced..including Thin Lizzy, ACDC and Queen. My ears throbbed and rang for days..mostly from Ravi Shankar's set before George took the stage.
Even when I was a Beatle accolyte I had a hard time getting it up for his music..98% of it. Bill Wyman would have been a much greater loss if we're rating dead pop stars. Remember "In another land" from the "Satanic majesties" album?? Wow..now THERE'S a song.
I felt alot worse when Jim Varney went.
Not to mention Dino and Joey Ramone.
But, if you're upset over George..take heart. He had the same birthday as my wife Marla...and also Jim Backus and Ric Flair.
The greatest tribute I can make is just to stop the diary entry right here
"MY SWEET LORD...
DOO LANG DOO LANG DOO LANG" (get it??)
11/27
We finally have an address for sure in Texas. We settled on an apartment for the time being. We were tempted to lay down an offer on our "dream house" but we're gonna be conservative..I mean, we've only seen it from the outside and on our computer screen. Actually, there are 2 GREAT houses in the area with pools and tons of room we could have made a gamble offer on.
Instead we'll live at the apartment developement we found. There's a jacuzzi and pool which will help heal my frigging tendonitis and a huge common grounds area to walk around in. I'm sick..Sick..SICK!!! FUCKING SICK..of never being able to drink outdoors. We'll have a working fireplace which I can stare at as I drink myself to sleep each night.
All that..AND an open ALL NIGHT WALMART super-fucking store. A "What-a-burger" about 2 blocks away...
I've been working for hours and hours stitching together book #3 "Escape from Cookieland". This is a 2nd draft..and I'm happy to say I've only run into a couple holes I didn't fill the 1st time around. It's great to work all night, but it's even greater to know when to stop. I just retrieved a partial chapter of the book I wrote while drunk and lost to the oblivion of the hard drive. It was a warning to procede with caution..
I want to get this polished off and emailed to editor Leslie Goldman before we leave so that in case I die during our move a copy is in safe hands.
You'd know what I mean if you had read book #2 "Hostile City or bust"....it is indeed very possible to die during a relocation. One day these will be available for the world to read and everybody will know what I'm talking about.
Down in my basement there's a stack of boxes containing a few thousand records. Yep..they're all packed with the exception of 50 that I dramatically kept out so that I can write about which ones I would choose. I WAS gonna write about it here, but HITLIST deadline is drawing near...and I think that'd be a pretty appropriate goddamned topic.
Instead, I guess I can rap about last nights controversial episode of RAW since it'll be dated news by the time the next HITLIST is printed.
The comments at the "Wrestling Observer" website are extremely negative towards Vince's latest shocking shenanigans. I say, WHAT THE FUCK??? It was extremely funny television. I think the wrestling intelligencia is a bit too stiff and conservative. C'mon..it was FUNNY!! Especially watching Vince skip about the ring like a cowboy with his pants down exposing his recently paddled bum and JR's cowboy hat on his head.
I'll take that ANYDAY over a technical wrestling match!!
Technical wrestling matches are a dime a dozen; Vince McMahon is a unique gem.
All you prudes out there who don't approve..I recommend you pop in a "best of Bruno" tape (if one exists) to relive the days of WWWF gone by instead of watching next Monday's live card.
If I had a 4 year old daughter I'd say the same thing. And me and her would be glued to the tube next Monday night.
The crazier the better is what I say...YEAH.
Wrestling is NOT for kiddies...
They've got "Barney" "Timothy tugboat" and the goddamned "big comfy couch".
WE'VE got RAW. WE ADULTS.
UURRPP....we've also got "Adult swim" on Cartoon network (thanks for the tip El) that is so over the top it may have been cancelled already; imagine Race Bannon and Dr. Quest from "Johnny Quest" as a gay couple???
That's a big 10-4!!! I want MORE of TV like this!!
Let's push the fucking envelope all the way up Billy Graham's fucking ASS....!!! Let's give the all but dead Pope a sendoff with the most blasphemous fucking TV ever!!!!
I'd bet that 96% of parents who were offended by the sight of Vince's bare ass being whipped on TNN are active proponents and guilty practitioners of bare-ass belt whippings themselves??? Will anyone argue with thee REBEL?????
I hope to see alot more memebers inducted to the "I kissed Vince's ass" club...you know damn well that if the money was there...regardless of the "kiddies" who might watch it..you'd kiss his friggin' ass too....
Vince has said so, and he's 100% right on that count...
SO THERE.
11/26
Damn...my biological Grannie on my Mothers side (remember..I was adopted at birth and only tracked down my blood relatives this year) called and left a message on our answering machine yesterday. I feel like a schmuck because I didn't call her right back. I still haven't...I'm feeling guilty.
She's a nice lady about 80 or so..tough as nails..born in the same county as the McCoy-Hatfield fued in Kentuckey. It's been tough as hell for me to be outgoing and pick up the phone and talk to these folk even though they've been very friendly. Why?? I guess it's because for so long I've felt hated by my "other" relatives..the ones I grew up around. It feels strange to actually enjoy talking to a Grandmother.
This is the time of year most people either get together with "loved ones" (HAH!) they may love deep down but don't always like.
About 11 years ago I wrote liner notes on our ALCOHOLICS UNANIMOUS X-mas single ("Santa Claus DWI" b/w "Santa forgot the booze") that suggested that people who hate family confrontations during the holidays spend the day "flat on your back..dead drunk in the sack". I still think that's damned good advice.
I have almost no sympathy left within my evil soul, but I can't be THAT heartless..I have a great deal of sympathy for friends who I know are going to be hanging with relatives this Xmas who will give them a hard time..or worse yet the relatives of their "significant others". My inlaws grilled me every visit we made to their home. I put up with it for several years..and then put my foot down when Elvis was born. I haven't gone back in 17 years.
What was it that bugged me about my visits to them??
Mainly I couldn't be myself; I had to avoid controversial subjects and any references to antisocial behavior, recreational drugs, rock and roll, pro wrestling, Satan, politics, religion, sex, etc.
I was questioned every damn time about my job, my long-range "career goals", why I was wearing whatever I was wearing, why I didn't go to bed at 9:30 pm when they did, why I didn't want to eat a hearty breakfast at 7:00 am with them (instead I'd drink late alone in the quiet house and sleep until 1:00 pm).
At least it was OK to drink in their home. Visiting my own relatives was even worse because it wasn't permitted in their houses.
I've had lots of friends over the years who DREADED visiting their relatives or inlaws at Xmas time; I've urged them to simply stay home and get drunk but they rarely accept the advice of the Whiskey Rebel when it comes to this subject.
A few years in a row I spent thanksgiving totally alone while Marla and Elvis visited my inlaws. Was I lonely spending the whole weekend alone missing out on the big meal and fellowship??
FUCK NO!! It RULED!!
The best Thanksgiving of my life I was ALONE. I cooked up a 20 ounce fucking rib steak and a bowl of fucking frozen peas, drank a pint of booze and a few beers and watched "Goodfella's" in a non-crowded theatre.
I went home and slept like a lord on our sofa.
Even though it irked everybody that I wasn't in attendance the first year at the family get together, they got over it quick. They had MORE fun without me there acting "weird"..and I sure as hell had a better time.
Certain friends of mine need me to step up and lecture them that they need to END the annual cycle of traumatic holiday visits to relatives and inlaws.
I probably won't though..
I'd rather write it here and hope they read it and take my advice PERSONALLY.
11/25
With 2 weeks left before the 1st day of moving our shit I've got 90% of our shit packed. About 98% of the records and videos and books are packed. Every last poster has been removed from the now barren and boring walls. I shutdown listing items on Ebay last week and am only shipping out orders as the money shows up.
Our move is planned out like a military campaign with conditional alternative plans ready for most disastrous surprises. We're allowing extra time for everything; I'm a fucking CHESS PLAYER, right?? I've planned this move like one. We won't be hauling a trailer or even driving our shit to Texas. We're dumping it all into a huge truck trailer a few miles away that will haul the shit for us. All we have to do is load the shit into a truck, reload it at the depot and we're done with it all.
Weather permitting we'll be stopping at Graceland hopefully to wallow in the beauty of the King's home which will is decorated by pretty blue lights this time of year. Oooh..Aaah..
The new issue of HITLIST if fucking packed with reading (Iggy's on the cover). I was amazed that a few other columnists have noticed just like I have that the anti-American leftwing response to the Taliban seems to have rendered them totally fucking OBSOLETE. Jeff Bale sums it up in his column incredibly well. If you read nothing else about the "new war" this is the one piece I'd suggest.
I've been holding back gloating publicly "I told you so!" towards the cowards that actually suggested in internet posted editorials on Yahoo that we weakly give in to whatever demands the Taliban had. One of these days I'm gonna cut loose.
Wrapping things up in Afghanistan (try spelling that one while drunk..) I hope they take out as many diehard Islam assholes as possible. I couldn't believe another yahoo headline I saw.."carnage feared as Taliban stronghold topples"..
Carnage feared???? Aren't we at war?? Every asshole you don't send to paradise now is one more who can live to fight another day.
Life has been so easy for Americans for so long that many don't even understand the basic premise of war...KILL the fucking enemy..as many as possible as quickly as possible.
War is fucking ugly. I've lost relatives in wars and seen some come home with permanent injuries, eyepatches and nightmares that scare the fuck out of them so bad they can't even discuss them. Yeah..I've read the book "Johnny got his gun" and I've even seen the movie. Yeah..it makes me wish that wars were a thing of the past. But, it's fucking naive and childlike to believe that you can just "wish" instantaneous world peace.
If you believe you can, go ahead. I'll participate as long as you can guarantee everyone else will.
You can start with that militant black group that all the talk radio shows are discussing; the guys who are openly, plainly supporting the Taliban here in the U.S.
It's a cruel fucking world out there. You can live a loving, caring and sharing Barney lifestyle if you want..but you can't escape people that hate you just because you exist. And there's a helluva lot of them out there. Whether you're white, black, or multi-racial there are people who hate you for your skin color. If you're Christian, atheist, Jew, unitarian, Mormon, or any other faith you can't escape the fact that you are on somebody's hate list.
Are you female? There are men eager to rape you or beat you or stalk you. Often it's a relative or member of the clergy.
Are you male? You are NO GOOD in the eyes of a growing number of women who hate anyone with a penis. Not only that, if a draft comes around it's YOU that's gonna get shipped to some backass third world jungle..NOT the "fairer" sex.
Are you a tall man?? I am. I've experienced "Napoleon" syndrome enough times on jobs and in bars to realize that short guys hate my guts.
I could go on and on and on. Everybody hates somebody..just because they've been conditioned to by the environment they grew up in. It's no different in other nations of the world.
HATE HATE HATE..RAPE RAPE RAPE. KILL KILL KILL...RAPE RAPE PORK PORK
My brain is urging me to wrap this up and head downstairs for some whiskey.
The bottom line once again is: (to quote one of our Rancid Vat songs) "it's a bad bad bad bad species".
People fucking suck in droves..and occasionally a war is neccessary to kill a large number of them that want to rule the roost and tell us what statue to pray to, who we've gotta send taxes to and what cool vices are legal or against the law.
Take your Mr. Rogers goody goody mindset and go piss up a fucking yogi rope; it's time for a drink.
11/24
I'm listening to Jerry Reed's soothing voice on an internet radio connection.."When you're hot you're HOT"..fine song.
Elvis and I developed a "tripleplay" baseball team tonight that includes half players who are alltime greats and half players who really existed and were fucking AWFUL. A few of the shitty players from days gone by are "Tuffy Stewart", "Harry Coons" and the immortal "Ducky Hemp". We've been drinking Heineken from little keg shaped cans and I've been guzzling shots of BEAM.
I got the new HITLIST in the mail with a review of "JOBJUMPER". I don't know the guy who reviewed it..but I think he did a fine job; I'm sure as hell not going to bellyache in phony fashion because he's declared me as one of the worlds great writers. You have to take what you can get. I know for a fact that one day someone will write a review that rips it to pieces unfairly...a positive review like the one in HITLIST is proof only that the reviewer related to it bigtime..THANKS. I also know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder to quote a corny bromide. The book (as the reviewer intelligently points out) is worthless to that segment of society who're lucky enough not to have to work. I KNOW that there are a jillion writers out there who can write circles around me from a "technical" viewpoint. SO WHAT??
The great Mick Foley (for one) taught the world that you needn't be schooled in "technique" or even know how to type to write a fantastic goddamned book worthy or praise and entertaining as hell. Being completely honest, Just like Mick's book JOBJUMPER IS THE FUCKING TRUTH from a certain perspective that is just as worthy as any other perspective you're gonna find out there in the literary world...and I've gotta say that from my perspective I rarely encounter anything even CLOSE TO THE TRUTH as I see it in print.
Most writers I read good or bad in my opinion (including many great "technical" writers) disqualify themselves by falling for the great lies of religion and politics. Think about it for a minute...out of all the great writers you've read, how many of them fall for one or the other or both??
Well, THEE WHISKEY REBEL's god is bought in cans and bottles, and my political opinions are far removed from either end of the conventional spectrum.
Sadly, that's one of the reasons my book sales number in the hundreds and even the dumbest airheads with "technical" skills can sell tons of books. It's also one of the reasons why in MY opinion and the opinion of many a "Whiskey-Rebel-Roo" that my book is so great. If the great "technical" literary lights could get past the traps that have bogged down centuries of otherwise wonderful writers they'd run circles around me. But they rarely do..
An email I got recently declared me a "ghandi for drunks"..now THAT'S something that I can attempt to live up to.
Some people might think this is a cocky diary entry...
I think I'm being humble as all hell.
Time to go downstairs for some more beers to reward myself that I can keep it in perspective when I receive praise...UURRPP.
11/21
Jeff Bale and I spoke on the phone the other night. When I told him we're moving to Texas in mid-December he asked why we were moving..considering I apparently loved the joys of "Hostile City USA" enough to write (along with Cosmo) a song about it..not to mention all the various other flattering things I've written about Philly. Well, I wasn't lying whenever I said this is the best place I've lived. It's simply gone down fucking hill though since we moved here in 1994. I know of a few locals who would accuse me of merely looking at things differently since we're moving.
Well...lets consider a few facts.
First and perhaps FOREMOST..ECW is gone forever. While it lasted it was the best thing about living here. We live so close to the arena we walked there to cards a couple times. Our song includes a line:"Cactus Jack and Sabu call it home"...
HAH!!! Philly is now a pisspoor wrestling town...probably worse than even fucking Portland (one of the reasons we moved here from Portland was the wrestling promotion had folded)!! Hell, dozens of towns down South have more going for 'em wrestling wise. Even Madison Wisconsin has a great promotion. I've been told there are great monthly indy cards in Austin I'll get to go catch when we are Texans in a matter of weeks.
Oh yeah..another line that has been made irrelevant in the song is "housing projects that reach to the sky..and when you walk through them you're gonna die".
Over the last several years the lions share of project towers have been demolished and replaced by brand new town houses that the welfare bastards living in them are made part owners of. This is paid for in part by an 8% wage tax taken from every workers GROSS pay. Yeah..you'll still die if you walk past these nice new townhouses (there's several hundred a few blocks away) cuz it's the same drug dealing mofo's ruling the turf; it's just that they've got much nicer digs than most of us tax payers to live in.
The public schools here now have a fucking UNIFORM program for students. Good thing Elvis attends a "special" school for talented arts oriented kids.
The park Elvis and I romped around in so many times in is now so saturated by dog turds it's totally useless to even go there anymore. The only other park has been declared a "tot lot" park for kids under 12. Yeah..it's great fun to joke about hosility and rudeness and ignorant assholes who have created huge mounds of garbage that permanently rot in some streets. But FUCK!! That was the only place we could go to for excercise and to be outdoors. And it's been ruined by fucking dog owner assholes.
The cheesesteak palace down the street "Joanne's" featuring "bellybuster" cheesesteaks is long gone. The WHITECASTLE'S in South Philly have closed up. There are however several new mummer clubhouses with a few blocks of us (yech!). The mummers control every fucking local bar between here and South street.
As for trendy South street, ever since I had to work there for 2 years, I have no desire to ever patronize bars, stores, etc. there ever again. It's ruined for me for all time. I've dealt with the crackhead panhandlers, scam artists, junkies, crusties and random public urinators, shitters and pukers long enough.
The clubs in this city showed show hope for awhile. Besides the fact that we are banned even from clubs we've never played at and from the only major practice area (for breaking a $10 folding chair accidentally) I'll be objective and look at it from a broader perspective.
Philly is the 4th largest city in the US.
Unfortunately for its size its music scene is weaker than relatively small towns like fucking Hattiesburg Mississippi or fucking Tacoma Washington or even Lawrence Kansas.
Unless you're into hip-hop, electronica, or rap of course..if so you're in hog heaven.
Almost every major touring rock/punk acts routinely play "warm-up" Thursday night shows here on the way to N.Y.C. Some of them play Sunday nights on the way out of the Northeast. Alot of them never even bother to stop here.
Over the years I've written often about self appointed scene "King-pins" who wind up involved either behind the scenes or upfront in the booking of most of the clubs in a city. When a guy who writes for a local weekly news trendy-poop-sheet read my comments through an email chat-list he claimed I was a hysterical nut. Well, guess what?? I was totally fucking right. Marla and Larry and Leslie and I sat around one night and reasoned that one particular guy (why make him famous by naming him?) has murky influence at every damn club we could think of. Thanks to him you get to see the same mediocre bunch of opening bands before every decent show that takes place. That's fairly common in many cities; Yeah, I may be a nut, but I'm damn right when it comes to a music "scene" grinding to a halt when some selfserving asshole dominates all the booking.
I've gotten at least 20 emails over the last year from bands wanting to play here in Philly; they can't find booking..and they ask me why. WHY??? in a city so fucking big???
Well folks..the Dictators played last at a tiny little dump before a handful of people. Dead Moon played the same place..and might have drawn 70 people. The Lazy Cowgirls drew 60 people last time through I'm told. (I've talked to a dozen bands who played here once to 10 people and swore they'd never bother to stop in Philly again). Nobody gives a rats ass about even great rock bands here..If there was a healthy slate of local bands playing well run shows the houses would be PACKED when the legends passed through town.
We used to play all the time at a place called "Upstairs at Nicks". Antiseen did it's 15th anniversary show there. Limecell ruled the stage often. Unfortunately its gone. Now bands sometimes play at a fucking coffee shop without even a stage?? GREAT. Punk rock bands are sometimes booked at a church...
I was SHOCKED when I heard that...a goddamn CHURCH!?!?!
We wouldn't last 3 minutes at a gig in a church.
We played a Halloween benefit over a year ago with a lot of local bands who were all young. I had never heard of any of them...but I expected some of them would at least be half decent. It was PATHETIC. Nobody's accused Rancid Vat of being a great "technical" band playing skills wise...but that night we were clearly the best players, the best at live schtick, the best songwriter, blah blah blah..the best EVERYTHING. I watched 7 or so bands stink up the stage.
Of course, I'm getting a bit sidetracked here. We're not moving to Texas for its music scene..although conveniently it's TOPNOTCH. There's a hundred clubs in Austin where you can witness every genre of live music. There's country music every night of the week at several venues within 25 miles. Jr. Brown, Dale Watson, etc.
Even Merle Haggard & David Allen Coe never bother to play Philly..where would they play?? They play in NYC though..and in other yankee city's. Not in "Hostile city" though.
Hostile city USA isn't the same place it was in 1994.
Happily, we saw some wrestling action at ECW we'll NEVER forget. And I'll always be thankful we got to play lots of Friday and Saturday nights in Philly clubs for audiences that seemed to "GET" what we were doing. We were lucky to meet up with the guys we did to take the stage with us (well, in MOST cases). We met lots of other people we'll try to stay in touch with.
I'm not just pissing and moaning. We've had a lot of fun here and good times and I wouldn't go back and change much of anything.
But the truth is..in the future the phrase "Hostile city USA" is pure nostalgia when applied to wrestling or music. But Yeah, you can still count on Philly's local taxes to get more and more "hostile" to the wallets of working class people as more and more people like us move away. And people here will always be just as ugly as ever..especially the women.
11/19
I went to bed early at about 3:30 am and rose at 7:00 to take Elvis to school. I decided to take a final trip to some local thrift stores. Whenever I do something that ambitious early in the morning I make damn sure to take a good crap before leaving home. It's hard as hell to find facilities around most of the thrift stores I hit.
It was a nice sunny day and I drove all the way to the salvation army store in Bristol about 25 miles North. I didn't find anything..but I did realize I needed to TAKE a shit..or rather leave some somewhere damn quick. I hopped back into my car and drove down the street to a Burger King I had crapped at once before. It was about 11:30 by now and the staff of the place was standing around yakking with one another waiting for the lunch rush. Lucky for me this place was far enough out in the suburbs that they don't have a lock on the restroom doors..you can just walk in.
By this time I REALLY had to go. I was really squeezing my anal muscles to keep from unloading it all in my sweat pants.
I trotted into the stall..and luckily it was clean as a whistle. It had probably been cleaned for the lunch rush.
It was a tiny seat, sort of jammed against the wall but I just dropped my pants and let 'er rip!!!!! The first volley was several small, slick turds that fell out of my ass in a group rather than waiting their turns. I leaned forward and blew an amazing number of blasts into the bowl.
WHHOOOOO-EEEEEEE!! Good thing I stopped at the Burger King..or I would've filled my damn drawers for sure. Sometimes you can pinch back a big solid turd for hours..but when it's a bundle of moist logs with a gas pocket expanding behind the whole mess...it's hard to hold in.
I wiped my ass, turned around and prepared to flush the stool. "Oh my god!" I declared out loud to the otherwise empty restroom.
I hadn't noticed it..but the water level of the toilet was dangerously close to the rim. The stool must've been clogged deep down in its own "bowels" shall we say. There had been nothing floating when I plopped down on the seat. The water had been clear. I had been too much in a hurry to realize I had shit in a clogged stool.
So, the question arose??? Do I leave my turds there for the next guy?? Or do I flush the commode and risk flooding the bathroom?? Either way I knew I HAD to get the hell out of there. I didn't want to be caught by anyone in the process of either untidy option. I quickly washed my hands and thought it over. The coast was clear..and I dashed back to the stool and stepped on the lever with my foot.
The turds and brackish waters immediately rose up like when you hit the power switch on a jacuzzi. YIPES!! I turned and made for the door. I just HAD to look over my shoulder of course. I could see a tide of brown water with turds bubbling over out onto the floor with a great deal of force.
Once I was back in the dining area I played it cool as I made my way to the door. I thought back to the times I had to mop piss and puke out of the elevator as supervisor at TOWER RECORDS. I saw several Burger King employees still standing there..joking and busting balls.
I wasn't sure which one of them was going to have to deal with scooping my turds off of the mensroom floor..but I didn't give a rusty rats ass. They all looked like they deserved to.
Hell, it was THEIR fault that the damned toilet was clogged when I got there. They should've been on top of things. Yeah.
It wasn't half as disgusting as the old guy who shit himself at TOWER when I wasn't in the store. I was told that liquid poo ran down his legs with such force that he left shit smear shoeprints all the way into the elevator..IN the elevator..and all the way to the door.
I saw a kid puke up several volleys of pink vomit when I was trying to sell his parents a water heater at Sears in North Hollywood. Apparently the cotton candy he bought at the candy department didn't agree with him.
Little bastard...he blew the sale for me.
11/16
Sometimes (this is one of those times) I begin to lay down a diary entry wondering if I'll be sober enough to finish it up. I've had a couple phone messages from Dave, lead singer for BEFORE I HANG. He's evidently within the immediate area looking to get together. I emailed Walt down in Hattiesburg to alert him to the situation..tomorrow's Saturday night..a night reserved for partying and letting yer hair down around here. It'd be a PERFECT night for the "great one" from Mississippi to come around. Let's keep our fingers crossed. Obviously if he comes around there'll be some wild crazy stories to report the next day.
All you other local poofsters better come over and say goodbye in person while you can.
I'm the member of the family who's doing 90% of the packing for our move to Texas. Elvis being 17 and in the first bud of studley manhood will be toting most of our shit on moving day.
I don't like to bitch about it alot, but my left shoulder is virtually useless due to bursitis/tendonitis. The pain has been beaten back enough so that if I take my medicine and ice it down I can write 3 or 4 pages per day...OR lift 20 boxes or so.
I am a cynical bastard without the least bit of faith in doctors or the medical profession in general. I am ESPECIALLY doubtful of the Doc's I've dealt with here in Hostile city. When I get to honest Texas I'll undergo whatever treatment or surgery is recommended. I'm not going to risk my health on local physicians from here though. They seem to be woefully inept.
My main "heroes" concerning whatever I have to go through are Mick Foley, Hayabusa, Justin and Andy p. (get over here you punk before we move!)..
I was fairly tolerant of "questioning" voices in the U.S. press concerning the progress of the war against wacko Muslim terrorists. Now that clear progress has been made against the frigging taliban boobs I'm AMAZED..I REPEAT..AMAZED..at the fucking nitwits who grasp at straws digging for an angle to recent events that can somehow give a blackeye to the U.S.
I read an editorial tonight on the internet that stressed (pathetically) "just because a few cities are held doesn't mean the Taliban are defeated"...
Wake up and smell the fucking coffee!?!?!?!
I understand "the New Republic" embarassed itself with a pinko lefty-righty approach story that declared the US had already "lost the war"...HAH!!!!
We could wipeout every goddamned taliban clown and a handful of idiots will still be there spouting off about how "their children will rise up against us"...
Well, OK; we'll slaughter them too when the time comes.
I do hope that the U.S. washes it's hands of the setup of the next government in Afghanistan. It's a LOSING proposition clearly. I say, just stick around long enough to annihilate Osama and a mess of his Taliban fuckfaces...and then GET OUT.
The Christian nut social workers who were set free by the taliban may as well have been executed as far as I'm concerned. The dumbasses use a "my god can beat up your god" line of reasoning.
Our dumbass cat Jinx will likely cost us $300+ in deposits before we're settled into a new home in Texas. Should we simply and quietly put him to death now?? or deal with the exhorbitant costs of keeping the furry fuck alive???
Please email me with your opinion...
11/14
One of the funniest and funnest bosses I ever had was a guy named George Lindstrom. He was the office manager at a finance company I worked for when I was 19 and trying (briefly) to succeed as a responsible member of society.
George was a rough hewn kind of guy..always pulling at his tie and bitching about wearing a monkey suit unlike most other business men I've worked with. He was straight forward in his dealings with me and the customers and never felt he had to pull rank and act haughty or better than anyone else.
I think of him whenever I watch my favorite alltime TV show "Car 54 where are you?"...he was SO GODDAMNED much like Gunther Toody it's scary. For instance...his Wife put him on a diet..just like Gunthers Wife would've put HIM on a diet. And he cheated on it just like Gunther would have. He'd tell me and the 3 women that worked in the office that he had an important meeting..and then walk across the street to Newberry's..where we could easily see him throguh their big picture windows eating pie..breaking his diet. He'd walk back eventually belching and stuffed with pie.
"How was your meeting George??" one of us would ask..
"Oh..fine..FINE!!" he'd nod.
We'd play chess very often at lunchtime.
I was rated at that time just under the expert level by the United States chess federation; he was one of the WORST duffers ever. Still, in many games he'd get a notion in his head that he was finally going to beat me...FINALLY!! He'd nod and grin and rub his hands together all happy...and make his big move.
Which I'd ALWAYS respond to with a move that destroyed his position and expectations. He'd just snap his fingers and set up the pieces again..he was damned resilient.
One day I completed a credit application with a bearded, longhaired guy with paint all over his coveralls. When the guy had left I sat back at my desk and began to do the credit check.
George walked over..apparently he had observed the application process. He leaned over my desk until he was about 3 inches from my face; he slowly looked to the left and to the right as if searching for a hidden camera or someone listening to our conversation.
Then he spoke..as a Father to a Son in a very concerned tone, very quietly through gritted teeth..
"Phil....Don't ever..I mean EVER..make a loan to..musicians...gypsy's or.... (he hissed) CONTRACTORS!!!"
Maybe you had to work in the credit industry to realize how over the top (and blatantly illegal!) that advice was. Still, in time I learned that there was a kernal of truth to what he said.
George would sit at his desk working hard until 5:00. At exactly 5:01 whether he was in mid-conversation on the telephone or sitting reading a credit file, his hand would automatically reach to his neck and unclip his tie. It was a sub-conscious action I believe. He always wore the most outdated, tattered leisure suits and off the rack J.C. Penny suits imaginable. He HATED dressing up..and so did I. I began to emulate him..wearing the tackiest, cheapest fucking jackets and clipon ties and leisure suits imaginable. I owned a putrid peagreen leisure suit that wasn't even designed to wear with a tie. I wore slip-on oxford shoes from thrift stores and doubleknit pants..the cheapest that could be found.
George's numbers were always fantastic in terms of turning a profit for the company. They eventually promoted his ass which was good for him and his family. He earned more money..and there was prestige to being a district manager.
Still, when he came around to our office after being promoted and based elsewhere I couldn't help but notice him tugging at his now respectable tie (probably a tie-on one instead of a trashy clip-on) and walking awkwardly looking out of place in one of his fancy new D.M. suits and pair of shiny shoes.
For many more years than alot of people would guess I worked in offices and was expected to wear slacks and ties and respectable looking shoes. I always made a point of cladding myself in a manner George Lindstrom would find appropriate. Clip-on ties..cheap shoes almost not worth shining. cheap polyester slacks..eventually when I too was promoted to a managerial position I had to go out to a men's store with Marla along and buy a few fashionable pinstriped suits.
For a year and a half of my life I practically LIVED in 3 piece suits. From there it was downhill job and salary wise..but I got to go back to wearing the cheapest and tackiest menswear that money could buy.
For many years I've worn sweatpants, T-shirts with cutoff sleeves and occasionally jeans. Once in awhile I almost get the urge to go out to a thriftstore and buy a few tasteless suits and maybe a few shirts and out of fashion ties to go along with them. What the hell????? Why not???
I owe it all to George..who was the man who single handedly deprogrammed me from wearing "nice" mens wear like my Mother would buy me for Christmas.
11/12
Shit..this is one of those WILD damn nights in which I'm staying up to take Elvis to school at 7 fucking 30. Pardon my improper punctuation. I'm a bit drunk now, but I'll switch to coffee at 6:00 am or so to ensure "Elvis 3000" gets to his fucking school safely. AAwww.....don't worry. I'm a PRO. If I thought I was fucking too drunk to drive him I'd call a damned cab.,.OK??
Remember, as my good pal Dave G-Man said last weekend before his drive home after a night of listening to obscure country singles in my basement...."NOBODY expects to see a drunk driving around during rush hour". Hell yeah.
Well, it's definite as of TUESDAY..yesterday.
We're moving to Texas...signing papers on December 14th and then blowing town immediately.
Any locals who have a reasonably strong back and a set of large testicles contact us if you want to help us move our shit to a trailer (for $$$) on the 11th, 12th or 13th. Marla found an outfit that will move our shit to Texas for less than half the price of a UHAUL rental. We just have to rent a truck locally and move our shit to a terminal under the Betsy Ross bridge.
Jeff Bale co-editor of HITLIST called the other night..a man I REALLY respect. He asked why we're leaving "HOSTILE CITY USA"..I told him of course it's a combination of many reasons.
Our work is done here in Philly.
Music wise we're banned from the clubs and even the only practice area with a telephone. Cosmo won't come over to write newsongs (we love him anyway)...and most importantly Elvis needs to go to college in a year and a half..and we need to establish residency in the State he intends to be schooled in.
I moved to Philly over 7 years ago hoping to not make any more enemies..I have ENOUGH to deal with back in Portland for a lifetime. I can truly say I only hate about a paltry half dozen people I've met on duty with our bands. I plan on naming names someday..but not now. I've planned for a couple years to eventually write a RANCID VAT story which will be 99% fact and only 1% or so drunken exaggeration. How many bands last 20+ years???
Well, it's not over...we'll be researching candidates for another R.V. lineup in Texas. I'll continue the band until I'm dead...even if I have to do it all by myself. I bet we'll round up players for an ALCOHOLICS UNANIMOUS lineup first. It's always outsold RANCID VAT 2 to 1 in terms of records and CD's sold..even though we seem to treat it like a secondary project.
The people we're saying goodbye to who DESERVE a big whiskey flavored KISS from us hopefully realize it. We'll be trying to physically apply kisses to the deserving before we leave.
This is all getting too maudlin and too sweet.
I'm fairly drunk though..not an angry drunk..a maudlin drunk..sorry.
I'm tempted to sign off.
Well, before I do...Texan's get in touch to pull my coat to the things you need to pull my coat to. Especially those of y'all in San Antonio and Austin.
HEY!! Genessee beer has a new "look" these days. New bold graphics..worse than EVER taste. Avoid it all costs. Ezra Brooks is still the best whiskey deal going..and Miller high life or Busch are the best beer bargains..although I'd still prefer COORS any day.
I'm reading a tell-all about Teddy Kennedy published in 1991, and Marla and I are both working on a stack of 30 Perry Mason books I found.
Trucker Dave from "Before I Hang" called from 120 miles away and left a complicated pager message that bewildered all 3 of us..HI DAVE.
UUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPP.........I'm DRUNK WITH YOU IN SPIRIT BROTHER....
11/9
I woke up in a cold sweat. I found myself laying flat on my back outdoors in gravel with a blinding light overhead.
"Fuck!" I squinted my eyes and sat upright. I mopped my forehead with the palm of my hand and brushed the hair out of my face.
I was laying along the side of a rural rode that appeared at first glance to be way the hell in the middle of nowhere. Fields with some sort of crop or other stretched out around me on both sides of the road.
It was sadly obvious that I wasn't home in bed. I was fully clothed. I checked my pocket and happily found my wallet. I must have gotten REALLY fucked up the night before to wind up out in the middle of nowhere like this. I had fucked up bad..REALLY BAD.
In a quarter century of drinking I had NEVER woken up anywhere but in my own bed, or in a motel room or perhaps a friends couch or floor.
I had really screwed up this time though. I was concerned..but still I chuckled thinking what a great story this would turn out to be in the long run.
"I'll write about this one in my diary..hee hee!!" I chuckled out loud.
I got to my feet and stretched a bit. Oh FUCK!! I thought..where's my glasses? I checked my vest pockets and sweat pants pockets and my front shirt neck...they were definetly missing. I looked around on the asphalt road and the gravel shoulder. No luck.
"SHIT!! Motherfucking SHIT!!" I swore out loud.
"Do you kiss your Mom with that mouth?" a voice behind me asked.
Scared shitless, I whirled around and found myself facing a young guy about 5 foot 6 in an army uniform.
"Uhhhh....HI! you sort of sneaked up on me.."
Without my glasses I needed to squint to focus on the dude. He stood there stock still with his hands on his hips. He was wearing army fatigues..pressed neat as a pin. He had a smug look on his face. He looked a bit pissed off.
"I bet you weren't expecting me, where yuh Son" he drawled??
"Uuhhhh..I don't even know where the hell I am to be honest. What town are we near too?" I hoped the guy would set me straight. He did all right.
"You never were as smart as YOU told your Mother and I you were" he sneered looking me right in the eye.
I looked closely at the guy...he looked a bit like my dead Father who kicked the bucket back in 1979. He was much younger though. A chill overtook my whole body..I was suddenly scared shitless.
I was so shocked my mouth wiggled but I couldn't even squeek a word out for a minute. Where in the hell was I???? Could it be...NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Oh NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO. A fucking afterlife.
Was I dreaming???? I pinched myself...I appeared to be awake no matter how hard I pinched I couldn't get the guy in the army uniform to disappear.
"You disrespectful son-of-a-bitch. We argued a hundred times..and every goddamned time it was YOU that said god was just a figment of my imagination. You LAUGHED at me..and even shook your fist at the sky and challenged him to strike you dead".
The guy got right up in my face. He looked incredibly like my dear old Dad...but he was much, much too young. He looked like he was about 19. I was petrified with fear. I felt liquid running down the leg of my sweatpants and knew I had just pissed myself.
The guy pressed his face up to mine and started yelling loudly....like he was PISSED OFF!!
"Just LOOK at yourself! You got a big beer gut..and enough hair to MOP WITH!!"..he yanked on a handful of my hair.."
I howled in pain..and staggered back away from him.
With a sudden big smile on his face the guy reached up with an uppercut that knocked me on my ass. The guy dropped to his knees and got his face close to mine as I lay there in the gravel.
"Still don't know who I am??? I'm the S.O.B. you had to write about in two books..not just one son-of--a-bitchin book...two!"
Then I knew...
"you made life for me and your Mother hell on earth by not respecting me. I tried to teach you to live decently and not like a beer swilling pig. Well, Son..it's gonna be different now that we're both finally home. You can go piss up a yogi-rope from now on for all I care..but first, I'm gonna BEAT some sense into you!"
He leaned back and slapped me across the face.
THAT did it. I was incensed with rage..I got to my feet and lunged for him. I stood a head taller than him and was finally mad enough to kick his fucking ass.
The guy took a couple measured steps back chuckling.
"Remember that time we squared off to fight back in the garage when you were 14 or 15?? Of COURSE YOU GODDAMNED well remember it..you WROTE about it in a book. I punched you..and you just stood there and laughed! Well buddy, now it's YOUR turn. I'M the one who's young and strong..and YOU'RE the middleaged son-of-a-bitch"!
I was rapidly adjusting to this crazy place..this fuckedup afterlife. I was no longer intimidated.
"Well what in the hell do you expect?? You spent 10 years wailing on me with a belt everytime you had a bad day at work!"
His expression became serious. Almost sad even.
"Besides that, before you died we worked all of that out..didn't we?? I thought we were even pals for the last couple years. Hell..it was only a couple goddamned books; and I carefully pointed out that once I had grown up we got along fine. You read a ton of books..I always figured that in the one in a thousand chance you were in some afterlife watching you'd be proud I decided to write!"
He slowly walked up and wrapped his arms around me and hugged me. We stood there like that for a few seconds. I felt a bit better...but I still wondered how this young guy could be my Father. What kind of crazy place had I gone to.
"Dad....where am I?? I mean..I've got to know. Either I wound up where YOU wanted to go..or we both wound up where you always SAID that I'd wind up..but it doesn't look like either"??
He smiled..
"Oh it's not EITHER of those places Son. We're here a couple miles outside of Provo Utah..."
I gasped.."YOU MEAN?!?!?!"
"Yep. I'll be goddamned if that Brigham Dung fellow wasn't right afterall.
Suddenly...a burst of loud organ music filled the air. The sky lit up as bright as noon.
"Look Son!" Dad pointed off on the horizon..
I couldn't believe my eyes!! A trio of women in heavenly angel robes were flying towards us perched astride dustmops with horseheads.
"What are they Dad..Angel's?"
"No Son..that's your Mother and her damned Sisters. You're in for it now!! since you just got here..they're gonna give you a complete makeover and teach you some hymns!!!" he chuckled.
"IIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE""
"NOOOOO!!!!....AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH"
I woke up in a cold sweat. I was slumped down into my Whiskey Rebel throne in my basement. I was still shaken by my nightmare..the worst I've ever suffered through.
I held an empty beer can in my lap..the contents of which had spilled on my sweat pants.
What the fuck could've caused me to conjer up such a hellish dream I wondered? What had I been drinking before I passed out? Had my Jim Beam been dosed with anthrax??
I tossed the empty from my hand and looked around on the floor. Everywhere I looked I saw crushed empty "Dakota Kick" cans.
NO FUCKING WONDER I thought! My head hurt and my throat was dry. The vision of my old man as a 19 year old kicking the crap out of me was hard to shake. The kicker at the end of the dream..my Mother and her Sister's assigned to nag, clothe, groom and teach me hymns in my afterlife sounded much worse than the biblical hell ever had. I saw a can of probably lukewarm MILLER'S laying by a crate of albums a couple feet away.
I reached for it...and gulped most of it down in one swallow.
11/8
I found a priceless review on the internet of a RANCID VAT show by somebody from some foreign nation or other...the reviewer is fairly accurate until he or she claims I gave them a stack of magazines including pic's wherein drummers are having their dicks sucked ?????? HUH????? A little added embellishment???
Enjoy...REB
"I went to a bar called Nicks in east Philadelphia. It is the base of all
the punks in Phila. I went to another concert and was shocked. Now I
introduce the band I admire most in the US:
!!THE RANCID VAT!!
I went there and was drinking black&tan while waiting for the show. The
first band is nothing and I don't know their name. they really sound
like us. I am not kidding, really. And then came the Neckbone and some
more. and then I saw a woman(jia1 ting2 fu4 nv3) with dyed hair pass by
waring a ANTiSEEN t-shirt. I saw several guys with that shirt and i knew
it is a big punk band. And then I saw a guy waring cloths like Keilin
Costernar in the movie Untouchable came in and sat beside me. He has
tatoo like a shirt. And after a while they came on to the stage and
claim that they are the Rancid Vat. They have some very special
instruments and start to play noise(not noisy, it is noise) and nearly
blow the roof off. And then the drummer and the singer began to shout
and curse to everybody in the world including themselves. After another
song the singer took off his shirt and reveals his Fat body with tatoo
all over.
He wares a india trousers. The drummer kept shouting as long as he can
breath in the whole( maybe hole is better) concert. the women I saw play
bass and never say a word, no expresion like RXS :0 >
The guitar is also fat. They might be the fatest band in the world. He
was drinking beer all the time. After finishing a bottle, he throw that
down to the stage. In the middle of the concert, he jumped down the
stage also and do guitar tricks. After that he picked up sth. on the
groud and put it on his face. I didn't understand it at first. But then
blood began to stream out of his face. I knew that was a piece of
bottle. He kept playing with blood all over his face for the rest of the
concert.
At the end of the concert, they cursed everybody in the bar and began to
shout "huff,huff" like animals. the bass was calm and didn't say
anything and began packing her instrument. And that is all I want to say
about the concert.
After the concert I had a short talk with the guitar. He was selling
their CDs. We didn't talk much because he has blood all over and seem
not too calm, plus his slam is something hard to be called English. But
I managed to understand that one guy appears in their CD cover was
killed in Japan. Their CDs have hardcore covers ( I mean hardcore
pornography).I don't think it can be sold in any stores except sex store
because the US has strict law on pornorgraphy and liqeur and tobacoo.
But he gave me a mail-order catalog. The bands in it are all filth.
I also got 2 punk magazine for free. Really nasty. One magazine
introduced 2 girl bands. One like striptee band, the other is a SM
hardcore band ( doublemeanings on hardcore ) Naked concert. Audience
have sex with band members on the stage, girl sucking the drummer's dick
and things like that. "
11/7
I had a strange dream last night. It was a re-run over and over of a strange but true event that occured in my life a long, long frigging time ago.
I was probably about 11 or so.
My Father and I were in our family car arriving at home in our "cookieland" subdivision. My old man put our Chevy Malibu into park and left the engine running while he got out of the car to open the garage door. This was standard home arrival procedure back in the days that garage door openers were rare and expensive.
Anyway, he turned facing the garage door and bent over to lift the door by a handle..JUST THEN..for no apparent reason the car began to ease its way forward!
I fucking kid you not..
My old man looked directly at me and yelled "HEY!!! NOOOO..DAMNIT!!" or something to that effect. He thought I had taken the car out of parking gear and was easing the car forward.
The car worked its way up to where it just sort of teased him a bit..grazing his legs. He was SCARED SHITLESS of course..I was speechless and amazed.
Finally he hurried around the front of the car when he saw it had come to a halt. He hopped behind the wheel and turned off the engine with a big sigh of relief.
"BY GOD!!!! YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!! YOU UNGRATEFUL SON OF A BITCH!!" He yelled and ranted..
I truthfully had NO IDEA how to even put the car in gear. It was such a spooky situation all I could do was shake my head and mumble that I COULDN'T have doneit..
Dad wasn't very convinced..but as he thought it over he probably realized that he could see that I sat in the passenger side of the car the entire time.
Ordinarily he would've taken his belt to me..he never needed anymore reason than simply not liking my tone of voice asking him to pass the catsup. He didn't that night..although he kept eyeing me curiously wondering if it could have been my doing..and if so how??
He was such a hothead at that point in his life that we were always at odds. We fought and argued at every meal. He'd belt me several times a week leaving big red marks.
Yunno..I think the situation made him think twice about whether or not it was such a good idea to take his belt to me as often as he did.
He believed in the Christian god most of his life; if you can sucker for the creation hoax you can surely expand your mind to include a mysterious force assuming control of a simple V-6 Chevrolet.
I haven't thought of that night very often over the years. I have thought many times though about a situation that took place several times right after I moved out of the house and went out on the road selling encyclopedias.
Every once in a while for a period of several months my parents who be woken in the middle of the night by an alarm clock in my old bedroom. My old man would curse and trudge into my old bedroom to shut off the clock..
Only to find....you guessed it; there WAS no alarm clock in that room. It terrified them a bit. My parents made a show of going to church, but when it came right down to it they didn't turn to the lord with problems like that..they'd just get nervous.
Their FEARS were greater than their FAITH.
My faith in alcohol is strong...
YEA VERILY. The bottle is MY master. One night while sitting in my Whiskey Rebel throne in our basement I saw a bluish hazy essence move from the foot of the stores into a wall. I didn't go running for a fucking bible or fall to my knees in prayer; HELL NO. I poured another damn drink.
If it truely was a "ghost" or "spirit" there's no reason to believe it ain't on my damn side, right? If it spilled my liquor or scratched up my records it'd be another story.
All 3 of us have come to accept the fact that it inhabits a corner of 2 different TV set screens in our house (NO!! Not only when we're drinking damnit!) both very close to where I spotted it melding into the wall. It doesn't scare us or make us feel bad.
Perhaps it likes being in a home where booze is honored?? Well, I dunno..but I thinks it's time to go honor my bottle just in case.
11/6
I'm sitting here polishing off cans of MILLER High Life after a few rounds of video golf and a few shots of Jim Beam.
We visited Larry and Leslie tonight and had a good damn time. THEY don't hate our guts just because we are moving to Texas.
Called Travis and Liza in S.F....THEY don't hate us either.
Maybe Andy P. hates us?? we've invited him over about 10 months in a row and he keeps indicating he's coming over..but never does. I guess we're supposed to conclude he hates our guts. Well, fuck....he has an important RV cassette tape and a promo copy of the FILTH & the FURY he;s owed me for months...why doesn't he just mail 'em in?? I don't know. In a week or so we're gonna have to put on our skip tracer hats and go looking for him.
Soon it'll be time to extend feelers out to musicians we know in the Austin-San Antonio vacinity. Yeah...HELL YEAH we're planning on playing music down there. I feel we've been cheated out of a few CD's or so by the fucking insane prudish conditions that bands work under up here. You cut a fart at a show or in a rehearsal studio and you're BANNED...forever.
Big, supposedly bad Philly.....HAH! I've researched Texas in depth....things will be different there..a helluva lot better. Remember: "the stars of night..are big and bright...(clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Texas"...
No, the cheesesteaks probably aren't better there...
But the BRISKET and BURRITO'S will make me forget cheesesteaks...not to mention "What'a burger"...
Congratulations to Joe Young from ANTISEEN.
He's the first Libertarian candidate to win a city council position in the history of North Carolina.
In spite of the ignorant Libertarian talkshow rhetoric I've heard since 9/11 I'd vote for Joe for friggin' President. I'm damn proud to say I know him..
I'd like to continue..but i really am getting sauced..to the extent that for your amusement I'm not going to correct spelling from here on. BBBBBBBWAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
We had to leave our house for an hour early his morning so that an appraisor could wallk through the house....I took two shits and out the door we went to a Salvation Army thriftstore.
At the door we were greeted by an obvious 12 steppper who reminded me of yesterdays diary bit. He was ugly as fuck.
I worried I'd need to shit at a Burger King but was wrong...
Good nigyht all...RRRREBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
11/5
"Do AS I SAY..NOT as I DO!" That's one of my least favorite classic parental quips.
It ranks right up there with "spare the rod and spoil the child". Marla and I both heard those words so often when we were growing up we vowed that our kid never would. He's 17 and so far we've never had to resort to bullshit reasoning like that.
These days in our society "do as I say..not as I do" isn't merely a dopey cliche used by flustered hypocritical parents. It's also used by increasing numbers of middleaged grown up hippies who had a blast consuming drugs and alcohol when they were young; yet now that THEY are against drugs and alcohol they want to deny the roller coaster thrills and sometimes spills to everybody else..INCLUDING those who can HANDLE IT.
Thee WHISKEY REBEL says...GO to your 12 step meetings. Believe me..I'm the first to say alot of you drug burnouts and booze fuckups NEED meetings or SOMETHING. Stay clean and sober..but DON'T flap your hypocritical gums to the rest of us.
If you are so stupid as to think that everybody that uses drugs or drinks alcohol (including your kids) is an out of control addict..well, you've been BRAINWASHED. You're no better than my fundamentalist relatives who believe that if you drink one sip of wine with dinner you're DOOMED to hellfire.
I'm not kidding. These people also believe you face hellfire over dancing, going to see a movie in a theatre, smoking tobacco, playing cards (YES!..I'm not kidding) and of course consuming recreational drugs.
A.A. and N.A. are philosophically WRONG and INSULTING in my opinion. You constantly are brainwashed that you have no power to control your habits..I SAY BULLSHIT!! You have to turn it over to a higher power they coo in your ear..HAH! BULLSHIT PILED HIGHER! It's no wonder I've heard of similar programs for addicts that have sprang up declaring the absolue opposite.
You DON'T have to be a braindead, unquestioning sheep unless you want to. You DO have the power to change your habits. You DON'T need to buy into turning it mysteriously over to the same unseen "loving" deity that theoretically invented crib-death.
A standard topic on talk radio these days is "how do you tell your teens you used drugs when you were young". A majority of adults that call these shows say they lie to their kids and pretend they never smoked pot or experimented with other drugs when they were a kid.
Fucking great parents, HUH???? these are the same dipshits that think they can prevent kids from having sex by intimidating them into signing "contracts".
lying, smug, brainwashed, braindead hypocritical jackasses. They fucking deserve any hell their kids put them through.
Drinking, sex, drugs and rock and fucking roll are all GOOD THINGS when used properly..GIFTS developed by the non-exitant gods to hel
