professionalism #7.5

soon after irene's car stunt, i was called in for a conference with the higher-ups...apparently, they were looking for some insight into the mind of the doktor, or at least some mitigating testimony as to why he would instigate an altercation between irene and the driver who hit her, as well as call co-workers from the scene and book bets on the ensuing fist-fight.

after intense grilling on a saturday morning, i admitted that the doktor's actions were possibly "unprofessional." he was to be arriving shortly for his own "session" with the bosses and i wanted to give him a heads-up. "they seem to think you may be crazy...literally," i said on his voicemail.

my neighbor awoke me early sunday morning and handed me a brick. "HERE! this fuckin' thing came through my window five minutes ago...I'M CALLIN' THE COPS!"

taped to the brick, i found the following:

JUNE 11, 2005
Dear Johnny...

You filthy scumfucker. I had the meeting with our management team, you swine! They decided I needed to not only write a letter of apology to Irene, but also cover the work Paul D. will be unable to perform because of his recent injury. That bastard should have paid what he owed me and none of it would have happened. Management was unreceptive to the code of the bookmaker, and despite my protestations, I was forced into this corner. So while you were out running around at the DBTruckers show with your filthy suit on, laying god-only-knows what kind of stoned gibberish and honky bullshit on that unsuspecting crowd...I'm stuck at the scumhole pushing paper for that no-good louse who welched on his bet. FUCKER! I'm in a fuckin' death battle with the bosses and eating cheap speed while my cars explode and these mouth-breathing Nazis make my goddamm life an unholy nightmare.

You sluttish pig! Where the fuck do you get the nerve to tell those monsters that I'm unprofessional? cocksucker. My fuckin' book is due to hit the presses soon, and I've got the whole tour planned out. The book signings are goona feature six meth-heads loaded with mace and billyclubs and they're all gonna swear to god almighty that it was YOU who told them to do it! BITCH! Let management cross my path again and your name come up...you're gonna wish you here born an iguana.

Remember this shit, you subliterate little piss clam. Settle your affairs because the shit is about to go down, motherfucker. "Unprofessional" my ass! And if my name comes up again in connection with that horrible "book" you put out, the dawgs will be pickin' their teeth with your nose bone.

This division, this fear! WHERE WILL IT END? What burden is there upon your soul to make you fall so far? The Milkman was right! Swine are taking over the planet! FUCK! What else can I say? Except to warn you...your day will soon come and vengeance will be mine...and that filthy suit won't fool a soul!

Regards,
The Doktor


P.S. Call later when the sun is warm...there's some Puerto Rican girls who wanna meet you. I got a box of wine, don't worry.

upstarts in a blowout

this is for all the upstarts that are ready for change in the culture...that's pushin' it to the next phase.

this is our liberty and fight song.

all the way live #7

at the dmb show...the crowd in the parking lot enjoys an impromptu musical exhibition from the doktor

we loaded the vehicle with two cases of beer, two gallons of water, a bottle of vodka, eight cans of Red Balls, two choice steaks cooked medium rare, a bag of grass, three melons, an electric guitar, a can of mace, a bull horn, two dozen M-80's, a pack of fresh grapes, a bottle of Tang, a film canister full of pills, 22lbs. of ice, two limes, two lemons, a Marshall amplifier, an array of cords and wires, a machete, two baseball bats, a 25-foot telescoping metal pole, dry matches, an inflatable raft, a pint of raw ether, and a folded flag which the doktor would not let me "defile."

"dammit...i forgot the taser."

"don't worry about it...we won't need it."

"LIKE HELL WE WON'T! i've got a bad feeling about this..."

the revelers were indeed strange on this night...caught in the mess on the way in, some dude with a rag on his head and no shirt yells over...

"dudes...say 'hi' honey," he nudges the girl in the passenger seat, "dudes, you got any acid. me and my girl just got married, didn't we honey," she looks at us and shakes her head, apologizes.

"no Dude...no acid. here take one of these," i hand him one of my books.

"what the fuck is this?" he says.

"hey...look for the flag flying tonight after the show. come on over...we'll party on down," i say.

"what?"

"later on brother."

"what did you give him?" the doktor asks.

"one of the books."

"one of what?"

"the books."

"am i in it?"

"well...it's not really you..."

"I'VE GOT NO TIME TO SPLIT SEMANTICAL HAIRS!" he screams and takes the bullhorn from the back seat, leans out the window and announces, "THAT'S NOT ME IN THAT BOOK YOU FILTHY SCUMFUCKER...THIS MAN IS A LIAR AND YOU WOULD ALL DO WELL TO PULL HIM FROM THE CAR AND REGINALD-DENNY HIS ASS!"

"was that necessary?"

"that shit is in the public domain now, you pigfucker...what that necessary? and where the fuck did you get those from anyway?"

"fuck off."

i mean, i only brought like five of the books with me and i figured the exposure would do wonders for the tri-state area. property rates are gonna soar because of it, no shit.

anyway, as soon as we parked, i ran into the woods to take a piss, but fell over the hill and rolled all the way down to where the tour buses park by the back of the amphitheater. there were some really nice looking Porta-Johns back there, so i figured i would use one. the dude in the toilet next to me was talking really crazy, something like i was walkin' all alone on the water and a bridge and i walk over a birdge and i walk over another bridge and i walk over another bridge and i walk along the water and a bridge and i walk and oh hello pretty people i walk over another bridge look at the pretty city i love it here...

so there's no way i'm leaving before this cat comes out of the Porta-John, right?

and it's dave matthews and he comes off as a really cool dude and wasted to boot. i give him one of the books and tell him good luck...cuz the crowd looks like a rabid pack of warmongers.

"yo dave."

"uhhhhhh...you muthafucka...come on and let's get drunk dis evenin'"

"dave...look for the flag flying in the parking lot tonight."

"uhhhhhh...huahhh"

i tried telling the doktor about my encounter, but he was busy hoisting the flag...a white rectangle with a snake coiled above the phrase don't tread on me. i asked him if he brought the tickets.

"what?"

"the tickets, motherfucker, did you bring them?"

"we don't need no stinking tickets."

indeed...we had parked in front of a bucket full of girls, and of course the doktor was willing to distribute the book under those conditions. i spent what seemed like an eternity or fifteen minutes with the bottle of ether. he had walked away with another copy and returned with two servings of chicken-on-a-stick. he claimed to have traded a book for the food.

"where did you get this?"

"some guy was selling it out of a van."

"nice."

"there weren't any cats around."

"even better."

"excuse me, officer," the doktor hails a police cruiser, "officer...my friend and i found this rubbish on the fairgrounds here," he hands the officer a book, "i think you should be wary of what you're dealing with here tonight."

the officer takes the book and says, "let's get that beer in a plastic cup gentlemen...there's a $800 fine for harboring glass containers in the Township."

"righty-o, sir, righty-o."

"well...our work is done now. we need only wait until the sun goes down."

and it did. from our perch, we could see fires starting on the lawn before dave matthews even took the stage. cops were arriving en masse at the amphitheater and helicopters were doing fly-overs with their search lights ablaze. fights were sprouting throughout the parking lot. glass could be heard shattering. shotguns. dogs barking.

"can you hear the band?"

"yeah."

"are they playin' 'Paranoid?'"

"yup."

the show lasted all of ten minutes before the place had to be evacuated. the doktor and i enjoyed the scene playing out before us as we sat on the roof of the ride. i saw the acid dude and his new wife approach. they stopped about ten feet from the front of the car.

"hey man...the dude from the van, the one i got the chicken from...he's behind me and he's staring at us."

"he's not staring at me...he's your boy."

slowly, more people arrived. singles at first, then two's and three's, small groups. horns blared. small explosions and screams. more glass.

"anything seem weird to you?"

"what?"

the ring was nearly complete around the car...in some spots it was stretching six deep, maybe more.

"st clair. look. there's dave matthews."

"dok...it's time."

the cops pulled up with their lights flashing and sirens blaring. i saw the cop from before get out...the one the doktor gave the book to...but he just looked like he was coming to get fucked up.

the doktor grabbed the guitar and amp from the trunk and plugged in to the car battery. he got about 10 seconds into "Ace of Spades" when the throng went completely apeshit. i managed to snap the above picture with his camera phone before things got really out of hand.

professionalism #7

since the weather has been so nice lately, lunchtime is nice outside in the shade. i walked out yesterday and found the doktor sitting on the cement up against the building.

“be quiet…come here and watch this.”

“what’s up?”

as i’m sitting down next to him, i hear this cackling semi-scream emanate from the street.

“ST.CLAIR!”

“who the fuck is that? oh christ…” it was irene, the freak from shipping...four foot nothing and crazier than bat shit.

“ST. CLAIR!”

“What?”

“nothing…just checking assholes! ha ha HA!”

damm her! i had to look away. “what is she doing in the street?”

“i have no idea…i came out her to smoke and she told me to ‘watch this.’ i’m not leaving…this is gonna be good.”

“well, what is she gonna do?”

“i have no idea man.”

“HEY GUYS…keep an eye on me!”

the doktor waved a hand. “did you hear about that rabid hyena in Malawi?” he asked. “it killed five people and wounded like fifteen others before the police shot it.”

“no shit.”

“yeah man…that’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“those things are big…i bet they’re about half the size of a lion or better and they’re pretty tall.”

“really?”

“yeah…i saw it on jackass when pontius and steve-o were playing ham football with a pack of hyenas.”

“that wasn’t jackass, it was the wildboyz.”

“whatever.”

irene steps out from between two parked cars on the far side of the street. a black escalade motors past. “NOT THAT ONE!” she yells.

“yeah…this hyena was terrorizing the village,” the doktor continued, “apparently, a group of people wielding axes and knives cornered the beast, put a hurtin’ on it, yet it still managed to get away and kill again.”

“no shit.”

“no shit…they were convinced witchcraft was involved.”

“involved in what? the animal getting away?”

“or just the animal in general. the police or the army or someother such nonsense moved in and killed the animal. they are policing the area regularly to calm the people, but some are still afraid to go out of their houses.”

“i believe it.”

an engine hums from my right, and irene peers from between the cars again. something midsize, a maxima or toyota maybe, slides from right to left and out of sight. irene screams, “OOOOO…I SHOULDA TRIED THAT ONE…hey…WATCH! WATCH!”

“maybe they were right,” i said.

“who?”

“the villagers.”

“about what?”

“the witchcraft.”

“yeah.”

“i mean, how else do you explain the hyena taking that kind of beating yet continuing to go on a killing spree?”

“uh, how about the fact that it’s a WILD FUCKING ANIMAL with a BRAIN FEVER...use your head.”

“i don’t believe it, it just being a disease…i think it was witchcraft.”

“you’re a moron...”

“GUYS! GUYS! YOU WATCHING?”

“speaking of morons…” he said.

“some things you just can explain man.”

“alright…but that fuckin’ hyena was no product of witchcraft.”

“where is your evidence?”

“you’re head is in the sand.”

“i’m for real man…explain david blaine.”

“he’s a charlatan.”

“how does he do that stuff?”

“i don’t know…smoke and mirrors, trick photography, sleight of hand…”

“magic, motherfucker, magic.”

“GUYS…WATCH!”

a high-pitched sputter comes from around the bend and into my line of sight.

“what is she gonna do man?”

“who knows?”

“HEY! HEY!”

irene has been peering around the parked cars, and apparently this blue Geo metro is the kind of car she had been looking for. as the driver switches gears, irene runs from between the parked cars into the middle of the street. she faces the oncoming car and charges…when the two meet, she steps onto the front bumper with her right leg, leaps onto the roof with her left, and jumps, landing perfectly on the pavement.

“Holy Shit!”

“where the fuck do we work?”

“HA! DID YOU GUYS SEE THAT? HA! PRETTY TRICKY, AIN’T I?”

she stood in the middle of the street, her hair disheveled and her dress all jacked-up from the frenzy. a distant chemical smile spread across her face and she threw her hands on her hips. she called to mind something crude, and she seemed out of place in such a setting. dock work or butchering would suit her personality better...perhaps a professional carnie.

“LET’S SEE YOU TWO LAME-O’s PULL SOMETHING LIKE THAT…HA!”

i heard an engine whine, this time from my left…the same high-pitched sputter as before. the blue Geo. it was racing down the street with no sign of slowing and irene was completely oblivious.

“IRENE,” i yelled.

“OH YEAH RIGHT, ST. CLAIR, LIKE I’M GONNA FALL FOR…”

BAM…the Geo hit her squarely from the side…blew her off her feet like shit through the screen door. the doktor and i watched her sail from the cement, but we had to stand to get a better look at where she landed.

she jumped to her feet, cackling, “ha ha HA!”

“you don’t think…” the doktor started.

“oh yeah, my man…Black Magic”

flashback: fifteen

[LSD, uncle Sid, vitamin L, mr. Natural...the gift that keeps on giving...]

...some say that i'm a dreamer cuz i talk about It often...

but i was head over heels for this girl. fifteen years old and shit...my youthful mind told me the best way to impress the dame was to sing songs outside her window.

fuck you for laughing.

i took my guitar and caught the H8 across town to her house. it was a little before three in the morning, as i recall, and there were no lights on. i walked along the fence to the back of the house and found her window. now, my musical vocabulary was limited at that point...the bulk of my repertoire consisted of gg allin tunes and maybe a few ramones and misfits songs. but none of those were really fitting for the occasion, so i figured bob marley's 'stir it up' would be just about right.

i started strumming the chords and singin' the song to the moon...it was like poetry, man, i'm tellin' you. a light flicked on downstairs and i was like "Yeah," kept singing, thinkin' i was definitely gettin' in those panties TONIGHT!

the back door opens...i see these two black outlines, real low to the ground, and i stop playing...wondering what the fuck?...the screen door opens and the outlines, they come slowly down the steps...they're like two rottweilers or something dangerous...crocodiles maybe, i don't know...

they see me and start running, barking...i swing the guitar and the lead dog lunges, bites the neck of it and the body of the guitar hits the ground. the second dog stomps on it and it shatters in a thousand splinters. i jump for the top of the wire fence and the lead dog bites my shoe and pulls me back down a bit. dog #2 nips my ass and i start screaming, kicking my legs, cryin' and shit. i fling my legs over top of the fence and i'm heading down the other side, right, when my shirt sleeve gets caught on the top of the fence...so now i'm fuckin' hangin' there and somebody's at the girl's house yellin' back inside for someone to "call the goddamm Police."

and me, i'm fuckin' stuck on the fence and the dogs can't get to me, and unless the police are driving by the street at that fuckin' instant, i figure i have about at least seven minutes to spare before they arrive...so i just look at the scene...and as i'm trying to get my shirt unhooked, the light goes on in the Girl's room like sunshine and she comes to the window and looks down and my shirt rips and i fall into some garbage cans. i get up and start to run away, but i get caught up in thought and i look back to see if she's still there, and she is, and i run headlong into a jagger bush and then fall down some cement stairs.

i was all bruised and bloody the next day when i saw her.

she wanted to know if i knew how to play guitar and i told her not really.