three hits for helloween

...i wish someone was passin' ME out three hits for halloween...

so while i'm out tonight soapin' your car windows, do-doin' on your front porches, and smashin' your pumpkins, enjoy these spooky tunes from Lodi's favortie sons - THE MISFITS!!!


listen: the misfits - bullet
listen: the misfits - astro zombies [evilive]
listen: the misfits - halloween

buy: the misfit's records [or they'll pound your fuckin' heads in like mu...jackhammers]

professionalism 2.0: the sequel

FUX NEWS

We Report. You Agree.

good evening Pittsburgh. i'm Stagger Lee.

coming up: president bush oversees the re-imagining at Mount Rushmore, former hollywood star Bonzo named senator of Texas, and vice-president cheney visits the Pittsburgh area to cull the deer herd, but first...

an elaborate homecoming at a local firm for “one of the most savage and unnatural punks ever?" believe it.

despite recommendations to the contrary and a classification as a known morale problem, it seems Johnny St. Clair may indeed be headed back to his remarkably influential and wildly lucrative position at [deleted].

earlier today, a visibly intoxicated St. Clair arrived via limousine and was seen entering the company's Pittsburgh headquarters through the service entrance. escorted by a veritable battalion of armed security officers, he emerged several hours later, carrying two black satchels that overflowed with what seemed to be unmarked bills.

FUX NEWS reported just last week that Wayward Johnson, another employee at [deleted], had come under suspicion of running a stolen office supply / prostitution ring. what the imminent return of St. Clair might mean to the future of the company, and the U.S. economy in general, is anyone's guess.

we here at FUX have obtained an exclusive audio recording of what the coversation between St. Clair and company officials might have sounded like:

Ms. [deleted]: Mr. St. Clair, so good to see you.

Johnny St. Clair: [picks his nose] yeah, uh...this gonna take a while?

Ms. [deleted]: Mr. St. Clair, we would like this relationship to last a long, long...

JSC: yeah, well, i got shit to do.

Ms. [deleted]: of course you do, Mr. St. Clair.

JSC: yeah that's right bitch, Mister.

Ms. [deleted]: Mr. St. Clair, we are prepared to offer you...this.

JSC: this? this don't move me, money. this is chicken wing, new kick, cab fare, and movie money.

Ms. [deleted]: what?

JSC: small change.

Ms. [deleted]: we understand. rest assured, money is not an issue.

JSC: yeah? yeah. YEAH!!!

Ms. [deleted]: Mr. St. Clair, there is just one problem...

JSC: uh oh.

Ms. [deleted]: it's Mr. Johnson.

JSC: who?

Ms. [deleted]: Wayward Johnson.

JSC: who?

Ms. [deleted]: the Doktor.

JSC: oh. yeah, fuck him.

Ms. [deleted]: well, that's the real reason we've asked you back. it seems he's been using the office as his headquarters for some kind of ring...

JSC: look, i ain't got nothin' to do with that.

Ms. [deleted]: yes, but we thought you might be able to rein him in, so to speak.

JSC: i don't swing that way.

Ms. [deleted]: what?

JSC: no homo.

Ms. [deleted]: oh. oh my. [nervous laughter] of course...no homie.

JSC: homo.

Ms. [deleted]: what?

JSC: nevermind...listen. i'll do what i can...

Ms. [deleted]: and the things he's doing with the female interns...well, it's just deplorable.

JSC: fuck that. listen to me. where's that hardass.

Ms. [deleted]: ...

JSC: DON'T GIVE ME THAT SHIT...WHERE'S KICKASS? IS HE STILL HERE?

Ms. [deleted]: well...we're asking him back as well.

JSC: ok, but there's some necessary things you gotta get me for this operation. i'll need immunity. diplomatic and otherwise. plus keep that boss Kickass away from me. you know, protection. rubbers, too. plus bottled water. 24 bottles. what else...how about two gallons of red wine? ok? and a bucket of chicken...mix them shits up. i'll need a water pipe, too. an office with a window. some quiet time each day. get me a dog or something...some kind of pet. maybe a canary. i'll need a cadre of decorators here...i have very specific tastes. see what you can do about getting me some weed, you know, just to set out around the office in bowls and shit. like coldcuts. funk shway. yeah. get a sandwich ring, too. daily. around lunch time. you writin' this shit down? you better. i want some biscuits and shit for breakfast. bagels. smoked slamon. the whole shebang. lobster. pasta. get me a company car, too. big rims, rap shit...you know. what else?

Ms. [deleted]: oh, Mr. St. Clair, you just let us know.

JSC: oh, i will. and remember, i take suggestions, but you can't coach a genius.

Ms. [deleted]: oh definitely. oh Mr. St. Clair, we really hope you can do something with the Doktor.

JSC: who?

Ms. [deleted]: ...

JSC: AH!!! just kiddin'. listen to me, sister...i am, after all, a Reverend.

Ms. [deleted]: oh Johnny, this is the beginning of a brand new day!!!

JSC: hey baby...she's new every time.

stay tuned, folks, this could get kinda weird.

i'm Stagger Lee.

...for crackers who like thrash...

awwwww yeah...keep your dials tuned in

the next installment is about to drop

the supersuckers - no matter how good it gets, it could always get better

and you already know who it's for

cabman #6

i had just come out of the store when i saw her, standing there, waiting by the avenue with one or two others. i had the black bottle of red wine in my hand, wrapped in a twisted brown bag, tapping it gently against my leg. she was waiting with a handled red shopping bag in her hand, like the kind i’ve seen girls with before…from one of those stores, probably, where i’d be loathe to enter. and even if i did, i’d be the white trash the cool kids invited to the party and couldn’t believe actually showed up.

so she’s there – her hand tucked neatly into her jacket pocket, her other hand hanging at her side, attached to that bag, and whatever secrets it held – just looking down the road, waiting for something

and i got transfixed like i always do, and just stood there outside the cab watching and disappearing while she and the other ones stepped back to allow an oncoming bus to slow at the stop. when the driver figured that they – this girl and the other ones – that they weren’t gonna get on, he started away again. and it’s the craziest thing, but i swear that she and one of the other ones hopped on the back of the bus. there were these silver metal bars bolted onto the back, like handles, and she and one of the other ones hopped onto the bus’s bumper as it was slowly pulling away from the curb. the driver, i don’t know, it was like he knew they were back there. he must’ve stepped on the gas, because the bus really started to motor down the road. but that girl, she was just hanging on with one hand, and i swear that just before it rounded the bend, she threw her head back and laughed and, before the whole scene went out of sight, i don’t even think i saw her holding on anymore.

still, even when it was outta sight, i was standing there with the bottle in my hand, this mid-range merlot i just picked up at the liquor store. i was gonna save it for later on, but it was a blue sky fall afternoon with the leaves all golden and red and blowing, so what the fuck, right. i had an opener in the cab, cuz a driver has to be prepared, and unwrapped and uncorked it right then. just a swig while i leaned against the trunk of the cab in open sky parking lot daylight.

this one meter maid, though, she was givin’ me the eyeballs…i guess it had something to do with keys in my hand and drinking in broad public. and i understand, or at least i understood, and tipped my hat before putting the cork halfway back in the bottle, in the bag, and back into the car.

i took a little ride before i headed back to the garage, and pulled in to that same meter maid. she was peering into the car, trying to adjust tired eyes from her darkened vantage point to the bright light from where i was coming. so she sees it's me, and she starts motioning, and she’s right there with my boss, and i’m all well, shit, it’s goin’ down.

the boss, he’s basically a good dude. after he gives me the ear-beatin’ in front of this lady, he pulls me into the office and starts singin’ the blues about policy and protocol and whatever else middle-management horseshit he has to deal with. i know what it looks like - drinking on the job - and i’d seen enough heartache for one day. so i just took the hit and the days without pay to save him some grief.

it was raining by the time i was leavng the garage and it slanted in through the open door. i saw that meter maid and waved, but i don’t think she’ll wave back no more.

where'd the muthafuckin' cheese go at

"it's ween.

you know... [makes a violent jerking motion with his hand]

WEEN!!!"

eat Pizza Hut anyway

the dirtbombs

...keep on a knockin' but you can't come in...

flashback

listen: the dirtbombs - the sharpest claws

buy: records from the dirtbombs

all the way live #13

well...here it is, you filthy pigfucker...

i guess around three years ago, we made that trip to see radiohead, traveled to cleveland or some other God-forbidden place in ohio to see this band, these people, this generation's answer to pink floyd.

i don't think that's such a bold statement. my feelings about them have been ambivalent of late. maybe they should only release ep's. i never did buy hail to the thief, and while kid a may be the best freakout record ever, i don't know if i'd really listen to anything new from them again with any kind of frequency. not like i did with kid a.

that shit's a stone- cold note-perfect masterpiece.

but i'm digressing. let me get to the nut of it all. what you really wanna hear about is the Doktor's pirate adventures. and by pirate, i mean gay. well, i don't know fuck-all about that, but i do remember smokin' up that bag of elephant tranquilizer on the way up. by the time we got to the parking lot, the Doktor was gnawing on the dashboard. i'm sure that Afghani babe he picked up was really sweet, and we should all applaud him for what he's done for Muslim-Christian relations, but he missed a show for the ages.

the band took the stage in front of some burned-out old steel mill. maybe it was a textile factory, or a power plant, but i'm surely splitting semantical hairs here. it looked exactly like the front cover of animals. when that fuckin' swine went floating by in the air, i hopped into a hearse that was parked near the back of the crowd. the Fatman burned his hand on the keys that were left in the passenger side lock.

"it's no matter," i said, "i'll hotwire it."

we got a ways away before the cops came down on us in a sallow yellow volkswagen, lit from the inside out and glowing like some kind of plastic basketball. i ran that fucker right up against a brick wall and jumped out with the engine still revvin', runnin' full bore into the nearest building.

it was a vietnamese florist, and there was a partially excavated dinosaur skeleton in the floor, covered by plexiglass. "don't step on it," i said, "something like that can't be good luck." she lead us around the shop on a gravel path to where we were surrounded by the sun shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. in the back, in the pine-panelled room, they were selling sea creatures in plastic bags - baby leatherbacks, octopi, starfish. a man behind the counter nodded and breathed through his mouth, "hurry up and buy!!!"

get the fuck out, i remember thinking, and jumped through the glass, back out on to the playground. there were feet of snow, and we were throwing slushballs at dogs as big as buses, running in circles far down over the hill.

gutted crocodiles were scattered all around the ash before the grass, baby ones, fat legs, just the shell left like some tortured lawn ornament or a kid's piggy bank.

"get out," she screamed, "it's a test!!!"

well, shit. you don't gotta tell me twice.

i remember riding home, and the Doktor rising from his slumber, saying something about wanting to drive. "what did i miss?" he said.

i didn't say anything. where would i begin?

listen: radiohead - everything in its right place [live 8-21-2003]


buy: radiohead records

filth-flarrin'-filth

QUESTION: Mr. St. Clair, what would you like to say to the global internet community?

CLICK THIS to hear his reply.

black flag

i wanna tell you a story about the last time i was in baltimore.

well, it wasn’t the last time, but it’s just too damm hard to resist that classic jello line.

i was in baltimore, visiting the fam back around 1984, i guess. one of my cousins – 19 – would school me on all the finer things in life: when i was younger, it was baseball cards, video games, and poppin’ wheelies; later on, it was music, alcohol, and pussy.

me and my other cousin – his younger brother – would listen intently to these lessons before trying them out by ourselves in the neighborhood, allowing the scars of learning to happen on their own.

and i remember showing up down there around ’84 with, like, Dio or something playing in my headphones, fresh on the scene with the info about my older cousin leavin’ some chick’s panties in his pocket and his mom finding them and throwing him out of the house. might have gotten her pregnant or something.

i don't know.

but anyway, i get there, my folks leave, and there’s no adults around except him. he gives me and my other cousin a six pack of 16oz. old milwaukees and a joint, and tells us to get out of the house, go somewhere, fuck…wherever, go to the arcade down the street. just get out. his girlfriend was coming over.

goddamm, i thought, this motherfucker is my IDOL!!!

so while i’m waiting for my younger cousin to finish emptying all of the batteries from the flashlights in the house…we needed that radio, you understand…i perused big cuz’s record collection.

the meatmen, the dead kennedys, suicidial tendencies, fear. the cream of the mid ‘80s hardcore crop. i got transfixed on the cover of My War from black flag.

“play this one,” i said.

“fuck that. you don’t wanna hear that one,” he replied, and tossed me a cassette. “you wanna play this one. first song. in fact, you can keep it. but look, you little motherfuckers have got to go, ok. so i’ll see you guys later.”

that tape could be the reason we smashed the video screens down at the arcade that night. or it could be the reason we spray painted “honky lips” on the side of the police cruiser. it could have even been the reason we played stinkfinger with those cheerleaders until their high school boyfriends showed up and beat the shit out of us. but i’ll tell you this, man, i’ll tell you this: it was the reason we were gettin’ our kicks before the whole shithouse went up in flames.

listen: black flag - nervous breakdown

buy: black flag records