HALLOWEEN!!!

...if you're gonna scream...

overtip your breakfast waitress

i’ve made a habit out of sitting with my back to the wall when i go into bars or restaurants. now, i can’t always do it, but i like to be sitting where i can see the door and where no one can sneak up on me from behind. it’s like some old Wild, Wild West shit, right? i must’ve seen it in a movie.

i was sitting in this diner after my shift – same deal – in a booth at the far end of the place, having some toast and eggs. one of the last moments i recall before the real shitstorm broke loose was reading a paper and considering the vast political and ecological ramifications of Randy Moss heading to the New England Patriots for a fourth-round draft pick.

it was only because the little jingleballs on the door dingledangled against the glass kinda rough-like that i peered around the side of the paper. this guy was standing just inside the doorway. i couldn’t remember his name but i was sure i’d seen him on the company of the Doktor. he was a low-level fence, perhaps, or maybe a trafficker in low-quality German porn. his face was all over the news the last time i’d seen it, arrested for exposing himself to blind people and enticing their seeing-eye dogs with…well, let’s just leave it at that.

the rustling of the newspaper masked exactly what he said, but whatever it was, it was enough to send the waitress into a tailspin. i heard her screams and looked up in time to see her faint, her head disappear behind the counter and rest with a sickening thud on the rough floor below. it looked like a robbery and i knew how these things could turn out. plus, i didn’t want anything to do with this perverted bastard on the off-chance he recognized my face. i slipped my wallet from my front pocket, slid it to edge of the table, and realigned my paper in front of me. from the looks of it, it was shaping up to be a long and twisted football season and i’d need all the intelligence i could gather if i wanted to be in the black this year.

why he didn’t start with the cash register or the customers by the door is beyond me. i could hear the clumsy fuck stumble down the aisle towards my booth. “hey fucko,” he said, “your wallet. you’re first.”

i didn’t say anything. he lunged forward and ripped the paper away from my hands. i remember thinking it might be too late to get another morning edition of the paper, and i’d have to resort to either checking the wire at the local library or stealing one from my neighbor’s stoop.

“it’s right there,” i said. i pointed to where i remembered sliding the wallet, trying not to make eye contact. Sweet Mother of Creeping Jesus, i thought, why hadn’t i sat with my back TOWARDS the door? I DON’T EVEN LIKE WESTERNS!!! with any luck, he wouldn’t remember me.

“hey,” he said, “hey Johnny, right? hey!!! what’s up? hey man, you remember me?”

“yeahheyhihowyadoin’?”

“hey man!!! it’s good to see you. how’s the Doktor? you ever see him?”

“no.”

“awww, hey that’s too bad. he owes me money.”

“…”

“hey man. you mind if i sit down?”

i mean, what would you have done? he’s grinning like a goddamm undertaker, with a machete in one hand and a big laundry bag in the other. so i did what any normal, red-blooded American patriot would have done. i offered him a seat and asked if i could keep my wallet.

“your wallet? oh yeah. Yeah!!! hey…i didn’t even see it sitting here. hey, what is this, eel skin? nice. yeah, man, go ahead and take it. i wouldn’t take that from you.”

“yeah.”

“hey man, you got a smoke?”

for some reason, i did. i don’t normally carry cigarettes since i don’t normally smoke, but it’s a habit i’ve been working hard to pick up. and i’m really dedicated when i get something into my head. also, i’d found a pack in the back of my cab when i was cleaning it out that morning, so i'd hung on to them. you can never tell what can be helpful in tight situations.

he sat and smoked two cigarettes, telling me how he became a mopist [that’s the textbook term he learned in court-ordered therapy for his weird sexual proclivity] and how he’s learned to control it [also from therapy].

just over his shoulder, i saw the cops entering the diner. “hey look,” i said, “there goes a blind lady down the street.”

“for real?” he said, barely able to contain his excitement. “maybe i should go introduce myself.”

“yeah,” i said, “get right on that. you better hurry, though. she’s walking down towards the corner.”

with that, he bolted from the booth – machete in hand – and right into the flurry of police batons and stun guns that awaited him near the register. i left a ten on the table and walked on out the door, trying as best i could to ignore the thanks and praise from the people in the place and the vows of revenge from that no-good friend of the Doktor. my good deed for the day was done, and i needed to find a morning paper before i could rest. i needed to get back to the brutal and savage truths of the world of professional football.

as i was leaving, i could have sworn i heard a lonesome whistle and a tumbleweed rustling in the corner. “who was that masked man, momma?” i could hear a wide-eyed little girl wonder.

“darling,” said her mother, “it’s better the world never know.”

a Gomez video - we haven't turned around

money for everybody...candy to the kids

"what's that in your pocket, John?"

"a dill pickle"

"not that"

"oh that's the .45 stainless nickel"

kick until you think you understand

^^^satchel - suffering^^^

nothing like that winter sun

you gotta admit it

spent the day in your head
in my bed
too scared to let our feet touch the floor

this was on my headphones when we left
bus stop
waiting for a ride to go spend it all
[on the bag, on the drag]
took a walk home on the way back instead
cuz that shine in the winter felt so good

your place now
pressed play on the stereo
'you can even keep the tape'

someone stole it at your party

first words you spoke when i seen you last month

i lied and acted like i forgot

\/\/

when the rubber hits the road...the curse of Kornheiser...mad cow comes to Pittsburgh...drifting into unacceptable gambling habits

“Locker Room.”

“hello?”

“who’s this?”

“it’s me. wow. that’s how you answer the phone now, playboy? huh? that’s what’s goin’ on in the streets? the ‘Locker Room?’”

“oh. uh, hey Johnny. you’re catching me at a bad time. i’m really kinda busy over here.”

“what, you got a party over there? i’ll be right over.”

“NO!!! no, don’t come over. uh, listen…we’re really kinda busy over here.”

“who’s ‘we?’”

“uh…you know, just a couple of us guys…hang on. GO GO GO GO!!!”

“the fuck is that about?”

“it’s my turn to host the fantasy football league.”

“really.”

“yeah…we call it the Sunday Blow-Out.”

“i bet you do.”

“hang on again. hey, no. no, that’s not true. he can squat way more than that. 350. 400 even. look at him. he’s got awesome gluets. seriously. no…”

“dude…”

“one sec…ok. that’s better.”

“hey how come i’m not in that league? wasn’t i supposed to be…”

“ROLL THE DICE!!! ROLL THE FRICKIN’ DICE!!!”

“hello?”

“DAMM!!! crapped out again.”

“what are you, the Dungeon Master?”

“oh, sorry Johnny. what did you say? i didn’t hear ya…”

“wasn’t i supposed to be in the league, too?”

“well, yeah, but we found a couple of other guys.”

“oh yeah? i’da done it.”

“well yeah, but you probably wouldn’t have had much fun any- HEY, NOT ON THE COUCH!!! NOT ON THE COUCH!!!”

“you mean you and your boys didn’t want me?”

“no, it’s not that. hey, look. we’re sorry.”

“you…you guys don’t think i’m gay enough?”

“hey, first time for everything. and don’t get too down on yourself. there’s always next year.”

“i’m not sure how i feel about this.”

“hang on…do NOT touch the cheese curls. no, no. not until you get some hand sanitizer. yeah, it’s on the table near the wet bar. yeah, yeah that’s it, right next to the sesame oil. i dunno…ask one of the cabana boys. listen Johnny, i gotta go…”

“yeah. go nuts.”

totally awesome

i promise...this is the last from these freaks for a while. seriously.

also, NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!

i know you're new in town

it’s running late anyway
but you should have stopped at that sign

dead ahead an abused old city park
paper brown oak trees
yellow scarred
leaves fallen
grey paper sky December morning
blue jean man and woman standing by a bench
lookin’ to score – i’m thinking

7:32 in thick light blue green dashed lines on the radio

two cars like skating on ice
like two fuses converging
like a revelation emerging
cotton in my ears
time becomes elastic
and rewinds rerun the exploding inevitable
big blue car
chrome grill Ford
Crown Vic eastbound
kicks in my door, sores my arm

totaled, gasoline fire – i’m thinking
and i’m ashamed that no one else is moving quite yet
they stir seconds after me
the ones in the front seat, the two to my right
i keep yelling until all heads are outside
counting
all standing in the rain

i give my jacket up
trade my stone for an intense calm

wu-tang. WU-TANG!!!

you know...they've got a new one coming out. just sayin'.

all the way live - #13

Queens of the Stone Age - Carnegie Music Hall of Homestead

i’m about to pass the FBI building when i see a rather stylish, late-model black SUV pulled over in an adjacent lot. a young woman, business casual, is hunched over and vomiting brown in a steady stream. momentarily, an athletic young man will round the corner of the FBI lot, looking like he’s out for a Friday evening jog. but in reality, the chick puking from the SUV is being watched and her evening is about to take a serious turn for the worse.

before i left my place, i suspected the same thing.

the Doktor was in charge of the tickets and the ride to the show. since i was 60% sure he wasn’t fucking around, all i really worried about was the lack of alcohol that we would face at the venue. some asshole thought having the Queens play in an old library would be a good idea. fuck that dude. and since they just started hosting shows, an alcohol license was highly unlikely. but that was just a small hurdle, though, really. getting there was what i was most worried about.

“i got us a ride,” the Doktor said, “there they are. just keep your mouth shut and don’t be a fuckin’ asshole. it’s only a fifteen minute ride.”

fifteen minutes later, i remember hearing something like, “you fuckin’ asshole!!! you should have kept your mouth shut!!!!”

“what was that about?” i said.

“thanks a lot. now how are we gonna get back. that girl was kinda…”

“fuck that man. you got my ticket?”

“i got your ticket, don’t worry. and what am i supposed to do with this again?”

“try and tape the show. i’d take it in, ya know, but i’m loaded down with cough syrup and knives. when the band starts playing just make sure the tape is running. you can keep it in your pocket or something. it should work. better than nothing, i guess.”

“alright, whatever.” he ripped some tickets apart – you know how they come in the mail with the perforations – and handed me one of the smaller pieces. “if we get split-up, i’ll meet you…”

“you ain’t meetin’ me anywhere, motherfucker. we ain’t got no ride.”

“you fucked that up.”

“that's not how i remember it.”

“just meet me down on the front street somewhere. this place looks shady. there’s open-air drug transactions all around.”

i breathe deep. “i love it,” i say. “maybe i’ll move here.”

“hear that? it’s them. let’s go.”

he scurried up the steps ahead of me and shot the finger backwards as he passed the ticket-taker. before i handed the teller my ticket, i noticed the Doktor standing in the lobby, looking back at me and waving a ticket above his head.

“this isn’t a ticket,” the teller said.

“the fuck you mean that ain’t a ticket. i paid…”

“what i mean, sir, is that this here – what you just handed me – ain’t no ticket. it’s your address.”

“it ain’t my address.”

“well, it’s someone’s address. it’s the header Ticketmaster puts on the strip of tickets you purchase. this is not a ticker for admission. i'm sorry.”

and she went on a few minutes like that. it didn’t matter how much i protested either. she wasn’t letting me in.

“i’m gonna blow this motherfucker up, then,” i said, “and DON’T send the motherfuckin’ punk police to my house, neither.” it was the Doktor’s vitals on that ticket header. with any luck, he’d be arrested, drawn, and quartered within the hour.

i went around to the library entrance and asked the librarian where they kept the porn. confused, she sent me to one of the stacks and called security. i booked it into the bathroom, crawled through the drop ceiling, and made my way into the auditorium by way of the Ladies’ room just in time to catch the Queens of the Mother Fucking Stone Age go into “Misfit Love.”

the security was as tight as i’d ever seen it at a concert. they weren’t allowing anyone to dance, to stand in the aisles, to stand on their seats, to rip up the flooring, nothing. i managed to get down on to the floor, but i spent most of the time dodging security and looking for the Doktor, who was nowhere in sight. i swear to Christ, i would have stabbed him if i’da found him.

i will tell you this though…i will tell you this. when they played “In the Fade,” it was a positively transcendent experience for me.

soon after they finished, a security guard approached me and barked in my ear, “you’re gonna have to get to your seat or go back up into the balcony. you can’t stand here.”

“i fucked your mother,” i said but i don’t think he heard me cuz he said “what?”

“my seat’s over there,” i said, pointing to the middle of the auditorium floor. “i can’t get to it.”

“don’t give me that,” he said.

“that’s not what you’re mother said earlier.”

it was right around then that he and a few of his buddies threw me outside. i know i’m a big dude and all, but they didn’t have to do me like that with a nightstick. they really didn’t. that shit was uncalled for. when i came to, i caught the Doktor coming from around the back of the place. looked like he ate a pile of shit.

“what are you grinning for?” i said.

“what the fuck happened to you? you look like hell. like, worse than usual.”

“why’d you do that with the ticket?”

“aww man, i knew you’d get in.”

“it was good, right?”

“huh? oh, i don’t know.”

“you don't know? you tape it?”

“i taped something.”

“well let me hear…”

i wished i wouldn’t have asked. there was some rustling, and then some slurping noises. “yeah baby, that’s it. now…now lick my balls. OWWW!!! SHIT!!! i said suck the motherfucker. you bitin’ it, shit!!!”

“what is this?" i said.

“fast forward it a little bit,” the Doktor said, “you ain’t even heard the part where i tell her ‘here comes the hot sauce!!!’”

one more time, do me so kind - for the boys...

listen: Marah - float away >> float on [live in Spain]
buy rock + roll rekkids

what...happened?

"it done yet?"

"what?"

"you do a write-up?"

"no. i mean, yeah, almost."

"almost?"

"yeah man."

"hey buddy...it's either done or it's not."

"in my mind, man, it's already there."

SETLIST

burn the witch
misfit love
into the hollow
little sister
battery acid
leg of lamb
in the fade
turnin' on the screw
do it again
3's and 7's
avon
i wanna make it witchu
you would know
sick sick sick
go with the flow
i think i lost my headache

encore
song for the dead

Live in Pittsburgh - misfit love

the last one out turns off the lights

sing it with me...