"we're gonna be using aliases on this one..."

Mahalo

2007-12-31T23:58:00.000-05:00

Res Ipsa Loquitur

Mom's cookin' chicken and collard greens

2007-12-24T23:58:00.000-05:00

johnny says, "never steal from Santa

cuz that ain't right."

a Marah video - formula, cola, dollar draft

2007-11-19T23:58:00.000-05:00

there was a time when I didn't talk
i'd look away, or i'd shrug it off
turn it out or turn it off
or say something short and soft
out of school i took a J-O-B
makin' buttons in a factory
thinking what does life got in for me?
and i didn't wanna know
in a city full of double deals
my boss would yawn and roll back on his heels
like anyone could cop a feel of lady luck
i was made with my brother Bill
drinking Muskie Moons on top of Laurel Hill
it's funny now i'd cheek a poison pill to sober up
and no two-bit claim of I'm all right
is gonna turn around and make it right
so i'm fishing in my pocket for a light
and i'm standin' on the corner on a Saturday night
i seen pigeons flap their filthy wings
to a freezing sunset in the west
rain shit down from their haunted perch
in the bells above St. someone's church
the Sexton drinks and dreams in bed
one eye in a line of light
startled by a ghost he screams
his dead wife's name into the night
which echoes down a cobbled hall
bounces off a gray stone floor
fired down a line of stairs
where it's silenced by a door
beyond which i am leaning, leaning
watching cars and dreaming
as steam rose 'round my body
like my soul up to the stars
i guess the devil's had his way with town
now what Willie is in the ground
and i guess the devil made me this
when he gave me no one i can't resist
i got the bill today
wrote back i moved away
they called me up to say
i'm still here
so on the 5th day of the 5th month
at 5 o'clock in the dawn
i rolled myself in a T-O-P
and jumped out on highway one
with a 400 engine hot as a cremation coffin
and a tailgate bangin' like an airplane wing
i was rollin' on the highway doing it my way
whistling "Someday" and singing this song

i'm thinking tonight of my blue eyes
concerning the great speckled bird
i didn't know God made honky-tonk angels
and went back to the wild side of life

trying to walk like nothing's happening

2007-11-14T23:58:00.000-05:00

“come on.”

“where are you going?”

“you don’t want to go in there.”

“will i get in trouble if i ask why and you tell me?”

“yes.”

“ok.”

“i started a fire in the bathroom. it won’t be long before the alarm and the sprinklers go off.”

“i didn’t want to know.”

“deep down, you did.”

“well…i’m going in anyway. i know who all’s up on the top floor.”

“who?”

“you know.”

“i wouldn’t even bother.”

“that’s because you have no taste.”

“no, no. i mean, you’re right. those bitches is nasty. but, like i said, the alarms…”

“what did you do that for anyway?”

“what do you mean? you love fire.”

“yeah, man. i love fire, you know. i mean, i love it. if someone else starts a fire, it’s kinda like…”

“like what?”

“like fire is cheating on me.”

“like fire is cheating on you. really.”

“it’s weird, i know.”

“like what? you stick your dick in fire? spoon it? what?”

“only when i’m lonely. besides…don’t talk about her like that.”

“her?”

“you coming up or what? what are they doing up there?”

“watching a movie.”

“which one?”

“fuck if i know.”

“i’m playing it totally smooth-like when i go in, too. watch.”

“watch what?”

“i’m gonna sit on the steps in the aisle, right by her seat, and i’ll be all, ‘hey…how’s it going?’”

“yeah, that’ll work.”

“and if she don’t wanna talk, then i’ll just fuck her friends.”

“you really wanna walk all the way up there? i thought the fire alarms would be going off by now.”

“where did you start it?”

“in the bathroom.”

“good job. garbage can?”

“naw…the toilet.”

“a stall?”

“no. the toilet. i lit a huge roll of toilet paper…”

“awesome.”

“…and i dropped it in the bowl.”

“…”

“what? what? don’t fuckin’…don’t fuckin’ look at me like that. it creeps me out.”

“fire and water go together like nuts and gum.”

“what?”

“they don’t mix, you asshole. what are you on?”

“i thought it would make a lot of smoke.”

“you sure they are up there?”

“pretty sure.”

“maybe i should go look for my ride. i can’t find it.”

“where did you park it?”

“a couple of streets back. but i was looking for it before and i couldn’t find it.”

“it’s stolen.”

“naw…you think?”

“i don’t think, man. i know. i just know.”

a Lucero video

2007-11-12T23:58:00.000-05:00

Jenny lights her cigarette...

blue eyes that blind like the sun

i might not be the one

but that's alright

i think i know what it all means now

2007-11-07T23:58:00.000-05:00

i knew there would be more than the few who sat languid
entangled on love seats
slouched forward slack jawed
shoulder to shoulder and leg in leg
offering a look up their skirts
blood dripping from the corners of their open mouths

the golden-gray light through the windows was fading
more like a fallen morning than an evening soon wasted
gathered round in this hollow room
these high ceilings
yellow wood
fake rubber plants
on the steps
my elbows leaden on my knees

a newer one came in through the front door
stark in the spilling glow
with a bag slung over his shoulder
shaking
honest
and got a gun up in his face before he was let inside

i remember thinking we are not quite safe here

ashamed
offended
i rush outside where the air’s so much sweeter
linger here awhile
killing time
walk to the corner store and be back on the way home
before the sun’s setting

over my shoulder the clouds boil blue and black
baring their teeth
and the night is falling faster than my footsteps

they are sprawling before me
like blood drops down arteries and avenues
the street bends and they are crawling
their callow way towards the door

Steelers' Harrison Does Ravens Old Country Way

2007-11-05T23:58:00.000-05:00

tell your mom you heard it here first

a State Radio video

2007-11-02T23:58:00.000-04:00

HALLOWEEN!!!

2007-10-31T23:58:00.000-04:00

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

overtip your breakfast waitress

2007-10-29T23:58:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-26T23:58:00.000-04:00

money for everybody...candy to the kids

2007-10-24T23:58:00.000-04:00

"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

2007-10-22T23:58:00.000-04:00

^^^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

\/\/

2007-10-19T23:58:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-17T23:58:00.000-04:00

“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

2007-10-15T23:58:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-12T23:58:00.000-04:00

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!!!

2007-10-10T23:58:00.000-04:00

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

all the way live - #13

2007-10-08T23:58:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-10-05T23:58:00.001-04:00

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

what...happened?

2007-10-03T23:58:00.000-04:00

"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

2007-10-01T23:58:00.000-04:00

sing it with me...

"a teenage hand model? Really."

2007-09-28T23:58:00.001-04:00

if it gets you down
well then i'll take it
if it gets you up
well i don't want it
it let you down so broken-hearted
if it gets you down
well then i want it

so blow our mind and make it lazy
those long, long days with no escaping
i hold the wheel to let it go
don't wanna stop
don't wanna know
if it gets you down
well just don't blame me

if only
we're nothing at all

"who? he ain't related to me"

2007-09-26T23:58:00.000-04:00

when i heard him say, “it’ll be good practice and there’ll be lots of loose women there,” i figured him to be half right. true indeed, it had been a while since i’d been to a rock show, but i wasn’t so sure what he had in mind would limber the limbs for the upcoming Queens debacle.

maybe i’m wrong, but i don’t think Pittsburgh’s ever been widely known for its singer / songwriter scene. and i didn’t think it was blowing up under my nose, i didn’t think there was enough drugs involved to get me through this, and i didn’t think the Doktor was telling the truth when he said there’d be “loose women.” and i planned to fuckin’ tell him about it.

which i did.

and which he didn’t give a fuck about.

so…we showed up at the place around 10:30 at night. a lot of people go to bed around here at 10:30 at night. and we find this guy passed out in the gutter. i almost tripped on him as i got out of the car.

“Jesus Christ,” i said, “i almost tripped on him as i got out of the car.”

“what are you talking abou…HOLY SHIT!!! my man is knocked Out!!!”

“grab that stick and poke him. i think he’s dead.”

“ok.”

after a good eight or twelve whacks, a few guys appear from down an alley and seem relieved. they thank us. “rough night,” they say, and smack the passed-out guy in the face a few times. he sorta wakes up and they put what i think is some coke up his nose. he really comes alive after that, and they disappear just as fast again down that same alley.

we still had a little bit before the band went on. “but it’s not a band,” the Doktor said, “they’re like a duo. acoustic. harmonica, i think. kinda like Dylan, only better.”

“really.”

“yeah man. here, hit this.”

while we’re killing time, this guys stumbles up to the car and plants himself alongside me on the hood. the Doktor and i, we’re lookin’ at each other like one of us might know what the fuck’s up, and the guy just kinda sits there for a minute before offering to trade us some of the beer he has left in a crushed up 12-pack under his arm for a hit of the joint.

“alright,” i say.

“fuck that,” says the Doktor, “i hate Keystone Light.”

“what difference does it make,” i began, but was cut off by the drunk sitting next to me on the hood of the car.

“ish cool. itsh awwrite. lisshen…” and he went on in that drunken slur for a minute or so, telling us to come to the bar up the street to hear him sing some songs.

“let him hit it,” the Doktor said, “he might be able to get us back stage." so i did. let him hit the joint, i mean. i didn’t really care to begin with, and when he took the rest of it to the head, he slid off the hood and ambled up the street.

“what changed your mind,” i said, “you wanna go back stage and suck his dick?”

“naw man. groupies.”

i let it go at that. we’d be lucky if we weren’t the only ones at this place on a Tuesday night, nevermind these guys having groupies to spare. we were going to a bar that didn’t have a back stage. it probably had a meat locker or freezer or something. plus, i ain’t ridin’ on no one’s dick, youknowwhatimsayin? fuck him and his crew unless i’m gettin’ paid too, younamean?

anyway, we get to the place, order some drinks, the place is dead anyway. and then the guy from the hood of the car gets up on stage and starts blowing in this harmonica. only he kept calling it a “harp” and kept saying he had to “tune this puppy,” or something like that. he even took a moment to point us out in the crowd [and i use the term "crowd" in the loosest sense of the word], and proclaim with a chuckle, “i know those dudes.”

fabulous.

about twenty minutes into his “harp tune-up,” the other guy joins him on stage. it was the guy from the gutter – the one i nearly stepped on earlier – and he goes into this long story about how he spent last night in jail and how he just got out in time to make it to the show tonight. at least that’s what i could make out between him sniffling. “it’s probably gonna be our best show ever,” he said.

it started out well enough. he was strumming on an acoustic guitar, singing about some hard luck story that was punctuated with these blasts from the “harp” that sounded like a train that kept a’rollin’. only that’s not all he was doin’, the harmonica player. i remember thinking he was really into the song, but maybe he was just drunk. he picked a few inopportune times to holler out some of the lyrics like he was back-up singing. the guy on the guitar, he was glaring at the harmonica player through these half-slit eyes. i think the song was supposed to be a quiet affair, or at least a little more intimate than all those yelps and screams from the harmonica player allowed.

the Doktor looked over at me and shrugged. “not bad,” he said, “i was thinking that…”

“not now, you fool,” i said, and clapped his ear with my hand. “WATCH!!!”

so the song’s around the bridge or the chorus or whatever you music snobs call it, and the harmonica player has this blissed-out, closed-eyed zen thing going, still yelling back-up lyrics in a voice that drowns out the singer and makes the volume levels spike. a couple of times, he hollered out different lyrics than the singer and nothing happened.

but one time was different. no sooner had he fucked up another line when the singer took the guitar and smashed it right across the harmonica player's face. i mean right in the mouth. it was fantastic. there were splinters of wood everywhere, like someone shot confetti out of a fuckin’ cannon. the harmonica player flew backwards into the drumkit. it was covered with a sheet or something. i guess it was the house kit, or maybe these guys were planning on playing with a full band later on.

whatever.

well, the harmonica player was spun around face down in the kit and was trying to get back up, and the singer whacked him again right across the back with what was left of the guitar. but alls that did was seem to make the harmonica player angry. he rushed the singer and tackled him to the ground, pulling the mic stand down on top of them and wrapping the cord around the singer’s neck.

“these guys are brothers?” i said.

“fuck if i know. i thought there’d be more women here.”

“shhhhh…you should be watching the stage. these guys could teach you a thing or two about rock and roll.”

a LBDAS video - trailer ras

2007-09-21T23:58:00.000-04:00

how many of you people are white trash?

cricket bows

2007-09-19T23:58:00.000-04:00

the trees scatter the sun’s yellow white light and it falls with shadows mixed on my arms, my legs, my shoes. my face too, i imagine, but that’s not something i can see right now. just the greens of leaves and weeds and the brown of the dirt underneath.

further on down this line there’s a rusted-out locker that sits beside the path in silence, holding nothing now except kid’s graffiti. its shell soft on the eyes and even prettier than a fallen tree.

you believe that?

you remember when we made it here?

the date has long since faded, but i still remember it was a summer night and hot and hazy halos hung around the streetlights that were scattered by the leaves in the treetops just out of reach.

sometimes – between you and me – sometimes i pass by there and imagine where we once stood. like if i squint real hard, i could still see the footsteps.

a Massive Attack video - Angel

2007-09-14T23:58:00.000-04:00

...you...

between a raq and a hard place

2007-09-12T23:58:00.000-04:00

“i’m not wearing this.”

“you have to. it’ll be fun.”

“i’m not. it’s hot and this thing is itchy, plus it smells funny. you put it on.”

“yeah, but they want you.”

“tell them you’ll do it.”

“hey man, i ain’t tellin’ them shit. you see them. you talk to them yet?”

“no, not really.”

“fuckin’ nuts, man. completely apeshit.”

“you think? well i’m crazy, too. and i ain’t…”

“SHHH!!! do you want them to hear you? they’ll come in here and they’ll…they’ll…they’ll…”

“they’ll what? what are they gonna do?”

“they’ll shit, man. they’ll fuckin’ shit. and then they’ll kill you, and then they’ll kill me.”

“they ain’t killin’…”

“AAAAAHHHHHRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!! NO!!! PLEASE, NO!!! I PRAY TO ALLAH…”

“what was that?”

“oh, man. see. SEE!!! i told you these guys are serious.”

“you’re right. that sounded really serious.”

“see, i told you. i told you. just now, i think a little bit of pee came out.”

“what if we tell them that i’ve got the runs?”

“they don’t give a shit.”

“it’s a good excuse, though. it’s a go-to.”

“why don’t you just put that fuckin’ beard on and read whatever they put in front of you, and then we can get out of here, ok?”

“how they gonna do that? i mean, can these guys even read?”

“yes. yes, they can fuckin’ read. and they can put your fuckin’ head in a vise and go at you with some hot pokers if they want.”

“you’ve gotta admit it’s a pretty good excuse, though. it’s always worked for me.”

“put this on.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no. not until you admit that it’s a good excuse.”

“admit what’s a good excuse?”

“admit telling someone you’ve got diarrhea is a good excuse.”

“will you put the beard on?”

“i don’t know.”

“WILL YOU PUT THE FUCKIN’ BEARD ON?”

“maybe.”

“ok…it’s a good excuse. the fuckin’ best. fuckin’ trumpets blare outta your ass when you use it. happy?”

“yeah, well…i’m not puttin’ it on.”

“WHAT?!?”

“sike. calm down. look at you. i’ll do it. but only cuz i owe ya. alright? so what should i do? i mean, should i be like ‘Hi. Maybe you’ve seen me before,’ and then start reading the cards, or what? man, i hate talking in front of…”

“will you shut the fuck up, ok? just shut the fuck up and do what they tell you.”

“why do i gotta do it?”

“cuz those guys are fuckin’ crazy, ok. besides, look at you. you’re all tall and shit. ya goofy-lookin’ bastard. i told you we shouldn’t have taken a ride with them.”

“but they had a pick-up.”

“yeah…loaded with crazies and rocket launchers.”

“there were goats, too.”

“and no bitches.”

“no bitches.”

“you ready?”

“i’m totally gettin’ into so much trouble for this.”

[this translation was sponsored by Massivefill Douche, Maybee Maxi-pads, and Super Eight-Inch Tampons Plus courtesy of your momma]

a 'Mats video - Bastards of Young

2007-09-07T23:58:00.000-04:00

God, what a mess...

the afghan whigs

2007-08-31T23:58:00.000-04:00

bit into a rotten one, now, didn't you?

listen: the afghan whigs - now you know
buy: afghan whigs records

back with a bong!!!

2007-08-24T23:58:00.002-04:00

don’t expect much these days, buddy
coupla beers and life is so funny but
you’ll be coming back sooner or later and
we’ll be waiting for you

listen: marah - sooner or later
buy: marah records...new new shit soon!!!

2007-06-15T23:58:00.000-04:00

stop by fttw anytime, anywhere

a Strokes video - Someday

2007-06-13T23:58:00.000-04:00

so i
sometimes
say, "Fate, my friend,
you say the strangest things
i find,
sometimes..."

The Sopranos - alternate final episode ending - REVEALED!!!

2007-06-11T23:58:00.000-04:00

go fuck yourself

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from Johnny.

meeting expectations i was trying to ignore

2007-06-08T23:58:00.000-04:00

i would like to take as much credit as possible for Pittsburgh’s recent christening as “America’s Most Livable City.” obviously my suavity and charm have helped bring sexy back to the area, and we haven't even gotten into the quality weed supply i locked-up for the area well into the next decade. no, sir, the real nut of it all in this recent spike in the local quality of living is due in no small part to my manners. i liken it to a pebble in a pond, really.

give ya an example. the Doktor and i were enjoying the early summer vibes the other day in his car when i brought up a recent invite to a dogfight and asked if he was down. “you’re a pig,” he says, “the worst kind.”

“i know it’s fucked up,” i said, “but it might be something worth checking out. and there’s always those cockfights, too.”

“homo?”

“no, no. those chickens, roosters. remember i told you? that kind of cockfight.”

“you’re disgusting,” he said, “if you keep talking like that, i’ll throw you out of the car and run you down like a rabid animal in the road.”

"you're very angry."

"i am fuckin' not."

"you're too aggressive behind the wheel. you've got a love affair with the brake and gas. i'm over here either pinned to the seat or bracing myself against the dashboard. there's no in-between with you."

"these people," he said, waving a hand in front of him, "they desevre to die."

"Jesus Christ."

"it's true," he said, "they're brainless. look at this one!!!" at which point, he goes into an explitive-laced tirade that involved multiple gestures and facial contortions and ended with something like "cockass."

"that's it!!! that fucker's gonna die!!!" he said as he pulled in front of this car and put on his brakes. a rather large man with long hair and a faded black, sleeveless Skynyrd t-shirt jumped out of the car behind us and approached the Doktor's vehicle with what looked like a chain wrapped around his fist.

"relax," i said, "i'll handle this. you're in no shape."

"good idea," the Doktor said, "i'll get my pistol ready."

i hopped out of the Doktor's car and smiled at the guy, quickly running around the side to cut off the stranger before he got to the Doktor's window. "what's the problem?" i said.

"you want some?" he said.

"some of what? no no no. look, my friend in there, he just..."

"outta my way, boy."

"boy?"

"i fucked guys like you in prison."

"you did what?" i asked, incredulous.

"i said i fucked guys like you in prison. and if you don't get outta my way..."

"what? you're gonna fuck me?"

"no, i..."

"i mean, if that's the way you swing, you know, that's cool."

"what? i ain't gay."

"well you just told me you fucked guys like me in prison. that's pretty gay."

"listen. things happen in jail."

"so it's like Vegas?"

"what? no. i mean, when you're in there, you do things..."

"how long were you in there?"

"90 days."

"wow."

"shit is real."

"90 days? you couldn't wait?"

"what you mean?"

"you jumped right into it, huh?"

"hell yeah."

"well, i'm flattered i guess, but you know...sorry to disappoint."

"look motherfucker, i told you..."

"yeah. i know what you told me. and the Doktor over there, he ain't gay either. least not most of the time. so you might as well take yourself back to you car over there, and run along."

"yeah. Yeah. YEAH!!! punkass. that's what i thought."

"sure it is. and thanks for the compliment. i guess."

a Brad video - Buttercup

2007-06-06T23:58:00.000-04:00

ain't my buttercup
ain't your little fool

i know that ain't a part of the deal

goddamm Johnny, this is some serious gourmet shit!!!

2007-06-04T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them i'm what Willis used to be talkin' about.

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from Johnny.

rejected

2007-06-01T23:58:00.000-04:00

FROM: thadmccone@[deleted].com TO: stclairjohnny@yahoo.com
SUBJECT: Re: i got it…and penicillin ain’t helpin’!!!

Dear Johnny:

Normally, I consult with our editors when considering an individual author’s merits. In that sense, you are unique. Your material went straight to our attorneys and the local sheriff. Not only are we passing, but please allow this letter to serve as a cease and desist notification for all future correspondence between this address and your email address / ISP address.

How dare you, Mr. St. Clair. Was this your idea of a joke? Do you have some kind of personal vendetta against us? Were you raised by wolves? After a mere cursory glance at your submission, it was clear that you not only lacked the skills to work at [deleted], but you lack even a rudimentary grasp on what it means to be civilized. And your “gift” has set off a wild chain of legal repercussions that began with an FBI search of our mailroom, followed by the arrest of Manuel [deleted] – our beloved mailboy who simply signed for the package – and has locked up our legal representation for the next six weeks.

We have friends in high places, Mr. St. Clair, and you have none. You probably even voted against Cheney / Bush in the last election. And for that crime, this, and a host of others, you will answer to us. We’ve sent a fleet of white vans your way, and a flock of black helicopters will be circling your block by sundown. There’s nothing you can do, except pray for it to end soon. Which it won’t.

Sincerely,

Thad McCone
Editor-in-Chief;
[deleted] Magazine
947 Witowski Boulevard
Dartford, NH 22920-1500
(xxx) xxx-xxx EXxxxx
FAX (xxx) xxx-xxxx
thadmccone@[deleted].com

-----Original Message-----
From: stclairjohnny@yahoo.com
Sent: Tuesday, May 29, 2007 11:58 PM
To: thadmccone@[deleted].com
Subject: i got it…and penicillin ain’t helpin’!!!

Dear Thad McCone:

great name ya got there, pal.

anyway. read about your mag and heard it’s looking for a new writer. well, look no further. i got what you need and you don’t even know it yet. dig on my write-up for the new new new Queens record that ain’t even hit the stores yet. it’s a little more intense than what you normally put out, so if you want, i might be able to dial it back a bit. maybe.

no need to thank me for the package either. it’s a gift. share that shit with people at the office there.

Regards,
JSC

[...and all the while, playing somewhere off in the distance, amidst the sounds of breaking glass...]

a Sublime video - badfish [live]

2007-05-30T23:58:00.000-04:00

ain't got no money to spend
i hope this night
never ends

whatever bitch. i'm Einstein.

2007-05-28T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them if they're short with cheese, i can work with them.
stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

on the record #11

2007-05-25T23:58:00.000-04:00

Queens of the Stone Age – Era Vulgaris

only a man with an all-access press pass could secure an advance copy of this record and survive the impending destruction that would surely follow. we were somewhere on the outskirts of the city when we’d lost our way. i remember the Doktor saying something like, “there’s a roadblock up ahead,” and wildly swinging the car from the highway into a patch of weeds.

after i’d wiped the blood from my nose, i screamed at him. “are you trying to get us killed?” i said, “we haven’t even done anything wrong!”

“i can’t afford to take any chances,” he said. “you might have tomorrow, but i’ve got today.”

we ended up taking a much longer and much more circuitous route to the porno store. through careful calculations, we deduced that a gross of whippets would be necessary to properly “get through” this new Queens record. and while the Doktor lobbied for whiskey to wash it all down, i convinced him with a few sharp blows to his brow that two cases of Milwaukee’s Best would be more feasible. tying on a beery drunk in a hazy Spring afternoon felt like just about the best thing to do. that, and settle down with this new record.

the son-of-a-bitch was hot, rumored to have been smuggled directly from Josh Homme’s den of iniquity by an Arabian princess and her Thai hermaphrodite lover. how it came into my hands is unclear at best and possibly criminal. but in War Season, these types of crimes – piracy, slavery, murdering the homeless, dogfighting – go largely unnoticed. still, i wasn’t about to let this get into just anyone’s hands. that’s why i kept it in my ass pocket.

“put it on,” he said.

“fuck you. not until we get the whippets and the beer. HA HA. soon, we will be on your porch cracking whippets and whistling at the girls that pass by. step on it. and hand me another beer from the cooler.”

our plan had been to do whippets for each song. the train of thought was something like the number of whippets for each track number: one for #1, two for #2, three for #3, etc. half the beer was gone when the needle first dropped on the groove, and that seemed about right. he had a rather nice set-up, what with the speakers aimed out the windows and a few on his roof, not to mention the two strung up on the light poles on the other side of the street. i remember complimenting him on the sound and the volume. he flashed a rather large, stylish blade at me.

“that better not be some kind of bullshit, St. Clair,” he hissed.

the glint of the sunlight off the blade seemed to blind my eyes and whipped me into some kind of weird, atavistic fury. when i came ‘round, the Doktor and i were in the middle of stomping the mailman. shaking those cobwebs from my head, i helped him up and offered him a beer. he declined, and the mace barely fazed us. we queued up that first song again. and again. and then again. after an hour or so, some wild dogs from the neighborhood had gathered near the stoop, yelping and fucking wildly in broad daylight.

it may or may not have been around the third song when the Doktor tripped on the porch and whacked his head against the railing with a hollow, sickening thud. after that, i don’t remember much, except that when i awoke and brushed the glass out of my hair, i found the Doktor still breathing shallowly. i found that encouraging.

the record was skipping idly somewhere off in the distance.

1. turning on the screw
2. sick, sick, sick
3. i'm designer
4. into the hollow
5. misfit love
6. battery acid
7. make it wit chu
8. 3's & 7's
9. suture up your future
10. river in the road
11. run pig run

listen: Queens of the Stone Age - Era Vulgaris [bonus track]
buy: Queens of the Stone Age records

a Marah video - Reservation Girl [live]

2007-05-23T23:58:00.000-04:00

i got myself a girl
i took a little ride
into the desert night
i talk a little jive

swing on over and say 'hello' to Marah

i don't give a fuck it's not your birthday

2007-05-21T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them it's a celebraton, bitches.
stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny. it's birthday week over there. free hardcore porn.

mud farming

2007-05-18T23:58:00.000-04:00

“why are we at the farm?”

“drug deal.”

“oh. well why am i here?”

“you don’t go alone to these kinds of things.”

“oh. who are we waiting on?”

“you need to know?”

“you’re right. well how will we know when he gets here?”

“we won’t. i will. and who said it’s a ‘he’?”

“it’s a bitch? she sexy? this might turn out to be a good day after all.”

“who said it was a girl?”

“you did.”

“i did not.”

“yes you did. yes you did, motherfucker. yes you…”

“no. i didn’t. i didn’t say who it...why am i having this conversation with you?”

“i don’t know.”

“me either. let’s make our way over to pig pen.”

“why there?”

“that’s where i’m meeting him.”

“so it is a guy.”

“…”

“why the pig pen?”

“i don’t know man. cuz i’m a greedy motherfucker. i don’t know.”

“it stinks over there.”

“it stinks everywhere. we’re on a farm.”

“oooooooo!!! look. goats.”

“yeah.”

“goats are heavy metal. Satan.”

“what are you doing?”

“what’s it look like? i’m climbing the fence.”

“it looks like you’re retarded.”

“hey goats…hey goats…come here little goats…”

“stop it. you’re getting all muddy. you’re gonna fuck up my interior.”

“what?”

“the car. i just had it detailed.”

“hey goats…hey goats…hey, watch this.”

“what are you doing?”

“i’m squeezing it’s belly.”

“why? what the…”

“HA HA!!! check it out.”

“cut it out. you’re shooting goat shit all over the place.”

“HA HA!!! look it. it’s like a machine gun. A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A.”

“come on, get out of there. it’s all over your shoes.”

“that’s funny though, right.”

“no. it’s demented and sad.”

“why you all serious and shit?”

“…”

“i’ve got a booger in my nose. don’t look at me like that.”

“what?”

“i can feel it. my hands are dirty. i gotta go to the john.”

“where?”

“the head.”

“where?”

“the lav. the loo. the water closet. the powder room. the pisser. the fisting room.”

“WHAT?!?”

“be back in a minute. i sense a rare disturbance in my pants.”

the twlight singers

2007-05-16T23:58:00.000-04:00

do you remember when i told you that i had a tale to tell?
let me regale you, child

i think i know my way around by now

listen: the twilight singers - last temptation
listen: the twilight singers - railroad lullaby
buy: the twilight singers records

"this is my chance to redeem myself with mainstream America"

2007-05-14T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them to undermine their pompous authority, reject their moral standards, make anarchy and disorder your trademarks, cause as much chaos and disruption as possible but don’t let them take you ALIVE!!!

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

Old Man said hope ain’t nothin’ but a prayer to a god i don’t believe

2007-05-11T23:58:00.000-04:00

i asked an Old Man how he got to live so long and he said to me don’t be careful with what you’ve got let the crop rot in the field let the clean water run let the weak feel your weight in the Alabama sun don’t be kind or humble or settled of heart bring to bear a heavy weapon before the static starts learn to lie and deceive and sleep easy with its sting walk with thieves run with murderers and curse the birds when they sing trust the god in your wallet and place your faith in a fiend and steal the bread from the mouths of the children as they bleed remember son that it’s only you whose needs be met live with these words and my long life you’ll get Old Man i said what kind of lies you tellin’ me long life a reward for waste and crime and greed he looked at his hands and the lines on his palms and he sat silent for a while and then his words fell real calm my reward for this life has been long years to bear witness to the seeds i have sown watch them die early long before they had grown or grow up too soon and find solace in a bottle in the money they spend or the pills that they swallow rest their head in a jail and live with the horrors within or in a mind whose fears make it no less a prison see them age with bitterness mean and saddled with sorrow go now son i got another grandchild’s funeral tomorrow

lucero

2007-05-09T23:58:00.000-04:00

out west
the only sky is blue

listen: lucero - that much further west
buy: lucero records

"burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night"

2007-05-07T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them it's a metal box in here.
stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

3rd st

2007-05-04T23:58:00.000-04:00

where i hid with you from the rain under a pine tree and the others, they all danced around in the sun’s last light and i swear i could read that whole story in the needles of the tree up above

when we slow danced in the headlights of a parked car down the road

how the air hung lazy around yellow street lights and crumbling redbrick buildings in summer nighttime sky, with the fog rolling in from rain two hours gone

baseball games on radio

fireflies and neon pizza signs

what the shadows looked like back around your grandma’s house, running from the old folks and the cars in the street settled down to a low hum and alls was left was whispers and your breath

what your dad said, that the millsmoke couldn’t be bad because it meant people were working and soon they’d file out of the plant like blood spilling when the shifts change

bikes trace slow circles

scratching pebbles in the cement

how your mom would be standing under a white porch light, hollering down the block and across avenues and around corners for you to come home

when your hand slid into mine without a word

where we sat on the table top of a splintered red park bench in July moonlight and i was trembling after the laughter and nothing was left except you and everything else we never said

i saw you across a crowded room a few weeks ago
you look rich now, guess you drive a big car

jamie t

2007-05-02T23:58:00.000-04:00

i've been round this town for so long
she's been dancing since the first day

oh i'm plastered
can't damn help it
i'm sorry love

listen: jamie t - salvador
buy: jamie t records

King Kong ain't got shit on me

2007-04-30T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anybody calls, tell them i got a hot hand in a dice game, baby girl. i'm talkin' 'bout six hours straight, clackity clackity clackity clack!!!

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

will our ball club win the pennant?

2007-04-27T23:58:00.000-04:00

“you mind?”

i looked in the rearview quickly and shook my head. “it’s your dime.”

“thanks.”

i glanced back now and again but never for very long and never let him catch me looking. there was a slow sadness to his actions and there wasn’t much to clean up after he was through.

“i’m in no hurry,” he said, “so if you wanna take your time…”

“ok.”

“it’s been a long time with this shit,” he said.

i nodded.

“long time. sad, ain’t it?”

“it doesn’t sound like fun anymore,” i said.

“it hasn’t been fun for forever.”

“you should quit then.”

“i do every once in a while, but it never lasts long. it always comes back.”

“how long has it been?”

“the better part of thirty years.”

“wow.”

“yeah. ‘wow.’”

“i don’t mean to pry, but is that why you’re going there today?”

“me? no. no, my old man is there.”

“oh.”

“black lung. he was a coal miner and that’s the thanks he gets. like he was a sponge that we all kept using on and using on until there wasn’t nothing left.”

“sorry about that.”

“that’s alright. you don’t have to be sorry. just talkin’. i don’t get to do much of that nowadays anymore.”

“no?”

“naw. my old man with all the tubes and shit. and my wife don’t even look my ways half the time. mostly, it’s just me and that shit. i can’t really talk to anyone else.”

“sometimes you just need to change your whole scenery, ya know, you’re whole way of doing things, ya know…your playground, your playmates, your playthings. just get away…” i was just reading something about that, and i felt like i might know something he didn’t. but i was wrong.

“what are you some kind of counselor?”

“no, i…”

“you some kinda religious nut?

“it’s just…”

“awww, i’m just fuckin’ with you.” he was laughing slowly. “hey, man, you’re not telling me anything i don’t know is all.”

“it’s just shit i’ve heard anyway. the fuck do i know.”

“i’d like to do that, you know. i really would. i really would. get a place, maybe by the ocean. get a job, find myself a girl. talk a little jive. i like to think i got a little poetry in my heart.”

“then do it. i mean, it’s easy for me to say, but just go.”

“i can’t.”

“your old man?”

“yeah, that’s part of it. and my wife, too.”

“but i thought you said…”

“yeah, man, but it ain’t ever just that simple. i wish it was, but it ain’t, ya know. and then there’s my momma’s grave. who would mow that cemetery plot?” he tapped on the window. “it’s not a lot, but it’s what i got. besides, leaving – that would be too selfish.”

“selfish?”

“feels like i would be. like i was doing something just for me and everyone else be damned. just seems selfish. and anyways, who would everyone have to blame?” he laughed again.

“i don’t know man. selfish? i don’t think it would be selfish.”

“hey man, if that’s the strangest thing you think i’m feelin’, then…”

“you think you’ll try again?”

“probably. but it won’t matter much. but there’s always that chance, always that hope you hold out for. but like what you said before, it’s just too easy for me around here.”

“we’re almost there. what do you want me to do?”

“ok. let me out on the other side of the bridge.”

“what do you mean?”

“it’s ok. it’s spring time, and the sun is shining. i just wanna walk a ways.”

“you sure? alright. this is you.”

“’preciate it. thanks for the ear.”

“no problem. and good luck to you and your pops.”

“he’ll be alright. who knows, man. maybe one day, i’ll get away, too.”

g love

2007-04-25T23:58:00.000-04:00

Springtime is here

listen: g love - when we meet again
buy: g love records

"you guys havin' a good time?"

2007-04-23T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them i got a cousin on the job.
stop by fttw on Mondays or Tuesdays or something for shit from johnny.

pussy

2007-04-20T23:58:00.000-04:00

it was a long-gone Tuesday, and i was on my way to a place where i used to work when i came across a cat that’d been hit in the street. i remember expecting it sooner or later. where it happened, there was an old lady who let her cats run wild. when the weather broke, there were kittens all over her front steps. this scene, i remember thinking, was just a matter of time.

i remember hesitating for a moment before i pulled the car to the side of the street and got out. cars slid by my ride’s window and when things cleared, i got out and walked over to her on the sidewalk in the rain. still looking out at the damage in the street, i told her i was sorry.

she was crying softly.

without another word, i walked over to the middle of this busy city side street and looked down. i was scared to touch it – half-expecting it to jump up and claw at me or sink it’s teeth into my hand. in another world, i would have poked at it with a stick or nudged it with the toe of my shoe to be sure it wasn’t alive. but not on that day. i let my fingertips scrape the pavement as i slowly slid my hands underneath its body and cradled it to my chest.

i remember not wanting to let her know about the blood on my hands, not wanting her to feel bad about it. that would have been rude. and when she asked me to dig the grave, i couldn’t have refused. besides, the earth was soft from the rain and the flowers in the garden were just beginning to bloom. it was going to be easy for me and it felt good to be outside in spite of all the rain. that was another thing i didn’t want her to know.

i remember getting to work with blood on my shirt. there was mud on my pants, too, but that would have washed away soon enough.

NFL: Voice of Reason

2007-04-19T23:58:00.000-04:00

get wise...legalize

snap her

2007-04-18T23:58:00.000-04:00

i mean...is it any wonder i love punk rock girls.

it's nice they show some love back.

listen: snap her - crack pipe johnny
buy: snap her records

"a cheap catch-all for fuckoffs and misfits"

2007-04-16T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them when the coppers came, they beat him up in a meatwagon and flushed his junk down the drain. they propped him up in court and now & then he could refrain. and all he could say was 'fuck yinz all.'

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

a hard lesson in politics

2007-04-13T23:58:00.000-04:00

i had to go to one of those chain retail stores to take back something. and i swear it wasn’t stolen merchandise. anyway, i went in the front doors and over to the return counter. the girl who was working, she was talking with a middle-aged lady over on the other side of the counter. so i sat down in one of the ‘job opportunity’ kiosks and became vaguely depressed that the place drug tests.

these two guys walk in and i notice the one sit down at the kiosk opposite me. the other guy goes directly to the counter. he looks at me, looks at the girl, and then back at me again.

“hey man,” he says, leaning lazily on the counter, “that your girl?”

the clown is wearing a headband pulled down over the tops of his ears. his hair isn’t combed, got lint in it. he’s got a neck tattoo, one arm in his jacket – this big leather-type thing – with the other half just brushing the floor. yellow teeth. fingerprints and smears all over his wire-rim glasses. and he needs to pull his pants up.

i look over at her. she doesn’t seem to notice.

“naw man,” i say, “that’s my little sister.”

“oh yeah?” he rubs what scraggly chin beard he’s got. it could be leftover pubic hair. i don’t know. “how old is she?”

“i don’t know,” i say, “twenty?”

“yeah. she got a boyfriend?”

“huh?”

“does she talk to…”

“yeah man. big motherfucker. Big. crazy, too. my moms don’t even let him in the house no more.”

“word?”

“word. and he ran my dog over, too. RIGHT IN THE DRIVEWAY!!!"

“aiight. i get wit’chu later,” he said, and put out his fist.

i’ve never really been good with those types of pleasantries, and i just shook his fist with my outstretched hand. he threw his hands up to the girl, nodded his head, and he and his buddy headed towards the cash registers to no doubt menace some more girls working hard for minimum wage.

after the girl behind the counter finished with the old lady on the other side, she made her way over to me. i laid out the merchandise and my story about a bad gift. when she asked for it, i handed her my license and made some wisecrack about the guy who just left.

“he’s been in and out of here for about a month. he keeps trying to get me to go out with him, and i keep telling him ‘no.’ he’ll be back, though. i should tell security.”

“i don’t think he’s coming back,” i said.

“and why is that?”

“i told him you had a boyfriend.”

“oh you did?”

“yeah,” i tried to laugh, “i told him i was your brother and you had a big, crazy boyfriend. he got outta here pretty quick after that.”

“what the fuck did you do that for?”

“excuse me?” i tried to laugh again. “i was just…i mean, it seemed…”

“look, motherfucker, i don’t need no one to do shit for me, ok? i pay my own motherfuckin’ bills. i got my own motherfuckin’ place, ok. i’m a grown-ass woman. i can take care of my own motherfuckin’ problems. i don’t need no one to look after me, especially some brokedown lookin’ motherfucker like you.”

“i was…”

“I WA – I WA – I WA!!! just listen to your stutterin’ ass. what makes you think you can do shit for me? hmmm? here,” she threw my license across the counter. “get your shit and get the hell outta here before i call security. stupid motherfucker.”

so after that, you know, i just kinda stumbled towards the door in a daze most familiar to boxers, crash tests dummies, and mass-transit riders. it wasn’t until i was outside the front doors, distractedly bumping into people waiting for the bus, that i realized i’d forgotten my merchandise.

i went back to the counter and reminded the girl – in the most pleasant way possible – that i’d left my unreturned goods behind.

“what kind of sorry ass shit is that? huh? even that other motherfucker’s got better lines than you. ‘you forgot your merchandise.’ please. i got a good mind to mace your crazy ass. you know what, where’s the motherfuckin’ phone at? i’m callin’ security. and i’m havin’ them call the police.”

i don’t need anyone to tell me when i’ve worn out my welcome – i’m sensitive to that type of shit. still, plenty in the general vicinity were able to hear her remind me that the whole incident was caught on the security tape.

jason isbell

2007-04-11T23:58:00.000-04:00

Jason Isbell is no longer a part of the Drive-By Truckers. Patterson Hood explains it here.

along with Cooley, they were a fearsome songwriting force and it's sad he won't be a part of that band anymore. but the Truckers will still be the Truckers and from the sounds of it, Isbell should be alright as well. check out some of his new tunes at his site, and be sure to pick up Sirens of the Ditch when it drops in July. in the meantime, here's a solo version of the song everyone's been ranting and raving about. it says more about war than all those talking heads on television ever could.

listen: jason isbell - dress blues [solo]

johnny's on the microdot

2007-04-09T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them i got an open mind. they can all crawl inside.

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

on remembering

2007-04-06T23:58:00.000-04:00

the old man got in and didn’t say anything after he told me where he wanted to go. i knew the block where he wanted, but i didn’t remember much being around down there anymore.

i turned the corner of the street, and let the car drift slowly down the block. “it’s right here,” the old man said. we were in front of a vacant lot. crooked cement stairs rose up from the sidewalk to overgrown weeds and a falling fence. the old man in the back seat quietly opened the car door and shuffled up the one two three steps.

“this where you used to live?” i say.

his back was still turned to me, and he said, “i came alive here.” he stood still a moment, then he bent down and left flowers where a door must’ve been. “when you see her,” he said, “tell her i was here.”

“who do you want me to tell?” i said.

“just be sure to tell her,” he said.

howlin' maggie

2007-04-04T23:58:00.000-04:00

and for the life of me, darlin'

i cannot understand the reasons

it's so easy to be stupid

i'd testify

listen: howlin' maggie - easy to be stupid
buy: howlin' maggie records

Johnny St. Clair - Big in Japan

2007-04-02T23:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them we have chopstick. 29 cent. HURRY UP AND BUY!!!

stop by fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

cabman #11

2007-03-31T00:58:00.000-04:00

“man…i was just leaving this place after work, and the craziest shit…”

“what happened?”

“i was about to get into my car, and i hear this noise. sort of metallic, muffled, like boom, boom, boom.”

“an explosion?”

“no…more like pounding or thumping.”

“ok.”

“yeah. three pounds or bangs or whatever. in pretty quick succession.”

“where were you?”

“i was coming out of this place.”

“what place?”

“i don’t want to go into that right now.”

“ok.”

“yeah…going into my car, and i hear that noise, and at first i think someone is in a car fuckin’.”

“your car?”

“no, A car.”

“oh.”

“you’re completely killing my story.”

“i am?”

“you’re focusing on all the wrong things.”

“you’re telling it.”

“i’m trying to. now, listen to me. so i’m about to get into my car, and i hear this noise. like thumping or something…BOOM BOOM BOOM…and at first, i thought someone was gettin’ it on in the parking lot.”

“ok.”

“yeah…except it wasn’t constant.”

“not constant?”

“no…there were pauses. you know, i’d hear the pounding, and then it would stop for a moment, and then it would start back up again. so, i figured it wasn’t some fuckin’ goin’ on…it was someone trapped in a trunk somewhere.”

“really?”

“yeah man, i mean, my balls got all tight and everything.”

“yuck. what for?”

“what for? BECAUSE SOMEONE’S TRAPPED IN A FUCKIN’ TRUNK!!! there was no telling what kind of horror i could have stumbled upon. i mean, they could’ve been all bloody and naked and shit. and, you know, i would have been obligated to help them escape. they might have wanted me to help get revenge on their captors. i didn’t want to get caught up in some kind of Columbian drug deal gone bad. not at five o’clock in the morning.”

“what are you talking about?”

“so i started walking through the parking lot, looking for where the sound was coming from. and the more i heard it, the more certain i was that someone was trapped in a trunk. my balls…”

“i know. so did you find them?”

“my nuts?”

“the person in the trunk.”

“naw man. there wasn’t nobody in a trunk. that’s what i was about to tell you. i started walking towards the sound, and after about five steps, i realized that the sound wasn’t in the parking lot at all. it was over the hill, down on the highway below. there was some construction work down there. they were using some hydraulic equipment to bust up some pavement.”

“so there was no one in a trunk either?”

“nope. i walked around looking – like i said – but i didn’t see anything, just that construction work on the highway below. i just walked over to the hillside and watched the sun rise over the hills above the river. it was beautiful.”

“are you high?”

“like giraffe ass.”

“man…i gotta go to work. what are you gonna do?”

“i’m gonna watch a little bit of the Flintstones and then take a nap. call me when you leave work early. i wanna go catch some catfish.”

and now for something completely different

2007-03-29T00:58:00.000-04:00

Crazy Artie -vs.- Crazy Alice

tha next episode

2007-03-27T00:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, ask them if what's her name gave that to 'em.
and then crip walk yo ass over to fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

professionalism #20

2007-03-24T00:58:00.000-04:00

“what time is it?”

“3:30.”

“is that it? it feels like we just got back from lunch.”

“we did.”

“we should have taken longer.”

“yep.”

“this is bullshit. i should’ve entered the real estate market in Puerto Rico along time ago. this one guy i know, he…”

“i can’t take this,” i say.

“what you got? you don't want it? i’ll take it.”

“no. this meeting,” i say. “this bullshit. i’m leaving.”

“you’re leaving?”

“later on,” i said, and pushed my chair back and walked towards the doors, adjusting my tie on the way out. i kept my head lowered, but not down. i didn’t look anyone in the eye as i headed out, but i didn’t look away either. breathe slow, i thought, you’re almost out.

through the glass, i could see this girl – vaguely Asian, long hair, glasses, a bag slung over one shoulder – with her hand on the door handle. she was coming in when i was going out. i opened the door and smiled, held it, waited until she was safely inside, then ambled back to my seat next to the Doktor. i knew that i wouldn’t be getting out of this any time soon.

“what happened?” he said.

“what do you mean? didn’t you see…”

“you’re pathetic. remind me to find someone else if i ever need to break out of jail. you don’t have the stomach for it. sometimes, you just gotta be raw. you know what i mean? RAW.”

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

the Doktor was working himself into a frenzy, or perhaps just devolving into some kind of methamphetamine delirium. “you gotta do more than keep it in mind, son. you gotta live that shit. LIVE IT!!!"

“alright. fuck. live it raw. i gotcha.”

“hey…watch this.” it was then that the Doktor stood up from his seat and looked at this lady from accounting sitting next to him. “no i DO NOT want to hear a black joke,” he said. “do these people even KNOW you fixed the Final Four pool this year? hmmm? well i think maybe you should TELL THEM!!!" breathing heavily through the mouth, he went on to accuse her of insulting his ancestry, of defecating in her pants, and of stealing his office supplies. he even threatened to turn her in for blowing the janitors for five bucks a pop in the mop closet. the old lady, clearly confused and insulted beyond repair, headed towards the door, with the Doktor in hot pursuit.

strangely, few in the room seemed to even notice.

i had just found that girl in the sea of brainless heads in the room when the Doktor reappeared at the conference room door. the head of Security pushed him back into the room and quickly disappeared. the Doktor let loose a forlorn roar.

“hey,” he wailed, “there’s no surprise party in here for me!!!” he came back and took the empty seat next to me.

“man, you’re like fuckin’ Steve McQueen,” i said.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re like…i don’t know…like fuckin’ real smooth. subtle. nice job escaping. that old bird is probably overdosing on cheesecake as we speak.”

“fuck her,” he said, “she gives shit blow jobs. five bucks my ass. hey…gimme some of that water.”

“no,” i said, “no. you can't have any of this. you got some shit on your lip anyway.”

“come on dude…i’m thirsty.”

“no.”

“give it.”

“NO!!!"

“GIVE IT!!!"

“why you…”

in the process of wresting the half-drunk water bottle from my hand, the Doktor managed to empty its contents onto my lap. my crotch. it looked like i pissed myself.

“look at this. i’m a mess.”

“you ain’t kiddin’. you’re a train wreck. clean yourself up. it looks like you’ve been masturbating. you’re knuckles are white from inner tension. where’s your tea shades. YOU’RE A DOPE FEIND!!!"

“well, i’ve got a legit reason to leave now,” i said.

as i was walking towards the door, i was trying to survey the damage done. i didn’t notice the girl – the one from before – arrive at the door at the same time. i looked up and met her eyes. her’s went right to my crotch. she raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue as she rolled out of the room.

“hey,” i yelled after, “hey it’s because that water was cold. seriously.”

i stood there in the low lit hallway of corporate America, trying to figure out where it all went wrong and where to go next. after brushing my pants a few more times, i turned towards the stairwell to make my escape. before i turned the handle on the door, it popped open to reveal that old lady from accounting. there was a gang of old bitches with her, and i’d quickly surmised they were out for blood, whipped into some kind of atavistic fury from the Doktor’s slander and his certain failure to pay the hooker tab.

their eyes met mine and then went down to my crotch. and then they came back up. i barely heard the old bag yell “GET ‘IM GIRLS!!!" and they were on my like a pack of hyenas, clubbing me with their umbrellas and handbags. they chased me back towards the conference room, and sent me backwards into the room tumbling.

“PERVERT!!!" they yelled, and slammed the door behind. the Doktor slid down his chair and huddled nervously on the floor. i could hear them yell from the hall, “LET’S FIND HIS FRIEND…HE’S PROBABLY PEEPING IN THE LADIES ROOM AS USUAL!!!"

“godamm,” i said, sizing the bump on my head, “they don’t play around.”

“no they don’t,” the Doktor whispered, “and they’re anticipating my next move. we’ve got to leave here immediately and we’ve got to be careful.”

marah

2007-03-22T00:58:00.000-04:00

this isn't the first time Marah has graced these pages, and i doubt it will be the last. there are worse things someone could play when asked, "put on some American music," but maybe nothing better.

it's all here, i think.

country-fried rhythm and blues music played by punk rockers from the center of the city. poetry from back alleys. diehard dreams and broken hearts on their sleeves. beercan stumbling.

this is the one that's been stuck in my head all week. from Let's Cut the Crap and Hook up Later on Tonight, i promise it sounds nothing and exactly like everything else they put down.

listen: marah - formula, cola, dollar draft
buy: marah rekkids, if you know what's good for you

"more internal bitching & squabbling and crazed jealous treachery than in a tribe of Hyenas in heat"

2007-03-20T00:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them i don't give a motherfuck how many cars they see me drive, or see cash fallin' out my ass, i got diamond rings and i'm eatin' three steaks and offer them a goddamm hamburger.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

over the hump

2007-03-17T00:58:00.000-04:00

there is an old lady who lives in my building. she has two dogs – one, the black one, is a Labrador and the other, newer one, is a Pit Bull. i usually see her mornings, when i’m coming home from work, and she is taking the dogs out for a walk.

mostly, those two animals run her roughshod over the parking lot and strips of grass that surround the building. i get a malicious kind of joy watching her follow the dogs, anticipating a shit with a few sheets of newspaper. when one of them humps over, she quickly splays the paper down on the ground under the dog’s ass. one time, she got all tangled up in leashes when one dog was tryin’ to cop a squat and the other crossed over to sniff its ass.

i’m basically nice to the old broad because – let’s be honest – she could have me arrested for any number of felonies that occur in and around my place on a regular basis.

and therein lies my problem.

Sunday morning, i was coming home from work and i’m extra pissed because of the jump to Daylight Savings Time. she’s out and about with her two animals, only this time, she’s in between me and the stairwell doorway. i’m not feeling much like a chit-chat, but for fuck’s sake, i can at least try and be cordial.

not long after she begins, the Pit starts bumping my hand with its nose. i tried to pet it, but it’s half-biting at my hand and slobbering all over the place. as soon as i stopped, it reared up and put its front paws on my arm, starts barking in my face. the old lady tried as best she could to get the dog down and apologized all the while for getting my suit muddy. i was about to tell her it wasn’t a big deal, when i was caught mid-sentence by a whack to my balls. the Pit had buried its nose in my crotch.

it was an awkward situation to say the least. i pushed the dog away as best i could, but it growled at me and bared its teeth. the old lady had become distracted with the Lab, who was painfully trying to shit on the asphalt in the parking lot. and to be honest with you, i was too. not shitting in the parking lot, you twisted fuckers, i mean watching the dog do its business. that shit is funny. you’ve seen it before, when a dog’s taking a crap, it looks out of the corners of its eyes like its all scared or something. anyway…while i’m laughing up my sleeve at the dog, the other one – the Pit – grabs hold of my left leg and starts going to town.

“whoa. Whoa!!! a little help here,” i said.

the old lady begins laughing. “looks like you two are getting along just fine.”

i tried to shake my leg and shake the dog loose to no avail. it stopped moving only long enough to look me in the eyes and growl. and when i reached down to push it off, it snapped viciously at my hand, never breaking its rhythm.

“when he gets like this, he’s like a wrecking machine and twice as dangerous. it’s best just to let him finish off.”

Finish Off? what kind of sick and twisted place have i decided to call home? i live in the company of fiends. monsters in old ladies’ clothes. wild animals. right-wing pigeons. chronic cough syrup abusers. human smugglers. mongers. mouth breathers. witchdoctors. identity thieves. shylocks. forgery artists. lottery addicts. mailbox vandals. aging hookers. gun runners. fashion victims. acid casualties. young republicans. bad tippers. poachers. sexual deviants. litterbugs. art school dropouts. poor sports. lawyers. video bootleggers. scofflaws. new wave crack baby criminals. dimestore hoods. hooligans, thugs, gangsters, muggers, ruffians, brutes, and heavies.

the last thing you’d want to do is let these people know that you’ll roll over, cuz once you do, they’ll come to expect it. and their dogs ain't no different.

spank rock

2007-03-15T00:58:00.000-04:00

what?
it ain't no more to it.

listen: spank rock - bump
buy: spank rock records

"Foul Balls and Rash Predictions"

2007-03-13T00:58:00.000-04:00

if anyone calls, tell them that it's out of my range and it's grown.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

cabman #10

2007-03-09T23:58:00.000-05:00

i’m looking for these kids.

right now, those savage little bastards are probably crouching behind bushes, half-naked in this foul-weather, waiting to pounce on mailmen or brush salesmen or elderly mothers on their way to serve free lunches at the church. i’m sure i heard their terrible screams just the other night, along with the lonesome wail of a three-legged dog they were no doubt menacing with a fireplace poker.

i had picked up this old man and was taking him across the river to “137 Patterson, my Missus place.” it’s a mostly residential area where he wanted to go, with some row houses here and there and a bunch of houses packed really closely together. so, i’m driving through the side streets, and it’s a really slow go. cars pretty much lined both sides of those narrow-ass streets. there’s a stop sign on every corner. i got to one of them – an intersection with a hill running north to south – and the car just gets fucking pounded with snowballs. must have been a dozen or better.

the juvenile delinquents were up the hill a little ways, but they weren’t trying to hide or anything. they were all laughing, baring their hideous yellow teeth sharp as razor claws. i opened up the car door and managed to stand with one leg outside of the vehicle before the snowballs began to fly again, and i had to hurriedly duck back inside. this time, they were gunning for my head. snow spattered against the driver’s-side window and ricocheted off the door. one or two managed to explode and scatter snow all over my seat. it wasn’t long after i sat down again that my marbles were soaked and cold from melted snow.

i cursed their mothers and the days they were born.

the old man in the back, well, he just started chuckling. “i’m gonna get them,” i told him, “matter of fact…” i turned the wheel to head up the hill after them, but the old man gave a shout.

“hey,” he said, “the meter’s running.”

he was right. those unnatural little punks were still grinning up at the top of the hill. most of them had their arms at their sides, but a few were hunched over, scooping small piles of snow together and getting ready for another assault. i eyed them warily as i pulled away.

the old man was still chuckling in the backseat. “that shit ain’t funny. someone could’ve been killed.” i said.

“come on,” he said, “it wasn’t like they were throwing rocks from a highway overpass.”

“i’m not talking about me getting killed. I’M TALKING ABOUT THEM!!!”

later, just before he got out of the cab, he put his hand on my shoulder and he said, “the good in a man is revealed by how he treats the least of those amongst him.”

with that, he got out of the car, ambled slowly up the steps to his Missus’s place, and casually tossed a snowball down onto the hood of my car before he disappeared in the doorway.

yeah. so like i said…i’m looking for these kids.

urge overkill

2007-03-07T23:58:00.000-05:00

often times
people they find
they're not blind
yeah, they just don't see

you've been a dropout ever since you turned seventeen

listen: urge overkill - dropout
buy: urge overkill records

"A Wild & Woolly Tale of Sporting Excess"

2007-03-05T23:58:00.000-05:00

if anyone calls, tell them the fat is in the fire.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

sex film bomb

2007-03-02T23:58:00.001-05:00

“why did i have to meet you here? you thinking of finishing your degree?”

the Doktor breathes deep. “you smell that?”

“yeah, sure. what’s it…like a grill or something. a little bit of garlic. smells good. i’m hungry, let’s get a taco.”

“no, you asshole. look around you,” he points here and there to some girls walking along paths between buildings. “that smell.”

“yeah.”

“that’s pussy.”

“really.”

“yes.”

“well, thank you for that little bit of information. hey, uh…what the fuck are you on anyway?”

“me? i’m only high on life, my friend, high on life. ah, yes. just look around you. college life. wealth. privilege. naïveté. the opportunities are wide open here. this place is largely untouched…full of young, nubile, innocent female minds, yearning to broaden their horizions and…”

“it’s ripe for a scam.”

“precisely.”

“yeah, well you can find some other lackey, ok, cuz the last time you had something foolproof, i came down with dysentery and nearly lost my pinky finger.”

“i didn’t know she was prone to seizures.”

“well, whatever. count me the fuck out.”

“look at you. all riled up and you don’t even know why. hey…would i ever steer you wrong? hmmm? don’t i look out for you? hmmm? who pulled you out of that burning building?”

“BUT YOU LIT IT, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

“my point is, i wouldn’t get you into something that wasn’t a 100% guaranteed, A-1, no-brainer money maker.”

“i get half?”

“there’d be no other way.”

“alright. i got crowd control.”

“PUT THAT THING AWAY!!! Christ, can you be a little more business-like for one minute?”

“what do you mean? this lets people know that you mean business. check out the business end.”

“stop that. STOP THAT. put that away. now…just follow my lead, ok? hit the ‘down’ button.”

“you go down a lot, don’t you?”

“shut up. be professional.”

“word.”

we wait in silence. the elevator seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time, and some people have begun milling about, waiting for the car to take us all south. when it arrives, we step on and i cordially hold the door for some stragglers.

as i am surveying the scene, the Doktor says, “35 millimeter.”

“what?” i say.

“the cameras,” he says, rather loudly. “i’ve got them out in the van.”

“huh? oh. OH!!! the cameras. right. sure. in the van. gotcha.”

“yeah,” he says, “we’ve got the house for the weekend. it’s laid out. Lance is gonna shoot this one.” the elevator stops and a few people get off but no one else gets on. the car continues on it’s way.

“Lance,” i say, “i like him. cool guy.”

“yeah…it’s a pretty big budget, considering. all we need now is another actress.”

“who are the others?” i say. the Doktor doesn’t answer, but looks at me sideways, then full-on. he’s gritting his teeth together, and nodding his head towards a Blonde standing next to him. “hello,” i say to her, but she just rolls her eyes and looks at the lit numbers descending above the elevator door. when it reaches the bottom floor, everyone except me and the Doktor files out.

“what the fuck was that?” he says.

“yeah…what the fuck was it? what were you trying to do in there? set me up for a date?”

“no you asshole. we’re doing a porno shoot.”

“we are?”

“yeah.”

“since when?”

“since when? WHAT DO YOU THINK THE PLAN IS???”

“i don’t know, man. i don’t know what’s up with your…selection.”

“my selection?”

“yeah. i thought you said this was a sure thing. and then you’re all motioning towards that Blonde. i mean, she totally wasn’t my type.”

“you have got nothing to do with it?”

“what do you mean? i’m a co-owner of this business.”

“you’re about to be the sole owner of a black eye.”

“oh yeah?”

“YEAH!!!”

and we begin to fight, punching and rolling around in that filthy elevator, full of cracked-rust piss stains and black water from slushy winter boots. the elevator doors open at the top and there are about a dozen or so people waiting to get on. we quickly pull ourselves from the floor. i fix my tie and cordially hold the door for some stragglers.

“we good?” the Doktor says.

“beautiful,” i say, “ok.”

after a few floors, the Doktor says, “35 millimeter.”

“perfect,” i say. “those are amazing for some tight beaver shots. you got lens caps this time?”

“what?”

“cuz last time, juices were flying everywhere. and forget about it once that shit dries. it took those guys hours to chip it off. remember that?”

“uh…yeah,” he says, “and we’ve got the house rented for the weekend. it’s…”

“fucking fantastic,” i say, “i can’t wait to get those girls in one of those wicker chairs out on the patio. put some red marks on their ass. and that swing,” i say, “WOO-HOO!!! those bitches will look like they’re skiing. a pole in each hand, baby. A POLE IN EACH HAND!!!”

“hey…keep that shit under wraps a bit,” the Doktor says.

“i ain’t wrappin’ shit. i’m goin’ in bareback. make sure them bitches got their tests up-to-date. and no crabs like last time either.”

“Lance doesn’t like a lot of…”

“NO-PANTS LANCE!!! holy shit. he’s gonna be there too?”

“yeah…it wasn’t easy getting him to come by for the shoot. he’s a very famous…”

“that pervert. hey, is he still making those barnyard films down in central Texas? cuz if he is, i don’t want nothin’ to do with that dude. hey, tell me something. who’s greasin’ up the midgets?”

“…uh…i don’t know anything about that, but we’ve got a really big budget for this…”

“you hear that bitches? we got a big budget for this one. you know what that means!!! you’ll be doin’ blow offa boners in no time. now, who wants to be a movie star? hmmm? you? you? no? anyone? how ‘bout you? hey, it’s cool. we got some lesbian scenes, too. looks like you’d like that, no?”

the elevator door opens and a few of the girls run off, a few more turn and stare and utter obscenities at us. and one, just before the door closes again, turns and sprays me and the Doktor with pepper spray.

“ouch.”

“MY EYES!!! MY EYES!!!”

“calm down,” i say, tasting the familiar sting on my lips. “it’s only pepper spray.”

“MY EYES!!!”

“will you relax? it’s not mace. now come on. i’ve got some milk in the car. we can wash our eyes out.”

“i…GODDAMMIT this shit stings.”

“you get used to it. it’s like eating hot peppers.”

“what?”

“you build-up a tolerance.”

“i…i thought…YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FOLLOW MY LEAD!!!”

“what are you talking about? where you in the same elevator? i did. i mean, i thought i did a pretty good job. hey, you still got those cameras? cuz i know someone who will take them off your hands. plus i still get half, right?”

“awww fuck. where are we? i’m hungry. let’s get a taco.”

j mascis

2007-02-28T23:58:00.000-05:00

circle May 1 on your calendars. Dinosaur Jr drops Beyond.

i've been lucky enough to get a copy of it, and it sounds as good or better than their SST days - or even Where You Been - and that's a bold fuckin' statement. the fact that the original line-up is back together is the icing on the cake. apparently the band is aware of the leak, and is being very non-Metallica about the whole thing, asking that the leaking stops until after it's officially released. after that, they said, it can be a free-for-all.

but i know you won't do 'em like that. get the record, and then hit the show. unfuckwithable.

so as much as i'd like to let ya hear the first one off their new album, i'm gonna wait like they said. in the meantime, check out mascis + the Fog from 2000.

listen: j mascis + the Fog - sameday
listen: j mascis + the Fog - ammaring

buy: j mascis records

johnny on the spot

2007-02-26T23:58:00.000-05:00

if anyone calls, tell them to call me at 1-627-826-3789.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

cabman #9

2007-02-23T23:58:00.000-05:00

while i was waiting for a fare, i stopped in Market Square to get a cupcake at the bakery shop. the meters give you seven and a half minutes for a quarter. when i came out of the place, a meter maid was about to put a ticket under my windshield wiper.

“what are you doing?” i said.

“what’s it look like i’m doing?”

“wasting your time.”

“is that so,” she said, and ripped the citation from her pad and placed it under the wiper. “you have a good day now, mkay.”

“what am i getting a ticket for?”

“you are parked in a metered space. to park there, it requires you pay the City a quarter dollar for an allotted fifteen minute parking privilege. the meter’s currently empty.”

“i didn’t think you had to since it’s a leap year. my quarters wouldn’t fit. i think the slot is jammed.”

“the hours of operation for the machines are Monday through Friday, 7:00AM until 6:00PM. the slot is fine, sir, but if you wish, you can report any mechanical difficulties you may have experienced to the Department of Public Works over on…”

“but i’m working here. i’m down here spending money.”

“would you rather i have the vehicle towed, sir?”

“what?”

“be happy i gave you a ticket,” she said, and wiggled her ass down the sidewalk.

who the hell gets happy about a ticket? it was so early that there wasn’t even anyone down there trying to park. there were just some pigeons bobbing around and a few perverts standing on the corners. no one was looking to park. and i was in and out, five minutes. not even.

goddammit, i thought, she fucked up my cupcake.

i opened up my car door and slumped inside, turned the key in the ignition, and turned on the windshield wipers. i let them sweep back and forth and back and forth until that yellow ticket dingledoodled in the breeze. my glove box was filled with them and another would make it a fire hazard. i clicked the latch on it and surveyed the damage. the Meter Maid was behind me now, heading across the street and picking her nose.

i rolled down my window. “hey Rita,” i yelled, “Rita! hey Meter Maid.” and when she turned around, i threw a handful of the yellow slips from my glove box out the window. “hey!!! here’s your tickets,” i said and threw another handful out the window and then another.

“hey,” she said, “HEY!!!” as she began running towards me, talking into the radio mouthpiece that was on her shoulder as she was reaching towards her belt, probably for a can of pepper spray. but my ride was already in gear and riding off into the sunrise. after i’d rounded the corner and driven a few blocks, i pulled over to use a pay phone. The Doktor answered after several dozen rings, probably impeded by pulling himself from under a sweaty pile of innocent female college students, confused by a night of drinking at the Sorority House and easily led by the hand of Satan himself into the stinking den of iniquity that vicious pigfuck of a man calls “home.”

“h-h-h-h-hello,” he whimpered.

“awww get up,” i yelled, “get the fuck up.”

“who is this?”

“you know goddamm well who this is.”

“what are you doing up?”

“i got another ticket this morning down in Market Square. what am i paying you for if you can’t even properly get me immunity from a stinking parking violation.”

“you don’t pay me.”

“NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR TECHNICALITIES!!!”

“oh wow. what time is it? i drank too much.”

“FOCUS!!!”

“ok. listen man…i put a call in to That Guy, but they weren’t trying to listen.”

“i know man. we gotta do something about that.”

and he said with an air of terrible certainty, “we gonna go to jail man. That’s what we’re gonna do.”

that was really all i needed to hear.

who wants cake?

2007-02-20T23:58:00.000-05:00

...damm...

can you believe Kurt Cobain would've been 40 years old today? kinda coincidental, i suppose, that i've been listening to the shit out of Bleach lately and reading some cool articles about how they recorded Nevermind and got thrown out of their own record release party [thanks to the Doktor for the articles].

who knows what would've happened had he stuck around a little longer. i've gone on before about what they did - and you can call me cliché or predictable or typical or whatever you'd like - but i think they were special. so without me getting too sappy, here's two from Nirvana.

enjoy.

listen: nirvana - sappy
listen: nirvana - negative creep

buy: the box set

johnny on the spot

2007-02-19T23:58:00.000-05:00

if anyone calls, tell them i'm in the midst of a trauma. leave a message, i'll call them back.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

professionalism #19

2007-02-13T23:58:00.000-05:00

i had arrived early for the meeting. a projector had been set-up in the middle of the room and the usual tables were pushed to the back, along the wall. in their place stood neat rows of plastic chairs with metal wire legs, perhaps thirty of them in all, and a nervous little man with some kind of remote in his hand, chatting with The Boss.

this could be ugly.

i took a seat on the aisle near the back and surveyed the parade of brainless monsters and worm-ridden perverts that work in this place. sometimes they came in alone, but more often they shuffled into the meeting in clumps like blood-matted hair. it would be a goddamm miracle if i got out of this meeting alive. my head would soon be full of acid and the walls were already beginning to breathe. Good Lord, i thought, i should have waited.

i bent low, pretending to tie my shoestrings while i stuffed what was left of the drugs into my left shoe. suddenly, my head exploded with white light and the dull clang of flesh on metal.

“excuse me. oh i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you down there. are you ok? do you mind?”

i was shell-shocked. in her rush to get a seat, the Big Red troglodyte from Human Resources had slammed my head into the chair in front of me with her ass.

“what were you doing down there anyway? hmmm? i’m just gonna sit right here. are you ok? wow, you’ve got a big red mark on your forehead.”

i said nothing.

“what are you writing there?” she said.

“fuck off.”

“it looks interesting.”

“STOP BREATHING ON ME, YOU CRAZY OLD BASTARD!!!”

“ooooooo, someone has a case of the Mondays,” she said, turning the words into some twisted kind of two-note jingle. i remember resisting an urge to elbow her in the mouth and make a run for the conference room door. but there were people milling about, and i’d almost certainly be caught.

“woo. i hope they get on with this. this is so early, dontcha think? hmm? well…i’m gonna have to eat something. low blood sugar, ya know.”

low blood sugar? please. cut her and i bet she bleeds corn syrup. she proceeded to open up not one, but three bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. she handled them every so delicately, breaking them into smaller pieces before daintly putting them into her mouth, then chomping down with the violence and precision of a hydraulic vice. piece after piece she shoveled into that gaping maw, occasionally pausing only to yawn or suck her sausage fingers. she didn’t bother to close her mouth to chew.

“those good?” i say.

“mphblargsnarfgle.”

“yeah. they look like it.” you greasy pig. “the cornerstone of every nutritious breakfast.”

“you want some of these chips?”

“you have more to eat?”

“they’re really good.”

“really? i didn’t think you tasted your food.” i hoped she choked, that fuckin’ cow. there was a dull pain spreading across my forehead and a slow ringing in my ears. i was beginning to fear i had suffered a concussion or some kind of brain swelling. the walls were swaying back and forth now…there was no denying it. the Speaker took his place near the screen at the far end of the room. he wasn’t so much smiling as baring his teeth, sharpened to fine points. he was licking his lips, slicing his tongue and dripping his blood on the boardroom floor.

the man in front of me turned around in his chair and said, “are you ready?”

“TURN AROUND BEFORE I BELT YOU IN THE THROAT!!!”

“ooowee,” Big Red next to me said. i heard a low, distant rumble. “i think i need to excuse myself.” she started to crawl over top of me.

“back. BACK!!!”

“excuse me. excuse me Johnny. i have to go.”

“like fuck you do,” i said, and pushed her with my forearm back into her seat. “you’re not molesting me again.”

“GET OUTTA MY WAY,” she bellowed, “I HAVE TO GO!!!”

and with that she scrambled over me like a dog and scooted her ass down the aisle and out the back door. well fuck that, i thought, she’s not getting away with this.

i had planned to make it to the washroom before her and flush an M-80 down the toilet, bursting the lines, and forcing her to shit her pants. but she had too much of a lead on me, and her girth prevented me from passing her in the hallway.

i shoved her brutally from behind.

“what kind of a bully are you?” she said.

“YOU RUINED MY HIGH!!!”

“what are you talking about? get off of me!!!” she said, and slammed the washroom door closed. inches away from Ground Zero, i bore witness to a tortured gastric upheaval. her bowels unleashed a brutal, vicious kind of violence that is only familiar to those who’ve survived heavy, sustained hand-to-hand combat or frequent the ruthless cockfighting syndicate of southwestern Pennsylvania. i’ve done both, and let me tell you, that shit is fun.

after the initial burst subsided, there was relative quiet until i heard the toilet flush and the handle on the door click. she appeared in the doorway.

“hey!!! what the hell is this?” she said.

“everything come out all right?”

“you know…there is something wrong with you.”

“that may be. but you, you swine, you didn’t even wash your hands. you classless hound. i’ve got a good mind to bind and gag you and leave you in the janitor’s closet. let the rats have their way with you. KEEP YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM ME!!! never again send me interoffice mail. YOU’RE E COLI MARY!!!”

“ST. CLAIR. ST. FUCKING CLAIR.” it was the Boss. how the fuck did he get here, i wondered. i became transfixed on the hairs dangling from his nose.

“nice shoes,” i said.

“GET THE HELL BACK TO THAT MEETING. NOW!!!”

“relax. i’ve got the situation under control here. this lady, this Beast…check her hands. i bet she’s got shit under her fingernails. hey…where did she go? hey, COME BACK HERE!!! dammit. you know what they say…they can hide, but they can’t run.”

“WHAT IN THE SAM HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, BOY?”

“hey man…i don’t appreciate that ‘boy’ shit, you know. i ain’t nobody’s boy. make me all claustrophobic and shit. like it’s the Plantation days up in here or something. the way you say that ‘boy,’ i don’t know man…i might have a flashback to them slave days or something. might lynch a Cracker’s ass or two up in this motherfucker. you better watch yourself.”

“YOU BETTER GET BACK TO THAT MEETING!!! DO YOU WANT THIS TO GO IN YOUR PERSONNEL FILE???”

“hey…as long as you stay outta my shoe, i don’t give a fuck what you put in my file. but i want some representation, a lawyer. where’s the Doktor? SECURITY!!!”

johnny on the spot

2007-02-12T23:58:00.000-05:00

if they call back, tell them there never really is a good time, there's always nothing much to say.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

i told you it was wrong, and other gambling disasters

2007-02-05T23:58:00.001-05:00

as soon as i got my official Faster Than The World press credentials, i immediately called the Doktor to gloat. he said nothing on the phone, which i initially took as rather rude even from his ignorant ass. it seems that he dropped the phone and raced to my place with, among other things, a tape recorder. he was very persuasive that we leave at once and test the limits of my new found authority, or something like that. the following is a vague recollection of the past week.

DATELINE: January 28, 2007. 11:58 PM. somewhere in Pittsburgh.

i show him the press pass. “well?”

[strange rumblings, broken glass, a few dull thuds]

“you hit me with a fuckin’ bat?”

“get your shoes on. we’ve got business to attend.”

“alright. fuck. where are we going?”

“Miami.”

“well, that’s all you had to say.”

DATELINE: January 29, 2007. 8:03 AM. Portland, Maine.

“welcome to…Portland? what the…Portland!”

“damm…this compass is worthless.”

“Portland? you drove to fuckin’ Portland?”

“well you were no help.”

“I WAS SLEEPING!!!”

“exactly. man i drive like Steve McQueen.”

DATELINE: January 29, 2007. 2:17 PM. somewhere outside of Philadelphia.

“license and registration.”

“it’s cool, officer, seriously. johnny, show him the pass.”

DATELINE: January 29, 2007. 2:19 PM. somewhere just a bit further outside of Philadelphia.

“how come they’re chasing us.”

“relax. i bet it’s just a police escort. we’re like royalty.”

“you sure?”

“totally.”

“why are they behind us then?”

“i dunno. it’ll be a goddamm miracle if we make it there on time.”

DATELINE: January 30, 2007. 12:27 AM. around Walterboro, South Carolina. i think.

“here comes a pick-up. keep your thumb out and look sad.”

“what are we gonna do about my car?”

“sorry about that.”

“we can’t just leave it here, can we? i mean, it’s still on fire.”

“shut up and look sad. HEY!!! HEY!!!”

“you boys need a ride?”

“yeah, we’ll take it as far as you’re goin’.”

“mmm hmmm. the other one’s gotta ride in the back. but you ride up in the cab with me. you got a pretty mouth, boy.”

“whoa. johnny, show her the pass.”

“i don’t think i really need to.”

“you heard what she said.”

“yeah.”

“well?”

“well i don’t want to abuse my power, you know. so…”

“come on boy.”

“i’ll be in the back if you need me.”

DATELINE: January 30, 2007. 9:11 AM. on the dais at Dolphin Stadium, Miami.

“yo…we made it. meet the press, motherfuckers.”

“wow…look at all the cameras and shit.”

“HEY!!!”

“it’s cool…we’ve got credentials. check it out.”

“GET OFF OF THE STAGE YOU TWO!!!”

“look…it’s Peyton Manning. hey Peyton. Peyton. yeah…a couple of questions for ya. it’s ok, i’m with the press. seriously.”

“SECURITY!!!”

“yeah, uh, does the back of your hand smell from taking snaps under center? if so, after about how many? and when is it the worst?”

DATELINE: January 30, 2007. noon-ish. on the way to Miami-Dade county jail.

“alright. remember…we can survive this.”

“what the fuck are you talking about? we’re going to the county for a few hours.”

“don’t protest. it only makes them feel better.”

“what?”

“start growing your thumbnails.”

“look…i’ll call [deleted], he’s got a boat down here. if we’re lucky, he’ll post our bail once it’s set, and in a few hours, we’ll be out.”

“man. as soon as we get in, i’m puttin’ some bread in the toilet and makin’ that jailhouse wine.”

DATELINE: January 31, 2007. 3:26 AM. on the way out of Miami-Dade county jail.

[breathes deep] “you smell that johnny?”

“no.”

“ah. that’s freedom.”

“damm…where’s my press pass?”

“don’t worry. contraband. i didn’t want The Man confiscating it. i took care of it.”

“you did?”

“yeah. i’ll get it after we eat.”

DATELINE: January 31, 2007. 7:33 AM. back in Miami. i think.

“motel time…how about that one?”

“sure.”

“it’s close to the bus stop.”

“indeed it is.”

“where are we?”

“i don’t know.”

“las hojas sucias por la playa.”

“wow. you’re all Spanish and shit.”

“yeah man.”

“sounds classy. must be a four-star.”

“wait until they see your press pass.”

“we’re gonna be like royalty here.”

DATELINE: February 1, 2007. the less said about it, the better.

DATELINE: February 2, 2007. 10:45 PM. south beach.

“i think we’re kinda early.”

“i know, but this is where he said.”

“i can’t believe Snoop said he’d hook us for this Playboy party. man…that press pass is working wonders.”

“i didn’t tell him about that. he’s a big Steelers fan. me and Snoop go back.”

“how far back?”

“way back.”

“shhhh…act serious. Ladies, ladies, good evening.”

“they’re smiling. they must not understand English.”

“relax. i got this. now, Ladies, who wants to see if the groundhog in my pants casts a shadow?”

DATELINE: February 3, 2007. 4:32 PM. south beach.

“listen, Officer, sir…i don’t know that guy at all.”

“well, he says you came to Miami together.”

“yeah, well, he’s a liar.”

“he said you guys are down here covering the Super Bowl.”

“we’re not…i mean we are. what i mean is, no one is supposed to know. it’s highly confidential. top secret. Patriot Act-type shit, you know. but i told him not to do it, ok. i told him, ‘you better not. you better not even touch it,’ you know. but sometimes there’s no reasoning with him. he’s an animal. the sooner you lock him up, the better.”

“he says you’ve got some kind of press credentials, immunity from prosecution or something-or-other.”

“i did…well, i do. but you don’t wanna get your hands on it. better that you don’t even know. better that NO ONE knows about this, you know what i mean? i’d hate for you to get the federalés on your back.”

“right.”

DATELINE: February 4, 2007. 6:28 PM. Dolphin Stadium.

"let's walk down this way."

"uh oh...be cool."

"hey look. it's Prince."

"oh shit...hey watch this. Prince. Prince, hey. Pancakes, bitches. ha Ha!!!"

"SECURITY!!!"

johnny on the spot

2007-02-05T23:58:00.000-05:00

if any one calls tell them i'm not here, this isn't happening.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny

social distortion

2007-01-30T23:58:00.000-05:00

remember this one?

didn't think so. that's ok, cuz rumor has it the good people over at fttw are givin' it a whirl sometime this week. and if the numbers are right, i might even be a regular on Mondays. that's right kids, johnny st. clair is goin' legit!!! he's sellin' out, baby!!! michele over there hooked me up with a press pass and everything. plus i got it from a good source that if i meet deadline three weeks in a row, i get access to their meth lab. so stop by, dig the scene, and for fuck's sake put some pants on.

me and the Dok will be hittin' the front page down in Miami this weekend. Super Bowl, fear and loathing, you know the drill. stay tuned. it's a celebration, bitches.

and finally, in social distortion's honor, here's one from back in the day. if you haven't heard, Brent Liles was killed in a bicycle accident in California a couple of weeks ago. Mahalo, bro.

listen: social distortion - telling them
buy: social distortion records

professionalism #18

2007-01-23T23:58:00.000-05:00

“yeah, but, he’ll never be able to coach in the NFL.”

“what do you mean? he’s been a coach. he just got hired as Pittsburgh’s head coach. that, by definition, means…”

“what i mean is, he’ll never be any good.”

“he’ll never be any good?”

“nope.”

“and you know this because…”

“…they’ll never listen to…”

“…you’re the fuckin’...i don’t know. you think you're the fuckin’ great swami of the NFL now, or somethin’?”

“what?”

“you know better than the Rooneys?”

“all i’m saying is, he’s too short.”

“you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“i’m for real. he’s too short.”

“he is not.”

“he is…he’s like 5’8” or something, and none of those players will respect him, cuz they’ll see the fear in his eyes, cuz they’re all like fuckin’ monsters and giants and shit, and he’s done.”

“he’s done?”

“done. they’ll never…”

“hey jackass, he’s over six foot.”

“he is not.”

“he is.”

“how do you know? did you check an old William and Jefferson roster to get his height?”

“William and what? Yale, baby, he went to Yale.”

“Yale? you’re crazy.”

“i’m crazy? you’re the one who’s nuts. the players won’t listen to him cuz he’s too short? what kind of shit is that? that’s the dumbest shit…”

“man fuck you…just cuz you know i’m right…”

“you don’t know shit about fuck.”

“but i know about fuckin’ the shit outta your mom.”

“see…that’s just disrespectful. i was never disrespectful to your mom.”

“my mom?”

“i might’ve been your daddy if i didn’t pull out.”

BOOM!!!

“what the fuck was that? you…you shot me…”

“i’m tellin’ you he’s too short to be a coach.”

“you…you shot me…you shot me in the fuckin’ arm. i’m bleeding.”

“let me see. flesh wound. just grazed you. you’ll be alright.”

“you…you fuckin’…”

“you, you, you. shut the fuck up. you want a band-aid?”

“no.”

“i was just trying to tell you he won’t be no coach. why’d you keep fuckin’ with me? huh?”

“man…maybe you’re right. i’m gonna go get this cleaned up. i’m gonna go call the cops.”

“yeah. go on.”

...fifteen minutes later...

[knock knock knock]

“come in.”

BOOM!!!

“you…you shot me.”

“A HA HA HA HA HA!!!”

“you shot me in the pinky toe.”

“paybacks, motherfucker.”

“i thought you were going to get that cleaned up.”

“naw…i went and got my pistol.”

“well, you know what this means.”

“i do.”

“we’ll just have to wait until next season.”

“we will. and in the meantime?”

“we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“indeed.”

“i’m hungry. let’s get a taco.”

satchel

2007-01-18T23:58:00.000-05:00

"...under no circumstances do i want any one of ya to relate to each other by your Christian names..."

tell me a story
tell me another one please
i'm sure we'd all love to hear it
go ahead

listen: satchel - willow
buy: satchel records

cabman #8

2007-01-05T23:58:00.000-05:00

i paid no attention to my fare, just glided to her softly spoken destination on some kind of earthbound autopilot. i spoke the toll with my eyes on the sideview, and she handed some bills and something else to me over the seat. she was gone before i could say a word. it was dark and the pile felt strange; too many bills for the $12 cab fee, plus something in the pile was too irregular, angular, smooth.

a photograph. i turned it over in the streetlight until i could make it out and remembered where it's from: a cracked plaster cement stairway in a building i've long since left. i remember the morning like yesterday when i found that graffiti scrawled in the stairwell. and i remembered it's author. she was all peroxide lemon yellow blond scattered hair and glass blue eyes, a black biker jacket, a sunflower dress. late one summer night must have been about twenty or so people in that place, most crowded into the kitchen around a keg of beer. she said she liked my haircut and laughed when i asked if she was punk rock. i had it made.

a little while later, she had gotten into one of those quiet fights with her friend, the kind of fight that seethes venom and threatens violence. i remember him grabbing her by the arm and jerking her body towards him. her hair fell into her eyes and, the way her jacket moved, i could see that the shoulder on her sundress had torn. so i took the dare and stepped up to them, telling some lame joke and maybe get him to relax. well, he wasn't having any of that, and he quickly dotted my eye. i stepped back, still with the beer bottle in my hand - neck up, down at my side - and shook my head. i laughed a bit and started to explain myself when he hit me again. i mean, square in the nose this time. see, i had had my right arm at my side with my hand around the neck of the beer bottle. i learned to do that when i was younger. it was a good way to hide it when underage drinking in public, or at least make things less conspicuous. as it turns out, it also allows for a quick swing. i really didn't think about it, it was something more or less like a reflex. the bottle crashed into the side of that motherfucker's head, and he crumpled to the floor of the kitchen bleeding and screaming. a couple of other guys came towards me but stopped short. i looked down at the jagged glass in my hand. by this time, Lemon Yellow was standing behind me, tugging on my shirtsleeve to leave. we left out the back door like some Bonnie and Clyde shit.

we ran down the street and hid behind what? a car? some bushes? something. she asked me how my face felt, and i wanted to say that it hurt but it came out "it pains." we had a laugh about it. we got back to my home, get high, drink wine, sun rise, fall out, wake up…she's got on one of my shirts tied in a knot at the waist. she's in my wallet. i tell her there's $87 and she looks at me like she's gonna cry, and it mighta been cuz she got caught, but i think it's cuz she ain't no theif. i told her to keep it anyway. she says she's sorry, says that she and her boyfriend are catching a bus to New York City. i tell her she should be running from that place, that she should be heading west, that the sun sets too early where she's going. she laughs, leaves.

records that didn't suck in '06

2006-12-31T23:58:00.000-05:00

12. Ghostface Killah - Fishscale

settin' off this year's Dirty Dozen is a Wu-Tang banger. remember when you first heard 36 Chambers? yeah, well, he set that one off too. a little skit heavy with plenty of guest spots, but none of that manages to overshadow Ghost. i can appreciate the carefully scripted Shawn Carter retirement and pseudo-comeback, but this guy never left. he's a bulldozer with a wrecking ball attatched!!! he'll leave a ring around your eye and treadmarks on your back. he's an animal!!! he's hungry!!! listen to "Shakey Dog" and tell me you don't wanna see the movie you know he can write.

11. The Drive-By Truckers - A Blessing and a Curse

man, this record is a laser. some straight-ahead rock and roll from these guys this time around, without a lot of the meandering that's found its way [quite endearingly] on past records. is this the record that breaks them through to the masses? hope so. they deserve it. Hood, Cooley, and Isbell make a strong case for the Triumvirate of rock bands ALL TIME!!! aw, don't look at me like that. and don't even say the Beatles, ok? don't even say it. George Harrison's songs sucked and Ringo's were mostly kid songs. plus, the Truckers could out drink them AND beat them all in a fight. lousy Canadians.

10. G. Love - Lemonade, Ben Harper - Both Sides of the Gun [tie]

frankly, i don't understand all that tie bullshit, myself. if you got a race with four people, one crosses the finish line first, and then two cross at the same time, and one crosses a minute later, the one who crossed last is in third place by my estimation, not fourth. you can't go first, second, fourth. i mean, what the fuck happened to third? huh? where did it go, smartguy? damm...what was my point again? where am i? oh yeah, Ben Harper puts out a double CD that could have easily fit on one disc. why? well...i don't know, but the split is logical and it feels like to halves to a whole. more like an album, i suppose, because i have to walk to the stereo to "flip" the disc. a great record and much improved from his last. G Love drops a lovely one again. his shit is aging like fine wine. i dig the retro and all, ya know, but if he would have dropped the early 90's rap verses from Blackalicious [over-rated backpack rap from the Bay] on "Banger" and the guest [c]rap verse from Jasper [who the fuck is this dude? a friend?] from "Thanks and Praise," the album wouldn't have dragged so bad in the middle. in spite of that, another cool summer breeze from one of Philly's finest.

9. The Twilight Singers - Powder Burns

yes it does, doesn't it? the story goes that Greg Dulli recorded some of these tracks in a New Orleans studio, post-Katrina, using a power generator and some candlelight. more guitar based, more like a Whigs record, but perhaps even greasier than usual. sounds like the aftermath of a feast of smoke and sex and drugs and drink and lies. does "Bonnie Brae" know "Annie Mae?" what's gonna get bought for "Forty Dollars?" and when's the last time you heard a song use "who ride?" shit man...i bet it's been at least since Ice Cube started acting in Disney family movies.

8. Lucero - Rebels, Rogues, and Sworn Brothers

alright...you know that part of a song just before the beat kicks in, when you can hear what's about to happen? when, in that brief moment, you can feel the hope, the longing, the tension, the anticipation, the joy? you know what it feels like to catch a beer bottle upside the head? like a more punk rock Truckers, or a younger Springsteen and the E Street Band [minus dumb sax player], or a post-Burton Metallica with way less suck, less wank, less cheese and four fewer moustaches [now just wait a minute...without all that, what kind of Metallica do you have?]. this is poetry from a beer bottle. the good kind. seriously.

7. Clipse - Hell Hath No Fury

look, i know that coke-rap is all the rage nowadays, but these guys are something else than just that on this record. the music is ominous, like vintage Bomb Squad productions instead of the pop backing tracks that accompany so much of what passes for rap music. nervous and paranoid and cool and calculating. this record - much like the new Roots record - seems to hold a mirror up to us all. so as it sings its praises, it also damns as well. like what was said on last years' mixtape, they really are like Avon in the first season of The Wire.

6. The Roots - Game Theory

the legendary Roots crew is back once again. hyped as a return to form a la "Things Fall Apart," this record delivers like that for sure. not as wild as "Phrenology" nor as straight as "The Tipping Point," they manage to shake your mind and your ass while creating a cohesive album, a lost art in rock let alone hip-hop. ?uestlove remains the world's best drummer and the rest of the band sounds as tight as ever. how can you not love a band who references Public Enemy's "Don't Believe the Hype" and Radiohead's "You and Whose Army" on the same record. prescient too: "America's lost somewhere inside of Littleton / Eleven million children are on Ritalin."

5. TV on the Radio - Return to Cookie Mountain

i saw the video for "Wolf Like Me" on MTV the other day. the video. on MTV. didn't know that still happened, and i suppose it's some sort of testament to how far this band has worked it's way into our skulls [that tune is St. Clair's single of the year, by the way, and quite possibly the best punk rock song of the last ten years]. now, when the record plays, i can finally hear it - the blues from down here, the dirtywhirl, the wicked rapture, the howling forever.

4. Citizen Cope - Every Waking Moment

people, listen: you still can't fuck with Clarence's groove. remove that funeral-plod of the title track and the awkward "Friendly Fire," which is hands-down the worst song i've ever heard from him, and you've got a stone cold groove, man. on first listen, i was shocked by how much "Brother Lee" resembles "Son's Gonna Rise," both in its lyrical bent and the structure of the song. and then i realized that the new jawn takes the old one to a new level. he's building up quite a catalog. and yeah, i know that two songs bleed into each other just like two did on the last record [a technique he picked up from his Basehead days], but when he drops lines like "the city and the country they divided / they pointing their fingers / they callin' each other liars / and it's a shame / tradin' on Jesus' name" you understand that it really is a shame no one's listening. change that.

3. Gomez - How We Operate

what happened to the Truckers seemed to happen to Gomez. whereas the Truckers records all more or less mine the same territory, Gomez has a sound that changes from record to record. on this one, the went all pop...but not pop like Top40UrbanRadioAlternativeHotTopic pop, but breezy, 70's-style California sunsetting pop, with a little bite every once in a while. lovely. and who hasn't chased ghosts with alcohol. one of the most played records this year, and each time it reveals something new. killer live show to boot, even if they didn't play "Get Miles." hard to blame them...they've got such a bag to pull the tunes from, and those on this record will surely be welcomed live for some time to come.

2. Catfish Haven - Tell Me

like Creedence Clearwater Revival. like Otis sittin' on the dock of the bay. like shakin' with old Proud Mary. like the grapevine. like grape wine. like punk rock. like Motown. like doin' the Alligator. like the bayous of Louisiana. like acoustic guitars. like love. like nights by the fire. like mornings on the road. like baitin' your hook with chicken livers. like your front porch. like summertime. like easy. like hearts on sleeves. like quiet snow. like that funky shit. like joy. like revelation. get this...like, yesterday.

1. State Radio - Us Against the Crown

Chad from Dispatch managed to put together a band that shows more promise that his old one, no easy task when you consider that they had in excess of 100,000 people in attendance at it's farewell gig. this record liked to sit in my radio this past year. you know i'll always be a wordman, and the stories within these tunes never fail to move or engage, oftentimes proving that the personal is the most political. an elderly man begs for a job at a nursing home to be near his aging wife; a wheelchair bound Red Sox fan; an imprisoned soldier; a waitress. more than anyone else this year, this band was able to consistently take a song and turn it into a plea, a promise, or a permit to rock the fuck out. Radio Clash, meet State Radio.

in the fireplace is the yule log

2006-12-23T23:58:00.000-05:00

johnny st. clair says he's chillin' and coolin' just like a snowman

Dok posts bail...where were you when the fun stopped?...failure, football, and violence on the Strip...should i enter the Honolulu marathon?

2006-12-18T23:58:00.000-05:00

hey Dok,

thanks for the letter. about that...not sure who "they" are, but i bet you made some friends in the county. and why not? sure, it's true what they say. i'm not about to argue with them, and it doesn't sound like you did either. you just keep telling yourself you were only gay for the stay.

good day, sir

Johnny

your mixtapes will thank me

2006-12-13T23:58:00.000-05:00

…speakin’ of musicalosity…

don’t forget to stay tuned for the highly anticipated, constantly imitated, never duplicated, electronically disseminated, stylin’ and creative, straight from the native, can’t be violated [or even decepticated] YEAR-END TOP TEN LIST.

but in the meantime...

listen: beasties -vs.- idris muhammad - loran showed all the girls how to dance

buy: beastie boys records
buy: idris muhammad records

whose house?

2006-12-07T23:58:00.000-05:00

porter house

the lemonheads

2006-12-02T23:58:00.002-05:00

with a little bit of common sense
you can lose a lot of innocence

fading in and out of consciousness

just watch it all unwind

jesus christ
and motherfuck
the things i do to push my luck
i don't know
i don't even seem to mind

listen: the lemonheads - pittsburgh
buy: lemonheads records

professionalism #17

2006-11-28T23:58:00.000-05:00

time: where the past and the future collide
place: parts unknown
at rise: it is morning dark in the grease-gray hallways of [deleted]. our hero, Johnny St. Clair, is asleep in a chair made of the finest Corinthian leather. his dusty boots sit on the corner of an oak desk and empty wine bottles litter the floor.

shrieks, screams, and the crash of shattered glass sound from within. presently, The Doktor enters stage left, diving behind a fake Chinese rubber plant. the spin and click of a lighter is heard, and wisps of smoke curl from behind the plant.

THE DOKTOR: [still crouching behind the plant, hissing] ST. CLAIR!!!

JOHNNY ST. CLAIR: ...hmmm?

DOK: ST. CLAIR!!! OVER HERE!!!

JSC: hmmmm? what do you want from me?

DOK: come here.

JSC: hmmmm? what time is it?

DOK: come on…over here…the plant…

JSC: shit. uhhh…who is that?

DOK: it’s me…

JSC: look, uh, really sorry about pissin’ on you from time to time. i, uh, can’t always make it, uh…weak prostrate.

DOK: [screaming] WILL YOU JUST COME OVER HERE FOR ONE…

JSC: oh…ok…well that’s all you really had to say.

DOK: i got a problem.

JSC: oh no shit.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE MALE#1: hey Johnny.

JSC: hey…You. just talkin’ to the plant here.

DOK: don’t draw unnecessary attention, you asshole.

JSC: right.

DOK: listen to me…i’ve got a problem.

JSC: i believe we’ve established that.

DOK: yeah, listen…

JSC: i am.

DOK: you are what?

JSC: i am…i am listening. now, please, time is of the essence.

DOK: WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

ANONYMOUS OFFICE MALE#2: who said that?

JSC: the Doktor.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE MALE#2: the Doktor?

JSC: yeah…he’s…[the Doktor swings from behind the plant, cutting Johnny off in mid-sentence and narrowly missing his pants grapes] WHOA!!!

DOK: what did i say? hmmmm? WHAT DID I SAY?

JSC: alright, fuck…what’s your problem?

DOK: ok…i think…

JSC: i mean, besides the fact that you’re crouching behind a plant, fuckin’ smokin’ up a storm here in a NON-SMOKING AREA, and, you know, swingin’ for my balls and shit. i mean, what the fuck dude…

DOK: come on. concentrate. ok?

JSC: …

DOK: ok?

JSC: alright.

DOK: i think…i think…i think i might have crabs.

JSC: you think?

DOK: yes.

JSC: come on, man, there’s no thinkin’ about it. either you do or you don’t.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE FEMALE#1: hi Johnny.

JSC: mmmmm…good evening.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE FEMALE#1: who are you talking to?

JSC: hmmmm? oh…the Doktor. he has crabs and i’m just trying to…[the Doktor again swings from behind the plant, cutting Johnny off in mid-sentence, as Johnny jumps back just out of reach] you ain’t pullin’ THAT shit again!!! Ha HA…hey…where did she…

DOK: I’VE GOT CRABS YOU INSENSITIVE PIGFUCKER!!!

JSC: alright…calm down, calm down, no need to be broadcasting that shit yet.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE FEMALE#2: hi Johnny. hi Dok.

JSC, DOK: [in unison] hello.

JSC: dude…why are you still behind that plant?

DOK: it’s easier to scratch unnoticed.

JSC: yuck.

DOK: FOCUS!!! what am i supposed to do?

JSC: two options, well three, really…but i don’t think you’ll dig the third.

DOK: lay it on me. [Johnny peers awkwardly at the rubber plant] no homo.

JSC: ok…one, you shave off all your hair and rinse with gasoline or kerosene or some shit. and i mean all of it. you gotta shave your balls, your dick, shave the happy trail. i mean, you even gotta check your chest hair, eyebrows, your fuckin’ moustache…all of it.

DOK: shave your dick?

JSC: yeah man.

DOK: you got hair on your dick?

JSC: a couple strands down by the base of the shaft…

DOK: ewwwww

JSC: motherfucker, YOU’RE the one who got creepy crawlers crawlin’ on your nutsack. so don’t ‘ewwwww’ me…now, another thing you can do, is go to a drug store…

DOK: …get some crack…

JSC: …go to a drug store, get some Kwell or something…

DOK: …it’s called crack [the plant starts shaking. presumably, the Doktor is scratching his neck].

JSC: [viciously kicks the plant] get some of that shampoo…wash your balls, boil your sheets, your draws, everything.

DOK: [whimpers]

JSC: AND you gotta use that little afro-pick to comb all the eggs outta your hair.

DOK: what?

JSC: yeah man, they lay eggs in there. you gotta get everything outta there…do that shit!

DOK: what’s the third option?

JSC: keep ‘em.

DOK: keep ‘em?

JSC: yeah man…train them little bastards…like a flea circus…have them liftin’ weights and ridin’ bicycles across tightropes and shit.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE MALE#3: what’s up Johnny. [looks at the rubber plant] Dok…sucks about the crabs.

DOK: SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!

JSC: yo don’t blame that shit on me…it’s itchy aint it?

DOK: …yes…

JSC: itches like a motherfucker, don’t it?

DOK: …yes…

JSC: [shaking the plant violently] well that’s what you get, ya nasty motherfucker.

DOK: cut it out…ugh…i need some relief.

JSC: you should be glad you didn’t get burnt. now, i’ve given you the remedy, my son. be gone. go forth. heal thyself [the plant begins to shuffle towards the door – smoke still curling around its leaves, whimpers still emanating from its core – when Sgt. Kickass, company commander, enters].

KICKASS: ST.CLAIR!!!

JSC: GodDAMMIT…you almost made me crap my pants.

KICKASS: WHERE’S JOHNSON?

JSC: who?

KICKASS: DON’T GIVE ME THAT CRAP!!! YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT, BOY!!! THAT FAIRY-ASS FRIEND OF YOURS!!!

JSC: oh…the Doktor…right, right. yeah…he ain’t here right now.

KICKASS: HE AIN’T HERE??? HE AIN’T HERE?!? WELL LISTEN, YOU TELL HIM NOT TO TOUCH A GODDAMM THING IN THIS BUILDING UNTIL HE’S TAKEN CARE OF HIS HYGENE PROBLEM!!! [slams door open, slams door closed, then leaves]

JSC: you hear that? you don’t touch a single thing around here. by my estimations, that means all the work you got piled up on your desk. you owe me.

DOK: but…but…who’ll do my job?

JSC: motherfucker…YOU don’t even do your job.

DOK: you’re right…man…this itches.

ANONYMOUS OFFICE FEMALE#3: you two are disgusting.

DOK: you think she likes me?

JSC: totally. i’m hungry. let’s get a taco.

DOK: can i keep the plant?

JSC: of course. it ain’t mine.

adios, muchacho!!!

2006-11-24T23:58:00.000-05:00

something tells me that's not gonna be good for business

...shit...

that's not gonna be good for anybody

with gratitude to college humor

cabman #7

2006-11-20T23:58:00.001-05:00

waiting on a rider up on top of the hill, i had something like a revelation. it could’ve been that black hole that passed through my body, spinning slow at thirty-three and a third and soft as angel’s hair and cricket bows.

i saw a star create its shine and burn for a hundred million years, all the while
its light fluttering in our atmosphere like waves from fingers until it blew up red like an angry fist.

but i split it open, pried its fingers apart and dove straight down to the core, pulled inward by the gravity of all that makes a sun, where inside it burned a billion degrees, and moving
was swimming
in black vaseline

shifting from three to four
from space towards time
a joyride in a stolen car

in a moment unusual and natural, the giant furiously fell in upon itself, folded like you’d unfold a paper diamond, slaked its rage then broke out
like the fourth of July.

what was left were a billion world’s worth of ashes packed into a singular silver spoon

like into a bullet
like into a lock
like into a key

and everything was still rushing in, pouring though, coming to see. just the same all light all energy was trying to break out of that core - that lock that key - in infinite perpetual explosions, stifled by the funnel of all-light all-energy arriving anew.

and just beyond the horizon
where these rivers run and meet
they bottleneck and pause for only just a moment until the maelstrom spirals it all elsewhere

beyond light
beyond universe
through the now

and i
stretch top to bottom
like piano string
like angel’s hair
like cricket bows
and move through the lock
the key
to a new place
into the other
skating on time through space as easily as on a windowpane
.