Filed under: 1 | Tags: Downtown, Heroin, Triclops, Winter Of Our Discontent
What kind of place was this? All the women had short skirts and three eyes, hissing whenever I approached. Oil exploded from the linoleum tiled floor as men wallowed in her black ground-goo. Happy days are here again! Men in black suits walked around, measuring this and that and comparing them with what size they would be 20 years from now. The bartender snorted little lines of coffee sweetener from an economy sized bag with half of a dollar bill.
Madness! Pure as the heroin in this bar’s ventilation system!
A rum runner made love to a piano and a dead veteran played the jug. They smuggled whiskey from across the Atlantic oceans; nobody had told them of our successful battle with prohibition nor of the invention of the aeroplane.
The dance floor was shelled. entire apartment buildings sat there, destitute and empty on the inside.
I’ve got to go! This is not the place to be! Not in the slightest! Nixon? No, I don’t want to buy any! Reagan? Let go of my coat! Carter? Oh sir, I’m sorry for your loss! Ford? You swine! Where is my car?
Goddam it, I seem to have made little bullet-sized holes in the ceiling. That could not have been me, could it? I like to think that I have a pretty good grip! It appears that I’m gripping a gun at the moment. Everybody is running, all the triclopses, oil addicts and businessmen. I don’t know what they’re running from, but I want to be as far away from it as possible.
I come from downtown! Born and ready for you!
All these Tropicana dancers, doing the can-can out the door; where are they going? The party’s right here, guys!
Filed under: Pirate Love Ballads | Tags: 1-800 Phone Numbers, Drunken Scribbles
Part I
The party has ceased and I’m all alone. Sitting at a dining room table on the Mira River. How’s this for Gonzo Journalism? Gonzo Gonzo Gonzo! Motorboat Brent sleeps in the other room.Vroom Vroom Vroom ! Beer bottles clink with a friendly satisfaction “Keep up the good work!” They say. I’ll probably fall asleep on this table. Little bits of marijuana herb grass are clinging to this book. “Take us to your leader! Set us ablaze!” They shout. My writing is sloppy. Hunter S. Thompson says he once had a mountain lion jump into his car, so he killed it with a hammer. Do you believe him? I do. I could use another cigarette. Puff Puff Puff! Where are all the boats this time of the pre-morning ooze? They all got pulled over by the highway patrol. “Stop, in the name of the law!” Soon, all the birds will check in, “Po-tweet? Po-tweet?” The Asiaman sleeps tonight. Ooo-oohh . Welcome to the end of the phone book, my number is 1800-SET-ME-FREE. Call for a good time. The other pen is dead. Peace. Maybe I’ll go watch the sun rise over the Mira and yell “Rise and shine! Welcome to the world, you fiery bastard!”
Part III
I want to see the sun rise. Bang, somebody just died. Boom. Someone was just born. Goodbye, welcome. Politics. Nothing else needs to be said about that.
It’s a good time of night to be asleep. One sheep, two sheep…
Part IV
Welcome to the Jaques Cartier motel. Welcome to fear and greed and Kim’s escort service. Get used to the smell of crying men. “My wife just left me”, “My dog ran away” etc. It’s all about being alone. I’m alone. I have lots of numbers, though. The numbers for everybody in town! “Hi, I’m writing about you!” Should I call? My light is dying. Then will I be truly alone? Emergency services, I just got hit by lightening! Come help! What’s your sign? And so on, and so on.
Part V
Egad you vile thing, don’t die now! The dark is a bad place to be, especially when there’s no light! Who can help me? I’ll call 911. “Help! It’s so dark I can’t see myself! It’s awful!” Achoo! My friend told me that this dusty old place is 107 years old today. Happy birthday.
Part VI
“Hi this is Kim’s escort service.”
“I need a high class honey.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
“I need somebody to love.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Ha Ha.”
Filed under: Pirate Love Ballads | Tags: Bad, Hippies, Marijuana, Shootings, Terminally Ill Cancer Patients
Those damn hippies! They’ve got their pot and their pot and their pot! They can’t keep the smoke out of their lungs! Marijuana is bad bad bad and you are bad bad bad for smoking it! We should three fourths of the population and SHOOT them. Bad kids! Bad doctors! Bad terminally ill cancer patients! Bad lawyers! Bad bad bad bad bad! Weed need to take all their plants and their trees and their little gardens and just burn them down! Do you think anybody did anything good while high? Go tell Timoth Leary that he is uninvited for Thanksgiving Dinner.
Filed under: Pirate Love Ballads | Tags: Ah!, He's Too Tallitics, Ooga Booga!, Patrionizing Politics, Realpolitik, Ron Paulitics, The Politics of Fear, The Politics of Hope, Welcome to the Mallitics
Ah! Ooga booga! Look at dat big bad black boy! He’s running around your country! He’s corrupting your children! Ah! Ooga booga! Look at that old man! You know him! Ah! Ooga booga! Look! A camera! Look! A tank! Look! A squad car! Look! Look! Look! Here’s the cat! Here’s the cradle! Over here! Over here! It’s a plane! It’s a plane! Run! Ah! Ooga booga! It’s a flag! It’s a flag! You love it? Flag! Flag! Flag! Where’s your pin? Pin! Pin! Pin! Democracy! Democracy! Democracy! I decide the democracy! I decide! I am the decider! Smile for the camera! Ah! Ooga booga!
