We failed at our last chance to stop the Psychobilly chief Old Buck Three tooth, after our tribute of Pseudoephedrine, inhalants and spent ammo cartridges, since they deemed purchased ammo as filled with blanks by the Zionist homosexual conspiracy with the proceeds going to fund inner city crack armies, came up short. He invoked the laws of the Backwood, to those unversed in the laws of the back wood, imagine war and then total war, now imagine total- deliverance chainsawgeddon. We appealed to the local sheriff, but we were to late. The overweight sheriff with a voice that dripped from his ampel mustache like cold molassses had been bought off with fine Cuban cigars and a generously galloned stetson, he had evoked super double secret Posse comitatus and just like that, unbeknownst to us we had been declared outside the laws.
All we ever wanted to do was build a community based on six blue prints and a central pool in a cheap real estate market ripe for development. How did we know that our “fancy pancy” medical clinics and high faluting ways would lead to a secret pact among neighbors to take on raw extrajudicial powers in regards to our moderate gentrification. Levied from the various casts of the counties natives,”they” went about sealing off our neighborhood with burning tires demanding wild things with even wilder explanations why a more common/cheaper item would not suffice. Failure to comply was met with a wild meth charge of belligerent pillaging until a important lesson was learned, or a wise family hedged their bets with planted heroin and barbituates stashed in areas likely to be searched as sleepy addled neighbors shamble back to the now immense laager of opportunistic trailer folk. And that’s how I got the idea for the beheading, take a few heads, give as good as we got maybe get them to turn down the music and to recycle their recyclables, show them the ole neighborhood spirit.
I happened to know of a stash of college age dealer who was killed early on due to his demanding need for proof of why a shot gun wielding group of freebooting thugs was an entity that required anything more than its native authority, and thus, was one of the first to die leaving me one of the few “”groovy” individuals left amongst our harried band of survivors who knew of the stash. Turning my coat to look more like the rustic garb of our complacent aggressors I found a small group manning a nomadic checkpoint and toll collection service who I offered to lead to a stash, for some of their artisanal meths, since I couldn't seem to be altruistic, or they might know. Their intense tribal paranoia had thwarted every attempt so far to ingratiate ourselves amongst them, no matter what, they would eventually call you a cop, and then, the bludgeoning, always the bludgeoning. We were desperate, I just hoped I would be the first to do it right, for long enough.
4/19/2012
4/18/2012
The Butter battle a Generation lost
This little work is one of my favorites as it is a mix of something I love- the Dr. Seuss classic The Butter Battle as well as other classic works of his, and something I loathe- the Sixties melodrama with its discordant messages of moral relativism and generational alienation. It is meant to be a collection of clichés and tired conventions placed in the whimsical fantabulous world of Dr. Seuss.
[The Son walks in from stage left, father is at the table reading the paper]
Father Listen to this, a new study proves buttering your toast on the bottom side causes stomach cancer, intense allergic reactions, homosexuality, and in rare cases Germanization. Just another reason all good G-d fearing Christian heterosexuals put their toast butter side up.
Son
[Stage whisper] You’re such a tool, dad.
Father:
[Folds up paper] What did you say?
Son
I said, you’re a tool, you listen to everything you read, it so like your generation, butter side up this, butter side up that, you’re a broken record.
Father
You don’t know what your talking about, you didn’t have to spend your birthday in a bunker because those pagans over there were threatening you and everything you believed in with big-boy-boomaroos, you never had to fight for anything, you kids with your flinger-mago’s, HornWazlers and a roof over your head, you should talk.
Son
We’re not like you, we’re not stuck in your [finger quotations] “ world,” we’re not carrying on your fascist ideas and wars, were not pawns of oppression.
Father
Oh, so now all those brave men down in Whoville, trying to protect the world’s right to butter their bread the proper way, are pawns. Have you ever seen some one butter their bread on the wrong side…
Son
Not this story again…
Father
Listen to me damn it, back in the war I saw some kids playing with some old butter and bread, thought they were real cool too One girl put the butter on the bottom side, I guess no one told her better. The butter, of course, dripped off the hot toast all over her hands, burning her. She ran for the water but slipped on the puddle of melted butter and pushed into one of her friends, they fell together[wipes a tear from his eye] against the faucet and it split his head open like a melon, brains everywhere, she tried to close the wound but here hands were too slippery, too damn slippery and his skull kept slipping out of here hands again and again… The doctor said if it wasn’t for the butter we might have saved him. [sobs openly]
Son
So you’re saying that story justifies the atrocities down in Whoville, the massacres, the constant killing, and the conscription of kids just out of high school to do it.
Father
What are you talking about, we are offering them freedom and prosperity, a life better then they have ever known!
Son
Where was that freedom and prosperity when we were supporting the Grinches occupation? He wouldn’t even let them celebrate their traditional festivals, stealing everything they had, everything except for a crumb that was too damn small for even a mouse, is that your freedom and prosperity, Dad?
Father
It was the lesser of two evils.
Son
What about those with stars on thar’s down in the south, they are still denied their freedom and prosperity so what are we doing trying to export it when we don’t even have enough for our own countrymen
Father
Oh, and let me guess, Mister Tolerant, the only time you even talked to somebody with star on them was that girl you brought home to try and piss me off! But when I was courteous you ignored her for the rest of the night- and remember when I invited the pants with no body inside them from work over for dinner? You spent the entire evening hiding in the bushes outside.
Son
Well guess what, me and my friends have been buttering our bread on the bottom side, so how do you like that [father slaps son]
Father
Where do you get off, we live in the greatest land in history and you’re buttering your bread like. Like- Like one of them. Where did you learn to do something like that?
Son
I learned it from you, Dad I learned it from you.
[They embrace. we all shed a tear. close curtain]
[The Son walks in from stage left, father is at the table reading the paper]
Father Listen to this, a new study proves buttering your toast on the bottom side causes stomach cancer, intense allergic reactions, homosexuality, and in rare cases Germanization. Just another reason all good G-d fearing Christian heterosexuals put their toast butter side up.
Son
[Stage whisper] You’re such a tool, dad.
Father:
[Folds up paper] What did you say?
Son
I said, you’re a tool, you listen to everything you read, it so like your generation, butter side up this, butter side up that, you’re a broken record.
Father
You don’t know what your talking about, you didn’t have to spend your birthday in a bunker because those pagans over there were threatening you and everything you believed in with big-boy-boomaroos, you never had to fight for anything, you kids with your flinger-mago’s, HornWazlers and a roof over your head, you should talk.
Son
We’re not like you, we’re not stuck in your [finger quotations] “ world,” we’re not carrying on your fascist ideas and wars, were not pawns of oppression.
Father
Oh, so now all those brave men down in Whoville, trying to protect the world’s right to butter their bread the proper way, are pawns. Have you ever seen some one butter their bread on the wrong side…
Son
Not this story again…
Father
Listen to me damn it, back in the war I saw some kids playing with some old butter and bread, thought they were real cool too One girl put the butter on the bottom side, I guess no one told her better. The butter, of course, dripped off the hot toast all over her hands, burning her. She ran for the water but slipped on the puddle of melted butter and pushed into one of her friends, they fell together[wipes a tear from his eye] against the faucet and it split his head open like a melon, brains everywhere, she tried to close the wound but here hands were too slippery, too damn slippery and his skull kept slipping out of here hands again and again… The doctor said if it wasn’t for the butter we might have saved him. [sobs openly]
Son
So you’re saying that story justifies the atrocities down in Whoville, the massacres, the constant killing, and the conscription of kids just out of high school to do it.
Father
What are you talking about, we are offering them freedom and prosperity, a life better then they have ever known!
Son
Where was that freedom and prosperity when we were supporting the Grinches occupation? He wouldn’t even let them celebrate their traditional festivals, stealing everything they had, everything except for a crumb that was too damn small for even a mouse, is that your freedom and prosperity, Dad?
Father
It was the lesser of two evils.
Son
What about those with stars on thar’s down in the south, they are still denied their freedom and prosperity so what are we doing trying to export it when we don’t even have enough for our own countrymen
Father
Oh, and let me guess, Mister Tolerant, the only time you even talked to somebody with star on them was that girl you brought home to try and piss me off! But when I was courteous you ignored her for the rest of the night- and remember when I invited the pants with no body inside them from work over for dinner? You spent the entire evening hiding in the bushes outside.
Son
Well guess what, me and my friends have been buttering our bread on the bottom side, so how do you like that [father slaps son]
Father
Where do you get off, we live in the greatest land in history and you’re buttering your bread like. Like- Like one of them. Where did you learn to do something like that?
Son
I learned it from you, Dad I learned it from you.
[They embrace. we all shed a tear. close curtain]
4/17/2012
Wendel Capone Speaks: A public service announcement
We all live lives of quiet anonymity, we have to, or names, our lineage speak louder than our pitifully human voices ever can. I Wendel Capone the President and founder of the Historically Marked Surname Association have made it my goal to allow those with Historically blighted surnames to live full, happy, social lives while maintaining a connection to the majority of their past. I unfurl our banner, the Sanskrit Right-facing in the decorative form used to evoke Shakti swastika and demand equal treatment, we can't all be lucky like the Bundies and have a loveable TV series made with the name and we can't keep our anonymity in this high tech surname centered society, gone are the days of so and so son of so and so, of attaching ones christian name, that right no holiday names here, we are proud of original people going by their original names, to ones occupation like Jamie Whore son, or Dwanye the Bull milker, merrily going to Canterbury, telling our bawdy tales, no, this is the twenty first century and it is your last and final name that defines you. Whether its Superintendent Himmler being called a Nazi for doing his job or Dave Dallas being asked if Debbie was his mom, last name abuse is a soul shattering experience. Imagine, someone,making fun of...your mom, with an attached racial slurr, now apply it to everyone in your family, that's right, ouch. So whether it is at work, around the neighborhood or in our schools we need to remember to look at everyone of us as an individual and not a bunch of Hitlers, because if you actually went through the trouble of getting to know a Hitler you might be pleasantly surprised to find something more than funny mustaches and virulent antisemitism.
12/25/2011
Lovecraft Syndrome
Lovecraft Syndrome: A recently documented neurological disease, which, brought on by unacceptably secret knowledge and/or ancient and terrible horrors, the patient will exhibit the symptoms which include absolute insanity, intense and unrelenting suicidal thoughts and feelings of being a general irrelevancy in vast cosmic game of powers which the patient can neither comprehend or control.
This is what we know about Lovecraft syndrome, officially. Rumors persist about self help groups, or cults, of such afflicted who will chant gibberish and torture kidnapped individuals to a religious effigy. When these individuals are asymptomatic, they will hold average jobs: Butchers, Child welfare workers and foster parents, Sanitation workers, Park Rangers, night shift crematory operators etc. They will agree that their behavior is peculiar only up until you have come to comprehend the darkness which inhabits the worlds margins.
Crystal, one of the cult/ Self help members said their rituals helped her deal with the fact that her great-great-grandmother was a fabled great white builder ape of the Congo who had mated with their equally great grandfather, and Ape-ma's mummified corpse was accidentally purchased by her brother. She, thank whatever power she holds dear, has been able to bounce back from Lovecraft Syndrome her brother wasn't so lucky. He was found in the forest were he had covered himself in oil and set himself ablaze immediately after viewing the family resemblance between himself and the mummified ape queen.
Many claim these individual are aberrations, antisocial individuals looking for acceptance, yet entire communities have been found to deal with, and even exalt such holistic and terrifying rituals, giving hope to countless suffers of LS. Little Kurdistan, near the Red Hook district, a region also known as "the crack capital of America" is no stranger to LS. Here the cultic behaviors of those afflicted find more traditional outlets in the form of Lilith, Moloch and Asmodeus worship and even if they are not considered mainstream they are at least acknowledged by Western religions.
I spoke to a local Kurdish man of the Yazidi sect who had this to say:
" We believe in a Celestial Peacock who is a benevolent angel who has redeemed himself from his fall and has become a demiurge who created the cosmos from the Cosmic egg. After he repented, he wept for 7,000 years, his tears filling seven jars, which then quenched the fires of hell...Naww, I'm just messing with you, we are, basically Satan worshipers, guilty as charged [laughter], but seriously. You live in New York for so many years you are bound to see some darkness you can't explain, a old yellowed book of cursed knowledge, a horrifying creature whose perspective and origins just might surprise you, its New York, it happens. Well, let me explain it this way, your store gets robbed, do you volunteer at a organization to help reintegrate convicts into society, or do you buy a gun? Christianity and its ilk are all good and fun with their ideas of charity and mercy until a human being gets a true glimpse of what lies beyond the veiled unknown. Then you just want to find the baddest thing out there and try to get on its good side, its the only sane thing to do if you suffer from LS."
And while the basic cause of LS is widely known, the spectrum of symptoms often makes it hard to diagnose. A former NYC police officer, who asked that he not be named, as the darkness my stalk him still, described a lengthy battle with the city government about his disability payments. After coming face to face with pure supernatural evil and being the sole survivor of his units raid on a Lilith based cult, he can no longer work in an urban setting as the site of tall buildings will completely incapacitate him. State health workers told him that LS was not considered a recognized disability, and he was unable to claim disability payments until some eight years later when his illness was diagnosed as an acute form of claustrophobia.
"So, I not only have to live with what I saw but the state wont help me and the only aid organizations out there for LS demand human sacrifice and blood rituals, seeing the worst is part of being NYC Police Officer, but so is expecting the city I protected to look after me when I can't do that, based on injuries I received while in the line of duty, I want justice!"
The Officer stated.
For the moment the madness continues, both on a bureaucratic and scientific level, which both denies the existence of said illness or points out that to study such an affliction might lead to the unleashing of new terrors we can't possibly comprehend, as scientific hubris so often does. So those afflicted must continue to suffer in silence...or in entranced ecstasy as they dance about the fires flaying themselves and screaming in a Mu-based dialect, as the world continues to not even admit to the existence of the disease, much less the horrors which cause it, at least until we are all finally subjected to the will of Cthulu and all those for whom death has died as well as the screaming horrors and old gods. So in the words of this reporter, good night and ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
This is what we know about Lovecraft syndrome, officially. Rumors persist about self help groups, or cults, of such afflicted who will chant gibberish and torture kidnapped individuals to a religious effigy. When these individuals are asymptomatic, they will hold average jobs: Butchers, Child welfare workers and foster parents, Sanitation workers, Park Rangers, night shift crematory operators etc. They will agree that their behavior is peculiar only up until you have come to comprehend the darkness which inhabits the worlds margins.
Crystal, one of the cult/ Self help members said their rituals helped her deal with the fact that her great-great-grandmother was a fabled great white builder ape of the Congo who had mated with their equally great grandfather, and Ape-ma's mummified corpse was accidentally purchased by her brother. She, thank whatever power she holds dear, has been able to bounce back from Lovecraft Syndrome her brother wasn't so lucky. He was found in the forest were he had covered himself in oil and set himself ablaze immediately after viewing the family resemblance between himself and the mummified ape queen.
Many claim these individual are aberrations, antisocial individuals looking for acceptance, yet entire communities have been found to deal with, and even exalt such holistic and terrifying rituals, giving hope to countless suffers of LS. Little Kurdistan, near the Red Hook district, a region also known as "the crack capital of America" is no stranger to LS. Here the cultic behaviors of those afflicted find more traditional outlets in the form of Lilith, Moloch and Asmodeus worship and even if they are not considered mainstream they are at least acknowledged by Western religions.
I spoke to a local Kurdish man of the Yazidi sect who had this to say:
" We believe in a Celestial Peacock who is a benevolent angel who has redeemed himself from his fall and has become a demiurge who created the cosmos from the Cosmic egg. After he repented, he wept for 7,000 years, his tears filling seven jars, which then quenched the fires of hell...Naww, I'm just messing with you, we are, basically Satan worshipers, guilty as charged [laughter], but seriously. You live in New York for so many years you are bound to see some darkness you can't explain, a old yellowed book of cursed knowledge, a horrifying creature whose perspective and origins just might surprise you, its New York, it happens. Well, let me explain it this way, your store gets robbed, do you volunteer at a organization to help reintegrate convicts into society, or do you buy a gun? Christianity and its ilk are all good and fun with their ideas of charity and mercy until a human being gets a true glimpse of what lies beyond the veiled unknown. Then you just want to find the baddest thing out there and try to get on its good side, its the only sane thing to do if you suffer from LS."
And while the basic cause of LS is widely known, the spectrum of symptoms often makes it hard to diagnose. A former NYC police officer, who asked that he not be named, as the darkness my stalk him still, described a lengthy battle with the city government about his disability payments. After coming face to face with pure supernatural evil and being the sole survivor of his units raid on a Lilith based cult, he can no longer work in an urban setting as the site of tall buildings will completely incapacitate him. State health workers told him that LS was not considered a recognized disability, and he was unable to claim disability payments until some eight years later when his illness was diagnosed as an acute form of claustrophobia.
"So, I not only have to live with what I saw but the state wont help me and the only aid organizations out there for LS demand human sacrifice and blood rituals, seeing the worst is part of being NYC Police Officer, but so is expecting the city I protected to look after me when I can't do that, based on injuries I received while in the line of duty, I want justice!"
The Officer stated.
For the moment the madness continues, both on a bureaucratic and scientific level, which both denies the existence of said illness or points out that to study such an affliction might lead to the unleashing of new terrors we can't possibly comprehend, as scientific hubris so often does. So those afflicted must continue to suffer in silence...or in entranced ecstasy as they dance about the fires flaying themselves and screaming in a Mu-based dialect, as the world continues to not even admit to the existence of the disease, much less the horrors which cause it, at least until we are all finally subjected to the will of Cthulu and all those for whom death has died as well as the screaming horrors and old gods. So in the words of this reporter, good night and ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
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