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Short Bus Degenerates:tonight we kiss,tomorrow we rule the world
DOS Style, bitches!
C:/>dir
Volume in drive C is SBD_ISSUE_6
Volume Serial Number is 420
Directory of C:\
INTRO <DIR> 01-03-02 9:41p
200 hits of acid, all being ingested at the same time, make your
head bounce. Grover likes the bent-over puckered position, or
is that Bert? Maybe Ernie is a sodomite, and he could surely find
a place on the Feeble Chorus. Sure, everyone has an asshole, but
some people prefer licks for kicks. Squeeze and squish isn't the
answer to the world's problems, but everyone is out looking for some.
SHOUTS <DIR> 01-11-02 3:39a
Now is an appropriate time to say 'whut up' to some friends of mine.
Anthony Genaro-Thank you for giving my life some meaning. You are the
greatest, and don't let anyone tell you different.
Morpheus Zero-Once again, you rate! You have been gracing my shouts
and raves for years. You are still one cool motherfucker!
You need to be writing something for this, mang!
Logan Rich-Where are you? Are you still alive? Send me an e-mail,
CultLeaderLett@hotmail.com...
Stone Mist-You need to send me an e-mail too. Long time no talk!
Colin Smith-Yeah, I know... I need to send you an e-mail. Yeah, I
know, I need to dub you off a LOT of tapes of my rare DM
shit. I know!! :)
Rusty-'Sup!
Shell-'Sup also!
FUNKWEISER <DIR> 01-03-02 9:46p
I think that I have blown my brain. Every picture points to that
conclusion, but maybe I am merely jumping to quick conclusions
that have no meaning. Maybe the slow conclusions take too much
time, and there is no need to jump to them. I prefer jumping,
therefore slow conclusions are way too long-lasting for me. I may
not burn the candle at both ends, but who's to say that you
shouldn't. Dopey fields of poppy should be harvested sooner than
expected, because I am waiting for my fix. I think that I shall be
waiting for no men, with nothing in my hand, underground with the
velvet strangling my arm, but humming shall not fix the bee-sting
pin-prick of mercy that some call doctor-assisted. Nothing related
to life in this hallway.
HUMMINGBIRDS <DIR> 01-03-02 9:52p
This is a tale of an electric hummingbird. He had nothing
to say about the non-electric types with the dull plumage. He would
merely scoff at the non ones.
One day, there was a war. Many hummingbirds were drafted,
for a hummingbird was quick and small, thus hummingbirds were
easily able to go across enemy lines and shit on the faces and
tanks of the enemy. Beacuse of this, bird-enemas were coming back
into style, and the shit-covered troops of the dark side suffered
from low-moral as well as turd poisoning.
This has nothing to do with our electric protagonist,
except for one thing... electric bird shit tastes like shit.
All of the little children who lived on the other side found
this out really quick. You see, when bird shit falls from the
sky in great quantities, it looks like snow. Children have a
reflex, so that when it snows, they stand outside like retards
waiting for the snow to fall into their mouths. It sure as fuck
didn't taste like chicken, that's for fucking sure!
THINKINGTIME <DIR> 01-06-02 8:55p
Thinking with Lettuce:Lettuce isn't having it!
Hello, it's time to go back to earth with Lettuce. I have numerous
things that are bothering me. Let's see what's up...
1. SPOT- Ok, anyone who is a Husker Du fan will know who I am talking
about. Spot was the in-house producer at SST records back in
the 1980's. The only work that I am familiar with that he
produced are two Husker Du albums, ZEN ARCADE and NEW DAY
RISING. What I want to know is... what in the FUCK were the
Husker's thinking when they allowed Spot to touch those two
albums? He is an in-house producer for a small label, but
his producing fucking SUCKED! WHY? WHY? WHY? (ok, I might
catch some hell for this one, but I don't care. I just had
to address this point.
2. LPs THAT SKIP ON THE FIRST PLAY- Have you ever bought a cool LP,
and put it on the turntable for its first play, only to find
that it skips like a mother fucker? That pisses me off! Dead
Kennedy's "Give Me Convenience or Give me Death," was one
example. Numerous skips! Bad Religion's "Punk Rock Song" 7 inch.
One of the coolest b sides on it has two or three skips!
Shit! Some of this shit I am afraid to mail back to the label
in fear that the album is no longer being manufactured by the
label, thus maybe NEVER getting another copy. SHIT!
3. SHITTY RAP ALBUMS- I love rap! I love hip-hop! Being a person with
many musical tastes, I can see a lot of talent in those two
genres. What pisses me off, though, is some of the true crap
that passes as commercial rap and/or hip-hop! Let's see...
the first name that comes to mind is Eminem. Truely a case
of "I'm white, so to get any recognition, I must go to
some rediculous extremes." How about Ginuwine. A case of
"someone's going to buy this CD to play in their car in
a feeble attempt to 'pick up chicks.'" And does anyone
remember Kid Rock? He was sooooooo popular a year or two ago,
but does anyone remember him NOW? He has a new CD out, but
thankfully, noone cares!
4. BOY BANDS- Hey, people, how can you respect a group of "good looking"
guys who don't play any instruments, let alone write their
own songs! Something dreamed up by a "major" label. The fact
that these "bands" have large groups of fans makes me sick.
Man, I could go on and on about these crappy excuses for
bands, but I am not going to waste web space on it, and I am
not going to waste good expletives on them either... that's
reserved for the next enemy on the list.
5. SHITTY BANDS- Ok, who is the biggest enemy in america? Osama Bin
Laden? Number one. Number two is reserved for Jerry Falwell.
Number three, though, would definitely have to be Matchbox
20! As Fritz the Cat would have probabally said about their
music, "This is for shit!" And the Moistboyz would probabally
say, if asked, "I would rather smoke some crack!" I think
that I will list a couple of other horrid bands: Third Eye
Blind, The Wallflowers, new Blink 182, Hootie and the
Blowfish, and many more. Now for some real expletives!
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CUNTHEADS THINKING! YOU TUNA CAVES
NEED TO FUCKING CRAWL BACK INTO THE CAVE THAT YOU CAME FROM!
YOU ARE PART OF THE FUCKING REASON THAT I DON'T LISTEN TO THE
MOTHERFUCKING RADIO ANYMORE. The other reason is the next
item.
6. KORN, AND THE MILLIONS OF OTHER BANDS THAT SOUND LIKE KORN- Oh wow,
in my teenage years, if I was looking for something with a
hard edge to listen to, I could listen to bands like Soundgarden,
Nirvana, Sonic Youth, and many other cool bands that kicked
lots of ass. Now teenagers listen to shit like Limkin Park,
Korn, and many other bands that I do not wish to mention here.
This music gets lumped into the catagory of "I'm mad because I
am mad." Also, "I'm mad because I make too much money!" Jeezus,
why do I want to listen to that shit? Some of my friends and I
have wondered if our distaste for these bands means that we're
getting old, but we then think back to some of the stuff that
we listen to and realize... what we listen to is heavier, has
much more talent, and if the band was pissed off at somthing,
it was usually for a damn good reason!
HARRYPOTHEAD <DIR> 01-29-02 8:10p
Harry Pothead and the Sorcerer's Stoned: Part 4
note:I hope that I don't butcher this one too badly
The three people newly joined in friendship got off of the train
together. They all gazed in wonder at the field of dank that they stood
in the middle of.
"To hell with some amber waves of grain," said a stoned Harry,
"give me this shit anyday! I hope that I can bring some of this shit
back to Bristol with me when the school year's up!"
"I would say something about sugar magnolias right now, but I
am too stoned to remember the words," said Jerry.
"Fuck this standing around bullshit," yelled Grace, "let's
smoke the shit out of this dank assed sheeeeot!"
As Harry was about to roll a joint for the group, Panama Red
materialized out of thin air. He walked up to Harry and said, "Mon,
don't you be smokin' dat herb yet. Wait 'till yo bitch ass gets inside,
foo!"
"Oh shit, he's a gangsta rastafarian too," mumbled Harry to the
other two.
They all started walking over to a building that looked like a
big mushroom. There was a door on the mushroom replica, and Panama Red
opened it and led the many students inside. As Harry walked inside, a
skinny guy with short bleach blond hair and a red face grabbed him by
the arm and pulled him aside.
"Hey, dude, don't hang out with those boring hippies. Come
with me, and we can smoke some crack and beat the shit out of dumb
fucks," the man said.
"Well," Harry started to reply, "first of all, those two
hippies over there are my FRIENDS! Second of all, I don't smoke
crack, I don't do speed, I don't shoot horse, and as a matter of
fact, the only thing that I will do is herb, and the occasional acid.
I am a weed wizard, not a crack monkey! And, fuckhead, you never told
me your motherfuckin' name!"
"It's Eminem, guy," said the addict.
"Well, that fucking figures," said Harry with disgust, "now
get the fuck out of my face! Don't you know that trip-hop artists
don't mix with the mainstream!"
Harry walked back over to his REAL friends. They walk together
to a huge door, engraved with leaves and buds. As soon as all of the
new students arrived, Pamama Red addressed all of them.
"I am about to open these doors. Stand in line to wait your
turn to smoke from the 'talking bong.' It will assign you to one of
three communes. The first of which is reserved for herbalists and
trippers. It is called Tokendorf. The second, Toke'n'toot is for
those dopers who like the occasional white powder. The last, and
in my opinion the least, is called Mainline'n, which is for the
addict. If you are selected to go there, you might want to consider
a twelve-step program once the year's up. Now, get yo' asses in
there!"
Harry walked into the room with open-eyed amazement. There
were tabled covered with Little Doobie's snack cakes, bags of Laid
POTato Chips, and 40oz bottles of Olde Bristol 420 Malt Liquor. At the
front of the room was a humongous bong that was laughing jollily as
if it were the inanimate brother of Santa Claus. Also at the front
were a lot of jolly professors. All except for one guy, who had long
black hair and lots of makeup on. He looked depressed as hell.
"Who is the depressed guy over there?" asked Harry to Panama.
"That is Dave Nevaro.... oh wait a second, I was wrong. That
is Marilyn Manson, the head of Mainline'n. He'll snort anything, even
Sea Monkeys!" said Panama Red.
Everyone made a beeline over to the 'talking bong.' People were
sent to all of the different communes. Harry watched with interest as
Eminem took a hit from the 'talking bong.' As soon as he hit the bong,
he started coughing.
"Give me some speed, guy. Fuck this dank shit! I want my
goddamned blankie!" he screamed at the bong, copping an attitude because
he was starting to go through withdrawl.
"Get the fuck out of my sight," boomed the bong, as pissed off
as a bong can get, "leave my holy presence at once, and get your worthless
ass over to Mainline'n!"
More and more people were sent off to the different communes.
Soon Grace and Jerry were sent off to Tokendorf. Harry soon was at the
foot of the bong. He looked up at it, speechless.
"I don't bite, you know," said the bong. "Don't be afraid,
take a hit, and show me what you're worth!"
Harry takes a humongous hit. His hit is so huge that he emptied
the entire pound of herb that was in the bong's massive bowl. After
he took his hit, he held the smoke in for five minutes. After he exhaled,
the bong looked at him and said, "Mutha fucker, that was the coolest
sheeeeeeeeeeot that I have ever seeen in my motha phuckin life! You are
one pimp-assed mang, dude! Fuck, you impressed me so much, I don't even
know which commune to send yo ass to, foo!"
"Anything but Mainline'n," mumbled an extremely stoned Harry
Pothead.
"Well, the way you put that herb away, you could probabally
make good friends with those other drugs," said the bong.
"Look, stallion mang," mumbled Harry, "I only love drugs that
love me back! I love you, man!" said Harry as he wrapped his arms
around the bong. The bong was having to choke back tears, it was so
moved by Harry's apparent love for herb.
"Ok, you have to be the coolest person here," the bong said,
"so you can go to Tokendorf, where all of the others like you are."
Harry jumped for joy upon hearing this. Being as stoned as
he was, he fell flat on his ass. He stood up and went to join Jerry
and Grace at the Tokendorf table. As soon as the bong finished
assigning all of the others to the three communes, everyone commenced
to eating. Harry ended up eating 50 bags of chips, and drank 4 forty
ouncers. In other words, he had to be carried up to Tokendorf by
Jerry and Grace.
To Be Continued...
BOBMOULDTALE <DIR> 01-11-02 23:26
This is a story that my friend Joe told me. I liked it so much that I
asked him to write it down. Here it is:
The Night Bob Mould Looked Under My Hood
I used to be a big fan of the band Husker Du back in my younger days.
Still am actually, I still like to listen to their records every now and
then. But when The Dead Milkmen were just starting out they were one of
my very favorite bands. That's why I was so excited when I found out we
were going to open a weekend of shows with them in New Jersey. (This was
before we had released any records. Husker Du's latest album was Zen
Arcade.) One of the shows was on a Friday night in Trenton, if my memory
serves me right, and the other was on a Sunday afternoon, somewhere in
central New Jersey, at a metal/disco club called New York South. I did
not own a car back then, so I had to take a train to my parents' house
about 40 miles away and borrow one of their cars. I don't remember too
much about the car I borrowed except that it was beige and looked like
something someone's grandmom might drive. I drove the guitar and bass
stuff, plus Rodney and Dave, while Dean, who lived in the suburbs back
then, drove himself and his drums in his own Volkswagen Beetle. He often
took a friend with him and I think this time Jonny Earthshoe tagged
along.
Nothing terribly unusual happened on the Friday night show. (Rodney
claims Grant Hart showed him his N.A.M.B.L.A. card. I was not around to
witness this.) The show was pretty good. But on the way home I noticed
that my headlights were unusually dim.
The Sunday show was all-ages and some of our friends from Philly came
up. The stage was awkward, situated behind some sort of wrought iron
fence. But we played okay and made some new fans I think. The place
seemed pretty small for Husker Du to be playing. In my mind at the time
they were big stars. Anyway they played a fantastic set, including some
songs that would not be released for two more albums.
I remember thinking I had better not spend too much time hanging out
after the show because my headlights were pretty dim the night before.
Well, we got our stuff packed up before Husker Du took the stage so that
we could leave quickly. But when I tried to start the car, nothing
happened. Hmmm. So, I pop the hood open. Of course I knew nothing at all
about cars. But I figured I'd look. Bob Mould came out of the club and
over to my car and said, "Having some trouble?" He took a look under the
hood as I explained what had been happening with the lights and he said
it's probably the alternator gone bad. My battery drained, not being
recharged the whole trip here. Well.. it was Sunday so I figured I wasn't
going to get an alternator right then and there. Plus were in the middle
of nowhere.
Dave, Rodney and I hitched a ride back to Philly in someone's van (I
think it was The Electric Love Muffins') and left my car with the gear
parked in the club's lot. The next day I rode back out with my brother,
before work, and he put in a new alternator. I'm not sure how he learned
how to do it, but he always was good with mechanics.
ENDINGSTUFF <DIR> 01-29-02 9:48p
Thank you for taking the time to read this issue of SBD, and I hope that
you all had a pleasant time. As of now, though, I would like to tell you
that in the next issue you will meet a three-legged monkey, be reminded
about the practicality of condoms in our day and age, and read a
contribution by the crazy DJ Polokus. Joey might also contribute
something too. I am also trying to round up some other writers too,
so as to give SBD a little variety. Until then:
Peace,
Lettuce
... MC Mainline and DJ Nosecandy's debut CD in stores now! (not)
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
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