Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Jason Vadge, 1978-2009

It is with great sorrow in our hearts that we announce the passing of Jason Vadge, a local naturopathic physician. This period of mourning is alleviated somewhat by the memory of his kind and gentle soul, and the knowledge that he will be remembered fondly by his many friends and patients.

He was a born healer. He had "magic hands", and would begin most conversations by letting people know this fact about him. He so wanted to give his gift to others that he risked embarrassment and social exclusion because of it. He had a gift.

When first graduated from high school, his dream was to be a clown, and bring laughter to children. But soon he saw what so many of his generation did: the wisdom of Eastern Medicine.

After paying his tuition to the School of Basic Learning Instruction, he quickly embarked upon a course of study that made him so very, very proud. In those days, any of the local nightclubs would have sported Jason, fresh from hitting the books, and talking about the new things he had learned.

For instance, one time he talked to a girl for one half hour about how The Chinese thought that you shouldn't keep certain fluids in your bodies, and how he had learned a special technique employing an herbal oil to get those toxic fluids out. She listened, and nodded enthusiastically.

Later on, graduated now from second education, he purchased a modern home, but modestly not boasting about his worldly accomplishments, being a Buddhist, and still just starting out in the practice of medicine. He allowed himself one indulgence: his hot tub.

One time when we were all sitting in the hot tub with him, he said, with that irresistible grin on his face, that maybe we all should have showered first, before getting into his tub. Because our "bodily oils (were) accumulating," and maybe before it got any worse, we should all pile into the shower together, as one, because it would be "healing." We all laughed at his joke.

When his business partner, Larry Schleuter, got married to his current wife, Jason gave the celebratory toast. He commented upon the seeming perfection of their union, and how very lucky Larry was. He also said further that the bride "was really getting (him) hot," and how he couldn't wait for the couple to come over and share "a hot tub" with him, and (Michelle) "in a bikini." The crowd laughed at his joke.

He often spoke of the sadness that was caused in him by so many people who were unable to "physically share". He attributed this to our Puritan origins as a nation, and felt sorry for those souls who had not yet transcended our national shame issues. He wanted us all to know that he was "open," and "available" for whatever any of us needed, at all times. He was a good friend.

It was with shame-free openness and honesty that he announced, somewhat unexpectedly after years of all of our knowing him, that he was Bisexual. With that boyish smile and warmth of compassion and sharing, we knew that this, perhaps, was finally what maybe would get him the "soul partner" he'd been seeking, so far unsuccessfully, all those many years. He tended to introduce himself by saying that he was Bisexual, and Polyamourous. Then he would stand there and smile as he was regarded, silently, by those respectful members of our community.

It was a feeling of needing to "give back" to the community that nurtured him that drove him to coaching Little League. Underneath it all, Jason was still just an "all-American boy"! And oh what a season! He gave, and gave some more! Without a clear designated hitter, he began to to tutor Brandon, son of Steve Teague, a local car dealer, in the finer points of the great American pastime.

The details of his death remain unclear. What could have transposed that night at the Pop A Top on Long Road is anybody's guess. Why anyone could ever have any violent feelings toward this calm, serene, enlightened and kind man is a giant mystery. While some rush to say it may have been the act of Bigoted individuals, there is just as much possibility that the entire thing was predicated on nothing more than just a big misunderstanding.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Gugglebaaack!!! (Before Time)-this Xmas

(by Jaden Keene, his closest human friend, and Special Boy)

I still, I still can't believe-GUGGLEBAAACK!!! NOOO! I can't believe he's gone! The greatest of all the Star Lords, and staunchest enemy of all the Transgressorobots, he's...Gone, I can't believe he's gonnne !!!

Born to a gang of Cosmotolodrots in the Septi Bar-None system, he found a master star race of star warriors! The Star Lords! They became Space Champions of the UltraBotVerse! They came to bring light to a little known planet...Named 'Earth'!

But along the way, they encountered a vile legion of Space Villains named the Transgressorobots, who hated the Star Lords, and laughed evilly at Mankind's Civilization! They wished doom on mankind, and if only for the Star Lords, we were held in waiting for armageddon! Then- on a dark and dreadful day, he encountered his nemesis, the evil intergalactic demon, Teledress!


Ah, ha- it is I! Teledress, of the Trangressorobots! You Earth-weak-lings are DOOOMED! I thought that mayyybeee that Space Fool, Guggleback, might give you some false hope, but we flushed him into ultero-space, from which he will never return, as far as anyone knows! Prepare to serve your new temporal masters- WE, THE TRANSGRESSOROBOTS!

When we found him, at the Lost Thrones of Khaleamotee, he wept like a slovenly Space Woman, and begged for mercy! HE FOUND NONE!

Wait a minute: if, as you say, you met him at the Lost Thrones, then that means...GUGGLEBAAACK! There's no way you could have killed him, you douche! When surrounded by the ancient and magestical Thrones, he was unkillable! So that means there's hope! GUGGLEBAAACK! It's JA-DEN! I'M HEEERE!

What have you done with him? What have you done with Guggleback? I'll get you for this! I'll get all of you, and you'll see! You can't kill the special love that lives between a Star Lord and his Special Boy!

When all the Earth people hear that their lord and defender lives, they'll rise up against you and your evil plans! They'll join forces with Guggleback! And the Star Lords! They hate you! You stink! And that'll teach you to mess with New York City, too! Haven't we been through enough lately?

So just take a hike, Tele-douche! It's payback time!

(sigh...) Okay, look Caden, or whatever your stupid name is: he wasn't your real dad, okay? That dubious title is held by one Ernie Blastock of 522 North Overcourt, and is really wondering where the hell you are.

And look; I'll say it, okay? Everybody knows, alright? I think it pretty much fools no one at all, his lengthy training courses in "space telegraphy" or whatever were both expensive and sounded a hell of a lot like something some pedophile Den Father of the Space Scouts would come up with. I think maybe instead of being mad at me, you should be looking into filing charges.

Uh...No. NOOO!!! You don't fool me, Teledress! Your Space Lies are too little for the thing we have! It's a thing you can't kill with your laser rays and gamma beams! He's gonna come back! He's gonna make it! He's gonna...GUGGLE-BAAACCCKKK!!!

I...Teledress? Do you need a Special Boy?

(etc. etc.)

Sunday, November 8, 2009

ChillDude420 (sometime probably in the early '70's)- 2009

(Editor's note: As little to nothing is known of the decedent, we were forced to piece together what we could from a local dating service's website. We hope that we have assembled a dignified and respectful portrait of a figure in the local community. -Rear Admiral Dick Wheeler, U.S.N. [Ret.] )

A local man, known for his laid-back attitude and commitment to rocking, has passed on. His interests included music and hanging out.

If you were planning on chilling with him, you needed to like dogs. If not, though, that was cool too. He liked girls with tattoos and (unspecified length) hair.

His religious beliefs were "spiritual". His political ideology was "they're all stupid". He thought the best thing ever was the one time he "punked" his friend. It was awesome.

Once, he went sky-diving. He had previously said he would never do it, but then, one day, he just went for it, you know? He remained convinced to his dying day (presumably) that it changed his life.

His personal motto was, "I like live music at the bar sometimes, movies at the theater, traveling, playing some video games, camping, spending time with family and friends, beer pong, relaxing at home, and just doing what ever at the moment." He was also not interested in "fatties".

When asked to describe himself, he replied, "6 in. uncut, HWP, d&d free, Friendship.........................................More?" He also listed "cuddling" as an associated interest.

While he described his desires as "strictly platonic" (or at least that is how they were categorized), he also expressed his need to "pleasure you...big pussy lips or clit". He owned his own car. He "could host."

The circumstances of his death are somewhat unclear. It is known that his body was found at the end of Memorial Beach, early Saturday morning. It would seem that the last thing he ever did was take a long walk on the beach, under the stars; activities he was reputed to enjoy.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Melanie Brasnzynsky, 1967-2009

After years of worrying about it, it finally happened. There. Satisfied?

No? Didn't she always tell you though? How you'd better look out? How you just can't trust those people? How these days, you just never can tell, can you? No, no you can't.

She always thought the rest of you looked pretty stupid, going about your lives and having fun, when she was the only one who took all this seriously, and was trying to help you, make it better, be safer! But all you would do is say, 'Jeez, Melanie, can't you just lighten up?'

No, no she couldn't. She was try-ing to see to it that everybody got home alive, thank you very much! That's why she kept flinching and doing these little terrified shrieks when you were driving. To help you! YOU'RE WELCOME!

When the rest of you kept on getting up on rocks and climbing trees in the Goddamned forest, she'd stand there with her arms crossed, shaking her head. She knew, okay? You're just being immature!

No one could see germs like Melanie! There never was a mess made that was so small that she wouldn't immediately be all over it, scrubbing and buffing and cursing up a storm about how she was the only one that ever did anything around here, and maybe it was time for a little gratitude, goddammit!

You don't take off your clothes around a bunch of strangers and just go sit in a damned hot tub with them; that's how you get germs! I should know, goddammit -I'm a Practical Nurse! If you think I'm gonna put my goddamn feet in that athlete's foot pit you like to call a Curves (tm) gym, you've got another think coming, my good friend! I know all about those places!

Stairs? Too steep! Ladders? Too likely to fall over! Old people? Hip breakers! Babies? Two words: crib death. Renting? Oh great! You wanna lose all your stuff in a fire? Owning? Fore-clo-surrre...

Americans are too loud, fat and stupid, but Europeans are always eating fly poop on their cheese! Asians just think they're better than us, don't they? Smart little fuckers! And Africans? The AIDS...

So it's sort of amazing, when you think about it. How she thought she had all the angles covered, but then was ultimately done in by a combination of an anvil, of all things, falling on her (it was clearly marked 'ANVIL', on the side), followed by a piano, from somewhere, landing on top of that, and topped off by an elephant that hit the pile with a resounding thud, who then shrugged his shoulders and said, "Eh, it's a living!" Just goes to show; you never can tell.

Monday, August 24, 2009

The Ebberlyn Convention Center and Plaza Pavilion, 1989-2009

It is with regret that we must announce the death of a good friend and resource for gatherings of all sorts; the Ebberlyn Convention Center and Plaza Pavilion.

It would have gladly hosted your next corporate retreat, sponsored event, sales presentation, wedding or memorial service. Your small touring live music provider, your exhibition of lawn and garden products -any of these could have been handled with ease and professionalism.

And parking? Well, yes, there was some places to park...Some...

The onsite dining providers had many tasty, affordable options! You could have had a juicy twelve-ounce rib steak at SteakFever (Si Habla SteakFever!) (tm), you could have gotten your wacky fun-time on at Pinche and Lefty's Family House Grill Arcade! Ethnic Foods such as AppeThaiZing and Los Mexicanos would have fed your family and not taken you to the cleaners! After eating food that good, you'd forget all about the parking thing, and we're real sorry about that.

With the wide variety of options available to you and your organization, it's difficult to see why you didn't just go ahead and book yourself a slot in our wide open time-calendar! After the American Brotherhood of Toastermakers pulled out of the coveted July spot, you could have hopped right in here. We had a full-time staff of IT and AV people to help you with all your presentation needs...Even do your PowerPoint (tm) presentation for you if you wanted! Why, in the name of God, didn't you call? You could have taken a tour bus! That way you wouldn't have to park all your employees...Cars, and...

Sometimes while lost, wandering its back hallways and service corridors, I could hear it weeping. Moaning. It was like if it could talk it would have said, but I'm so spacious and affordable...Located am I near to the big convention hotels! With the downtown and historical beer n' smokes district right nearby, you could just walk to 'em! WHY TO NO LOVE OF ME?

Yes, Lady Ebberlyn, maybe you were just too beautiful for this world. Perhaps they just could not see...Maybe- oh, but I am an old and sentimental fool...Surely there's nobody who would wish to come in and turn this place into a giant liquidation warehouse, or buy you, level you and turn you into some much-needed parking structure...What's that? What do I hear? Is that the sound of responsible business perking up its always-attentive ears? Yes!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to announce the birth of the largest Adult Entertainment Multi-Media Center and Gentlemen's Club! Jack's Shaque at Ebberlyn Centre (tm)! The Good Times are here yet again! Make sure to arrive early; it's really hard to find parking around here!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Liam S. "Crazy Ozzie" McLeish 1953-2009


With this as his epitaph, we close the final chapter in the history of this fine man. Father of four, devoted husband, renowned scholar, ikebana enthusiast and businessman whose prices were so low, there must have been something wrong with him.

Well, as we all know now, there was something wrong with him. If only someone had said something.

In the early days, while still at university in Melbourne, Liam distinguished himself as the premier interpreter of early Aramaic literature, as well as being the glue that held the Applied Pneumatics department together. This double threat emerged in an academic community desperately calling out for his brand of scholasticism and philosophy (his remarks on Schopenhauer are not without interest).

For a while, he made his way in a world glad to have him. The cracks in the edifice began to appear following a Profound Depth Exploration (diving in an underground lake that lay beneath the ocean floor), where the following sort of exchange between Liam and his peers became all too common.

Dr. McLeish; was heartened and pleased to receive your recent missive on Xenophon's 'History...' Found your contention that the modern term "xeno-phobia" had actual valid ties to both the element xenon and the descendents of Xenophon himself (difficult to locate, to say the least), leading ultimately to a Unified Field Theory in which Everything is everything, as Dr. Hill is quoted as saying...

and 'Ozzie' wrote back:


At first, Dr. McLeish's colleagues thought he might just be engaging in semiotics. Indulging in some post-structural cultural critique; what have you. But despite the fact that he had attended university in Australia, and had one of those names that more or less distinguishes one as being a subject of the Crown, he was from Dubuque, just like you and me: he wasn't Australian.

However, this thing he had become had attracted the attention of Seamus "Smitty" Smith, an actual Australian and a true asshole.

Because of his controversial remarks at the 2004 symposium on Applied Synergetics and Industrial Friction management (he just stood up there at the podium, throwing down hundred dollar bills in a tight stack and saying, "ONE 'UNDRED, TWO 'UNDRED -I AIN'T FINISHED YET! THREE HUNDRED, FOUR 'UNDRED DOLLAZZZ!"), he was asked to leave the Academy. If this caused him any personal anguish, it was lost under the above-board bravado he displayed, saying at the time;
"IF THERE'S A STAIN YOU CAN'T REMOVE, THIS SHAMMY RAG YOU MUST APPROVE! WIF' ALL THE MESSES AND ALL THE HATE, YOU'VE GOT SOME BLOTCHES, IS MY HUNCH, MATE!" after which he offered to get rid of the toughest of stains, with the new Now It Is Chamois (tm) combination towel and cleanser.

Shortly thereafter, "Smitty" Smith met Liam in a local pub and bought him several rum n' cokes. And then he went too far. Beyond here, it was plane rides to Jakarta to meet shady men in fezzes. "Ozzie" hawked their substandard products, glad to do so.
Then the team made for Burbank, and the apotheosis of all dreams.

Forced, in his impaired mental state, to advertise for a product called "Zeeeert!", Ozzie developed an intoxicating pitch that led the American buying public -always suckers for an Aussie- to endless devotion. He also developed a noticeable lump on his upper right forehead, up near the hairline. To all who would notice, this was ominous.

Before long, people were inviting him to events. In his sensible black chambray work shirt, he seemed the picture of colonial thrift. He seemed to embody all that was brash and exploratory in the liberal agenda, as well as all that was shouting and under-analytical in the conservative. People loved him, and he at least appeared to like people.

But this too was difficult to say. When approached by adoring fans who loved him and would gladly take a bullet for any of his products, they would say things like, "I'm so excited to finally meet you, Ozzie," and he'd say something like;


At which point the generally well-meaning public would scamper away.

His highly enthusiastic sales pitches for Honky's (tm) chain of family fast-food restaurants, Gringo's (tm) brand of fried corn chip, the Hello Telephone (ltd) line of Japanese products kept him in a more or less constant state of travel. Smitty often propped up his "man" with speed, both for endurance of the long hours as well as Liam's well-documented fear of flying.
But it was in the valley of industrial solvents and putties that Ozzie finally crossed his Rubicon.

The Drastic Action (R) family of products beckoned. When spilling a seemingly-uncleansible blood and semen stain onto a pristine dun-colored carpet, he maintained the endless shit-eating grin that suggested endless loyalty of brand consciousness plus a man who desperately wanted to be loved.
Nodding nervously, that same smile seemed to harden into a death rictus.

Before long, his more or less open insanity became a liability with advertisers. He was more or less unable to get more commercial gigs.
With the profits he'd made, he purchased a chain of retail outlets, which he called Crazy Ozzie's.

The commercials tell a story. Sitting behind a squalid counter, surrounded by inventory that looks like it's about to fall over and crush Ozzie, he is barking at the camera:

And it was clear that this was all actually a cry for help. With prices that low, he must have been crazy.

Smitty came back, and said he'd found some product that actually wanted Ozzie to be its pitchman. And it was necessary to fly commercial air to get there. Despite how wretched his mouthpiece had become, Smitty forced him onto a plane, whereupon they went to Laughlin, Nevada to examine whatever the hell the thing was they'd be selling.
When the plane hit the tarmac, an overhead luggage compartment burst open, dumping an overnight bag onto Ozzie's head. The lump on his forehead began to bleed, but Ozzie just kept on smiling that crazy grin of his.

He stood there on the stairs leading to the terminal, blood streaming down his face, hands in place as if holding a product, saying, "SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH! THIS IS CRAZY OZZIE, AND I'M HERE TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE SPECIAL LOVE THAT EXISTS BETWEEN A MAN AND HIS RASH! THE TERMINATOR! THE CRUSHER! THE-" and then he lost consciousness, never to regain it.

Seamus "Smitty" Smith's whereabouts remain unknown.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

S. Tom "Red" Tubbler, 1912-2009

Wall boys, ah shore am glad t' be standin' up here in front o' y'all t'day! Those ladies back there n' the kitchin' shore can throw out a fine spread, cain't they? Let's have a big hand for them gals!

I heard one time from a fella I once met that there ain't no kinda barrel like a cracker barrel, and I believe that just may be what brings us all here t'gither t'day! We're just sittin' around here a-whittlin' and a-talkin', and jist no kinda fuss is gonna be made a-bout it! Putcher feet up on th' pickle barrel, pass thet whiskey bottle 'round. No one gon' see it; it's inna pay-per baaag!

I'll never f'rgit th' one time back up in 1931, when I come up all hell bent fer election over that dad-blasted Cabbage Hill down outta Poverty Flats and inta thuh...Inta thuh Pennelt'n there. I had just got caught in a dust n' rainstorm, and I walked inta the newspaper office there in my duster n' Stetson hat, all drippin' and droopy, makin' a puddle on the floor! The man at the desk looks at me and laughs, sez; "I knew if I sat here long enough, I'd see this day!" Then we laughed about it, and he let me marry his daughter!

Where was I? Oh, right: God! He come to me one night in m'sleep, and he taught me how to frame plywood! Joined unions, 'came a journeyman, involved in local organizations n' so-cial functions! Slapped t'gither th' Woodsman of the World headquarters n' exhibition pavilion, and walked a hundred miles!

Later, when the movies come t' town, I set myself up as a stuntman for Tom Mix's horse! Later, after his head was pulverized by the Death Suitcase, I was legal-guardian-in-waiting for his wife! Then the communists came, and we wuz' all outta a job!

I was the first man in the county to build a house on the lake, and I was married to my wife! My children? They're all in there! One of 'em grew up to ride that horse! He jus' looked at me and shook his head, tied 'im to a stick, threw it down a well!

Like any king hell bullshitter'll tell ya', you're only worth your last best story, and that's why I come here to tell you how you really need to drive a Pontiac today! Believe me folks; it really is more car for less money! Or take Greyhound Bus Lines, and let death take another holiday! Good night! God bless!

Peter Aaronson, 1947-2009

Crony, toady, pogy, lickspittle.
Apple-polisher, follower, hanger-on, backslapper, well-wisher.
Empty suit, coat holder, guy-we-kept-around-to-empty-the-ashtrays, "associate", errand boy.

These are just some of the ways we will remember Peter Aaronson.

With his omnipresent, ingratiating smile and looking around nervously to see how everyone else was reacting, he spent many undistinguished years doing whatever the hell it was he did for a living.

Raised in some podunk jerkwater somewhere out in the toolies, he got out of there the minute he finished high school, and then spent the rest of his life talking about how lucky he was to be born and raised in such a fine setting. What a strong moral grounding it gave him. Then he spent the rest of his life with his tongue up some mid-level supervisor's ass.

For the record, all the more specific he ever got about it was, "I'm employed by a private fiduciary concern." Jesus. Look, if you can't describe what it actually is, it's illegal. Or at very least, you don't talk that way about things that you're proud of.

He went to college in some bucolic, stagnant backwater and got a degree in 'Business'. Oh, bravo. Now here's a guy with some fresh ideas! Hey guys; here's this other guy who wants to do things for money! You think we oughta hire him? I mean, he doesn't actually do anything, and says he wants to come in here and sit at a desk, make money off of actual work being done by lesser-paid Others Elsewhere! I like the cut of his jib!

Making himself essential to the mysterious workings of the Managerial Class, this nonetheless introduced him to pretty much nobody interesting at all. He met other men and women just like him in his travels, which were, paradoxically, constant. There wasn't a Residence Inn (tm) that didn't see ol' Pete at one time or another!

When he was called upon for his ideas, there would be that reliable nervous chuckling he constantly emitted. Because he had none. This would be the case with everybody else up there in the Brain Trust; they had been talking to and surrounded only by other people just like them for too long. No amount of corporate seminars regarding 'thinking outside the box' were ever going to change that.

He married a woman that worked for the same company. She worked in another state though, because this company, despite having no noticeable reason to be, had offices in every state in the continental U.S., and in five countries overseas. Their union was noted with approval by the company, who then pooled their modest 401 Ks and health benefits.

They lived in a neighborhood that...Oh god, I can't do it. It's just too goddamn depressing.

He never met a stranger. By that I don't mean "...just a friend he hadn't made yet." I mean "he was terrified of people he didn't already know." Kinda hated 'em, actually.

Y'ever meet a guy like this (and of course you have; they're everywhere) and think, "Now there's someone who's going to climb up in a clock tower one of these days with a high powered rifle and start taking people out"? Well, you wouldn't be too far off the mark with Peter, except substitute 'congestive heart failure', and you'd be there.

Remembrances to...Whatever. Leave me alone.

-His Wife, employee # 48682976

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Your Mom ?-?

Your Mom, after battling for many years with being so damn greasy she used bacon as a band-aid, has died. She was...Old.

In fact, she was so damn old that her Social Security Number was 1. In Roman Numerals. She was told to act her own age, and she died.

Damn, she was stupid. She was so damn stupid, it took her two hours to watch '60 Minutes'. One time when you told her it was chilly outside, she ran out there with a goddamn spoon.

It's true that her weight certainly contributed to her poor health. She was so damn fat, she ate Wheat Thicks. She'd go to a restaurant, look at the menu and go, "Okay!" She fell in love and broke it. We're standing in her right now.

But it's true that she was unique from an early age, and was born into challenging circumstances. For instance, the wooden leg with a kickstand certainly couldn't have helped. Neither did the glass eye with a fish in it. Ten fingers -all on the same hand- and missing so many teeth, it looked like her tongue was in jail. The hair on her upper lip was so thick, she could braid it.

Poverty dogged her many days: her house was so small, you had to go outside to eat a large pizza. Instead of a car, she drove a peanut. She'd drive it on down to KFC to lick other people's fingers, or over to McDonald's to put a shake on layaway. One time I saw her kicking a can down the street. I asked what she was doing, and she said, "Moving."

I don't blame her though; her house was so dirty, you had to wipe your feet before going outside.

Possible causes of death include getting tangled up in a cordless phone, or having an arm chopped off and all the gravy running out. In any case, would you just get off your mom, please? I just did!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

All Who Oppose Me (all my life - soon, I think)

(Example Photo)

Yes, yes AT LAST! Victory shall be mine! It shall be swift, and it shall be TERRIBLE!
Skulls will grin lewdly from the door and post of every house of mine enemies, and the sea shall boil. My armies of stormtroopers and wrong-doers will be unleashed upon the unsuspecting world; the result: DOOM!

When, in the fullness of time, the day comes to pass that I take vengeance for all the manifold wrong done to me, bloodcurdling screams shall fill the air, and the cowardly lot who seek refuge will find no safe harbor! On this day, when the world knows the steely bite of my sword, a reckoning will be made, and I will stand triumphant. At this time, I shall laugh and laugh and laugh.

Fools! How did you think you would ever escape my wrath? For what purpose did you engage in your petty business and go about your meaningless lives? I suppose perhaps you thought I would forgive your myriad of slights and insults? YOU SUSPECTED WRONGLY, O SNICKERERS AND JUDGERS-OF-ME!

When the time came for you to invite me to the things that were my due, instead you chose to fail to issue any sort of invitation! It was as though you had not thought of me at all! I hung my head, rent my garments and gnashed my teeth. But soon, it shall be YOU who will be doing the gnashing!

I am the jury, and you, the condemned accused! Your punishment will be...Swift, and meted out! A stiff, stiff penalty! Oh, how you will lament and plead as you suffer! But I will give no quarter, as I sternly look upon you, remembering full well the torments you once gave me.

Like that one time? That wasn't funny. That really hurt me, and when you laughed, it just made it worse. How could you have been so thoughtless and mean? Well, NOW YOU'LL PAY! You fucked up, jack! I'm totally serious!

Shut up, all of you! You darken my days with your laughter and obviously having good times at my expense! And in my absence! My nighttimes are filled with lonely torment as I watch the television and brood darkly. But SOON, SOON THERE WILL BE A PAYING-UP OF THE BILL! I've been footing this one for too long!

I tried to give you my love, and my august approval of you. But would you listen, or even hear me? A thousand times NO! I just wanted to be friends, and occasionally share a non-sexual massage! Or just cuddle up for an afternoon nap! THAT'S ALL! And you said I was 'creepy' and 'unrealistic'! Well, the grim reality is now set to fall upon you all! You, yourselves will be...Creeping away to dark corners to escape the hard rain that's gonna fall! But you will fail in this endeavor, and have to face facts!


At the request of the deceased(s), there will be no service. Funerary arrangements by Kinky's Krematorium, 85568 Oak Harbor Lawn Drive. Remembrances to...The United Nations, I guess.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Innocent Bystander ?-a few minutes ago

An area man (or possibly a tourist) known for being on an escalator in a mall and remembered for his presence in the wrong place at the wrong time, has died.

The cause was multiple gunshot wounds from several different firearms, coming from many different directions, fired by various men, good and bad.

The international jewel smugglers and arms dealers that contributed to the final moments of the victim were rushing away from a foiled attempt at a heist of some sort, trailed by a maverick cop who didn't play by the rules and his long-suffering sidekick/partner. In a lagging pursuit were a no-nonsense guy from the Bureau, and several hapless uniformed cops.

At this time, the victim was traveling alone down the escalator in the mall where this chase was heading. He had purchased nothing, or at least carried no bags. He was alone, or at least there was no one that stuck around after the shots started flying. He had spent the day being unnoticed, and was blandly being shuttled to his demise.

Abruptly running the wrong way UP the 'down' escalator, the international criminals encountered the victim mid way up, knocking him down almost long enough for interested passers-by to note the details of his face, but not quite. From the bottom of the escalators, the maverick cop started firing, unfortunately clipping the victim, who was trying to get up.

Noting that their escape was being hampered by hot lead from behind, they picked up the victim and used him as a human shield while firing over his shoulder. The rounds continued to pump into the victim's chest, possibly rendering him dead at this point.

"POLICE!" yelled the police, who took up tactical positions and also commenced firing, wounding (at least) the victim in the cranial region repeatedly, and the now-crouching international criminals, who responded by indiscriminately spraying the immediate area with small-arms fire, hoping to kill enough people to permit escape. During this fray, the maverick cop's long-suffering partner, who was one day from retirement, was mortally wounded.

At this point, the criminals were completely surrounded by law enforcement, who were firing at will at the victim, propped up like a grisly rag doll while the cowardly villains crouched behind him, occasionally taking pot shots. It seemed for a while there that the victim was being kept upright only by the overwhelming amount of bullets impacting him from so many directions, despite being quite dead.

The no-nonsense suit from the Bureau arrived unheralded at the top of the escalator (it remains a mystery how), and decided that enough was enough, dammit, upon which he produced a white phosphorus grenade, which he activated and tossed into the bleeding, quivering mass of flesh in the center of the escalator. A large explosion with resultant skin-clinging fire was the result, putting a final finish on what remained of the victim at this point, but allowing the international criminals to escape in the confusion, somehow, despite being badly wounded themselves.

The maverick cop was consoling his dying partner and cursing God at this time, the few surviving uniformed cops were running toward the exits, and the no-nonsense Bureau man threw down his riot helmet and yelled "DAMMIT!!!".

Remembrances of this immediately-forgotten man were unavailable, as at that point the story-arc moved into a subplot about the maverick cop's ballbreaking ex-wife being killed -and his adorable grade-school age daughter kidnapped- by the international criminals, leading to an exciting standoff at a recognizably famous national monument.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Fabulous Techniques 1988(?)-2008

Let the rockin' good times party people bow their heads in sorrow, and maybe tip a forty to the memory of these dead 'homies', The Fabulous Techniques. They've been 'knockin' 'em dead' for twenty years, and now...Well, they're with Elvis, Buddy Holly, Jim, Jimi and Janis in the big Rock n' Roll band in the sky!

Available for corporate events, celebrations of life, comings-of-age and civil unions, they played the kind of music that everybody could sing along to, and nobody could possibly object to. This was music for when you're on the job, and needed something to hum, keep your toe tappin'. When you yelled out "Freebird!" after a few too many brewskis, and needed a band that could go right into it perfectly, note for note.

Originating in the jazz/fusion scene around San Diego in the early '70's, they got their start as the Jim Gelman Odyssey. After two unsuccessful albums (1973's Ode to Captain Miracle and 1975's Encounter Group Jam) on a small local label (Reeferences), they disbanded and found work in the insurance industry. It was 1978, during the 'disco' times, that they found their way back into all of our hearts.

As a house band at the legendary basement nightclub Ludee's, there among the shag-carpeted (now as "Shag and the Carpets", a humorous reference to the decor) confines, they found their way, and carved out a new type of cover band. When Ludee's closed due to unpaid rent and drug rumors, they went back to the ol' woodshed ("We've always been a garage band, but my mom keeps tellin' us to quiet down out there!" Jim Gelman (far right in photo) once, said, with his trademark sense of humor).

In the early '80's, every hep cat could be found hanging out at Rockin' Rudy Tutti's Nifty Fifties Soda Shoppe n' Sock Hop on the Strip! And so could Jim and the Boys! This time they were named "Jimmy and the Chantrelles", not having heard of the popular and expensive mushroom of the same name. They greased their hair back, wore leather jackets and pegged jeans, and effectively epitomized the '50's ideal of "cool"!
The place sold "malts", "shakes" and "burgers" and "fries": all the things that remind you of the good old days back when we all were teenaged! Remember when? They played all the best tunes, until the management decided to go with a jukebox, then recorded music, then finally closing the business in 1986.

At this point, grizzled veterans of the road, journeymen musicians and axemen...Bards, if you will, they decided to form the ultimate tribute to their skills and the rock era itself: The Fabulous Techniques! Around this time, they made the acquaintance of one Gordon "Rusty" Feldkirsch (second from right in photo).

Rusty was another old hand in the music business. Having come up through various workshops and studio projects, he was the "sex symbol" of the band. He knew many people in the Jewish community, too, so suddenly "gigs" were rolling in!
Mitzvahs both bar and bat, weddings that involved knowing what to play during a hora, sophisticated in-between-song humorous patter, they had it all! It seemed their star ("...of David?" Haw! That Jim!) would never fall!

And for twenty years, it went that way. They never played a song that somebody didn't like. Their repetoire of twenty-some songs (including a stunning version of Mr. Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline"!) always got everybody up on their feet, and even when they would play the occasional controversial song from the radical '60's (as in The Doors' "Touch Me"), they did it with a smile on their faces, as if to let you know that everything was cool, and everybody was just trying to have a good time.

The fact that they could be felled by something as random and bizarre as contagious, deadly rosacea (contracted from Rusty; you can see the beginnings of what would be all their dooms on his right cheek in the photo) in no way takes away from the lasting legacy of musical quality and darn it, just makin' people happy thank you very much, that they leave behind.
The sons of Jim, Tony Dowes (second from left), Lou Cross (far left) and Art "Saxophone" Persipple (0n sax) have already made firm plans to continue the tradition, as The Fabulous Techniques II, with a more up-to-date, 'hip-hop' urban sound.

Rock In Peace! Remembrances may be made to the California State Republican party.