Coca Cola Kills

Did you know that Coca Cola kills? No, I don't mean their wonderful, delicious product. The drink itself is manna. Everybody fucking knows that.

No, I'm talking about the company. They kill. They actually kill people. It's like a company tradition. The Coca Cola brass picks their best workers and salespeople and takes them to the Kalahari a couple times each year. Then they get their heads all bad on all manner of dopes and they kill bushmen. With shotguns and assault rifles. It's like the Coke reward program. It's true.

Also- teeth rot Coca Cola. If you put a tooth in a glass of Coke and put it in the window and come back a couple of days later, there's less delicious Coke. And it tastes bad.

It's the real thing.

SMIRNOFF

COCA COLA

HEWLETT PACKARD

Dear Baby Yacov Kruetzfeldt MacDonald

Dear Bebe Buehl;

Was I bad this week! And it's already Thursday! I'm fucked!

I was awful and I feel really bad. I tried to slay the dragon DeLay and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. I choked. Choked.

It's not fear or dread, really. What it is is a realization that I just don't have the vocabulary. I don't know if there IS the vocabulary to describe the evil of DeLay.

I'll try again after my gig tomorrow night. How dat? I think I just need some fire in th' belly. Usually I get that after Bringing It to the People. And sweating out some toxins and alcherhol.

Confession for the week: I like those soda pop alcohol drinks. I like 'em 'cause you can blast back a lot of them at 9, hit the stage and sweat 'em out by 1 or 2 of the morn. I won't reveal brands because I'm a human being, not a fucking sales device.

What else, Freepus, what else? Well, I've been good in the studio. The Bobby Lightfoot Explosion demo is coming along right good. I've done some innerventive stuff on the production side and my editing chops is serving me well.

I'm good at that, Jeebus. I'm good at something.

So bite me.

I sing wicked good too 'cause of the cigarettes and that stuff. I'm going to drop those now and hopefully my voice will stay Rod Stewart and not go back to Brian Wilson. Brian Wilson is fine but he doesn't get the bartender tipped, you know? Back when I had a future as an artist Brian Wilson was fine but now that I'm a fixture to move beer I'm glad I sound more like Small Faces.

Thanks Crispus. I suspect that even without the deatherettes I'll be able to hold on to my polyps. What with screaming my ass off 4 hours a night.

"Hold on to my polyps". That sounds vaguely pornographic in a bad way.

Speaking of porno, Jibbous, Paul the drummer from King Radio thinks you have a "swimmer's body". I know I mentioned Paul and how fucking hilarious he is back when I did my King Radio puff piece. So there you have it.

I have a swimmer's body, too. A swimmer who quit swimming a decade ago.

Actually, I'm kidding. I'm cut like a fucking flanksteak. Huge wang, too. Scary big. I'm all over the interweb with that thing.

Anyway!! Love ya Frisco! Let's do lunch! From behind!!

Amen, Bobby Lightfoot

God damn little baby

Oh, jeez. I was going to get vituperative on this cute li'l rascal but that's not going to make me feel better about striking out with Tom DeLay.

God, I'm in a tizzy.

Little bastard.

Polesmokin' Neocon Felcheteers Number Like a Zillion or something: Tom Fucking DeLay

God, I feel unequal to this task. I don't know where to start. You know, if I can topple an evil as ancient and powerful as fucking Santa Claus, you'd think I wouldn't tremble at taking on this little nipplehair.

Truth is, I'm scared. I'm a little scared. I'm going to take a deep breath and do this, but I hope it's not my last. Christ knows I might start feeling little pinpricks out of the blue in my ass and then the life will be snatched out of me by evil spirits. Lots of people who cross Tom DeLays path speak of pinpricks in the ass.

Whenever I feel like the children are getting the better of me and I feel bested and defeated and resentful, I just remind myself of the fact that the world of tomorrow is being constructed by people like Tom DeLay. That'll be their punishment, ultimately. Poor little bastards. This might, in fact, be a useful exercise in expanding my compassion for Them.

Shit. I just don't know if I can do this.

All right. Here goes nothing.

TOM DE FUCKING LAY!!!!!!!!!! TOM FUCKING DELAY!!!!!!!!! OH MY FUCKING CHRIST! WHERE TO START?? DO WE START WITH THE SHEER, UNMITIGATED EVIL?? WITH THE BACKROOM DEALINGS?? THE ENDLESS LIES THAT STRETCH INTO THE DISTANCE LIKE A YELLOW BRICK ROAD OF HATE, DECEIT AND PUKE?

Where on earth do we start with this fucking monster?

Fuck. I felt like I was getting somewhere and then I lowercased it and I lost my mojo.

Jesus, gang. I'm going to have to come back to Tom.

God, I feel small.

U2: SAVIORS OF THE FUCKING UNIVERSE

U2! These guys are doing good night and day! They work in shifts! Saving the universe! They're saving the world ONE ASS AT A TIME. Yesterday? Yesterday the saved 10,000 fucking asses! If evil is like a boil, these guys are an echo-soaked LANCET headin' towards it at Mach 3. Just like their namesake.

These guys never stop, I'm telling you. Let me put it this way: U2 and Injustice? Not the easiest of bedfellows, my friend. Not the easiest. These fuckers are like KRYPTONITE to The Man. The Man sees Adam Clayton and whatsisname jest moseyin' on over and he drops whatever Appalachian family he is devouring and runs screaming like a prom queen on acid. Like rice on a cheap suit, baby.

Fuck!

All the things these guys have done to make the world a better place for me and you and generations to come? The list is endless. Endless. You know how there's that pin that has the Lord's Prayer engraved on the tip? U2's good deeds would not fit on that pin. They'd need a score of fucking pins to enumerate the good works of Bono and th' boys.

Just the other day they went through my neighborhood, rounding up and euthanizing strays. Day before that- the drummer picked up all the trash in the universe and the bass player dude removed all the asbestos on the planet. All in a day's work for THOSE fucking dudes.

And the fact that they manage to do it while SPENDING AT LEAST FIVE HOURS A DAY IN A FUCKING CIRCLE JERK is just that much more amazing.

U2! Ever-vigilant!! They work in shifts!

COMPAQ

PEPPERIDGE FARM

HEAD AND SHOULDERS


 

Santa Claus: A Study In Evil

Ha! Santa. What a fucking dope.

All the fucking cash in the universe and he gives people toaster ovens and bad cologne ONCE A gOD DAMN year. What an absolute, unmitigated foreskin this chiseling old fuck is. What a effing rotter.

ADDED to this fact, there is solid data to suggest that Santa RIPS PEOPLE OFF FOR MILLIONS OF DOLLARS A YEAR!

ESPECIALLY THE STARVING CHILDREN!! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! He sweeps through Ethiopia like an ill wind, grabbing crusts from dying little mouths. Who fucking does that? Yeah, that's right- a BIG, BIG ASSHOLE does that. BIG asshole.

Fucking SANTA. He's got you ALL SNOWED. Got himself all snowed too, from the nostrils on in if you get my "drift". Come November this fucking evil nutjob is like a one-man Colombian export boom if you get my "drift". And Santa is actually badly bipolar too, no pun intended, and the cocaine turns him into this chittering, sneezing, bugeyed elffucker. Those little fuckers SCATTER when they get wind that Massuh is into some booger sugar.

Thats Christmas you hardly got anything? Santa put it all up his nose. That was 1977. Fuckin' remember it like it was yesterday. I got, like, a used "Mouse Trap" game and a soggy cardboard coaster with a whore named Rita's phone number in Poughkeepsie on it. What did you get?

This guy makes Dick Cheney look like the fucking tooth fairy, who also happens to be an absolute UNMITIGATED TWAT.

BUT THAT'S ANOTHER FUCKING POST ISNT' IT, THEN??? HUH? hUHA//A;Y45YLI;H
A;DSLKGH4W8TY80YHTG

I guess I'm getting back to my normal self.

Credits for this post: Hank was here laying guitar tracks and he came up with the ripping people off thing which fucking smokes and I riffed into the toothfairy bit.

When I decided to do this post I wondered for a second if I wouldn't have a hard time finding bad things to say about that fucker Santa.

Then I laughed and got on with it.

So, I'd like to thank everyone who chipped in getting this thing together. All the people who don't get the glory, y'know? And Hal in accounting. That fucking Hal! Mr. Lampshade! Woo Hoo! Mr. Head-Of-The-Christmas-Party-Conga-Line-Year-After-Fucking-Year!! And my mentor John Thuleen who really is like a dad to me. Really. Like a pap. And Sherry and Marge and Hector in Human Resources! Where would I have gotten all the human body parts wiohout Human Resources???? You tell me!

Oh, Rita? Check it out- I called the number and it turns out Santa fucking KILLED HER AND RENDERED HER and ATE HER FUCKING BRAIN!!!!!!!! WHAT A BASTARD THAT FUCKING SANTA IS. And the god damned tooth fairy molested her corpse and took the teeth out.

Actually I took the teeth out and that nancying little fucker owes me $2.75.

Fucking cock.

Me? Mister, I'm FUCKED.

What's going to get me? When's it going to be? Will it be quick? Will I spare my dear ones the spectacle of slow, desperate rotting? When I think about the cigarettes I get a bad premonition, but you know how they always say it's not what you worry about, but what you least expect.

I never worry about the salmon mousse, y'know? Remember that?

Will it be expensive? I mean, this is America. Ever'thing's got a price. That's how we measure the value of fucking everything like the sick, wasteful, overindulged children we are.

Look at me. I'm so vital. Almost glowing. Vital, glowing people biff it all the time. All the fucking time, dickheel.

Will it be embarrassing? Will people stand in the shadow of the bus, aghast at the macabre patterns I've created with the only art supplies left me? Will I be creative to the end? Will I fall just SO so that the peagreen of my pancreas won't clash with my earthier liver tones? Hee hee. I certainly hope so. I hope I can maintain a bit of design awareness.

At least I know I won't off myself. I never swung that way. You know how I know? Because each time I've thought I was about to die I didn't want to. So, that's how I know. Also, I'd never give The Man the satisfaction. Fuck the Man. You've got to fight the power.

Jiminy Fucking Christmas!!

See, all the cars were making lazy arcs around a spot on Old South Street today and the good people of Northampton were watching a little cat squirming in a pool of blood in the gutter. "Gee, Mabel, look at that kooky cat dyin'!"

Sometimes I hate people so much I DO want to kill myself so I could at least make a dent in The Problem without pissing off some stranger's family.

"Eeeww. Look at the gross dying cat!"

The only time I've ever wanted to get a permit to carry concealed is when some poor dumb animal is preparing to hit th' big Pasture In The Sky at the side of the road and it's taking a while. Can you imagine lying there watching blurry cars roll by and roll by and blurry human faces look at you like your bowels are out because they are?

People make me want to fucking hork up a entrail or two myself. An' the fucking lady who actually stops to help wants to argue with me about whether calling 911 is appropriate. Jesus fucking Fuck. Dumb bat. If they're not fucking mean they're just stupid. It was around then that the cat blorked up whatever had shook loose and started to relax if you know what I mean.

I'm the most fucked because I waste so many pretty sunny days mentally kicking and stabbing myself because I Failed. What the fuck is that? I'm in really good fucking shape and instead of reaching for the things I need to be happy I wallow in guilt and Sweet Regret and worry about hurting people's feelings. Stupid artist fucker. Look at the people who didn't Fail. They're cunts. Forgive my Armenian.

When I worked for rock stars the only thing I was never, ever jealous of their shiny shit and their stoopid posessions. I could give a fucking toss. What I was jealous of, profoundly jealous of, was their absolute belief in their own talent. See, they are in the wonderful, enviable position of feeling like self-made men because their ability was recognized and rewarded. Imagine how that would feel.

But see, how are you going to tell Eric Kretz or Dave Navarro or whatsisname that your neighbor plays music six times better than them and works third shift at the Acme Screw Company and will for life because one fine day some A&R fuck had a good shit in the morning and some other fine day he was a little bound up? These guys are lottery winners. Lennon referred to himself once as the "guy who won the lottery" and I thought that was honest and insightful.

But see, the world is a funny place. For every rock star who's ass I've wiped there's about a trillion starving armless AIDS victims under me. In the big picture, I am one lucky motherfucker. I've been low, low, low but I've never been in even the same GALAXY of SUCK as that.

I think that more of my self-loathing comes from an inability to be content with my actually quite exalted station than from simply being a huge failure. Somethin' could happen, y'know? Probably not. The past is generally an excellent indicator of the future. Nonetheless.

Oh- and there's no God, gang. Trust me- there ain't nobuddy. And no Santa either. Sorry. It's not my fucking fault. And all you people that disseminate the god thing to your innocent children? I think of you as guilty. You're guilty of a thing. I mean, we're all guilty of a thing or another. Me, I stole from my teacher in third grade and there's the thing with that drifter in Taos and the flare gun. I don't actually count that fucknut with the pitbull. That prick had every fracture coming to him. But see, I don't act like I'm not guilty. You fuckers with your Dark Ages God thing think you can just wipe your ass and say three whatever the fuck they ares and you're golden. Idiots. Yeah, that's some enlightened shit, yo. Maybe if you plop your firstborn up on the alter you'll have a good planting season, y'know? Maybe if you eat your enemy's brain you'll get smarter, yo. Maybe if you eat rhinoceros horn powder you'll actually get that erection that the May Queen hath denied thee so long. Stupid fucking idiots. Blurgh. That breath you just took? GIVE IT BACK YOU GOD DAMN COW. SAVE IT FOR SOMEONE WHO COUNTS.

You'll get your innards splashed one day prob'ly and you'll be watching the blurry cars go by and you'll be waiting for whatever it is you expect and it won't come and at the last minute you'll realize you're FUCKED.

And then you'll be all "I should have been kind to people and all living things just FOR THE FUCK OF IT INSTEAD OF SO I COULD GET SOME PRIME REAL ESTATE IN MCHEAVEN. IN A "GOOD" NEIGHBORHOOD."

And that is the core of it, isn't it? I mean, what am I missing? One gets the impression that the only reason religious people ever do anything nice is so it goes on their fucking rap sheet. I think that they are Just About That Fucked Up. I swear to nonexistent god that I can see it in their face. They actually are stupid enough to think that making abortion illegal will stop abortion. There's some fuzzy logic for you. See, they don't care if people get abortions or not. They just want that check mark on their fucking pussy rapsheet. Assholes.

And you know fucking well What Jesus Would Do. He would sell all that worthless shit you spank off to and he'd give the money to poor people. I mean, right? I mean, I read your shitty Bible that some fucking numbnuts midieval jackoffs wrote so people wouldn't pelvis pummel each other's spouses. "Pelvis pummel". Hee hee. Sounds like a kind of stupid figurine you can buy in Reader's Digest.

So, why don't you sell all that crap and give the money to poor people?

Worst part- if I saw you bleeding out at the side of the road?

I'd stop and on the spot I would sign over 2 years of my life ON THE SPOT IN RED PEN so you could be O.K. and go back to being an ignorant fucking schmuck and tellin' your poor children that Baby Kuntster loves them.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Hee hee. I originally wrote "5 years" and then I was like "fuck that!" and changed it. Ha ha.

What's going to happen? Actually, I've figured out What's Going To Happen------- are you ready for this? Read on------





Here's what's going to happen- pretty much what's happening now, hopefully for a long time, and then it will stop happening. And you know that's best case, vidalicet.

It's actually quite simple. Your job is to make sure stuff keeps going about like it is now for as long as possible.



COCA COLA

VERIZON

DODGE

PANASONIC

And speaking of bunnies, adorable bunnies expire every minute in great pain.

And their mommy can't do anything but sit and watch.

One day, Snowball will chase dustbunnies no more.

Even Now, The Seeds Of Their Demise Are Wound Into Their Cute Little Genes.

Unless, of course, fate sends another surprise their way even sooner.

He will die and rot someday.

And the odds are reasonable that it will be a bad death.

It's not my god damn fault. Don't get all snippy with ME.

Behold The Stupid, Bitchy Hydrangea

Et Tu, Hydrangester? Oh, thee most crapulent of blooms? Never accused of possessing any good qualities at all, this Eichmann of flowers. If the hydrangea was an ass it would look like two rat terriers fighting it out in a paper bag. Not a calypigian bloom, this here! God damn, when I think of hydrangeas I just see RED!! Fuck!! Man!!

Hydragea: the only flower to lose the Flowervision Song Contest since its inception in 1971. What are those noxious plants that fart when you step on them? Stink-something-or-others? They ROCK almighty ASS compared to hydrangeas.

Hydrangeas! Blah! Fuck 'em!! Y'know how when you rock down about 5 big bong hits and hit a bag of donuts the universe sort of reveals it's oneness? You slap on some Sgt. Pecker's Homely Kluntzfart Gland and it all comes together for a while?

Well, smoke a hydrangea sometime, my friend. Truly this better than my mere words will illustrate the loathsomeness of this hideous weed. Smoke hydrangea and you'll be up on the town water tower sighting at kids down the barrel of a .22 faster'n you can say F-T-fuckin'-D, brother man.

Brother Man. I love that. It's like the Mullet of speech.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!! tHE MULLET OF SPEECH!!

Brother Man. I knew this guy, Ozzie roadie name-a I forget. What was that guy's name, with the shaved head. Used to call you Brother Man.

Remember Jim Thompson? The noire crime writer dude who had a renaissance with college punks like me in the late '80's? He had some embarrassing passages.

Embarrassing Passages: The New CD from Bobby Lightfoot and The Orchestra Of Sweet Regret.

Anyway, there' a character in there who calls his wife "friend wife". That is just cringerific, that there. Cringelicious.

Anyway- fuck Hydrangeas. Seriously, dude- name ONE FUCKING time a Hydrangea came through for you. I saw a hydrangea the other day and i DOUSED IT WITH GASOLINE AND DANCED AROUND IT WHILE IT BURNED BURNED BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNEEED.

I could hear it scream.


 

Mr. Rogers: El Grande Tosspotio Numero Unio

Fuckin' Mr. Rogers! Jesus Christ on rye with sprouts! What an unadorned shit head this prick was!! We've all heard the stories! Never has a miniature penis been the cause of so much cruelty to coworkers and family!

Y'know, I'm digging this thing where I'm realizing that I just like to rail, and I just choose a subject at random to rail against. I think it's best for everyone this way. I think this might be a breakthrough in my attempts to control my black rage.

Fuck Mr. Rogers! What an A-S-S-H-O-L-E that prick was! Push those daisies, Rog, push 'em good you idiot. You mean little despot. You smegmatron. You urine addict.

Next: Bobby Lightfoot takes on the evil fucking Hydrangea. Goddamned Hydrangeas. Pieces of shit.