All Christers Report To The Launch Pad Immediately For Ejection Into Space

Christers!! Everywhere! Under the god damn sink! In the linen drawer! Hitchhikin' down th' 5 'n' 10 with hands full of .22 rounds and mouths full of Extreme Unction!

It's getting crazier and crazier! Every day! Did you know that when you come to christ (!) your accent changes to Deep South even if you're from Bangor Maine? Try it!

Actually, never mind. Don't try it.

They're stupid! Did you know that when you come to jeezis your I.Q. goes down an average of 30 points? Try it!

Actually, never mind. Don't try it.

Boy, do I hate them Christers! Big time! Hate 'em! And I hate that they make me hate 'em. I'm not comfortable with hating people! With the Christers, though? I guess I'll just deal with it and get my spine aligned more often to deal with th' discomfort.

Christers think your mom's going to hell! Your mom! What kind of a god damn thing is that to think about your mom? People say shit about my mom I usually size 'em up and maybe kick their ass. I had a girl I was datin' turned out to be a christer. It was awful! I developed cracked and damaged skin from washing my hands! Asked her if my mom was going to hell and sure 'nuff she is! Man, was she stupid. The girl, not my mom. Then this crap started showing up in my mailbox and she was actually trying to save me. Oh, my god. I was so, so affronted. So affronted. This chick thought baby jeezis made her out of mud and she's trying to set MY ass straight. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Chick isn't even in my spankoff rolodex anymore, if you get my drift. She's Banished. Banished to wander in the Lost Wilderness of The Never Spanked Off To.

Did I say that!!!

The worst thing now is how they're finding out how the neocons duped them to stay in th' Big House I mean White House and it's sad to watch. It's like watching that guy who bullied you in high school on TV in Eye-rack getting his dick blown off by a roadsider. Jesus. I mean, you're glad in a way but mostly you still feel sorry for the guy.

A Christer wouldn't though! Like, if the guy was gay? They'd be all psyched. They'd do one of their blood rituals that they do with chickens and they'd cackle and speak in voices. Trust me on this shit. Fuckers are like the Blair God Damn Witch but they can't figure out how to make th' little stick guys. Man, do Christers hate th' Gay. It is downright wierd. Wierds me out. It's like that Cognitive Dissonance crap with those Christers hating just about everybody walkin' the fucking planet. Hate, hate, hate. It's like a fucking mantra with these god damn Christers. I HATE 'em! Talk about Cognitive Dissonance!

Oh, and you know what else? NEVER DO BUSINESS WITH A CHRISTER!!! Go to a "christian business" and get a quote on that brake job, diggity. Then go to a normal non-speaking-in-tongues garage where they don't remove the still-beating hearts from little children for Jeezis' glory. Guarantee those Christers will gauge the SHIT out of you. I GUARANTEE it. Fuckers'll rip you blind faster'n you can say Pat Robertson, motherfucker.

These god damn CHRISTERS!! They are the BIGGEST, STUPIDEST HYPOCRITES ON TH' SURFACE OF THE PLANET!! IT'S NOT MY FAULT!! Take it up with them, man. Take it up with them.

See, that th' thing- people always gettin' itchy because I'm delivering the news on this crap. It's NOT MY FAULT! TAKE IT TO THE SOURCE, PEOPLE.

The CHRISTERS! And these god damn American ones! Ouch! They're so profoundly fucking ignorant! They're th' worst! Fat, ignorant CHRISTERS! In the boot of yer car! Under the bed when you do it non-missionary! Under there tisking away.

Hey! Is Chris Cooper set to play Tom Delay in the biopic or WHAT?? Jesus!

Oh, hey, and you Christers? When th' Pope edited the Bible in 1093 to make it so WalMart would carry it?

He took out the whole Book Of Tasteful Interiors by Rudy, The Gay Disciple. Rudy was th' Thirteenth Disciple and he was queerer than a football bat, you assholes. And he was like Jesus' favorite because he fuckin' ALWAYS made sure that their robes matched. The Book Of Tasteful Interiors was discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls and them fuckin' spooks what found it hid that shit real good but it surfaced later, man. Always does. Always does.

The whole thing about th' Holy Grail? That's the search for th' sepulcre of the Sacred Homosexual. How ya like THEM apples, Christers?? Let me put this in a simple way that all can comprehend:

JESUS LOVES GAYS. Fuckin' LOVES 'em. They raise property values, they keep clean yards, they don't spend a trillion in tax money so they can get pregnant even though their ovaries are like wrapped around their gall bladder or some shit like these freaks here now. In fact, if I may, I'd like to quote from 11:71 from th' Book Of Tasteful Interiors:

And Jesus said, "suffer them to come unto me, the poor and the weak and the Christers, that I may anoint them in fine oils and philters and thus take the sickness of homophobia from them. For yea it is to me as a Louis XIV chair amongst Danish Modern. It is to me is as a yellow dishcloth in a fuscia-painted kitchen.
And if thee wisheth for a world without Oscar Wilde and without Leonardo and Michelangelo and Quentin Crisp and Freddy Mercury then be it so; thou shalt dwell in a humorless place, a place of drywalling and footballing. If thou wishest to banish from thy hearth Michael Stipe and Cole Porter and Morrisey and all the fags that are beautiful to me for they are My Father's creation, then have it so, but know thee shall dwell in a place of darkness and hideous mismatched clothing."

Did I say that!!!

So anyway, yeah. Um, Christers- knock it the fuck off. You have to seriously knock it off. Dude, it's just not cool. It's like, hating gays is somewhat akin to hating the color blue. You're just going to figure out how to deal, you know? I mean, you see the color blue going away anytime soon?

I mean, your buttboy Jesus made it, right?

And how DARE you laugh at ME when I reveal a deep and abiding faith in Santa Claus??? Fucking cocks! Don't you see how wrong that is?? Is it any more ridiculous to believe in a benevolent, independently wealthy guy with flying reindeer than to believe in a god that CREATES THINGS AND THEN HATES THEM????

CREATES THINGS AND THEN HATES THEM. That is not viable behavior for th' Omniscient, right? I mean, if you're Baby Sheepus you already know what you're going to make before you make it! Why would Death Cab For Cutie record a Rap Metal album???? Why would the Ramones record a crunk rekkid, yo? If they was omniscient?

Know that I will fight you. And when I learn of your predilection I will act gay around you and act like I'm into you. Just to piss you off.

But then when you get all bitchy about it?

I'll give you a karate chop right in th' ass. HAI-YAH.

Did I say that!!!


The Beat Police- Consider Yourself Arrested.

Sweet! The Beat Police! Remember 'em? In th' 70's and early '80's? These guys were one of the best and most influential bands of th' new wave era!

They started in London in 1977, when mercurial American drummer Andy Kissinger decided to get out of his art rock bag and start a real live "punk" band. Andy, the love child of American political visionary Henry Kissinger and ex-UN secretary Madeleine Albright, grew up in the Australian outback. He found a bassist and singer from Manchester with the odd moniker of "The Number One" and together they convinced the older and more experienced guitarist Art McChumley to join them. Art was already 63 when he joined the Beat Police, but his boyish charm and excellent toupee made him a natural addition.

They played around in London, at the Marquee opening for XTC, at the Rainbow, at the Shit Hole in Surrey. They rocked like blazes. Andy and The Number One penned some early punk anthems at this point, among them "Piss On You", "So Sorry" and the skankeriffic rock/reggae classic "Walking 'Round".

"So Sorry" caught the attention of Andy Kissinger's brother, Henry Jr., who was operating an airbrushing/escort business in London, and it was Henry who bankrolled them and eventually became their manager, getting them a deal with Phillips International.

A sample of their brilliant early hit, "So Sorry":

Mama's gonna spank you 'cause you didn't do your homework
And your brother's gonna kick you 'cause you scratched up all his records...
So sorry, so sorry, so sorry...
So sorry...so sorry...

The Beat Police's first LP was released in late 1978 and was given the evocative title of Auslander. This was followed by 1979's smash Riccotta Da Vinci, which contained their white-reggae masterpieces "Walking 'Round" "Larry Struck A Gold Mine" and the protest anthem, "This Is Just Terrible".

In 1980 came the international breakthrough with the multi-million-selling Domo Areggato. Domo was a sleek, commercial bullet of a record that shot to the top of the charts all over the world. This album contained several classics, among them "Driving To Leeds", "Don't Just Stand There" and "Get Me Off This Rundown World".

It was on Domo Areggato that The Number One began to address political matters, poverty and the lack of faith in The Machine.

A sample of "Don't Just Stand There":

There's a secretary crying with a nylon tear
(I'm in so much pain)
There's an old man coughing up his Grand Marnier
(I'm in so much pain)
There's a drunk politician going in the red
(I'm in...etc.)
There's a spoiled little brat that won't get off to bed...

Don't just stand there
Don't just stand there

gave the boys the means to indulge their own creative and professional whims in 1980 and '81. The Number One cultivated a career as a professional wrestler with mixed results. He and his wife Kuntina had two children over these two years, The Number Two and The Number Two-And-A-Half. Andy Kissinger drummed on an album by power pop wordsmith extraordinaire Arliss McCutcheon (1981's superlative "Looking Icelandic") and travelled through the Middle East on a drug-and-gun-soaked escapade with his third brother, arms dealer Chip Kissinger.

Art McChumley had some heart problems but managed to make a guitar-centric jazz album with Dig Digby from the '60's stalwarts The Chocolate Vanilla Strawberry.

In 1981 The Beat Police reconvened to record the amazing Spanner In The Works. On Spanner we hear the bare-bones approach of earlier Beat Police records augmented with brass bands and accordions. The Number One's assiduous study of world music had yielded creative fruit as well, and the influence of Hawaiian Slack Guitar and Mongolian Ork Rhythm can be heard throughout.

The Number One had lost his belief in political systems at this point, and his disquiet can be heard in such tracks as "Spanner In The Works" and the first single "I've Lost My Belief In Political Systems (At This Point)".

Another protest anthem from Spanner In The Works was "Everything's Tragic" which ruled the airwaves in the spring of '81. The polka-reggae workout "Indivisible Sum" was released to mixed results and another gruelling world tour ensued.

Cracks in the Beat Police edifice began to appear during the recording of Spanner In The Works as The Number One and Andy Kissinger reportedly came to blows on several occasions. Art McChumley attempted to join in but was dependent on a respirator at this point and was somewhat ineffectual. The Beat Police's producer, Noah Chomskey, later described these spats in interviews as "looking like two old ladies trying to put a fire out on each other's chest".

Their fifth and final album was their finest. The world knew that a creative powerhouse like the Beat Police could only implode but the process was captured beautifully and for all time on 1982's Dianetics. Dianetics was essentially a concept album about a science and religion that The Number One had taken to heart, and sported muscular and skeletal (ha) tracks of simple power. The title track was called "Dianetics" and dealt with the many levels of meaning and the various dimensions of the physical universe.

Dianetics was a last-ditch attempt to rally The Beat Police out of their indolence and mutual disgust, but it was doomed to failure from the first note. Overdubs where carried out by band members on their own, and it was not uncommon for The Number One to come into the studio and erase everything Kissinger had done the night before. Nevertheless this was an album of striking finesse and achievement and topped the charts the world over. Yielding an abundance of hit singles, among them "I'll Be Watching" and the haunting "It's Such A Spiritual World" Dianetics was hailed a classic, and continues to influence progressive popsters to this day.

Where Are They Now?

The Number One continues to pursue his wrestling passions and has enjoyed a second career as a Jungian analyst. He continues to release horrible, self-absorbed music to this day. In 1994 he claimed to be able to masturbate for 10 hours in a row. The consensus of the critics was that he'd succeeded already in doing this for years.

Andy Kissinger and his brothers Chip and Henry Junior purchased a small country in Western Africa and named it Tatooine. Chip and Andy continue to preside at the helm of a "benevolent dictatorship" in Tatooine, and have denied entry visas to The Number One, citing "Masturbatory Overpreponderance".

Art McChumley, hale and hearty at 93, lives in Santa Monica California and has opened McChumley Vinyards in Sonoma. Their excellent Chateau Masoch is renowned the world over.

The Beat Police reunited briefly in 2003 to play at Art's wedding in Malibu.

It is reputed to have been ungodly.




Why We End Rock Bands

Not a pretty sight, this. Never is, never has been. It's entropy, man, in one of it's most insidious forms. And the only thing worse than finding out what the world is all about by yourself is finding out what the world is all about when you're walking around with three extra assholes.

Oh, I'm bummin' your TM session? Mia Mexican Robert fuckin' Culpa. Here's something cool and upliftin' that'll add something to your life instead of sucking you dry of hope and leaving you to the hyenas and fieldmice of th' High Desert.

A wise man once said, "It is difficult to take the first step in a journey that leads in a circle". That's not a bad Spinal Tap Zen Proverb is it? I came up with that crap. All by myself. Just me and my buddy Juan Valdez and his old friends Cream and Sugar. Anyway, that's what you're looking at, Sunny Funkenstern. That's the view from your wrought iron balcony three stories above Futile Street, vato. And each time you come back to the beginning you're a little more worlded out, man. And that plump old harridan Failure on th' other side of the seesaw is a little fatter each time you gamble your god damn nickel. And the first couple times you throw a little something extra into it and you bring that bad girl in an upwards arc but then comes the day when she trumps your ass and it gets tougher each time, man.

Did you have the kind of parents that where super laid-back and sort of yes deared each other for a quahter century or did you have them flashy, plate-throwin' folks? See, a band that throws plates is the sort of band to have, but this is the source of the entropic, um, shit. You look forward to being on stage with these people because it'll be really good and you'll put up with a lot of shit to do it. The yes dear shit isn't going to fly with the rock band that is going to be something great.

And when you're on stage with the Em chord and the TA TA TATATATA it's not that lights-out kissy don't make a fuss yes dear fucking. It's th' one on the stairs where you bust the lamp and bark your g'damn foreheed and she calls you unspeakable things, things no respectable woman would say. And you spend the better part of a day repairing that place on the bannisterrio.

And it can only end in god damn tears. There's only one ending. No Deus Ex Machina need be airlifted into this little fucking Berlin 1945. Whole thing's gonna go up, man. Like a roman motherfucking candle. The only thing you need to find out at that god damn point is if they're going to let you bury your dead outside the castle walls, man. They're going to be picking pieces of your little Nagasaki up in fuckin' Hiroshima, believe you me.

Is it not my particular talent to cull humor from absolutely nothing? Is there but one bad hot dog between verbal nirvana and verbal diarrhea? Do I feel a dire and distant gurgling from the general direction of my posterior ventricule?

Will our heroes encounter peril and triumph or bonghits 'n' Seinfeld? Which way will you go when the Hernia of Jericho crows the call to alms? Ha ha ha ha. The call to alms.

All I gotta say is it's fucked up, man. It's cold when you're out walking in October and you walk past that club where you played with your buddies who hate you. And yeah, maybe you got a dev. deal with Proctoscope rekkids and you're a little closer to your thing but baby it smarts when you put the clamp down. You get a little smaller every time so eventually you fit right on th' cd cover. When you buy a cd that's actually the person on the cover, not a picture.

And the smaller the picture the more times they've succeeded in lifting Old Dame Failure slowly, slowly upwards into the waning dusk.


Fastest Man In The WORLD!!!

O.K., O.K., before you're all on about how I'm the only brilliant recording artist and writer left in the world (did I say that!!!) and how the future of western culture lies in the four links over to th' right maybe you oughtta take a gander at this fuckin' guy.

If you go to this link and then go to "listen" there's a six-song EP there called "Six Songs Of Good And Evil" that'll g'damn give you pause. If you take me, subtract Byron and Bacharach and some string sections and all those tedious harmonies and add some angst and some chops and a great, astringent, precise voice you'll pretty much have Duncan Watt. Watt is one of those artists who makes due with less by making sure everything that is there sounds tits. He's got a way with a modulation, often deploying interesting ones to bring on a chorus or bridge and he's been very careful to let his piano do the lion's share of the music-ing which creates a tight little direction, and everybody knows I love that crap.

Um, I've already ripped off a bunch of his crap and you know that means it's good. Also, if you're an indie filmmaker looking for a soundtrack I think this fuckin' guy can hook you up. Just guessing.

A lot of this music has that XTC-ish quality of hitting you from the left with an unexpected passage of unreeling complexity such as the bridge and outro of the cascading "Gun". Hammond organ makes a sly, leslied entrance with equally leslied guitar that Watt may or may not be surprised to hear resembles Abbey Road era Lennon more than it does our Joe Jacksons and Elvis Costellos (Quayle spelling: Costelloes).

The skeletal, atmospheric "Fragile" builds on water-bottle percussion but only just a little. "Fragile" is the clearly the center of this collection, where the mission statement of less-is-more-but-make-it-sound-tits is the most effectively deployed. Beginning with a stately piano processional which (that? what the fuck! which? that?) morphs into austere percussion before introducing the autumn-soaked verse, "Fragile" modulates with almost every other chord. Floating upwards through the verses and down into the chorus, these messings-about with keys create a wandering, unearthly motif that echoes the lyric brilliantly.

So yeah, it swings. Fuckin' guy. Duncan Watt.

Yeah So Here's My Random Top 10

My CD player has been fucking up but let's try this crap out.

1. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
2. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
3. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
4. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
5. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
6. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
7. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
8. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
9. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes
10. Bat Macumba- Os Mutantes