983 lines
52 KiB
Plaintext
983 lines
52 KiB
Plaintext
>From crank@aol.com Mon Apr 18 09:24:51 1994
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CRANK
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16 pages of poorly-funded self-indulgence.
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Spreading my opinions like a Singapore whore spreads AIDS
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1. Fuck The Suburbs. Period.
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2. My Favorite Asshole
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3. Envy Me
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4. My Favorite Cunt
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4. Obligatory Reviews
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5. The Millennium is coming and we ain't all gonna make it.
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7. Drive Drunk With Us
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8. The Merchandise
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9. A Tip Sheet for New Stalkers
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11. The Glory That Is STILL Vinyl
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12. CRANK-E: Crank@aol.com
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13. Mr. AIDS Takes a Little off the Top
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************************************
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1.
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A by-product of JEFF
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CRANK will be published in the future under three conditions. 1: I have the
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cash. 2: I have the energy. 3: I have the words. Feel free to drop a line and
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ask how the next issue is coming along. I'm very friendly through the mail.
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Writing submissions are by invitation only, unless you're so fucking cool
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that I just can't pass. Send words. No queries. Trust me. And don't send me
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any fucking poetry.
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Portions of Crank may be used and reproduced however the fuck you want--just
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give the credit due. Almost all of the photos and artwork in Crank have
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appeared somewhere else before here, but I didn't pay anybody shit for
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rights, so don't push it. Moire patterns free of charge. The only things not
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stolen are the Crank logo and the accompanying icons, but they're cheap shit
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anyway.
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I'm ready to sell out. Buy an ad so I can go offset next time. Write for
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sizes, prices & standards. Advertising barters will be considered with undue
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skepticism. But go ahead and ask. You never know.
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Do not make checks or money orders out to Crank. I'd prefer that you just
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send well-hidden cash. But if you won't, either make everything out to "cash"
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or Jeff Koyen. Thanks a bunch, pal.
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My most vitriolic apologies--in advance--to all those I alienate with this
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rag.
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PO Box 1646 Philadelphia PA 19105-1646
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or Crank@aol.com
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Crank, v.1.1 c1994 Jeff Koyen
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Fuck Your Suburbs
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--------------------------
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It's not a hate, really. Not the passionate, well-calculated outcry against
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humanity that you'll see in every little rag and underground "zine." No, it's
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not that at all. It's a lot more intelligent. And a lot more sincere.
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You see, I've been thinking about the suburbs, and how much they disgust me.
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And how much you disgust me, because 99% of you live in the American Wetdream
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that is the suburbs. But I don't hate you. And I don't despise you. But you
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do disgust me; I resent you. And that's significantly different than common,
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page-deep hate.
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If I hated you, I'd avoid contact with you. I'd scream in agony every time I
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saw you, every time I went to the mall for a pair of shoes. Every time I ate
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at a McDonald's. Every time I drove through the highbrow neighborhoods to get
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to the lowbrow track. I might even run over your dog one night. But I don't.
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But you do disgust me. And I do resent you. I resent breathing the same air.
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I resent paying ridiculous car insurance payments because of you litigious
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assholes. I resent your tunnel-vision dreams of mutual funds and IRA's. I
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resent the fact that I was raised in the suburbs and I can't do shit to
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change it. Am I bitter? Sure I am. And with good reason.
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It's the kids. The parents. The dogs and cats. The cars. The fucking MTV
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PSA's to save the Earth by separating your newspapers. Know what? I throw my
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bottles, cans and newspapers in with my fucking trash. And that's just the
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beginning, baby. I'm ending the world. Here and now. I'm ushering in the
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apocalypse with my garbage can and I could give a fuck which suburb is the
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first to go.
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You spend 18 years trying to get out of your home town. You grow up with a
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few good friends. The lot of you sit around, get drunk, talk about how
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different things are gonna be when you grow up. Time to empower the
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teenagers. Time to respect the kids. Yeh, well, there's a reason that
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teenagers get no respect: They Don't Fucking Deserve It. Bunch of spineless,
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pathetic rats in a pack. Turn on MTV for the latest news and fashion advice.
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Read Sassy for what music to listen to. "C'mon, Mom, everyone's got Doc
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Martens."
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So you sit around in corporate parking lots, hiding from the cops,
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experimenting with Mad Dog and malt liquor. Get a little high and talk about
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how you'll rise above as soon as you get the chance. Rise above what? Your
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parents' disillusion? Your suburban boredom? The petty dreams of adulthood?
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Well, you've got your chance, pal, and you're blowing it.
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**Case Study**
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I grew up with 5 close friends. 5 people to fight the depression and
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repression that only teenagers know. They're 25 years old now, and you know
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what? Three of them are still living in their parents' homes in the same
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fucking town we grew up in. Makes me sad to see the regularity of a paycheck
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break their backs with complacency. It disgusts me because I know that they
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now sit at the same bars we snuck into with fake i.d.'s. In essence, they're
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the people we made fun of--the assholes who inspired us to break out and
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above when we were seventeen.
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Let me tell you about them: you might recognize yourself. Al and Greg became
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volunteer firemen because they're so bored in their shit hometown. Al and Jim
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got jobs as phone salesmen through Jim's mother at a construction supply
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company. Greg got a temp job and immediately bought a new car. (Fuck that.
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I'd rather make rent for my own apartment than make car payments from your
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mommy's house) Greg then got a corporate job through his father. Al's brother
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got out of law school, moved straight back home (making $60,000) and spent
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$30,000 on the cheapest BMW he could find, just to have a BMW. Greg's sister
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got out of school, moved home, and waited for her boyfriend to propose; it
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took 20 months, during which time she worked as a temp. If I were a betting
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man (which I am) I'd say that Jim and Al will be a cops within 2 years, Al's
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brother will be married to a Jersey hair-chick, Greg will still be home, and
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Greg's brother will have 2 nice, Christian children and a husband who watches
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sports all weekend.
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It gets me fucking angry. And it happens in every stinkin' suburban shit town
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I've ever seen, lived in, read about or visited. If you don't see it, then
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you don't deserve the goddamn eyes in your head.
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I've got a decent job now because I kept a shit job for 15 months. But I'm
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still broke. After my transmission got rebuilt for $1100, after my muffler
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was patched with chimney flashing, after the car stereo was stolen, then the
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u-joints and suspension went. Fuck it. So I got a loan and bought a new car.
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Whoopee! So now my insurance is through the fucking roof and I'm more broke
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then ever. But I'm still paying all my own bills, without a penny from
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anyone. So get off your ass. Move off your mommy's tit. Get out and find a
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some self-respect.
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I don't give a fuck if you don't like it. Truth hurts, jerk-off. But I still
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don't hate you. I just resent you for being so happy in your ignorance.
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Understand? Sitting in your fucking suburbs--worrying about the next Mets
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game, strapping on your Rollerblades, cooking your low-fat meals, watching
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your asshole sons grow up to date rape your asshole neighbors' daughters,
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cheering for the LAPD, and sucking down the antidepressants for the
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holidays--you disgust me. And once in a rare while, you'll step outside and
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realize that something isn't right. Something bugs you about the air, and you
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figure it's the acid rain, or the pollution, or your hay fever. Well, it's
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not.
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It's your last shred of dignity telling you to forget your family and leave
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town. Or, more like it, kill your wretched little kids, then your spouse,
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then a neighbor or two, and finally yourself, in a surprising move of
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integrity.
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But you won't. Because you're happy with your small pond and the power you
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have over your children, or the satisfaction you get from raising the little
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brats in
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a nice house. You fuck your spouse once a week, but masturbate every day. And
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you're happy. How can you be so happy? I don't know, but I envy you; I wish
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someone would come along and cut out a portion of my brain--maybe the part
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that gets me so pissed off--and set me down with a secure job, a wife and a
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Lexus. Instead, I get sick every day watching your decisions. Because when
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you get that unsettled feeling in your belly, the feeling that tells you
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something is inherently wrong with your town, you go back inside, take an
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antihistamine, turn on CNN and lament the end of the civilized world. And you
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can blame everyone else. Because you live in the suburbs, where the American
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Dream endures.
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************************************
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2.
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My Favorite Asshole
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---------------------------
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Date: 94-01-06 23:16:12 EST
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From: (withheld, because I'm a nice fucking guy)
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Subj: Being 20something
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To: Crank
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Dear C, Just read your post on the GenX board. While you renounce the
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existence of a "GenX," I wonder what your anger stems from. I'm 24 and I
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have OFTEN found myself angry at the world: the inability to find a mate,
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the inability to fit into a satisfying job, the shrinking social base. I am
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turning to my computer to find some peace of mind. Maybe networking OL will
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help. I'd be interested to hear more about your point of view. You are so
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bitter, why? Just thought you might like to vent and find someone who can
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empathize.
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--Golly, thanks. Just knowing you're out there makes a world of difference.
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************************************
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3.
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Some of the Best Crap that I Own
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----------------------------------------------
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I've been accumulating shit for just about 10 years. It comes and goes, you
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know? It gets broken, gets lost or gets sold. Some things, though, you hold
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onto--or keep collecting--because you never get bored with it. Here are 4
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examples of what I mean.
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1. "Serenades for Sex Kittens"-- Carlton Record Corporation, no year
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An entire album of smarmy, lady-killer instrumental tunes performed by Dante
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& His Orchestra, this album defines an era of koo-koo girlies runnin' wild
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with the boys. Estimated production date of 1963, "Serenades for Sex Kittens"
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features the following back cover copy (photo):
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"SEX KITTENS"...modern myrrh and mischief...flat-tummied, twin-turreted
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gamins...moist pouted underlips...amoral pixies and confused carnivores;
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stuffed animals...jazz and racing cars...lazy, lithe child wastrels...sic
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transit GINA and MARILYN swiftly now, cross over the BRIGITTE. Lush the sex
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kittens; lush their serenades...zee melodies Americaine burst like grapeseeds
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from Paris terraces... sweeping strings, tres hi fi, society
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brisk...whirring, purring... gay, cyclical Sartrian strains...hers all
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hers...her manner, her madness...HER MUSIC. --jay arcy"
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To have lived the life of these liner notes! Where have all the chickies
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gone? To be so swank, so debonair! Note: the ellipses are the author's
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originals. There are no typographical errors. If Jay Arcy is still alive,
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please have him call me so we can talk about this twin-turreted thing. You
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won't find this album in the "Glory That is Vinyl" article (page 11) because
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it's too fucking good to be mocked. Mint Condition, $1.00, some Center City
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book store, Philadelphia.
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2. "The Muddler" (aka "Nite Club")--1953, Ade-O-Matic Company, Chic., Il.
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Described on it's cardboard tube/package as "an ingenious, easy-to-use
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multi-purpose opener," this multi-talented utensil can open just about
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anything: beer bottles, food jars, juice cans, buckets of paint,
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what-have-you. But, that's not all! Also advertised as a "muddler," this is
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the object you should use to "muddle," or crush, your fruits and garnishes
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prior to mixing your favorite cocktails. Hence, it's common name. In our
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service, The Muddler has recently been used to hammer nails, remove nails,
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pry apart two boards, brain a mouse and scare two brats down the block. God
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help the thief unfortunate enough to meet me and The Muddler; I'll open up
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his fucking skull. Purchased UN-FUCKING-USED at The Morris Mission,
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Morristown, NJ -- $1.00
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3. "The Holy Hologram"-- Origin unknown. Production year unknown.
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The crowning jewel of my apartment, this back-lit, glass hologram of The Last
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Supper never fails to elicit compliments and cash offers. With a 100 Watt
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display bulb that threatens to burn a hole through the faux-gold frame, this
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ain't no Cracker Jack turn back-and-forth hologram. Mix yourself a Rob Roy,
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turn down the lights, slap on "Serenades for Sex Kittens," and let a
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soon-to-die Jesus light up the room. It is a truly amazing piece--you've seen
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the painting, but with The Holy Hologram, it's like being there. Good
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Condition, $4.00 (bargained from $5.00), Garage Sale, Central New Jersey.
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4. 17 copies, Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass "Whipped Cream & Other Delights"--
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A&M Records.
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Sure, the album is good. Shit. With timeless classics like "A Taste of Honey"
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and a horrendous cover of "Love Potion No. 9," every home should have a copy.
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And every home could, I think, judging from the number of copies that I've
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seen at thrift stores & rummage sales. So now, every time I see a copy for
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50c or less, I buy it. Once, some guy at a flea market wanted a buck for a
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copy. I offered 25c and he just gave it to me. Obviously, he failed to see
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it's value. In the last 4 years, I've probably been through 30 or 35 copies.
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But they get used. With duct tape & a razor blade, the jackets are perfect
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shipping boxes. The vinyl is fun to throw across the room when you're drunk &
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bored. I've given a dozen copies out as gifts. I go through a lot, but
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there's always more.
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Various conditions, 0c-50c, Garage Sales, Flea Markets, Used Book Stores,
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nationwide.
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************************************
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4.
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My Favorite Cunt
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I moved into her 3 bedroom apartment in January, 1990. It was her and another
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woman. We hit it off famously. Became good friends for the next 2 years.
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Then, one day, she turned into a fucking lunatic. A raging, spiteful, bitter
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crackpot. One day, she was an interesting, intelligent, rational person. The
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next day, a cunt-full of screwed-up, unstable hormones.
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You're welcome to call me a misogynist--I don't care. She was a cunt. Pure
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and simple. She screwed me for $250 in utilities. She stole 2 dozen records,
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including my "Chrome, Smoke & Fire." She tried to keep my security deposit. I
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never got my records or money. but I did slash her tires and break 2 car
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windows.
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Two months after I moved out, she alienated the new tenant & her last 2
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friends, then moved back to her mommy's house in South Jersey. I hear she's
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gotten real fat. Good. I hope she gets the AIDS and dies a long, drawn-out,
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painful death.
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These are excerpts from the notes she littered around my room. She fancied
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herself a tortured artist. I'm sure you know a cunt just like her. They're
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everywhere.
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I'd love to publish a photo of the filthy bitch but I never took a single
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one.
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(excerpts of hand written notes included. sorry. e-mail readers. tough
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darts.)
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Miscellaneous, Outdated Pop Culture
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--------------------------------------------------
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(Nothing too current, or too COOL, so stay off my fucking back. All my money
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is in this rag.)
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Sitting at some shit basement bar in West Philadelphia, the bands were so
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fucking bad, the people were such ridiculous caricatures, that we pumped 2
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bucks into the jukebox and played "Puss" (JESUS LIZARD, Liar, Touch&Go) 8
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times. Needless to say, it was the best half hour of the night. Of course, we
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came half a step away from scrapping it with 3 of the meatball regulars, but
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we left at just the right time. Two weeks ago, I picked up the "Fly on the
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Wall/White Hole" single. I can't put my finger on what IT is, but that Jesus
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Lizard SOMETHING is missing from these cuts. It's the SOMETHING that
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"Glamorous" perfected; the SOMETHING that Liar carried through a full-length
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production. Shit, "Fly" is a fine song--worth your $3--but I'm still waiting
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for that SOMETHING on their next album. Oh, and "White Hole" is a catchy bit
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of noise.
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SUPERCHUNK will not stop. "Mower/On the Mouth" (Merge) is worth twice the
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cash. "On the Mouth" is perfect. Fucking perfect. And "Mower" is right there
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with it. I plan to buy the new album, but, well, it's a matter of money.
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ROYAL TRUX ("Cleveland/Back to School", Drag City) Hey, who the hell are YOU?
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And what have you done with the REAL Royal Trux? What the fuck? Am I missing
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something? Haven't I seen you at the Khyber Pass a couple times, and haven't
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you left my ears ringing? My toes a'tapping? What's this? An inside joke?
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Widened horizons? I won't be buying the album--sorry--but I will still go out
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to see you play.
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Saw CELL at the Khyber Pass, here in town, a couple weeks ago. It was a
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Monday night, sure. It was getting late, I guess. But only 7 people in the
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place? The last album was great. This album is great (Living Room, DGC).
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They're loud, they're catchy, they're a great live band. This show was a
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local stop before heading to Europe. Maybe the album will break while they're
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in Europe. You'll regret not seeing them, I tell you. You will regret it.
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LATIMER Seen them twice. Philadelphia band. They've got a single out (Baby
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Breath=label) on sale around town and probably available through some
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distributor or another. Recording quality is so-so, but still worth buying.
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GREEN DAY album is as good as their first couple, so fuck you music assholes.
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Course of Empire's "Infested" re-mix uses a swingin' Goodman song; the radio
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mix sucks. ARCHERS OF LOAF comes recommended by a friend. Try it.
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I've got first pressings of NIRVANA's "Bleach" and "Sliver/Dive" for sale.
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Price just went up. Any takers?
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************************************
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5.
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Corpse-Watch 2000: Who's Gonna Make It? Who's Already Gone?
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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(fun fun fun artwork in the print version)
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Celebrity Death--favorite topic of lunchroom conversation--holds a particular
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fascination for me. So, in this section, I provide a rather haphazard list of
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people for whom I: 1) predict an imminent death, 2) wish a particular
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longevity, or 3) remember with an offhand respect.
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Follow this key:
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In the Morgue Soon ---- XXXX
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Likely Corpse ---- XXX
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Could Die ---- XX
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Ain't Going Nowhere ---- X
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Dead & Buried ---- BYE
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Place Your Bets! Only 6 Years to Go!
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Mohammed Ali XXXX
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(b. 1942)
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"Float like a butterfly, Sting like a bee."
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Sink into the ground like a big, dead, paralyzed ex-punching bag. Lucky for
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him, he'll die soon.
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Brat Pack, The XXXX
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(b. 1985-release of "St. Elmo's Fire")
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And I don't care which one. Take any of them. Emilio. Rob. Tom. Ally. Demi.
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Andrew. Judd. And you can throw in Molly Ringwald and Charlie Sheen, just to
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be thorough. On gut instinct alone, I'm saying that at least one of them will
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die in an auto crash in the next 6 years. Personally, I hope that Emilio,
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Charlie and Tom are together when it happens. Oh, and did I mention the
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sooner the better?
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James Brown XXX
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(b. 5-3-1934; or 5-3-33, or 6-17-39)
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JB's got a new dime bag, baby, and you know what's in it? PCP. Fucking PCP.
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Who the fuck does PCP any more? James Brown, that's who--in 1988, at least.
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Clean now--says him. Judging from his past performances with guns and cars,
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I'm not sure how he's more likely to die: vehicular suicide, police shooting,
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or a chemical breakdown. He's likely to go, though. Hee-yeah.
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Charles Bukowski BYE
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(b. 1919)
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With enough living under his belt for 20 of you soft-bellied,
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Heineken-drinking pussies, Hank could suck down 3 bottles of red & write 5
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poems that'd put your Hallmark rhymes to shame. Sure, Sept. Stew (1990)
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sucked, but Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992) was perfect. When my
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grandfather died a year ago, they held his wake across the street from his
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favorite bar. I sure hope they did the same for Hank.
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George Burns XXXX
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(b. 1-20-1896)
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At press time, the old codger is still kicking. They say he's got his100th
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birthday booked. That's 3 long, tired, medicated years away. I hope they
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didn't give him an advance. Say Goodnight, Gracie. Goodnight, George. Whoops.
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Sammy Davis, Jr. BYE
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(b. 12-8-25)
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Word is that Sammy weighed less than his age, which was 64, at the time of
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his death. No shit. Only the oldest, skinniest corpses can pull that off. The
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heaviest part of his body was probably his glass eye, which I hope some
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mortician's assistant had the good sense to remove as a keepsake. It'd be a
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waste to bury it.
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Jerry Garcia XXX
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(b. 1942)
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Longtime figurehead for a dope smoking, blotter sucking, dance-in-the-aisles
|
|
sold-out hippie culture, Jerry is now paying for the finest doctors &
|
|
prescription drugs with the cash you spent on a stadium seat in '72, or '79,
|
|
or '84, or '92. Don't tell me how incomparably communal you felt after that
|
|
mesc; I dropped a tab, watched the "Mary Tyler Moore Show" and felt the same
|
|
way. All for the cost of a cheap tab, not marked up by some 40 year old
|
|
hippie fuck in a Saab.
|
|
|
|
Magic Johnson XXX
|
|
(b. 1959)
|
|
A hero. Hero? Are you out of your fucking mind? This big, dumb, ignorant
|
|
asshole indiscriminately spreads AIDS to countless women, but because he had
|
|
the "courage" to tell everyone--including the legion of women he's sentenced
|
|
to death--on national tv--you now tell your kids that he's a fucking hero?
|
|
The only bad thing about his imminent demise is the inevitable escalation of
|
|
his idolatry. In exchange, I wish upon him a slow, lingering, hospitalized
|
|
death. I just hope he lasts a few years after the AIDS kicks in. Wasting
|
|
away, continually sick; just like everyone else with the disease. He ain't
|
|
special, kids. He's just famous. And stupid. That's all.
|
|
|
|
Tom Jones XX
|
|
(b. 6-7-1940)
|
|
What's new, Pussycat? With luck, the turned dirt of your grave, Tom. The
|
|
worst example of the Dean Martin inheritors, Tom Jones continues to live on 2
|
|
hits. Ugly as sin, struggling to convince the world that he's still a sex
|
|
symbol, Tom recently did the talk show circuit and had a couple sitcom
|
|
cameos. Forget it, Tom. Go join your career in the morgue.
|
|
|
|
Peggy Lee XXX
|
|
(b. 5-526-1920)
|
|
Ah, Peggy, I'd love to see you live forever. But, from the looks of you at
|
|
the NYC Hilton engagement 2 summers ago, you ain't gonna be crooning me into
|
|
the 21st Century. Is that all there is? The 20th Century? Afraid so, Peg.
|
|
|
|
Rush Limbaugh XX
|
|
(birthdate withheld)
|
|
The misinformation mouthpiece for racist, reactionary, conservative
|
|
Americans, Rush Limbaugh can go fuck himself with a rusty pick axe. While I
|
|
ain't no radical left-winger, Rush sure as fuck ain't my spokesman.
|
|
Fortunately, it's a race to see which'll crap out first: his heart, or his
|
|
career. Personally, I'd like to see the big fat bastard hit rock bottom,
|
|
supporting himself doing supermarket appearances, then die in a
|
|
government-subsidized hospital.
|
|
|
|
Ross Perot XXX
|
|
(b. 6-27-1930)
|
|
Little fascist bastard. If he'd been running the Post Office, he'd've long
|
|
ago been the target of a disgruntled worker. This man will not live into the
|
|
21st century; someone is bound to kill him just to shut him the fuck up.
|
|
Maybe they'll bomb the Larry King Show and give us that little bonus.
|
|
|
|
Iggy Pop X
|
|
(b. 1947)
|
|
The Hank Bukowski of the punk rock community, this man should have died
|
|
decades ago. But, on the straight & narrow, Iggy seems to have many more
|
|
years ahead of him. Many more dreary years of watery college-rock hits and
|
|
duets with boring alternative-pop singers. Suck it up, kids.
|
|
|
|
Nancy Reagan XXX
|
|
(b. 7-6-1923)
|
|
Actual quote: "I wanted to do something until I found the man I wanted to
|
|
marry." I find Nancy Reagan utterly reprehensible. With luck, she'll have
|
|
been the last of the white, upper class, self-righteous First Ladies. Take a
|
|
look at yourself, Nancy. You're a morally bankrupt, hypocritical,
|
|
close-minded old goat. Your death will be my holiday, you bitch.
|
|
|
|
Keanu Reeves X
|
|
(b. 9-2-1964)
|
|
And I don't care what cool garage band you've formed, Keanu. After "Point
|
|
Break," "Dracula" and whatever other embarassment will be out by press time,
|
|
death'd be a good career move. Would've been a better career move right after
|
|
"River's Edge," but you made 2 common errors: mistaking good writing for good
|
|
acting, and attributing a film's success to an actor's (alleged) talent.
|
|
|
|
Satan X
|
|
(b. 1969-release of "Black Sabbath")
|
|
Satan the Heavy Metal icon, that is. Satan, as the origin of that bad word
|
|
"satanic." Satan, the Devil, as an over-wrought, "I'm so evil because I
|
|
worship Satan" caricature. If we could kill the Devil personae, then maybe
|
|
there'd be less annoying teenagers & self-idolizing rebels out there.
|
|
|
|
Frank Sinatra XXX
|
|
(b. 12-12-1915)
|
|
Sure, he's falling over himself onstage. Sure, he can't remember his lyrics.
|
|
Sure, he's almost 80. But I suspect The Chairman of the Board will be warm
|
|
well past the advent of the Millennium. Why? There's just too many
|
|
middle-aged Italian men praying to their other God for Frank's good health.
|
|
And I hope he does make it. Maybe by then I'll have saved enough money to buy
|
|
a ticket to one of his shows.
|
|
|
|
Frank Zappa BYE
|
|
(b. 12-21-1940)
|
|
Good riddance.
|
|
|
|
**Must Mentions**
|
|
|
|
Natalie Merchant
|
|
Just please shut the fuck up. Just keep quiet. Your voice grates me.
|
|
Laurie Anderson
|
|
You and Tim Leary. Brave New Artists of BlabberSpace. Go do something useful.
|
|
Courtney Love
|
|
Boo Hoo. "Double suicide" mean anything to you?
|
|
Liz Taylor
|
|
Growing old is tough, eh? You old hag. Dead by 2000. Easy.
|
|
Hillary Clinton
|
|
Finally a good role model for women of all ages, and the fucking men in this
|
|
country need to rip her apart. Now, I don't want her dead (Did you hear that
|
|
mein gov't? NOT A THREAT!) but I'm afraid some backwoods hick motherfucker
|
|
will shoot her because he's too insecure to face the reality of women's
|
|
equality. Slim chance of it happening, BUT you heard it here first.
|
|
Olsen Twins
|
|
Wishful: Twin cases of bone marrow cancer. Before they start making Movies of
|
|
the Week.
|
|
Rikki Rachtman
|
|
Pretend you're that prick who used to host 120 Minutes: get a big head, quit
|
|
MTV and fall into obscurity on some late-night, shit video show. Then kill
|
|
yourself like the rock star you want to be.
|
|
Bob Dole
|
|
Will someone in their right mind please martyr themselves and kill this
|
|
fucker?
|
|
(Hmm...now THAT might be a threat. Not directly. I'M not going to try to kill
|
|
him...
|
|
but I am asking someone else to...can the FBI take away my passport for
|
|
this?)
|
|
Pearl Jam
|
|
You're about as punk rock as The Go Go's were: you might have started out
|
|
that way, but you sure didn't stay there when the record deals started
|
|
walking down your street. I want the band to break up and Eddie to die.
|
|
Sorry, kids.
|
|
|
|
************************************
|
|
7.
|
|
|
|
The Lost Art of the Drunken Drive
|
|
---------------------------------------------
|
|
Tough topic, eh? Pet taboo for the PTA, favorite faux pas for every suburban
|
|
parent in this rotting country. Drunk Driving. Man oh man--what to say.
|
|
Let's say you've been drinking hard in your living room, alone, for the last
|
|
six nights. Some new faces would do you good, some strangers to look at, some
|
|
unfamiliar humanity to disgust you, remind you of your own superiority. But
|
|
how're you going to get there, drink your fill, and get home? How can you get
|
|
drunk and successfully drive home? Take these tips from me, cause I got the
|
|
experience, baby. Plenty of it.
|
|
1. Get the Fuck Out of the Suburbs
|
|
Move to the city. It's the simplest solution to your drunk driving problems.
|
|
DWI Checkpoints and idle policeman inhabit the suburbs. City cops have plenty
|
|
else to do besides worry about some drunk driving across town 10 blocks to go
|
|
home. Of course, if you go tearing down Broadway at 4 in the morning, you're
|
|
fucked. But, then, you'd also be stupid.
|
|
Face it--the suburbs breed angry, arrogant police. Town cops were teenage
|
|
losers, kids too stupid and insecure to break out of the hometown. Suburban
|
|
cops will put a flashlight in your face while you're kissing your date
|
|
goodnight. Suburban cops will pull you over because a turn signal bulb is
|
|
broken. Fucking suburban cops will proudly bust your ass for DWI. It gets the
|
|
Sheriff re-elected and gets their pathetic hides closer to that promotion.
|
|
City cops, though, they've got bigger problems. If you live in a city, then
|
|
drink and drive home in the city. Keep it calm and you'll make it home to
|
|
drink more.
|
|
2. Know Your Car
|
|
Aside from the Check-Points, how do drunk drivers get caught? By hitting
|
|
something. Hitting someone. Driving too fast. Or driving erratically. Yes.
|
|
Driving erratically, swerving down residential roads, weaving in and out of
|
|
traffic, wobbling down the road in front of that cop on your tail. But this
|
|
can be prevented, no matter how drunk you get. As long as you know how to
|
|
drive your car.
|
|
It doesn't really matter you're driving. Each car has its quirks and its
|
|
subtle tricks for smooth driving. For example: a 1989 Volkswagen Fox (and
|
|
every other Fox, I figure, since they're all identical) has a push-switch
|
|
headlight control on the left of the dash, a finger's distance away from the
|
|
steering wheel. On straight roads, you put 2 fingers of your left hand along
|
|
the "On" portion of the switch and use this makeshift anchor to keep the
|
|
wheel straight.
|
|
Similarly, a 1984 Nissan Sentra has a ledge along the driver's side window
|
|
which is the perfect place to secure your elbow, locking your arm in place
|
|
and keeping the wheel straight.
|
|
But there's more. You need to shift without stalling. You need to drive in
|
|
the rain without slipping. You need to keep your windshield defrosted at all
|
|
times. You need to drive well consistently--drunk and sober. Period.
|
|
3. Do Not Drive Other Drunks Home
|
|
Never. Absolutely never. Let them take a fucking cab.
|
|
Why? Because people are assholes. And drunk people are bigger assholes. They
|
|
will jump around in the car, they will yell out the window and harass girls,
|
|
they will drink while you drive, like it or not. Drunk passengers attract
|
|
cops like evangelists attract Southerners. Flies to shit, baby.
|
|
Being a nice guy is a one-way ticket to DWI, complete with a night in jail,
|
|
an expensive lawyer, and insurance surcharges so far up your asshole you'll
|
|
need a second mortgage to get them out. Use your brain, fuck the other guy.
|
|
That's why the government gave us public transit. Make them use it.
|
|
4. Breath Mints--No Gum
|
|
If I were a cop pulling someone over 15 minutes after last call, and he or
|
|
she was frantically chewing on a pack of Wrigley's, I'd throw Miranda down
|
|
the sewer and haul that asshole into jail just for being so stupid.
|
|
The same thing with cigarettes: If you smoke, then smoke. But don't light up
|
|
as soon as you're being pulled over. It's just too obvious, eh?
|
|
Tic Tacs. BreathMints. Whatever. Shove a handful in your mouth as soon as you
|
|
start the car. If you get pulled over, swallow them or chew them up. Don't
|
|
spit them out. Don't scramble for more. Just take it easy, pal. Nice 'n
|
|
Easy.
|
|
5. Crack the Window
|
|
Because you stink. Like a bar. Fortunately, bars smell like smoke, which
|
|
isn't against the law. With the mints from #4 and an open window, you're
|
|
cooking with gas and making it home.
|
|
6. Stay Off the Backroads
|
|
Sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time: Let's cut through that
|
|
neighborhood, less cops around. But it's not a good idea. It's a stupid idea,
|
|
if you think about it. More cars drive the main roads at 3 a.m. than drive
|
|
the back roads. If there's more cars, and you're following these tips, then
|
|
someone else is bound to look far more drunk than you. And that person will
|
|
get pulled over and arrested.
|
|
In most towns, it looks suspicious to drive a backroad when a perfectly fine
|
|
2-laner is available. That's why towns build roads--for people to drive on.
|
|
If you're not driving on it, then you're avoiding it. And if you're avoiding
|
|
it, then you're either drunk or you've got a body in the trunk. Either way,
|
|
you're fucked.
|
|
7. Listen to me.
|
|
As long as you play the odds, you're fine. Odds are that someone is worse off
|
|
than you. Someone always is. Let them get fucked. They'd do it to you.
|
|
|
|
************************************
|
|
8.
|
|
|
|
The Merchandise
|
|
-----------------------
|
|
Crank Drug I.D. Guide
|
|
A complete array of drug samples and their correct names.
|
|
Novice drug user? Teenager just starting out? Education is the key to
|
|
understanding. Looking to expand your horizons, but are afraid to ask your
|
|
friends what your mom's Xanex will do for you? We'll teach you. The Crank
|
|
Drug I.D. Guide includes a full array of stimulants, depressants,
|
|
hallucinogens, inhalants, and run-of-the-mill narcotics, plus a special
|
|
display of favorite household choices, including Magic Markersr, White Outr,
|
|
and WD-40r. Hey, everyone else knows their drugs, why shouldn't you?
|
|
Item No. V-198-A93. $449.99 + s&h.
|
|
(you're missing the graphic, pal.)
|
|
|
|
Crank Catheter Kit For Education...and Fun!
|
|
The Nation is growing older. People are living longer, dying later, and
|
|
falling apart more thoroughly. With the Crank Catheter Kit, you and your
|
|
spouse--or just a close friend--can avoid costly trips to the hospital by
|
|
taking care of business at home. Teach yourself how use a catheter, without
|
|
damaging your genitals during the process! Comes complete with practice
|
|
tubing and enough cleaner for ten urethras! Item No. G-203-A93. $395.99 +
|
|
s&h. Specify M or F.
|
|
(you're missing another graphic)
|
|
|
|
Crank Sticker
|
|
Cheap Vandalism=Free Publicity
|
|
It's an ornament. It's a publicity device. It's the means by which you can
|
|
demonstrate your good taste. It's something to put on the bathroom wall of
|
|
your favorite bohemian hangout. It's a sticker. Straight from the laser
|
|
printer onto Crack'n'Peel & laminated with packing tape. Ah, shit, it's only
|
|
a buck. Postpaid. What the fuck, eh? 2 for $1.00, postpaid. Cash is
|
|
fine--hide it well. PO Box 1646 - Phil. PA 19105-1646. Actual Size: 6" x
|
|
1-1/2"
|
|
|
|
************************************
|
|
9.
|
|
|
|
Stalking: Tips for Beginners
|
|
-------------------------------------
|
|
It really started on July 26, 1989, with the California murder of the
|
|
relatively unknown actress, Rebecca Schaeffer, the cute sister on "My Sister
|
|
Sam." Shot to death by Robert John Bardo, an aptly described "obsessed fan,"
|
|
Becky's murder gave America its newest catch-phrase criminal... The Stalker.
|
|
Stalkers have been around forever, I'd imagine. But with the advent of
|
|
mega-stardom, the last few generations have been treated to a whole bunch of
|
|
entertaining Stalking crimes. The Sal Mineo Murder, the Kidnapping and Rape
|
|
of Connie Francis, John Lennon's Killing, the Attempt on Ron Reagan...
|
|
Long since a saturated media topic, Stalking is already considered passe by
|
|
some. Well, I could give a fuck. Cause I've got the tips, tricks and
|
|
suggestions for the amateur Stalker in all of us.
|
|
1. Learn the Statistics
|
|
The statistics are your best friend for avoiding arrest and/or conviction.
|
|
-- In 1990, according to the FBI, 30% of female murder victims were slain by
|
|
current or ex-husbands or boyfriends.
|
|
-- Stalking experts estimate that 75-80% stalkings are domestic in nature.
|
|
Together, these statistics tell you one very important fact about your
|
|
impending hobby: too many assholes have given Stalking a bad name. In some
|
|
states, spouse-beaters are now technically stalkers; an ex-boyfriend who
|
|
makes a threatening phone call is now a stalker. So, use this knowledge to
|
|
your advantage: Don't stalk someone you know. No ex-lovers. No
|
|
ex-girlfriends, ex-wives. Because as soon as something happens to her,
|
|
whether or not you did it, you're the prime suspect. So, find a fresh face.
|
|
Maybe that woman on the train. Maybe that new temp in the Accounting
|
|
Department. Maybe that lady on Page 1
|
|
of the Lifestyle section of your local paper.
|
|
2. Be Creative, yet Prudent
|
|
You're in this for fun. Remember that.
|
|
-- John Boyer, described as "such a nice person" and "the kind of guy who
|
|
walks grandmothers across the street," stalked Amy Ralph, of Springfield,
|
|
Mass, for 2 years. John took advantage of the Postal Service to meet his
|
|
needs. After a dead rat didn't win Amy's affection, he sent her coat hangers
|
|
for DIY abortions. Then, still pining, he wrote her alumni magazine and told
|
|
them she'd died of AIDS. But Amy still kept her distance.
|
|
John is currently serving time for violating probation on an attempted murder
|
|
conviction--not Amy, a different woman. He could not be prosecuted under the
|
|
new MA Stalking Law because he never made a direct threat.
|
|
John Boyer is, I'm sure, an asshole. An insecure, violent, misogynist
|
|
asshole--but you've got to love that hanger trick.
|
|
3. Learn from History
|
|
Stalkers are not judicial favorites.
|
|
-- Atlanta, GA. November 12, 1993. After stalking his estranged wife, Troy,
|
|
for a number of months, Joseph Anderson snapped and stabbed her four times
|
|
with a butcher knife. He plead guilty to battery & simple assault and
|
|
negotiated a deal for a few years in prison, which would put him behind bars
|
|
for a year or two. Not bad, for an attempted murder. But Fulton County
|
|
Superior Court Judge Frank M. Hull rejected the deal and gave Joseph 15 solid
|
|
years in prison. Fifteen years, pal. That's a long time, considering Joseph
|
|
could've gone to trial and maybe gotten an acquittal.
|
|
So, learn, my friends. Make a deal, get fucked by the Man. See you in 2008,
|
|
Joe, you dumb asshole.
|
|
4. Set Your Goals
|
|
-- Face it, you loser. She's never going to sleep with you. She's never going
|
|
to love you, or marry you. You've got to lower your expectations. My advice?
|
|
Transparent Observation. In other words, don't affect her. Don't disrupt her.
|
|
Don't beat, rape or kill her. Just observe her. Stalking, in it's essence, is
|
|
a testosterone-based hunter/hunted thrill. Get to know her. Learn her
|
|
routine, watch her friends. Take the train home with her, sitting in the next
|
|
car. Watch her get the mail. Maybe catch a glimpse of her getting undressed.
|
|
That, my friend, is Stalking.
|
|
But, if you need the satisfaction of a final culmination, then why not opt
|
|
for a nice case of Post-Traumatic Shock Syndrome? A mild case can mean loss
|
|
of job, maybe some therapy. But severe cases lead to relocation, name changes
|
|
and destructive emotional imbalance, leaving her useless to any other man...
|
|
for the rest of her life.
|
|
5. Know the Law
|
|
Stalking laws are everywhere.
|
|
-- As of press, 29 states have implemented Stalking Laws. The laws were set
|
|
according to guidelines set forth by the National Institute of Justice,
|
|
empowered by Congress, signed into action by George Bush.
|
|
-- The new laws all essentially define Stalking as "willful, malicious and
|
|
repeated following and harassing of another person, where there is a credible
|
|
threat of violence against the victim or members of the victim's family."
|
|
6. Be Careful
|
|
I figure that a good portion of Stalking is resolved the old-fashioned
|
|
way--violently. Brothers, fathers or boyfriends, solving problems with a
|
|
baseball bat. So don't be surprised when your affections are unfavorably
|
|
received.
|
|
Oh, and keep your health plan up to date. Enjoy.
|
|
(Missing a couple swell pieces of art. Send me your $2.)
|
|
|
|
States to Avoid When Stalking:
|
|
Alabama, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Idaho,
|
|
Illinois, Iowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Michigan, Mississippi,
|
|
Nebraska, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Rhode Island,
|
|
South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Utah, Virginia, Washington, West
|
|
Virginia, Wisconsin
|
|
|
|
Stuck for a victim? Here are a few suggestions--clip & keep in your wallet!
|
|
Top National Choices
|
|
1. Chick from Superchunk. Oh boy.
|
|
2. Winona Ryder. Check out her house in Arch. Digest
|
|
3. Nicole Eggert. Though I preferred her smaller boobs.
|
|
4. Chelsea Clinton. Hey, that wasn't a threat, ok? OK?
|
|
Top Local Choices
|
|
1. Supermarket Clerk
|
|
2. Bank/Fast Food Teller
|
|
3. High School Head Cheerleader
|
|
4. Any Self-Righteous Christian Mom
|
|
|
|
************************************
|
|
11.
|
|
|
|
The Glory that Remains Vinyl
|
|
---------------------------------------
|
|
Ah, the late 50's/early 60's. The swankest time in this country's history.
|
|
Plenty of disposable income. Plenty of jobs. Plenty of suave young men and
|
|
naive young women. Dinner parties. Martinis at lunch. Rob Roys before dinner.
|
|
Call your favorite girl and take her out on the town. Maybe go dancing to a
|
|
little Latin swing. Stay out all night, wake up, go to a friend's house and
|
|
have a few Mimosas before lunch. Sounds great, eh? Sure does. And it's
|
|
immortalized on shit vinyl piled in used record bins across the country.
|
|
Fuck compact discs. Fuck digital cassettes or whatever the fuck is the
|
|
latest. Give me slabs of scratchy vinyl for 50c a pop. Give me Cha-Cha's.
|
|
Give me Limbo's. Give me that crazy, kooky music that gets everyone dancing!
|
|
Stranded on a desert island. You want "Warehouse Songs and Stories?" I want
|
|
"Will Success Spoil Mrs. Miller." You want "Atomizer?" I want "Happy Music
|
|
for Happy People." Just let me have these 15 albums and a needle that'll last
|
|
forever, and I'll sit on that island, grinning ear-to-ear every fucking day.
|
|
Whenever possible, I have indicated the release date and which MODERN
|
|
recording technique is responsible for the superior quality. I am, of course,
|
|
willing to part with any and all of these albums for the right amount of
|
|
cash. Make an offer.
|
|
(You're missing all the BEAUTIFUL ART (album covers) by not buying a printed
|
|
copy)
|
|
|
|
Happy Music for Happy People featuring Bobby Roberts and his orchestra
|
|
"Shuffle Rhythms For Continuous Dancing"
|
|
A Hi-Fonic, DECCA Long Play Microgroove Record
|
|
|
|
Classical Music for People Who Don't Know Anything About Classical Music
|
|
1957--An RCA Victor New Orthophonic
|
|
High Fidelity Recording
|
|
|
|
Music for Dining
|
|
The Melachrino Strings and Orchestra
|
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Part of the Moods in Music series, which includes "Music for Relaxation,"
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"Music for Reading," "Music to Help You Sleep," and more (I imagine).
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1958--RCA Victor Living Stereo High Fidelity
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Primitiva
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the EXOTIC sounds of MARTIN DENNY
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Recorded in the Liberty Studios in Hollywood, "the WORLD'S ONLY
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TRANSISTORIZED RECORDING STUDIO." Featuring a man named August Colon playing
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|
bongos, congos AND making BIRD CALLS throughout the album. Fucking beautiful.
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|
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Will Success Spoil Mrs. Miller?!
|
|
Elva Miller nabbed a record deal because she's such a bad fucking singer. She
|
|
was a regular on Jack Parr, et. al. This is, simply put, the fucking epitome
|
|
of bad vinyl. And this is her SECOND lp. I love her.
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|
"This monophonic microgroove cannot become obsolete. It will continue to be a
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source of outstanding sound reproduction." Amen.
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Opera Without Words: A Program of Favorite Arias with 101 Strings
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This stereophonic 331/3 R.P.M. long play record has been mastered employing
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the Westrex cutter head system drive by a Sculley lathe.
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Cal Tjader's Mas Ritmo Caliente
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1957--Fantasy Records High Fidelity
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An absurd album cover (flamenco dancer on a very large bongo) from a man
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considered a fine jazz musician by those people who actually like jazz.
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Gypsy Campfires: The Emotion of 101 Strings
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|
"Only the emotional depth of "101 Strings" can capture the contrasts of
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|
tender emotion and fiery crescendos of a night at Gypsy Campfires. "
|
|
Whatever, I guess.
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|
Polka Polka Polka Polka with Paul Potski and his Pumpernickels
|
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Nobody is complete without at least 1 Polka album. This features "Strip
|
|
Polka," "Too Fat Polka," and "Wood Choppers Polka."
|
|
Coronet Stereophophonic (YES: "phophonic") cut on a Scully Lathe.
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|
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|
Mood Music for Beer and Pretzels
|
|
The Honky-tonk piano of Lou Stein and his Bar-Room Boys
|
|
(Not part of the far more classy "Moods in Music" series)
|
|
1957--Masterseal High Fidelity
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Music to Break a Lease!
|
|
Produced by Sid Feller and Don Costa.
|
|
No singers or musicians listed.
|
|
This record is so bad it's not even fun. I also own the follow-up: Music to
|
|
Break a Sub-Lease, which is even more pathetic.
|
|
1956--ABC-Paramount Full Color Fidelity
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Music to Suffer By
|
|
Leona Anderson
|
|
Produced in the same spirit as the Mrs. Miller albums, Leona Anderson is no
|
|
Mrs. Miller. But she is pretty funny.
|
|
1958--Diamond-True Hi-Fi Sound
|
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These last 3 albums are not from the same time period, but they warrant
|
|
inclusion for being so ridiculous.
|
|
|
|
The Ethel Merman Disco Album
|
|
**NOT JUST RE-MIXED HITS**
|
|
She got her fat ass into a studio and actually re-recorded her big hits as
|
|
disco. Includes "There's No Business Like Show Business," "Everything's
|
|
Coming Up Roses," etc.
|
|
Beats per Minute listed on the label, for all you d.j.'s out there who need
|
|
to mix this into your regular dance program.
|
|
1979--Pretty late in the disco craze, don't you think?
|
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|
|
Joe DeCosta's Ten Dog Commandments
|
|
"Thou shalt not shit on the rug?" "Thou shalt not hump the couch when company
|
|
is over?" No. Actually, a double-album of doggie discipline aimed at turning
|
|
your pooch into an honest-to-God Security Dog. 1973
|
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|
Special Music for Special People
|
|
Accompaniment for Adapted Dance/Exercise with Directions for Geriatric and
|
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Disabled Populations
|
|
Albums like this get me out of bed on Saturday mornings and inspire me to dig
|
|
through piles of shitty vinyl.
|
|
|
|
************************************
|
|
12.
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|
|
|
Crank-E: Crank@aol.com
|
|
----------------------------------
|
|
Reach me at "crank@aol.com." If I had more money or if I were a fucking
|
|
student, I'd have a more prestigious e-mail address, like Mindvox or The Well
|
|
or an ".edu". Tough titties. Don't bother me with prattle.
|
|
Many of you are already reading this in e-mail. If you're not, then you can.
|
|
Write me as above and I will write back with the text-only version of this
|
|
here document. If you are currently reading this as text, then why not cough
|
|
up $2 for a printed copy? It's full of ZANY clip art, original art and WACKY
|
|
photos. Not to mention the CRANK icons--fine work in themselves. It's
|
|
Certainly worth your two bills, postpaid. Find the address at the start of
|
|
this document and send well-hidden cash. Trust me.
|
|
Crank is also available as a DOCmaker file for AOL Mac users. E-mail to
|
|
"CRANK" on AOL--SPECIFYING THAT YOU WANT THE MAC VERSION--and I'll attach it
|
|
to my response. It'll be a self-extracting Compact Pro document.
|
|
If you find me online, don't expect anything. I might be in a good mood. I
|
|
might not be. And don't antagonize me. I don't have the energy.
|
|
|
|
************************************
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|
13.
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|
Trimming Down the World: My Friend AIDS
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|
---------------------------------------------------------
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|
God Bless AIDS.
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|
Do you know how many people are on this stinking planet? Too many--that's how
|
|
many.
|
|
Now, some asshole Fundamentalist Christians might tell you that God gave us
|
|
AIDS to kill off all those pesky queers and blacks and jews and
|
|
what-have-you. Could be. Some Conspiracists might tell you that The Man
|
|
slipped AIDS out of a beaker in order to kill off the ______ (fill in the
|
|
blank: Black Man, Gays, etc.) Could be. Some downright stupid people--like my
|
|
80 year-old grandmother--might tell you that the ______ ("coloreds," from my
|
|
grandmother) "brought it over with them and spread it when they started
|
|
sleeping with our white women." Could be.
|
|
I don't know how it got here, and I don't care. It's here. And it's here to
|
|
stay. And it's about time.
|
|
I don't have AIDS. And unless I get a bad transfusion, or someone bleeds on
|
|
me in a barfight, I won't be getting AIDS. My girlfriend is clean. I'm clean.
|
|
We don't fuck anyone else. Period. I can talk like this because I'm not
|
|
really at risk. Maybe I'll somehow catch AIDS down the line, as a kind of
|
|
poetic justice. Could be. Then you can laugh all you want. But I won't be
|
|
around to hear it. I will have shot myself well before the pneumonia sets in.
|
|
Enough. Let's say there's 4 billion people on the planet. 4,000,000,000.
|
|
There's about 250 million Americans. 250,000,000. But with all these people,
|
|
I only care about 2 dozen or so. 24. And most of these people I COULD live
|
|
without, if had to. Sorry, but it's true--you'd do the same to me. So there
|
|
are, really, only 4 or 5 people I'd mourn more than a day or two.
|
|
So what about the other 4 billion? LET THEM DIE.
|
|
I don't care if you're straight or queer. Black or white, etc. I don't care
|
|
what you do for a living. I don't care about your socio-economic background.
|
|
You're going to die because you're stupid. And that, for my money, is the
|
|
best modern proof of evolution.
|
|
Only those strong enough will survive, right? Well, maybe in our cerebral
|
|
modernism, we can change that to: Only those smart enough to stop fucking
|
|
whores and strangers at bars will survive. You got AIDS from a blood
|
|
transfusion? Sorry, but yer dead. Your wife got AIDS from her dentist and
|
|
unwittingly gave it to you? Yeh, sure she did. SHE'S A FUCKING WHORE, PAL.
|
|
SHE WAS PROBABLY FUCKING YOUR BEST FRIEND WHO WAS FUCKING WHORES ON BUSINESS
|
|
TRIPS AND IT'S TOUGH SHIT. Got me? TOUGH FUCKING SHIT.
|
|
It's a shame so many gay guys got AIDS. They didn't deserve it. They just got
|
|
it first. Sorry, guys. But you should be smart enough now, right? Stop
|
|
fucking through glory holes? Stop sucking cocks in bathrooms? Good. You don't
|
|
deserve any more dying than the straights.
|
|
It's about time to even out the playing field. It's time for the straights to
|
|
start dropping. All the straights who figured the gays got it. All the
|
|
suburban white motherfuckers who thought it was a City problem. All those
|
|
fucking Catholics who listened to the Pope and didn't cover their cocks, but
|
|
kept fucking strangers every other night. All those stupid fucking CATHOLICS
|
|
who were STUPID ENOUGH TO LISTEN TO THAT FUCKING POPE. Yeh, that's right. The
|
|
FUCKING POPE who gets his orders from JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HIMSELF. Too far?
|
|
Fuck you. The Pope tells people "no rubbers." Good. Listen to him. That's
|
|
evolution, baby. Anyone STUPID enough to listen to the fucking POPE and
|
|
catches AIDS as a result SHOULD NOT SHARE THIS PLANET WITH THE REST OF US. Go
|
|
die. And then give me call from Heaven. Call me collect. I dare you.
|
|
Face it. Stupid people, male and female, deserve to catch AIDS. The stupid
|
|
fucking people who go out, get drunk and either put their bare cocks into
|
|
cunts, or take bare cocks into their cunts. Am I advocating Safe Sex? No. I
|
|
couldn't give a fuck. Go ahead and spread it around. More real estate for me.
|
|
More room for me to live in. Less stupid people driving at rush hour. Less
|
|
bad music. Less bad fiction. Less bad poetry. Evolution at work.
|
|
Desaturation.
|
|
There is one flaw though: slow death. The agony of a lingering death is fine,
|
|
but the cost is for shit. In 5 or 10 years, every fucking hospital in this
|
|
country is gonna be packed with people dying of AIDS. Nice suburban
|
|
heterosexuals, dropping off like gays in '88. And these lily-white
|
|
motherfuckers better have good health insurance, because it's a long,
|
|
expensive trip to the morgue when Mr. AIDS is pushing the cart. Don't expect
|
|
me pay your way. I refuse.
|
|
I'm not looking to exterminate anybody in particular. No Master Race. No
|
|
selective breeding or selective killing. I'm not picky. If we could eliminate
|
|
a proportioned amount of people from EVERY ETHNICITY, EVERY RELIGION (well,
|
|
actually, let the Catholics go en masse) and EVERY WALK OF LIFE, then I'll be
|
|
happy. I don't want an all-white world. Or an all-anything world. I just want
|
|
LESS PEOPLE. It's like that fucked up pair of scissors at the barbers: one
|
|
half has an edge, the other has a comb. It thins out your hair. AIDS is that
|
|
comb, thinning out the population.
|
|
I'm not heartless. It is a shame that people have to die, ON AN INDIVIDUAL
|
|
LEVEL. I know some people will read this and be angry with me. Maybe more
|
|
upset than angry. Sure, you lost a friend, a lover, a brother or sister. And
|
|
I'm sorry you were hurt. But, well, that's it. Tough shit. Don't write me.
|
|
Don't do anything. Just don't catch it, eh? I'm sure to lose some people I
|
|
care about in the next 10 or 20 years. Shit, I'll be sorry to see them go.
|
|
But, if they were fucking around, or stupid enough to fuck someone who was
|
|
fucking around, then tough shit. Good bye. You saw the news, didn't you? You
|
|
knew it was going around, didn't you? Sure you did, asshole. Put me in your
|
|
will.
|
|
So that's that. The gays should be free and clear once everyone already
|
|
infected dies. The i.v. drug users should be gone soon too. Then the fun
|
|
starts: Family Men, Trusting Wives, Stupid Teenagers, Self-Righteous
|
|
Christians, Politicians, ad nauseam.
|
|
And me and my girl will be waiting. 250 million stinkin' Americans. We're
|
|
gonna lose 50 million, easy, before it's all over. And worldwide? Shit. We
|
|
might make it back down to 3.5 billion. That would be nice. That would give
|
|
us a little breathing room. A little more space to live, and maybe raise some
|
|
kids. Some smart kids. Bye bye.
|
|
|
|
"Oh? You got AIDS? Because the Pope said birth control is a sin? Gee, tough
|
|
fuck." (Underneath artwork of Jesus)
|
|
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
You're helpless and you couldn't care less.
|
|
---------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
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|
|
THE END
|
|
CRANK v.1.1. PO Box 1646. Phil PA 19105-1646
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Crank logo, icons and contents, copyright 1994 Jeff Koyen
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