Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Fun With Birds, 101

I just came across these pictures of our pumpkins from last year. There are few things as fun as getting royally fucked up as possible and carving Jack-o-Lanterns, at least when you live in the boondocks and you suddenly realize you have a shitload of pumpkins and you are sure as hell ain't gonna eat the fucking things.

Of course the best part about of having all these jack-o-lanterns on your kitchen counter is to bring an unsuspecting Elenora Cockatoo into the darkened kitchen and watch him freak the fuck out when he sees them.
Of course, Mara felt obligated to turn the lights on to make him realize they were just harmless pumpkins, lit on fucking fire.

Even with the lights on, he didn't buy it.

Of course, my own personal bodyguard, Milais, was fearless as usual. I've used Photoshop to highlight where he usually resides on my person. He looks harmless enough doesn't he? Ask if he's harmless to the people who have made the unfortunate mistake of getting too close to my person while he his hidden in my shirt along with my Browning 13-shot .380.
He will launch himself at the nearest extremity of any human (or cat or dog) in order to protect my well being. Believe me, there are many people who consider themselves pretty damn tough who live in complete and total fear of this menace of mine.

In the end though, I don't rely on Milais for my own protection. Always remember, faithful readers, if you break into the Crevanator Compound you're much more likely to encounter a sight like the one shown below. As I have written on the walls, "Is there an Afterlife? TRESPASS HERE AND FIND OUT!"

Monday, July 19, 2004

Tony Scum and the Ass Grabbers (To beat an ongoing theme into the ground

It's funny, the whole thing that made me even remember all the photos I had of Ass Grab Alley was a night about a week ago where we had a bunch of people over and, shockingly, we were all incredibly wasted. Of course, I totally forgot about that night as well, until I got an e-mail from Scott at Lollipop Magazine. See, I was WAY late on my review of the new Die Hunns record, which now features Duane Peters (of course) and Corey Parks, formerly of Nashville Pussy. While writing the review, I realized that I had, in fact, formed another so-called "super" group, while jamming that night.

Here we have Geoff Useless from the Guts on bass, Harlan from the Tunnel Rats on guitar, Mara from the Tunnel Rats on the wooden block, My handsome self on the Hunting Bugle, and Mike O'Donnell of the Jabbers on drums. What is missing? A singer of course! But I am sure someday, Tony Scum will make his way over from Portugal to the USA to fill out the line-up.  In the meantime, Tony Scum and the Ass Grabbers will wait patiently until PAAAARRRAAAAADDDDIIIISSSEEE!!!!!!!!. (Only those fortunate few who have heard Tony Scum's songs will appreciate that, but that was the point anyway).
PS. Otis Update coming as soon as it stops fucking raining up here.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Clarification on Ass Grab Alley 

Captain Leech, in the comment section of the previous entry, made a very good point. Ass Grab Alley was truly "open season". I myself got my ass grabbed by many a fine lass, while plying my trade as an ass grabber in ass grab alley. However, out of all the males practicing their artistic craft in the alley, no one exceeded Tunnel Rats ally and close friend Fred in their efforts to not only grab some opposite sex ass, but have the opposite sex grab his own. Allow me to demonstrate:

Here, Fred does his best to trick Misha into traveling the mere three feet to the border of Ass Grab Alley. Unfortunately to no avail.
Finally, in frustration of not getting his own ass grabbed often enough by a hot girl, Fred resorts to extreme measures.

And, to be fair, there was a fair amount of same sex ass grabbing going on. It got so serious between Doody and Mara, none of us was sure where it might lead.

And, in closing, to quote Deuce Frehley in the previous post's comment section: "Good to see some people refuse to grow up."
Fucking-A right on Deuce. Because a grown-up world with no ass grab alley is a pretty fucking lame place to live. After all, we're ALL gonna be dead someday. That alone should be the perfect lesson that there is very little in this world worth taking seriously.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Big Nasty's Pervert Row, home of Ass Grab Alley 

Special days are cause for special celebrations. A few weeks back, we were all down at Big Nasty's. I can't remember what the special day was, but I DID decide it was a good night for a special celebration. So, going behind the bar and grabbing the colored chalk, I erased half of the drink specials and proclaimed that the narrow alley on the way to the bathrooms was indeed "Ass Grab Alley". Moments after I finished writing, Captain Leech and I began enforcing the new rules

Soon enough, Captain Leech and I had figured an ingenious way to ensure that we both got a grab at every female ass that tried to pass. I would act like I was enthralled with the game on TV when they first passed. Then he would make his move. This would cause them to instinctively turned around, leaving their butt cheeks fully exposed to my waiting hands. This would cause them to spin around again, leaving them exposed to Leech. Here is the plan in action.

Of course, eventually, people got wise to our ploy. Luckily, when we figured out people were sneaking around the back to get to the bathrooms, Big Nasty himself went into action. Here he has captured an attempted escapist.

As you can see, it did not go as Cat planned.

What lesson was learned here? NO ONE ESCAPES ASS GRAB ALLEY!

As the night progressed, Captain Leech and I decided that the borders of Ass Grab Alley were open to interpretation. For example, if I can reach behind the bar while still standing in Ass Grab Alley, it counts, much to Misha's chagrin.

Well fuck it. I'm going out there right now, grabbing the chalk and doing this all over again.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

OTIS Update! 

Well it's been a REALLY long fucking time since I gave an Otis update. That was due to a couple of factors. The first, we had a show every weekend in June, along with a bunch of every day, annonying dull life shit to deal with. The second, Otis was not doing all that great.

You see, I made an incredible blunder when I transplanted OTIS to the outside gardens. I planted him right near my peas and beans. My initial thinking was that, since peas and beans normally start to die off in mid-July after producing, it would make sense to let OTIS grow amongst them. That way he could expand like crazy and not interfere with other plants once he really took off after the peas and beans died off. It makes perfect sense, except for one key problem. Peas and Beans suck tons of nitrogen out of the soil, which is exactly what a growing giant like OTIS needs. When you combine his near death experience (due to a late frost), and the fact that the younger, faster growing peas and beans were sucking up all of his nutrients, it made for a very stunted Otis. Just check out the pic below:

Yeah, I know that he's not looking too good for a plant that I was hoping to produce a 500 pound pumpkin. However, as you can see, I have a fucking shitload of peas.

That works out well, as I can give them to Captain Leech, which next to PBR and Rumplimenz, is his favorite food.

Basically, this past weekend, me and Mara came to an important decision. Otis had to be transplanted if he was going to use the next 3 months to produce the pumpkin we desired. This was a major operation, one fraught with risks. It was very much like an organ transplant for a human, but with much more at stake, at least in our eyes. Therefore, being an intelligent man, I let Mara perform the operation whilst I manned the camera. Not wanting to jinx the anethesized Otis (I poured lots of beer around his base beforehand) I avoided using the camera flash until he was safely removed from his previous home.

Next, we transplanted him to his new home. This new home, I hope, should truly kick ass. It is a mound of pure compost, about 4 yards worth. That should provide him with plenty of nutrients, and he has no more competition from other plants.

It appears (24 hours later) that the transplant was successful. Of course, after such a strenuous procedure, Mara and I did not wait those 24 hours. Instead we immediately celebrated by cooking up one helluva a meal of Kabobs, along with a 3 pound Steak, and some ears of corn.

Of course, fucking Smelly the cat did his best to steal an unfair share of the meal. But since he did nothing but try and hinder this critical operation, he got NOTHING!

Now we can back to normal Otis updates. Also, you fucking people can now STOP emailing me about it.

Sunday, July 04, 2004

New Member of the Tunnel Rats! 

Yes, here I am in our practice space, holding aloft the newest member of the band. All the way from Houston, TX comes the Epiphone 7-string Flying V.
I stopped playing guitar back in 1999 or so for the band, but I still help write tunes and lately I decided that for 3 or 4 songs in a set, I just may throw on a guitar to play, especially with some of the new songs we've been working on. To celebrate this occassion, I decided I needed a new guitar, and, as fate obviously planned, I came across this guitar on Ebay on my first search, and got it for a great deal.
So look forward to a few live tunes, and on our new recordings, where Duke once again plays guitar, and uses it as a weapon as the situation warrants.
Now, it being the 4th of July and since we've been boozing all afternoon (and all last night), I'm off to another party to do some more.

Friday, July 02, 2004

Hanover, New Hampshire. Land of the Douchebags! 

I've got a lot of blogging to catch up on. It was a busy month of June. But the first item I want to tackle, is the town of Hanover, which is supposedly a part of the state of New Hampshire.
It was in 2001, I believe, when I was sitting by the pool in Austin, Texas shooting the shit with the Colonel of Cocknoose. It's always a pleasure to chat with the Colonel, a true international jet-setter. Somehow, during our conversation, he remarked he had spent a summer studying at Dartmouth College, in Hanover, NH. He also explained how he did not like that experience very much, even though northern NH in the summer is one of the best places to be, anywhere on earth. As he described it (I believe this quote is verbatim), the town was full of snooty, Volvo driving Earth Mothers.
I really had no experience with the town of Hanover. However I do live very near Durham, which is the hometown of the University of New Hampshire. Now, there is that Earth Mother/Hippy element in Durham, however it is a distinct minority. The town is much more full of blue-collar contractors, dry-wallers, landscapers, dishwashers etc. So I figured that perhaps, being fully immersed in the snobbish, Ivy League culture of Dartmouth, the Colonel had been unable to escape the massive gravitational pull that such institutions force on those they allow into their sphere of influence.
Last weekend, the day before our show in Manchester, NH with the Jabbers and Murder Junkies, Mara and I attended a wedding that took place in Hanover, NH. We arrived early, so using common sense, wandered into the downtown area to find the nearest bar. As we came around the corner, I was stunned.
Everywhere I looked, there were brand new Volvos, BMWs, Lexi (is that the proper plural for Lexus?) and of course, numerous, gas guzzling SUVs (most with Anti-Bush bumper stickers, ah the irony). Middle-aged women, with hippy clothes and big diamond earrings, dragged their hippified teenagers around the fancy-pants shops. Sissy-boy middle-aged men attempted to stroll in a masculine manner with their pink polos, golf shorts, and poofy hair, clutching their precious cell phones like life preservers.
There were hippies selling homemade jewelry on the sidewalks, there was a giant store that seemed to exclusively sell huge posters of 60s and 70's bands, and of course the movie theater was only showing one film, Fahrenheit 9/11. I constantly got dirty looks for smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk, but no one said anything. I think my return stares, just begging them to muster the guts to say something scared them off. Funny how a solid stare right back at them made them avert their eyes. Christ, I could just go on and on (and on and on and on and on as Tony Scum would say).
In any event, I then fully understood how awful that summer must have been for the Colonel. I, quite seriously, have never felt such loathing for a place. The air reeked of snobbery, hypocriticism, and a mindless desperation to never acknowledge the real world exists. Until that weekend, the place I always stated as my personal most loathed was Los Angeles. Give me LA any day over Hanover, NH.
However, I do have a solution. Recently the town of Killington, Vermont voted to secede from VT, and become part of NH. Of course, the town can't do this without approval of the VT legislature. There is no way they will that happen. However, perhaps if NH offers to trade Hanover (which is right on the VT border) for Killington it would all work out. Now, I know some of you will say that Killington is just as bad as Hanover. It's close for sure, but Hanover doesn't have one of the best Ski areas in the entire Northeast does it? So, unlike Hanover, it DOES have one redeeming quality. Anyway, remember, you heard this idea here first.
Lastly this entry is no attack on our friends Shawn and Jody, who put on a great wedding and reception. We actually had a great time. We had a blast boozing with all of Shawn's friends from Texas, and with Jody's family from NH, along with all of our drinking buddies back from our neck of the woods.