An ongoing evolutionary collaborative free-range Atkin's friendly, wardrobe malfunction-free, literary blog. Tastes like chicken, smells like pennies, thinks like Sloths. Hand me your cash, we need an editor.
Stinking Rope
G_a_w_k: As I was running down route 122 on this incredibly humid day, mid-July, I looked down and saw a long snarl of rope on the edge of the road. I wiped the sweat off my brow and slowed down to a mere shuffle while lowering my breathing rate, picked up the rope and...
Shirl: ...remembered how my evil twin would, in anger, tell me to "go piss up a rope". His evil tendencies had a way of making me succumb to cognitive dissonance. Next thing I knew, i awoke to a crowd overlooking me as I lay splayed on the road.
G_a_w_k: I think it was in the late '80s when my twin brother, Dean and I started a small band. Well, we tried to start this band despite our parents not-so-polite approval. Our parents insisted that if we were to play in our band, we had to learn how to read music. So Dean and I went to the library and checked out every single book on how to read music, and then sat studiously in the garage while stoned to the gills on some rather skunky weed and giggled. Suffice to say, we never really learned how to read music, instead we formed a distinct bond and appreciation for ...
Shirl: ...hearses. They made a great band vehicle, plenty of room for storage and roadies (if need be). We were introduced to our first by a crotchety old neighbor who annoyingly repeated the lines, "I feel petty, oh so petty, So petty and witless and gray". He was pathetic but gave us his old hearse to use in return for a chance to be our roadie. He got us a gig at the local....
G_a_w_k: ...Hot Dog Emporium. It was this old '50s style diner on the edge of Scottsville that specialized in hot dogs with special names, like U2 Bonno Boner and Frank Zappa Dappa Doo. Because it was the late '80s, Dean and I felt the need to not "fit in" by not fitting in, like all the other post punk gurus - so we would dress up in gorilla masks and tutus. We toyed with the image of the band a few times, because the music was horrible. We finally decided to name our band after a line from the book......
Shirl: .....Kitten Kabobs. We thought about Tube Steaks for a name in honor of the Emporium we were about to play at, but thought better of it. The owner was a real weiner. The crotchety neighbor, Darboo, taxied us down to the joint and proceded to unload equipment. The harmonica, the cowbell, and mandolin were all he could handle. He stopped for a break and lit up a stogy. Dean began to....
G_a_w_k: ...get flustered as he always did when confronted with contempt. His face would turn various shades of red, he looked like a bruised tomato. So while Darboo stared blankly at the partially loaded hearse with his girthy fag, Dean decided that he wasn't going to take it anymore and revoked Darboo's hot dog ration for the rest of the month. This infuriated Darboo, because he had a serious penchant and hankering for the occasional Pregnant Daschund, #16 on the menu - complete with grilled onions and fiddleheads. During this time, the band had a few other local gigs...but finally decided to go on the road to tour .....
Shirl:... with the Mustard Maggots. They were a hot band back then and we were in awe of their loyal followers. Hot, hot chics galore. We tried various ploys on stage to draw their attention, from baring our chests rubbed with oil, wearing tight fitting jeans stuffed with corn cobs, and feathering/back combing our tresses.
Darboo, meanwhile was trying to distract the groupies at the front of the stage with magic feats with puffs of smoke as each occured. Dean was furious and grabbed Darboo's turban, unraveling it as his body swirled below the stage. The crowd roared with delight. We knew we were onto something.
G_a_w_k: While on that same tour as the Kitten Kabobs, we ran into all sorts of trouble. First with P.E.T.A., which required us to radically change the name of our band to "Perry Como's Panties", which later ensued in a libelous lawsuit threat from noneother than Perry Como. So, goshdarnit, we changed our band name for the third time to "Monacle Midget Manifesto" and it stuck like a witch wearing no panties on a broom. Later on that new tour as Monacle Midget Manifesto, Dean and I were strangely indoctrinated into the Church of the SubGenius. This somehow came about because of a strange meeting after a gig in Newark, NJ where Mark Mothersbough from Devo found a copy of 'The Golden Ass' on the front passenger seat of our tour hearse. We had learned that "If you don't laugh, you didn't get it, but if you ONLY laugh, you didn't get it." Such a beautific parody of dogma I thought to myself, while honching into a thick polish "Throbbing Gristle" hotdog #42 on menu.
G_a_w_k: I started having these intense headaches, migranes actually - and upon insistence, our band manager told me to seek medical attention. Well, medical attention really meant "eat more vegetables, slow down on the booze and girls, and get out and run for exercise, pretending that you are a naked Gavin Rossdale from Bush running from a gaggle of girly fans". I hated exercising, and my brother Dean hated the thought of me doing it...because that meant that he'd have to as well (as a twin brother). He was worried that if I lost a lot of weight, he'd have to as well. He became more and more depressed as the thought of this, and at one point, considered suicide as a hapless option. He even went as so far as going to Home Depot and buying a rather prudent length of rope to hang himself. But then over much deliberation, and a newfound yearning for the lust for life, he let the thought pass on. I still think about that rope...that stinking rope. And I wonder who and HOW one was able to piss up it. So there I was, laying on the side of the highway, staring up at all those wonderful people.
Shirl: I miss those days now, the smell of the hearse, the smell of Darboo, the nights of musical bliss, the rage of my evil twin....yet as I lay here on the side of the road holding a stinking rotting piece of rope, I feel the urge to pee.
G_a_w_k: As I was running down route 122 on this incredibly humid day, mid-July, I looked down and saw a long snarl of rope on the edge of the road. I wiped the sweat off my brow and slowed down to a mere shuffle while lowering my breathing rate, picked up the rope and...
Shirl: ...remembered how my evil twin would, in anger, tell me to "go piss up a rope". His evil tendencies had a way of making me succumb to cognitive dissonance. Next thing I knew, i awoke to a crowd overlooking me as I lay splayed on the road.
G_a_w_k: I think it was in the late '80s when my twin brother, Dean and I started a small band. Well, we tried to start this band despite our parents not-so-polite approval. Our parents insisted that if we were to play in our band, we had to learn how to read music. So Dean and I went to the library and checked out every single book on how to read music, and then sat studiously in the garage while stoned to the gills on some rather skunky weed and giggled. Suffice to say, we never really learned how to read music, instead we formed a distinct bond and appreciation for ...
Shirl: ...hearses. They made a great band vehicle, plenty of room for storage and roadies (if need be). We were introduced to our first by a crotchety old neighbor who annoyingly repeated the lines, "I feel petty, oh so petty, So petty and witless and gray". He was pathetic but gave us his old hearse to use in return for a chance to be our roadie. He got us a gig at the local....
G_a_w_k: ...Hot Dog Emporium. It was this old '50s style diner on the edge of Scottsville that specialized in hot dogs with special names, like U2 Bonno Boner and Frank Zappa Dappa Doo. Because it was the late '80s, Dean and I felt the need to not "fit in" by not fitting in, like all the other post punk gurus - so we would dress up in gorilla masks and tutus. We toyed with the image of the band a few times, because the music was horrible. We finally decided to name our band after a line from the book......
Shirl: .....Kitten Kabobs. We thought about Tube Steaks for a name in honor of the Emporium we were about to play at, but thought better of it. The owner was a real weiner. The crotchety neighbor, Darboo, taxied us down to the joint and proceded to unload equipment. The harmonica, the cowbell, and mandolin were all he could handle. He stopped for a break and lit up a stogy. Dean began to....
G_a_w_k: ...get flustered as he always did when confronted with contempt. His face would turn various shades of red, he looked like a bruised tomato. So while Darboo stared blankly at the partially loaded hearse with his girthy fag, Dean decided that he wasn't going to take it anymore and revoked Darboo's hot dog ration for the rest of the month. This infuriated Darboo, because he had a serious penchant and hankering for the occasional Pregnant Daschund, #16 on the menu - complete with grilled onions and fiddleheads. During this time, the band had a few other local gigs...but finally decided to go on the road to tour .....
Shirl:... with the Mustard Maggots. They were a hot band back then and we were in awe of their loyal followers. Hot, hot chics galore. We tried various ploys on stage to draw their attention, from baring our chests rubbed with oil, wearing tight fitting jeans stuffed with corn cobs, and feathering/back combing our tresses.
Darboo, meanwhile was trying to distract the groupies at the front of the stage with magic feats with puffs of smoke as each occured. Dean was furious and grabbed Darboo's turban, unraveling it as his body swirled below the stage. The crowd roared with delight. We knew we were onto something.
G_a_w_k: While on that same tour as the Kitten Kabobs, we ran into all sorts of trouble. First with P.E.T.A., which required us to radically change the name of our band to "Perry Como's Panties", which later ensued in a libelous lawsuit threat from noneother than Perry Como. So, goshdarnit, we changed our band name for the third time to "Monacle Midget Manifesto" and it stuck like a witch wearing no panties on a broom. Later on that new tour as Monacle Midget Manifesto, Dean and I were strangely indoctrinated into the Church of the SubGenius. This somehow came about because of a strange meeting after a gig in Newark, NJ where Mark Mothersbough from Devo found a copy of 'The Golden Ass' on the front passenger seat of our tour hearse. We had learned that "If you don't laugh, you didn't get it, but if you ONLY laugh, you didn't get it." Such a beautific parody of dogma I thought to myself, while honching into a thick polish "Throbbing Gristle" hotdog #42 on menu.
G_a_w_k: I started having these intense headaches, migranes actually - and upon insistence, our band manager told me to seek medical attention. Well, medical attention really meant "eat more vegetables, slow down on the booze and girls, and get out and run for exercise, pretending that you are a naked Gavin Rossdale from Bush running from a gaggle of girly fans". I hated exercising, and my brother Dean hated the thought of me doing it...because that meant that he'd have to as well (as a twin brother). He was worried that if I lost a lot of weight, he'd have to as well. He became more and more depressed as the thought of this, and at one point, considered suicide as a hapless option. He even went as so far as going to Home Depot and buying a rather prudent length of rope to hang himself. But then over much deliberation, and a newfound yearning for the lust for life, he let the thought pass on. I still think about that rope...that stinking rope. And I wonder who and HOW one was able to piss up it. So there I was, laying on the side of the highway, staring up at all those wonderful people.
Shirl: I miss those days now, the smell of the hearse, the smell of Darboo, the nights of musical bliss, the rage of my evil twin....yet as I lay here on the side of the road holding a stinking rotting piece of rope, I feel the urge to pee.
I have some old bootlegs of Perry Como's Panties if yer interested.