whiskeyfightpit

Those that lack vision and common courtesy are putting up a herculean mission to destroy me completely and forever. The know my creed. They know my mission.

Legit Evil
Pure and exacting

Consumers. They're like rabid bats in a cave 30,000 miles below the earth's crust. What they want is your blood. Chances are they'll get that plus yer soul if you aint hip to the task. A man's gotta get some Owens Corning insulation and wrap that shit like a linebackers ankle or the world'll suck it away like a nuclear powered shop vac. This aint no party. this aint no disco. and this sure as shit aint no civilization. Take that package to Geraldo and stamp it. What we got here, kiddos, is some hungry jackals in the pit. The catch is but a baby rabbit and there is billions of saliva coaked jackal jaws snappin' and a writhin' for that meat. Cats in programming wanna tell you suburban viewers that the african savannah is in another time zone. Don't buy into that real estate. That's what them cats what you to suckle on while they're busy fixin' some rabbit salad.

People are dangerous. People are out to get you. Not with any malice for the most part. Just some old fashion territorial tug-of-war. You gotta shake yer morality or it'll put you on the chopping block. Talk to Lenny Bruce, man. That dude knows the score. I guess this mad vision comes to me before the Visigoth Maelstorm known as the holiday rush hits my humble record store like limestone on a Roman christian. DAY OF THE DEAD. When there's no more room in hell, the dead'll walk the earth looking for that perfect distraction for their part-time artifacts aka offspring. Chef WhiskeyFightPit serves only two pots of stew. One frothy pot contains healthy nutrients like Mission Of Burma, The Fall, Pere Ubu, and Wire. Granted, this stone soup tastes like the back of a Mormon's ass but it's got all of the essential building blocks to build a fortress mind. Second pot tastes like a sixteen year old cheerleaders honeypot. Sweet like peaches and cream on a summer afternoon. This pot contains things like video games and the new Chingy CD. Tastes great but leaves the cranium barkin' for some minerals and one step closer to Satan's lair. Does your partaking of the devil's brew make you any less of a man than me? Do I feel superior to you because I dwell in the music nerd category and you wallow with the meek? Absolutely not. Because some sick bastard named fate has left my soul intact. I feel sad that you treat your youth as a distraction. Your lack of vision and reliance on easy answers and cheap thrills makes my cry myself to sleep when I should be out chasin' skirts and whistlin' dixie. Some genius in the heavens thought to give this hunk of matter way too much intuition and certainly more than my fair share of the knowledge tree. Gift and the curse. I want desperately for you foul smelling simpeltons to shake off your shackles and run free with me in the mist of Merzbow. Dance through the forest of Walt Whitman and Albert Ayler. Play charades with Sun Ra's Arkestra whilst plowing through a king's ransome worth of LSD and Nutter Butter cookies!!! Everything we've ever dreamed of is there for the taking and you just lock yourself in your Playstation 2 cage and swallow the key.

Don't worry, I'll lighten up in about three weeks once the Operation SpendFuck is long gone and it's back to the cold reality of selling your shit for Similac...like it is most of the year. Plus my Wisdom sockets are almost healed and then of course the whiskey will be flowing again. One day I'm gonna be somebody....

SOUNDTRACK OF THE DAY
ROTHKO
OUTKAST "Hey Yah"
Rodan
Napalm Death
Nina Simone
Calexico "The Black Light"
Slowdive "Souvlaki"
Can "Tago Mago"

My dad was losing his fucking mind today. He got hooked on that VH1 Classic channel. They played this old ass Black Oak Arkansas video and it was a downhill, 70s slide. It was one of those Sports Arena, Quaaludes, and Colt 45 tales that I have grown accustomed to. A typical response would be to laugh, but without these drug tales I would not have discovered Funkadelic's Maggot Brain or David Bowie's Low. Wheat and the chaff, my friends!


12/20/03 Updated Shizzle

Love'll put the fuckin' squeeze on ya long enough to make you just lose a limb or two, but not die. That creature wouldn't want to let you off eazy. This girl I had a crush on in high school has re-entered the picture slightly. Just when I was warming up to BraveLilToaster too!!! Man, she was (and probably still is) a terrific girl. She was either the valedictorian or salutitorian of my graduating class. Plus she is old Hollywood movie star gorgeous. I never asked her out or anything cause she was so picture perfect in every aspect. I just assumed the gorgeous and upwardly motivated wouldn't want to waste their time with semi-intelligent underachievers who dabble in Ale and pharmaceuticals on a regular basis. Well, that was all over five years ago. Now, I work with one of her co-workers in my record store. This employee of mine works with this crush at a carry-out. Apparently, MY CRUSH had a crush on ME in high school. All of you SGers know how cold-heartet and tempered in steel the WFP is but I felt like a little school girl with major butterflies in the stomach action. It felt good to be alive again, I suppose, or to feel some slightly common human emotions that have previously avoided me in my dungeon of noise rock & jazz & beat poets. It's kinda childish to be blathering on about these things with strangers but it's kind of cathartic so bare with me. You can't imagine the shame of not ever having a romantic relationship in you life. Actually, why dance around the topic? I've never had a girlfriend in my life. I had one in the fifth grade that lasted one summer and that's it. You could say that it's some massive shit to deal with. To find out you missed a chance, AND it was with someone YOU HAD A CRUSH ON...than you sink some more in the quicksand you're always standing in. Well, I did tell the co-worker that I had a crush on that person as well. Can't wait for the next chapter. Hopefully, she wont mind my weight gain and deviance into the realm of avant-garde music. If the Scratch Acid and Cecil Taylor records don't scare her away I'm sure the less than average "unit" size will finish the deed. Oh well, that's why there's whiskey, asain massage parlors, and pillows to cry in. But it is an ego booster to know that a woman of that CALIBER was interested in you at one point. It feels real good.

Trust me, we'll get back to the typical posts soon enough!!!