Finders-Keepers Fear the Reapers.

prologue:

Old Business: What did her pussy ever do to you?

New Business: What didn't her pussy do to you?

Q: When does it end?

(dramatic pause, mild inertia)

A: Sometimes it never ends.

Autobiographical for once.

In a day spent mostly trying to download the Kim Kardashian sex tape, a thing of beauty emerges but a few hours after sundown.

*Expose The Nose*

I sit atop my dais, shivering in solitude, leafing through the "Harvester of Sorrow" issue of Vice Magazine (procured from the Williamsburg American Apparel store during a cracked out excursion with TimeMachine; very cute footsoldiers working there, ps).

Though the cover and pages are unreasonably weathered (stained with the joys, sorrows and general heroics of all that have passed through Shooting Gallery Studios in the past three or four weeks), this is the first time I've made an effort to actually read the thing. Flagged long before this little reenactment of the that now infamous Seinfeldian vignette. Natch.

I arrive at the Guitar Center advert/"Vice Guide to Bands" bit, taking the time to read the bit on Chromeo's gear tips, internally decrying the ubiquity of the Vice/American Apparel hipster-industrial complex, when what should I see but a bit of terror. The beautiful blonde mistake, straight from the belly of the beast, in the home my mother raised me in.

A first. Honest.

There it is, a twenty-bag of Devil's Dandruff, lying dead before me, completely empty, at once a disaster and a blessing. What would possess me to tuck away a decidedly empty bag of flash deep within a magazine? The world may never know. All that matters is that we're here now, so there's no point in leaving just yet, yeah?

Sit your ass down and have a drink. We've got a lot to catch up on, yeah? The Killer in me likes the frosted side, but the Automaton in me likes the Killer in me. Go figure.

"a woman is better because a woman can suck your dick and a donkey can't": Part ONE

in case any of you ever have to testify for/against me, i am an out and out pervert. just giving you a heads up on the inevitable perjury tip.

por ejemplo, i think 'cumshot' is the most awesome compound word in the english language.

i truly believe that 'bukkake' is japanese for porn with redeeming artistic value.

i love, love, love midget porn! esp. interracial midget porn.

asking girls 'what's up with the asshole?' on the first date is now both my morals and my ethics. braydon szyfranski style!

and i'm strongly considering saying yes to my boy JPot's demand that we start a porn site. an idea we've bandied about since high school. he's in with some of the BangBros. crew somehow, so all it takes is a word it seems. hmmmm. i do need a new creative outlet.

sure, i'm a bit of a sexual deviant. fine. you got me. happy?

but there are a few things i just can't get with. namely, necrophilia, pedophilia, scat shit (redundermifflin?), and bestiality. there are other "sex acts," that i find at least somewhat disagreeable, but these four are completely unfuckwitable in my book. as they should be for any rational being. and if someone as fucked up as me can avoid them, there's hope yet for the lot of ya.

that being said, seeing this VICE TV ep entitled "Asses of the Carribean" was truly some of the most mind-blowing shit i've seen while not on hallucinogens. i was totally expecting hardbodied femininas in booty shorts, workin it out, ya know?

nope nope nope. not gonna do it.

entire generations of Colombian men fucking donkeys (and enjoying it) because the female population of the staunchly Catholic drugbasket that is Colombia don't put out til their thrity? fuck naw son. i appreciate cultural differences and variant norms, but jesus.

literally. jesus, you fuck!

look what you and your cronies are doing to people. come down here, be a man, and straighten this shit out. it's the least you could do. and if not for the men of Cartagena, Colombia, do it for the poor donkeys. won't you please?

"a woman is better because a woman can suck your dick and a donkey can't": Part TWO

gentlemen. if you had to suffer six years of blue balls, what the fuck would you do? that is the question. you're getting closer to the horror now. ease toward the light. gently now.

and apparently, just for future reference, donkey pussy is mad tight son. that ill na na.

"a woman is better because a woman can suck your dick and a donkey can't": Part THREE

for those of you that place homosexuality higher on the threat level chart of sexual terrorism than bestiality (surely none of my readers?), then maybe you can take comfort in this woeful trend. sexual repression in the name of arbitrary beliefs can be a good thing, huh? plus, if the rural legend that fucking a donkey makes your dick bigger is true, i guess it'll be the men and boys of Cartagena who will be having the last laugh, eh?

and p.s. the end is not for the faint of heart. but twif your heart was all that faint, you wouldn't have made it this far. nor would you be reading my god damn blog. peace.

New York Cares.

subway she is a porno. the pavements they are a mess. my sentiment exactly. but at least the mayor wasn't caught smoking crack.

this is a vice tv interview with philly band clockcleaners, who apparently have a terrible reputation both at home and abroad for their less than personable manner. but i think there's a lesson to be learned from their abrasiveness.

along with heroic substance abuse and hooker murder, rap-grade beef is what the game's been missing. the rock game that is. the closest thing we have is old heads (morrissey, pete townshend, et al.) indirectly shitting on brash newcomers (arctic monkeys, klaxons, et al.).

but that's fucking britain.

in the states, the best we can do is hinder shooting off at the mouth about how fucking gay fall out boy is. oh the irony, it runs deep, so deep.

during my first stay at the shooting gallery in brooklyn, i discussed with muscle matt and timemachine the merits of infusing rap's hardass ethos into rock. who says i shouldn't be able to stab the drummer of some other fucked up, gay band that i despise, outside the "ballroom" after the show, lance "un" rivera style? who says i can't dedicate half an album to calling out some faggot lead singer? who says i can't indict a pussified system that rewards cowardice, insincerity, and sensitivity over balls-out, maniacal self -destruction and advanced narcissistic rage?

who the fuck says there can't be BEEF in the rock?

your head is on backwards mate. you might wanna fix it.

god bless puppeteering.
god bless hallucinogens.
god bless MIDI.
god bless 1972.
god bless sid krofft references.
god bless boy-cut panties.
god bless stop motion animation.
god bless sleepless nights.
god bless suroosh and shane.
god bless don calhoun.
god bless death from above 1979.
god bless nymphomania.
god bless america, and no one else.
god bless trixie and the tree trunks.
and god bless VICE TV.