Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All Part 6

April 15th: Malice arrived at their suite at the Hard Rock Casino in Mackinaw Michigan (which back in the infamous 80’s was considered on the same creative social scale as NYC or LA.), and waited for their newly assigned opening act by their record label Razorback Records.

While they waited Malice free based a Kilo of 91% pure uncut Columbian Fish Scale while simultaneously  consuming 15 cases of beer, 19 bottles of Whisky, and an ounce and a half of PCP Laced Mushrooms, and ate 7 sheets of Acid (because waiting is boring so why not party your fucking face off they figured.) Plus the bands Lawyer TR McCoy and their Manager Harold Slickmann  had instructed the Band to DO NOTHING while they worked out the issues with the Band’s current Record Label Razorback Records.

As for Razorback they needed to put a tour deal together fast as fuck. Razorback Due to the  current disputes with Malice over creative control had lead abrupt cancellation of the remaining  Tour leaving them in the lurch like a motherfucker. They had to finish out as many of the original Tour dates as humanly possible to avoid backlash from pissed off Malice Fans.

Now due to all the drama Razorback was unhappy with Malice and that  played a part in their decision to hire The Assholes.The Assholes were at the opposite side of the spectrum from Malice.

Malice was a Glam Metal Band used to the luxurious life in LA being fawned over by press and fans alike for several months and had forgotten their entire lives previous to being famous. This I think most people can agree the massively exprbinte and copious amounts of Narcotics combined with Severe Alcoholism was/is to blame for the Band’s Unique Amnesia.

The Assholes on the other hand were a Trio from the Shitty Streets of the Shittiest Slums in Swansea Wales’s poverty stricken Industrial District. They grew up broke as fuck with Father’s that slaved away in the Various Factories or Sold Drugs. They had Mother’s that Worked 3 jobs cooking and cleaning (for the elite assholes living a life of splendor in the Huge Mansion’s in the Country) or Turning to Prostitution, Drink, and Drugs.

The only issue was The Assholes were currently on a Tour of their own with their fellow band The Squatters who hailed from Leeds and had similar backgrounds as the members of The Assholes. Not to mention the group’s singers met in the drunk tank one St. Paddy’s day after grossly over indulging in an obscene display of Alcohol throughout the day.

For this particular Tour The Assholes and The Squatters had combined both bands into one collective group they were calling The Asshole Squatters.

This lead Razorback to bend over backwards and take it in the preverbal metaphorical ass to put together. First Razorback had to hire The Asshole Squatters (not just the Assholes by themselves) because their management claimed it would be easier to promote the new 2 week Tour since two thirds of the audience already recognized the name.

Second Razorback would have to Pay the Appearance fee for The Assholes, The Squatters, and The Asshole Squatters as each group would be billing them separately. Razorback would also be financially responsible for their other expenses such as Travel, Room and Board. The Assholes also demanded that Razorback reimburse everyone involved in/with the last two weeks of the Asshole Squatters Tour that would be left ass out in lieu of The Assholes embarking on the new Malice Tour.

Razorback not having a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of had to agree to any and all conditions set forth by The Assholes or The Squatters. In the end the tiny new 2 week tour cost Razorback $12.3 Million in extra expenses.

April 16th: Malice had a pre tour meeting where they met The Asshole Squatters for the 1st time over Cocktails at the exclusive Club Pretentious. The meeting was a short one. The Members of The Asshole Squatters  spent most of their time chugging pints of Guinness, doing Irish Car Bombs, Rough Housing, Head Butting one another in some Bizarrely Violent Drinking Game (which they themselves had created just a couple of weeks ago while on a brilliant bender.)

Malice sat back drinking Bottomless Hurricanes (with Mescal on the side) watching their new opening act getting Raging Alcoholic Type Drunk, and snorting massive rails of Cocaine off a gaggle of clamoring wannabe Groupie’s Tits.

The 2 Bands barely spoke to each other and as for The Asshole Squatters they seemed to be mocking Malice throughout the entire ordeal. It was hard for Malice to determine if the Asshole Squatters were indeed mocking the shit out of them or was this the classic absurd comedic Wit the British were known for.

Troubled by the shitty meeting Malice’s manager Harold Slickmann sat down to discuss the matter with The Asshole Squatters Manager Sly Slapper over diner (at The Lux Barroom and Fine Eatery mind you). Slapper’s take on the situation was it was just a case of “Clashing Ego’s”and it would be no problem at all. He assured Slickmann that the Tour would be nothing less than copacetic once the Band’s Ego Issues calmed down.

This was a boldfaced lie and Slapper the slippery shit was well aware.

April 17th: To insure there wouldn’t be any further issues before the start of the tour the following day each Band’s Manager spiked ALL the Band Members mandatory morning Bloody Mary’s (which were made with 191 proof Grain Alcohol or as its more commonly known Moonshine) with a heavy dose of Horse Tranquilizers .The intensity of the Moonshine did a wonderfully brilliant job at disguising the foul taste of the ground up Horse Tranquilizers.

This effectively rendered both groups unconscious for 18 hours straight.

When the time came the Band’s Personal Medical Team would hit them with a Epinephrine  Shot via an Epi Pen, and BAM everyones awake, on their feet, and energetic like a Rocket Shot up their Ass.

April 18th: It was around 11 am when the Bands began to board their respective Tour Buses each suffering from a serious Horse Tranquilizer Hangover. It wasn’t until well past Noon that the Tour was finally on the road. The first show was in Saugatuck Michigan at the Tubular Theater.

Before the show even started the problems began. When Malice arrived at the Tubular Theater they were met the first problem head on. The members of The Squatters being arrested by Immigration Officers. Malice’s managed Harold Slickmann quickly jumped of the tour bus and made a mad scramble words The Squatters manager Sly Slapper.

According to Slapper the band was being detained and deported back to England to stand trial. The Squatters were charged with 117 counts of Vandalism, 91 counts of Destruction of Private Property,  88 counts of Destruction of Public Property, 351 counts of Public Drunkenness, 57 counts of Urinating in Public, 22 counts of Defecating  in Public, 117 counts of Breaking and Entering (The band had a issue with breaking into Liquor Stores after closing time in search of yet more Booze), 144 counts of Public Nudity, and 121 counts of Indecent Exposure (The band also had an issue with having sex with Fans/Groupies in Public).

To make a shitty situation even shittier the Fans(who had been waiting for 16 hours straight) out front for the doors to open were well aware of what was going on, and they were getting more riled by the minute as they watched one of the bands they came to see being arrested at the concert venue.

Malice who had extensive experience dealing with amped up and angry Fans from some disastrous concerts of their own. They immediately put a plan into action as the inevitable Riot was building rapidly. Malice gathered up their instruments and amps aboard their tour bus, called in a massive Beer Order with a local Beer Warehouse a few blocks from the show, and lastly they grabbed a duffle bag containing 5 kilos (11 pounds) of Pure uncut Bolivian Blow.

The scene outside had gotten savage as the Show Promoter had already called in the Cops. Malice Fans were pissed off at the Asshole Squatter Fans for fucking up the show, The Squatters Fans were enraged that the Band was being Arrested, The Assholes were angry about everything in general, and all the Fans were mad the Police had been called.

The high level of surging emotions had given way to pushing, shoving, insults, violent threats, minor vandalism, and the start of empty Beer bottles being thrown around in random response to the current state of affairs. The Police had called in back up and as Malice got ready to put their plan into action the SWAT Team rolled in.

Malice slowly opened the Emergency Hatch located on the roof of the Bus and crawled out onto the Bus’s Roof. They then had their Roadies hand up their instruments followed by their Amps. Malice also had their Roadies hand up several Confetti Cannons they had brought on tour. Once on top of the bus with their gear and supplies Malice started to assemble their standard stage set up transforming the Bus’s Roof into an impromptu stage.

As soon as the set up was complete Malice started playing Misfit Covers as loud as their equipment would allow. This sudden musical onslaught brought the chaos and conflict to a stand still as the stunned Fans and Police Officers alike looked on.

Malice capitalized on this by announcing that this was now a FREE Parking Lot Show and then fired off their Confetti Cannons that they had loaded up with the Cocaine. A giant white wave exploded over the Audience with a lingering cloud behind it as everyone there went fucking insane.

The Police were just happy to have the Riot haunted so they let Malice slide on the whole Huge Cocaine Cloud (and assorted shit like that) just as long as they got the fuck out of town immediately following the Parking Lot Show.

And thats exactly what they did.

April 19th: Malice was contacted first thing in the morning by their current Record Label Razorback Records. Razorback was absolutely irate about the previous night’s show which was also the first show of a ad-libbed Tour.

Malice had their Lawyer TR McCoy step in as mediator on their behalf. McCoy stated it was fucking insane that Razorback was even angry to begin with. McCoy went on to say that Malice had nothing to due with the Show going to shit. Malice wasn’t the ones being arrested, their Fans weren’t the ones pissed off by the arrest, and if it wasn’t for Malice’s quick thinking under extreme pressure in an emergency situation had in fact ENDED the Riot.

Razorback being complete and total  bitches switched the topic of the conversation to what they were going to do moving forward post riot. The tour they said would continue but because of last night fiasco being blasted across national television had been forced “due to circumstances beyond their control” cancel that nights show.

Razorback sited that the change was do due to “Unforeseen Expenses” complied with the exorbitant expenses used for putting the current Tour together in the first place was putting Razorback on the verge of filing Chapter 11 Bankruptcy. And because of the severity of the situation would require Razorback’s full and undecided attention putting the Tour on the back burner for a while.

You see the unforeseen expenses Razorback incurred were from a legal dispute between Razorback and The Squatters.

The Squatters claimed that since their arrest, and subsequent deportation was due to charges that were racked up from their previous Tour. And since the charges were not related to this Tour they deserved to be paid every single cent agreed upon by Razorback and The Squatters per their contract.

Razorback had to hire a full on legal defense team of Lawyers to handle the impending Lawsuit and their Counter Suite. According to their Lawyers Razorback considered their contract null and void as soon as The Squatters violated the terms, and thus were owed jack shit as far as they were concerned.

Malice’s Lawyer TR McCoy sighted a “Conflict of Interest” on Razorback’s part as far as Malice was concerned, and was planning to take them to court over it as soon as he got back to his office. Unbeknownst to Razorback at the time was that McCoy was already well at work putting a lawsuit against Razorback on Malice’s behalf. Malice was ultimately looking to terminate their contract with Razorback Records by any means needed.

April 20th: Malice curent Unnamed Tour with the Assholes was scheduled to play The Wicked Room in Grand Marais Minnesota. Once they Bands showed up there was an empty parking lot and a massive pile of what appeared to be charred bricks mixed with assorted rubble. There was a note from the Wicked Room’s Staff addressing the issue taped to a bottle of Croatian Rum that was standing atop the pile of aforementioned bricks and rubble.

The Note Read: To Whomever it may concern,

We the loyal staff of the Wicked Room have the misfortune to inform you that the Owner of the Club (Dolt Devonshire) ruptured a gas line in the basement, and blew the Club sky high while attempting to commit Insurance Fraud.  So Sorry We know this Sucks.

With the nights Fans only moments away from the defunct venue the Bands had to figure out what the fuck to do. Neither Band wanted to relive the previous nights shit show nor could they afford any more shitty press.

Then The Assholes Singer “Bloody” Sod Bollocks announced that since Malice had saved their asses last night that tonight they would be repaying the favor. In all actuality The Asshole could have give 2 shits about Malice they just thought it was a proper venue to showcase their Hardcore Thrash Punk music. That combined with the fact The Assholes were chomping at the bit to play to help vent some of their built up frustrations.

Malice decided to take their Fans in attendance that were pissed off by the fact Malice wasn’t playing to an all night drinking binge at a local Dive Bar and Shitty Strip Club Called  Beef Curtains.

Even though The Assholes acted like they didn’t give a flying fuck what Malice did they took Malice’s Stripper Boozelooza as slap in the face. They thought if Malice and their sniveling Fans didn’t care about the show well fuck them and fuck that.

April 21st: Malice spent the day at the Hotel Spa recuperating from their legendary hangovers, and The Assholes spent the day Drinking and Drugging like no tomorrow.

The 2 bands met up at that nights Venue The Radical in Bayfield Wisconsin. The tension was tenable as the Bands circled one another lingering like fucking Vultures waiting for their meal to finally die.

The Assholes went on first and played their first two albums (“Fuck You and The Finger” and “The Toss Pot Teachers”)  in their interiority.  The Band then went on to play 3 separate encores each consisting of 3-5 songs each. The Asshole’s finally played their closing song their current hit “Fuck Me Dead”. By then they had cut into Malice’s set by a good 45 minutes or so.

Malice was furious as they took the stage 45 minutes late. Malice used the show to mainly test out the audience’s reacting to some new songs they were coming up with for the New Album they planned to record as soon as they possibly could. Malice was sure to pepper the New Shit with some of their Big Hits to keep the Fans excited.

All in all the audience response was overwhelmingly positive as far as the new material was concerned. In fact Malice’s new Power Ballad “I’d Never Call You A Bitch Baby” garnered such a response from the Fan’s that they decided later that night that it would be the first single released.

Malice celebrated all night and into the following day until that nights show.

April 22nd: When Malice’s Tour bus rolled into The Spectrum in Elkader Iowa to find that The Assholes had already arrived and were in the middle of their soundcheck.

Malice walked into their dressing room to find it Trashed, Thrashed and Totally fucked. It smelled like a Truck Stop Bathroom mixed with a well used Locker Room. Every single piece of furniture (including the trash can) was busted and broken to pieces. The Catering table was upside down which was ok because it looked as if someone shit on the food platters anyway. Not to mention their toilet bowl was on fire reminiscent of a childhood campfire.

Malice’s blood boiled as they had fucking had it with The Assholes and their shittier than shitty bullshit. Luckily before all hell broke loose Malice’s manager Harold Slickmann arrived in the nick of time to prevent a brewing Shit Storm from becoming a Category 5 Shitnado. Slickmann swore up and down that if Malice played the show he would put and end to The Assholes dilemma.

Malice begrudgingly took the stage and the crowd went buck-fucking-wild sending Malice’s spirits soaring. The show was going exceptionally well until “Bloody” Sod Bollocks came staggering drunk as 10 Sailors (on well deserved Shore Leave) combined. Bollocks slowly made his way to the side of the stage just as Malice launched into (what they believed on audience response) was their new upcoming single “I’d Never Call You A Bitch Baby”

Once Malice got to the chorus of “…I’d never call you a bitch Baby” Bollocks armed with a Military Grade Bullhorn would yell at the top of his intoxicated lungs “Because I call you a cunt!”

Malice’s more than temperamental frontman Izzy Sane let Bollocks get away with his rude interjection twice but not a third time. Sane dropped his microphone, picked up the stand, swung it up over his head with both hands, and bolted to wards Bollocks like a Meth addicted Rodeo Bull. Once Sane reached Bollocks Sane brought the Heavy Metal Base of the microphone stand down on Bollock’s head like a Sledge Hammer.

The base of the Microphone stand came crashing down and slammed into Bollock’s head right above his left eye shattering his orbital socket, severely fracturing his cheek bone, and sending his eye shooting out into the audience. Blood started to pour out of Bollock’s freshly busted open head like a deep red river. Bollocks swayed for a minute before crumpling like a piece of paper to the ground.

Bollocks was unconscious, unresponsive, and there was blood now spurting out of the large gash in his head like a mini 18 inch fountain. One of the Stage crew sprinted to the phone and called 911. By the time the EMTs had arrived Bollocks was in the throws of full blown shock. The EMTs opted due to the severity of the injury and the patient’s quickly declining condition to to fly Bollocks to the nearest head trauma unit a Trama Hawk.

On the up side Malice’s Fans were so supportive they cheered Sane as they Fans were aware of the tenuous rivalry between the two touring Bands. Unfortunately for Sane the police were not so easy going and arrested Sane for Assault, Assault with a Deadly Weapon, and Attempted Murder.

The night ended with Malice on their way back to their hotel, and their manager on his way back to the Band’s Lawyer’s Office double time.

April 23rd: Finally the Tour to end all Tours had ended as doomed from the start. The Assholes had flown back home to England as soon as Bollocks was stable enough to travel.

Malice wanted to circle the wagons so they bought a 56 room Mansion located on 66 acres (for an estimated $151 Million) in the Hollywood Hills the day they got back in town. The Band figured it actually made the most sense since until then non of the Band members past or presently..

Malice members lived in hotels or on the Tour bus while on Tour or Traveling. In their down time Davie Scum was on the worlds longest Couch Surfing Run in known History, and Izzy Sane lived with his Girlfriend (and Malice Bassist) Maxi Padd in her tiny one room Studio Apartment. Rock Harder lived in a Shitty Hellhole of a Motel down by the by the Airport called The Wayfarers located between The Drunkard Tavern and Sparkles Strip Club.

It didn’t take long for Malice to move in as the members owned next to nothing outside of their cars. Meanwhile Harold Slickmann had sold his house prior to the last Tour and went and bought a $4.5 Million Luxury Executive RV. Slickmann parked his newly acquired RV in Malice’s extensive Drive Way where he planned to live indefinitely.

The Band’s Lawyer TR McCoy opted to sell his Penthouse so he could move into Malice’s new 10,000 square foot Guest House. McCoy felt with the forth coming barrage of legal issues that were about to defend upon the Band like The Anti-Christ surfing on an Avalanche.

The Band settled on the name “The House of Malice” as the official name of their Mansion Estate and set to work coming up with customized additions to the Mansion (example: Replacing the Water in the 100s of Fountains with Armand de Brigand Brut Gold (Ace of Spades) which cost $6,500 per 6 Liter Bottle.)

April 24th: Malice received an intensely aggressive call from their Record Label Razorback Records demanding a meeting immediately in their head office in the Van Nuys neighborhood. Malice piled into the Band’s 67 foot long custom Limo along with Slickmann and McCoy in tow.

When they arrived Malice was marched directly into Brock Rock’s office. Brock Rock who was the Owner and CEO of Razorback at the time. No sooner had Malice sat down Rock came charging in infuriated beyond belief with Razorbacks Legal Team right behind him.

Razorback started the meeting guns blazing. They were basically trying to blame all their costly fuck ups on Malice so they could sue them for reimbursement.

McCoy wasn’t having any of Razorback’s spastic bullshit fireworks. McCoy told Razorback that by neglecting their client Malice’s best interests by effectively booking substandard Opening Act(s) violated the terms and conditions of Malice’s Contract.

That combined with they fact that the failed second leg of the Mini Tour had totally tapped Razorback’s Bank Accounts so they wouldn’t be able to financially survive a long ass court battle before going completely bankrupt.

Razorback ended up releasing Malice from their contract as long as all disputes between both parties were henceforth Null and Void.

Malice was now a free Agent as it were.

McCoy had a glass of 70 year old Scotch.

Slickmann immediately started fielding offers from Competing Record Labels starting a furious Bidding War.

As for Razorback they did in fact end up going bankrupt, and Brock Rock was arrested for Embezzlement, Fraud, Insider Trading, Tax Evasion, and Aggravated Acts of Beastiality.

April 25th: Malice spent the day whole up in their Mansion reviewing various and plentiful possible future contracts from damn near every record label executive there was.

McCoy and Slickmann riddled down the Contracts to a Fianl Top 3 before involving the Band.

The 3 Top Contenders were Guillotine Records a relatively new up and coming Record Label that was racking up Big Name and Unknown Acts left and right.

Another was from Spittle Sound Studios owned by D-Rockafeller Recordings Inc. who was looking to expand their catalog and appeal by breaking into new musical markets. They were basically a Major Brand Record Label in Indi Clothing so to speak.

The Final Contract was from an International Record Label called The Nation of Noise Records (who’s HQ was located in International Waters on a retired Cruise Ship). They had been around for years, but never signed any act anyone would give two shits about like the Country Disco Jug Band Legend Howie “Pork Knuckle ” Pounder.

After serious deliberation along with a crate of Whisky, 26 Cartons of Cigarettes, a Pound of High Grad Marijuana, and 8 sheets of High Test Acid on  Guillotine Records signing a 5 Album Exclusive Deal.

Malice celebrated the Deal by Buying Ferraris and the hosting a Demolition Derby Party that went late into the night, and the Police only showed up 41 times for Noise Complaints and all that horseshit.

A good night was had by all.

April 26th: With a slew of new songs and material Malice and in great spirits ,and (after finally ending their troubled relationship with Razorback Records) having just signed a sweet ass deal with Guillotine Records headed into the Studio to get working on their new album.

Tragedy struck the Band once again while wailing on a wild Guitar Solo for the song “Sweet Heart, Wicked Soul” Davie Scum played so fast that his guitar caught on fire quickly consuming Scum in the blaze. Considering how flammable the cheap Spandex adorned with Chinese Dragons, and the entire bottle of Aqua Net Scum used to style his hair it was no real wonder why he combusted so quickly.

Luckily for Malice they were finished recording their new new album titled “Finding Heaven In Hell” so all that was left to be done was Editing the Recorded songs.

Malice had to pay the $17,890 cleaning bill for the Studio to clean off all the smoke stains and little BBQed pieces of flesh from the walls, floors and ceiling (Not to mention they had to Neutralize the Oder of a still smoldering  Human Body)

When Slickmann heard the news he grabbed the extremely large 3 ring binder filled with Musicians Resumes he had created due to the fact Malice Members had a bad habit of dying, and granted a couple left to purse other pursuits.

By the end of the day Malice had completed their new 19 song album, edited it, lost their Guitarist to a freak guitar playing accident, and interview the top replacement Guitarists.

That night around 4 in the morning suffering from a drug fueled insomnia Malice selected their new Guitarist Stevie “The Shill” Stevenson who had played with such acts as Murder in Minutes, Killing Trolls, The Lot Lizards, and the Legendary Black Metal Band Nordic Slaughter.

April 27th: While waiting for their new guitarist Stevie “The Shill” Stevenson’s to arrive at the studio (he was flying in from his Private Island Shill Key in the Florida Keys that afternoon) Malice realized that they in fact not only recorded their new album in one day, BUT they had 87 other songs on tap.

With this revelation Malice felt they had only one choice, and that was to release a DOUBLE ALBUM. Malice then spent the morning listening to all 87 songs before selecting 22 songs that would make up the second Album titled “The Hardships of Hell”.

By the time Stevenson made his appearance at the studio Malice realized while now that the Double Album they had recorded 41 brand new tracks they still had 46 additional songs.

So Malice thought about it awhile before coming up with the idea of releasing a rare TRIPLE ALBUM, and set out selecting which of the leftover 46 songs they would use. They came together and agreed on this Albums title would be “From Heaven To Hell and Back Again” consisting of 17 songs and 4 singles. The singles the Band decided upon were “Into The Night We Go”, “After Party Freak Show”, “Dive Bar Babes”, and “Lets Get Laid”

When Stevenson arrived he pointed out that Malice still had 29 songs left at their disposal, and suggested Malice release the World’s 1st QUADRUPLE ALBUM. And of course Malice lost their fucking minds over the idea. In return for such an awesome idea Malice rerecorded the last set of 29 songs with Stevenson so he’d be credited for playing on the Album.

Malice even let Stevenson pick the name of the 4th Album and he dubbed it “Entering Heaven/Exiting Hell” sticking with the ongoing theme of Paradise and the Pit.

Malice partied into the early hours of the morning doing Actual Tequila Shots (that is they drew up Tequila in 6cc syringes and injected it directly into their veins.)

April 28th: Malice’s Quadruple Album was an instant success as rabid Fans bought out Record Store after Record Store across the country. The Media Buzz was deafening as Malice’s Phones where rigging off the hook like a real motherfucker. Reporters of kinds camped out in front of Malice’s Mansion Estate gates leading Hardcore Fans to follow suit creating a sizable tent city situation.

Malice spent the entire day lounging around Mtv hanging out, day drinking and acting as impromptu Guest VJs (not to mention banging groupies during commercial breaks or when a video was airing)

By the end of the Business Day Malice’s World Wide Album Sales totaled an estimated $976 Million. The one day success gave way to the rumor that The Chairman of Forbes reportedly shit his pants when he saw the numbers the following morning.

April 29th: Tickets for Malice’s upcoming Tour to promote their Quadruple Album went on Sale at Noon Sharp and 6 seconds later every single American Date of the Malice was completely Sold Out. Which totally blew the tits off of Guinness Book of World Records.

Now Malice was at task scheduling Shows for the subsequent following World Wide Tour. For inspiration the Band went to their Restaurant Take Out Menu drawer. After a few minutes skimming over the large collection of Take Out Menus Malice had set up dates in Thailand, China, India, Mexico,Italy, and Japan.

Malice used the rest of their spare time to practice relentlessly with their new guitarist Stevie “The Shill” Stevenson, and over indulging in Hedonistic pursuits.

April 30th: Malice went to down customizing their recently acquired Mansion and Estate. First they had a 4 operate Helicopter Landing Pads one for each of them. Next they turned 2 of their 66 archers into a Mobile Home park loaded with Triple Wides for their Friends, Roadies, Mansion Staff, or as a crash pad for party guests who were to shitfaced to drive.

Izzy was a devoted movie fan so he used 12 archers to build his own Independent Movie Studio he called Ponder This Pictures and Perverse Productions. The Studio was intended to be a stage for struggling independent film makers to help them achieve their dreams. In the end though it sat virtually unused accept for the filming of some extremely high end Homemade Sex Tapes/Full Blown Porno Flix.

Stevie took 5 archers and build a pond so that he could stock it with some of his favorite fish like Alligator Gar, Giant Snakeheads, Electric Eels, Wells Catfish, and Giant Carp just for starters.

Rock used 7 archers to build his own Amusement and Water Park complete with the motto which was  “Neverland is for PopStars”.

Maxi used 1 achar to build a massive Temperature Controlled Greenhouse with a high tech Sprinkler System. She billed as an attempt at Sod Farming. She also took another 4 to built a Small Farm where she had several Cows. At night Maxi would let the Cows graze in the Greenhouse where inevitable Cows being Cow’s would crap all over the fucking place. She claimed it was a trade off of Free Cow Feed and Free Fresh Organic Manure. In reality the set up was designed to be the perfect growing grounds for Magic Mushrooms (or Shrooms for shirt).

  

Other custom additions included seeing up a professional fire work rig on the roof, indoor and out door shooting ranges, ATV Trails, Skate Park, Pirate Ham Radio Station, NASA Flight Simulator, Hi Li Court, installing water fountains rigged with Goldschlager (with its original Alcohol Content of 53.5% or 107 Proof), A Reptile House, 30 Run Dog Kennel, Racing Track, Driving Range (because hitting the shit out of the ball is the only fucking fun part of Golf so fuck the bullshit), Wave Pool, Bocce Ball Court, and 24k Toilets/Urinals encrusted in Gem Stones (“Crapping like a King” as their manager Harold Slickmann would say.

  

April 31st: Malice dedicated the day to preparing for the “Salvation and Damnation Tour” by rehydrating with IV Fluids, Laid off the Narcotics in favor of just Smoking Weed, Only Drank Light Beer, Getting 8 hour massages with 45 minute “Happy Endings”, Meditating, forgoing Sex for Blow Jobs, and Blood Doping.

MALICE: THE BAND THAT ALMOST KILLED US ALL PART 7 COMING SOON

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

What If Me, Myself, and I Were 3 Different People?!

One Day Myself and I were walked over to meet Me to discuss what to do  during this particular day. I thought it be a good idea to have brunch for starters, But Me and Myself disagreed wholeheartedly.

I felt that Myself was being unreasonable while as for Me it was generally a lost cause. Myself and I have always been closer friends than with Me.

Me doesn’t even like Myself all that much. Me thought I was an irritating asshole. So Me tended to side with Myself. I knew this and didn’t care because Myself and I have been friends since the beginning .

As for Me at least Myself wasn’t I. Me and I are at ends with one another. Myself doesn’t trust Me at all.

Myself and I left Me to go pick up a pack of smokes. I and Myself talked about Me. I voiced distain for Me.

Myself thought I was beating a dead horse.

I was told by Myself to go get fucked.  Myself felt I was becoming a real son of a bitch, and might have more in common with Me after all.

I was irate at just such a thought. I ended up walking off angry. Me was glad then to have Myself as a friend after all.

Thanks for Reading, Les Sober 

 

“I’m Missing Two Legs.”

The other night on the way home from the grocery store (where My Wife and I had gone specifically to get shit for dinner) got lazy and went the Fast Food Route. We opted for Fried Chicken.

We pulled up to the Drive Thru Menu, and the Drive Thru Girl did the whole whole Hey how the hell are you, How’s the kids, Welcome to this Fast Food joint, and What do you want today bullshit.

We told her that we would like an 8 piece Dinner. The Girl mumbled something I really have no fucking clue what the hell she actually said. Now We could hear all the back round noise of the kitchen and shit so we couldn’t figure out who exactly the Girl was talking to us or a fellow employee. It was quite unclear.

We waited a minute or two and then repeated the original order. The reply we got from the Drive Thru Girl was this one statement:

“I’m missing two legs.”

My Wife and I had no idea what to make of this so my wife asked her to repeat what she had said and again it was “I’m missing two legs.”

 

This miscommunication goes on for just shy of 5 minutes where My Wife keeps attempting to clarify what the fuck this statement turned mantra was all about. The Entire time all the Girl said was I’m missing two legs.”

I was sitting there just as puzzled as my Wife and I started to wonder myself what the whole two legs statement means since the problem was we were missing any and all context.

I began thinking is this Girl handicapped and really wants me to know it for some bizarre reason? Did she just kill her Manager, dismember the Corpse, and now realized as she is bagging up the body that the legs are missing? Did she just suddenly look down and her fucking legs were missing? Was she an Amputee who had misplaced her prosthetic legs at work while sitting and working the Drive Thu?

In the end the explanation is more than anti-climactic.

What the Girl was trying in her own absurd way was this:

By “I” was We as in The Restaurant itself.

By “Missing” She meant Out Of

And By Legs she meant Drumsticks.

so “I’m missing two legs.” translated into “We (the Restaurant) are Out of Drumsticks, Can We make a substitution for you?”

She was also referencing that an 8 piece bucket of said Fried Chicken contains 2 Breasts, 2 Thighs, 2 Wings, and 2 Legs. Which when I thought about it made perfect sense.

What? Oh I know what your thinking and Your thinking well Duh no shit Sherlock.

Well as basic the answer is I had never spent any time (not a single second of my many, many years on this planet) contemplating the exact contents of a 8 piece bucket of Fried fucking Chicken, and the ratio of the various  Chicken’s Parts.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

The Cell Phone Show Down

One night after having a few beers I decided to call up my Brother in Law who I hadn’t spoken with in some time. Now I had several phone numbers for my Brother in Law since he was a rather active guy shall we say.

Anyway I called the primary number that I had been able to reach him on only to discover it had been Recycled, and now it had be assigned to some unknown random woman. I hung up as soon as I  heard the voicemail thinking that was rather strange. Had my Brother in Law ditched one number, but hadn’t given (to my knowledge) a new number to anyone?! My Brother in Law is also know for his extreme impulsiveness so I had to also wonder if there was a scheme afoot.

Well just a minute or two after I attempted to call my Brother in Law my phone’s text alert went off. I picked it up to check the new text it without looking to see who the fuck was actually texting me.

This is where the Shitnado of Absurdity started and would go on to span a couple of hours.

I checked my phone to find it was some fucking Guy texting who I had no fucking clue who the hell he was. I was pondering what the fuck was going on. Well it didn’t take long to find out.

This was in fact the Boyfriend of the nameless, faceless, unknown Woman who was now in possession of my Brother in Law’s old Cell Number. And just my fucking luck he’s one of those Overtly Paranoid Untrusting Jealous Controlling Assholes.

Now I’m going to take a minute to address this type of fucking Guy. I have no fucking clue whatsofuckingever why a Woman would date nor stay with this type of Guy.

This is the sneaky son of a bitch that checks his girl friends phone every chance he gets behind her back.

This is the kind of Shit that thinks every other guy at the Bar is eyeballing his girlfriend, and more often than not it leads to a drunken jealousy fueled fight. And more times than not its also where the asshole boyfriend gets his teeth kicked in.

This is the type of Scumbag that tries or succeededs in controlling his girlfriend’s make up, clothing, and friends through bullshit manipulation.

This is the kind of prick that thinks every one of his girlfriends coworkers is hitting on her daily, and spends his whole day keeping tabs on his girlfriend like a fucking Stalker.

Essentially these type of Guy’s are SO FUCKING INSECURE that it breeds this paranoia of losing said girlfriend causing the said boyfriend to rashly assume that anything with a penis wants to bang his girlfriend, AND/OR he’s afraid she actually doesn’t care for him that much (in this case the jealous Guy is EXTREMELY CLINGY I’m talking about that “You’re Suffocating Me” type shit) and will dump him in an instant.

Granted Clingy sucks to no fucking end BUT its the lesser of 2 evils. Having a Jealous, paranoid, and controlling boyfriend (trying to dictate every aspect of his girlfriend’s fucking life like she’s a fucking slave) SUCKS WORSE.

Now back to our story already in progress…….

So His initial Texts where: Wanting to know who I was, Why was I calling, and that this was his girlfriends phone.

In return I Texted: You texted me so who are you, I told him I was trying touch with my Brother in Law, and got his girlfriends voice fucking mail by accident.

After that he starts acting like the tool that he is. He sends me a screen shot of his girlfriends recent call list with my number highlighted. Now I never denied calling because I did, BUT I had no idea the number  had been Recycled to some fucking girl.

Being a Jealous Boyfriend the asshole said he didn’t buy it, and I better stay away from his girlfriend. I could just see this fuck on the other end of the line so to speak standing all tall, puffing out his chest for all its fucking worth, Glaring like a angry drunk hawk, and pacing frantically periodically looking out the windows as he passes for some threat thats not fucking there.

I basically didn’t give a rats ass from the beginning and couldn’t help thinking how many people have accidentally texted or called this girl only to have to deal with her dick of a boyfriend (bitchfriend is more like it.) At this point I really didn’t give a good goddamn about this overly jealous, insecure piece of human shit. I thusly ended the whole bullshit exchange with the alright my fucking bad whatever I deleted the number since its obviously no use to me. And that was that. Well for a few brief minutes anyway.

I decided that if the primary cell number that I called my Brother in Law on was Recycled then what about the secondary number I had. Me being Me and rather drunk came to the conclusion the best thing to do is call it, and find out if the number worked, was Recycled or possibly disconnected.

As it turned out that my Brother in Law’s alternate phone number had also been Recycled again I got some random girls voicemail. I hung up immediately and deleted the number figuring this situation was rather fucked up. LOW AND FUCKING BEHOLD this number too had been Recycled to the same previous asshole. Why the hell did his girlfriend apparently have come into possession of BOTH fucking numbers was baffling as hell.

Needless to say this set the little motherfucker off like a fucking rocket. This time around the little punk ass had the artificial confidence to call me up this time to chat about what the fuck was going on. As I stated I had no fucking idea, and couldn’t get over how utterly moronic this shit was. And now this paranoid and jealous little twat of a boyfriend thinks for sure that I’m scamming on his girlfriend.

The first idea that came to my mind on how to handle this horeshit was the old make him think your fucking insane, some real sick fuck that cuts off people’s heads and wears them as a fucking hat type of a Murderous Madman a real life Slasher Movie. Then I thought how cliche that shit was and opted for a new idea. The new idea turned out to be making this little turd think HE’S THE ONE WHO’S SANITY IS SLIPPING essentially flip flopping the original idea/concept.

This is how it all went down in operation “Its Not Me Who’s Crazy, Thats YOU”.  For his part this Jack Ass spewed the normal line of macho bullshit cliques (doing his damnedest to make me think he was 10 feet tall and fucking bullet proof) like Propaganda for Pricks. It was SUCH OVERKILL the Guy was trying WAAAAY TOO Hard to be the almighty Alfa. What an Asshole.

In reality I imagine this little bitch was about 5 feet nothing, weighed about 90 pounds soaking fucking wet, Whiny, All Bark and NO BITE like a Tiny Toy Chihuahua. You’ve heard this shit before and I for one from what I have seen of the World am inclined to agree. Real Tough Guy/ Bad Asses DON’T WASTE THEIR TIME YELLING ABOUT IT WHILE HURLING THREATS AND INSULTS. They know they can kick the shit out of pretty much anyone so there is no reason for them to try and impress people.

I didn’t really have a set plan per say I just ad-libbed and then went from there. It started by me repeatedly telling him that the phone he is calling is STRICTLY a Business Phone. After a while of that I added that ONLY AUTHORIZED People have access to this phone. Again taking a few minutes to repeat this as much as possible BECAUSE its all about REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION.

Now before anyone feels the need to point this out theres no need. What I’m talking about is this I DID SWITCH my original story. Originally I told this Putts I accidentally called which was the truth, BUT to aid in my new game of “Who’s Crazy Now” as it were I SWITCHED my stance to I DIDN’T call you. Why you ask?! Well its simply because I needed to switch to keep the game going is all.

At this point the Butthead Boyfriend is getting confused. He can’t figure out why I’m not acting like an asshole too and yelling a bunch of bullshit trying to out macho his punk ass. He also is beginning to lock on the whole Business Phone Story which only serves to increase his confusion. So now he’s running out of steam having screamed himself fucking silly.

This is where I ramp things up. I start speaking in a aggressively Authoritarian Voice like a Law Enforcement does for example. I am now speaking to him like he’s a irritating child that got caught red handed doing some shit they shouldn’t. Some would call it ‘Talking Down” or “Being Condescending” and I would agree with both summations.

I start to shove the I didn’t call you from this phone which so happens to be a highly restricted Business Phone of some unknown sort. I start hammering the little Snot with the line “NO ONE is Authorized to make PERSONAL CALLS on THIS PHONE”

He has no clue now what the fuck is happening, he’s been so thrown off his macho bullshit ranting that he’s begging to flounder. The tables were starting to turn.

I then launched into “I DON’T KNOW who called you from this phone, But if we find out who they are they will be SEVERELY REPRIMANDED for their egregious actions.”

I’m now employing more militant or governmental type of speaking. This poor bastard now was beginning to get nervous that HE was in some sort of Danger. I then just unleashed like a Monumental Shitacane. I informed him that We had no clue who the fuck was violating a strict no personal phone calls from our exclusive Business Only phone. We would find out who called his girlfriends phone hell or high water. That NO ONE was Authorized to use this phone without selectively been given clearance. I went on to say I didn’t appreciate him being difficult and he should reconsider his behavior. I told him then to just drop his despicable attitude because it wouldn’t help him in the long run. This conversation was in fact being recorded (without a reason why given). He’s wasting my time with this trivial nonsense was not a wise decision.

The sad little fucker now is in a state of shock, confusion, and paranoia with good reason. Without acting like a typical macho male Jersey Shore Shithead he had no idea how to deal with the situation, and now had lost any and all control of the phone call. He was left wondering if I was somehow a Cop or Law Enforcement Agent, A Member of Biker Club, Political Group, Religious Group, A Governmental Agency, The Masons or possibly a Militia of some kind. There was no actual context so he became pledged by self doubt, and then had a mental melt down.

Seeing that the game had run its course and getting bored with the whole ordeal decided to end this shit circus once and for all. I told the little Pisser that enough was enough. This conversation was now over. Whoever called his girlfriend had violated Authorization of a Business Phone, and would not call back ever. They would be facing Strict Punishment. He then mumbled some garbage I assume was a last pitiful attempt at being a Big Man I mean his brain was fucking soup at this point the poor son of a bitch.

I then lastly took the time to inform him that if he called back he would be in direct violation of our mutual Cease and Desist agreement (which I made up right then and there there was no agreement of any fucking kind), and We would be keeping tabs on him in the future (thus playing into the paranoia of being watched and possibly  being in or getting into trouble in the future.)

To This day I have never spoke with that little Dimwitted Douche again. I do ponder from time to time when I have a free moment to think (like when I’m eating or taking a leak) what the fuck did he tell his girlfriend happened that night or did he just not mention it at all because he still had no idea wtf was going on. Either which way heres looking at you ASSHOLE.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Insane Text Exchange

WARNING TO ALL READERS: OBJECTIONABLE MATERIAL

This is the most recent and most entertaining Text Exchange between SpaceDog and Myself. Enjoy.

SpaceDog: U need to pull up your pants and clean up your voicemail. Did u know that men with unclean voicemail are 95% more likely to contract Syphilis and 180 timeshare likely to infect their partner? Its horrible i tied my own tubes. But i feel like u get Syphilis more than me hence my text. Multiple shots in trader joe’s to be the most Portlandia crime ever.

Les: First I’m not wearing pants so Ah-Ha! I like my voicemail FILTHY like a Pecker. 180 times that’s it?!!! GREAT now my Crabs have Syphilis AND HERPIES! Shots at Trader Joe’s SHOTS! SHOTS! SHITS!

SPaceDog: Lol

Les: Headed home from Porn Shop, gonna grab some Pickled Eggs, and Budweiser, Hit you up when I get back to Base Camp (Named after all the Cocaine Smoking or Free Basing going on there.)

SpaceDog: I just like gay hulu and i get a massive cock. ok cool.

Les: Also to get rid of Crabs soak Your Junk in Vodka and then cover it in sand. That way the Crabs get Drunk and Stone Each other to Death.

SpaceDog: Id like to do that to get my crabs to work again, between 20 year old Tweens doing vaginal stretches and the male lifeguards moving out of masturbatorial range my life has been no bed of roses. Im just watching cool gay stuff online.

Les: 

Les: Worst Dick Pix EVER. LMFAO!

SpaceDog: There goes that orgasm…clean your voicemail. I dont mind not talking to you i do mind being drunk and not being able to Express my freak.

Les: Gave my voicemail a well needed Bourbon Enema so Speak Your Freak.

Thanks for Reading,

SpaceDog & Les Sober 

Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All: PART 4

April 1st: Heading into April with the umpteenth line up (consisting of Izzy Sane on Vocals, Mitch Fury on Drums, Maxi Padd on Bass, and Davie Scum on Guitar) met for a band meeting at their manager Harold Slickmann’s Villa in France. Once the entire band was assembled at Stickman’s French Villa they had a proper high end Wine and Cheese Pairing.

During the festivities the band decided to become a Honky Tonk Hillbilly Blue Grass Band. They also unanimously to donate 75% of their earnings to Charity, and Join Green Peace to occupy the time between Tours.

Also while they were at it Malice cured Cancer, Discovered the Secret to Immorality, had a conversation with all the Various Dieties of the World, Ended War, Fought Famine in third world counties, and traveled to the center of the Universe.

(Just Kidding April Fools)

In reality the band hung out at Slickmann’s house lounging around the Pool Day Drinking, and some light Day Drugging until they all got bored and did Ambient Shooters to sleep the rest of the Day.

April 3rd: The band met up at Dinky Kitty Recording Studio’s to quickly record a new EP called “Mental Metal Meltdown” before hitting the road heading out on a 27 day 27 Shows mini Tour promoting the EP. This was Razorback Records idea.

They figured why waste time you could use making money on anything else. Leisure was an Alien Concept to them. And since Malice wasn’t scheduled for their first World Wide Tour until the May 1st Razorback came up the the Ep Mini Tour Package Concept to keep the band productive and (Financially) Prosperous. Plus they figured with a band like Malice keeping them on the shortest of leashes was best for everyone involved.

Malice knocked out the entire EP in 5 hours flat. The Ep featured the songs “Beer Belly Blues”, “The Ease of Sleaze”, “Liquor, Ladies, and Lingerie”, “Sucking Down a Six Pack”, and “PsychoCycle”.

The second side would feature 4 Songs by their opening band during their upcoming World Wide Tour in May The Assholes. The Assholes were a notoriously infamous Underground Punk-Metal band from Detroit known far and wide for their overt aggression.

April 5th: After a 48 hour hangover Malice were in Razorback Records Conference Room for a Unscheduled meeting. Slickmann entered the room accompanied by the band’s long time Lawyer TR McCoy, and took a seat at the head of the far end of the conference room’s large tacky table. A few minutes later Razorback PR Rep. Lila Lascivious entered cold and emotionless as ever her Poker Face in full play.

Lila announced that Malice’s Mini Promotional Tour shows would all be “Secret” (unannounced or promoted or advertised no doubt to save Razorback more money on overhead expenses.) Shows each would be held in an “Untraditional Location”. This could be for example in an Abandoned Factory or some shit like that, but it was all an elaborate promotional campaign by Razorback to amp up Malice’s Street Cred. with Fans, and help spread the mythos of Malice. Lila finished her presentation by informing the band that they would be given the location of the Venue 1 hour before the show starting with tonights initial show.

At 9:00 pm Slickmann received a phone call in his Hotel Room from Lilia, and was told tonights show would be housed in an Abandoned and allegedly Haunted Insane Asylum named  The Leviticus Von Trundle Asylum for The Criminally Insane.

The show was a complete fucking flop. Razorback hadn’t “Put the world out on the street” (remember this is Pre Smartphones, Pre Internet, and Pre Social Media SO word of mouth was actually physically face to face or over the phone (Landlines and Pay Phones) to work.

Their was also a great deal of misunderstanding  as to what the fuck “Mental Metal Meltdown Mini Tour” actually was. See what happened was that the expected audience of Malice fans turned out to be mainly a larger group made up of rather confused Ghost Hunters. The Ghost Hunters thought the Show was some sort of Paranormal-Con type situation so imagine their surprise to instead of finding Ghosts the found Malice rampaging through the Entire EP.

Malice was than a little pissed off by the entire catastrophe that was that nights impromptu pop up concert. They not only played to a small handful of actual Malice Fans they also avoided selling any merchandise which Malice felt was an insult to injury.

An Utterly irate Slickmann called Razorbacks PR Rep. Lila and demanded a meeting immediately first thing the following Morning. After such a shitty show Malice vanished into the night to ingest intoxicants till the Hallucinatory Cows Came Home.

April 6th: Once again Malice found them selves in Razorback Records well used conference room along with their manage Harold Slickmann, and their Lawyer TR McCoy. Lila the Razorback PR Rep. assigned to Malice entered the room a minute or two accompanied by 6 well groomed, grey haired Record Executives in very expensive suits.

As soon as Lila and her associates sat down Slickmann still quite enraged from the previous nights cluster fucking launched into conversation like a NASA Rocket. Slickmann demanded Razorback release Malice from their current contract as Malice were utterly unhappy with Razorbacks, and were seeking  new Record Label Representation.

Lila listened to Slickmann’s wild rant and then presented Razorbacks position pertaining to the matter of Malice and their freshly started mini tour. Razorback insisted the show was a travesty true, BUT was anything but intentional. Malice and Razorback up until now how been amicable, and thus Razorback refused to terminate their contract with Malice.

TR McCoy requested to speak to the Head of Razorbacks Legal Department in private. Razorback agreed and walked McCoy to the Head of their Legal Department’s office. After 20 minutes or so McCoy returned with Bernard B. Burbler in tow.

McCoy presented the compromise that he and Burbler had come up with. 1st Razorback would cancel the next 12 shows (starting with tonights scheduled show) of the tour to allow time for Fans to find out about the “Secret Show(s)”.  2nd last nights show would be a write off on both ends since arguing would waste time and produce zero results (so Malice wouldn’t be “compensated” in any way for the hassle of last nights fuckfest AND Razorback wouldn’t seek reimbursement for the shows expenses or damages or for violation of contract.) 3rd and last of all after the current Mini Tour Malice could and would be renegotiate and reevaluate  their contract Razorback to assess wether or not  Malice and Razorback could continue to work with one another.

Malice begrudgingly accepted the terms and the deal was official, but Malice wasn’t through as they felt they needed to make their mark as it were. Izzy followed by Mitch and Davie strode over to the group of Razorback Record Executives, unzipped their flies, and proceeded to piss all over the them as the ran willy nilly around the conference room table horrified. Meanwhile Maxi who had drank 2 bottles of Exlax mixed with Gin jumped up onto the conference table, and took a massive 4 Gallon Explosive Diarrhea Shit all over it.

Security was called and a fist fight broke out between the Security Guards and Malice. No one was hurt because no one could land nor throw a decent punch due to the conference room being hosed down by a excessive amount of Urine and Feces. Malice and the Security Guards alike just tried to lunge at one another (in an attempt to grab the opposing party), but they all just ended up slipping and sliding all over in the bodily fluid covered floor.

Malice finally gave up and went home with the entire band smelling like over flowing Port-A-Potties.

April 7th: To help elevate the on going tension with their Record Lable Slickmann decided to book a Luxury Get Away to St. Troy in the Caribbean for the next week. Malice arrived in St. Troy in their Private Jet around Noon, and arrived at Oasis in the Oasis Resort. Slickmann had in the name of Privacy Booked the entire Resort to elevate the stress from the Press.

The first thing Malice did once they arrived at their Suits was to call everyone they knew and invite them to what Malice had dubbed “Rock’n Resort” Mega Party. The next order of business was arranging the almost none stop flights to and from the States shuttling all of Malice’s Guests back and forth.

Here is the Summation of Malice’s Vacation (AKA Rock’n Resort Mega Party)

April 8th: Malice charters the largest Yacht they possibly could to continuously circle St. Troy for 24 hours straight. Malice had additional Guests brought out to the Yacht on Jet Skies. The raucous Party got the attention of a local amateur Pirate Crew who moved on the Yacht like Fleas to a Dog.

Once the Pirates arrived they were mistaken for Guests in themed costumes and invited on board. The Pirates being thoroughly confused as No One they had ever attacked had remained throwing a Party. After a couple of Mojito’s the Pirates thought since they were now Guests at the Party it would be rather rude to Pirate and Pillage the Yacht at this point. Thus a good time was had by all.

April 9th: Mitch Fury went surfing and was accidentally killed. From what the Authorities said based on Eye Witnesses interviews the following. Mitch was surfing a gigantic wave having the time of his fucking life when the wave caught up to him. Once the wave was on top on him Mitch was thrown in a quite elegant arch through the air directly into an awaiting Great White Shark’s Mouth. The Local Police’s closed the case labeling it a extremely rare instance of”Suicide By Shark” (Its like “Suicide by Cop” but with a Great White Shark.)

April 10th: Malice in lou of the tragic death of their drummer knew they had to keep the band going, and began flying out Auditioning Drummers. The search for the new drummer was going badly to say the least, and Malice was entertaining the idea of just using a Drum Machine. Thats when Rock Harder the legendary Drummer who had played in such bands as Arch Enema, Poisoned Ivy, The Savages, and PileDriver. Needless to say Harder was hired on the spot without every playing a single beat.

April 11th: Slickmann wanted Malice to practice as much as they could during the trip to break in Rock Harder their new Drummer. So Slickmann assumed the responsibility of dealing with Fury’s ashes. See Mitch wanted to be cremated so the band had a Tiki Hut Beach Bash were Mitch’s body had been incinerated  in  the Bon Fire. Mitch being a such an Ocean Lover Slickmann had opted to give Mitch a Burial at Sea by spreading his Ashes out in Open Water. The Boat Left the Marina at 9:37 am headed towards the Bermuda Triangle (because Slickmann thought that be pretty fucking Metal) and was never seen again.

(Above: ^Bite The Turnbuckle ^)

April 12th: To deal with the second horrible death of their trip Malice went into the rain forests of St. Troy and Drank GALLONS of Ayahuasca. Malice then walked down their was to a splendid waterfall and spent the day talking to Trees.

April 13th: Malice got a call at 5:57 am from The American Embassy in Tokyo Japan. To their utter surprise Slickmann was in fact Alive. He had been found by Commercial Fisherman just outside the right side of The Dragon’s Triangle in the Pacific Ocean. The Dragon’s Triangle is reportedly Asia’s Bermuda Triangle. The best Hypothesis the Japanese Physicists could come up with at this time based on the data they had collected was this. Slickmann had entered the Bermuda Triangle and in it accessed some sort of geographical portal that transported Slickmann half way across the Earth. Their additional ideas were just plain ridiculous.

April 14th: After a trip that included the death of their old Drummer Mitch Fury, the hiring of Fury’s replacement Rock Harder, a Bon Fire Cremation, Hallucinating in the Forrest, and the temporary and mysterious (not to mention totally unexplained) disappearance of their manager Harold Slickmann Malice was ready to get the fuck out of St. Troy. Malice boarded their private Jet and flew home to New York (the bands current resident City) on an uneventful Flight. The inflight Movie was Tommy Wiseau’s Cult Classic “The Room”.

Stayed Tuned Readers for Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All PART 5

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.2: This Fucking Guy

Let me recap though there isn’t that much to cover.

I woke up so to speak or came to rather I was smack dab in the middle of one hell of a shit storm let me tell you.

I was in some sort of vehicle that crashed where I don’t have a fucking clue.

I’m not alone though there is some Guy with me who seems like he’s a real tool.

Then again how would I know he’s a complete stranger.

And this Guy tells me there are others AND that it’s vital we find them if they aren’t ALREADY DEAD.

The way I see it its the same fucking thing really isn’t it?!

We’re going to locate them even if its just their corpses.

The actual question is simply will we find a Living Body or a Dead One.

Back to the Action….

I don’t know if this Guy is really my superior or if he just thinks he is.

You know what I’m saying?

He’s one of those self righteous assholes who assumes where ever it is they are that they are inevitably in charge.

This Guy keeps insisting that we have to get move faster.

We were just in a major fucking crash, I mean what the fuck does this asshole want from me.

Going where exactly?!

I sure as hell haven’t a clue where we are does He?!

I’m going to say nothing for now as my stratagy.

Or I’m going with it for now anyway.

It’ll give me a chance to see what this Guy is all about.

The less I say the more he’ll let his guard down allowing me to see who the fuck He REALLY is..

Then I can catch a glimpse to help assess if this fuck is truly a FRIEND or FOE.

I shook my head No and held out my hand in the classic “After You” pose, and off we go.

Looks like he’s leading us down the beach towards a Peninsula that lies far in front of us.

My fucking legs are aching like a Old Man’s.

I hope we get off this goddamn Beach soon the walking on sand shit is killing me I’m sure of it.

The best thing I can do here is Day Dream to escape the monotony of the March down this fucking cursed Beach.

I like this day dream it’s the one where I’m  back home in my shitty apartment sitting on the couch I found sitting on the curb.

There I eat really crappy for you junk food, watching the most mindless of “Reality” tv shows, and doing a shit ton of Bong Hits.

The Dream is wonderful because NOTHING is going on to give a shit about.

Unlike here where I now seem to be giving a shit about every tiny fucking thing.

Jesus this Guy rambles on non fucking stop like some sort of  Propaganda machine thats developed a basic consciousness.

He keeps repeating that we need to reach the peninsula and set up a base camp.

Its survival protocol that we establish Shelter, start a fire, and Locate a fresh water source He informs me.

That and we can start to search for the Others at the break of dawn.

Again by the dim light it could be the crack of dawn right fucking now.

It could also be the last of a lingering Twilight as Night moves swiftly in.

Fucking Emergency. Fucking Protocol.

And this fucking Guy whats next?!!

*Look for Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.3: When do We divert to Cannibalism?!*

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Lollipop Chainsaw Ep. 1 The Beginning and The End Look The Same

Why is that fucking alarm going apeshit?!

I’m strapped in a fucking seat, Why am I restrained?!  Goddamnit if I squint I can’t really see shit?!

Where the hell am I and how the hell did I end up here?! I can’t remember shit. Fuck Me I bet I have a serious concussion just my fucking luck as usual.

Alright I think I can make out a control panel of some sort lit up like Las Vegas suffering a Cocaine Psychosis.

I haven’t a clue what the fuck its for so fuck it.

There was a brief reprieve from the chaotic hell that I found myself  in a brief moment of clarity.

I realized that I was more or less fucked.

The actual question at hand is how fucked am I?!

Prepare for the fucking WORST?

Who the fuck was that and what do they know that I damn well don’t?!!

Worst of what? Worse than what? What is the possible Worst here?!

Holy  Shit I’m not alone.

I need to figure out pretty fucking quick if thats a good or a bad fucking thing.

Oh shit theres a door, wait, its a hatch in the ceiling  like on a Space Craft or some shit like that.

Also it appears this thing is made of metal.

I’m pretty fucking sure NASA doesn’t use metal as a building material in any of it Project, too fucking heavy.

Could this thing be from a Ship possibly a Naval Ship?! I got to get the fuck out of this thing.

How the hell do I detach this seat belt thing and get free?! Theres got to be a release button or some switch, but where the fuck is it located at for fuck’s sake.

OH COME THE FUCK ON!

WHERE IS IT?! WHERE IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS FUCKED IS IT GODDAMNIT TO HELL!

What the fuck is grabbing me like some cracked out Kraken?!

FUCK!  I wish I had a weapon, at least a goddamn pocket knife.

Remember if shit goes down hit first, and hit hard.

Oh fuck its some strange Guy grappling with the seat belt deal to free me.

Jesus I’m sure happy as hell for this Guy whoever he is.

Goddamnit he’s run into a problem getting me free, keeps tugging and making unhappy grunting noises.

Come on GUY GODDAMNIT!

Help get me out of this fucking chair now before something else fucked up happens!

“Come on we need to evacuate this piece of shit.”

Who the fuck is this Guy to give me fucking orders?!

I don’t him from a fucking whole in the ground.

Fuck it. I have no idea what to do so may as well follow this Guy’s lead for now.

Ok he’s going to open the hatch in the roof of this Iron Bubble or whatever this thing is we’re in.

This has got to be fucking NASA accept the fact neither of us are wearing Space Suits so I don’t know.

Goddamnit this shit sucks so bad.

. Alright he got the hatch open.

Fuck where is something to grab onto to so I can hoist myself out?!

Ok OK theres some basic ladder system on the opposite site, like a pool ladder. Time to get the fuck out of here.

Now how do I get the hell off the top of this contraption, right theres the ladder down.

I wonder where exactly we are, but more over what the fuck is here with us.

What fucking time is it?!

From the daylight its either the ass crack of dawn or the darker end of dusk.

Right theres the ladder down.

I can’t make out any damn details everything is a solid black silhouette.

Theres a bank of trees presumably a forrest on my left, and a large body of water to my right.

ITS too large to be a Pond or average  Lake.

Where the hell did that Guy go?!

There he is just standing over there like some sort of asshole.

This fucking Guy is going to be a real fucker to deal with I’m sure of it.

Well I guess its time to introduce ourselves and I guess I’ll have to walk over to him.

Damn I walking on sand, black sand at that. Its beginning to make my fucking legs ache like a son of a bitch.

I’ll wave first and see if this Guy turns around and sees me.

There we go he sees me.

The fucking Guy is looking right at me walking over, waving, and he’s still just standing there like some sort of fucking dick.

Oh good looks likes he’s about to say something. Can’t wait to hear this bullshit.

ok so he’s saying we need to find the Others IF their still alive before we all DIE.

Other who? People? Crew? Both I would assume?

Oh what the hell is going on?!

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! REALLY?!

DIdn’t we almost die just now?!

We just narrowly survived some sort of emergency escape without dying, and now this dick is telling me were right back in danger of dying?!

I’m afraid this is going to get very strange fast.

Look For Lollipop Chainsaw Ep.2 This Fucking Guy COMING SOON.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober  

Text Poetry No One Should Read Pt. 2 SpaceDog’s Reply

Quick Reminder to the Reader THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST OFFENSIVE POSTS YET, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

 

For those who skip intro’s I met up with SpaceDog during a recent Road Trip. On the way I decided to insult a person We both mutually Hate and Mock Mercilessly. I sent him an impromptu Poem about said Asshole, and SpaceDog wrote his own Poem in Response. It may be pertinent to note I did date this Fuckass for several months. This Poem is about surviving the ghastly grips of a grimy gutter dwelling Girl.

This is SpaceDog’s Poetic Reply:

Title: Saved From The Snatch of Satan

There was a hole that many knew,

As time went on its reputation grew,

Most men that entered turned gay anew.

And the one’s that didn’t they wound up dead,

Tragic overdoses, shot in the head.

But one man lives to tell the tale, No cocks in his mouth,

Heart beating strong as a Whale.

Despite the dead placentas on his dick,

He turned around his life like a magic trick.

Most know him well yet don’t speak his name,

Only time will tell who is to blame.

Just know well when your pregnancy tests comes up B,

Abort it fast…coat hanger 1,2,3.

Right now this tale is almost over,

The Living Legend Les Sober.

By The One and Only,

SpaceDog 

Text Poetry That No One Should Read

WARNING DEAR READER:

Even though We here at f-yourblog.com have an open letter statement posted that has a section pertaining to content. The Following Post is the reason We have said section. THIS IS THE MOST OFFENSIVE and OBSCENE Post to date. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

In the past I have posted a couple of SpaceDog’s and my Late Night Text Conversations. I was recently on a road trip that had me headed into SpaceDog’s neck f the Woods. So I texted Him a short 4 line limerick that then gave birth to an entire poem written on spontaneously on the spot while stuck in a real bumper fucker of a traffic jam. A few minutes later SpaceDog hit me back with a Nasty bit of Poetry of His own also pertaining to the same person. See one of the things SpaceDog and I have in common are a bunch of people we both Hate and Despise to NO END WHATSOEVER. To handle this deep disgust We mock these people viciously in an arena where NOTHING IS OFF LIMITS EVER.

Here is My Poem I sent SpaceDog:

THE BAD ASS BALLAD OF BRITTANY:

People laugh and people scoff,

But Brittany cut her pussy off,

She’d have Wild Fetish fits,

While Strange Men shit on her Tits,

She used so much lube She bought Stock,

While sucking on an Old Man’s Cock,

She’d fuck you till you bounced off the Walls,

She’d Swallow, Eat Ass, and Gargle Balls,

When She heard of Bukaki,

She said “thats for ME!”,

She always had problems with her legging,

When some Dude’s Ass She was Furiously Pegging,

No Secret Brittany Licked some Slit,

Nibbled on Crackhead Clit,

She Shot Heroin that was Top Notch,

She injected into her stank Crotch,

Filled with Pervert’s Jizz,

She Loves The Biz,

Now She has Lost All Hope,

She’s Sucking Dick for Dope,

Made Her money on her Back,

Spent it all Smoking Crack,

Her Vag is riddled with STDs of Every Kind,

She’s Drinking Mad Dog 20/20 to unwind,

She’s Pregnant again and She Knows the Institution,

She’ll go back to The Free Clinic for her 100th Abortion,

She’s a 3 Hole Super Slut,

Mouth, Vag, and The Butt,

She sits on the corner smoking a PCP Laced Blunt,

While Passerby’s on the Street gag at the smell of Her Cunt,

It looked like a sloppy Hot Roast Beef between Her legs,

As Her Live In Gimp Grovels, Moans, and Begs,

She can Cream Pie like no other,

She once even fucked Her own Mother,

Started a Porno Web Cam,

Where She’d eat Her Sister’s Clam,

She’ll fuck every last one of the 42 of us,

As Long You don’t mind Her Pussy Puss,

Her Scab covered Genitalia,

Just the Smell Could Kill Ya,

She’d let you Tittie fuck Her for just a Dollar,

You could finish on her face and its No Bother,

She would go insane if you wanted to run a train,

Just as Her Baby was Aborted so was Her Feeble Brain,

Gang Bangs made Her Wet,

Bath Salt Abuse made Her Forget,

Molested by Her Step Brother,

Preformed Oral sex on her Mother,

A Homeless Alcoholic Hooker,

As a D-List Stripper No One would Book Her,

She loved taking Golden Showers,

She’d sell Her body at all hours,

She can really go to town taking on a Taint,

She does shit that makes Hardcore Porn Stars Faint,

She has to be to remain the Rim Job Queen,

She was a regular at The No Tell Motel,

In Her Own Ejaculation Soaked Hell,

She was a truly Bitter a real  Bitch,

Who’s pounded out pussy tended to Itch,

Her Vaginal fuck Flaps hung down by Her dirt covered Knees,

A Vile of Crack would pop out of Her Ass when She would sneeze,

Track Marks under Her Muff,

Taking 56 cocks a day can be rough,

She would Masturbate in a Fury,

Behind the Dumpster in the Ally,

She’s fuck you for Food,

She’ll fuck a Girl, a Sheep, and a Dude,

She was a Donkey Show Star,

At the Sleaziest Bar,

So absolutely fucked up and utterly Dumb,

No wonder The Stupid Slut is coated in Cum,

She  used to shoot Golf Balls out of Her Snatch,

And Golf Tee’s out Her Ass just to Match,

She’s Dirty, disease ridden Prostitute,

There is NO Dispute,,

She used to run through Police Barricades,

While Screaming “I have FULL BLOWN AIDS!”,

She constantly Battled the Clap,

Under a Bridge SHe’d take a Nap,

She was a Tramp among Tramps,

She’d take Cash, Drugs, or Food Stamps,

She just a low rent junkie,

a Drug Mule Flunky,

A rotten, scummy Hell of a Gutter Whore,

I hit the Road, I could stand Her NO MORE.

 

What? You were Warned So if your Offended in any way…..

For those Reader’s who are around I will be posting SpaceDog’s Reply Poem Tomorrow without Fail Friends.

Thanks For Reading,

Les Sober