Tag: flop house

Chaos & The 2 Year Career: Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All Part 2

NOTE: Alright Reader from now on I will be using a Time Line to keep this post entertaining and no longer than it needs to be.

Feb. 5th, 1988  “Mad as Hell” Tour ends, and Gar Fisch announces he is leaving the band due to the physical toll that the Stank Breath Years had taken on his body and health. For Example due to Gar’s firecracker anal oriented antics had left Gar with a permanently prolapsed asshole.

Feb. 7th, 1988 Von Dire calls an emergency band meeting, and after several rounds of Tequila Shots and Nitrous Whip Its decided to hire a manager. They settled on Marty Trundle who immediately terminated their contract with RatFuck Records and got them signed to WhoreMonger Records a major International label.

Feb. 9th, 1988 WhoreMonger books Malice on a 6 month Festival Tour across North America and Europe. Malice celebrates with a 72 hour drug binge ending in the band being arrested for Public Intoxication, Public Nudity, and Defecting in Public.

Feb. 13th, 1988 Trundle introduced Dire, Vile, and Rage to Ex-Sleaze guitarist Eddie Sleaze as a possible replacement for Gar Fisch. The band and Sleaze bond over countless beers and lines of Cocaine. Somewhere along the way Sleaze was officially hired as Malice’s replacement guitarist.

Feb. 15th, 1988 Malice hit the road for the start of the “WhoreMonger’s Whores” Tour with their first show in Peoria Illinois at The Mental Metal Festival. The show ended early because the Fire Marshall showed up and informed the Festival Promoter the amount of Pyrotechnics Malice planned to use were considered “A Hazardous Explosive Threat”. The Promotoer facing a massive fine as well as having his entire Festival shut down radioed the Stage Manager and told him to halt any future Pyrotechnics Malice was planning to use. When the Pyrotechnics didn’t go off during the drum solo Von Dire was infuriated beyond belief.

The rest of the band seeing something serious was going down stopped playing mid song. The confused Crowd was left standing in a muddy field wondering why the show they paid for suddenly stopped during the Headliner’s set. Von Dire grabbed the Promoter by the front of his shirt and dragged him on stage to confront him. Vile, Rage, and Sleazy abandoned their instruments as they walked over to see what the fuck the deal was. A now enraged Von Dire is screaming at the top of his lungs about how no bullshit is going to fuck up his show, Malice wanted to be financially compensated for the pyrotechnics not being used, and that the Promoter he was a sniveling, slippery little shit.

Sleaze decided he felt the same as Von Dire about the situation, and did nothing but piss gas on the fire by agitating Von Dire further and further. Rage left the stage pissed off, and not wanting to deal with this shit show so he was going to get shitfaced. Vile managed to get between Von Dire and the Promoter and was struggling to keep the two men apart as now the Promoter was angry as hell about being physically and verbally assaulted by Von Dire. With things utterly out of control Vile punched Von Dire in the balls and handed him off to a Roadie. Before Vile could explain himself  (hitting Von Dire in the balls was the only way for anyone to shut him down) was hit over the head with an empty beer bottled wielded by Sleaze.

The Stage crew, Festival Security, and the arrival of the Police combined managed to get things under control, but the Festival would be rescheduled for a later date due to the uproar that tonights show. Von Dire and Sleaze went to jail for Assault and Terroristic Threats, Vile went to the Emergency Room and received 19 stitches, and Rage ended up in the ER as well for Alcohol Poisoning later that night.

Feb. 18th, 1988 Malice plays the Wisconsin “Heavy Metal Massacre” Festival. The show goes well and without incident, but after the show things got pretty fucking crazy. After their set Malice retired to their dressing room for a pre celebration party celebration. They did so much Blow that they effectively snorted themselves into cocaine psychosis, ended up at the air for, barged through a line of people waiting to board their plane, and ended up on a flight to Albany NY. Luckily Trundle made it to the air port before the plane took off, but had to have the pilot to agree to taxi around the runway. This way Trundle argued he could convince the band they in fact had completed their impromptu plane ride.

Feb. 20th, 1988 Malice shows up a day early for Salt Lake City’s “SLC Metal Mayhem” Festival in Utah. Vile went to the Bauhaus Brewery (No relation to the post-punk band Bauhaus) and managed to get kicked out for being too drunk for the brewery tour. Trundle came and picked up the heavily intoxicated Vile and drove him to the Hotel Harrison to sleep it off.

Trundle then received a call that Rage was at The Pink Pussy also drunk off his ass and had jumped up on stage to preform his own strip tease. Though the Police had been called to the scene Trundle managed to convince them to let Rage go with a drunk and disorderly misdemeanor. While Trundle was running around like a mad man trying to keep his clients out of jail, the hospital or the Coroner’s Von Dire and Sleaze took a Ferrari for a test drive and traded it for $10,000 of Crack.

Now with a fat sack filled with high quality Crack Rocks walked to the nearest Shitty Corner Neighborhood Hellhole ran up a $379 tab before the two pulled a Booze-N-Bolt stiffing the elderly bartender who called the Cops. Fueled by a serious supply of Crack Von Dire and Sleaze picked up some $2 Hookers, and got a room at the nearest Flop House Motel (You know the kind where you pay by the hour and no one snitches)

After a STD ridden sexfest Von Dire and Sleazy had literally burned through their Crack Stash opted to inject Adderall into their necks. This is when all of a sudden Trundle burst into the room. He knew where the two were at because he had placed a GPS Tracker in one Vile’s many pieces of jewelry. Trundle had done this because after 12 years in the music business he had learned how to keep track off “High Risk” Talent. Trundle took Von Dire and Sleazy to a local 24 hour Drug Detox Center and had both their systems flushed free off Narcotics.

Feb 20th Malice misses their set at the “SLC Metal Mayhem” Festival due to the band was still recovering from the partying they did the night before. When the Crowd found out Malice was going to be a No Show they began to riot tearing the venue to pieces. In a last ditch effort to end the riot without incident or Police involvement the Festival’s Promoter announced that another fan favorite The Savage Savages would be taking Malice’s spot, and there would be a free meet-N-Greet after the show. This soothed the seething fans who stopped the destruction and celebrated in jubilation. The night ended with no one getting hurt or arrested, it was nothing short of a miracle.

Feb 21st Malice arrive at “Madmen of Metal” Festival in Hoonah Alaska population 740 (571 of which were rabid Malice Fans). The Show was one of Malice’s most notorious they ever preformed. As the band launched into their number one hit “Shit Sandwich” a rouge Penguin waddled on stage. Von Dire being lit as shit on LSD and Mushrooms was completely oblivious, and accidentally kicked the poor Penguin square in the face. What no one knew at the time that the Penguin was in actuality the prized pet of an Inuit Tribal Chief who took it as a gravest of insults. The still oblivious Von Dire instructed Malice to play their unit-authoritarian anthem “Fuck’em All” in response to the angry Inuit barrage. As the Inuits fought security Malice played on further infuriating the already anger Inuits who now where well aware they were being mocked by Malice’s music.

The Inuit’s at last had dispensed of every security guard and ran up on stage, grabbed Von Dire, Sleaze and Vile, tried a rope around their ankles, attached the other end of the rope to awaiting Dog Sleds, and then told the Sled Dogs to Mush dragging the 3 musicians off into the freezing pitch black of the Alaskan night. Von Dire, Vile, and Sleaze where found 8 hours later when the Sled Dogs stopped to take 5. All 3 were treated for frost bite and hypothermia and made a full recovery in a matter of days.

Malice was charged by the State of Alaska for Animal Abuse, Desecrating Sacred Tribal Soil, and Hate Crimes against the indigenous Inuits. None of these law suites was ever settled because Malice Self Destructed before the length court process was complete. To this day no one knows how Rage avoided capture including Rage who was blackout drunk before taking the stage.

Feb 23, 1988 Finally released from the Alaskan Hospital Von Dire, Vile, and Sleaze rejoined Rage and the band departed for the Oregan’s “Masters of Metal” Festival in the town of Ashland. Before the show Sleaze had an altercation with the opening band Pisser’s drummer. Apparently Sleaze was not a fan of Pisser’s music and considered them to be Punk Rock Wannabe’s. Sleaze had spent the day insulting the band, and talking mad shit to anyone who’d listen. Then Sleaze was approached by a reporter for “Heavy Metal Magazine” for a on the spot interview about the Festival Tour thus far, and how the band was handling it. During the interview of course Sleazy used the platform to further insult Pisser claiming their guitarist Ulrich “The Urinal” Upschicker was a shitty Eddie Sleaze imitation. Sleaze went on to further claim Pisser stole Stank Breath’s musical style in a lame attempt to capitalize on Malice’s wild success.

Later that night during Malice’s encore that night Ulrich made an unscheduled and unwanted appearance. Ulrich walked determinately onto the stage waiving a Giant, Double Headed, Neon Pink Dildo, and then walked over to Sleaze. Sleaze who was already striding across the stage to see what the fuck Ulrich was doing dropped his guitar and flipped Ulrich off with both hands. Ulrich then charged at Sleaze wailing the Dildo until he got face to face with Sleaze at which point he Pimp Slapped Sleaze across the face knocking him backwards.

Rage then threw his drum sticks at Ulrich who responded by ducking the drum sticks and laughing manically at Rages attempt to thwart him. Rage then came bolting out from behind his drums like a Bull in a china shop knocking his entire drum kit off the drum stage. Once Rage hit the stage he unceremoniously tripped over part of his drum kit and twisted his ankle sending him crashing down face first through his Bass Drum.

This amused Ulrich who now was being some what restrained by Security to no end, and further facilitating Ulrich’s maniacal Laughing. fit. Sleaze at the same time was distracted from Ulrich because he was busy battling Security to get off of him. Sleaze head butted several Security Guards before breaking free long enough to run across the stage, leap over the heads of the Security Guards surrounding Ulrich, and hit him with one hell of a Haymaker. The Punch hit Ulrich with such force it knocked out Ulrich’s two front teeth. Security consolidated their efforts on Sleaze at that point as Ulrich was distracted now looking for his teeth, and hollering for a Gallon of Milk.

Vile and Von Dire scrambled around avoiding Security as a couple of Roadies managed to retrieve Rage from amid the chaos to the on site EMT Tent. Von Dire spent his time dodging Security to rile the Crowd into a fit of frenzy until the Promoter cut the mic. This didn’t stop Von Dire who continued to scream at the Crowd inciting a violent relation against Pisser and any asshole who would hire them. Vile grabbed a bottle of Whiskey from the side of the stage (and downed the entire bottle) while ducking Security who were desperately trying to end the fight between Sleaze and Ulrich. The Police showed up in full Riot Gear and started using Tear Gas to disperse the unruly Crowd sending Malice fleeing the stage. Malice made it safely (aside from Rage’s self induced sprained ankle) to the waiting tour bus, and Trundle put the peddle to the metal speeding off down the Highway words the next show.

Feb. 26th 1988 Malice had spent the last couple of days on the way to South Dakota’s “Mega Metalfest” Festival in the town of Wall on the phone doing hundreds of interviews with the press in America, Asia, Canada, and Europe. Undoubtedly Malice was dominating the music scene across every medium Televisions, Newspapers, Magazines, and Word of Mouth. By the time Malice pulled into Wall their ego’s were so inflated they cancelled their performance, and announced it was due to the fact they had become too famous to play a town like Wall (whose a year round population of 800.)

Feb 28th 1988 The final day of the Festival Circuit Malice had fired Trundle and were actively looking for new representation. They had also terminated their deal with WhoreMonger and signed instead with Razorback Records who promised they could record their first album immediately. See up to this point though Malice’s success was sizable it was built sold on their live shows, they hadn’t even recorded a single song. That nights show was wild as Malice hit the stage in high spirits and ended up playing 4 encores before showering the audience with $250,000 worth of Champaine (the Band used the entire $250,000 signing bonus with Razorback on the extravagance) Malice spent the rest of the night driving around town partying with everyone who crossed their path.

Stay Tuned for the Next Installment Of Malice The Band Who Almost Killed Us All posting NEXT after this radically surreal piece by SpaceDog.

Thank for Reading,

Les Sober 

 

The Delinquent Detective Ep.1 : Screaming at a Deaf Dog

Heads Up For Readers: There is a good bit of obscene language and blasphemies contained within this piece.
Rock Hard woke with a startle one hand one his set of bulbous brass balls, and in the other empty bottle of Lithuanian Whisky.
The goddamn phone was ringing relentlessly BRING! BRING! like a goddamn banshee. Rock sat up and wearily rubbing his face trying to dispel the thick fog of yesterday.
Rock was no stranger to the endless trials and tribulations of life not by a long shot. Bullshit was his bread and butter.
Rock slowly made his way to the phone his feet shuffling across the thick scummy orange shag carpet barefoot.
Rock lit a cigarette irritated that some dumb son of a bitch had the fucking nerve to call him this early in the goddamn day. Rock reached the phone and unplugged it. Whoever it was fuck them thought Rock to himself.
Finally Rock thought to himself. Rock found people to be unbelievably irritating at best.
Rock proceeded to get ready for the dismal day that lay before him. Once Rock had shit, showered, and shaved Rock headed out to the office.
Locking the door behind him he started down the hall of The Royal Hotel lined with various delinquents. The monthly crew of cantankerous characters that inhabited The Royal Hotel, one of the BigCity’s finest flop house, was an unending revolving door of debauchery.
Rock tolerated these assholes because in a flea bag shithole no one sees shit, hears shit or says shit especially the police.
The residents of The Royal were the lowest of the low. There were junkies, hookers, pimps, cults, drunks, drug dealers, shut ins, welfare cases, white trash, Neo Nazi’s (that hangout at the lobby bar), traumatized Vietnam vets, thieves, bikers,and the mentally ill with no family.
It wasn’t always that way though. Back in its heyday The Royal played host to musicians, writers, artists, film makers running the entire gamete of the art world.
Business men booked suites for their corrupt conferences where they found ways to fuck over the working man. The staff was professional and proud to be part of The Royal.
Now Tina “Two Tits” Earner the local hooker was constantly prowling for pricks in the Hotels shitty dive-like bar. Homeless Hank the blocks beloved gutter dwelling bum was living in the lobby. The rest of The Royal was a fucking freak show a goddamn insane circus.
Ignoring the nasty noises of fighting and fucking that bled through the paper thin walls Rock made his way to the downstairs. Rock stopped briefly to shoot the shit with the front desk clerk.
The clerk was an anciently old man who worked the front desk and had for 52 years named Barnabas.
“Whats going on you nasty old bastard?” Rock asked casually with no real interest.
“I’m just a goddamn gargoyle perched on this goddamn stool watching the derelicts and dopers coming and going, it’s an endless parade of the broken and disheveled . Once the sun sets the city streets flood with sinners,” replied Barnabas weirdly staring off into space.
Rock stared at Barnabas wondering if he was senile or just being a mean old shit .
Rock walked briskly to the front door to escape the scum of the Earth confined within the rancid Royal.
Before exiting Rock checked to make sure he had his two faithful companions with him his flask and his revolver. Once he had established he was in possession of both Rock burst out on to the street.
Rock waded through the littered streets coated in filth and grim. The bums lurking in doorways like living corpses that had abandoned all hope in humanity.
The hookers were returning home after a long cold night on the street selling their souls as well as their snatches.
Junkies posted on the corners heckling change from the few regular folk who hadn’t fled the dying neighborhood bathed in decay.
Over laying graffiti adorned the street plastered across walls and any available space was now coated in spray paint.
Rock didn’t mind the dereliction in fact he welcomed it. People are parasites that don’t belong in palaces was his opinion.
At least when your deep in the shit surrounded by the dregs of society you know where you stand.
There is honesty in hooliganism. You can take everything at face fucking value, no bullshit required.
Rock chain smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on his wayward walk to work. So what if smoking led to fucking cancer Rock didn’t give a rats ass what the Surgeon General had to say on the subject.
Rock picked up a couple of new packs of smokes at newspaper stand around the corner from his office. Rock’s office was a located in the Burner building within walking distance from The Royal.
The Burner was a small building sandwiched between to sky scrappers. The Burner had always been a mega for unorthodox and unconventional professions such as psychics, weapons dealers, and in Rock’s case Private Detectives.
As he approached the front door of his office on the 3rd floor of the Burner he saw a person pacing in the dimly lit hallway.
Rock was already wondering what the stranger was all about when the stranger turned towards him and said……………

To Be Continued in
The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions from the Blind.

Catalog Of Humanity (The Vile Version)

The once grand city fell into the continuing chaos of decades of decay,

The businesses and those with money have abandoned this sickening city,

The whores loitering outside of the local liquor store looking for love,

The strung out narcotic zombie working the corner cleaning windshields to feed his abominable addiction,

The open festering sores that line the limbs of the homeless,

The panhandler suffering through withdraw from drink or drug fidgeting in the door way of a flea bag motel,

The flop house littered with junkies cooking up and shooting up nodding their nightmares away,

The constant flickering of lighters from the derelict row home windows reminiscent of fire flies as the crack pipes burn on,

The entire city is a cess pool engulfed in the putrid stench of a sewer,

The crooked cops riding around in the streets high on their own brutality like Nazis scumbag sons of bitches,

The dirty little convince stores selling single cigarettes and lottery scratchers to the soulless and the suffering,

The dim florescent glow from dive bars windows beckoning the bums inside for a glass of piss poor beer,

The screaming machinery bellowing like a banshee from the chop shops,

The junkyard dogs chained up in yards of dirt, clumps of weeds, and piles of its own shit,

The pimps perched like perverted gargoyles waiting to be paid by their beaten and broken bitches,

The asshole teenagers from the suburbs driving into the city to prey on the unfortunate,

The drug dealers posting up on the street corners peddling potent poisons,

The gangs who wage an endless war of horror over disputed territories,

The bouncer ejecting a greasy client from the shadows of a back room illegal casino,

The overlapping layers of spray paint so thick one can’t tell the walls original color,

The plagues of rats and roaches devouring the city turning it into shit,

The cold gray fermentable walls of the State Prison looming large casting its silhouette across the southern side of the city,

The now defunct factories slowly rotting away in the winds of time,

The dead Vietnam vet who overdosed in his cardboard condo decomposing as his body waits to be found,

The piles of foul garbage that choke up the entrances to allies,

The deep brown tap water thats murky like mud,

The squatters that inhabit the vast city cemetery emerge under the dark cloak of the encroaching night to forage for food,

The front stairs of the court house teems with lawyers and defendants debating their legal fates,

The Public assistance offices are over crowded and under staffed as the government gives up on the poor,

The sea of condoms that surround the dumpster out back of the check cashing store where hookers trade in dick for dollars,

The methhead on a 4 day bender thats furiously fucking a dead pigeon in the desolate park,

The the old deranged mentally ill man who wonders the streets arguing with himself and losing,

The inhabitants of tent city sit around their make shift fires roasting their catch of stray cats for diner,

The bankrupt arena the city built without proper parking at the corner of Rape and Heroin,

The drunken man beating his kids since he wore out his wife before his tv diner,

The dead and the dying wallowing in squalor and their lost faith,

The cries of an unwanted baby unceremoniously deposited in a garbage dumpster by a terrified teenage mother,

The distinct crunch of empty crack files mixed with broken beer bottles under ones feet as they walk down the street,

The nightly fist fights that break out in the city’s central soup kitchen,

The crumbling churches now just idle monuments to a bygone god,

And this city of shit could be any city, all cities dying from industrial death,

And forgotten by history and humanity alike.