Pentagram -Last Days Here

I’m a massive fan of the early Ozzy led Black Sabbath, but when I heard the Heavy/ Doom Metal band Pentagram I was awe struck. In my honest and vastly unpopular opinion that Pentagram exceeds Black Sabbath not in lyrical content but in Advanced Musical Techniques/Style of the Doom Metal. Pentagram’s music was more evolved than Black Sabbath even if both bands got their start around the same time. Based on my opinion I fully believe Pentagram and not Black Sabbath should receive the dubious honor of being the first pioneers of Heavy Metal (because without the precursor of Doom Metal then the Heavy Metal genre wouldn’t have come to be).

Last Days Here is the 2011 Documentary film featuring Bobby Liebling, lead singer of the American heavy metal band Pentagram Directed by Don Argott and Demian Fenton.

              

Pentagram- Last Days Here Synopsis:

Co-Director Fenton first became familiar with Liebling after listening to Pentagram’s 1970s recordings on cassette tape and the 2001 compilation First Daze Here, and enjoying the early Pentagram material. He had heard the rumors surrounding Liebling, including him living in the basement of his parent’s house and spending all day and night heavily ingesting illegal drugs.

Last Days Here follows Bobby Liebling, lead singer of Pentagram, an Alexandria, Virgina-based heavy metal group founded in 1971 and active sporadically throughout the following four decades. At the film’s beginning , Liebling is in his 50s, living in Squalor in his parents’ basement, and addicted to various drugs (Pills, Heroin, and Crack). After Pentagram’s music is rediscovered by the heavy metal underground scene, Liebling begins to recover from his lifestyle. His friend and manager Sean “Pellet” Pelletier attempts to help Liebling overcome his drug addiction and escape his old life. The film ends in 2010 with Liebling and Pentagram returning to the stage and Liebling sober, married and his new wife expecting their first child.

              

Enjoy.

Heavy Metal NEVER Dies!

Presented BY Otto Rageous   

Lee Jonitis:Professional People Watcher (41/365)

Without saying another word  Dizzy went  bounding up the Stairs towards the Unresponsive Junkie. Once He reached the Junkie he shoved Him to one side and as the Junkie slumped to the right Dizzy literally stepped over the Junkies shoulder. Dizzy took a second to light a cigarette before placing His boot between the Junkie’s shoulder Blades, and shoved Him unceremoniously down the flight of Stairs.

The Junkie came tumbling down Ass over Elbows in a Flurry of Flailing Limbs finally hitting the Landing were Lee was standing. The Junkie lay there in a crumpled pile like a Wad of Chewed Up Bubble Gum. Lee frozen momentarily in Shock as He stared down at the Junkie wondering what the fuck He should do about it.  Lee definitely wasn’t about to call the fucking Cops that’s for sure They’d just give Dizzy and Him a Hard Time Hassling Them Unnecessarily because They weren’t Happy about cleaning Up and After a Scummy Junkie. Lee did wonder if He should at least call 911 and have some Medical Professionals handle it. Lee also wasn’t sure if He Should He say anything and just continue to follow Dizzy to His Apartment?!

       

“If You’re afraid He’s Dead check His pulse or see if He’s still breathing. I assure You He’s fucking Fine.” Dizzy said with total confidence. Lee glanced up at Dizzy who was leisurely taking Prolonged drags of His Cigarette with an air of Boredom.

Lee landed over and gingerly took hold of one of the Junkies wrists and was relieved to feel a Pulse and Not a Fresh Corpse. The Junkie suddenly let out a Low and Hollow Moan that startled the hell out of Lee and made Him Jump back away from the Junkie’s contorted body that lay only a few feet from Him. Lee could hear Dizzy Laughing deeply as if He had just heard the funniest fucking Joke ever Told. Lee shot Dizzy a “Fuck You” Scowl as He failed to find the Humor in the Situation.

       

“I fucking TOLD YOU, I told You He was Fit as a Fiddle. A Dope Addicted Fiddle that just fell Head long down a Flight of Stairs it’s a bit fucked up but Fine in General.” Dizzy Said with a Calm Confidence.

Lee slid past the Battered Body of the Junkie and resumed His Journey to Dizzy’s Apartment. Lee was annoyed that Dizzy hadn’t given Him any sort of Heads Up about the Living Conditions located in the Confines of This Skid Row Style Hotel. Lee didn’t harbor any Empathy for the Junkie He just wish He had been made aware so He wouldn’t have to worry about being fucked with by the Cops or Possible Arrested Himself. Thats the exact kind of bullshit He didn’t need in His life Lee kept telling Himself over and over again in His Head until He realized Dizzy was Still Talking as They went.

        

“You want to know HOW I knew that Junkie fuck was just Fine and Dandy? I’ll tell You it’s quite simple You see it like a Car Crash. If your about to inevitable be in an Auto Accident They say the Best thing to do is Go Limp. Which goes against EVERY Natural Instinct for Self Preservation instilled in Humans since Day One. If You try and Brace Yourself say by putting Your Hands on the Dashboard all Your guaranteeing is if You live that You’ll have Two fucking Broken Arms.”said Dizzy in a Tone of Voice that reminded Lee of an Educational TV Show Narrator.

“Thats some seriously fucked up Real Life Shit right there.” respond Lee flatly as He still hand’t fully come to grips with the whole Junkie incident, and was currently wondering what Other Oddities way lay in wait. Lee generally didn’t give a flying fuck about Anything as long as He knew what it was or what was going On that was all. It seemed like a normal request to Him at any rate.

        

“It’s like when Your watching one of those Extreme Skiers who attempt to Ski down some insane Monstrous Mountains at a fucking 65 degree angel and shit, and then They wipe the fuck out falling Hundreds to Thousands of Feet as You watch Them Flopping around like a Rag Doll. It’s the exact same Principle since initially the Skier is knocked out and thus goes completely Limp. It’s the only way Any of those crazy motherfuckers can do that shit without Dying when They Fall.” said Dizzy ignoring Lee’s suddenly sullen mood.

Be Sure To Tune in for Next Weeks Lactose Intolerant Installment of………

LEE JONITIS: PROFESSIONAL PEOPLE WATCHER (42/365)

Thanks for Reading,

  By Les Sober (12:33 am)

Lee Jonitis: Professional People Watcher (40/365)

All Apologies for the 2 Day Delay. I have No Excuse I simply Forgot Sunday, and Yesterday I got Side Tracked by a Side Project. Again All Apologies.

As Lee’s Mind started to meld with the Madness Plastered Across the Walls. He was becoming Cerebrally Submerged within the Staggering Amount of Emotion it was Overwhelming to think about. And all the Stories, Declarations, Statements, Proclamations, Jokes, and Jest that were being Played Out in this Grotesque Public Forum.

Lee began to try and Imagine Each and Every Mind Set behind Each and Every Artist and Vandal alike. Of all the things that People could have written on the Lobby Walls Why did These People feel compelled to Write what They Did. Was it a Fare Representation of Who They really are, or were these just Temporary Outbursts to Vent the Frustration of Toiling Day after Day as these People Trudged through Their Lives?! Did They ever wonder if Anyone Read it? Did They Ever Stop to think if the Intended Party/Person it was Directed at even Actually Saw it?

Again was this just all simply Lashing Out to Somehow feel Vindicated to feel as if Someone would have to Listen to Them for Once? Did Any of these People ever find Themselves eating Lunch one Day and contemplating if the The Wall had been Repainted thus whipping Their Words from Public Record. Was that the Secret was it knowing that what They wrote wouldn’t stand the test of Time that They felt free to express Themselves as They did?!

Then Dizzy grabbed Lee’s Arm snapping Him back into the Grim Reality that was the Lobby. The pair started Their Ascent up the insanely Narrow Stair Case that reminded Lee of a fucking Submarine or Battleship scenario. It was so Narrow that if Someone was coming in the Opposite directing You’d have to turn sideways, and hug up against the No doubt Filthy wall to let Them squeeze past.

The virtual lack of any sort of real lighting gave the impression You might have inadvertently Stumbled into a Haunted House Attraction at The County Fair. Lee found it all to be Disorienting, and a bit Claustrophobic so After walking up the First couple of Flights He was Praying the Next Apartment They came to would be Dizzy’s.

       

“One More Flight and We’ll be there,” said Dizzy a bit Winded and Wanting a Cigarette, “Oh fucking really?! REALLY? What The HELL! After all the indiscretions I have had to Suffer Today I come Home to This?! Who wants to deal with fucking Junkies and Their Junkie Bullshit No One thats Who!’

Lee had to Strain to see around Dizzy for a view of what it Exactly it was that was causing Dizzy this Sudden Distress. There Precariously Peached at the Top of the last Flight of Stairs Lee would have to Endure was what Lee assumed was the Junkie Dizzy was set off by.

The Junkie was Slumped so Far Forward it looked like He was trying to suck His own dick right there on the Stirs. His Long Dark Brown Hair was so Matted that it has Started to Naturally form Dreadlocks which smelled like the Dumpster Water (the collection of Various Fluids leaking from Trash Bags that sink to the Bottom of a Dumpster and Stagnate Purifying until its Emptied). He was wearing a Winter Jacket that Lee thought looked like a Trench Coat for a Cold Weather Climate as He assumed it was made out of Wool or perhaps Tweed. Surprisingly enough the Junkie was Barefoot and His feet were Black from the Dirt and Grime of the World Outside. That combined with the Fact the Junkies Toe Nails were Thick, Yellowed, and Over grown made His feet look like those of a Werewolf.

       

Tune In Next Week For The Next Idiosyncratic Installment of………

LEE JONITIS: PROFESSIONAL PEOPLE WATCHER (41/365)

Thanks for Reading,

  By Les Sober

The Many Faced Spacedog

Everyday when I wake up and look at myself in the mirror, I’m not really sure who I am viewing. Sure it is me but I’ve lived so many distinct lives with no connection to one another it is absurd.

Like everyone else I started off innocent. Then I got a dose of that good old Catholic guilt. Hated the parents from ten years old because of this. Why would they lie to me about something so important?

It finally came to a head when I had to smash out multiple windows in their home. I was indeed very serious about not attending church.

Around the same time I came to terms with being a homosexual. Not one of those cheesy Hollywood gay teen portrayals. I knew what I wanted and usually got it. Sure I pulled a bit of a Hard Candy situation and threatened an older man into sleeping with me or else, but what else would you expect? At my best I was Sebastian from Cruel Intentions plus a bit of Regina George (Mean Girls). I was terrifying.

I faked mental illness for many years to the point that I have fooled nearly everyone to this day. Sure I had a few suicide attempts, most illegitimate barring one. These were all caused by medication which was supposed to help. I will get to this in another blog.

I tried my hardest to be an extrovert but discovered I did not relate to very many others. I tried drug dealing, prostitution, and even attempted being a mail order bride. Sadly the guilt never let me be a bride even though I had many offers.

Then a foot injury came. 20 years ago. It led to opiate abuse and then eventually heroin abuse because I was abadoned by friends who were only there when I had a vehicle. The only one left just happened to be a heroin addict and down the rabbit hole I went.

Sometimes I feel like the original Oxycontin victim because I lived the story you hear all too often in today’s news. It was a dark and solitary several years because frankly I did not want to be around other users. It was a gross habit.

Then there were some lost years. I do not remember much of them. I drank heavily at first. This led to 80 pounds of weight gain in a year. It came off almost as rapidly. I was obsessed with someone who I clearly thought was obsessed with me. This was not real as that person completely bought into the lies about mental illness big pharma wants us to believe.

As I struggled with substances I also struggled with who I was. Most people I’ve met seem to have some issue with me because I’m straight acting. It’s not an act though it’s just me. I love sports, divas, queens, bros, most forms of tv (except true crime and cop shows), all music (just not the bs playing in 90% of gay clubs) and everything in between. Still the queens think I’m too masculine and the gay bros say I’m too fem. Apparently being naturally well rounded is not a quality others tend to believe in.

So the point to all this is that while I am all of the things I’ve ever been I am also none of them. Sure I’ve made countless mistakes along the way. I have no regrets. Yes, I could have handled things better with the handful of my friends who now live in graveyards. Regrets though never. I just had to stay in the darkness a bit longer before I knew where he the dark ended and the light began.

The only thing that truly matters though is today and tomorrow. I finally have a clear vision of what it is I want. The veil has been lifted for me.

What do I want you ask? It is a secret. Everyone is a naysayer. I’ve shared far too many secrets with all the wrong people. There is way too much ambition within me and I’d love to finally be able to use it.

But it’s all just for today. That’s the only slogan I have ever found useful in a 12 step program. Some days I go old and sit around and do nothing watching game shows like I’m 90. Other days I challenge myself to 2 hours at the gym or 20,000 steps. Some days I go young and binge teen dramas. I really don’t care what you think. I do me. You do you.

Still while I know who I will be tomorrow beyond that remains a mystery. All the vexations of my spirit have been cast away in some long forgotten martini glass. Something massive is growing inside my soul. I hope it’s love and not some tumor. Fuck tumors.

You aren’t who you were. You are who you dream. I am living the dream. I hope you do one day too.

by Spacedog

Savior

I hate picking categories for my blogs. Sometimes I sit here for like ten minutes and mull. I like sitting and mulling over things. Then I usually just drift away, drift away, drift away………

I’ve been wanting to write this for a few days. I think it might be important. There are just so many angles and I’m seeing things in my head like a great big kaleidoscope lately and Resces Peanut Butter Cups saved me. Ramble done. Substance begin.

        

Saving

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said,
‘Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed’

-Joni Mitchell

When first heard these lyrics, it resonated with something deep down within me. I had a dream. Well a daydream of sorts. I was 14 years old. It was on my parents bed. I saw that man. I saw the man I was supposed to save. The features in his face were blurred. Then I knew. Then I knew.

      

The search was short. I thought I found that which had been conjured to me. This was only a faux pearl. This was something like heartache but I had no heart. No one was saved. I was left a wreckage. Nothing was broken. Nothing has no name.

I went off further into the abyss we call humanity. I saw glimpses of greatness. I saw far more horrors. I’ve seen many things that do not bear repeating. For their lack of importance, for their lack of any kind of depth. Only rings around a tree. Only rings around a giant redwood smothered around her kindren deep within the darkest forrest.

     

Then one day someone introduced a novel concept to me. That of saving myself. So I did. I had just seen Trainspotting again recently. So I left the life I knew, the people I knew stuck at a random motel. I thought I had stolen their drugs but in actuality I stole their Marlboro miles. I did not fret. I did not care. I never looked back. That life was gone.

Then I found something. I found myself. He was hiding where the willows never weep. On a tall cumulus cloud nestled in between the puffs.

When I was sitting home one night it occured. I had no idea what was happening. There was no immediate warmth or glow or feeling of glee or joy. I met the person I was supposed to save. There’s really no way of knowing you are going to save something until the process is already underway. It sweeps you up one night and then you wake up the next day with a hangover. You wonder what just occured. I thought this was love. This was nothing of the sort.

       

So I saved him.

Literally.

His life.

Not we had a little pep talk and he went out and threw three touchdown passes and the whole town of rednecks went into a frenzy.

Not I sprinkled my fairy dust all through the village and everyone thought he was a prince.

Not he was sad. We got drunk. We fucked. He felt acceptance but walked with a limp.

       

No. Physically preventing him from leaving this world. Tackling him with the noose in his hand.

It happened again. This time I offered him death. I offered him a chance to overdose on my bed. He chose not. Saved again.

Aftermath 

I do not regret the choices I have made.

I stand by each and every one of them as my own.

Sometimes I wonder whether or not I saved the person I was supposed to save. It’s not really what I would call a regret. Just more mulling inside my own head.

There are times that make my decision feel right. There are times that make it cold and barren and desolate. An Antarctic tundra trapped by numbness between the webbing of my feet.

      

I do not search for what is to be saved.

I do not seek that which lies within.

I venture forth the crumbling highway.

I call for nothing yet something always begins.

  By SpaceDog

Lee Jonitis: Professional People Watcher (23/365)

Lee noticed as He was driving to the Theater that it was located in what He like to call the Artistic Industrial Zone. This Area on the Outskirts of the City was know by Locals as The Industrial Art Zone. The Area had been dubbed the Industrial Art Zone because used to be a Bustling Industrial Hub decades ago before facing the harsh Economic Hardships during the Great Depression. Since the Big Manufacturing Businesses had Closed Shop, and Left Town due to Bankruptcy the Area had remained virtually untouched like one Giant Ghost Town comprised of Crumbling Factories, Dilapidated Warehouses, and Abandoned Store Fronts that lined the Pothole plagued Road.

        

Over the last few Years the Vacant and Decaying Neighborhood had become a sort of unofficial Mecca for the City’s Struggling Artists as well as Small Time Art Galleries, Movie Houses, and Theaters that operated on a Shoestring Budget had set up shop due to the incredibly reasonable rents (which is a nice way of saying Cheap as Hell). The cheap rates and Large Lofts provided the Artist not just a Roof over Their head, but an amply work Space as Well.

       

Lee had a rather depressing thought cross His mind which was He wondered how much longer it would be before Scourge of Gentrification would arrive and displace the Artistic Residents for fucking Star Bucks, and other Pretentious Businesses that catered to the invading Wealthier Demographic. Fuck Trends and all things fucking Trendy Lee thought to Himself why does society succumb to the desire and will of the Rich?! Money Lee thought to Himself was a real motherfucker.

    

Lee pulled up to the Theater, Parked, Pumped a handful of Quarters into the Meter (Lee was amazed was even there and on Functional on top of that), and walked up briskly to the Ticket Window. What Lee nonchalantly had assumed was just good old glass appeared to in fact be Bullet Proof Safety Glass (the kind One finds at All Night Gas Stations, and in Connivence Type Stores in Seriously Shitty Places).  There was a Tall Thin Man in His Twenties with Pale White Skin that if was any Paler it be fucking Transparent., Sunken Eyes that seemed to be actively retreating into Their Sockets, and with Stringy shoulder length Hair. The Ticket Guy looked as if He was on the verge of Passing the fuck out on His face or Nodding Off due to being Strung Out on Heroin and was currently Under the influence.

In the end Lee couldn’t decide if the Ticket Teller was in fact a Hardcore Goth or a Hardcore Junkie either which way it was too hard to Tell considering both were perfectly Viable Options in this part of Town.

       

Stay Tuned Kiddies for Tomorrow’s Mind Warping Installment of………

LEE JONITIS: PROFESSIONAL PEOPLE WATCHER (24/365)

Thanks for Reading,

 By Les Sober

The Second Time Isn’t “The Charm”

This is the Tale of My Second Arrest which is exactly the opposite of My First.

My life at that point was utter shit. I was in the grips of of hardcore Drug Addiction. The apartment I was occupying was really quite nice when I moved in, but at this point do to neglect had become a run down hellhole. I spent all my time with my with my asshole neighbor Big Douche desperately scheming and scamming, lying and Cheating, Stealing and Robbing anything for a fucking dollar.

Once we had some cash we’d get drunk as fuck and then go score some crack. Once we smoked up all the crack we went and bought Heroin. This was a endless daily cycle .

In reality I fucking hated Big Douche and would think about killing him in his sleep constantly. He truly was a fucked up fucking asshole of a human being, too fucking damaged to ever be fixed. Big Douche was the definition of a Lost Cause. I’ll digress for now since The Tale of Big Douche will be forthcoming.

So one afternoon we had managed to scrounge up enough cash for a couple of bags of Heroin, and headed out to our usual copping spot.

I’m going to pause here to take a minute to explain exactly where we scored our shit.

I/We lived in a bustling little suburbia that was a short 15 minute drive into the State’s Capital City. Now once a go the Capital City was a rich and prosperous area full of business. Then the businesses left and so did anyone who could fucking afford to. Over the years the City decayed as it hemorrhaged money through failed attempts to improve the City.

A perfect example is the Capital City spent MILLIONS to build a Sports Stadium in the City (rather than on the outskirts) and it was an instant epic failure. See because they built the Stadium IN the city there was INSUFFICIENT PARKING.

This meant Attendees had to park on the street(s) and walk to the Stadium. The only issue with that was NO ONE wanted to walk down said streets especially with their loved ones or kids. The City even tried combating the problem by stationing a Cop on every outlying corner, AND THAT DIDN’T WORK EITHER, but I digress.

We drove through the filthy trash littered streets lined with old decrepit old houses rotting away through the years.

On any given day We’d see the wandering Hookers, Homeless Begging Bums, Gang Bangers, Pimps, Junkies, Poverty, Stray Cats and Dogs, Crackheads, Drug Dealers, and other of life’s rejected throw aways lurking and loitering on the corners or walking between/among them.

On this particular day the streets were completely vacant there wasn’t a single soul in sight. We drove around several different blocks, but it was all the same the streets were all utterly empty.

I had a bad feeling. A Gut Feeling and not a good one.

The only reason that the usual degenerates wouldn’t be out pounding the streets (committing various dastardly deeds) was a simple one. Just two simple words: Police Activity.

The Police were the preverbal Lights that when flipped on sends the Rats and Roaches scrambling for cover of any kind.

I told Big Douche that we should bail and come back later because obviously something was going on that was making the Natives Restless if you will. Now Big Douche living up to his name continued to relentlessly circle block after block searching for anyone who might be a Dope Dealer. He was franticly obsessed the way Junkies do when their fiending for a fix.

At last right as Big Douche finally was giving up we drove up on a Bodega and a Large (and rather fat) Guy strode out the door. Big Douche being a Junkie immediately decides this is a person is a drug dealer and signals him as it were.

The Guy signals back. I’m pissed as pissed can get because I couldn’t believe we hadn’t bounced yet, and that Big Douche was being a complete cunt. In some bizarre passive aggressive bullshit I deliberately didn’t look at, talk to or even acknowledged The Guy.

The Guy reaches through the drivers side window and does the exchange. Instead of driving off like a good little junkie Big Douche stops to look at the couple bags of Dope, and notices (again being a good little junkie) that the Heroin looks funny. It looks fake. Fake as a motherfucker.

Big Douche leans over and calls the Guy out stating that the Guy’s dope looks beat as shit. The Guy denies it and keeps trying to brush us off. Big Douche then decides he wants his money back (Yeah thats right he wanted the Drug Dealer to refund his money for selling him fake Heroin) and opens the Driver’s door and stood  between the car and the car door arguing with the Guy.

Eventually like a junkie Big Douche stops arguing and starts begging like a big ass bitch. The Guy doesn’t want to hear a single fucking word about it. Big Douche at last accepts defeat and we start to pull away from the curb.

That’s when I saw it, thats when I knew we were fucked. What I saw was the Guy raising his arm to wave in the Cops who were hiding around the way in. The next thing we knew the Cops had 3 cars pinning us in as other Cops ran up to the car yelling like a bunch a savage assholes.

We get out of the car, handcuffed, and then driven around the corner so the Cops entrapment spot wouldn’t get blown up. They transferred us into additional Cop cars and took us to the Police Station.

Once we got there Big Douche was booked, Processed, and sent to County Jail on a slew of yet undressed charges.

I was a bit luckier since I did;t have any outstanding legal issues I was booked and then released on my own recognizance. I was also given a court date the following day.

Needless to say I didn’t sleep that night. I unplugged the phone because Big Douche keep calling asking for me to help contact people to come bail him out. I could have cared less as I was worried about being locked up the very next day.

Unlike my first arrest there was no time in-between my arrest and my trial. It happened so fast I’m really not sure if I even had a court appointed Lawyer (I don’t remember talking or meeting with one at all). I went to my court date, and I remember sitting alone in the court room as the Judge worked his way down the days docket. He finally gets to me and I remember I stood up and remained standing in the same spot.

I remember this Judge some old nasty bastard who lectured me for what seemed like fucking hours about how Drug Addicts are coming into the City to score their drugs which in turn is destroying the City itself.

BULL-FUCKING-SHIT.

First there THOUSANDS of drug addicts in the Judge’s fantastical City. And the only reason Drug Addicts were coming to his City was due to the fact THATS WHERE THE FUCKING DRUG DEALERS ARE. Also as I mentioned earlier the “Fine City” the Judge spoke of was and still is a Growing, Thriving, and Worsening SHITHOLE.

Once the cranky old cocksucker of a Judge wraps up his bullshit tirade he sentenced me to 90 Days Suspended Sentence. The first time I was arrested I got 3 years Probation with a ton of added conditions (all of which I violated like a motherfucker).

This time I simply had to stay out of trouble (aka Get Arrested Again) for 90 days then I’d be off the legal hook, and the arrest would be expunged from my Police Record.

Luckily I managed not to get arrested again (in those 90 days and ever again) though I continued to spend my days living the life of a junkie which by definition requires breaking laws left and right.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

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 

Heavy Metal March Madness: Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All Part 3

March 1st, 1988 Malice entered Rancor Studio psyched to record their first record. Unfortunately March 1st, 1988 became known as “Sue Us Sunday” in the Malice camp. The reason was Malice was served papers several times through out the day precluding them from recording a single note. There were being sued by the Promoter from their show at Peoria Illinois Mental Metal Festival for Failure to Complete their contractual agreement by ending their set early. They were also being sued by Rock Out – Cock Out concert Promoters for missing their show scheduled at the Salt Lake City’s “SLC Metal Mayhem” for being a no show again violating their contract.

Alas that wasn’t all as Malice was simultaneously being sued by Lost Soul Productions who sponsored the Alaskan “Madmen of Metal” Festival. Lost Soul had a slew of charges Animal Abuse (for the Von Dire’s accidentally kicking a stray Penguin), Destruction of Personal Property, Desecration of Sacred Soil (The show was on Tribal Lands), Hate Crimes Against the Indigenous Inuits, Failure to complete contractual obligations, Inappropriate and unauthorized use of a Dog Sled, Grand Theft of 2 Dog Sled packs, Trespassing, impeding Tribal Practices, Drunk and Disorderly, Driving under the influence, possession of dangerous controlled substances, possession of Dangerous and Controlled Substance with intent to distribute, Contraband items (ex. Hardcore Porn), Child Endangerment (majority of fans in attendance were under the age of 18), Public Obscenity (for the bands prolific use of foul language on stage, Vandalism, Unpaid bar tab, Possession of unlicensed firearms, and Violation of the Indigenous Tribes Act of 1888, 1889,1909,1911, and 1938.

Yet Malice wasn’t out of the Legal forrest just yet. Malice’s troubles from the Master’s of Metal Festival in Oregon who were suing Malice for Public Intoxication, Drunk and Disorderly, 17 Counts of Assault (resulting from Sleaze and Ulrich impromptu fist fight, and the Security Guards who were also involved in breaking up the fight.), and for violation of contractual obligations. Oregon’s Wall was suing Malice for violation of contract when they showed up and instantly cancelled that nights show due to inflated egos (Malice at that time was heavily in the Media which garnered more and more attention from the music industry. Last but not least Malice was being sued by WhoreMonger Records for breaking their contract when the band opted to sign with Razorback Records.

The Sum Total of All the Law Suits combined came to a Heart Stopping $376,978,763,329.18:

March 2, 1988: Malice started interviewing for a new Manager, and ended up going with Harold Slickmann who had been in the industry for 47 years. Slickmann had managed such Legendary Bands like DTF, The Screaming Cocks, Diver Down, Suicidal Species, and The Drug War Rejects to name a few. Slickmann’s first order of business was to hire All Star Hollywood Lawyer TR McCoy who had made a career, and an art of getting his clients off  on obscure technicalities. Malice spent the rest of the day in the studio binge drinking and smoking Crystal Meth, and recorded only the intro to one song.

March 3, 1988  Rage returned from a visit to the Emergency Room, and called a band meeting. Rage announced he was leaving the band, and took a moment to explain. Rage had gotten a rather toothy blow job from a heavily intoxicated Groupie resulting in Rage receiving several cuts on his cock. Rage had thought nothing of it until some of the cuts became infected, but was so freaked out that he was too scared to go to the doctor.

When Rage did finally panic enough to finally seek medical attention he was informed the infected cuts had succumbed to gangrene. In fact the gangrene was so sever at that point there was nothing the doctor could do but amputate the gangrenous penis. Rage’s medical issue didn’t end there as the gangrene had spread to include Rage’s balls which too would need to be amputated, and then he would need several skin grafts to rehabilitate his gangrene affected taint. Faced with the dire situation Rage had decided to decline further treatment, and was going to Iceland where he’d wait to die. Malice entered the Rancor Studio and finished recording their album which wasn’t hard since Malice had been playing their own songs for ages.

March 4, 1988 Malice placed an add for a new Drummer because they wanted Rage to pick his successor before he departed to Iceland and into the Grave. Rage after endless interviews and several hours of deliberation in isolation told the band he was going to hire Mitch Furry. Mitch Fury was the ex-Drummer for The Dolts, The Tools, and The Dullards all of which Rage was a fan so it seemed to make the most sense. Now While Malice had completed their first album and brainstorming a title they decided to record some Cover Tunes or B-Sides on which Fury could/would play on.

March 5, 1988 Rage boarded his flight to Iceland never to be seen again. Malice decided to dedicate their first album to Rage and settled on the name Ragearrhea (a combination of Rage and Diarrhea because Rage always got a kick out of the GG Allin Song “Eat My Diarrhea” for being so absurdly over the top) Malice spent the rest of the day editing Ragearrhea over and over never quite all agreeing it was ready for release.

That night the entire band ate Acid an downed it with 191 proof Moonshine that a fan had sent them. When the sun arose Slickmann received a phone call fro the Police from Plankton 3 towns over to come retrieve his clients. Slickmann drove directly to the Plankton Police Department assuming the boys were sitting in jail (or more likely the Drunk Tank), but when he arrived he was informed that in fact the Band hadn’t been jailed. Confused as fuck Slickmann asked then where exactly was he supposed to go to pick up his clients, and was told to drive to the So Sweet Citrus Farm just 14 miles down the road from the Police Station.

Once Slickmann arrived at So Sweet Citrus Farm Slickmann was led by a Police Officer into an Orange Grove. There looked up and saw the band, all buck naked, and sitting balled up in a rather large orange tree. The fire department was there and allowed Slickmann the use of one of their ladders to assigned up into the branches to retrieve his clients. Once Slickmann reached the first member being Von Dire reached out to grab his arm and demand what the hell was going on. Before a single finger touched Von Dire he uttered two words “Not Ripe.”

It was then Slickmann realized the band was tripping so hard they actually thought they were oranges. So Slickmann thinking fast on his feet told the band that if they weren’t safe in his car they would be picked,pulverized, and have their juice drained. Slickmann’s plan worked and one by one the band members dropped to the ground where Slickmann picked them up and carried each one to his awaiting car.

March 8, 1988 after 3 days of non stop hallucinating Malice came down and back into the studio to put the finishing touches on Ragearrhea. During the editing process Von Dire was manically twisting knobs and switching dial when he suddenly became sick and vomited bloody feces on the elaborate sound board, and then sharted out his entire liver. The Engineer flipped the fuck out and dialed 911 while trying not to vomit himself. The Coroner pronounced Von Dire Dead on Arrival (but not after stealing Von Dire’s liver which he later sold on EBay for $1.5 Million)  In Surprise and Sorrow Sleaze shot up heroin by piggy backing needles into his neck, and passed out in an ally, Vile got piss drunk and passed out under an bridge, and Fury sobered up and found himself inexplicably in Detroit.

March 9, 1988 Malice gave Von Dire the Authentic Viking Funeral he always wanted. They had a large wooden raft constructed from logs of trees nearby, placed Von Dire’s body on the raft, and then placed personal items of Dire’s such as his favorite microphone, Porno, and Bong. The band then took turns saying a few words of Dire’s behalf, and then they set the raft adrift. Once it was far enough out Von Dire’s brother Van Dire shot a flaming arrow out above the water where it found its mark hitting the raft dead on. The raft burst into flame and slowly floated off into the setting sun on the horizon.

March 10, 1988 Malice meets with Executives from Razorback Records where they gave them the completed Ragearrhea Album which they fell instantly in love with. They then tasked Malice to pick which track from the album would be their first single, and being extremely concerned over the fact their new hot band (with a new record hot of the presses) in fact had no lead singer instructed Malice to hire one ASAP Yesterday. Malice went to a downtown dive bar named The Drunkard to discuss their options as far as a new singer was concerned.

Fury had been in a band called Finger Fucker and suggested that they perhaps should consider trying to recruit their lead singer  Izzy Insane. The rest of the band agreed it wouldn’t be the worst idea to at least go check Izzy out, and as luck should have it they were playing a show later that night at The Leisure Club.

Vile and Sleaze were impressed enough that (along with Fury) they made Izzy an offer. It turned out Izzy was fighting with the other members of Finger Fucker because the band didn’t approve of Izzy getting engaged to Maxi Padd (the lead singer of all female hardcore punk band Slut City.) No member of Malice gave a shit about who Izzy was involved with in the least which Izzy found a breath fresh air. Izzy left that night with Malice not even bothering to mention he was quitting to his fellow band members in Finger Fucker.

March 11, 1988 Malice informed Razorback that they have indeed found themselves a new lead singer in Izzy Insane. A delighted Razorback informed Malice that they would start the Pre Album Release promotion machine,book numerous interviews, and would be scheduling a American as well as European Tour to also promote the Album. About 4 hours later Razorback called back and inform the band that They had announced the New Album and the supporting tour. Now this is were things started to get a bit insane.

Razorback then went on to tell the band that due to the unanticipated, but amazingly massive response towards the new Album  They were releasing the it early. Instead of sticking with the original release date of April 18th were in fact now going to release it tomorrow. That in turn meant the “Carnal Carnival” Tour would also be moved up too (when fans heard of the upcoming tour launched a berauge of demand for tickets upon any concert venue in their city desperately seeking tickets) The tour would now be starting off in the days on March 14th with the first show in Berwick-upon-Tweed Northumberland, England.

March 12, 1988 Malice headed to the International Air Port to catch their flight to England in preparation for their first show of their “Carnal Carnival” tour.  Meanwhile Razorback launched Malice’s debut Record now titled “Disputing The Charges” in America where the fans went buck wild. Record Stores sold out of the Album, Fans franticly flocked to score concert tickets like mad, and Malice sold out of all other merch (such as T-Shirts and Bumper Stickers) as well. Razorback was so overwhelmed buy the never seen before success of Malice the quickly dropped all of their other acts to solo focus on their Cash Cow. In response to the increasing demand for all things Malice Razorback also contracted 22 new factories to print as many Albums as the could with large cash bonuses for speed of production were also offered. Razorback then dealt with the Malice Concert tour issues by tripling all of Malice’s show American Concert dates (meaning if Malice was originally scheduled to play 1 show Friday they would now be playing additional shows on Saturday and Sunday), and then Razorback signed 11,314 exclusive contracts for Malice merchandising retail sales.

March 14, 1988 Razorback called Slickmann at 5 am to tell him Malice’s album had actually gone to the number one spot on the Billboard charts. Radio stations were playing 12 Malice songs an hour (an average of 3 per 15 minutes of air time), and MTV was beating down there door wanting to know when the band would be releasing a video. Based on that Razorback had booked an emergency video shoot for the very next day to capitalize on Malice’s first European Show and first show of their “Carnal Carnival”Tour.

Slickmann went to The Wellington House a lovely little British Bed and Breakfast that Razorback has mistakenly reserved for Malice’s stay while on tour. Slickmann arrived to find the Wellington trashed beyond recognition, the irate Owner screaming at the Police while his hysterical wife sat on the from lawn, and every member of the band laying about the grounds in various states of intoxication and undress. Slickmann snuck around the well distracted Police Officers and managed to collect both Vile and Fury literally dragging them by their ankles to the parked tour Van. Once Slickmann secured his first two clients (simply by buckling them into their seat, plus if they wriggled free of the seat belts the steering wheel being on the left would confuse them to no end) went back to retrieve Sane and Sleaze who were awkwardly positioned sprawled out on the front lawn.

Slickmann slithered up to the Owner’s Wife and proceeded to agitate her further into a complete tizzy. He then walked over to the Owner grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around like a top. Once the Owner and Slickmann were face to face Slickmann suggested the man’s time would be better spent calling his lawyer than screaming at the Police. The tactic worked like a charm and the Owner took off to call his lawyer. The Police thanked Slickmann and then turned their attention to the Owner’s Wife’s mental meltdown. At this point Slickmann snagged Sleaze and Sane, ushered them to the Van and sped off as fast as he could.

Right before they were headed to the stage Malice got a call from Razorback in their dressing room. Razorback wanted to let the band know that since they had failed to pick the first single for Ragearrhea they had. Razorback decided to go with “Its Easy Being Sleazy” followed by “Liquor, Ladies, and Lingerie”, and then “Beer Belly Blues”. Malice thought that was fine because it didn’t require them to do jack diddly shit, and that combined with the fact the band actually didn’t care which song was used as the single (Sleaze was on record in an interview with Metalhead Magazine that as far as he was concerned singles shitty singles as singles were complete shit.)

The Show that night was a massive success as the fans went fucking wild, and Malice ended up playing 4 encores  after their 3 1/2 hour set. The band was in and downing good spirits, and went out to the only Strip Club called The Lusty Lass for a post show party. There Vile met a pair of Siamese Twin Sisters (they shared a mutual pinky) who worked as contortionists in a traveling State Fair, and fell madly in love with them, we’re talking head over heels hallmark type shit here. Vile ended up marrying the Spinster Sisters in two individual ceremonies at the neighbor hood Pub by a drunken Minister, and the two Sisters (Una and Dosa) joined the band for the remainder of their tour.

March, 15th 1988 Malice showed up 6 hours and High off their asses for their video shoot.  The day was a total fucking shit show as the band was too intoxicated to follow any direction no matter how simple. Sleaze kept nodding off due to having shot up enough Heroin to kill a Horse while Vile kept walking off in search of any type Alcohol, and Fury just stood in place swaying slightly drooling on himself comatose. Sane was running around like a cracked out jack rabbit after snorting a quarter ounce of Crystal Meth that morning for breakfast. The original video director walked off set saying he couldn’t work with a group of untalented American drunks and druggies, the Assistant director took over only to quit half an hour later because he couldn’t handle the ongoing chaos. At this point Slickmann knew it was time to step up his game.

First Slickmann snatched the Bottle of RotGut Fortified Wine from his trunk he kept for emergencies such as this. Slickmann then flagged down Vile and gave him the bottle along with his Bass. Then Slickmann found a Camera man who happened to sell Cocaine to supplement his income, bought an 8 Ball, and gave it to Sleaze with the instructions to “Wake The Fuck Up”. Now Slickmann turned his attention to Sane, and managed to score a handful of pills (Valium, Vicodin, Xanax, and Oxycontin) which he handed to Sane telling him to grind them up and snort them ASAP (Snorting crushed up pills allows the user to feel the effects faster then swallowing them) Finally Slickmann had to deal with Fury which he injected with an EpiPen  (which is essential Adrenaline) he stole from a onsite first aid kit.

Once the members of Malice had balanced out their intoxicants the shoot was locked and loaded, but they still need a Director so once again Slickmann stepped in as Director. The video shoot went splendidly and the band was done Shooting in just under 30 minutes. Slickmann then immediately sent the video to Razorback Records, and a copy to MTV.

May 16, 1988 Nothing Eventful or Interesting occurred. Slickmann slipped Roofies into Malice’s morning Bloody Mary’s rendering them unconscious for 19 hours straight. Slickmann had a pleasant and restful day setting up interviews, talking to various companies about sponsorship/product endorsement/advertising deals and so on.

March 17, 1988 That morning Malice did a marathon session of magazine interviews with Revolver, RollingStone, Hit Parader, Mental For Metal, and  Circus just for starters. Malice also had done a ton of interviews via the phone with Radio Shows such as Bubba and BooYah in the Morning, The Howard Stern Show, and The Greaseman Morning Show. The Band went to The Booze Hound Bar and drank their lunch before heading over to a local High School where Slickmann had the AV Club ready and waiting to film an interview for MTV’s Headbanger’s Ball (MTV’s Saturday at Midnight Heavy Metal Show). After the MTV video interview was done Malice headed off to The Local Yokel Amphitheater in Swansea Wales a rough and tumble town plagued by poverty and drug addiction.

The Show was a raging success with the Highlight being Sane led the Audience in a sing-a-long of their Cock Rock Classic “Free Mustache Rides (All Day Long)” and pulled one lucky Fan on stage to sing the chorus for Malice’s impromptu  a cover of  The Eater’s of The Dead” by the Legendary Punk Band The Perv’s.

March 18, 1988 At an early breakfast meeting Sleaze announced that he felt at home in Swansea’s nitty gritty and often shitty city life. Plus there was plenty of high grade Heroin to go around so Sleaze truly was in his element. With this sudden and new life choice Sleaze would be leaving the band to pursue his dream of being a washed up junkie has been. Before Malice’s Management shit the bed Sleaze informed the band he had already found his/their replacement guitarist. Sleaze’s replacement would his younger brother Davie Scum who already knew all of Malice’s songs by heart, and who’s last band The Dire had imploded over artistic differences. The other members of Malice didn’t object as they figured if Davie was Sleaze’s Little brother then he’d be bad ass enough for them.

That night’s show was a disaster of epic proportions. First off Malice missed sound check showing up while their opening act The Slags (a local band booked for that night) were in the middle of their set. The Slags were having a hell of a night and the crowd was on fucking fire so The Slags did a couple of encores to a roaring Audience. When the Slags announced they’d be playing yet another encore Malice lost their collective Mind. All Members of Malice ran out on stage and started pushing and shoving members of The Slag’s while trying to wrestle their instruments from them.

Gunther Gunner the lead Singers of The Slags head butted the shit out of Sane breaking his nose, Vile then kicked Gunner square in the balls so hard he vomited. Seeing this Roger Dodger (the Guitarist of The Slags) grabbed his guitar strap off his guitar and proceeded to whip Vile relentlessly with it like a dog. Fury came to Vile’s aid by smashing Dodger upside his head with a Microphone Stand which split Dodger’s head open like a ripened cantaloupe sending a torrent of blood exploding forth from a massive gash on Dodger’s forehead. Scum being the new kid on the block and not wanting to show band unity Started breaking beer bottles over the head of any The Slags band members. Security scrambled on stage to stop the brawl and became part of it instead, it was a may lay of fists and feet as the fight turned into every man for themselves.

The fans of each band in the front row started beating the hell out of each other which spread through out the Audience until the entire venue had erupted in a full blown Riot. The Police came speeding in with their lights blazing, and officers started jumping out of their patrol cars and strapping into their riot gear. The fans began vandalizing the Venue, and set fire to all of the concession booths as the first round of Tear Gas came raining down. By the time Law Enforcement had gotten the scene under control 227 Fans were treated for various injuries (ranging from small cuts to a gut who got kicked so hard in the head his eyes popped, and swung back end forth on the optic nerves), 379 Fans were arrested, and one Fan died (it was later corner listed the cause of death as a heart attack most likely caused by the extreme excitement of seeing his favorite band Malice Live). Malice was arrested, held over night, and released on $500,000 Bail with a new list of charges.

March 19, 1988 Malice Arrived in Italy for their show in the city of Urbino the next day, when they were stopped by customs. A Customs Agent led the band into a small detention room where they were met by The Polizia di Stato (The Italy’s State Police). The Polizia where there to inform the Band that they were there to Arrest Vic Vile on the charge of Polygamy. They stated that since Vile had married the Spinster Sister’s Una and Dosa individually meaning he was in fact married to two different women.

Slickmann sent for the Band’s high profile Lawyer TR McCoy who arrived a few hours later on his private sonic jet, and then jumped in a waiting Bentley Limo he had custom made (TR McCoy lived in Italy one month out of the year, and owned a spacious Mediterranean Villa in Venice) By the time TR McCoy arrived at the Police station he was told Vile had been taken to the Court House already to stand trial. McCoy then hauled ass over to the Court House only to discover Vile’s trial was already over, and he had been found guilty. McCoy then sped over to the County Prison to consult with Vile and see if he could bail him out, but once at the Prison the Warden told McCoy that since Vile had been found guilty he was then sentenced immediately. Now considering the Italy’s long and illustrious history of Christianity (and high concentration of Catholic’s )called for a Polygamist  be put to death. So for all his efforts and killer response time McCoy was too late to do a damn thing, but to arrange Vile’s body to be sent back to America for Burial.

Malice’s show that night fared no better. The Stadium that Malice was scheduled to play at was being protested and heavily picketed by the Catholic Coalition of Christ since Malice had been condemned as an abomination by the current Pope. That nights fill in bassist (for the newly deceased Vic Vile was strolling into the venue when the Protester’s spotted and attacked him pelting him mercilessly with Crucifixes, Whipping him with Rosaries, and beating him brutally with a various variety of Bibles. The poor guy ended up in a mock crucifixion in the middle of the parking lot.

The Protest was so heated that when Malice arrived they were trapped on their tour bus surrounded by religious fanatics with signs that said things like “Malice: The Sound Track To Hell” or “Malice is the Sinful Servants of SATAN” screaming scripture non stop yelling over each other. Malice decided the protest was a huge hassle and had agreed leaving was their only option, but not before Scum climbed out of the emergency exit on the roof off the bus to address the protesters.

Scum  repeatedly made the sign of the cross upside down, waving his “Devil Horns” (as the hand jester is referred too), and pelting people with copies of The Cult of Id’s “Hedonism Not Hell” inciting further rage against the group. Scum then attempted to shit on the Protesters, but to no avail as he was seriously constipated due to taking fist full of Opioid Pain Killers) Slickmann buckled down that night (while Malice retreated to Sex Club for its Annual All Anal Orgy, and tried to do all of the drugs in Italy) for the PR nightmare no doubt coming first thing in the morning.

March 20, 1988 The phone rang off the fucking hook starting at 6 am as a the Press blitzkrieg began. It seemed ever Media outlet was beating down Malice’s Hotel room door to get a piece of the impending Scandal steaming from last nights failed show. Scum went on record stating his official opinion was that the Protesters (as well as anyone else) were fanatical assholes who Weaponize the Bible for their own personal beliefs or agendas. Sane’s statement to the Press was simply that “I shoot Dope with The Pope.” Meanwhile Fury got so shitfaced that he just rambled incoherently about different conspiracy theories such as the Illuminati were behind the anti-Malice Protest.

Now while Malice manned the phones Slickmann had to deal with the shipping of Vile’s body Stateside which had happened to go from bad to worse. The Italian Government claimed they had sent the body via an International Cargo Ship, but Vile’s body had been somehow lost at sea along the voyage. Slickmann had to think fast and came up with the plan to call Vile’s Family (and as far as the Press was concerned) and tell them Vic wanted to be Buried at Sea. Next on Slickmann’s agenda was handling his fair share of the Press Onslaught that was still raging on with no sign of stopping. After several hours of dealing with the Press Slickmann realized in all the chaotic madness that no one had addressed the fact that Malice needed a replacement Bassist.

Slickmann thought up a Hail Mary, and had Sane contact his Fiancé Maxi Padd who was the Singer/Bassist of the All Female Punk Band Slut City. In a turn of good luck Slut City was on hideous so She was able to fill in for Vile until the end of the tour. Once again association with a Malice member was good enough to get the green light from the rest of the band making Maxi the official new Malice Bassist.

That nights show at the Benito de Soto Amphitheater was suddenly cancelled because apparently a gang of Soccer Hooligans at the previous night’s game between intense rivals The Matador ‘s versus The Revolucionaria de los Trabajadores Alliance got out of hand. Well in fact it turned into one giant fist fight between fan’s as bottles and Molotov Cocktails were tossed around like footballs. By the time the Police dispersed the Crowd, and arrested as many perpetrators as they could the Amphitheater was well on its way to burning to the ground.

March 22, 1988 Malice was detained at Ireland’s Kilkenny International Air Port under suspicion of Smuggling Exotic Animals. It only took about 15 minutes or so for the band to be cleared by Customs, and they headed straight to the Hotel accommodations. Slickmann had booked the band the Penthouse Suit to celebrate the tour success thus far a decision he’d later regret.

That nights show at The NewDublin Stadium went off without incident which was a relief to many. Back at the Penthouse Malice called in a small army of Escorts and Strippers up, and hired a professional camera crew to film their Rock Opera Porno Movie. For the next 3 days Malice barricaded themselves in the Penthouse running up a six figure room service tab as Pimps, Prostitutes, Porn Stars, and Associated Drug Dealers came and went  constantly in and out 24 hours a day in a seemingly endless procession. The Hotel Management was on the verge of calling the Police the entire 72 hours, but Slickmann threw enough money at them that held off. Slickmann had again contacted TR McCoy the band’s high powered Lawyer and had him fly in to assist with the legal issues of the absurd situation.

On the evening of the 3rd day Malice finally emerged from the Penthouse suit looking like cadavers with pale skin, sunken eyes, blank expressions, and in a drug induced haze. Skillmann checked every member of Malice into the closest Detox he could find to have the drugs pumped out of his half dead clients. While Malice was Detoxing Slickmann met up with TR McCoy back at the Hotel for a meeting at the infamous Rock Opera Porn suit as it was now being referred to by the staff. When the two walked into the Penthouse looked more like a Crack House.

The furniture for the most part had been smashed to pieces or had just seemed to have vanished into thin air. There were 4 bare mattresses laying randomly on the floor which was littered in a thick blanket of Beer and Booze Bottles. Over flowing ash trays were perched on every viable surface like little cancer landslides. The toilet was broken, the shower had been left running and there was a variety of drug paraphernalia stashed all over the place, Crack Pipes in the couch, empty Drug Baggies laying all about, mirrors coated with Cocaine residue, numerous syringes, Meth Pipes on and under the only remaining table, Heroin spoons in the kitchen lined the counter like from some Dope Shooting contest, and clusters of empty pill bottles were stacked up in the corners. Slickmann and McCoy instantly agreed to have their discussion out in the hall as they were sure they would contract every venlarial disease known to man.

McCoy said he would fend off any possible legal issues with the Hotel with a fat ass check, and any issues’s with local Law Enforcement McCoy would claim that due to the prolific drug/alcohol use were rendered temporarily insane due to drug induced psychosis. Slickmann’s job was to hunt down and confiscate every piece of footage of Malice or their movie from the past 72 hours and destroy it which somehow he managed to do by asking questions and writing a plethora of checks. Slickmann then picked up Malice at the Detox and escorted then directly to their private plane without a single moment to waste. As Malice’s plane was just taking off the Police showed up and stormed the Airport looking to arrest Malice for a Soliciting Prostitution, Soliciting Narcotics, Vandalism, Grand Theft (the missing Hotel Furniture), Illegal filming of Pornographic material, Bribery, Obstruction of Justice, and Obscenity. McCoy remained behind at the Air Port to deal with Police and Malice’s long list of assorted charges.

March 25, 1988 Malice’s arrival in Germany was met with a grand fanfare as hundreds of Fans had found out where and when Malice’s plane (usually kept as a well guarded secret to avoid Fan interference) was landing. Skillmann instructed the Pilot to take off and head for McMillan Air Strip immediately. After landing once again this time at a Fan free Airport Malice hurriedly made their way to the Concert Venue cancelling their Hotel reservation on the way (they figured if the mob at the Airport had found out when/where they were landing then they more than likely knew what Hotel they were staying at.)

That night Malice played to a record setting sold out crowd of Beer Fueled Fanatical Fans. During the guitar solo for Malice’s number one album chart topping song “Late Night Loving” Malice’s equipment over powered the Stadium’s electrical system causing it to explode, and shrouding the entire Stadium in a cloak of darkness. This prompted Scum to snag a Megaphone and invite everyone in attendance to join Malice for drinks at The Duggered Dog Pub down the street from the Stadium. Malice stayed to party with their adoring fans into the wee hours of the morning, and ended up going straight from The Duggered Dog to their Plane the next day.

On the way to the plane Slickmann noticed Fury was missing from the line up. Slickmann then interrogated the other members of Malice as to Fury’s whereabouts, but still being 16 times the legal limit none of them seemed to know. Sane volunteered that Fury had left the Pub in search of information on his German heritage. Slickmann breathed a sigh of relief, and couldn’t believe his luck that the answer to Fury’s exact location at this time was such an easy one. Slickmann told the chauffeur to drive to The National German Heritage Museum.

The scene that greeted Slickmann when he arrived at the National German Heritage Museum was right out of a TV Crime Drama. There were 2 Police cars parked with their light flashing but sirens off behind a Ambulance. On the sidewalk in front of the museum were two EMTs standing on either side of a man strapped to a stretcher, and that man was Mitch Fury naked covered head to toe in what looked like shit. Slickmann approached one of the EMTS to inquire to what the hell happened.

The EMT told him that when the staff of the museum had showed up to work that morning they noticed that one of the front windows had been smashed out. Initially they thought it was just some local high school vandals had gotten drunk and decided to raise hell. Upon entering the museum however they saw sign of an intruder leading from the broken window into the World War 2 Wing of the museum. It was at that point the concerned staff phoned the Police who arrived promptly to investigate the breaking and entering.

What the Police found was as disturbing as it was absurd. Fury was totally naked, covered in his own feces clutching the leg of a Mannequin dressed in a Nazi SS Uniform, swaying back and forth while muttering “I’m a Piece of Shit” over and over inconsolably. From what the Police had figured out at this point was an intoxicated Fury had broken into the museum to “research” his family tree as he was of German heritage, and had suffered a sudden phycological breakdown when he found out he was directly related to Adolf Hitler (via a bastard baby Hitler had with a Sausage Factory Worker in 1939) Slickmann called the Record Label as Fury was taken to Schietzer State Metal Hospital for further evaluation.

March 26, 1988 After hearing Slickmann’s update on Malice and their current tour instructed Skillmann to do the following. The first was get Malice on their plane and fly them State side immediately, and leave Fury in the care of the German Mental Health Professionals for now. Razorback wasn’t having Malice return because they were pissed off at the Band for their excessive on and off stage outrageous antics it was quite the opposite. Razorback had racked up so much money from having Malice as a client was truly monumental (example half of the current staff at Razorback got so rich that the retired early). Thus it was in Razorback’s best financial interests to have their Cash Cow back in the pasture. They set up a stay for Malice at the most secluded and private (not to mention government level security) Hawaiian’s Elite Spa where they were to go directly from the German Airport. Slickmann was then told to fly to Los Angeles to meet with the company heads at Razorback Records to talk shop and marketing strategies.

For the rest of the month of March Malice enjoyed the Coconut-Ketamine Coma Dream Therapy offered at Elite Spa, lounging by the poor downing Daiquiris, smoking high grade Marijuana, and chronically masturbating like Monkeys. Skillmann met with the Executives at Razorback for a 5 day all out marketing madman meeting holed up in the company’s Board Room surviving on Energy Drinks, Protein Bars, and a copious amount Gin.

Stay Tuned For Malice: The Band That Almost Killed Us All part 4 Coming Soon…..

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Unconventional Assignment Sets English Department on its Ass

DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING POST DOES NOT INDORSE, PROMOTE, SUPPORT OR GLORIFY DRUG ADDICTION. IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS BATTLING ADDICTION PLEASE GET HELP.

I was a freshman in collage when I took a writing course that was billed as a creative writing class. It turned out to be a real turd. There was absolutely NOTHING creative about the class I assure you. The Professor was phoning it in as far as I was concerned. There wasn’t creativity because there was no originality. What I mean is this Guy basically ran us through a basic writing textbook full of the most mundane rudimentary writing exercises.

One fateful day the so called Professor assigned what is called “A List Exercise”.  A list Exercise is writing a list describing a process such as ReBuilding a Carburetor, Baking Cup Cakes, Making a Toy Model, Groom a Dog etc. in list form. Its basically a step by step how to list.

I was so utterly disgusted with the assignment I decided to write an unconventional list because that would be interesting (I mean its a fucking list how interesting is that shit?!), and not just a half assed description of some ordinary task I chose just to complete the assignment.

When it comes to writing a classic motto of sorts is “A writer writes what they know” and with that said I decided for my unorthodox List Exercise that I would write about the ritual of the Heroin Addict which I am quite personally familiar with from my Decade of Debauchery (My past feels like several lifetimes).

Needless to say this caught the Professors eye and not in a good way. He told me it was inappropriate and that I was making a mockery of the class. The Professor then went on to report my paper to the Head of the English Department. Before the end of the day the entire English Department was gossiping feverishly about it and adding their two cents worth.

In the end I was given a slap on the wrist and told not to repeat such “Disruptive Behavior” and all would be forgiven.

Ladies & Gentlemen without a further ado for your reading pleasure I give you that very cleaver and controversial Exercise List:

  1. Score the heroin
  2. Find safe and private area/location
  3. Fire up Zippo lighter and place it standing upright
  4. Get spoon out
  5. Place small amount of water in spoon (to help with this part bending the spoon at the base of the neck is recommended)
  6. Combine the water and heroin in spoon
  7. Mix water and heroin thoroughly in spoon
  8. Place spoon over a heat source i.e. flame such as a Lighter, Match or Lit Candle
  9. Wait for the water-heroin concoction to simmer (Bubble)
  10. Once simmering immediately remove spoon from flame
  11. Allow the mixture to cool (requires just an minute or so)
  12. Place piece of cotton or a piece cigarette filter to use as a filter
  13. Draw up heroin into syringe through the filter
  14. Make sure to remove ALL air bubbles by flicking syringe with index finger (If you inject an air bubble it will travel to your heart and you will DIE)
  15. Once the bubbles have burst expel the excess by pushing plunger of syringe until air is out

16.Tie off using a belt, phone cord etc. as a tourniquet

17. Insert syringe into vein at a 45 degree angle

18. Draw back plunger to see if your actually in a vein

19. If a small amount of blood rushes into the syringe your set, if not repeat #17

20. Once you’ve draw the plunger back and blood entered the syringe inject heroin slowly

21. Once the heroin is injected remove tourniquet

22. Remove needle

23. Wipe off excess blood from injection site

24. Apply pressure to stop any further bleeding

25. In 3 to 4 hours the high will wear off (possibly making you severely sick depending on how addicted you are or become)

26. When you come down you will want/need to repeat this entire list again and again and again….Until You either end up DEAD, IN PRISON or GET CLEAN.

Thanks For Reading

 Les Sober