BANANA MAN

Welcome to Today’s FYB Post featuring the Video for the Song “BANANA MAN” bu Tally Hall. Tally Hall is an American Rock Band formed in Arbor, Michigan in December 2002. The Band is known for its Upbeat Melodies and Whimsical Lyrics. The Band described Their sound as “Wonky Rock” in an Effort to Not let Their Music be Defined by Any Particular Genre. So when People started Defining Characteristics of “Wonky Rock” the Band Immediately Relabeled Their Sound as “Fabloo”.

NOW TO BE CRYSTAL FUCKING CLEAR I think the Song is Absolute Shit. It Sounds like some Fucking Collage Alternative Rock Band from the fucking 90’s. So why the fuck am I using in/as a Post?! Well Allow Me to Explain. The Video is Absolutely fucking Insane So Insane in fact that I’m Not saying You Should be on Drugs When You watch the Video BUT it Sure as Hell Would Help. From the Demented Clown Make-up, Bugged Out Meth Eyes, Manic Energy, Strange Movements, and Hallucinatory Characteristics make Banana Man seem like a Bad Acid Trip.

It is What it is,

Presented By Les Sober

So It All Started When………

So it all Started when I was Driving to the Gadget Store to pick Up a New Tomato Polisher to give to My Wife for Our 57th Wedding Anniversary. Out of fucking No Where a Naked Guy Higher than God on BathSalts Leapt into the Middle of the Road trying to Eat His Own Face. He had already Consumed His Lips and was Futilely trying to Shove the Rest of His Face into His Mouth.

I sweared like a son of a bitch and Accidentally Drove of the Road to Avoid turning the Man into a Human Meat Sack. As My Car charged Head First Down a the Stereo embankment Zigging and Zagging through the Bumper Car Course from Hell. At Last My Car came to a Abrupt Stop after the Wheels got Entangled in Under Brush.

I exited My Car and Started to Treck through the Dense Woods in Search of Civilization. As I strolled along I heard a particularly Strange and some what Disturbing Sound. It sounded Like a Rabid Wounded Grizzly Bear, and its Prey had fallen Head First into a Giant ass Blender. Curious I wondered  towards the Unknown Noise until I reached a Near by Clearing in the Woods. There I laid Eyes on One of the Greatest Abominations I have ever born Witness too.

       

There is that Clearing was Only what I can Assume was Bigfoot who looked Nothing really like the Stereotypically Depiction of what Bigfoot is thought to look like. This Humanoid Creature was in deed HUGH standing around 8 Feet Tall, weighted approximately 400 plus Pounds, and was in need of some Serious Industrial Manscaping (Due to the fact this Creature had Excessive amounts of Body Hair I could see Why Some People Mistook the Body Hair for actual Fur). The Bigfoot though had the Physical Characteristics not of an Ape, but much more like that of a Neanderthal  Caveman with a Sloped Head with a Pronounced Brow.

The Bigfoot like Creature was engaged in a Rowdily fucking a Large Brown Bear, or Perhaps It was Raping It I’m not too sure. I’m not sure because I have No fucking Clue what a Fully Grown Adult Brown Bear or a Suspected Bigfoot sound like while having Sex. All I’m saying is when Cats Fight or Fuck it sounds the Same which is as if They were being Skinned Alive.

       

Not wanting to be Spotted and running the Risk of Being Killed or Worse Dragged into This Interspecial Clusterfuck. So I took off as Fast as My Legs could carry Me. After a Few Minutes of Running through the Woods I came across a Small Zoo on the Boarder of the Woods and a Rather Large Looking Town. I made my way to the Front Gate only to find it Chained Shut with a sign hanging on it that read “Closed for Mating Season”.

I figured even if the Zoo wasn’t currently Open to the Public there still has to be a handful of Staff on the Premises to Clean, Feed, and Tend to the Care of the Zoo;s Animal Population. I scaled the Fence and let Myself In. As I explored the Zoo I gravitated over to the Penguin Enclosure since I personally think Penguins are Dope as Fuck.  I still had yet to locate a Staff Member and decided since I was already in the Zoo I may as well Treat Myself to a Round of Penguin Spotting.

I entered the Building that Housed the Penguin Enclosure and started to Look Around. As I was staring at a Colony of Emperor Penguins I became aware that for a Building Housing Penguins this One was Rather Warm, Yet the Snow/Ice in the Enclosure(s) was Melting in spite of the Above Average South Pole/North Pole / Arctic Temperatures. I simply Couldn’t get My head around it defied Science. I figured something had gone wrong technically maybe the Cooling System had Broken Down or was About or To something to that effect.

       

I searched around until I located the Access Door that lead Directly into the Actual Penguin Enclosure and once again let Myself in. As soon as I set foot into the Enclosure a Malicious Penguin Slide Tackled Me, and in Response I fell flat on My face in a Big Old Snow Bank. Just then a Second Penguin landed on My back knocking the Wind Out of Me. As I tried to Stand Breathing in Heavily in an attempt to Catch My Breath I inhaled a large Portion of the Snow Bank. Once I got to My Feet I realized this Snow was gritty like Sand, and no where Near Cold as it seemed to be Room Temperature.

A Second or Two later I felt a Rush of Energy that felt like NASA had Launched a Rocket up My Ass. I could hear My Hair Growing and there was a Low constant Humming in My Ears. I then became insanely aware of My Surroundings and started to become intensely Paranoid. I thought to Myself that perhaps this is what it was like to Loose One’s Mind as My Heart was Booming a Death Metal Band’s Bass Drum. I scrambled Frantically out of the Enclosure and bolted out of The Penguin House in Haste.

Once outside again I freaked the fuck Out as I became Overwhelmed by the Situation and remembered I was in fact Trespassing after Breaking an Entering. I knew I had to get the hell out of the Zoo no matter what before I got Arrested for My Illegal Shenanigans.  I started sprinting from Building to Building, Enclosure to Enclosure trying to find a Posted Map of the Zoo’s Layout.

Before I found One The Zoo was inundated with Militant DEA Agents wearing Bullet Proof Vests, Guns Drawn, and Their Badges swinging wildly around Their Necks from cheap Chains. I was apprehended immediately and taken into Custody. Luckily I managed to inform the Agents I wasn’t a Zoo Employee which They then Verified. They uncured Me and told Me to Remain where I was until instructed Further as I had already gotten in the Way of Their Drug Raid.

       

It turned out that the Zoo wasn’t closed for Mating Season as the sign stated, but it was Closed for Drug Smuggling. As it turned Out the Employees of the Zoo had a MASSIVE Meth Lab in the Basement of the Penguin House. As They Manufactured Kilo after Kilo of High Grade Crystal Meth the Hid it in Plain Sight by Masking Their Meth as Actual Snow.

In the End 37 Zoo Employees were Arrested in the Raid and the DEA Confiscated over 2 Tons of Amassed Crystal Meth making it the Biggest Meth Bust bu the DEA in Meth History.

Thanks for Reading,

  By Les Sober

F to the U to the C to the K to the Part to the 2

Some say I had a chip on my shoulder in the womb.

Others believe I was born Angry from Day 1.

As soon as I entered the World I was Raging, Railing, and Rioting against it.

Confrontation Excites Me.

I’ve made arguing into an Art Form of Fuckery.

I make people think through changing Their Perspective of the Situation.

I win by always making an Intelligent Argument. Never argue like an Idiot. Never Argue from a point of Ignorance. Stupidity is Avoidable.

I was born a fighter, Live as a Fighter, and I will inevitably Die Fighting Waring to the last second of My Life.

I’m the kind of Person that people say “I hope in Death he finds the Peace he could never find in Life.” at their fucking Funeral.

And Thus The Fucks Continue undaunted…….

Fuck Steve Harvey. Fuck Bixby. Fuck Cortana. Fuck Supremacy.

Fuck Slavery. Fuck Human Trafficking. Fuck Airlines. Fuck Rental Cars.

Fuck a Duck. Fuck Jeff Sessions. Fuck a 2 Party System. Fuck a Suck.

Fuck Guy Liner. Fuck Skinny Jeans. Fuck Porn. Fuck Manscaping.

Fuck Emojis. Fuck James Woods. Fuck TGIF, Fuck The New Full House.

Fuck Murphy Brown Past and Present. Fuck Gastronomy. Fuck Bigfoot.

Fuck The Connors. Fuck Pesticides. Fuck Smoking Tide Pods. Fuck Veal.

Fuck Faux Gras. Fuck Juggalos. Fuck Dentists. Fuck Botox. Fuck Recycling.

Fuck Minimum Wage. Fuck The 40 Hour Work Week. Fuck Outsourcing.

Fuck Automated Messaging Systems. Fuck Pumpkin Beers. Fuck Lattes.

Fuck Jocks. Fuck Gyms. Fuck Orthodontists. Fuck Funerals. Fuck Pride.

Fuck Dating Sites. Fuck Playboy. Fuck Miata’s. Fuck Mid Life Crisis.

Fuck Declawing. Fuck Tail Docking. Fuck Geraldo Rivera. Fuck White Trash.

Fuck CGI. Fuck Comic Book Movies. Fuck Avatar. Fuck Micheal Bay.

Fuck JJ Abrams. Fuck Uwe Boll. Fuck Bjork. Fuck The WWE.

Fuck Satellite Radio. Fuck The UFC. Fuck The Confederate Flag.

Fuck Tyler Perry. Fuck Medea Movies. Fuck Conservatives. Fuck Infection.

Fuck Moby. Fuck Kanye West. Fuck Simon Cowell. Fuck Twitter.

Fuck Sexting. Fuck Trump Supporters. Fuck Bigots. Fuck Racists.

Fuck Ted Cruz. Fuck MAGA. Fuck Opulence. Fuck Strip Clubs.

Fuck Chris Angle. Fuck Ghost Adventures. Fuck Self Doubt. Fuck Me.

Fuck Excessiveness. Fuck Low Self Esteem. Fuck PETA. Fuck Sea World.

Fuck Circuses. Fuck Animal Abuse. Fuck Deforestation. Fuck Polar Bears.

Fuck Heart Throbs. Fuck Teen Idols. Fuck Rolling Stone. Fuck EDM.

Fuck DJ’s. Fuck Sckrillix. Fuck Limp Bizkit. Fuck Lincohn Park.

Fuck The KKK. Fuck Skinheads. Fuck Mel Gibson. Fuck White Power.

Fuck Black Friday. Fuck Apple Stores. Fuck Apple Geniuses.

Fuck The Super Bowl. Fuck The World Cup. Fuck The World Series.

Fuck Noisiness. Fuck Meditation. Fuck Yoga. Fuck Mabneste. Fuck NASCAR.

Fuck Hot Dogs. Fuck Head Cheese. Fuck Gas Station Sea Food.

Fuck Food Poisoning. Fuck Cinco De Mio. Fuck Flag Day.

Fuck Vick’s Vapor Rub. Fuck Old Wives Tales. Fuck Superstitions.

Fuck Road Rage. Fuck Expectation. Fuck Judgmental People.

Fuck Judgments. Fuck Price Gauging. Fuck Corporations. Fuck Hippies.

Fuck Democrats. Fuck Hilton. Fuck Logos. Fuck Branding.

Fuck Traffic Tickets. Fuck Incorporation. Fuck DUI’s. Fuck Pimps.

Fuck Poaching. Fuck Human Trafficking. Fuck Women Beaters. Fuck AMHA.

Fuck Guidance Councilors. Fuck Prejudice. Fuck Auto Correct.

Fuck The Cloud. Fuck Stereotyping. Fuck Candy Crush, Fuck Trivia Nights.

Fuck Genocide. Fuck Suicide. Fuck Arrogance. Fuck Pompous People.

Fuck Cockiness. Fuck Scremo. Fuck Smashing Pumpkins. Fuck Matt Soren.

Fuck Game Of Thrones. Fuck The Twilight Series. Fuck Authority.

Fuck Menstruation. Fuck Masturbation. Fuck Rim Jobs. Fuck Grievances.

Fuck Hallmark. Fuck The 5 Day Work Week. Fuck Retirement. Fuck Softcore.

Fuck King Of The Road. Fuck Snitches. Fuck Rabies. Fuck Over Fishing.

Fuck BP. Fuck Oil Spills. Fuck “Hot Spots”. Fuck Night Clubs.

Fuck Standards. Fuck Tech Support. Fuck Regularity. Fuck Gossip.

Fuck High School. Fuck The TV Show Friends. Fuck Cartels. Fuck The NSA.

Fuck The 1%. Fuck Golf. Fuck Plagiarism. Fuck Wikipedia. Fuck PornHub.

Fuck Slut Shaming. Fuck Body Dysmorphia. Fuck The Kock Brothers.

Fuck Lines. Fuck Patience. Fuck Energy Bars. Fuck Spray On Hair.

Fuck Vanity. Fuck The Vain. Fuck Narcissism. Fuck Bernie Sanders.

Fuck White People With Dreads. Fuck Flesh Lights. Fuck the NSA.

Fuck The DEA. Fuck The Police. Fuck White People With Corn Rows.

Fuck Exclusion. Fuck Crowds. Fuck Unprofessional People.

Fuck Gym Teachers. Fuck Fruit Cake. Fuck Insincerity. Fuck Data Plans.

Fuck New & Improved. Fuck 4-6 Weeks For Delivery. Fuck Tracking Devices.

Fuck No C.O.D.’s. Fuck Minimum Spending Limit. Fuck Deductibles.

Fuck Out Of Pocket Expense. Fuck Out Patient Services. Fuck Mocktails.

Fuck Lawyer Ads. Fuck Oliver North. Fuck Pop Music. Fuck Swastikas.

Fuck Doc Martins. Fuck Cordless Phones. Fuck Flat Tires. Fuck Car Rims.

Fuck Fear Mongering. Fuck Shrinks. Fuck The Loch Ness Monster.

Fuck David Ward. Fuck Bluetooth Ear Pieces. Fuck Math. Fuck Isis.

Fuck David Duke. Fuck Rush Limbaugh. Fuck Perez Hilton. Fuck Art Thieves.

Fuck The Real House Wives. Fuck Malware. Fuck Megyn Kelly.

Fuck Innuendo. Fuck Rudy Guilliani. Fuck Laura Ingrahm.

Fuck Anabolic Steroids. Fuck Meth. Fuck Cocaine. Fuck Portland.

Fuck Sarah Silverman. Fuck Cover Charges. Fuck Rob Black. Fuck Junkies.

Fuck High School Reunions. Fuck Car Repairs. Fuck Raking Leaves.

Fuck Crackheads. Fuck Shoveling Snow. Fuck Deicing Your Wind Shield.

Fuck Angie’s List. Fuck Themed Cruises. Fuck Craig’s List. Fuck Google.

Fuck Tabloids. Fuck Paparazzi. Fuck The Phelps Family. Fuck Fear Tactics.

Fuck Hate Mongering. Fuck The Dark Web. Fuck Bitcoin.

Fuck Crypto Currency. Fuck Western Union. Fuck The Lottery. Fuck NJ.

Fuck Sweet 16. Fuck Dry Drunks. Fuck Time Shares. Fuck Celine Dion.

Fuck Over Hyping Shit. Fuck White Fear. Fuck Territories. Fuck Franchises.

FuckBigger Is Better. Fuck Name Brands. Fuck Flu Shots.

Fuck Scientologists. Fuck Elron Hubbard. Fuck Amorality.

Fuck Electric Bills. Fuck E Town. Fuck Sugar Ray. Fuck Instagram.

Fuck Vegan Food. Fuck Dietary Restrictions. Fuck Ruts. Fuck Subway.

Fuck Self Fulfilling Prophecies. Fuck Subscriptions. Fuck Megan Kelly.

Fuck Potholes. Fuck Government Cheese. Fuck Public Pools.

Fuck Gated Communities. Fuck Country Clubs. Fuck Obnoxiousness.

Fuck People Who Don’t Tip. Fuck Car Dealerships. Fuck Urinal Troffs.

Fuck Floyd Mayweather Jr. Fuck The Boy Scouts. Fuck Chain Letters.

Fuck Amway. Fuck Pyramid Schemes. Fuck Cheating. Fuck Aesthetics.

Fuck Morticians. Fuck Tank Tops. Fuck Disease. Fuck Champagne.

Fuck White Russians. Fuck Poker. Fuck Athletes Foot. Fuck Jock Itch.

Fuck Leeches. Fuck Ticks. Fuck Debt Collection Agencies. Fuck Wine Coolers.

Fuck Mosquitos. Fuck Hard Cider. Fuck Cockroaches.

Fuck Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Fuck Romantic Comedies. Fuck Tyler Perry.

Fuck Falsehoods. Fuck The High road. Fuck Ambercrombe Finch.

Fuck Strip Malls. Fuck Urban Sprawl. Fuck That’s Delicious. Fuck Nu Metal.

Fuck Glen Danzig. Fuck Allergies. Fuck Snail Mail. Fuck Tony Robbins.

Fuck People Who Don’t Pick Up Their Dog’s Shit. Fuck Pressure. Fuck Loss.

Fuck Migraines. Fuck Disrespect. Fuck Resentment. Fuck Weather Reports.

Fuck Fluff Pieces. Fuck The Food Pyramid. Fuck Editing For Time & Content.

Fuck The Movie Rating Board. Fuck Networking. Fuck Socialites.

Fuck LinkedIn. Fuck Speed Dating. Fuck 3.14. Fuck Smartphone Filters.

Fuck Posting Pictures Of Food. Fuck Aging. Fuck Beautiful People.

Fuck Youth. Fuck The Unwise. Fuck Fashion Designers. Fuck Fashion Week.

Fuck Paris. Fuck Aggression. Fuck Stress. Fuck Anxiety. Fuck Loneliness.

Fuck Valentines Day. Fuck Xanax. Fuck Trump’s EPA. Fuck Breast Cancer.

Fuck Liver Cancer. Fuck Adderall. Fuck Dr. Phil. Fuck Ephedra. Fuck Splenda.

Fuck The “Me, Me, Me!” Mentality. Fuck That We Are All Winners.

Fuck Energy Drinks. Fuck Monster. Fuck Redbull. Fuck The Supreme Court.

Fuck Oxycontin. Fuck Vicodin. Fuck Valium. Fuck Testosterone.

Fuck The Alpha Male Theory. Fuck Blame. Fuck Finger Pointing.

Fuck Perception. Fuck Totalitarianism. Fuck Communism.

AND MOST OF ALL FUCK YOUR BLOG.

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All Part 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This effectively rendered both groups unconscious for 18 hours straight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And thats exactly what they did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Note Read: To Whomever it may concern,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malice was now a free Agent as it were.

McCoy had a glass of 70 year old Scotch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A good night was had by all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

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

  

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

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

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

From Catastrophe Into Conundrum to Conclusion

A few posts back I mentioned My Car took a complete shit on me rendering it useless. I ended up getting it to a Garage where they replaced the Alternator so sucked, but no big deal. I then picked the Car up and drove the 2 hours back home. That should have been the end of the fucking story. Its My Car so it was far from being over.

A day after I get My Car home the goddamn CHECK TRANSMISSION Light starts blinking like an epileptic on Meth. I took it home, parked it, and waited for a chance to take it to my Home Town shop. I finally got My chance on Friday of that week, and I took it in.

The receptionist asked the obligatory “What can we do for you?”, and My Wife told here verbatim “The Check Transmission Light is Blinking so we brought it in.”

Now because it was around 2:30-3:00 pm they stated the obvious that the Car wouldn’t be gotten to until Monday. See I live in a Micro Podunk Town out in the Woods, and around here Mechanics (among many others) are Closed all Weekend.

I called the Shop late Monday afternoon to get a progress report if you will. The Receptionist said He (the Mechanic presumably) was playing catch up as best he could. Now I don’t know for sure but she kept saying “Him” as if they only had one Mechanic which would make sense around these parts. My confusion comes from the Fact that I’ve seen a couple of Mechanics who apparently work there, and its a 8 bay Garage. Who fucking knows  anyway.

I decided not to call Tuesday because the Mechanic obviously was over whelmed with work at the moment. Wednesday was the 4th of July so they were closed which again around here thats just par of the course.

I called them on Thursday, and still the Mechanic hadn’t had a chance to look at it. The receptionist did mention that the Mechanic had had a few free minutes, and was going to run some quick diagnostic test, BUT the machine he was going to use had a dead battery so that was the end of that.

She then let me know the Mechanic was working his ass off Monday, and Tuesday he was at “The Funeral”(this is a prime example of Mirco Town Life. I mean the Receptionist just assumed I knew the person or I at least knew who the hell they were, that they had in fact died, when the funeral was, and that I very well might be attending.), and Wednesday was a National Holiday. Point being its Shitty Timing.

Come Friday I call ONCE AGAIN, and the Receptionist tells me the Problem is the Transmission. WELL NO FUCKING SHIT SHERLOCK. My Wife told her exactly that when we dropped the fucking thing off A WEEK AGO YOU ASSHOLE. That wasn’t all though there was more bullshit coming.

The Bullshit I’m referring to is what the Receptionist tells me next. She tells me that “They” will do SOME Transmission work, BUT there are certain repairs they won’t touch with a ten foot fucking pole. And lucky Me My Car had one of the issues “They” wouldn’t fuck with.

She then refers me to a Shop a few towns over about 45 minutes away that they’ve had a long and extensive relationship Blah Blah fucking Blah. The problem is once again its Friday afternoon so My Wife was working and by the time she got off the Transmission Shop would be closed. And once again we found that the Transmission Shop was CLOSED all weekend.

I parked my Car at a near by piece of property owned by a Family Member. I didn’t want to drive the fucker because I didn’t want to exacerbate the issue just like you wouldn’t want to aggravate an injury.

Come Monday I drove my Car to the Transmission Shop. We walked in the office to find no one there. After standing there for 10 minutes like an Asshole a Shop Mechanic popped in to say the Office Guy is out test driving a customer’s car and will be back soon. This pissed me off to the point I went outside for a smoke to avoid acting like a real dick.

As I finished my smoke a greasy looking guy pulls in, and I assume this is this MIA front desk dude. As I’m walking back the office the Guy calls to me. I walk over and he asks me whats up, and I precede to tell him my transmission light was on I took it in to “I’m not mention their actual name” Shop and they said they wouldn’t do the needed repair so they sent me here.

This asshole looks me dead in they eye and says “We don’t work on Transmissions.” WHAT THE FUCK, YOU OWN A TRANSMISSION ONLY SHOP SO PARDON FUCKING ME??!!! I again feel a over whelming rage coming over me so I told him my Wife was in the office.

We went in and apparently there was a possible issue with the type of Transmission my car had.This is what had led to the Odd statement made by the Greasy Guy, BUT IN REALITY My car had a absolutely STANDARD TRANSMISSION so YEAH THEY COULD FIX IT.

Why the Greasy Guy jumped the diagnostic gun I have not a fucking clue.

I left the car there where the Greasy Guy would run further diagnostics and a drive it to see 1st hand what was going on. What lowered my blood pressure was when the Greasy Guy said he’d do the diagnostics for free. That saved me $90-$120 right there.

Later that Morning The Greasy Guy called me. He told me he couldn’t get an exact pin point on the problem with the Diagnostic Machines so He was going to have to remove the Transmission and “Tinker with it” and take a look.

He then told me how much he charged for this and it stopped me in my tracks because the additional charge was utterly going to fuck up my financial set up as it were. I got lucky again when he informed me that that money WOULDN’T be an ADDITIONAL COST as it would be put words the price of the repair.

I talked to the Greasy Guy Tuesday who said he had NO IDEA who the hell I drove my Car to his shop. See once he removed the Transmission, and opened it up a shit ton of its parts fell the fuck out all over the garage floor. The Transmission was THRASHED.

He said he could rebuild it, and that would fix any and all Transmission issues. I called my Wife to confer. My Wife and I had been spending our free time wondering if it could be repaired or did it need to be replaced all together. At the same time we were playing the “Price of Repair Vs. Getting a New Car in the Battle of Whats The Best Financial Strategy.

I asked The Greasy Guy if he did do the repairs or whatever would the car be reliable (in all due favor its a Older Car) or would investing the money in a New Car be a better Idea. No one wants to make the mistake of holding on to an aging car and end up dumping way too much money into its ongoing list go repairs.

The Greasy Guy said outside of the shitty Transmission that the car was in great shape, and would be good car for quite awhile on. I then authorized him to repair it, and He said he’d be in touch.

I waited but didn’t hear shit Wednesday and din’t bother calling either.

I called The Greasy Guy Today and he reported that the Transmission had been rebuilt, reinstalled, BUT the Mechanic working on it gave it a test drive and had heard an unusual noise. The Greasy Guy was going to test drive it himself, and then put it back up on a lift to take a look. He said he’d be in touch in a couple of hours.

At this point in the game I was loosing my fucking mind. WHAT could possibly be the Problem now? Its been over 2 weeks total I’ve not had my car and Our Micro Town doesn’t have Public Transportation in any form whatsoever, No Taxi or Professional Car Services, and No Uber so without my car I’ve been isolated out at the Lake. All I can say is CABIN FEVOR IS VERY FUCKING REAL.

The Greasy Guy called back an hour or so later to tell me everything had been sorted out and that I could pick up my Car tomorrow anytime after 10:00am.

I couldn’t be Happier.

Thanks for Reading,

  Les Sober

The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions From The Blind

Readers: There are a great deal of Obscenities and Blasphemies in the following Story. Heads up and Have A Nice Day.

 

 

“Rock Hard that you,” asked the stranger as they leaned against the wall for support.

“Yeah I’m Rock Hard come into my office and tell me what the problem of yours is.” said Rock in his authoritative professional detective voice.

Buy the time Rock reached his office door he knew who the stranger was. It was underground punk rock icon and lead singer for The Furiously Fingered Five Ivy Savage.

She wreaked of cheap gin and cheaper cigarillos. Jesus Christ Rock thought to himself she’s a fucking train wreck. It was obvious the rumors where more than true.

The Meth induced orgies, shooting smack in her snatch, drug smuggling, assault, DUIs, countless rehabs, grand theft auto, drug possession, and possession of an illegal fire arm 4 times in 6 months that fucking Ivy Savage.

Rock jingled his key in the office door until it begrudgingly opened.

The door swung open slamming into the wall so hard the glass shook like a new prostitutes on her first “date.”

Rock walked over to his antique solid oak desk he had salvaged when the city demolished the 1930’s repossession power house Snide, Pompous and Braggart back in 1974. Rock slowly lowered himself into his chair as it creaked in protest.

“So if it isn’t the infamous Queen of Punk Ivy Savage, your reputation precedes you,” Rock said eying his new client up and down.

“I’m fucking used to that propaganda puke, its all horse shit a huge fucking load of steaming hot horse shit.,” Ivy replied angrily.

Ivy was pacing like a jack rabbit on a coke bender constantly fidgeting with her hands. As she spoke Rock took note of her eyes and how the darted around his office unable to stay focused on a damn thing. These were the classic signs of a rock bottom gutter dwelling druggie.

“Whats the problem,” Rock asked bluntly.

“My motherfucking boyfriend is fucking missing and I can’t find my bitch,” Ivy replied coldly.

“How do you know he didn’t just split or end up in the ER for overdosing something along those lines?!”

“I’m his goddamn meal ticket and that little scummy shit damn well knows it. I pay for our booze, drugs, food and hotel room down at The Opulent Oasis for christ’s sake. He’s a fucking moron but he’s not that goddamn dumb.”

“Alright then when did you see your boyfriend last Ms. Savage?”

“Call me Ivy for fuck’s sake, theres no Ms. about me thats for sure. I saw him just last night when we were having a private party in our hotel room. I went to take a shit, it was round 3 am or so and nodded off on the toilet. When I came to it this morning it was 11 fucking thirty and he was gone.”

“Whats his name, whats he go by,” asked Rock as he started to get rather irritated. To calm his nerves he took a long slow sip from his flask and let the whiskey do the rest.

“He goes by Eddie Oi he’s the base player for The Fuck Me Pumps,” said Ivy mattarfactly her voice void of emotion.

“Where does Eddie and his band or friends hang out at. Where do they spend their time? Where do they go? What do they do all damn day?”

“I’m not his fucking biographer. This is the shit I know bout to answer your fucking questions. Eddie doesn’t have any fucking friends just goddamn dope dealers and drug buddies. As for him and his shitty band they spend a good amount of time at The Barfly Lounge down on the skids. He sees his main dealer at least 8 times a day scoring dope and all that drug shit.”

“Eddie got a record?”

“No and thats a fucking surprise and a half. He’s never even been arrested for drunk and disorderly nothing, not a single goddamn thing so that won’t help your search.”

Rock lazily moved the files on his desk around randomly just to look more than what he was a dinosaur and a goddamn drunk with a violent disposition. Rock shunned technology whenever possible unless it was absolutely necessary, but Rock decided to revisit the idea of getting a computer so he could fain interest while surfing the internet.

“Look just find the fucker and let me know so I can bitch slap his stupid ass back in fucking line,” demanded Ivy.

“Calm down I’m taking your case and I’ll find Eddie no matter where he is or where he may be hiding at I assure you of that,” Rock said in total confidence.

“Thank god for that then.”

“I’ll need a retainer of $1,200 plus daily expenses. Take it or leave it I’m not the one with the problem.”

“Call my fucking manager Harvey Schister. His number is 555-7683 and he’s a real son of a bitch but don’t take his shit because he’s full of shit.”

“Alright then I will call Mr. Schister this afternoon and get started immediately after I get my retainer.”

“Well I’m gonna piss off then, but I’ll be on top of you like a 600 pound prison booty bandit, I don’t take shit from anyone ever.”

With that Rock showed Ivy to the door locking it behind her. Rock didn’t want to be disturbed he had to process his meeting with his new client Ivy Savage. Where could he find the best leads he wondered as he lit a cigarette blowing the smoke out of his nose like a exhausted dragon.

This case is going to be a goddamn drunken drugged out insanely dark horror show Rock was convinced of that.

To Be Continued in The Deviant Detective Ep.3 : Finding The Cock Rock King.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Survived the Smutville Summer of Slaughter 1976

  It was a favorable fall evening in the midst of July as we slowly assembled our motley crew of usual small town misfits behind the Piggly Wiggly. I as always arrived first as patience is a virtue I was born without followed by Clitoria and her white trash future meth cooking boyfriend aptly named Tweaky. The three of us stood around loitering like a son of a bitch and chain smoking Cowboy Killers until finally Ziggy Zag (the one and only marijuana peddler in the entire county of Pornotovia) who operated on some bizarrely slow internal clock ,but you couldn’t get too pissed off at him as he was the only small town connection. The final stragglers Tool, Tits McGee, MC Satan and Ms. Muff wondered in 45 minutes later citing their lateness on a glitch in obtaining the evenings alcohol (as we were all underage high school seniors at the time.)

  There 2 elementary issues when your drinking underage first being how to obtain the alcohol and secondly a place to consume the said alcohol. We had already solved issue one by bribing Scumbag Billy the local small town  22 year old delinquent. Scumbag Billy graduated from the local high school (on the 6 year plan mind you) stayed in town taking a shit job as a mechanic down at Jiffy Lube of route 1171 ,and lived in a hellhole of a mobile home. Scumbag Billy “Inherited” the property when his parents vacated the premises 3 years back to avoid being arrested for bootlegging. We had this pre party at the Pig to devise a drinking place free from the prying eyes of neighbors and the ever bored ever present police. Some cliches are cliches because they’re real and just one such saying is “News travels quickly through a small town” which is absolutely and fundamentally correct. Just a few hours earlier Ziggy Zag had overheard a conversation at the local convenience store between 2 guys who worked in construction. What the 2 construction works were talking about was next weeks project that was due to start the following Monday ,but before they could build a damn thing the previous structure and to be demolished. Apparently this monopoly like cookie cutter mass produced single story business building (at the ass end of an industrial complex) had gone bankrupt, and as a result the office was cleared out and locked up a couple of days ago. It was a unanimous vote by all that tonight we’d party at the newly abandoned office building because 1. No Neighbors, 2. All the workers else where in the complex went home no later than 6 p.m. and 3. It was such a new spot that the cops hadn’t heard of it yet and added it to their nightly rounds about town.

With decision in hand we piled like circus clowns into MC Satan’s 1968 Ford station wagon which was an anomaly unto itself. MC Satan’s Station Wagon was beyond a beater and more towards rattling death trap as the speedometer was completely broken, the floor boards on the passengers side had rusted all the way through so one could see the road while driving, the gas gauge was shaky at best, the dashboard lights would flicker on then off ,and the radiator gauge was stuck in the over heating position permanently. Thankfully the drinking location was located approximately 8-10 minutes from the Pig.

When we arrived we were all delighted to find the bankrupt business building as perfect and promising as we had hoped in our heads. The parking lot behind the building was small enough to avoid having a shit ton of other people there calling attention to themselves. The lot was also dimly lit allowing us to see what was happening but also allowing us not to be seen if the cops showed up and we had to hide right quick. Lastly there were thick woods around the entire perimeter which was damn near perfect if hiding wasn’t enough and we had to make a run for it. It didn’t take long to set up camp and within mere minutes there was smoking,toking,drinking and fucking abounding under the star ridden sky. The hedonistic partying went on barreling into the late hours of the night until Tweaky heard something and the night evolved into a nightmare.

We all had reconvened for a toking circle that consisted of us standing in a circle each with a joint, blunt,bowl or bong and simultaneously lighting up. Then we just passed to the left until all of said marijuana had been smoked and then proceeded to plan where we would be acquiring late our night dining needs. Now a vote had to be taken as oddly for a small town there where several diners and a token Denny’s by the Mall competing for our munchie money. All of sudden as Ms.Muff and Tool were vehemently going at it over The Waterford diner versus The Greasy Spoon as to who had better what when Tweaky stood up quickly ,and started looking around like a cracked out Mearcat scanning around in a complete 360 degrees. The first thing we tried to figure out was if Tweaky was bugging out because he was too intoxicated, but so were we so we were unable to decide. There then was a moment of collective intense anxiety as we wondered then if in fact the cops had found us out which turned out not to be the case. Since we didn’t know if Tweaky’s behavior was do to drugs and drink as well as feeling relieved we didn’t have to haul ass through the woods to escape from the cops, then what the hell was going on?  Upon asking Tweaky as to what the origin of his behavior was we were answered with a question that being had we heard something out of the ordinary a moment ago. None of us recollected hearing shit but each other when Tweaky snapped to attention and again demanded to know if we had heard the mysterious noise that time to which the answer was again no. Tweaky now having gotten himself completely twisted over the alleged unknown noise that we decided to all quite down right quick and give it a listen. Well to the surprise of us all there in fact was a very strange noise coming from the woods off to our left. Immediately we went from disbelieving Tweaky to feverishly trying to define the origin of this curious unidentified noise. With out blinking MC Satan stated the noise was that of flesh eating deer. Instantly Tits McGee criticized the hypothesis as not being possible because deer are herbivores so meat was not on their specific dietary menu. MC Satan respond by saying there was a scientifically viable biological reason behind the newly discovered flesh eating deer phenomenon. As we were already aware there was a more than healthy local deer population, but what we didn’t know MC Satan informed us was that a mutated strain of the rabies virus had reached America from a North Western South East region of Africa. Now this mutant strand had also mutant side effects upon the late stage behavior of its victims. While the known original strain of rabies instills a irrational terror like fear of water in its victims, the mutant strain seemed to instill a homicidally high prey drive in normal herbivores turning pretty prey animals into putrid predators. Before anyone had a split second to call bullshit the woods erupted into a flurry of activity, the bushes started rustling, tree limbs shaking and sticks breaking accompanied by a deafening crescendo of the unknown noise. It was instantly obvious that whatever was happening in the woods was massive and more then likely something non of us wanted to fuck with. We franticly started gathering up our shit as fast as we possibly could desperate to get the fuck out of there, but we never stood a chance in hell of that. The deer exploded from the woods in force, there were so many of the damnable beasts that at first they looked like one single entity a giant blurry brown mass stampeding toward us like a living tsunami of slaughter. Our fight or flight instinct kicked in and the adrenaline flowed like the nile as we ran for our piddly little lives. Ms. Muff being a 2 beer queer light weight didn’t make it a fucking foot before the deer where raining down upon her like a pack of land based piranha. The piercing sound of Muff’s screaming bloody gore as the sick wet sounds of ripping flesh, mutilating muscles, tearing tendons filled our fleeing ears. Tool turned out to be the true pussy of the pack as he froze in utter fear watching Ms. Muff being turned into an human order of shredded beef until there was nothing left of her but bare bloody bones. A massive buck charges full force from the woods straight at Tool dead on. The deer plowed into Tool with a meaty smack its huge antlers impailing Tool tossing him high into the air with his intestines trailing behind him like the tail of a fucked up kite. Poor Tits McGee was only capable of sprinting short distances before her massive pendulous breasts swung so out of whack she became top heavy and off kilter causing her to fall flat on her funny face. Once Tits went down she just disappeared, absorbed into the murderous mass of the deers of death leaving nothing of Tits but a blood stain on the assault. Clitoria stumbled over her beloved bong and when she did a deadly doe rammed its entire head up Clitoria’s ass and ate her alive from the inside out making it look like she violently imploded. Now if you’ve ever heard someone say its damn near impossible to catch a crackhead well that ain’t shit compared to Tweaky fueled by cheap moonshine and decent quality biker crank. Tweaky needless to say was way the hell ahead of the group that was until  the combination of the intoxicants and sky high adrenaline level overloaded Tweaky’s system causing him to loudly and quite violently shit himself to death instantly on the spot. With Tweaky laying face down in a bloody pool of his own feces with a prolapsed asshole Ziggy Zag and I decided to run like hell for MC Satan’s crappy car, but Satan living up to his name had apparently already reached the car and drove off like a bat out of hell. Upon finding ourselves fucked over by Satan Ziggy and I decided running toward the water sewage plant at the end of the road was our best plan b. We gave it our all and managed to make it to the water sewage plant with the deer literally nipping at our asses, but Ziggy was so terrified at that point he didn’t stop running before accidentally falling head over heals into the sewage plants water re purification open air holding tank (a massive circular tank used in the reclaimed water process of turning sludge and shit into Agricultural grade reusable water)

Once I managed to climb over the sewage plants 15 foot chain link perimeter fence and clear the barbwire I promptly turned around to see where the fuck this horrible horde of mutant rabies infected deer was currently at and couldn’t believe my eyes. The deer of damnation had turned on each other and were devouring one another in a feeding frenzy of blood lust. Apparently I was spared a horrendously horrible demise due to the fact the herd of infected deer were in the final stages directly prior to death causing the cannibalistic carnage I witnessed that ultimately saved my life.