Hey, Dimo...

[Doktor Howl]

We had a rainbow in Tucson, last week.  Pretty as hell, arching from my side of the Catalinas, over my house, and on towards Piccachu.  That was the day the winter rains - and thus the winter - ended.  Now the skies are blue as a sapphire, and the punishing sun is cooking everything into a fine powder again.

"IT'S SPRING TIME!", scream The Dirty Boys on Grant Road, as they hammer their kickstarters and go roaring off looking for hipster pedestrians to lash with bicycle chains.  The students at the university are into it, too, as they go about half-clothed, and the police cite anyone they catch eyeballing the young ladies.  Filthy perverts learn to get good looks with their peripheral vision again, while said students prepare to abandon their pets for spring break.  There will be a brisk business at the pound, and bumper sales for the sodium pentathol salesmen...it's just another sign of winter's grey days leaving us.

It's springtime in the high desert, Dimo.  Everthing's in bloom.  It's so beautiful that I can't stop screaming.

[Dimocritus]

Don't stop.

The screaming may not be pretty, but it beats the hell out of the Amurrican lullabye. Where the screaming originates from, well, it may not always be pretty, but if it carries far enough, maybe you'll wake someone up. And when they're awake, well, that way they'll at least see it coming. The screaming, eh? Well, it sounds, to me, more like the thunderous trumpeting of a horn removed from some natural beast, rallying those that haven't already succumbed to the soft whisper of the lullabye.

[Doktor Howl]

Don't stop.

The screaming may not be pretty, but it beats the hell out of the Amurrican lullabye. Where the screaming originates from, well, it may not always be pretty, but if it carries far enough, maybe you'll wake someone up. And when they're awake, well, that way they'll at least see it coming. The screaming, eh? Well, it sounds, to me, more like the thunderous trumpeting of a horn removed from some natural beast, rallying those that haven't already succumbed to the soft whisper of the lullabye.

They never thank you for waking them, Dimo.  I mean, the fuck, there they are sleeping peacefully, and some bald-headed freak wakes them up, just in time for them to see what's bearing down on them?  I'd kick me in the balls.

In fact, I think I will.

[Dimocritus]

Don't stop.

The screaming may not be pretty, but it beats the hell out of the Amurrican lullabye. Where the screaming originates from, well, it may not always be pretty, but if it carries far enough, maybe you'll wake someone up. And when they're awake, well, that way they'll at least see it coming. The screaming, eh? Well, it sounds, to me, more like the thunderous trumpeting of a horn removed from some natural beast, rallying those that haven't already succumbed to the soft whisper of the lullabye.

They never thank you for waking them, Dimo.  I mean, the fuck, there they are sleeping peacefully, and some bald-headed freak wakes them up, just in time for them to see what's bearing down on them?  I'd kick me in the balls.

In fact, I think I will.

Well, the house is burning. They may curse you as they wipe the encrusted sleep from there eyes and the dreams from there mind, but once they smell the smoke, if they smell it in time, then they may thank you. But getting thanks, that's not what the screaming is for, right?

[Doktor Howl]

Don't stop.

The screaming may not be pretty, but it beats the hell out of the Amurrican lullabye. Where the screaming originates from, well, it may not always be pretty, but if it carries far enough, maybe you'll wake someone up. And when they're awake, well, that way they'll at least see it coming. The screaming, eh? Well, it sounds, to me, more like the thunderous trumpeting of a horn removed from some natural beast, rallying those that haven't already succumbed to the soft whisper of the lullabye.

They never thank you for waking them, Dimo.  I mean, the fuck, there they are sleeping peacefully, and some bald-headed freak wakes them up, just in time for them to see what's bearing down on them?  I'd kick me in the balls.

In fact, I think I will.

Well, the house is burning. They may curse you as they wipe the encrusted sleep from there eyes and the dreams from there mind, but once they smell the smoke, if they smell it in time, then they may thank you. But getting thanks, that's not what the screaming is for, right?

No, the screaming is entirely for my own gratificiation, and is an expression of rage, not horror.  I hate this fucking place, Dimo, and I scream at the people in it as often as I think I can get away with it...Sometimes more often, in fact.

Bluntly put, if you're not screaming, you either have no soul, or you're not paying attention.

Case in point, the lovely young college students I mentioned.  They get themselves a CUTE LITTLE PUPPY in September, and then come Spring Break, when it's party time in Cabo, they dump the dog out of the car on Old Nogales Highway, and drive away.

After all, there's always more puppies, right?  And it's fucking CABO.  This shit is happening.

I don't want to wake them up, Dimo.  I want to hurt them.

[Dimocritus]

Don't stop.

The screaming may not be pretty, but it beats the hell out of the Amurrican lullabye. Where the screaming originates from, well, it may not always be pretty, but if it carries far enough, maybe you'll wake someone up. And when they're awake, well, that way they'll at least see it coming. The screaming, eh? Well, it sounds, to me, more like the thunderous trumpeting of a horn removed from some natural beast, rallying those that haven't already succumbed to the soft whisper of the lullabye.

They never thank you for waking them, Dimo.  I mean, the fuck, there they are sleeping peacefully, and some bald-headed freak wakes them up, just in time for them to see what's bearing down on them?  I'd kick me in the balls.

In fact, I think I will.

Well, the house is burning. They may curse you as they wipe the encrusted sleep from there eyes and the dreams from there mind, but once they smell the smoke, if they smell it in time, then they may thank you. But getting thanks, that's not what the screaming is for, right?

No, the screaming is entirely for my own gratificiation, and is an expression of rage, not horror.  I hate this fucking place, Dimo, and I scream at the people in it as often as I think I can get away with it...Sometimes more often, in fact.

Bluntly put, if you're not screaming, you either have no soul, or you're not paying attention.

Case in point, the lovely young college students I mentioned.  They get themselves a CUTE LITTLE PUPPY in September, and then come Spring Break, when it's party time in Cabo, they dump the dog out of the car on Old Nogales Highway, and drive away.

After all, there's always more puppies, right?  And it's fucking CABO.  This shit is happening.

I don't want to wake them up, Dimo.  I want to hurt them.

Fair enough, Dok. And when you put it that way, I think I'd have to agree...

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

Don't stop.

The screaming may not be pretty, but it beats the hell out of the Amurrican lullabye. Where the screaming originates from, well, it may not always be pretty, but if it carries far enough, maybe you'll wake someone up. And when they're awake, well, that way they'll at least see it coming. The screaming, eh? Well, it sounds, to me, more like the thunderous trumpeting of a horn removed from some natural beast, rallying those that haven't already succumbed to the soft whisper of the lullabye.

They never thank you for waking them, Dimo.  I mean, the fuck, there they are sleeping peacefully, and some bald-headed freak wakes them up, just in time for them to see what's bearing down on them?  I'd kick me in the balls.

In fact, I think I will.

Well, the house is burning. They may curse you as they wipe the encrusted sleep from there eyes and the dreams from there mind, but once they smell the smoke, if they smell it in time, then they may thank you. But getting thanks, that's not what the screaming is for, right?

No, the screaming is entirely for my own gratificiation, and is an expression of rage, not horror.  I hate this fucking place, Dimo, and I scream at the people in it as often as I think I can get away with it...Sometimes more often, in fact.

Bluntly put, if you're not screaming, you either have no soul, or you're not paying attention.

Case in point, the lovely young college students I mentioned.  They get themselves a CUTE LITTLE PUPPY in September, and then come Spring Break, when it's party time in Cabo, they dump the dog out of the car on Old Nogales Highway, and drive away.

After all, there's always more puppies, right?  And it's fucking CABO.  This shit is happening.

I don't want to wake them up, Dimo.  I want to hurt them.

Fair enough, Dok. And when you put it that way, I think I'd have to agree...

Rabies.....

The cure is hideous but not optional.....

Otherwise, eh well, it's just the way things are right?

[Doktor Howl]

Fair enough, Dok. And when you put it that way, I think I'd have to agree...

Rabies.....

The cure is hideous but not optional.....

Otherwise, eh well, it's just the way things are right?

This is why The Dirty Boys on Grant Road have my unconditional support.