Fucked Up Mailing List 2011: Round 2

[The Good Reverend Roger]

The boyfriend and the girlfriend are somewhat traumatized by the letter. I can't get them to read MSY 1. But I'll keep spreading the Holy^TM anyway.

I'll post the letter here, tomorrow, now that you've had a chance to read it first.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

A reply shall be coming forthwith.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Dear CDP,

Enclosed you will find one copy of Millions of Screaming Yahoos, Vol I.  This is the product of 6 months of badgering a flaky first-time artist, and endless squabbling afterward.  It seems Kim found out that being an artist is work, and has discontinued her end of the project, electing instead to pursue an exciting career in the field of "couch-surfing at a friend's house until her fat ass bonds with the couch".  I wish her well in her new endeavor.  The next issue isn't looking good, either...The artist is 14 months overdue, and I've just about given up.  I shall have to find someone else.

Thing is, an artist has to be his or her own slave-driver, and to compete they have to have a page drawn and inked per day.  This isn't easy, but nothing you can make a living at is.  In any case, "Pent" from the board is drawing my other project, Tales From Fat Ernie's, which should be done sometime in the fall, and concerns odd happenings in rural Maine.

I'm doing that story in Maine, because I need a break from Tucson.  Don't get me wrong - I love The City & will never leave it - but imagining weird shit in Maine is a nice break from scribing shit that actually happens here.  Every day, fresh fears are written on Horror's scrolls, and sooner or later, everyone needs a break.

Being from the land of rotten peaches, I am sure you understand precisely what I am talking about.  I spent quite some time in Georgia in the 80s and 90s, and it is a terrible land, full of chiggers and mosquitoes and Georgians.  It resembles nothing so much as Florida, had Florida been passed through a wine press and then had winos poop in it.  History does not record it, but rumor says that Abe Lincoln, that hideous old pervert, was willing to let Georgia secede, had they done so on their own.

This isn't a surprise.  Lincoln was a nasty old reprobate.  He was dirty and filthy and infested with fleas, and he took his women by twos and by threes.

Wait, scratch that.  Where do I come up with such horrible lies?  Lincoln was a clean living, religious man...Except at the theater, where his incessant heckling eventually led to an outraged actor shooting him in the head, just to get him to cease his pterodactyl-like shrieking from his balcony box.  "Sic Semper Smartass", Mr Booth cried, then jumped out of the box and broke his leg.  He somehow escaped the scene despite that broken leg, which implies that at least most of the audience approved of his silencing of the filthy old jackass.

Whoops.  I had meant to discuss Georgia, and here we are haring after a dead president.  In any case, I advise you - as your spiritual adviser - to flee Georgia at the first opportunity, and haul ass up to Toronto, where deviants like you are accepted.  They like Pagans up there, or so I am told, as they're mostly quiet folk who hardly ever sacrifice the neighbor's pets.  Also, it's cold in Toronto, which should keep the patchouli-stink to an acceptable minimum.


Should you decide to do so, make sure you look up Hoopla and Nurse Rhizome when you get there.  Hoops is a pretty good guy, even if he does photoshop fuck books for a living (You didn't think those models look like that in real life, do you?  No.  It is his job to cover up the hideous VD scabs and unexplained lesions that these men and women are covered in.  I, for one, consider this to be a public service.), and Nurse Rhizome is a charming young lady who beats up Toronto police officers whenever she and her gang of layabout artists can find one alone.

Those unemployed artists are the worst, you know.  When they're not kicking the mortal shit out of police officers, they're hanging out at the craft shop and menacing little old ladies who just want to get their needlepoint supplies.

In any case, you will need their help settling in, even if just to teach you the highway system.  It looks simple, but if you make the wrong interchange, you wind up on their toll road, and it costs $2000 Canadian (Or $3 American) to get off.  There's a line of cars near the exit, full of the skeletons of unfortunates who didn't have correct change.

Don't let them talk you into going to The Expo, though.  It's basically what you'd get if you crossed The World's Fair & Coney Island, and it is inhabited by indigenous Jamaicans and refugees from Nappanee, either of which will stab you just to watch you bleed.  They're a rough bunch up there in Canada, so you always have to be prepared.  I suggest a garbage can lid as a shield and a cattle prod.  These will come in handy in their taxi cabs, as well.

Canada:  It's the nearest thing to heaven that you'll find on this Earth, I tell you.

At least for people like you and I.  We are rock n rollers, and we know that it isn't easy having a good time.  That you sometimes work your ass off for your cheap kicks.  That you have to concentrate on the party, lest you be distracted by the petty authority types that will always be with us, no matter how many condoms we sell.

You know what?  Forget everything I said about Canada.  Move your arse to Tucson, and we can go hunting teabaggers in Tempe.  There's no bag limit, and the game is thick on the ground.  You can bag a 600 pounder every time you drive up there.  The only dangerous parts are getting past Picacho township, and accidentally shooting the teabaggers in the oxygen bottle, which causes them to explode like that beached whale in California.  That's what helmets are for.

Okay for now,
Dok 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Also, I'm updating the OP with who's getting each day's letters.

[Triple Zero]

That last one was amazing

[The Good Reverend Roger]

That last one was amazing

The one I wrote for Squiddy (not shown yet) is the most horrible thing I've ever written.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

LMNO,

I have to get out of this damn city.  They know me here, now, and they are wise to my ways.  Obviously, this isn't a good thing.  I am unwelcome everywhere from the Calvinist Church to the public library to The Bashful Bandit (the sorriest dive in Tucson), for a series of misunderstandings that are too ticklish to describe.

Well, at least I still have the perverts to hang out with.

Looking back on it, I should have stayed in South Filth, where my behavior is – if not normal – tolerated.  Hell, the neighbor to the South of me has moved across the subdivision, citing our lack of Christian values, and the home owners' association jams letters under my door 3 days a week.  There's no fucking end to it, Lex, the geeks have finally worn me down.

The obvious solution would be to get out of town for a while, but being the maintenance chief makes getting a vacation approved akin to pulling my boss's teeth.  He screams and howls and thrashes around a lot, and eventually I just give up and leave his office.  He, too, seems to be wise to me.

No, instead, I shall have to settle for revenge.  Ban ME from the library, will they?  I'll show THEM, Alex...I'll show them all.  I shall be an avatar of the 21st century, jamming my head through their front windows, saying "HI!", with a silly grin and my pants full of horror.  Everyone, after all, needs some horror in their pants...You should try it.  It makes your coworkers act all funny, and is very good for the nerves and the digestion.

Just absorb that mental picture for a minute.

Anyway, enough of the good news.  I hear you spags are getting drowned by shitty weather...We have the opposite problem.  Summer has finally arrived, in all its crushing glory.  It's well over a hundred, no humidity at all, and the state has become so dry that the mesquite trees are turning into gunpowder.  Throw a butt out the window, and 20 blocks go up in flame.

So many blocks, so few cigars.  Oh, well, I shall simply have to rely on the malice and/or stupidity of others to pick up my slack.  Fortunately, malice and stupidity are present in quantities that can only be described as "alarming".  Hell, after some hippie group suggested restricting fireworks sales until the rains come, the state legislature has made it illegal to restrict fireworks in any way.  I am checking to see if this could be stretched to include dynamite.

So, our new state motto is "Nothing is true; everything is on fire".  Hell, The City is already wreathed in smoke from the 20-odd wildfires already raging from Phoenix to New Mexico...Add the stupidity above, and the place will look like something out of Dante's Infero.  Frankly, I'm kind of looking forward to it.  

With a state government like that, who needs terrorists?  We'll leave them to the East coast, where you have something approaching a functional government.

It's awful, Lex.  Mayor Walkup has been seen drunkenly roaming The City at all hours, and all the cops I know spend most evenings sobbing over their whiskey.  Some say they simply lack the right sense of humor for The City...Nothing works here, so you'd assume they'd get used to it.  Hell, we just spent $2.1 million bucks on new trolleys for the legal district, but they got the wheels wrong, and they keep derailing.  Also, they can't make it up the hill between 4th Ave and the legal district, and they keep jamming up traffic.  Even the homeless people are laughing about that, and they never laugh.

Even the Mormons are surly.  I had to put my shoulder into one of them the other day, when he announced that I WAS going to listen to him.  He tripped as he stumbled backward, and cursed me out (being cursed out without profanity is more amusing than you'd think...I shall have to develop that skill).  The traffic cop nearby just laughed a nasty laugh and went back to screaming obscenities at all the cars that were ignoring him.  So, okay, maybe it's not all bad.

Incidentally, there is a SLIM possibility that I might get out to Providence in September.  This time, though, you must come down to Providence...There's a certain hipster bar there that needs punishing.  I believe I've already related that particular horror show, but if not, know only that one of the never-ending series of trustafarians that got on stage covered a John Meyer tune.  Who the hell does that?   John Meyer ruins other peoples' songs.  The rest was a sorry collection of ukulele playing bastards that should all be fed into a chipper feet first, except for the singer in Jesse's band, who is apparently the reincarnation of Hank Williams, Sr.

Yes, we shall drink shitty whiskey and heckle hipsters, and try our best to get out of the area before we get arrested.  If jails in Providence are anything like jails in upstate NY, we'd best be quick on our feet. If you bring the wife along, you won't have to explain a thing, and she and Jenn (Nurse Enabler) can pretend they've never met us before, as we go tearing off into the night.  

You may consider that going a wee bit too far over some unwashed hipsters, but trust your spiritual adviser on this one, Lex...This sort of thing has to be taken to the wall.  You can't give these bastards any slack at all, or they'll walk all over you in their deliberately torn up sneakers.

Besides, you can't tell me you don't sit at your desk every day, daydreaming about mayhem and shouting and running away down the alleys.  I know these things.

If, however, we go to England instead, which is fairly likely, I shall send a request for bail money.  Apparently those Peelers can run like the fucking wind, and are not shy with the nightstick.  No worries, they don't use real money there.

Okay for now,

Dok

[LMNO]

When I read "nothing is true; everything is on fire", I shat myself with laughter.

Response forthcoming.

[Telarus]

When I read "nothing is true; everything is on fire", I shat myself with laughter.

Response forthcoming.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

It's all true, Roger, and there is no hope. But it's still legal to own pigs and guns, and I could explain about the car doors but you don't want to know. No, you really don't, even though it is even more banal than you might be imagining.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Dear Nigel,

I trust this letter finds you as well as can be expected, given the downturn in business and all the myriad other issues you are facing.  You've held up like a champ.

No problems to report, here, for a given value of "problems".  Other than the state burning to the ground (we now have 20 wildfires going, two of which are threatening main power transmission lines), that is.

And is that really a  problem?  Not for me.  I sit on my mountain and giggle up at the idiots who live in Summerhaven, a community for the rich, built smack in the middle of Coronado State Park...Also known as the Catalina Mountains, particularly Mount Lemmon.  It seems that money can get you anything in this state, including a gated community in the best part of a state park.

It can't, however, buy you enough water to stop a wildfire 1200 feet above the nearest pumping station.  Run, piggies, run!  These are the same people who write angry letters to the editor, hollering about how climate change is a liberal myth...Despite the fact that we've had just an inch of rain in the last 7 months.  My heart is pumping purple piss for them, to the sound of badly-tuned violins in my head.

The Book of Isaiah had something to say about pigfuckers like these, as did Edgar Allan Poe, in The Masque of the Red Death.  

The rest of Tucson, of course, doesn't give a shit.  It is what it's always been, and the pimps and pushers and petty thieves have no time for dwelling on the fate of fools.  There is money to be made, you see.  Business, the American Way™.  And who can blame them?  They do nothing that America™ doesn't do, just on a much smaller scale.

On that note, you missed a wonderful evening at the Meetrack last Saturday.  It seems there was some sort of convention of perverts & criminals, and Enabler and I met some very interesting people.  Knuckles had come along (you really need to meet him), and was utterly freaked out...It was a hoot.  Here's this hardened ex-con, scared shitless by the fact that he was surrounded by homosexuals and body perverts.  No matter how much bourbon we poured down him, he wouldn't come out of his corner chair.

He is, however, a champ when it comes to trolling Pagans in the park.  Instead of hollering abuse at them, as I expected, he kept trying to join in whatever ridiculous ritual they were engaged in.  Apparently, it broke the mood, and the Pagans left before they finished "casting a circle", or whatever it was.  With any luck at all, that means whatever they came to summon will eat them all in their sleep, one fine night.

Hey, a man can dream, right?


If it's not the wingnuts, it's the Pagans.  If it's not the Pagan's, it's our state congress.  Despite the fire issues I mentioned above - or, to be precise, because of them, our congress has seen fit to proclaim that fireworks are constitutionally protected, and can be used anywhere and everywhere, as the public sees fit.

I expect parts of Tucson and all of Phoenix/Tempe to burn down, between July 1st and 5th.  I won't miss those fuckers up North, but there are parts of Tucson I like, and the idea of some pig-ignorant po'bucker burning the whole East side down does not please me.  

The reason they pass stupid laws like this - they also passed a law making it illegal for counties and towns to pass laws against texting while driving, no shit - is that the right wing knobends that run our state have decided that if anyone they consider left of center proposes something for the public good, they will pass laws to the contrary.  This has actually been said out loud by Rep Pearson (the guy who wrote the anti-brown folks bill), who is basically the left half of Governor Brewer's brain (Sheriff Arpeio is the right half).

In essence, our state personifies Poe's Law.

But what can you do?  I mean, I know you have a good supply of stupid people in Portland, too...And you can't get rid of them, no matter how many condoms you sell.  From what I gather, though, your idiots are more of the neo-hippie, blissed-out loveburger type, who also can't seem to just lead their own lives and leave everyone else the hell alone.

Examples:

An adult may not show a minor any piece of classical artwork which depicts sexual excitement.  Whether or not the adult is the parent, showing a Rubens painting to a 17 year old son or whatever.

A door on a car may not be left open longer than is necessary.  (WTF?)

Dishes must drip dry (I shit you not).

And the champ:

It is illegal to whisper "dirty" things in your lover's ear during sex.

These are all real laws in Oregon, and all of them originated in Portland.  What the HELL is going on up there, Kalera?  Straighten this shit out.  It's starting to sound like Texas up there.  Enough fucking around.

Okay for now,
Dok

 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

It's all true, Roger, and there is no hope. But it's still legal to own pigs and guns, and I could explain about the car doors but you don't want to know. No, you really don't, even though it is even more banal than you might be imagining.

Oh, this I GOTTA hear.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

It's all true, Roger, and there is no hope. But it's still legal to own pigs and guns, and I could explain about the car doors but you don't want to know. No, you really don't, even though it is even more banal than you might be imagining.

Oh, this I GOTTA hear.

OK... when I said banal, I REALLY MEANT BANAL.

People leave their car doors open, and then other people (who are probably high as fuck) drive into them. That's it. The streets are really narrow, and there's no room.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

It's all true, Roger, and there is no hope. But it's still legal to own pigs and guns, and I could explain about the car doors but you don't want to know. No, you really don't, even though it is even more banal than you might be imagining.

Oh, this I GOTTA hear.

OK... when I said banal, I REALLY MEANT BANAL.

People leave their car doors open, and then other people (who are probably high as fuck) drive into them. That's it. The streets are really narrow, and there's no room.

I thought it might be something like that. 

Ever see that happen?  It's almost as fun as heaving a brick through a plate glass window.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

It's all true, Roger, and there is no hope. But it's still legal to own pigs and guns, and I could explain about the car doors but you don't want to know. No, you really don't, even though it is even more banal than you might be imagining.

Oh, this I GOTTA hear.

OK... when I said banal, I REALLY MEANT BANAL.

People leave their car doors open, and then other people (who are probably high as fuck) drive into them. That's it. The streets are really narrow, and there's no room.

I thought it might be something like that. 

Ever see that happen?  It's almost as fun as heaving a brick through a plate glass window.

YES it's epic! I had no idea car doors would just COME OFF like that. Also the look on the face of the chick in the car... PRICELESS.