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By Melvin, the Pirate - Ask Melvin a question by clicking Here. Ahoy there, mateys! With the days of June winding down to a wee whimper, it’s time to bring out the fire and the lightning and give sweet July her proper due! No matter how ye celebrate the independence of the United States, make a promise to yeself to watch yer eating habits over the holidays. Self-esteem can be crushed flatter than a cock-a-roach by the presence of a few treacherous pounds. I’ve seen grown pirates, whose mere visage would make the very Devil shiver himself to death, burst into tears upon meeting the scale for a dark and solemn ceremony. Eat heartily this 4th, me mates, but eat wisely! And with that, it’s time to plunder the mail bag:

Melvin, What’s the hardest thing about being a pirate? (besides your peg leg) Anonymous

Ye know my vile hatred for the cowards who don’t use the name the lord gave ‘em in their questions, but it’s still a good question, so I’ll give it an answer. The hardest thing about being a pirate is that it’s a calling that land-lovers think brings one instant status and wealth. And it’s not one bit true. Most pirates steal only enough to live day-to-day. And, on the off chance they come into a fabulous fortune, they find quick and disastrous ways to piss it all away. In short, the hardest thing about being a pirate is the lack of good, solid financial advice.

Dear Melvin, I have the hardest time waiting in line at the grocery store. When I see someone holding up the line with coupons, I just want to pull out my broadsword and slit them gullet to groin. What can I do to prevent meself from going to jail? Knuckles the Pirate

Knuckles, patience is a hard set ‘o manners a pirate needs to learn once they devote themselves completely into living in the land-lover world. Try this: the next time you stand in line and see someone pull out their coupons, close yer eyes and imagine that they’re a manatee trying to get twenty-five cents off a box of tampons. Pirates love manatees; they’re like God’s underwater midgets. So pure, so innocent, and so beautiful in their own honest way. No matter how bad the world is, a pirate can’t help but smile at a thought of a manatee. Use their visage to lift up ye spirits, and prevent a good lot of stabbings.

Dear Pirate Therapist, I’ve just recently startied using an online dating website, and I’ve been pretty hot and heavy with one woman in particular. The problem is, she really wants to meet me next week, and I may have not been truthful in describing my appearance or my job. What can I do to keep her in my life without her discovering my lies? Helpless in Honolulu

Helpless, lies are the grog that’s made from pickled beets. Sure, it makes yer stomach ease and your tongue feel loose and light, but afterwards, what’s left of yer meal’s thrown up on the ground, and yer eyes begin to bleed. Truth is all we have as people, pirates. I know this box that sends our words to each other gives us plenty of temptations to fabricate our lives, but lies will always be uncovered in the end, Helpless. Before you see her, come clean with it all. If yer face is a mess of warts, let her know. If ye don’t fly jumbo jets and instead push a mop in a bar, come clean with it. Then, give her the chance to know who ye truly are. Got a question? Need some advice? Send me a comment! - Melvin the Pirate has written a number of self-help books, such as “Making Yer First Mate Yer Best Mate,” and “A Time to Rape, and a Time to Respect Wenches.” He lives in Huntington Beach, CA with his partner and prize mastiff, Belvedere. NOTE: If you liked this column, avast ye way towards When Gadget Mate... Technology Gone Wrong, Eh, So I've Done Some Reprehensible Things, Who Hasn't?, and Ask A Pirate - Hollywood, and Other Nefarious Stuff

By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com

So, there’s some kid who comes into my store all the time and tells me about the crap they’re showing him in some film appreciation class at his community college. They ended the semester with some “fun” by looking at the exploitation genre. And who did this idiot of a teacher use as an example of exploitation filmmaking?

Quentin Tarantino and that phony piece of crap, Deathproof.

You might be able to buy a Misfits shirt for $50 at some pig pen like Nordstrom’s, but it’s just not the same as the one you stole from guy who was passed out (maybe dead?) in the corner of some hole in the wall at a show in 1981. You know, the shirt with the wickedly faded bloodstains… you can’t duplicate that.

Yet, Tarantino has made a career by doing just that, replicating the shit he loves, and winking at you the whole time, just so we know how fucking cool, hip, and film savvy he is, instead of creating something new on his own.

And he’s just as phony as the Hollywood fucks he aims to be so unlike. For example, in the theatrical release of Deathproof, they edited out a lap dance scene… almost as if the scumbag pedophile working the projector cut the film out on his own.

But nope… there’s the footage in the “special edition” DVD. A nice little piece of “fuck you” marketing from Tarantino. That’s not grindhouse… it's pretty fucking mainstream.

Anyway, my point is that I told this kid that it wasn’t his fault he was lead astray, but that once shown the truth, he had a decision to make about where his artistic values went.

Basically, I refused to rent him Deathproof until he saw a real exploitation film with car chases and ass kicking females.

I forced him to watch Russ Meyer’s Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!



That’s a real exploitation flick that wasn’t made to trick people into thinking they’re cooler than they really are, like a bunch of accountants getting drunk on the back nine and telling black jokes.

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! was made to help people who like hot chicks, violence, and cars to help get them through the night. Basically, it’s for all men and a few women that I would love to party with.

The film starts with a no fucking around montage of Billie, Rosie, and Varla go-go dancing and the desperate men yelling for more. These three don’t sit in a car talking about mundane shit in a phony attempt to seem “real,” they race hot rods, play chicken, kidnap young girls, and murder the young girl’s square of a boyfriend.

That’s what real femme fatales do.



And they’re ridiculously hot too. That’s the point of exploitation… you know, to fucking exploit! Sure the eight main characters (which are about five too many regardless of your genre) in Deathproof were good looking, but the only one that qualifies for HOT status in an exploitation flick is Rose McGowan, and she gets killed right away.

If you’re drunk enough and have enough coke, you could probably pick up any of the girls in Deathproof. If you pulled that shit with Varla, she’d hand you your nuts in a paper sack faster than a retard gets excited about passing the first level on Pac Man.

The women in Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! are straight out of a comic book, the way they should be. Bullshit attempts at three-dimensional characters have no business in an exploitation film. Russ Meyer knew this. Tarantino doesn’t.

There’s a plot to Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and it’s a thin one at that, but so what, it works for what it’s intended to be. It’s a backdrop for the Pussycats to wreck havoc, Varla in particular, in glorious black and white.



Five stars for Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!
One star for Deathproof.

- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.

NOTE: If you liked this article, check out our Bulging Film Review Archive, Movies That Were Better When You Were a Stupid Kid, and The Nine Most Overrated Songs Ever!!!

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com Comment on this column HERE. Hey. In my opinion, pacts are for suckers. When you make a pact with someone, or a group of people, it’s really a pretty big sign that you don’t have the strength to achieve simple goals by yourself, and have to spoon-feed off of other people’s plans: shooting up a pet store, offing yourself and your lover when the cops surround your trailer park – you know, pretty easy tasks. Like getting pregnant. As every orphaned kid knows, any idiot with a working set of sex organs can make a baby. It’s not tough to do – in fact, it’s harder to not have the baby batter stake an ovarian claim, no matter how careful you think you are. But apparently 17 girls from Gloucester High in Massachusetts believe they’ve won the embryonic lottery, each expecting a wet, sticky bundle of goo by the end of this summer. They’re part of scores of girls in the high school who made a promise to each other to improve their lives by raising babies together. Because, naturally, when you think of a calm, stress-free life, having a newborn and a full set of classes at the age of 15 come hand-in-hand. But, like all pacts, they screwed up because it was exposed. The secret to a good pact is just that; complete and total secrecy. People have made pacts with me against my good wishes, and the only way you’re gonna hear about any of them is if you’ve got a good shovel and a knack for reanimating corpses. Here’s my advice on how the young women of this small fishing town can improve on their goals: 1) Steal pregnancy kits - If the school nurse has to administer 150 pregnancy kits in a year and the student body is only 1,200 people, they’re gonna find out about your sexcapades. Here’s what you do:

Step One: Brick. Step Two: Pharmacy window. Step Three: Throw and repeat as needed.

If you want to check up the Easy Bake oven between your legs, this is your only option. Doctors will tell your parents, and then your good times are over! A few of you may whine that stealing is wrong. Bullshit. Consider this just practice for when you’re so poor you end up shoplifting baby formula for the kid just a few months down the road. 2) Random Sperm Donors - When I read that one of the fathers of the pact-babies is a 24-year old homeless man, I was proud. You’re on the right track, ladies. Keep the men random and free from love - that’ll just muddy up your intentions. In fact, you’re better off just kidnapping a random homeless man, feeding him, and making him milk himself all day long. Then, with the help of your local neighborhood turkey baster, you can lube up more girls in much less time. Also, you still get to keep your virginity, too. Isn’t that nice? 3) Prevent chances of backing out - The nearest women’s health clinic from the high school is 20 miles away. That’s too close for the chickens in your baby-pact. What if they decide to take the bus for hours and hours and spoil your fun? Granted, your parents have done a marvelous job of making sure no contraceptives are available in the vicinity. But you’ve got to get them to move the clinic at least a hundred miles away. Take it completely out of the picture. Most of you can’t drive, anyway. If all possibilities of aborting the kid are removed, then you’re sure to make the town swell with pride!! Any other advice for the girls of Gloucester High? Leave a comment! - Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked this article, make a pregnancy pact with How to Stay Alive in the Witness Protection Program, Why I HATE Octoberfest, and Seven Ways to Steal from the Girl Scouts!!!

By Stephany Ericson - stephany.ericson@hotmail.com

Comment on this article HERE.

Hello, dear readers!

It is my great pleasure to undertake a somewhat new assignment here at Tontoandfriends.com. For the upcoming future, my contributions will center around the world of Sport!

And perhaps I will venture once again into the realms of Video game fun as well. You may be thinking, “what the hell does that Vicodin swallowing bitch know about Sports?” (and if you were thinking that… why couldn’t you just “think” it instead of leaving it on Tonto’s voice mail?)

What do I know about sports?

Well, may I remind you that I was on a championship caliber field hockey team in high school; That I spent my youth travelling to baseball parks all over Ohio; and I met Babe Ruth.

As for video games... I have a 5 star rating on Guitar Hero.

Now that we’ve established my Sports competency, shall we continue? Thank you.

For those of you who have been lucky enough to possess a passion for playing a sport, even if you were lousy, didn’t you have part of your identity wrapped up in that sport?

Come on…I KNOW all you men who played little league or midget football, or... what is that sport where you kick the ball around and score nary a point for 90 minutes? Oh… soccer.

Yes, well you all had a great amount of your identity attached to your participation in sports. You defined yourself through your mediocre hitting, blocking, and dribbling etc.

But that was not your 1st life definition.

That came long before sports entered your life.

Our 1st definition has a way of setting our course in life; you had no choice in the matter when you received yours. Usually it grows on you and in many cases can truly become your identity. But if you are saddled with one that does you harm, or does not broadcast who you really are, you can have it legally changed.

Names Define Us

Speaking of names… do you know why those of Linus’ ilk are called “mime?”

Well, because “pale face idiot savant” is too difficult to say even though it is much more accurate. But regardless of how difficult a name is to say, it should always reflect who we are. This is especially true of team names in sports.

Here are a few examples of names in the sports world that are either perfect as is, or may need some legal changing.

St Louis Blues - Blues are a form of music associated with sadness, despair, and continued futility. This is an example of a perfect name for this hockey franchise now and in it’s past.

Probably it’s future as well if you looked at the draft.

Going forward in a music theme...

Utah Jazz - Another form of music, but this one is associated with free form thought and improvisation; joy, even.

This name has absolutely NOTHING to do with this team. Unless in my vast vocabulary prowess some foreign language translation of “constant state of re-building” comes in as the English spelling of “Jazz.”

But I doubt that. My suggestion? Change the team name for Utah Construction Zone.

Think of the amazing uniforms they could wear!

Bold Black and Yellow stripes and individual lighting.

New England Patriots - What a great example of another perfectly apropos name. A Patriot is one who loves their country and will do anything to protect its longevity and honor.

I consider myself a Patriot to the US of A, and many times I have applied to both the FBI and CIA to offer my services to protect our nation.

The Patriots in New England have their very own version of the CIA.



Is it any wonder that they have such a great amount of success of late?

Pittsburgh Pirates - Well… Pirates are a group of low individuals that will steal, rape, pillage, and generally do as they please.

We have a Pirate on staff here at Tonto...just ask him.

These Pirates in Pittsburgh however remind me more of the Pirates of Penzance, who, if you remember, were all orphans. They would never go into battle versus a weaker opponent AND if they managed to get close to capturing a victory the opponents would claim that they too were orphans… then the Penzancians would let up… cuz, after all, they were orphans all and knew what it is like.

So, perhaps a better name for this team is Pirates of Penzance at Pittsburgh.

LAAAAAALAAAAALAAAAA - To stay with a baseball team… let’s talk about the team that is named two times in two different languages in one name.

The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

Or all in English: The Angels Angels of Anaheim.

Or all in Spanish: Los Los Angeles Angeles d’ Anaheim.

And since they have such a history of losing the big game, I suspect God himself is not happy that they chose to take the name of heavenly creatures.

Perhaps a better name for this team would be the Western United States proponents of Small Ball At YOUR STADIUM HERE..

Can we please get some more bats for this pathetically anemic line up? Who knows when the great pitching is going to dry up and blow away…

Well, there is one bright spot - I just designed a T-Shirt that says:

New York Yankees
Property of
Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim

What are some of your fave team names? Write them here!

Stephany Ericson is an award winning author of children's books (“Vanilla Chai, Oh My,” “Pat This Hippopotamus,” and “Never Had the Best of Me”) Raised in Pacoima, Ohio by loving grandparents, educated in the Arab Emirates, and employed for 17 years by Art’s Pastry Shack she brings to her readers sugar coated, heart warming stories of redemption all wrapped in a non-traditional Burqua.

NOTE: If you liked this article, check out Stephany's other columns, such as Hey Red Sox Nation... You Really Suck, Super Blow It Out Your Ass Day - Thoughts on a Super Bowl, and Three Lessons Every Artist Should Know!!!

By Melvin, the Pirate - Leave questions for Melvin by CLICKING HERE. Ahoy there, mateys! As the sun takes its bitter wrath upon each and every one us of us, I want ye to take this time to give yerself just a’ bit o’ self care. Mayhaps a facial, or a few golden hours watching the newest offerings from the motion pictures. It’s like I told one a’ me clients, Osgood the Vulgar: A pirate without some TLC will end up getting scurvy of the soul, and nobody wants that. The mail bag is bursting with questions of every stripe, so let’s dive in and massacre yer fears!

Dear Melvin, Which Hollywood star, other than Johnny Depp, do you think would do the best job of accurately portraying a pirate in a movie? -Anonymous

Well, Anonymous, yer a low kind of coward for not puttin’ yer name like an honorable man, but I’ll answer it anyway. When it comes to showing the psyche of a pirate with the verisimilitude and bloody appeal that comes along with sailing under the black flag, Hollywood ain’t known for stickin’ to the facts. So, I won’t offer ye any male actor choices, but rather, a noble Hollywood wench who could summon the viciousness needed to make a pirate role sublime: Bea Arthur. It’s a little known fact that a true pirate craves a rerun of the Golden Girls, especially one that gives Bea Arthur a chance to use her tongue like a mastered rapier. Bea Arthur would make a fine choice as a pirate Queen on the silver screen, sending an army of ne’er-do-wells to their misbegotten graves.

Dear Jungian Pirate Therapist, Last week, I woke up with an enormous desire to climb a large building. Today, I climbed to the top of my toilet. I nearly shit myself. -Squatter Plodder

Well, Squatter, it looks like you’ve got a case of the Spanish Curse. For those of ye that don’t speak pirate lingo, I’ll explain. Spain plundered a heap of Aztec gold in its day, and many a pirate has become obsessed with the chance to find even a scrap of the hidden loot, so much so that it blinds and terrifies them. Ye need to start small, Squatter. Start by climbing to the top of a small dog, and work your way up. In no time, the jitters and the brown cannonballs in your gut will subside.

Dear Melvin, My parrot has been calling me "mommy" when we're making love. I feel a little dirty. How can I get my fowl to keep the screeching to a minimum without offending her? -Desperate to Pluck

Desperate, ye are one vile, piss-drippin’ bug! If yer parrot has been screeching “mommy” to ye and ye just keep ignoring her, there’s no way ye can truly bring the intimacy and love into yer lovemaking. Before you part her open, downy thighs, I want ye to have an open dialogue with ye bird. Ask her what makes her speak of her mommy when ye plunge into her warm essence. Trust me, a caring and happy relationship will make for better loving between pirate and pet. Got any questions for Melvin the Pirate? Leave them HERE. - Melvin the Pirate has written a number of self-help books, such as “Making Yer First Mate Yer Best Mate,” and “A Time to Rape, and a Time to Respect Wenches.” He lives in Huntington Beach, CA with his partner and prize mastiff, Belvedere. NOTE: If you liked this article, swashbuckle your way to 5 Questions You Should NEVER ask a Mime, Keeping The 'Fun' in Funeral - Ways To Honor The Dead, and The All-Purpose Do-It-Yourself Blog!!!

By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com

The good news is that M. Night Shyamalan’s The Happening is an improvement from The Lady in The Water.



The Bad news is that it is still not as good as Fast and The Furious – My Car is Faster Than Yours, or National Lampoon’s Last Resort IV starring Richard Grieco.

Oh, where, oh where, to begin?

Let’s start with the story. Out of nowhere, people suddenly stop in their tracks, talk some gibberish, and commit suicide. OK, so far, so good. So, we’re looking at a problem affecting humanity, and we’re going to check it out through the eyes of a few individuals caught up in their unique struggle with the epidemic. That’s a little like Signs, but whatever, I liked Signs.

The people in particular are high school science teacher Elliot Moore (Mark Wahlberg), and his wife, Alma (Zooey Deschanel). They join the mass of people trying to escape whatever seems to be killing people in the Northeast US. They’re joined by math teacher, Julian (John Leguizamo), and his daughter Jess.

They make it as far as the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees, which turns out to be a bad thing because… dun, dun, DUN!!!! – The trees are the bad guys because they’re trying to kill our heroes.

And why are the trees so pissed off? Because humans are destroying the planet, dumbass!

How do we know all this? Because a minor character portrayed as Act Two comic relief speculates that plants are emitting a chemical that makes humans kill themselves as botanical self-defense.

So, our heroes, who presumably are good people, are the victims of vengeful plants, making them the “bad guys.” But yet, we’re supposed to empathize with the plants?

Fuck that. And not in some Republican CEO of some international industrial company way. No… fuck that in a shitty excuse for story structure and character development kind of way.

Once the characters “decide” who and what the antagonist is, they don’t do the most obvious thing to combat it: chop and burn those motherfuckers to the ground!

Instead, they stay in areas where they’re surrounded by nature. Idiots.

All this sets the stage to build up towards one of the most passive-aggressive, yawn-inducing climaxes in film history between Elliot and… the air.

Oh yeah, there’s an attempt at a sub plot where Alma may or may not be fooling around on Elliot with some guy she works with. I say that as an afterthought, because that’s about how serious the characters and the writer/director/hack treat it.

Hmmm, global fucking catastrophe, and M. Night still thinks he needs to throw in some Jerry Springer bullshit to up the dramatic ante?

And the acting? Shit… all I will say is that people just don’t talk like that.

So, is it official? Can we stop referring to M. Night Shyamalan as the “new Hitchcock” yet?

I mean, I guess I wouldn’t have a problem with the comparison, if, you know, M. Night made movies that were watchable.

- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.

NOTE: If you liked this article, try to escape with The Strangers... eh, Not So Strange, Presidential Candidates With The Most Criminal Potential, and Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of Old Guys Trying Thier Best!!!

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com Hey. It looks like gas prices will average around five dollars a gallon a whole lot sooner that you’d like to believe. And for all you oil junkies, that means you’re gonna have to dig deeper and deeper into your pockets just to have the sweet taste of crude to keep you going. I think it’s pretty damn funny. Now, I don’t have a car, so I don’t drive as much as you Internet nerds. But I have been through my share of addictions, and I can spot an unhealthy one a mile away. Trust me – these prices go up, and people are gonna start sucking some serious man meat just to make some gas money. The fact is that oil is gonna run out well before each of you decide to quit the habit cold turkey. And when that blessed day comes, there will be a delicious, unparalleled chaos in the streets. The smell of burnt flesh will scourge the air, the bodies will carpet the dirty streets. And you’ll be sure to find me in the heart of this bedlam, stealing as much as my hands can carry. Let me throw you a bone, and give you some tips on how to substitute your petrol-purchasing plans with ease: 1) Screw your co-workers to get more carpools - All the common advice columnists suggest you can save your hard-earned wages from mopping up at the porno booth by carpooling with your co-workers. What they don’t tell you is how to make that happen. By and large, people don’t want to spend more time with the co-workers they hate. That’s where blackmail comes into the picture. Approach a coworker, and offer to take them out after work to your local bar. Before they can answer, knock them out with a well-timed jab at a pressure point. Carry your victim to their car, and unlock their doors, setting them in the front seat. With the assistance of your local prostitute (hey – who doesn’t have a prostitute who owes them a few favors), position her in the passenger seat, and cover her with blood. You don’t want to fake it – save up a few pints of your own for a rainy day. When your coworkers comes to, start screaming as loud as you can, making it clear to them that they’ve killed a prostitute. Offer to get rid of the body, and drive off with their car. Return back to your co-worker, and swear to keep this a secret if they carpool with you. All in all, not a bad trade. 2) Make a homemade Ethanol gas station - People keep touting ethanol as the savior of the automobile industry, and as the perfect alternative to gasoline. The fun thing is, they don’t know much about it at this point. With that in mind, it’s time to make some cash! Fill a few drums with sewage, and put up some signs hawking ethanol gas for cheap, but not too cheap! Too little, and it’s obvious you’re just selling customer's piss obtained from the local prison. The trick is to keep moving. Before long, customers are gonna try and hunt you down for trying to power their cars with urine. 3) Start a business in your car - If gas prices are making it too expensive for you to go to work, why not keep that entrepreneurial style alive by starting a business in your car? You could park the vehicle outside a hunting lodge and offer fast, effective taxidermy. Those with a penchant for the theatrical could open up fortune telling booths in their compact car. With a little effort, we could develop entire communities of people hawking wares of every shape and pleasure, right from the comfort of their vehicle. Any other ideas on how to beat high gas prices? Leave me a comment! - Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked this article, save a few bucks with How China Should Improve The Olympics, Tattoo Ideas For The Uninspired, and Udo Kier - Honorary Mime of The Month!!!

By Stephany Ericson - stephany.ericson@hotmail.com

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On my recent book promotions tour across our great land, I worked very hard. I did a bit of research before I arrived in each new city so that I could better understand each and every member of my readership.

What was the local economic forecast?

What was a slice of local history?

What were their favorite TV shows, movies, music, etc.

Where was the nearest pharmacy?

During my travels I gained such a wealth of knowledge about the ‘grass-roots’ of our country. Even though I may have been in a city thousands of miles from my home, I learned that we are all facing similar challenges with our day to day lives.

In each city I felt a tiny bit of “home.” I felt invigorated like never before on a book tour. And yet… also in each city there were definite pockets of rudeness, arrogance, and general aloofness about.

Today, when I concentrated on remembering when and where I sensed these rather base human traits, so that I could possibly avoid them in future book tours, I was aghast to realize in my mind's eye that there was a consistent component to whenever I witnessed arrogance from individuals & wherever I spotted rudeness at the signing table or encountered a cloud of condescending aloofness.

Yes, even though I was in over 20 different cities spread across all regions of our country, there was one consistent factor tying every negative experience together:

RED SOX FANS SUCK!!!

- The lady in Des Moines who insisted very loudly that I sign 5 copies of “Hair Gel is Poison” in addition to 10 copies of my latest, “Room for Cream.”
- The man in Terre Haute who brought 7 copies of “3rd Street Stomp” not to have me sign… but so that he could point out the typo on page 17.
- The granny in Scottsdale who… even though she was tied to an oxygen bottle for emphysema was smoking IN THE STORE… demanded that I take a picture with her and her tattered copy of “Compromises are for Sissies.”

All were wearing copious amounts of RED SOX gear!

Interestingly, and yet not surprisingly… none of them had even a hint of the tell-tale Boston accent, “Wow, Ms. Stephany… yaw books R wicked smaht!”

My conclusion… these dolts couldn’t even find Boston on a map if you put their thumb on Lowell and their finger on Hyannis and said “SQUEEZE.”

They seem to take some delight in referring to their scattered masses as the “Red Sox Nation.” If they are indeed a nation, I for one would like to see them in a war for resources against the “Raider Nation.”

A Nation has a gross national product. The gross national product for the “Red Sox Nation” is the unfortunate mixture of abundant quantities of both arrogance and ignorance which distilled down to it’s core is half a gram of unsubstantiated bravado.

If you look on the periodic table of elements, it’s there on the right side… with all the other harmless Noble gases.

Not a baseball fan? Don’t know who or what “Red Sox Nation” is… well… here is who they have been rooting for lately, or forever:

A Quart Low

Dennis Boyd, whose nickname was “Oil Can.” Once gave up a 515 foot home run to a football player. This was after issuing the following challenge:

I am The Can, and I am going to come right at you with my best shit, and if you can hit it, I want to see how far Bo Jackson can hit The Oil Can.

The "Can" attempted to resurrect his Major League Career by playing as a replacement player during the last player strike claiming, “You’ve got to do what’s best for the Can.”



Got Milk?

Baseball is usually played by men, but occasionally a whiny little boy will get some at bats. Inevitably, the cry-baby within will come out in a big attention seeking way.

Covelli Loyce Crisp recently was nicked on the leg by a pitched ball and was so bent out of shape by it that he decided to start a fight.

What else would you expect from a little boy?

Perhaps he should read a copy of my CHILDRENS book “I Am Enough” …where he can learn to distance himself from such low self-esteem…



A Place to Hang Your Clothes

This Red Sox player had the good sense to wear other colors during his “career.” He was know for being an easy strike out, slow on the bases, clueless with the leather, but was great at taking out opposing players with cheap shots.



He has maintained his legacy with mismanagement on a Timberwolvian level…

Evenin Ma’am

When Hale Boggs went down in a plane crash, Tip was called up to take his spot. For the next 14 years O’Niell couldn’t decide what side of the field to play on, often making bad pitches on purpose to hurt his team.

At least he finally had a part in a movie… so there is that.



So… now perhaps we see why the Red Sox nation is so absolutely annoying and painful in the rectum area.

Should we cut them some slack because they are such horrible judges of character? I think not.

The next time you see someone wearing Red Sox gear… and that someone is NOT near the Prudential tower, the Old Church, or Fenway park… you have our blessings to scream at them “Go Home Bean Eater!!!”

I’ll be out in the yaad not faa from the caaa.

Click here to leave a comment for Stephany.

Stephany Ericson is an award winning author of childrens books (“3rd Street Stomp”, “Tu Vida Loca” and “I am Enough”) Raised in Pacoima, Ohio by loving grandparents, educated in the Arab Emirates, and employed for 17 years by Art’s Pastry Shack she brings to her readers sugar coated, heart warming stories of redemption all wrapped in a non-traditional Burqua.

NOTE: If you liked this article, represent your colors with 9 Reasons Why Baseball Sucks, How To Decode Online Dating Profiles, and Why it's Best to Spend All Day in Bed With Guitar Hero!!!

By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com

So, one time I went to see TSOL play in Long Beach many years ago, and the pit was getting pretty out of hand. In particular, there were three assholes that spent a majority of the show taking cheap shots on people and then running away.

They’d trip people, intentionally kick people in the shins, try to elbow your nuts, so on. By the time TSOL got to “Abolish Government” in the set list, a group of fellas wound up putting a major league ass whooping on these bullies.

Unfortunately, for the two main characters in The Strangers, Kristen McKay (Liv Tyler) and James Hoyt (Scott Speedman), they never got to hear “Abolish Government.”



Instead, what starts off as awkward night between a couple on the verge of calling it quits after a botched marriage proposal, becomes an early morning of terror and fright thanks to a trio of masked murders (presumably a mother/father/daughter combo) stalking the Hoyt family summer home that the couple returns to after a friend’s wedding reception.

OK, so we got young pretty people alone in the middle of the woods being terrorized by psychos… nothing really groundbreaking going on. On top of that, they’re trapped in their home as the killers are coming and going as they please… still we’re in familiar territory. Finally, the victim’s relationship with one another just so happens to be strained and you can bet your ass that it gets stronger as the killers attack.

Yup, we’ve seen this before.

But still, it does a good job of scaring you.

Even if you’ve seen it a million times, there’s still something scary about a big, wheezing dude in a mask who wants to hit you with an axe. Though, in real life, the guy most likely is the chubby dude with high-riding shorts who spends two hours in my video store before finally deciding on Pulp Fiction for the 20th time.

The story plays around with the notion that Hoyt might be in on the killings as he happens to disappear when the killers initially show up… but there’s no follow up to that, which points to the biggest problem with the story: there’s no god damn follow up and the characters make a point to say shit that goes against their actions.

Hoyt makes a point to say that he never actually used a gun, yet he manages to load a shotgun and blows someone’s face off like it ain’t no thang, so why even make a point of introducing that piece of tension if you go nowhere with it?

Plus, if you have a shotgun and all The Strangers have is an axe… it’s time to bring a shotgun to an axe fight, motherfucker! No more hiding, you stand out in the open, challenge these dicks to a rumble and pull that trigger the moment they show up.

But, that never happens, and the lovers get carved up while the strangers escape in an unassuming pick up truck, but not before getting some literature from two Mormon kids walking their bikes. It was an attempt at irony at least...

Before they finally vanish for good, there’s a pretty stupid bit when the parents reassure the daughter that “it’ll be easier next time.”

What the fuck? How many time were they this close to killing the two and they just disappeared? C’mon, don’t be lazy with stupid dialogue that tries to menacing when it’s as stupid as Tonto trying to do long division.

It was only difficult because you assholes made it that way. Don't try to fool me.

- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.

NOTE: If you liked this article, hack your way through the day with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Suckage, Casino Royale... Nice Try, Mr. Bond, and The Top Bum Films of All-Time!!!

By Melvin The Pirate Ahoy there, mateys! Me name’s Melvin. When you lot were pissin’ yer diapers, I was roaming the high seas in search of treasure and clients who needed me vast knowledge of seamanship and Jungian psychology. I be the foremost piratical pundit around. Me specialty’s in aidin’ me fellow swashbucklers making the switch from a pirate’s life to the landlubber world. It’s hard to go from a world of rapin’ and swordfights to punchin’ a clock and sittin’ in onna of those plastic ergonomic chairs, filin’ papers. Wears on yer mind, see? Me approach to tacklin’ the world and the troubles that arise is this: the skills that a pirate’s life brings ye have a vital place in the world today. Pirates and non-pirates alike can learn from one another, to bring the best qualities they’ve got in order to bring about a life of wonder and fulfillment. The work I’ve done easin’ minds and liftin’ hearts has made me a pretty penny, no lie. And, in service to the pirate gods above, I’ve decided to use this website as a plank to attack the troubles and self-defeatin’ habits each of us bear. So, let’s open the mail bag, shall we, and commence with the healin’!!

Dear Melvin, I’m been piratin’ for nigh on two score, and I don’t get the same pleasure with it as I used to have. How can I rediscover the love of being a pirate? - Crookshanks the Brave

Yer a brave man, Crookshanks, for lettin’ your heart speak the tough and salted words that hold yer pain. Let’s do an exercise: I want ye to close yer eyes, and think about yer favorite pirate memory. Imagine the smells of the barnacles, the taste of blood and boorum. Now, what images come to ye mind? What makes yer chest swell with pride? Do you fancy the moments spent swordfightin’a worthy adversary? Does ticklin’ the wenches with your cat ‘o nine tails make ye shiver? Take some time with this exercise, Crookshanks. And, when ye come to see what drives your piratical heart, adapt yer lifestyle to bring these joyous moments into focus. After all, yer a wise and aged pirate – ye’ve proved yerself to be a strong and prosperous man by the fact that yer heart still pumps and yer sword’s sharp as ever. Take this time to return to the heart of what ye love as a pirate.

Dear Melvin the Pirate, I’ve always wanted to date a pirate. Where are the best places to meet young, eligible pirates, and what advice can you offer on how to make a pirate relationship work? - Cynthia from Tallahassee, FL.

Dear Cynthia, While I admire yer pluck, I must warn ye that lusting after a man ‘o the sea is a painful curse. After the spoils are captured and the carcasses lie bloated in the sunrise, yer standard pirate is a deeply tormented creature. His wounds cannot be easily healed by yer tender busom or yer warm cooked meals. However, if it’s simply a roll in the crow’s nest ye crave, go to it, Cynthia! The best place to meet pirates these days is at the tobacco shops. Any pirate with grace and form will use his time back on land to stock up on his favorite blends of pipe and cigarette tobacco. Armed with a rudimentary knowledge of the smoking arts, a wench can find her pick of quality rogues eager to squeeze her treasures!

Dear Melvin, I’ve always wanted to know: is Jimmy Buffet really a pirate? - Simon from Stockon, CA

Simon, I’d be mighty careful next time when ye ask that question. I’ve seen men’s limbs torn into shredded clumps for far less offenses. In short, Jimmy Buffet couldn’t plunder a girl scout troop. Every time a pirate hears a Jimmy Buffet song, someone dies. Got any questions of yer own for Melvin, the Pirate? Send me a comment! Melvin the Pirate has written a number of self-help books, such as “Making Yer First Mate Yer Best Mate,” and “A Time to Rape, and a Time to Respect Wenches.” He lives in Huntington Beach, CA with his partner and prize mastiff, Belvedere. NOTE: If you liked this article, chase your Grog with Fun Ways to Live and Create, A Sneak Peek at Stallone's Upcomming Films, and Fun Ways to Spend Your Tax Refund!!!

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com Hey. You’re not gonna get some hippy-drippy Bustamante rant about politics here. I think politics is for people who don’t have the guts to turn to public crimes and instead hide behind larger, more savage ones. That said, however, 2008 has been a tough year for the Democratic candidates. And, now that the dust has settled, Obama’s standing in the rubble of one broken party. Me, I like unfair fights as much as the next criminal, but McCain is too much of a bully to win this battle without deserving to add another set of scars to his body. That’s where I come in. Obama’s in the middle of interviewing possible Vice-Presidential running mates. Lord knows Hillary Clinton’s done everything short of setting up a sleeping bag next to Obama’s feet in order to demand that she be chosen for the job. And, in the months ahead, you need another political outsider, Obama. Somebody who will highlight your strengths, and balance out your weaknesses. Me. Here’s why it would work: 1) No sass from me - I’m a mime. I’m not gonna speak up and tell you that your platform on education reform or ways to re-invigorate the economy has a much teeth as a two-dollar whore hustling her tricks in the back of a Chuck-E-Cheez parking lot. I’ll just stare at you with such fury that you’ll want to change the subject. 2) I can work exclusively on dirty campaign tricks - I’ll get loudspeakers to play that bit from McCain’s press conference when he cursed at his wife in front of everyone, and stick them in the National Organization of Women’s headquarters. Or, I can hold McCain’s doctor by his ankles over a garbage compactor and get him to say that McCain has less than three years to live. You know, all the dirty work Obama shouldn’t touch, so he can stay positive and upbeat. Plus, unlike other politicians who use smear tactics, I’d make damn sure that all my tracks were covered, and no evidence ever led back to us. 3) Sob Story - Obama’s team could spin this whole myth about how I’m not married because I’m a widower. It would bring so much additional coverage to the race, and it’d be the perfect surprise to spring on McCain’s team when they start to question why I’m still single. 4) Mind Fucking - This is where I would shine in the Obama campaign. The bulk of my work would involve stalking McCain, and doing little tricks to make him think he’s forgetting things. Moving his eggs before he comes back from the restaurant, changing the height of the podium by a 2/16 of an inch before a debate. And, adding a ¼ of an inch to the heels of his shoes every night, so that in a week’s time, he’s walking and stumbling in a whole new way. There you have it! Any ideas on how you would make a great Vice-President? Leave a comment. - Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked this article, nominate yourself with Political Parties That Put The PARTY Back in Politics, Famous Political Subliminal Messages, and Republicans '08 - Why NONE of Them Will Win!!!

By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com

So Tonto is really getting on me about these film reviews.

“What about the idiot mime, the vicodin chick, or the bum? Can’t they write film reviews?” I say.

Tonto responds by saying he wants my film expertise here… and that he’ll “lean” on me if he has to.

I don’t know what’s funnier? Tonto thinking that me slumped hungover over the front counter while “High Noon” plays on the TV makes an expert, or that he thinks he can fool me with his wannabe mafia lingo.

Look, feather head, you’re not Joey “The Boots” Moreno walking into a locker room to intimidate some up and coming fighter into suddenly having a glass chin in the 7th, and I’m not… well, you, Tonto. So take that Mafia lingo somewhere else.

Anyway, speaking of phony lines of dialogue and false drama, let’s get right into today’s review of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

“Hello… 1984, yeah this is Harrison Ford… Hey, how’s it goin? I’m good. But hey, I was wondering, can I get an Indiana Jones performance please? OK great. So, I just need to show up, put on the costume and that’s it? Cool. See you on the set.”

That's about it as far as Harrison Ford went this time with his portrayal of Indy. Hey, at least the costume fit.

There’s nothing worse at a punk show when some kid shows up wearing brand new “gear” from the mall. A spanking new “New Found Glory” shirt, torn jeans, etc. That’s exactly what it felt like when Shia LaBeouf showed up on screen in the worst homage in film history.



The whiny kid from Transformers as Brando?



Whatever.

The early bikers of the late 40s and 50s were the guys who returned home from WWII back before there were places to managed your PTSD, so they grabbed a bike, a leather jacket, and they hit the fucking road because that’s all there was.

They weren’t kids who had good relationships with their parents who just so happen to be into fencing so they can duel with the main bad guy.

Characters aside, the plot is a fucking mess.

Aliens. Skulls. Commies. Wackos. Monkeys. Strange natives. Long lost loves. Put those together and you get… a big confusing heap of words.

Just because the characters on screen have no idea what’s going on, that doesn’t mean the audience has to be just as confused.

There’s some shit about 13 aliens, ultimate knowledge, blah, blah, blah… the movie is more National Treasure instead of a 40s serial action adventure.

I would easily trade LaBeouf doing a Spiderman routine with monkeys for a scene or two of actual semi-believable suspense.

You would think that in a movie that had a quest for ultimate knowledge, aliens, and a race with the Soviets in the middle of the Cold War, you would have enough for an intriguing film. Nope. Not according to George Lucas.

You need some silly ass family drama with a long lost ex-girlfriends who had your secret love child. All that nonsense does is drag down the story with scenes that reek of forced sincerity. It’s not funny. It’s not ironic. It’s not interesting.

That’s the thing right there… just like with new Star Wars trilogy, old guys should not be making movies for young people because of the obvious disconnect.

Old guys are into family and shit like that. They argue with their kids about going to school. That’s cool and all, but it has no place in an adventure serial. Old guys get confused in parking lots and old guys write overly confusing stories.

Young guys write scenes where Indy shoots a guy for swinging a sword at him. Old guys write scenes where you need 100 scenes of blue-screen CGI where shining lights and quick cuts are disguised as organic feeling… damn I’m starting to sound like Bustamante at a Doobie Brothers show.

That means I’m done.

What did you think of Indiana Jones and the whatever? Leave a comment!!!

- Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store.

NOTE: If you liked this article, CGI your day away with Casino Royale... a Tonto and Friends Review, The Most Awesomely Lame Songs Ever, and The Top 5 New Years of All-Time!!!

By Linus, The Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com Hey. I was in a pretty good mood today. One of my newest pieces, “Bloodlust”, just got nominated for some art award, according to the Portland Chamber of Commerce. If that means a couple more greenbacks in my pocket, that’d be gravy. So, I decided to treat myself. Instead of purchasing my usual breakfast liquor at the local convenience store, I decided to treat myself to the best candy imaginable: Necco Wafers. But, according to the greasy little high school dropout behind the counter, apparently people don’t like the candy as much as I do. They didn’t carry it. He tried to sell me some Smarties instead. That was a bad idea. Forty-seven minutes later, after I got tired of smashing the convenience store with his unconscious, bleeding body, I shook the shards of glass out of my clothes, wiped off the blood he carelessly spilled on me, and hit the streets, thinking of a way to get this remarkable confectionary concoction back into the hearts and minds of America. Then, it hit me. Who has the most time on their hands and are easily manipulated You, oh precious internet morons. So, let me share with you the reasons why Necco Wafers are better than you thought, so you can go off on your own web logs and spread the message. I had better see a pack of them the next time I go shopping for alcohol, or somebody’s gonna have to make good on being an organ donor. 1) Necco Wafers have just the right amount of sugar - It’s the holy grail of candy. Being one of the oldest continually made candies in the US doesn’t happen if it tastes like crap. But Linus – you whine – Necco Wafers taste like chalk. I’d much rather eat a Snickers or M&M’s. Wrong! Those crappy candies are slopped with chocolate and enough sugar to make your toes fall off. You want diabetes? I didn’t think so, dumbass. Candy is supposed to resemble life – hard, predictable, and with just enough sweetness to numb the ever-constant pain. 2) Necco Wafers are gluten-free - People are getting allergic to gluten because Americans eat so many carbs. If you eat Necco Wafers, you won’t have unpleasant accidents in your underpants. 3) Necco Wafers are the Terminator of candy - They don’t melt, they don’t freeze. They’ve been shipped to combat zones, soldiers eat them. People in the South Pole eat them. They can be shipped all over the world, and not break. True story: Once, when I was making a business call to administer last rites for a former friend of mine, I filled up my bomber jacket with Necco Wafers. Even though the mark shot at me three times in the chest before making his dinner reservations with St. Peter, I didn’t even get a scratch. Necco Wafers are amazing. 4) You can light a fire with Necco Wafers - I shit you not. Just get a pack with some Wintergreen flavored ones inside, find a cool, dry place, and snap them in half. I’ve lit several Molotov cocktails this way. Very handy if you don’t have matches. 5) Necco Wafers make great fake money - I bet old Slocumb Jones knows this secret, too. With a little time, and a nail file, you can trick vending machines into thinking they’re quarters. You can toss them into the begging cups of blind people. Or the donation baskets at church. So, any other reasons why Necco Wafers are great? Email me! - Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked this piece, wash it down with 9 Reasons Baseball Sucks, Why Marcel Marceau Was a Dick, and How to Decode Online Dating Profiles

By Vans McCoy - vansmccoy@hotmail.com Your job sucks. I know. It sucks a big hard one too. I know. I’ve been there. I’m not here to sympathize with you. No. I’m here to tell you that you’re an idiot because you continue to put up with it. I’ve worked at a lot of places. Gas Stations. Tattoo Parlors. Record Shops. Hospitals. As you know, I now run a successful independent video store. One of the many things I’ve learned while gainfully employed is that the people you work with are the stupidest people walking on the planet. In fact, I'm shocked that many of them have the mental prowess to walk upright. You know the best way to tell if the people are victims of severe head trauma, listen to the way they talk about the days of the week. Monday “Well, it’s Monday again. Another week…” – No. It’s another day to rape, pillage, and fight. It matters not that dumbass football was on all day yesterday. “The weekend’s never long enough” – That’s how you talk if you’re a bitch. Maybe if you didn’t spend all day in front of a TV drinking lite beer, and watching grown men in tights bounce on each other, you wouldn’t feel like the time was wasted. “Boy, I need that Monday morning coffee.” – I need a Monday morning 8-ball, but you don’t hear me bitching. If you’re going to have a chemical dependency, make it sexy. If Monday is such a problem for you… quit! Or just go in late. Just make sure that you have a boss you can physically intimidate or comfort with a deep dicking. Tuesday “I’m just glad it’s not Monday” – Are you still hung up on that day? Does the name of day have that much control over your life? “This is gonna be a long week.” – That’s only because you care about the stupid company you work for. I never have. I’ve always made sure that I work in places where I get paid the same whether we have customers or not. That way, I can focus on things besides work when I’m at work. Wednesday “Halfway through the week.” – Yeah, and? You’re the one who made life choices that force you to have a job you hate. Maybe you should’ve pulled out that night instead of thinking “well, one time won’t kill me.” You’re the one who went to a fancy private school that you couldn’t afford, so now you have to work in a field that you hate so that you can pay for learning about what you love, but the joke is… you’ll never actually get to use that knowledge except when it comes up on Jeopardy once a year. Dummy. So, don’t justify your repressed anger at yourself to me. You’re the one who messed up. See, that’s why I pull out EVERY TIME and didn’t bother going to school. Guess what? I’m better off than you! Thursday “At least the good shows are on TV tonight” – Hi, I’m Vans. Please, take this gun… oh no, I insist. OK, now put the business end in you mouth… that’s right. Now squeeze as hard as you can with your itty-bitty pointy finger…oh, don’t worry, it is loaded…. Whew, one less example of the "retard by nurture" argument. Network Television is a dead art form. Instead, they have these crazy things called books. These things actually stimulate your imagination versus masturbating all over it. Friday “Thank God, it’s Friday” – I’m sorry, thank who? Look, I’m no religious scholar, but I don’t think the calendar was established, by God, no less, to alleviate the stresses of your pitiful office job. You think Job ever uttered that phrase? What about Noah and his boat? The big imaginary man in the sky has better things to worry about besides your job. Get over yourself, you self-righteous egomaniac. “Happy Friday” – Have you ever noticed that the people who say this are the ones who spend the whole weekend getting thrashed in a futile attempt to make the memories of their horrible job vanish? Then Monday rolls around, and it’s right back to bitching about Monday. Doesn’t sound too happy to me. - Vans McCoy was knocked out at a Dead Kennedys show in the early 80’s and has been a cultural expert ever since. He has spent time in several small bands over the years. He sang for The Magnificent Cox, played bass in Manson’s Ranchers, and was lead guitarist for Televised Execution. He’s spent 347 days in local jails throughout the country and is now gainfully employed managing a local video store. NOTE: If you liked this article, talk your ear away with How China Should Improve The Olympics, The Soaring Job Market in Tijuana, and Answers to All Your Love and Sex Questions!!!

By Linus the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com Hey. In addition to my artistic gifts as a mime artist, not to mention the other work I do that my PO doesn’t have to know about, I’ve also had a pretty good gift for naming bands that turn out to be successful. It was the nineties, before prison. I was working in Seattle, doing some pretty avant-garde performances in front of the nightclubs in that area. I was in the middle of this one play I had made up called “Buddha Blood”, and was depicting the pure moment of rapture and mindfulness of the spirit when Kurt Cobain happened to walk by. The moment he saw me, he just stopped. His mouth was frozen in a huge grin, and he didn’t move for about a half hour. Finally, some other members of his band found him there and starting talking about band names. At that point, inspiration seized me, and I pointed right at Kurt as I was completing the path to Nirvana. And in that moment, he and I were one mind. Yeah, bite me if you don’t believe it, but those boys wouldn’t have made a nickel with a band name like Kurt Cobain and the Pain, which was the name they had been set upon before our chance encounter. After that, naming bands came easy to me. Bands would write to me offering up their souls for the right name that would make them rich. I had about an eighty percent success rate in naming bands that one could recognize instantly by name. I’d tell ya who they were, but most of them were during my jail time, and since they felt they didn’t have to pay a convict for “creative fees”, I’ve made sure to keep a mental list when I’m low on cash and need to pay a visit. So, here’s the deal. Here’s some dynamite band names. I’ll spill ‘em to ya, and if you want to use them, go ahead. You just owe me five percent of the domestic gross you make and ten percent of the international gross. 1) Bastard Got the Virus I got this idea from one of those lame cop shows that tries to write “urban” dialogue but only ends up sounding as white as a Christian wussy rock band. To make it work, you’re gonna have to be a Pantera/AC/DC mix. Anybody who sounds like they’re children trying to play mommy and daddy’s rock needs another name… 2) The Melancholy Rancher …like this one. Ten years ago, I would have never recommended this name to anyone, unless they wanted broken bottles pelted at them. It’s a great name for a style over substance band. That way, you can make your own “melancholy rancher” spin-off candy, make stupid animated shorts about the titular character killing himself in various ways, etc. If the titles to your songs have more words than the actual lyrics, this is the name for you. 3) Merkin Man This is the name to have if you’re a DJ. Think about it: too many DJ’s spin sets that have that same dull air about them. Merkin Man combines seventies’ porn soundtracks and climax sounds over a tight groove. It can’t miss. 4) The Grass That Forgives the Blade Wu-Tang Clan had a good idea, but it needed to go further. This is the way: Hard-core rap, with a solid Zen consciousness. Rhymes about letting go of suffering, and battle raps about koans that will make your head pop! 5) Hell’s Gatzpacho Any of you hyper-literate, post-punk bands can take this one. If you can rhyme “saffron” with one of our US Presidents in seconds, this name will have you topping the charts. 6) Silcone Sling Too many bands today flirt with sexuality, but when it comes to putting up or shutting up, they can’t deliver the goods. This band would blow that concept clear out of the water. All of the members of this punk band would have breast implants – men and women. And with pasties blazing, they would rock out with their mammories out, setting a trend for sexuality that would wake up the United States. Got any band names you think are pretty sweet? Write me back with them, and I’ll be sure to make fun of you in a witty manner. - Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked this post, jam it out with The 9 Most Overrated Songs Ever, How To Stay Alive in the Witness Protection Program, and Why it's Best to Spend All Day in Bed With Guitar Hero!!!

By Linus, the Angry Mime - linustheangrymime@hotmail.com Hey. If I see one more fucker with a barb wire tattoo, I’m gonna shove a coat hanger right up their nose and turn their brains into bloody Swiss cheese. Oh, and you pricks with the tribal tattoos and Asian characters on your body – if you don’t belong to the tribe or you do not speak the language of whatever’s festooned on your spine, you have no goddamn business putting it on your body. Look, I may not have any tattoos, but I’ve been around thousands of people who’ve made body art their personal lord and savior. Plus, I’m a mime. Work with my body is right up my alley. I keep my body unadorned so I can use it to create art. And, because tattoos are a very permanent choice, it’s not one to take lightly. The best artwork comes from the right amount of attention to style, mood, and location. Just because your friend wants a butterfly on their pubic mound, doesn’t mean it will look as glorious on you. With this in mind, and with my hours of research into the highs and lows of body art, I offer you, my clueless and idiotic readers, some pearls of wisdom on how to make all that pain worth it, with some proper tattoo ideas: 1) Treasure Map - Sometimes, it’s good to honor the classics. Pirates allegedly had a few of these tattoos, so why not you? But, here’s the catch: it’s got to be a bona fide map, with an actual fortune hidden. Once a year, I go out and steal something worth at least five digits, bury it somewhere, and drug a few homeless people unconscious. After a trip to the tattoo parlor, I scatter the urchins throughout the city, and let the games begin! 2) Surgeon General’s Warning - I used to know a guy who was nicknamed “Cold-Cock,” and not because of the temperature. He could split a man’s head open with his bare fists just as fast as he could take a piss. One day, after just narrowly avoiding being on the receiving end of a punch, I threw him out of a seven–story window, and went downstairs to see if the drop took away his piss and vinegar. Sure enough, he was deader then disco. I grabbed one of hands and tried to pry off his wallet, when I saw the tattoo he had made on his hand: WARNING: COLD-COCK CAN CAUSE A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH He even took the time to make the little black border around the warning. Not to mention that hand tattoos are the first ones to fade away, and need constant re-application. So, if you’re as bad as they come, this is a good look for you. 3) Obscure US Presidents - Nothing gets more attention from the ladies than stripping off your shirt to display a life-size headshot of John Tyler. Or, if you’re sitting in the drunk tank with the gang, wiggling your pecs to make the moustache hairs on Chester Arthur’s bristle shows a touch of class. Using obscure presidents as body art lends an air of wisdom and insanity to a person, and you’re less likely to be sodomized with a hammer as a result. Got any other bright ideas for tattoos? Leave a comment! - Linus is a world renowned mime artist whose productions “She Walks with Ghosts”, and “Sleep” have won him several international awards, such as the Deburau Prize He also served fifteen years in Oregon State Penitentiary for grand larceny. He trained in Paris at the International School of Corporeal Mime and will beat up anyone who has a problem with it. NOTE: If you liked this article, get some ink done with What Was REALLY Shot Down on that Satellite?, A Mime's Regrets..., and Little Known Presidential Facts!!!