Wart (1994)

Wart

Too bad I had to see you today

Don’t know what you’re made of

‘Cept one part “T”

And one part War (on humanity)

Looky here—it’s big and getting’ bigger

Can’t face you now

Can’t even look in a mirror

I stopped getting fan mail

A whole month ago, lead singer quit

The band…and

Nobody comes around my one room walk up

Flat…I started wearin’ a hat

And a scarf and a vinyl Jump Suit

Can’t hide, can’t hide

This wart is out to get me

It’s out of control, it’s eating me

I have no life, it controls my

Every move

Y A H H H---!

Way to go out, finish the race

Man explodes, wart on his face

Red balloons always remind me

The day you came to stay

I put my good old days behind me

WART

Get it off, get it off, get it off me

WART

Leave it alone/It’ll go away/NO

WART

Friday night in suburbia (1994)

Let’s go downtown and stare at all the freaks

Gawk at all the losers, tryin’ to be somebody

It’s Friday night, we’re white

And this is suburbia

Start a fight, dance all night

We’re the cultural elite

I want meat, to sink my teeth into

Let’s go to the store—and check the quick sale bin

This is so stupid

Freeway sentinels (1994)

So I can’t believe I didn’t tell you about those hooded freeway figures, spaced out evenly, as if dispatched as sentries. These grim sentinels stood over 40 feet tall and had a beak and claws. With its body shrouded, these were all you could see. And, oh yeah, I was drivin’ when I noticed them. They was standin’ in pairs, by each freeway overpass and off ramp.

I swear it was the night I came down with a death chill, which first I thought was the flu, but without the diarrhea. Yeah, but now I only catch glimpses of these little flying things (they could be mosquitoes) and cats in the corner of my eyes. I haven’t seen the devil in over 4 months.

I have been growing this pot, which looked pretty good at first, but a lot were males. They smoke ok, kinda fresh, the shoots’ll get ya fucked up—in a nice schoolyard kind of way—and even the broad leaf (when smoked damp, like tobacco) gives good smoke—always accompanied by coffee or beer.

I got unemployment checks comin’ in (to pay the rent & PG&E) and $ in the bank. Dope in the ground is better than $ in the bank, because in the end you may not find any dope for sale and you may have spent the $. Never mind that. Uh.

Exerpts from: Cuss Words That I Use (1994) unabridged

Fuck:   Pronounced fuhk, a quick little outburst, used monosyllabically, to display mild distaste for an event, situation, person or object.

           

            Pronounced faaahh—ck to indicate increased displeasure at the above.

Fuckin’ A:       Used mostly in commiseration circles to affirm something negative, eg. “Did you get another parking ticket?” “Fuckin’ A!”

            Can denote surprise, awe or wonderment, as when one sees a really bitchen monster truck crushing old junk cars.

Fuck You:       Can be directed at a person, object or nothing at all, if one is sufficiently pissed. Caution: not to be used indiscriminately around strangers who are bigger than you.

Fuckin’ Jesus Christ:  Pronounced gee-sauce, not necessarily blasphemy, but close enough. Conveys a pseudo-righteous disgust, complete disbelief or exasperation.

Fuck off:         Means “I hate you”  “Go away”

Fuck off and die:        Copulate with insect repellent and terminate. “Go to hell.”

Fuckin’ shit:    Used to describe objects which have fallen under your disfavor. “What is this fuckin’ shit?”

Fuckin’ bullshit:         Used to describe events, actions or things which do not live up to your expectations.

Fuckin’ suck my dick, you fuckin’ fuck:       Can be used whole or in parts. Suck my dick—fellate me. You fuck-- n. A person who is an asshole can be designated as a fuck.

Fuckin’ son of a bitch:            Not related to canine parentage, simply another exclamation of dissatisfaction or a description of an unsavory person.

Various critiques and letters to celebrities (1994-ish)

ART BELL IS A FUCKIN WEIRDO.

Ya man so what

Ok then

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Made yourself cry lately, bad boy?

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Dear Mel,

I purchased your Marijuana Grower’s Inside Edition. You stupid-head.

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Hey Tom Snyder! Yer cool, man, although I grew up w/Ackroyd doin’ you, and I honestly don’t know who does a better Tom Snyder. Any way

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You suck, Steve. That is all.

Oh, did I say that?

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Your kind is easy to find                                    I wish I said this to somebody

Like earthworms after the rain

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Dear George,

I have been watching your show “The George Carlin Show” & have been a fan of yours ever since “Toledo Window Box.” You have spoken for more than one generation during your career as comedian and, well, whatever else it is you do. I personally was edified way back when, listening to your “hippy dippy weather man” and “the dog is licking his balls.”

Um, so what am I trying to say? George, do you still smoke pot? I don’t work for NORML or anything, I am just a consumer of all things cultural.

Do something for the cause, please, my older generation role model, sir. Use your prime time power of predilection to expedite the legalization of or benign pant-friend, marijuana. Don’t be afraid. Just cuzz you’re rich and can buy the real good stuff. You must realize—you are a spokesman. Do your job, be honest and let’s see some cutting edge TV.

It’s nothing new, but persistence—not knuckling under—is what pays. So, do it. Be our hero. Tell the networks that you smoke buds. Deal with it. Don’t be a coward, you only live once.

Your friend, Andrew (a friend in weed)

PS. Was that too preachy? Sorry. Bud. Do it! Be a man, don’t back out now…

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Dear Thomas Brothers Map Co.

I recently purchased your California Road Atlas. You have set the standard in road atlases. Atlas’sz—whatever. You guys are good. I’ve followed some of your roads on very enjoyable excursions. Yet, I still find myself lost from time to time. Can you help me?