"Why is Eddie Haskell and Where Does He Touch Me?" author Lenny A. Bellows, appearing at a midnight screening of his Technicolor documentary Lend me a Scalpel said this: "Get this tarantula dropping over to the chieftains...the time is nigh. I have grown weary of the exhausted pedophiles and philanthropic bums that tower above our government."

Meanwhile, facing the consequences of unchecked selves, various black folk endeavored to publish a small community newspaper using ink and paper and the white man's dictionary.

"Won't you pause to smell my puss?" said the highway patrol officer, brandishing his pistol and pocketbook of gay friendly Kosher delis in Lubbock. The driver, Kurt O. Bali, looked above the lowered rims of his Foster Grant sunglasses and muttered, "Boy, your puss stank aint got the gumption to be furthernatin' on this paved mutherfucker, so get thine assine offa my mutherfucking highway!" The officer,
kind in his leather, drew back and returned with a chinese coupon in the name of Christ.

Beware Iraqi Liquor Store!

by lou dallas | 13:28

I was stoned and in the shower when I found out about Freddy Mercury. The DJ stuttered and quickly
punched on Bohemian Rhapsody.

The sweet sounds of Jonathan Edward's "Sunshine" seep out of a dream. I notice
that most contemporary rock has no soul, no groove, no folk pump.
Why is Eddie Haskell and where does he touch me?

The luscious
parenthetical steeping tea beds are
arranged in reverse alphabetical order. They are
headed by wily Asian jazz musicians that peer out of
the corner shadows of Wang and Wong buffets.
They ruminate and croon
at fat, ugly American women gorging
on steamed beetles and pork fat. They smoke
cloves and laugh at children. When the public
is gone, soon after closing, they dip their fingers
in the custard.

On a Friday eve outbound, "snortin' whiskey, drinkin' cocaine..."

by lenny bellows | 18:24

by lou dallas | 20:01

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by lou dallas | 19:03

Perhaps the most brutal game we played was "Smear The Queer". With a name like that, it's just a notch above "Kill The Fag", but the homophobic undertones went unnoticed by us. The rules were suicidal. Someone would throw the ball in the air, and whoever caught it would have to run around until they were caught, gang-tackled, and usually punched a few times. Why anyone chose to catch the ball is still a mystery to me, but it certainly whetted our appetite for masochism for years to come. Understandably, this game, at least in name, has all but disappeared from most schoolyards.

And thanks to Belltows for his amazing imajeiz of late...



by lou dallas | 18:32