Shooting our Mouths Off

Well, America, we finally did it. We’ve reached that apex of utter ridiculousness and absurdity that’s an all time low even for a country that spawned The Jersey Shore, The Kardashians & Mormonism. So reach over to the adult next to you and pat them on the back for being apart of one of the most sadistic and ruthless cultures in all of the industrialized nations.


 Because no one does guns like us.

Whether you’re a delusional liberal touting that all guns should be confiscated and banned or some obnoxious conservative yelling that responsible Americans are entitled to a stockpile of arms that would rival a 3rd world dictatorship, we here in the U.S.A. all have vehemently held beliefs and all play our part when it comes to our gun culture and it’s subsequent debates. And the only progress that’s come from all of our bickering is more dead citizens who could’ve been potential doctors that cure cancer or at the very least, subservient taxpayers.

But Friday’s massacre was different than your typical run of the mill shooting. It didn’t happen at a mall, movie theatre or high school, it happened at an elementary school and had a higher death count than the Aurora, Clackamas or Columbine disasters. We Americans have grown accustomed to these types of incidents and sadly have even become desensitized in their wake where our only response to such travesties are “Well, that fucking sucks.” And then we go about our day.

The catastrophe in Newton, Connecticut however was not only different in the fact that it chipped away at even the hardest of us cynics but it also sent a loud and clear message that no one, regardless of their age or location, is safe. And to prove that point, a young man with three weapons his mother bought legally went from classroom to classroom and erased the hopeful and innocent lives of kids not even old enough to legally have a say if guns should be outlawed, regulated or allowed in this country. They were just fodder for our go-nowhere arguments about the legality of firearms.

Friday’s heartbreaking episode in our Gun Show also demonstrated that our guns here at home are an epidemic. It’s far beyond any easy fix method. Just like an over infestation of cockroaches in one’s house, such is the case with guns. In fact it’s so out of control that a lot of us feel that the only protection from guns is more guns.

Nancy Lanza, the mother of Adam Lanza who was the shooter at Sandy Hock Elementary on Friday, probably thought that in order to keep her family safe she needed three guns. You can’t get on the internet or T.V. without seeing how well that mentality played out.

We need to start looking at guns with a personification. And I think a fair one would be to give them the title of sociopath. That’s not to refer to them in a negative connotation but a realistic one. Your typical sociopath lacks conscience, the threat of consequences or how his actions could affect other people. The sociopath just does, free of the moral implications of if his deeds are right or wrong.

Such is the case with guns. They’re unthinking and unapologetic in the things they do. They don’t care about right and wrong, they just are. The gun that one might have in their home that they clean and target shoot with as well as feel safe with could be the same instrument that is turned on them in the event of a home invasion where the intruder gets the upper hand.

Bottom line, your gun doesn’t care about you. It will just as soon kill you as it would kill someone that means you harm. It’s a means to a very specific end.

Now I’m fully aware that the gun is merely a tool and it’s purpose depends on who’s employing it. But so often than not, the gun is a quick fix enabler for someone with emotionally unstable problems and this is where the true danger lies. Plus, there’s no possible way to detect if a responsible gun owner will lose their cool one day, or, as in the case of the Connecticut shooting, if the gun owners kid has access to the guns and decides to go postal one bright December morning. The underlying truth of it all is, just like God, guns are everywhere and they’d just as soon punish us as protect us.

I know some of you have the asinine argument that if we got rid of guns people would still find other ways to harm one another and there’s some validity to that. But I guarantee it wouldn’t be as severe or easy as destruction is with a gun.

Yes people can build bombs but that takes time, know how and usually an ideological agenda as in the case with Timothy McVeigh. And yes, you can kill someone with a knife, baseball bat, rope, tire iron, pillow or even a shoe if you’ve got the time and tenacity.

But all of those things can’t do it as easily and in mass numbers like you can with a gun. If you walked into a school or public place with a knife or bat you could do one, maybe two people, but then you’d be subdued by a few people bigger than you. The casualties would be scarce and the wrongdoer apprehended. Just this past Friday someone stabbed 21 school children in China, but none died. Granted it was still horrific but it didn’t have a death toll. Those kids will live, adapt and hopefully have great and meaningful lives. It’s also an example of the stark difference between a gun and any other weapon.

The gun means business and it’s business is killing as quick and lethally as possible assuming your shooter isn’t Stevie Wonder.

I’ve also heard the outlandish statements that teachers should be armed in order to sway the trend of school shootings. This is stupidity at it’s most glorious moment. Teachers already have a laundry list of responsibilities to attend to with very little monetary compensation for all that they do. But no, let’s add marksman to their requirements.

Then again maybe that’s not a bad idea after all (or maybe I’m just getting stupider by the second) because most schools already have metal detectors and lock down systems that are akin to maximum security prisons. So yeah, let’s just arm the people in charge so there’s really no difference between prisons and schools. It’s a great message to send to our children which is: Sorry, kids, but because of our so called “freedoms” you’re going to be imprisoned for your own safety because we can’t get our shit together.

Another ludicrous rant I heard was to start hoarding all the assault weapons as if they were Twinkies before the government stepped in and made them illegal. This is American paranoia at it’s finest and as with all things that are done in an irrational state of suspiciousness and distrustfulness, it’s a bad fucking idea and here’s the reason why; No matter how many guns you’re amassing at home, it’s not gonna keep your loved one’s safe because someone else is also amassing guns at their home and you can’t predict their future behavior. Seriously, folks, if you've got such a stiff boner for assault rifles, join the fucking military, they've got plenty of 'em.

There’s also the other profoundly retarded argument that it’s not only a citizen’s right but their duty to keep and bear arms as to secure our rights and freedoms from a government and to not allow said government to become tyrannical. But the tyranny is already here. We create it by being afraid of those with guns, so we get guns. More guns in circulation means more guns in the hands of people who aren’t always of sound mind and logic. This means more shootings.

On average guns account for 12,000 deaths in the U.S. annually (this number is strictly limited to assaults, not suicides or accidentals).  That’s roughly 132,000 Americans killed since 2001. Or look at it another way; we have the equivalent of four 9/11 tragedies per year. We’re doing a better job at exterminating ourselves and our way of life than our most hateful & zealous enemies could imagine. All in the name of upholding “Our Way of Life” . When terrorists killed 3,000 Americans we declared war on any and all that would harm us. But when it comes to our own domestic war with guns we just get irate during our discourse and end up threatening to shoot one another.

But such is the mentality of our gun culture and like it or not, we’re all products of it in the sense that we’re apologists for the gun, advocates against the gun, or all too often like the 20 dead kids on Friday December 14th, victims of the gun. But one thing is for certain, we’ll talk about this, argue over it, post stupid and ignorant shit on our Facebook feeds and then forget about it until it happens again in another few weeks only to do the arguing all over again with no intention of resolving or amending our homegrown epidemic.

And that cyclical consistency demonstrates that something is fundamentally flawed with us and our guns in the United States.

    

Re-CRUE-tited: Side 2

So you bought it?

Yeah. The first thing I did after I took the tape out of it’s case was put the case face down in a desk drawer and covered it with as much junk as I could, you know, just to be safe.

From what?

The case being a talisman to conjure Satan once the music started. Figured the more stuff piled on top of it, the less effective it’d be.

You’re gay.

Seriously, the first song “In The Beginning” gave me the creeps. The music sounded like something you’d hear at a human sacrifice and the static tinged voice talking about “in the dusts of hell with the blackest of hates for he whom they fear awaits you” was all pretty intense.

So, so wicked, I love this band. What‘d you think of the rest of the tape?

Silence

You didn’t listen to the rest of it did you?

I had to turn it off, I got too scared. Felt like the devil was gonna shout at me instead of me at him like the title suggests.

What. The. Hell?

Trevor, watch your mouth lest I fill it with sand again.

It was in the proper context, Mom. By the way, do you have any extra underwear? Clean preferably.

Not if you’re going to use them to make a parachute for your G.I. Joe action figures again.

I wanna gift wrap ’em in some nice pink tissue paper for Chris because he’s being a girl.

Then the answer is no, he can wear his own mother’s underwear and seek counseling. I know several psychologists that specialize in positive transvestite assimilation identity.

Trans what? Never mind, I thought you were my friend, man.

Not this second. And if there was some sort of way that I could simultaneously tell everyone you and I both know how much of a sissy you are and how disappointed I am in you right now I’d do it. Lucky for you that sort of technology doesn’t’ exist. Now go finish listening to that tape and don’t bother calling me back or calling me your friend until you do.

Click.

And then I was alone. I’d just bought Motley Crue’s Shout At The Devil and had made it exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds into it before I had to turn it off out of fear that Lucifer was going to pay me a visit via my stereo speakers.

I’d called Trevor (since checking these guys out was his big idea) for a little moral support and instead I was handed an ultimatum. I could either pledge my allegiance and soul to an entity that resided “in the dusts of hell with the blackest of hates” OR I could forever endure Trevor’s razor sharp heckling for not doing so. Once I saw my choices like this, shacking up with Satan for an eternity seemed like the easier of the two options to live with.

I went into my living room where my mother and two younger brothers were watching some cartoon show and envied how simple their lives were while I was on my way to face the most ominous evil of my existence.

I thought about asking my mom to accompany me on this spiritual suicide mission should the unleashing of this malevolent force be too much for me to handle and she could save the day by burning the heretical horror with the flames of her moral Christian outrage and Bic lighter, but then I thought better of it. This was something I needed to do alone. So I pulled up my big boy underoos and went in by myself.

I came out 6 hours later forever a changed person.

Yes, I’d ended up listening to the tape the whole day. By the end of it only one observation burned in my mind. It wasn’t if my newfound idols were a gang of lunatics with a lust for sex, drugs, & violence (which they were) and if they had a complete disregard to consequences, social backlash and jail time (which they did), but rather,  how my life had ever seemed remotely exciting before Motley Crue had broken in and entered it.

Up until this day I’d been force fed a steady influx of coerced religion, personal responsibility and  regulated pop culture influence (i.e. break dancing, Rick Springfield, baseball and Saturday morning super hero cartoons) it was almost as if I’d been primed to accept something as polarizing as Motley Crue and all the ethos they promoted.

These four heathens from L.A. ignited a roaring flame in an otherwise dark life of mediocrity. From their long hair and post-apocalyptic Mad Max regalia to their bone crunching music filled with messages of rebellion, hedonism and contempt for any and all rules, laws and universally accepted behaviors. This pack of bastards and their immoral code of conduct instantaneously became my new anti-heroes and mentors.

You can call it liberation or brainwashing depending on what side of the barbed wire fence your ass is sitting on. I preferred the former. Even before my indoctrination of Motley Crue  I’d come to a disappointing realization about my life; I was already sick of school and only 5 years into what was going to be a mandatory 12 and another 4-6 after that for college because the environment that I was being brought up in espoused that. Go to school, finish school, go to more school to get a job to have a family and every day will be a repeat of the day before it. For me that outlook was bleak and uninspiring.

Listening to the music of Motley Crue changed all that. It promised that life could be an adventure, it could be lived outside the box, in fact, it encouraged you to set that fucking box on fire as well as raising a Molotov cocktail to the institution that manufactured the box. It preached a different sermon than the ones being drilled in my head from attending church twice a week.

Go out and live instead of living in fear. The fear of god, the fear of judgment by others and especially the fear that you shouldn’t be the person you’re supposed to be. I could be a pretty insightful 10 year old when I wanted to be. And I took that message to heart. Everyday COULD be different. Filled with girls, long hair, cool clothes and a devil could care less attitude. In fact, the way I saw it, the best (and purest) way to attain this type of lifestyle was to be a musician in a rock band.

I called Trevor back after my 6 hour audio journey of enlightenment.

I listened to the entire tape, over and over again. Motley Crue are my new favorite everything.

See? I told you how awesome these guys are! You know what we should do now?

What?

Start our own band, we can be just like Motley Crue.

Can we call it Motley Chris?

NO! I’m not going to be in a band named Motley Chris!

I’ve already told you, Trevor, NO BANDS! You’d make a better magician than musician.

How’s that, Mom?

Because you can disappear when I’ve grown weary of you…like right now, it’s late and past your bedtime. Go to bed.

I’ve gotta go, we’ll talk about the b-a-n-d. Tomorrow at school.

You need to go to bed now, Trevor. You become mentally incapacitated when you’re tired.

How’s that?

You think I can’t spell when I’m in fact the one that taught you to. No bands, only bed!

Talk to you tomorrow, Chris.

Bye, man.      

Remember, remember the 7th of NoVember.

This November 7th marks a historic day in the history of all things historical. I’m not speaking in regard to it being the day AFTER our nation chooses just who is going to take this broken horse of a country out behind the stable and finally put it out of it’s misery. My excitement towards the 7th day of this month lies in the fact that it will be the 25th anniversary (silver for those of you wanting to buy a gift in observation of this momentous day) of me losing my virginity.

That’s right people, I’ve been exchanging bodily fluids, lies, excuses, regrets, currency and communicable diseases with girlfriends, pseudo friends, internet dates, strippers and total strangers for…a quarter of a century and still going strong. I’d even go so far as to boast that my proficiency rivals that of any modern day assembly line with a 90% approval rating…because I don’t pay attention to those who criticize and just don’t care about the other 10% of the people I’ve been with because I was intoxicated for days or months at a time.

“But, Chris, what humble beginnings did you come from?“ Is a question no one’s bothered to ask because no one gives a shit about the answer. Well friends, I’ll go ahead and tell you about the day that changed my life forever anyway. Besides, what else is there to do right now with your mobile device while you’re on the toilet, Jon Dove? Or working out at the gym, T.J. Likes? Or still hanging out in your closet, Mike Delfs? Or planning an all out armed Christian revolution if Romney losses, James Johnston? Or watching your husband plan said armed revolution Angie Johnston? Or trying to remember where your keys & I.D. are Stacey Lynn? The answer is; Nothing. So, enjoy…

It was 1987 and Def Leppard’s Hysteria album was dominating the airwaves just as Tawny Kitaen laying spread eagle on a Jaguar for Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” video was dominating MTV. I had just turned 14, my parents were newly divorcees and I‘d been stuck in the same catholic school for the past 8 years.

Top that off with gorging myself on a steady cultural diet of hair metal music and Cinemax After Dark movies (Emmanuel were a fave) and the sexcapades both those entities espoused and any 5th grader could predict that I was well on my way to becoming a teenage sex statistic with either an unplanned pregnancy or STD.

Two months prior to 11/7/87 a girl by the name of Stephanie Meyer had started at our school. She was a new face and had a long history of changing schools as often has her meth smoking, bartending mom changed boyfriends and addresses. I’m fairly certain that one can already surmise just what type of home life she had and why it would make perfect sense that she became the Yin for my Yang as well as the yin to a dozen other’s yangs also.

Steph (as she hated to be called) and I had been “going together” for quite some time because she liked Mexican guys, or as her white trash vernacular dictated; Beaners. During our tenure we’d made out, wrote letters and gave ourselves the same theme song Tawny Kitaen used for attempting to have intercourse with a motor vehicle on MTV. We also had one minor break-up which was quickly remedied by me wearing a fedora to school the next day and winning her back on my wardrobe alone because even then girls were stupid when it came to douche bag swag.

The 7th fell on a Saturday and Stephanie had called me that morning to tell me her mom was out of town and we should hang out. I quickly concocted a story to my mom about how I wanted to meet some friends at a local recreation center to play basketball and video games that just happened to be down the street from Stephanie’s place. My mom, acting against her better judgment (which would become a recurring thing in all matters Chris related for the next 4 years) agreed to drop me off at the Rec center and told me she’d be back in 4 hours.

This gave me a two hundred and forty minute window of opportunity to eradicate my virginity once and for all. Most if not all teenage boys view the losing of their virginity the same way a cancer patient views remission. This may sound a bit dramatic to the laymen (females the world over) but if you ask any puberty stricken guy if he’s stoked about the prospect of being a virgin for the rest of his life and the consequential  social backlash attached to it, his answer is a deafening “FUCK NO!“ To us virginity is a curse. It’s The Original Sin we’re born with and our job is to exorcise, vanquish or cure it A-S-A fucking P.

I’d spent countless years wondering how I was going overcome the congenital condition I suffered from and now, on this day, it seemed as if a solution was in sight. Some might even call it providence.

Stephanie met me at the Rec center and we immediately did what most kids do without money, a car or the moxie to suggest having sex; we walked around aimlessly. Finally after two hours and many miles later, she suggested we go back to her place. I’d like to say that I remember it beat for beat but it’s been twenty five years with lots of drugs, alcohol and grey hairs filling in that time. I can remember that her room looked just like a room from an after school movie about kids who have sex and something terrible happens.

Posters on the wall, a bunk bed she shared with her older sister who I can only guess was busy doing the same thing at some other boy’s place. Clothes strewn about and a personalized license plate one of her mom’s boyfriends had stolen off a car that said “CUDDLES” on it.

I remember everything was so…easy. There weren’t any awkward moments, everything seemed to transition the way I’d watched thousands of times in movies. I had no idea how to move so I just faked it and figured slower was better. Which seemed to work because this shit went on for almost an hour.

I know, I know, when I tell others about it, they, as am I, are surprised that my maiden voyage out into the seas of sexuality lasted so long without any cataclysmic mishaps. I can't explain it either but the funny thing is, I never came. I'm guessing for all the low-grade education I’d gotten on sex from music and movies, no one bothered to mention the bonus part at the end, or better put, the bonus part that signifies the end. And truth be told up til then I’d never masturbated because again, it wasn’t in any of my reference materials and I think any of my guy friends that were doing it at the time sure as hell weren't going to talk about it with any other guy at the risk of being called a homo. Simply put, I had no idea my little fella could do that.  But I was informed on everything I needed to know from someone I never wanted to hear it from soon enough.

We finished and got dressed, I walked down the street and sat up against a tree outside the Rec center as I waited for my mom to pick me up. The sun was setting and the leaves had already turned and covered the ground yet it was still mild out. I fell asleep while waiting and that’s when I experienced the next best thing about sex, the after sex nap. Angels and dead people couldn’t sleep this peaceful.

The sound of my mom’s car horn put an end to my very first post-coitus slumber and on the ride home she could tell something was different about me and that’s when she figured it was time to get her own hands dirty.

You know, Chris, masturbation isn’t a sin. It’s the act of touching your private parts to give yourself pleasure. God doesn’t frown upon that, contrary to popular belief.

Wha-

He does however frown upon sex before marriage.

I-

When you have sex with a girl and ejaculate inside her, she can get pregnant. That can cause problems, just ask your 16 year old cousin Sarah. Ejaculation is the act of spewing seamen. It’s a white discharge that comes from your penis. It makes babies…

But-

…except in the case of your father. He told me his seamen couldn’t do that. That’s why you and your other brother are adopted and why we were all surprised when I got pregnant with your youngest brother. Your dad blamed me for having an affair. As if.

Mom, I-

Heavy petting is also an infraction upon God. Better to just keep your hands to yourself and on yourself. But don’t let your brothers catch you doing it, I don’t think they’re old enough to get anything out of it and they’ll  probably end up hurting themselves.

This is all-

A talk your Dad was supposed to have with you but guess who gets stuck doing it. Did I ever tell you I was going to become a nun before I met your father?

Several times.

Then you know what I’m saying about God’s likes and dislikes are legitimate, yes?

In the end my own mother filled me in on some of the more embarrassing things pop culture had left out about sex as well as giving me a thumbs up, or open palm salute, to jerk off. Stephanie and I went on dating through out the year with a lot of fights, tears and break ups and I think it’s safe to say she had sex with most of my friends and a lot of strangers as well. Surprise, surprise.

It was a very realistic introduction to just how confusing and vicious sex can be for a kid wrestling with the emotional burdens of adolescence. I sometimes wonder since she was my first impression on relationships that somewhere I came to mistake dysfunction as being normal. Then again, maybe I just like crazy women because they make me feel sane.

I lost touch with Stephanie after my 8th grade year but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find out she had a myriad of children, addictions, diseases, stage names or any combination of the four. Then again, maybe she’s picked herself up by her stripper heel straps, overcome adversity and started writing books about vampires and werewolves being in love. But I seriously doubt she’s THAT Stephanie Meyer. Mainly because I’ve checked already

Re-CRUE-tited

“Ow go the liez, in gooooez mah kniiiiife”

Did you understand that first line, Chris?

No how could I? You sound like you’re trying to scream with rocks in your mouth.


It was the summer of 1984, my friend Trevor and I were both 10. We were sitting at his kitchen table and in between bites of his spaghetti-o’s he was excitedly trying to emulate a song he’d heard the day before at an older neighbor kid’s house.

Ok, see if  you can figure out this next verse, I’ll sing it louder, maybe that’ll help.

“Pulled owwwwt hiz liEEEF, consider that baaaazterd dead!”

Trevor, for the love of all things holy, quit trying to sing, you’re awful at it.

Sorry, Mom. Well?

Nothing.

Fine, I’ll say it then. “Pulled out his life, consider that bastard dead.”

Did you say… “bastard”?

Yeah! That’s the name of the song. Can you believe it? How cool is it that a band has a song named Bastard?

Trevor, are you cursing again?

Not that I know of, mom. What do you think, Chris?

Scary.

Scary?  How?

 I don’t know, just the name, and the words to the song. Using a knife to pull out someone’s life. Sounds violent and dangerous. Both those things usually scare me.

Well not me, man. I’m way hip to it . You should be too.

Who sings this song? I’m certain it’s not on the radio.

It’s this band named Motley Crue. They also sing songs about shouting at the devil.

I’d never heard of this band before, but the mere mention of their name, Motley Crue, conjured up images of some very ruthless, demonic human beings that probably looked like something out of a Stephen King movie. Only a week earlier I had painstakingly listened to Eye of The Tiger a million times over so I could write out the lyrics for Trevor so he could sing it the right way. Now he wants to sing about killing bastards and yelling at the devil?  What kind of evil spell was this musical group casting upon the masses? What the fuck was happening to my best friend?

Trevor, what’s happening to you?

I’m just becoming totally awesome. Why?

Why? Because we’re into stuff like Michael Jackson and break dancing, remember?  We listened to an interview with Boy George on the radio a couple months ago, we wear bandannas and parachute pants.

No, no, no, Chris, I wear parachute pants. Those things that you wear and call parachute pants are some sort of imitation things you found in the girls section at JC Penny’s.

I’m short, normal pants won’t fit me so my mom had to buy me a girls pair. What’s this have to do with anything?

I’m moving on, no more boring stuff like break dancing, parachute pants and bandannas. I’m all about Motley Crue and having looks that kill.

Looks that-

It’s another one of their songs, you should get into them too, we could even start a band just like them!

No bands, Trevor, you can’t sing. Find something else to do.

You’re not being supportive, mom.

I refuse to support tragedies, son.

A week later I was standing in the tape cassette section of Kmart. In the past I’d perused this isle in search of Joan Jett, Rick Springfield and a very played out copy of Alvin and the Chipmunks :Chipmunk Rock. Now, I held in my hand the dastardly, sinister Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil. Absent on the cover was the androgynous but safe look of Joan Jett. Or the PG rated picture of Rick Springfield and his cool guitar or the drawing of Alvin, Simon & Theodore’s faces etched into Mt. Rushmore.

This tape’s cover had four men and or women on it looking as if they were in hell and so close to the devil that shouting wasn’t required to be heard. All of the members looked like they could kill, maim, destroy and apply make-up better than any woman I’d come across in my decade long existence on this earth.  

As I stood there holding the tape I knew I was in possession of something dark, unpredictable and vicious. It’s contents and ideals would eventually expose me to a seedy world of sex, violence, rebellion and the pursuit of great looking long hair.

What I didn’t know at the time was that which I held in my hand would be a major influence on me well into my adult years. This was my gateway moment but I had no idea it was happening because truth be told, the four people on the cover of this album were scaring the absolute shit out of me. Yet I was strangely magnetized to it. It was such a polar opposite of everything in my life that I couldn’t put it down.

It was calling to me, beckoning me, recruiting me.

I quickly turned it over and scanned the song list;  In the Beginning, Shout at the Devil, Looks that Kill, and there it was, Bastard. Trevor hadn’t been lying. Other song names were Red Hot, Helter Skelter and one aptly titled; Danger.

I checked the price; $7.95. Then I pulled out my Velcro wallet and checked my funds;10 bucks. I grasped the tape, took a deep breath and went to find my mom so we could proceed to the checkout line. While waiting in line with her, she inquired about the little souvenir from hell I was about to purchase.

What music are you buying?

Now even though I hadn’t heard one single note from these guys, I knew they’d be instant contraband in my home.  When I was in kindergarten I loved KISS, my mom bought me their records, a lunch box, bubblegum cards and even made me a wig out of yarn that I could wear around to try to look like Ace Frehley.

Then she heard from one of our loud mouth neighbors that KISS was an acronym for Kings In Satan’s Society. The next day my mother, my primary enabler, collected all my beloved KISS paraphernalia and did a good old fashioned effigy burning to cleanse our house of the evil. To make clear, she preformed a ritual that hearkened back to the days of the dark ages and set fire to anything that had to do with the music of the damned. Not even my yarn wig was spared.

Needless to say, I knew that if she became privy to the contents of  this particular tape I was attempting to purchase that she’d instantaneously set it ablaze as it made it’s way to the cashier via the conveyor belt. I had to be sneaky.

Uh this tape? It’s like a Halloween kinda thing.

It’s July, why are they selling Halloween stuff now?

No idea. Trevor was telling me about it though. It’s supposed to be pretty scary.

Scary? Chris, you have problems sleeping at night as it is.

Well this shouldn’t be THAT bad…

And your little brother hates it when you crawl into bed with him because you’re too scared to sleep alone.

Mom!

Plus, you play with his ears while you’re in his bed uninvited. He hates you for that as well.

I-

And you’re not sleeping with your father and I…

Fine! I promise I won’t let myself get that scared.

Nor playing with OUR ears…

Ok, I get it already!

Good. Are those girls or boys on the cover?

I can't tell.

As in you're not going to tell me?

As in I don't know.

Why does it have the word ‘devil’ on it? IS IT LIKE KISS?! Will I have to burn it later?

No! It says shout at the devil. They’re probably mad at him.

So is it Christian music?

Sure, Christian Halloween music.

Trevor told you it was good?

Yeah.

Didn’t he also tell you he was half black?

He did.

That kid is whiter than the snow. Eccentric, just like his mother. Really smart. I guess really smart means you’re also really weird.

Then I’ll make sure to keep myself just dumb enough to stay normal. Any chance you want to buy this for me?

No. The last time I bought you music you threw a fit and made me return it. Never again.

You bought me Olivia Newton John…for a Valentine’s day gift. It felt very weird.

What? You liked her in Grease.

I thought she was hot in Grease, at the end of the movie when she changed into all black clothes and did her hair up.

Such a disappointment. She was so cute and proper through that whole movie then changed to a bad girl just to impress a boy.

It impressed this boy.

I fear the type of women you’ll grow up and be attracted to.

TJ Trippin' - Numero Dos

Inside Strip Club… 

Wow dude you weren’t full of shit, these girls are beautiful.

Told you. And I’ve already found who I want.

So soon?

It’s the Viagra. At this point in time, my dick is making all the decisions.

Well at least the more alert one of you two is making the decisions. What could possibly go wrong?

 I’ll see you in a half hour.

Now YOU’RE leaving me too?

Drink some beers, they’re only 2 bucks, just relax and enjoy the show.

Do they offer donkey shows here? Because I’d hate to be forced to see something so bizarre on such a large scale, quite literally.

No, no such thing exists.

Really? I thought it was a Mexican past time or sport or at least something depicted on their currency.

I’ve tried to find them. As mythical as the Loch Ness Monster. See you in 30.

20 minutes later…

You’re back 10 minutes early.

I know, the little bell boy bastard came knocking on the door saying the time was up. Totally jewed me out of my Mexican experience.

Why would a brothel-

Hotel.

Sure. Why does a hotel have a bell boy knocking on the doors…at any given time?

It’s a sham to get the girls out of the room quicker so they can get back to the club and get another customer and so on and so fourth. Total blue baller to my nuts and my wallet. And on top of that, I still had to tip him.

For what?

Giving me a towel.

You don’t look like you took a shower.

It’s for the girl, to clean herself afterwards.

Then why are you tipping him for her cleanliness?

Fuck if I know, man. It’s just the way things are. I told you this place was backwards.

I thought the prostitution industry was one of the few honest trades down here.

It is, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exploit the consumer.

So wouldn’t you say it’s all cyclical?

Why would a bike have anything to do with this?

Cyclical. As in it all comes around full circle. The Americans come down to exploit the girls and the bell boys come out and exploit the Americans.

Okay, first off, I’m not exploiting anyone. I’m merely doing my part to contribute to this country’s fledgling economy, help some girl pay her rent and make her feel validated. As far as I’m concerned, the fucking bell boy is infringing on all the good that I’m trying to do humanitarian, fiscally, socially and emotionally wise. You try to help people and all they want to do is fuck you.

While you’re fucking them, until you’re time is up.

See any girl that you like?

I like ‘em all.

Are you going to pick one?

I like my integrity more. And that’s not to diss you in anyway. I totally understand your mindset, I just don’t share it.

Yet. Have a few more drinks, things will start to make sense.

How’s that?

Just wait and see.

Hey guys.

Dale, how was the orgy?

Eh.

Eh?

There were only a few girls, had to kinda wait around in between blow jobs and fucking them...with a bunch of other dudes.

Yeah I would suppose those things don’t  run as smoothly as seen on TV. Dicks flopping everywhere, girl pulling pubic hair out of her mouth mid oral copulation. Sounds more like an infuriating 20 cock pile up on the freeway of sexuality as opposed to some type of mind blowing sexual liberation in the fast lane, or carpool lane in your case.

You guys get laid yet?

I did. This guy on the other hand…

What’s your issue?

I’m just not feelin’ it. It all seems so…impersonal.

Impersonal? What’s more personal then getting naked and having sex with someone?

Sharing my hopes and fears with them post coital bliss. How can I do that when they don’t speak English?

Dude, there’s men’s clubs down here too.

I thought this was a men’s club.

I’m talking to go get men to have sex with.

I’m not gay.

Well ya sure fucking sound like it. BUT, I’ve got something else planned for us, might make you feel a little more…relaxed. Let’s go.

Where?

Yeah, Dale, where?

Hotel.

There’s one next door-

No not one to fuck in, to get for the night.

We’re staying here, like, until tomorrow?

Yeah. I told you I had our whole trip planned.

But-

Hotel…for sleeping, not sex.

Wow, only $40 for a room that I can’t use sink water to brush my teeth with on the account that I could get some kind of blood borne bacteria. Why don’t they just put that in their welcome brochure?

Alright, fellas, let’s get curbside.

For what?

Our ride.

Ride?

I called an actual house brothel, more low key place where we can drink some beers and hang out with some hot girls and get naked for $70.

Wow, the price for house hookers is a bit more.

Housebroken fee perhaps?

Curbside…

So do we need to hail a cab?

Hail, no.  Heh, get it?

Oh we get it, Dale.

How are we getting to said house brothel?

They’re sending a driver.

Whoa, whoa, whoa…are you saying this flop house has shuttle service?

Indeed.

And we’re going to utilize it?

Sure, why not?

Yeah, man, relax, it’s gonna be fine.

Oh is this the part where you use the business model of Dominoes Pizza delivery guys now? But instead of them bringing the pizza to us, they’re taking us to the pizza? Are you two fucking profoundly retarded? You’re just going to trust some stranger, in Tijuana, to take us somewhere? What if we get kidnapped?

Well then I guess we’re about to find out.

How’s that?

Because he just pulled up.

Where?

Across the street in the black SUV.

Oh, awesome, those are the unofficial death cars of Mexico. Every pic you see of a cartel shoot-out has at least one mandatory black SUV…riddled with bullets, blood and bodies.

Let’s go, sissy.

Can I at least bring my beer so as to get drunk enough to warrant this bad decision?

Sure.











 

TJ Trippin'

Wanna go to Tijuana this weekend?

No, it’s dangerous.

No it isn’t.

Let me do a Google search. Tijuana / Safety

Jesus.

It says here that 8 bodies were found roped up and hanging from a bridge in Tijuana last week. Although the ropes weren’t tied around their necks since they were all missing their heads.

That’s an isolated incident fueled by media sensationalism.

It goes on to say that this type of brutality is the norm. Two months ago, 30 bodies were found with their skin boiled off. Tell me why going there is a good idea and putting me in the equation makes sense to you.

Listen, those people…

Victims.

Whatever. They’re all involved in the cartel wars. As long as you aren’t involved with their drugs, you’re fine.

Why do you want to go down there?

Drugs.

How stupid are you?

Hear me out. First off, the drugs I want are pharmaceutical. They have tons of pharmacies down there. I’m not buying cocaine or smack. Just painkillers and Viagra.

Why do you need Viagra?

For the hookers I’m gonna fuck.

Hookers are on the menu as well?

Of course, they’re beautiful. Way hotter than the stuck up American girls we have to deal with in the states.

I’ll give you that American girls have an undeserving sense of monetary entitlement but risking your safety for a prostitute expecting monetary reimbursement seems a little…

They only cost 60 bucks.

It’s never crossed my mind to pay for sex until now. But I don’t think it’s something I’m into.

No one’s saying you have to, but once you see these girls, you might change your mind.

I’ll accompany you as a conscientious observer.

Sure, whatever the fuck that is. Be at my place tomorrow, we’re leaving at 2pm.

2 pm Tomorrow...

Glad you came.

I’m still not sure about all this.

I figured you wouldn’t be, that’s why I invited my friend Dale. Thought maybe you’d feel safer in a group.

The old safety in numbers thing. Something with the acronym SIN is supposed to make me feel better huh?

You’ll be fine. You’ll see. Besides, he’s a pro at this.

Sex with hookers?

Oh yeah,  sex in general, a total maniac. He was even on a live broadcast gangbang one time.

You don’t say. What would I type in a search engine to view said gangbang?

Live gangbang / Darth Vader.

Why Darth Vader?

Because he’s the one wearing a Darth Vader mask.

While he’s fucking?

YEAH!

I…

Sweet, he just pulled up. Lets jump in with him and roll.

Inching (not rolling as first proposed) down the 405...

So, Dale, you’ve been to Tijuana a lot huh?

Plenty of times, I even wrote the TJ Manifesto.

Is this manifesto published as is the communist one?

Online.

You have an online publication?

No, I just put the shit up online.

Where?

Tijuana chat rooms.

There’s such a thing?

Of course, that’s where you find out which places to go to when you want to fuck hookers or where to get a good street dog.

So its like a directory or food menu?

Not like. Is. I’ve planned our whole itinerary tonight based on chat room info.

And you trust what these people say?

Why wouldn’t I?

Maybe they just want to lure Americans into Tijuana to kidnap them, hold them for ransom.

You do too many Google searches.

Seriously, a friend of mine had a friend…

That knew a girl that was kidnapped and murdered while she was there with her college friends. Her friends couldn’t find her until they just happened to see her whiz by in the backseat of a van full of Mexicans that it was later revealed were en route to the U.S. border. When the guards searched the van they discovered the girl was dead, her insides had been carved out and replaced with bricks of cocaine in an attempt to smuggle drugs into America.

Wow, that’s exactly the story. Was she your friend too?

Fuck no. That’s just a very well known Tijuana myth that everyone likes to tell, makes ’em feel worldly, or in the know or cool. Really, just makes ‘em look dumb for believing and repeating such a farce.

Makes me feel scared…and dumb.

McDonalds in San Diego…


You go to the bathroom and come out with your hair dripping wet, what the fuck?

I wanted to clean up, look good for the girls.

So you took a whore bath in the sink?

Don’t judge me. You’d better order something while you’re here, I’m not sharing my chicken nuggets with you when we get back on the road.

Back on the road. Pass sign “Last U.S. Exit.” Pass another sign “Illegal to Have Firearms in Mexico.”

Hmm, you think that sign helps curb the violence in Mexico?

It’s truly not as bad as it’s made out to be.

Why do you believe that, Dale?

As it stands, the two main warring cartels have a fragile peace accord throughout TJ because they want Americans to come and spend their dollars in Mexico because they’re intertwined with a lot of the businesses. They want TJ to be thought of as a Las Vegas type destination.

Well it’s reassuring to know that tourism dollars are on their mind. Do the cartels own the clubs we’re going to for your hookers?

Probably not. The money from those clubs would be a pittance to them.

Why do  you say that?

Because I wanted to use the word “pittance” in a sentence.

Walking across U.S. / Mexico border...

If the violence “isn’t as bad as its made out to be” then did the Mexican boarder guards not get the memo?
Is that why they’re holding heavy duty machine guns…and staring at us?

Relax, it’s just a show of the zero tolerance for violence.

With the blatant threat of violence. Lesson learned. It smells fantastic here, is that shit or piss or a nice combination of  the two with a scent of street garbage?

It’s 3rd world charm. I’ll meet up with you guys at the club in two hours.

Wait! Why are we splitting up? Why is Dale meeting us and not coming with us? Remember our little SIN brotherhood?

Calm down, he has a reservation.

At where, Red Lobster?  Do they have those down here?

A house orgy.

Seriously?

Yeah its in the middle of nowhere.

So he’s just going to jump in a cab…like he’s doing right now and drive to the boondocks to get naked with a bunch of strangers and possibly taste another man’s genitals by proxy?

I told you he was a maniac.

When he picked us up I thought for sure he’d change out of those board shorts and Crocs but no. He’s actually attending an orgy in Crocs. His dick ever fetch him a disease engaging in all this behavior?

Just cirrhosis, but that’s genetic not communicable. Let’s hit this pharmacy.

After hitting the pharmacy...

Sweet, so this Viagra should kick in an about 30 minutes. Let’s take a taxi to a club.

Do we have to?

Fine, we’ll walk but we’ve gotta make it quick. It’s nearly impossible to walk with a boner.

Walking (pre-boner)…

Why are all those cop cars driving around like retards in that empty river ravine?

Some training exercise, who knows? This place is backwards. Try not to think about it.

How’s your dick?

We’ve gotta cab it the rest of the way. No whining.

Cabin’ it the rest of the way with no whining…

Hola amigos, where to?

Wow, authentic.

Norte Rojo, por favor.

You know Spanish?

Just important stuff and places.

Norte Rojo, an important place…

Ok, so the way it works is simple, this place is a strip club  but also a market. When you see a girl that you like, you just go up and ask her.

Ask her what?

To fuck, to get naked, for sexy time. However you wanna coin your phrase.

You make it seem so matter of fact.

It’s as easy as the chicken nuggets I ordered at Mcdonalds.

Yeah but they fucked up your dipping sauce, aren’t you worried about the dipping sauce the hooker is offering?

Look, prostitution is legal down here just like drinking in the states is if you're 21. It’s one of the few safe & enjoyable perks in this otherwise corrupt society. In order for the girls to be working they have to get tested weekly and be licensed by the city’s health department. It does the clubs or brothels no good to have a product that makes your customers sick. Just like Mcdonalds.

Wow man, you were able combine prostitution and Mcdonalds within the same business model. So after you ask the girl you like to play with your nuggets, then what?

You take her to this motel next door, rent a room for 30 min. and viola. Now lets go in...

Rumor has it...you're lame.

For the past 4 weeks I’ve been subjected to the music of Adele. And within that time frame I’ve made some striking discoveries which led me to a lot of hypothesis & theories which finally led me to a conclusive fact with supporting evidence which is this:

Adele is a horrible role model for women.

When I first heard Adele I just chalked her up to the world’s low-rent compensation for Amy Winehouse‘s passing. Kinda like when Taco Bell screws up your order of Nachos Bellgrande so their way of saying sorry is giving you a coupon for a fucking taco.

Anyway, upon first exposure to Adele I didn’t pay much attention, but as time wore on I quickly noticed one common factor in all of her songs; whining. Insistent, relentless, shameless, unadulterated, unabridged, self-serving, constant steady whining. I don’t know about you, but when I hear something whine (man, woman, child) my first instinct is to shoot it. Put it out of it’s misery as well as my own.

The next thing I noticed is that she’s fucking obsessed with her ex-boyfriend. I’m talking to the degree of stalker status. Take this line from her popular song Someone Like You: I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.

You’re free to interpret that line however you want. Although I have a sneaking suspicion that if I showed up at my ex’s front door spouting that line of perfectly rhymed bullshit, I’d be leaving with a few unwanted stab wounds to my face neck and chest area.

You’d also think that according to Adele she has nothing but affection for her ex boyfriend regardless of how things turned out. She even says so right here: I wish nothing but the best for you too. but that's not the case at all.

She's admitted that if it weren’t for her ex and what had happened between them that she wouldn’t be on the successful road she’s traveling on today. Well there’s a certain word for people who help us get to where we wanna be. That word is Life Coach. Tony Robins and his big white teeth get paid MILLIONS to do it. This guy did it for next to nothing and all he’s asking for is his fair shake and she’s being stingy and unappreciative.

But I guess if Adele wants to add those two things atop stalker and whiner then it’s her party and she can cry if she wants to. And God knows she's going to, in fact, she’ll wail. Or in direct correlation to her body size, whale.

Which leads me to my next point. Adele is way (or weigh, the puns are endless) overweight. Now I know fat girls like to hide behind such words as “full figure” or “voluptuous” but those titles fit on her as about as well as a size 9 pair of pants would. I think the only thing “full” about Adele is probably her appetite. Everything else can be described as “obese” morbid if you’re nasty. Yet still as she carts around that deuce and a half on her heels, she takes to being offended when an executive of the record label that gave her the steel reinforced platform to cry upon suggests that she lose weight.

Listen sweetness, being in shape is good for your body, your heart and your career. Whether you want to believe it or not is of little importance. But the truth is, sexy sells. In fact, if sexy had stock options, I’d put my life’s savings into it. But still you graze on stating that you’re happy with your body the way it is which is the mantra for lazy people the world over.

Even when I hear you belt out the words don’t forget me, I beg the only thing I envision is you on your plumpy tummy, one hand wrapped around your ex boyfriend’s ankle, the other tightly grasping a sandwich…which you take bites of in between your bouts of crying and pleading.

But hey, we’ll just throw out of shape and lazy to the list of stingy, unappreciative, stalker and whiner. These are all attributes that most people would not consider “positive”. But I’ll be fair, those characteristics are found in people that are on T.V. Albeit those people are the ones getting arrested on COPS.

But all that aside, the number one reason that Adele is a horrible role model for women as well as just being bad for womankind in general is that she’s made millions off of singing about her broken fucking heart. How many times have you suffered the emotional, spiritual and physical distress of a break up and the only thing you got from it was “a lesson learned”?

Yet this woman is making stupid bank. Even worse, she’s making your boyfriends rethink the way they should treat you. The new mindset will be treating you like shit by cheating on you. Seriously, all a guy needs is a half ass excuse of why he should be a permanent resident of Fuck City. In the “Adele Case” it’s because it will be for YOUR own good. Trust me on this.

Adele has inadvertently set the standard for how bad someone can be treated so your boyfriend will be inclined to go above and beyond because in the end, it’s all for you. So expect him to bang his co-worker, neighbor, Filipino housekeeper or grocery store clerk. The plus side to all this is that you can write songs about it all and become a millionaire and get that car, house, and time share in Aspen you’ve been badgering him about.

Do you want that? I think not. So stand with me won’t you? Boycott Adele. Better yet, inform the Japanese of her whereabouts and they’ll put an end to this shit pronto.