Hey ya’ll this one’s called, Fuck you Jobu! Go Do It Yo Damn Self. What the fuck? The economy is fucked up yet there are more worthless ass bum bastards hittin’ me up for shit than ever. Why haven’t they taken the hobo (night) train to the Big Rock Candy Mountain already? You dumbshits can’t figure it out yet. Well, I’ll clue you in. It’s too G~d damn expensive for those of us who work for a living to fuckin’ live here comfortably. So, that being said, stop asking me for shit. Go die, that way you’d at least be useful as compost for new vegetation, instead of the rotten vegetable (or fruit in West Hollywood) you are now. You bastards got some fuckin’ nerve panhandling me at gas stations. Gas has gotten so damn expensive now, that after I fill up, I can no longer afford to spray you with some and light you on fire. Where’s you’re pride? Are the drugs that good you sack of shit? These type of people I’ve just described are typically called  “Homeless.” This is a misnomer though because a home is a concept. They are really houseless (Latin name Bumicus Lazyus Fecus) and are probably so because they fucked over everyone they knew. Imagine that, they shit on everyone that ever cared about their worthless asses. Whatever the circumstances were that got them to the place that they are at now is of no importance to me, and why? Because I can’t fathom being in a position where I could let my friends and family turn their backs on me. I would kill myself first. So, that being said, why would anyone ever give money or anything else to these “people?” Before I go any further, you must understand, I believe in true charity, but most people don’t really know what true charity is. True charity is a mitzvah (a good deed) to us Red Sea Pedestrians, but charity is only truly charity when a mendicant (one who is worthy of charity) receives it. If someone is crippled and beyond helping themselves, then they are worthy of charity.  If someone is lazy or strung out, they are not. That’s the rule by which I measure the charity I give, and to be honest- I rarely find anyone worthy of my hard earned money. My charity is performed on a daily basis in the form of knowledge bestowed upon children in the classroom. I am, hopefully, helping to decrease the number of future houseless beggars littering and loitering the streets. If you are not worthy of charity (not crippled/capable of helping yourself), but don’t want to work that’s cool, just don’t expect anything from anyone. The attitude of expectation these “people” have is appalling. Nobody owes you shit you smelly bastard. If you want something, then at least do something for it! Give a nerd a blow job, tell some jokes, dance, or learn a skill: leprosy is a useful one in your “profession,” and it’s the one that’ll most likely get me to loosen my Jewish coin purse and throw you some shekels. After all, I am a Jew and a sucker for Old Testament theatrics. See, I’m not heartless (thanks to The Wizard of Oz; I just need an oiling now and again), but let’s bring some pride back to the once noble urban nomad. Let’s Vaudeville them up. When some meth-laden freak asks you for a cigarette, tell them you’ll give ‘em one if they’ll do 50 jumping jacks. After all, those things cost more than real drugs these days. You’ll be helping them and enjoying doing it. If one of them wants some cash, and they always will, have them sing a Skynard tune. If someone wants a taco, make ‘em sing that gasolina song. Be creative, and get as much as you can for your money. You earned it, and why shouldn’t they? If there are 2 of them have them do W.W.F. shit. I’m a sucker for the classics with regard to this as well, and Sergeant Slaughter vs. The Iron Sheik is a favorite of mine. It’s also ironically timely in this political climate we’re in, and if it’s performed at a gas station, you have a theatrical performance with a realistic set, and realistic smells (b.o. and gasoline). If you can, get a story. Bum lore is a gift, and their tales can be recanted time after time. Be aware of certain tricks that these bums may try to use to get out of working for the payment. Work, after all is their least favorite 4-letter word. They’ll usually try to use one of their special abilities to get out of it (most function at third level of ability), so stand firm and refuse payment until satisfactory service is rendered (as they will eventually be by the grinder at the Slim Jim Factory). First, there’s The Guy With The Dog- Sounds good eh? But it’s not, ‘cause that’s his whole gimmick. He has a dog and uses that to illicit sympathy from others in order to receive cash. Bullshit I say! Make him fight the dog, or have the dog do a trick, or let me pay a dollar to kick it, or make it eat its own shit or drink some antifreeze. Now that’s fuckin’ entertainment! If you can, get him to milk the dog that’s worth $5 right there. Next, There’s The Fat Guy-You’re fat and you’re asking for money? Only in America! You’ll get money (or Mardi Gras beads) from me, but only when you pull up your shirt and do the truffle shuffle from the movie The Goonies. Extra money will be awarded as well if the theme song (originally performed by Cyndi Lauper) is performed simultaneously. Grabbing the man titties and faking an orgasm is also acceptable and could be worth up to $2 or 4 cigarettes. Lastly, There’s The “Musician” or Bum Bard-This guy is commonly found with an instrument of some sort (usually a guitar), and he likes to talk about music all day long. He usually wears shades, even at night, just like Corey Hart. He does this because his future’s so bright. The best thing to do with this guy is to argue with him immediately. I usually use the Pink Floyd sucks method. Just tell the guy that Pink Floyd, or Foghat, or some similar type of band sucks. That will put him on the defensive immediately and He’ll go into his best Jim Ladd and The 7^Th Day on KLOS explanation of why they don’t. Persist in annoying him, that’s the fun part. After a while, he won’t push it (Salt “N Peppa), ‘cause after all he does want a “donation” for tuition at The Jim Beam School of Music so he can pursue his “higher’ learning. When you’re tired of bantering with Stevie Stray Vaughn, make him play Smoke On The Water and pay him, but only a quarter. That’s what a wandering minstrel (otherwise known as a G.I.T. graduate) is worth these days. Besides, nobody wants to put a lot of money into a shitty jukebox anyway. In closing, I just gotta’ say, you don’t owe anything to anybody just because of their situation. They are the ones’ that most likely put themselves there. Let them know that you expect entertainment value for your dollar, and have a laugh at their antics. Don’t feel sorry for them. They made it to the egg, and for many that’s the best thing they did or will ever do. I remember being with a group of friends at Denny’s. We had just finished our meal and were heading back to the car when 2 guys and a dog approached us. One of my friends was playing with the matches he had just gotten from the restaurant as the guys approached us. They asked my friend if they could have the matches. My friend said, “ I’ll give you a couple, but not the whole book.”  The 2 guys started talking in good old frontier gibberish (reverend). They had a huge Great Dane with them. I asked them the dog’s name and they said it was George Bush. They also told me that they use to drop him from helicopters back in the ‘Nam (mind you, the dog was a full grown Great Dane, and this was back in the mid 90’s). When I asked why, they both looked puzzled, as if it was a perfectly rational thing to do. One replied, “Why, why because he’s dispensable.” One went on to tell us a story about how he had 10,000,000 razors. This amount was then corrected by the other and brought down to the more realistic sum of 10,000 razors. Then, the other guy told us that he had a son who was a fine clean cut kid who only smoked a little opium laced. Then while competing for the spotlight, they wound up getting in an argument which climaxed when one said to the other, “You want me to put your face in the fuckin’ thing?” To this the other said, “do it!” But, after uttering the fighting words do it, he then started having second thoughts and finally conceded by replying, “ No, I don’t want you to put my face in the fuckin’ thing.”  After this, my friend handed them the book of matches, and we took off. The whole time in the car, we wondered if that had really happened. Those guys gained their matches, but we gained so much more. Until next time, please, just don’t put my face in the fuckin’ thing- B

Hey dickheads, --- what’s happening? Another St. Patrick’s Day has come and gone with its ever present after effects upon my brain. Getting wasted at Casey's was cool, except listening to the endless chatter of a bunch of morons just like you. Everyone thinks that they are Irish or some sort of I.R.A. supporter etc, and ever so willing to tell you about their heritage and linkage to, "the old country”. What does that even mean? The fucking "old country"? To me I think of some place where Borat Sagdiyev (Ali G) is from, or maybe some faraway land where "The Keep On The Borderlands" is located. Fuck, I always thought I was American? Drunken psychos were everywhere. People spilling beers, throwing up, and a thick fog of cigarette smoke. Heaven! Of course, there was some dude dressed up in the full regalia, skirt, uh, kilt, beret and all. I figure that dude had as much chance of picking up a chick in the bar as he would in a West Hollywood theater showing "Buttcrack Mountin'. " Everyone was saying how great the Guinness Beer was, and that that’s the only beer they ever drink. Lie. Well, I can tell you one thing, --for all my years working as a bouncer in bars around the Valley-- you start seeing some hot chick drinking Guinness every night and within a few months she’s a hot FAT chick. Sorry ladies, just a little F.Y.I.----Mindless chatter invaded my ears from every direction. I even had one Italian guy tell me he wanted to kick some chick’s ass because she wore orange..... (orange?) Yeah, he said it was the color of the British Occupation. It had something to do with Protestantism vs. Catholicism, I dunno, I wasn't really listening.  I just looked at him and (yawn) finished my shot of Beam...(fuck Jameson).  Next, I went to a place on Devonshire and Topanga. I don’t even remember what the place was called (Club Intoxication??)//. I do remember the "Janis Joplin" tribute band playing. Fuck man, do I really need to say anything more about this place? Luckily I brought my own beer inside (the bouncer was too chicken shit to shake me down)....... haha. I know most of you out there are complete idiots, but always bring your own beer or flask inside with you. I mean, why pay retail, when you can B.Y.O.B.......So ANYWAYS--this place looked like a glorified college dance with beer and coke (no, not the trademarked item). The restroom had a long line, so I decided to cut the line and piss in the sink. The only person who thought it was funny was me, but then again, as long as it is funny to me- it doesn’t matter who else laughs. Way too many jerkoffs hanging in this dive. At this point, viewing the large crowd, I could only ask myself one question, "Where are the Snipers?" -- I was off again to the Blarney Cove. By this time I was completely trashed, and decided to walk through the mental hospital next door (always a treat)/. I figured some late night ding-dong ditch was in order. Pounding on three or four doors before bolting for the exit was a blast. My partner in crime did a header into the wall (amusing), as I had to look back and laugh on my way out the door. VIOLA!! (wa-la). Inside the Cove was interesting and I'm sure I would have more to write if I remembered more. The last thing I remember was stealing some wheelchairs and "jousting" my (buzzardbait) homie with some stolen crutches in the back parking lot.........oh wait.... it just popped in -(you'll love this one)...I rolled up in  "my" wheelchair to some people staggering out the front door and asked them if they were going to drive home--they said "yes" (snickering)--I asked if they were drunk and they just smiled---their smiles turned to frowns as I told them a drunk driver put me in this wheelchair--I begged them not to drive--just as the guys girlfriend made him call a cab, I stood up and walked to my car and drove away....man, that shit was funny ( to me of course)/.************  Ok, morons--that’s it for now. Till next time, -- It’s Shotgun Mike reminding you to come to our next show – It’s a benefit concert for the "Tempura House"-- Asian women's shelter in Los Angeles--It's for "lightly battered" women (wink). Solidarity.

Why do you like that shit? What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t you think for yourself? If you hear this kind of thing a lot, you may be an asshole. Even if you don’t, I’m guessing that you’re an asshole. Now, now, don’t cry. Pussy. Anyway, as you may have noticed, I hate. Where as some filthy hippy living on your couch embraces the concept of unconditional love in addition to all your stuff, I embrace unconditional hate. I hate. I hate you! I hate your dog! I hate your car! I hate your bike! And I hate your mom! You all suck; go die already, you’re boring the piss out of me with that confused look on your face wondering why I hate your ass. I want to saw your head off with a dull hack-saw blade, and then beat your dog to death with the head, and then beat you mom to death with the dead dog…Do you see where I’m going with this? And what would make me so mad and hateful? Many things, but this time it’s Shakespeare, The Rolling Stones, & the mother fucking Beatles. Let’s start with this high lord tardling Shakespeare. You read these shitty-ass plays in high school, and the teacher tells you how great he is. Then you move on to college and in addition to “experimenting” with drugs and same-sex relationships, you take some lower division literature classes where the teacher who has one or more of the following: A canvas book bag from Barnes & Noble, a beret, a scarf in any clime, Birkenstocks, or an unsightly mole, just goes on and on about how “W.S. is so wonderful and his “works” are so great and blah blah, and you’re looking at the girl’s ass in front of you and doodling instead of taking notes, all whilst coming off all the coke you snorted off some girls tits last night, and you buy into this horse pucky. You’re not thinking; if you did that, you would not be in college in the first place. But this is where it begins, you slowly began to believe all the bullshit and since you only read the Cliff Notes and not the actual play, or better yet, you saw the movie so it seems cool, right? I mean Leonardo di Caprio is not really gay, is he? Well, he looked cool in that movie I guess, no you we’re not checking him out, well you did some “experimenting” back in college, you can’t remember you were high most of the time. SO ANYWAY, by some strange fluke, you don’t flunk out your first couple of years, and you get to become a junior at school and are really getting into espousing sophomoric prattle at freshmen to appear cool and intellectual in order to get up their skirts, and then you do it. You look at the books Suzy-Q has clutched to her chest and notice one of Shakespeare’s plays. “Oh, Shakespeare is one of the great playwrights of western civilization”…then you get the movie and the Cliff Notes versions confused, but she doesn’t know that because she’s gonna get the basic gist of the story from the geek in her class she knew from high school because the poor slob has a crush on her. You offer to help her out, you have really bad noncommittal sex in a few days, and then don’t talk to each other again…You’ve become an asshole, and so it goes. But you never really read the play or plays; if you did you’d see that they suck. Shakespeare’s plays are very akin to your average sitcom, the plot can only be perpetuated because the characters involved are morons. Every episode of Three’s Company is predicated on the characters being totally blind to what’s going on, not communicating with each other, all the while thinking they’re getting away with something. In the end we all have a laugh at how fucking dumb they all are. Look at Hamlet or Romeo & Juliet, and you see the same basic plot except in the end- the people die. Why? Because when these horrible made-for-masses plays were made, life was cheap and people died all the time- it’s what was expected. They should be called tragedies not because people die in them, but because we had to have this drek forced on to us under the false auspice that is was good. When every time you hear someone mention that something is good, you seldom look for flaws. If something has universal acceptance, one would waste little time to determine if you felt the same way; you’d just go along with what everybody else thinks-it’s normal. And with this fuckwit so high up on a pedestal, you may not be given the chance to look at any other works of literature that are better. As a quick one; which would you rather watch, the movie Hamlet or Star Wars? Nuff said! Now, we move on to music if you could call it that, namely the Rolling Stones and the Beatles and how awful these bands are. I’d say these bands suck for different reasons, but they have one common factor that brings them to the halls of hate: Their fans. Have you ever been unfortunate enough to get stuck in a conversation about the Rolling Stones or the Beatles by some hardcore aficionado? It is truly disgusting how these people talk about these bands like their contribution to society was so great. Further they then geek out on all the guitar wanking nonsense, as if they’re doing a dissertation on guitar playing in some lame ass Jr. college. As these ill-contrived monologs are making the other party goers drinks come back up their throats in disgust they love to refer to the tards that comprise these bands like they know them or some shit. Well, John. blah blah and Keith’s playing …wank, wank, etc. Do you know them? Do you hang out with these guys? No you don’t! You’re not involved! Your involvement consists of a huge stack of rare (shitty) singles and obscure (even more shitty) out takes on vinyl that you’ve causelessly hoarded instead of going out and living life; that’s why you’ve “relocated” to your mom’s garage. Fuck you- go die already. Now for the actual music? The rolling Stones are biters, plain and simple. They copied the blues when that was in vogue, looked like the Beatles and bit rock when that was cool, and bit disco when their drug binges became an acceptable social practice. They suck! They are the off brand of rock and roll music, the plain wrap, the generic brand that you find at the 99 Cents only store. Don’t get me started about the lyrical quality of these turds! Jumping Jack Flash? It’s a song about the singer’s gardener! It makes no sense, they say…nothing. Please do us all a favor and burn your Rolling Stones Records, they smell and you smell for owning them. I hate the Beatles more then just about anything. How can these insipid pop jingles that these mop-topped, toothless, turd-burglars spewed forth have such wide acceptance? “She loves me yeah yeah yeah?” What the fuck is going on here? Why is this deemed good? The mindless acceptance of things so odious is a flaw in the human condition that allowed people like Hitler to rise to power. Did I just draw a correlation between Hitler and the Beatles? Yes I did. You have to be worried about mass hysteria like the one that the Beatles created. What was all the screaming and carrying on about anyway? Why was this band so well liked in the wake of awesome rockers like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, and Screaming Jay Hawkins? There must have been something in the water that made people dumb and have no taste. In addition to all the irrational reverence that has been built up around this band, you have to see how they laid the groundwork for the pop jingles of the future that will drive you fucking nuts. Thanks a lot you assholes! The Beatles helped pave he way for bands like the Spice Girls, Britney Spears, N’ Sync, etc to be tolerated by the public instead of being burned in effigy (or for real). In addition, they were the soundtrack for that most despised group of counter-culture retards: The Hippies. For this I think we should have a Beatles reunion. We do this by having them all shot. Thanks, and goodbye you slobs!          

“Love.” Supremely Powerful and Dangerously cheesy. Have fear and tremble before the might of the all powerful Cheese Wizard. I lurk between your toes, and wherever there is mildew, I’ll be there. To know me is to never have cheese on your tacos again! Feel the horror! Verily I can see into your blackest painted dreams. What do you wish to know? Of love? I have loved but once. Her name was Brie and I devoured her whole. I see that you do not comprehend. Forsooth, I shall explain it to thee.   Spring is a sprungster and love stinks declares the loser sporting his new Morrissey shirt. How soon is now? Obviously not soon enough. Keep rolling that 20-sided die, and keep buying porn. You’ll be much happier, trust me. Caught in a Valentine’s Day massacre of chocolate hearts and candy kisses. Prepare your naughty parts, and your wallets (Mike D.) for the summer of love (Death to all hippies). The complaint going on inside your pants is only a pre-cursor to war. Lonely and desperate and crying,” nobody loves me.” Ok you want love? Fine. Guys prepare to: buy flowers (gay), Pay 6 bah zillion dollars to park at the city crack and watch some stupid, syrupy movie staring Hugh Grant (really gay), and pretend to care about soft fuzzy animals (that’s it, now you have the anatomy of a Ken doll). Oh no ladies, you ain’t off the hook either. Prepare to: Hold your farts back in your magical poot organ. Be forced to watch incomprehensible sporting events (if you already like sports, then get your strap on and read the guys section again), and have a thrice day no showering, onion breathing, sweating, pooping machine as your knight in dingy armor.   But what is love? Some say that it is a donkey punch to the back of some girl’s neck while in her anal orifice (you know who you are and you’re my hero). Some say that it’s a leather and spiked collar cruel mistress with a knee in your back while you clean the inside rim of a toilet seat with your tongue. The subtle varieties go on and on.   But what is love? Ok, I’ll tell you. Love is a starving fat man opening a door for a woman to go first into a Taco Bell. Love is cooking lasagna while the guys are watching the holy trinity of Krull, Troll, and Tron when Lifetime is showing an all men must suffer marathon. Love is hearing your loved one prattle on about trivial non-descript personal issues, when all you want to do is shoot yourself in the head to relieve the boredom.    In the end, we human monkeys are not solitary creatures (you try talking to a volleyball for 8 hours), however, the religious institution of marriage is an intellectual and societal concept that contradicts our innate sexual desires. We can have a long life with only one partner and eat away all of the fun, joy, and happiness that existed at the spontaneous beginning of the relationship (sorry people- I’ve seen it happen), or we can donkey punch our way into a multitude of partners and lose ourselves into a swirling sexual bliss. Choose your path wisely young padawan…You only go around once. So sayeth The Wizard.

Well, You should know by now…

Him.