This one’s called: A Tiger In The Wood. I have a friend who recently got married and now resides near and works in the Sherwood Country Club over near Westlake Village. Every year, they do a Tiger Woods Golf Tournament sponsored by Target, and every year, my friend, let’s call him Cholula to protect the guilty, invites his brother (Jorge), myself, and another friend of ours (Mike), to attend this ritzy event. This year we showed up rollin’ hard and deep. I knew it was going to be an adventure of ultra goodness, because I got picked up, 18 pack in hand, from the hive around 11 a.m. and when I grabbed the handle on Jorge’s mini-van, it came off in my hand. Funny, but no big deal they opened it from the inside and we proceeded from lovely North Hollywood to a place never intended for our ilk: Lake Sherwood Country Club. I must have been 6 beers in and 4 hits of hash topped medicinal herb by the time we rolled into this thing, and I was loving the fact that all we saw parked everywhere were Mercedes, Lexi, and vehicles of that kind, and here we were rolling up in a handleless Toyota mini-van. Cholula was working this thing and had to meet us at the front to get us in. He had earlier told us to dress nice, and that if we wanted to get into the buffet that he could hook up for free, we could not wear jeans. I figured that was cool with me considering the fact that my friend Jorge had already brought two original Levis with him me being one, our friend Mike being the other. Anyway, Cholula met up with us, gave us armbands and grounds passes, and took us straight to the buffet where I began to prove my title of The Ghetto Gourmet by eating as much free food as I could contain. The food was good and it was free (a $38.00 value). It’s good to have friends in high places, and as far as everyone else there is concerned, it’s bad for them that Cholula has friends in such low places (North Hollywood). So, after eating, Cholula hooks us up with some drink tickets and I get my Maker’s Mark on the Rocks. By this time, I’m feeling fantastic. The buffet was Mexican themed and all of those longaniza beans mixed with the Bud Lights and now Maker’s Mark were starting to make me gassy. The B was metamorphosizing into a stinkbug. I started to walk around the dining room and leave some of my very special Eau De Toilette in the vicinity of anyone who resembled Ted Knight (Caddyshack- You remember: “You’ll get nothing and like it), Gavin Mc Cloud (Captain Steubing), Jim Bakus (Thurston Howell The Third), or Mr. Magoo, and believe me almost everybody in the place looked like one of those people. I did this for a little bit and then ordered another drink. By this time, which by the way I had no conception of, Cholula came back and said, “ I’m taking my break. Let’s go down to the grounds and look around.” That last part rhymed because I’m fly like that boyeeeeee! Anyway, we go down to the grounds and look around. Lots of rich white people everywhere. You know Aryan looking white dudes, hot White chicks with no asses, a few Black people (it was a Tiger Woods Tournament after all), and a smattering of Indian (dots not feathers) and Fijians. The Indians and Fijians were probably there to see the Fijian golfer Vijay Sing (thumb), but seeing the Indians and Fijians did make me wonder if the Dell Computer help desk had closed down for that Saturday.  Our first stop on our tour of the golf grounds was to the Grey Goose tent. Where a pretty Aryan lass gave me a free hat. I decided to buy a martini after that, because I didn’t have a drink in my hand at the time, and no good could come from that. As we were deciding on what we all would have, a Black event staff security guard approached us. He tapped me on the shoulder and said, “ Do you work here?” I pointed at Cholula, who was in a suit and tie and had his name badge on and I said, “No but he does.” Cholula immediately snapped to attention, and said,” Is there a problem?” The security guy realizing that he had been out ranked said, “No, no problem.” I ordered my drink and got within earshot of the profiling Black security guard and began saying things like, “Don’t let it be a Black and a White one. Black police showin’ out for the White cop. Ice Cube will swarm on any motherfucker in a blue uniform.” After that, he didn’t want to look at us again. Mission accomplished! I realized he could smell his own. His ghetto sense was tingling, and he wanted to score points with the Massa, but we were 2 Heebs and 2 Hispanics causing panic (that was another funky fresh line, even if it didn’t rhyme. Oh snap! That one did!) Best of all Cholula is bonafide and has the credentials to let a rag tag bunch of scoundrels such as we into this place. I started enjoying my drink, even though it was probably the gayest drink I had ever ordered. It was called a Peartini; I know how gay that sounds. It sounds so gay that even I wanted to ask the guy making the drink if after he shook the drink, he stirred it with his dick. Anyway, I got the drink because it had Grey Goose and more importantly it had Disaronno in it. I love Disaronno, and quite often have it on the rocks as a desert replacement. That is if a certain girl (you know who you are you crazy bitch) doesn’t consume the whole bottle before I get to it. So I take my gay drink and some golf faggot bumps into me and spills 1/3 of it onto the ground. He then says, “I’m sorry.” To this I say, “Not as sorry as me.” He walks away, and I follow the boys outside lit like a menorah on the eighth night of Hanukkah. We get stopped again and asked if we wanted to fill out a survey about Grey Goose Vodka for some free golf balls. We all said sure. I don’t know why I agreed to this, I don’t play golf. I follow the original rules of golf: no Blacks, no Jews. So in keeping with “tradition” (Fiddler on the Roof inflection), I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I was extremely lit by this time and security guard extraordinaire Tyrone Shoelaces, or whatever the fuck his Muslim name was, kept a watchful eye on all of us; especially me. I started joking around with the survey takers telling them things like, “ Grey Goose is a strong, smooth vodka from France, and it will only wither in the presence of an invading German vodka. I also asked why it didn’t come in a hairy bottle, or one that smelled like cigarettes, body odor, and trash. They seemed to laugh at this, so I kept going I said, “ hey, these two guys (pointing to Cholula and Mike) are married, so don’t give them their balls mail them to their wives.” Everyone laughed and we decided to head off down the path to smoke a blunt. As we were getting further into the woods of the Wood, we lit up a blunt which Jorge had rolled in a cherry flavored wrapper (yuk!). I don’t know why they fruit flavor blunt wrappers because when you add the weed to it, the mixture winds up tasting like a urinal mint. Anyway, we saw an old man walking into a secluded area pretending to look for his ball, but we realized that there was a professional tournament going on so no members were playing today. He was up there trying to find a place to pee. Then again, maybe he was trying to find his balls. After many puffs on the blunt and jokes about Shooter Mc Gavin, the yellow jacket, and eating pieces of shit for breakfast (refer to the movie Happy Gilmore), we spotted Jon Lovitz who looked like shit. I think he should have his publicist hire cancer so he’ll have something to blame his appearance on, as well something to blame his non-appearances in any form of entertainment in the past decade (yeah, that’s the ticket). After this we returned to the clubhouse to pee. Whilst in the restroom, Mike dropped his Grey Goose golf balls and they spilled out onto the floor. I commented, “You’re not that old. There’s no reason for your balls to be hitting the bathroom floor while you pee.” To this we laughed, but the other White fossils from the Pleistocene era were not amused. I wondered if one of them might hit me with his Rex Harrison hat (refer to the movie Weird Science). I guess I hit too close to home for them with that one.  For the final part of the day, we took an outdoor terrace table smoked cigars (compliments of Cholula), and ran into Cholula’s friend Terry, a bartender who bartended at another one of our friend’s weddings. She remembered us not only because we were at the bar all day at that wedding, but also because we had to regulate on some stupid knucklehead toward the end of said wedding. Ah, ‘twas a fine wedding. There is nothing more satisfying than having a good strong buzz and kicking an asshole in his motherfucking face!  Terry brought us drinks: Jorge a Tuaca on the rocks (yes Jorge we finally went somewhere where they had it), and me a Disaronno on the rocks. The drinks must have been at least doubles if not triples. She also brought us barbecued chicken breasts and cookies that were only supposed to be for V.I.P s (Vanilla Ice Posse?), but it’s good to have friends in high places, especially when you come from low places as we do. Anyway, the day was a lot of fun, and we returned home smiling, happy, full, and maybe a little dehydrated. Now the only thing is, I can’t find my balls. Maybe I left ‘em in Jorge’s minivan. I hope I did, because I took the time to fill out a survey to get those things, and if I can’t find my balls, I might as well be married -B

Back by popular demand. More definitions.

Action:

The meat and potatoes of the small percentage of people in this world that shape it.

Actor:

A fraud, a professional phony, more likely than not, a waiter. Once an actor, always a waiter. An actor is a jerk from another town, a Podunk 10 that moved to LA to be a 5. An actor makes a whole lifestyle out of being rejected. They wear their manqué of success like a badge of honor. They also know the days specials.

Archeologist:

A professional grave robber that currently works at Denny’s.

Asshole:

Anyone that does not give in to your every demand. A person that stands up for themselves. Perhaps a person that values honesty.

Boring:

A one trick pony. Myopic, single agenda people that can only take interest in their little word. i.e. gay people, junkies, ravers, the guy that has to comment on every girl that “She’s hot”, religious zealots bent on converting the world, cult members, “back in the day” bards, hipsters etc.

Catholic Entitlement:

The belief that having hordes of children is an excuse to use them as a bludgeon to bully your way through life. Breeder superiority complex.

Cool:

An ethereal quality that people spend countless hours of their live cultivating, no matter how much one has they will always want more. The problem is the day you turn 30; every bit of it is gone. Not worth the time.

DJ:

A fool with a crate of records that enjoys inflicting their horrid musical taste upon strangers.

Drama:

A pastime for people that are uninteresting, dull witted, and lacking ambition or goals in life.

Dog:

Manifestation of one’s ego and desire to control things embodied in a simple-minded creature.

Hipster:

A Hipster is someone that is a study in inactivity. A hipster is window dressing, a wall flower, they do nothing. A hipster is all talk, no action. Not to be confused with a poseur, a poseur adopts the trappings and style of a given sub-culture and will either gain true status or fade away, a hipster will never even try to do that much. A hipster is a bloated, veneer oriented wind bag that is comprised entirely of apathy and mild self interest.  

Humanity:

The template for failure.

Internet:

A forum where everyone involved can manufacture any persona they wish, thus it’s popularity.

Job:

A place where you go to compete with others who can do the least amount of work, get the least done, and steal the most stuff.

Junkie:

A thief with an excuse. A caricature of a loser. Often the path to Jesus.

Karma:

A fear based ideology that instills the belief that if you kick your neighbor’s dog, you’ll get a flat tire on your car.

Lie:

A common currency among family, friends, lovers, and strangers.

Luck:

The path to misery and damnation for the believer.

Man:

A creature comprised of self-aggrandizement and false notions of sexual prowess. 

My Space:

A place for phonies.

Popularity:

The consensus of the masses, group acceptance. Notable people that were popular in their time:

Stalin.

Hitler.

Procreation:

A pastime undertaken by the damned.

Punk Rocker:

Prepackaged rebellion, a cow in a smaller herd. Proof that punk is dead, the existence of the punk “uniform”.

Realtor:

A creature formed entirely of avarice, kept in check by one’s own sloth.

Talk:

The currency of never-has-beens and never-where’s.

Truth:

The black road to eternal punishment. The truth cuts both the wielder and the opponent. To wield truth in this world is to truly be alone.

Waiter:

The profession for failed actors across the landscape; please help us. “But I’m not even supposed to be doing this, I’m an actor, not a waiter!” Yeah right.

Woman:

A creature comprised of fickle motivations and in possession of a microscopic self-esteem.

Worthless:

Something that has no value, a thing, or concept that is meaningless, pointless, without merit. Anything or idea that has false value attached to it.

Some examples:

Being in a band

Poetry

Art

Myspace and it’s adherents

What people say about you.

“Owning” any of the following:

A clothing line

A record label

A Zine.

The following “professions” are also worthless:

A DJ (see DJ)

Actor  (see waiter)

Guitar tech

The following college degrees are a small number of worthless accolades:

Art

Women’s Studies

Pan-African Studies

Communications

Philosophy

Anthropology

Business

Zine:

A underground publication that causes the following side effects in the publishers:

Hair loss, weight gain, hardening of arteries, hearing loss, carpel tunnel, terminal acne, hemorrhoids, anxiety, depression, a general sense of self loathing.

To do a zine is the pinnacle of self-hatred. The peanut gallery is in full effect. One must endure wave after wave of armchair criticism. People hate zines. They take them from you with a smile and then throw them on the floor when they think you’re not looking. No one cares what your ideas and opinions are and you get proof when you drop off the latest issue and the last one is still there in a huge pile.

"Automobiles named after the penis"

By D. D. Dick

Since the invention of the motor car, mostly men (not women) have been

responsible for naming them. It seems to have some how escaped common knowledge that soon after men started naming automobiles, that they sometimes gave cars names that carried

a double meaning.  Most men, (except the writer of this article) are fascinated by the penis. With that fact in mind, let us examine the names of cars that throughout history have been named after the penis. Please note that most of these vehicles were made larger than the average passenger car. (Larger, so that a couple might more easily "get busy" in the back?) And, many models were even available with four-wheel drive. (This

option would be particularly useful for getting to remote romantic locations?)

Woods Electric Vehicle Co. 1910-? "Woods" Electric Brougham (Possibly the earliest and most likely the only electric car ever named after the penis)

Ford "Woody" Wagon- first introduced in 1930 often used by early surfers during their "Surfing Safaris" and was immortalized in the song "Surf City"

by Jan and Dean. Cadillac"Fleetwood":1927-1996 This car has the distinction of having "The

longest historically staying power" of any automobile named after a penis.

Overland "Willys" Wagon- First introduced in 1941, the original military

body style was dubbed "General Purpose Vehicle" also called "GP" for short and latter known as "Jeep"  The Jeep company went on to produce the Jeep

Cherokee  "Briarwood" 1991-1992 and the Jeep Wagoneer "Broughwood"

1984-1985

Ford Pinto 1971 - 1980 The Spanish translation of "Pinto" is "I paint," But

"Pinto" also means "small penis" in particular Brazilian dialects of

Portuguese. (Yeah, I know, this one is a bit obscure, but the car really was named after the penis none the less.)

Ford "Probe": 1989-1997

Oscar Mayer "Wienermobile" 1938 - 2004 Surely this is the longest car ever

named after the penis with some models being up to27 feet long!

Lincoln "Blackwood": 2000- 2002

GMC "Jimmy ": 1969 - 2005

Chevrolet Concept car "Beat" in 2007 (Not really another name for penis, it

simple means to masturbate a penis)

The AM General "Humvee" became affectionately know as the "Hummer" (Again, not actually another name for the penis, rather it simply means Fellatio) first introduced in 1984 and is still in production. and finally if you've managed to read through this stunning display of high school locker room logic; I guess it's worth mentioning that there was once a car company named the "Beaver" State Motor Company. (But that story and others are included in another article aptly titled "Automobiles named after the Vagina".)

" Etymology of a ChickenFish"...

Good Cheesen-ing my heartless henchmen. `tis I, The Wizard of Cheese. I have been busy conducting

experiments in my secret cheese laboratory. Here I have stumbled upon the greatest of cheese knowledge.

Forsooth I know why holes exist in Swiss cheese, I have seen the effects of forcing my minions to swallow moldy cheese, I have even removed the wings

from birds and replaced them with American singles. Beware of cheesy death from the skies! Do thou truly

doubt my cheesy goodness? My world though `tis the same as yours. Those with power absolute rule with absolute power and true knowledge is our strongest asset. The job I hold, My "work" is to get help for people with chemical dependency or have "issues"

with depression, suicide, mental disorders( I.E. crazy people). It’s ironic that this is my job but I won’t go into that. Mentally blurring out the phone

rantings from Mary Jo Nutbag," I need marriage counseling help, John just doesn’t listen like he used to." It’s really no wonder he doesn’t listen, She hasn’t stopped talking since she got on the

phone with me. Hearing endless calls of erratic, deranged people takes its toll on me. So preparing myself for my eventual psychotic breakdown, I started searching online for my insanity defense. When you hear on the news that some executives on an upper floor of a high rise building are being held hostage by a man dressed up like a wizard waving around a wand made of cheese, Then you’ll know I lost it.  But I found something interesting on the internet. Do you know who John Hinkley Jr. is? No? Well apparently he saw Taxi driver one too many times, tried to gun down a president, and spent last Christmas at home with his family. Really? This guy Shot at Ronald Reagan (Yer fucked up Ronnie-DOA) who climbed up the charts( medical that is) with a bullet. Now John Jr. is la-la, la-la-ing free,

opening presents underneath the mistletoe. I started reading more to peel back the drywall to see what really lay underneath. In 1980 Ronald Reagan became the 40th president of the U.S.A. and his Vice President, Former head of

the C.I.A., was George H. W. Bush. Six months later on March 30, 1981 John Hinkley Jr. managed to slip past presidential security, emptied his six shooter, and landed one bullet under Ronnie`s left arm. Who would profit from the president’s death? Well John

Hinkley senior was one of George H. W. Bush’s political and financial supporters. A successful coup d` etat by John Senior’s son would land good ol` George in the presidents chair. A side note is

that George H. W. Bush joined the C.I.A. at the height of the Church Committee( An organization investigating whether C.I.A.-ordered assassinations were being directed towards domestic officials). Coincidence? Have you ever heard of the Church Committee? Neither had I. It seems like some people have taken over this organization and Donald

Rumsfeld has been quoted stating;

" There is no conspiracy". Right. John Hinkley Jr. was `evaluated` and received a judgment of temporary insanity for a normally treasonous crime punishable

by death. This was a failed plot on American soil, the past forgotten, and the culprits free. Is it a coincidence that Hinkley Jr. is now free after Reagan’s death? You decide. So what other black ops projects exist under the nose of this new Rome? Are the Peace Corps building labor camps when they think they’re building schools? Conspiracy theories catch down my throat like flying bugs down the super highway. Let me reveal what else I’ve found.  "What’s all this talk about a damn Chickenfish?",

The balding WWII vet muttered, hand on his walker, late to his retirement home’s bingo game. Picture the scene: Men/Women wearing dark goggles

in long lab coats. They stand in a white anti-septic room somewhere in Coasta Rica or Guatemala. The glass case opens up, white smoke billowing into the

vacuum sealed chamber. What emerges? A monstrosity of human engineering. A bum-bum-buh Chickenfish. Half chicken/half fish created to appease the appetites of our fast food nation. Do you doubt me? Can you explain why KFC and Long John Silvers are joined

together? Van Nuys and Laurel Canyon, go there if you want to learn the horrible truth. Here are some other theories I’m working on. Poppy punk( Good Charlotte) heard on the airwaves today emit sub sonic brain waves making boys shop at Hot Topic for tight black leotard pants. Punk music is making young men gay. Daisy Fuentas is really a Zandozan in disguise. Elmo is a satanic doll created by Anton Le Vay. Roet Rollers do exist and are used by the French. And lastly the Pope has made a deal with Big

Oil to cut down the rainforest and corner the toothpick market, besides someone with a bone through their nose can’t be a

good Christian anyway. Well dear readers it may seem that since JFK and

Marilyn Monroe have wink wonk and whooped (editor’s note: Thumb!) it up to heaven( or hell depending on how you view it) Presidents and powerful people have tried to convince us that they are not crooks. The lazy eye

of America finally started to flutter open during the Watergate scandal but have recently gone back to sleep( Iraq couldn’t even fire off a sc-dud missile

at us…sure they had nuclear veapons). But what do crooks do? They lie, cheat, and steal. No, wait wasn’t that Eddie Guerrero? The greatest wrestler

ever! The bottom line is that this has happened forever: Cover ups and conspiracies. If you are a white collared, working class citizen who is thinking about joining the national front. You had

better know who your leaders are and who( namely you) they will sacrifice to achieve their ends. "Hubba, Hubba, Hubba, Money, Money, Money: who do

you trust?", the Joker said laughing. Know your enemy before your enemy becomes your overlord – so sayeth the Wizard.

Hate Him.

No, we won’t tell you.

Chicken-Head Records

PO Box 371147 Reseda, CA 91337

rev106@yahoo.com