Morgan Roberts, R.i.P.

It would go something like this:

I’d say, “W.A.S.P.”

He’d say, “Helloween!”

I’d say, “Oh, uh,… Ratt.”

He’d say, “Goatwhore.”

I’d say, “Quiet Leppard.” [Shudder.] Then, "I suck."

He’d say, “Slinger – a cross between Slayer and Winger.”

I’d almost ask, “Umm, Europe?”

He’d say, “Anal Vomit.”

Clearly, we know WHO'S THE BOSS at the verbal game, "Identifying the Most God Awful Metal Band Names"... as well as just about every other game. 

Damn, Morgan! You ARE the God of all things brilliantly, horribly, artistically, terribly, wonderfully ridiculous and not.

As Waverly said after the death of Dr. Witcombe in The Abominable Dr. Phibes, "A brass unicorn has been catapulted across a London street and impaled an eminent surgeon. Words fail me, gentlemen."

They fail me too.

Peace now.

[Me, "The Tony Danza Tapdance Extravaganza. Check it!"]

Der weinenden Kinder Nacht!

“The night of crying children!

It is entirely impossible for me to use this digital space to share anything remotely representing the happy family life I have while America rips children from their parents’ arms. This country, still heavy, very heavy, with its original sins, seems hell-bent upon creating new ones. How will future generations look upon this time? 

Der weinenden Kinder Nacht!

When Hate Doesn’t Fully Explain It

As the Orange Clown leads his traveling Circus of the Absurd from a leveled G-7 summit in Manoir Richelieu to what’s bound to be a complete catastrophe in Singapore, I’m breaking my silence:

I’ve hated people. The bully who tormented me in 2nd grade; Luis who threatened to kick my ass every day after school in 6th grade (but never did); that asshole who nearly made life impossible throughout high school (you know who you are); that sinister, smirking, side-mousing pile of bleached hair who almost sent me to the looney bin in college; that priest; Sister Catherine; the punk who blindsided me in a fight... I’ve hated them all! 

Yet, the vitriolic levels of abhorrent loathing I feel for that bloated carrot-puke of a disaster zone who bully-tweets his outrage while expelling his feces all over the planet agitates every atom in me that despises every atom in him.

My mother would say, “Hate is a strong word.” To that I would reply, “Not strong enough!”