John’s Big Head Eccentric Outsider Art Blog

Research: Demon and Devil War Preparation

by John DAgostino. Eccentric Outsider Artist, a.k.a. John Dog

Sistas, Niggas, Whiteys, Jews, Crackers. Don’t worry, worry, worry (echo effect). If there’s hell below, we’re ALL GONNA GO aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

from Intro to ‘The Other Side of Town’ by Curtis Mayfield 

I have about 20 web sites and sub-webs. I am always searching for interesting domain names to buy. www.yourdeathisthecure.com is available. I ponder buying it, but decide let some hard core punk or goth band have the damn name instead. I’m still strategizing on demon fighting I though of a quote, a biblical bastardization, which might be even more popular than the original. Yo, thou I walk through the valley of death, I fear no evil cause I am the meanest son of a bitch in the land. The lyrics to Zappa’s Titties and Beer song floated through the air waves in my head after I typed this. I searched to see if www.titties-and-beer.com was available. A seed was germinating in my mind for a new site. EX-cell-Ant www.titties-and-beer.com is available and so is www.titties-n-beer.org What a decision to be burdened with. Help me please. Send me an e-mail, post a comment, which is best?

Notes to self- Process this Raw Data more fully later. Call Mick Jagger to see what his deal with the devil is, mix Titties and Beer Lyrics with other info gleaned from net, put my two cents in here and there. Listen to Limbomanics while writing.

Titties and Beer 

by Frank Zappa

It was the blackest night There was no moon in sight You know the stars ain’t shining ‘cuz the sky’s too tight I heard the scary wind I seen some ugly trees There was a werewolf honkin’ along the side of me I’m mean and I’m bad Y’know I ain’t no sissy Got a big-titty girl by the name of Chrissy

ESHU in a bowl

So I figured I might just drink a little beer I said "Gimme summa that, what yer suckin’ on" But there was no reply, cuz’ she was gone "Where’s those titties I like so well?" (Women flash your titties now)

Eshu has a malignant side and is a Trickster diety. For that reason, in Brazil, he is associated with the Devil. In Brazil and Africa, Eshu lives outside the house, to protect the home. His energy is considered too strong to have in the house. (oops, need to put him out asap, no wonder the paint is peeling off the walls)

"An’ my goddamn beer," is what I started to yell. Then I heard this noise, like a crunchin’ twig An’ up jumped the Devil, he’s about this big He had a red suit on an’ a widow’s peak An’ a pointed tail n’ like a sulfur reek Yes, it was him, alright, I swear I knew it was He had some human flesh stuck underneath his claws You know it looked to me like it was titty skin (been there done that, yum)

Eleggua, on the other hand is Echu working under the direction of Obatala (god of balance and reason) to do good and serve the other Orisha and human kind. Eleggua’s day is Monday and devotees usually give him simple offerings, to insure that he protect the home and open the ways. Everyone tries to stay on his good side, since he can turn things around in a minute. Even the other Orisha try to stay on his good side, so that plans that are made can come to pass. (Monday Monday can’t trust that day Monday Monday sometimes it just turns out that way)

The sucker just laughed and said "Put it away You know I ate her up so watcha’ gonna say?" You ate my Chrissy? "Yeah, titties ‘n all" (Don’t cry Frank, you got 100 groupies waiting backstage)

This is the story of how the Ibeji defeated the Devil. There was a large forest that separated two villages and the Devil managed to install himself in these woods. Every time people traveled from one village to the other, they were never seen again. This is because the Devil was eating them as they tried to cross the woods. (How rude)

What about the beer then? "Well, were the cans this tall?" Even her boots? "Would I lie to you?" Shit, you musta been hungry. "Yes, this is true." Well, don’t they pay you good for the stuff that you do? "I can’t complain when the checks come through." Well, I want my Chrissy and I want my beer So you just barf it back up now, Devil, do you hear? "Blow it out your ass, motorcycle man… I am the Devil, do you understand? (This is where it really starts to get interesting in light of present world politics. In the past good and evil were clearly defined. Today, we see big evil battling bigger evil or is it vice versa.)

The Ibeji outsmarted the Devil, by going into the woods and playing the drums. The Devil, fascinated by the sounds of the drum music, followed the Ibeji out of the woods. This is the story of how the Ibeji defeated the Devil. (Get a jump on the market, call broker, buy stock in Tama and Pearl Drum companies pronto)

Just what will you give me for your titties and beer? I suppose you noticed this little contract here… "Yer goddamn right, you son-of-a-whore. That’s about the only reason I learned writin’ for. Gimme that paper Bet yer horns I’ll sign ‘Cuz I need a beer ‘n it’s titty squeezin’ time. "You can’t fool me. You ain’t that bad You shoulda seen some of the souls I had. Thee was the Ayatollah, ‘n Farwell, too ‘N both of those bastards is worse than you. "Well, let’s make a deal, if you think it’s true I mean, you’re supposed to be the Devil, so… Watcha gonna do? ( Zappa is using the old "the meanest son of a bitch in the land" gambit, good move Frank)

There is another version of this story, where the Devil was keeping the rain from falling and drought and famine was spreading over the land. When the Ibeji heard about this, they came and challenged the Devil to a dance contest. Whoever fell to the ground with exhaustion first lost the contest and had to do the winner’s will. (What no points for style. Couldn’t we have used this in Iraq instead of spending all those billions on military hardware, might have spared some bloodshed too.)

I’m only interested in two things, that’s titties and beer, you know what I mean? Titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer, titties and beer . . . (me too, me too, but some hot nookie would also be nice)

The Devil did not know that they were twins and thought he could easily beat the child, so he accepted the challenge. the other Ibeji hid in the bushes and would swap places with his twin brother. The dance contest went on for days, when finally the Devil fell to the ground exhausted. This is the other version of how the Ibeji defeated the Devil. (I have an identical twin brother, honestly, we used to pull that kind of shit all the time)

No! Don’t sign it! Give me time to think . . . I mean . . . Hold on a second, boy . . . ‘Cause that’s Magic Ink! (like in Magic Markers?)

Ever hear of Beer Church? Beer Church is as much an idea as it is an organization. It is based on our philosophy that people are basically good and want to help make the world a better place. The trick is to provide a way for them to do that. People like to drink beer, socialize and generally have a good time. In our human society, beer is a conduit, or catalyst, for making that happen. Find the people where they are. Have a party that benefits something worthy. As a unified association of beer drinkers our potential to affect positive social change is enormous. Be kind and giving, love one another, care about one another, and help one another. Use beer as a way to do those things. http://www.beerchurch.com/ ( a totally different approach – Love works, I love beer. Attack the roots of evil; poverty. Fight poverty, fight evil with love and money while getting fucking juiced, creativity at work there)

And then the Devil let go of his pickle ‘N out jumped m’girl They heard them titties PLOP-PLOPPIN’ All around the world, she said: (I’d be holding on to my pickle if I saw some titties Plop-Plopping)

SHE SAID - "I GOT ME THREE BEERS ‘N A FIST FULLA DOWNS, AN’ I’M GONNA GET RIPPED, SO FUCK YOU CLOWNS!" (OMG, all this heroic evil fighting for nothing. The cunt doesn’t even appreciate it. That’s a lesson to be learned. Another thought, Could she be a symbol for mother nature I wonder?)

Single Focus Atlanta Bible Study Group has chosen to meet at a Hooters restaurant every week for the past four years. "We’ve seen a few of the waitresses become Christians. One of the former managers here became a Christian. So it’s worked. The nondenominational group invites all those who are curious to join their Hooters sessions. The group’s leader Rodgers said, "It’s something Jesus would’ve done because he looked past what people may think and looked at what people’s needs are." www.singlefocusatlanta.org (Right on Rodgers, I’m signing up, but can we try a meeting at the Naked Bunny Strip Club sometime?)

Then she gave us the finger, It was rigid ‘n stiff, That’s when the Devil, he farted An’ she went right over the cliff (Did she or did she not have that coming? You decide.)

Today’s Friendster Forecast You’ve got more bounce than a trampoline. The stars give you a triple shot of energy and verve right now. Wherever you go or whatever you do, you make it look so fun that people can’t resist following. (That’s me all the time, Mr. Happy.)

Nurse your drinks and come with me to a cyber sing along at http://www.lunacytoons.com/titties.html Life is great when you just sit back, relax, and enjoy its simple pleasures.

CHEAP FLIGHTS AND AMSTERDAM ADVENTURES

by John DAgostino, Eccentric Outsider Artist a.k.a. John Dog

I wrote this about a year and a half ago. It is the last chapter of a story about going home for the holidays. For the most part it is true 99.9% pure, just like Ivory soap.  No names have been changed to protect the innocent, cause nobody is.  To read the whole story go to http://www.tripping.johnsbighead.com  ps. stare at the picture for 3 minutes before you start to read, repeat as often as neccessary.

My flight home to the States was $503 round trip, a last minute deal that I saw in the Sunday paper while sipping tea with friends at Cinar Alti in Cengelkoy.  It was a warm day in late November as we sat under the massive oak tree now bare of leaves.  We were enjoying the sun as we watched freighters and tankers move steadily through the choppy waters of the Bosporus from our vantage point on the Asian side of Istanbul.  The catch with the ticket was that I had to book and pay for the ticket by sixteen hundred hours the next day.   

I got through to KLM in about half an hour of rapid speed dialing on Monday morning and made my reservation.  No problem getting to the U.S. on December 2nd as planned.  Getting a good return ticket date was harder.  December 27th was full, December 28th and 29th also full, which put me flying out of Kennedy the night of the 30th.   Figuring in the time zone factor I’d be arriving back in Istanbul just before midnight on New Years Eve. I might miss the parties but I had a six and a half hour lay-over in Amsterdam, not a bad place to spend the early part of New Years Eve.   
 
I caught the train into Amsterdam which took 20 minutes or so from Schiphol airport.  I walked a few blocks this way and that snapping photos of the botels and other interesting buildings.  The air was brisk and it was a little breezy.  I helped a Japanese tourist find the train station.  I took a photo of some Germans with one of their cameras and one of them returned the favor and took a shot of me with my camera. 

I was getting thirsty so I started to look for a place to chow down, have a few beers, and maybe later a smoke in one of those infamous Amsterdam coffee shops.   I passed up Thai and Indonesian food and the sex shops.  I peeked in a few pubs and then checked out the prices at the landmark Baba’s Coffee Shop. They were reasonable, but there wasn’t an empty seat to be found. 

Four o’clock, time to make a move.   I stand, I wobble, I sit back down.  I want to be back at the train station by 4:30, so after a few minutes I muster all the strength left in my twitching leg muscles and try again.  I stand, get steady, and try to push the bar stool out from behind me.  This last hurdle being much easier said than done, I sit back down exhausted. Shit, I don’t think I’m gonna make it. That was some killer weed. 

A few more minutes of rest and I’m ready to try again.  I AM not going to miss that plane. Even though staying a few more days in Amsterdam in a cheap hotel getting high wouldn’t be the worse thing that could happen.  I give it another go. I get up again, push that damn chair out of the way, reach down and pick up my bowling balls.  Oh, Did I forget to mention that in my carry-on I had packed a ten and twelve pound bowling ball along with some souvenirs from South of the Border, which I had been lugging around with me all afternoon. I gripped this small but heavy bag in my right hand.  I leaned far to the left for balance and attempted to walk.  I took a little baby step and that’s exactly what I was thinking- baby steps, just take baby steps, one little step at a time.  I set my sights on the front door, tilted my head forward and slowly moved towards it.  I was awfully self-conscious shuffling along like an old man, but I was making progress.  After some time, which seemed like ages, I exited with a proud sense of accomplishment, I rested with my shoulder against the wall to the right of the door. I peered hazily down an alley littered with flashing neon signs. 

I leaned hard on the building in an attempt to keep from sliding to the sidewalk. This got the bartender’s attention.  It must have looked like I was trying to push the damn building over. It was a very old brick place, maybe I could have. The bartender was lovely. She came out and pointed to the bench just to the left of me, which somehow I failed to notice, and told me I had better rest before moving on.  And that I did.  After about 10 minutes of sitting outside and breathing cold crisp air I began my journey back to the train station.  I was beyond baby steps and in toddler mode as I walked the half dozen blocks or so to the station.  I only had to stop and rest a couple of times as I dodged through the gauntlet of party goers and tourists coming at me along the narrow cobble-stoned sidewalk. 
 
To get from the airport to the central station in the city is not hard.  You take the number one or two train the required four stops.  Getting back to the airport is a much much more difficult task, especially when you’re blitzed.  There are 32 tracks up 16 different sets of stairs with many trains going many places, which might or might not stop at the airport on their way to cities within and/or outside the borders of the Netherlands.   I took a big rest on a low stone pedestal that supported a decorative architectural column and pondered approaches to tackle the "which-track" puzzle. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young girl sit down on the opposite corner of the pedestal that I was sitting on and commence to eat something rolled up in paper. This seemed normal enough until I heard the Spanish serenade of a male hip - hop rapper booming loudly in my ear.  I can only imagine that his girlfriend must have enjoyed the song along with her food because I didn’t turn to see if she was smiling. I wasn’t sure if the whole scene was real or just in my head and I afraid to find out.

I clutched my bowling balls and tried to refocus on my predicament. I took a stab at Track 2 and climbed the stairs.  Wrong train but the exercise did me good.  I was glad to see that I could manage the stairs, both up and down.  But I didn’t want to be going up and down the wrong stairs all evening.

Shortly thereafter there was a long announcement in Dutch.  Luckily for me a fellow across the aisle translated.  Apparently, there was confusion about the destination of the train and if it was going to the airport.  After a short pause the good news was that the railway gods had decided that yes the train would go to the airport.  Another message came over the speaker, this time in English and in Dutch.  It said that people going to the airport had to board on the front of the train.  Another agonizing stoned dilemma, the doors were open, but maybe if I got out to move to the other end of the train the doors would close and I’d miss the train. While I was trying to come to a conclusion on that one, the doors closed making my decision for me.  More luck, the train pulled out in the opposite direction than which it entered, so I was on the right end of the train after all, whew, big sigh of relief.  I looked out the window and said farewell to that magical mystical city. 

I was still drifting in and out of la-la land and paranoid that I was going to miss my stop and wind up in Belgium.  I tried counting the tiles on the train floor, singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall in my mind, and other methods of mental concentration to try to maintain a hold on real and present time. There was one problem though.  The coach seats were covered with a vibrant pattern of a super enlarged version of a chicken foot design.  Every time that I looked at the bright blue and yellow fabric of the seats it would trigger these really bizarre Wizard of Oz on acid-like hallucinations.

Condiment bottles with happy faces were dancing in my head.  It was rush hour and the trip was taking much longer than the twenty minutes that it took to get into the city.  Welcome to the Hotel California.  I was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic then I noticed the doors of the train were opening and I saw that people were getting off.  I got myself oriented and I asked the friendly man that had helped me before if this was the airport.  He gave me an affirmative nod.  I thanked him and tried to make a bolt to freedom.  Slowly I got up and lumbered forward, hauling the immense weight of my long heavy leather coat, myself and my bowling balls.  As the awaiting passengers emptied the train I prayed that the portal to my salvation wouldn’t close before I reached it.

I finally made it to the airport and it was only 5:30 pm.  The bowling balls were getting heavier and heavier. I made my way to the gates. I’m marching on.  I got to Gates EFG first and asked the guards if I could enter here if I was boarding at Gate D.  Of course not, I had to walk another half mile down to BCD.  So I am walking and walking and walking and switching the bag from hand to hand and shoulder to shoulder. I made my way along the endless steel and glass corridor encircling the gates area of the airport.  I imagine at this point, that if I fake a semi-crippled limp maybe one of those nice airport service carts might pick me up and give me a ride. 

I get to the waiting area o.k. and after a while board the plane.  I struggle putting the bowling ball bag in the overhead compartment.  I can hardly lift it my arms are so sore.  I take my seat and doze off. The plane takes off and I wake up with a jolt thinking that I must have missed my train stop.  I focus and realize that I am on the plane and go back to sleep.  I’m dreaming now of home, Istanbul, all is peaceful, then someone bumps me as they pass down the aisle and again I wake up sure that I missed my stop and how can I get off this fucking train.  Ah, yes plane, on plane.  I’m on the plane.  I’m in my seat on the plane.  Everything is cool. 

I unbuckle my seat belt,  get up, find my way aft to the restroom and take a long leak (remember those 2 pints that I drank back at the bar and all the cola).  I reach in my shirt pocket and pull out the half of joint that I have left.  I stare at it wondering, for how long I don’t know.  It could have been a minute.  It could have been an hour. Is this a good thing or is this a bad thing? Is this a really bad good thing or a really good bad thing?  I loosen my fingers and I drop it.  With a whoosh of indigo down the toilet it goes.

Jesus Cops an Attitude

by John DAgostino, Eccebtric Outsider Artist, a.k.a. The John Dog

News of the Weird - Guinness Book of World Records just announced a new category, Marathon Sex. First on the list is the country of Israel after finally ending its 38 year screw of the Palestinians on the Gaza strip. The international community praised the pull out and applauded the Israeli Prime Minister. Sharon said, we would have pulled out sooner, but it felt so good yet we couldn’t seem to climax. He added it’s time to wipe off our dicks and get down to the business of peace. Excellent idea. A big high five to all involved. Richard Milhous Nixon, 37th president of the United States ranked 11th on the list for his screw of the American people from 1969 to 1974. Current US President Bush is unranked because he’s still in the process of screwing the world and fucking up the US economy. Back to you Hank for the latest update on the weekend activities at Bear Mountain.

After Sarah’s adventure with winnie the pooh she came back to join us all in our quest for drunken oblivion. Big Ern looked at her and said, "Girl, you’re one nasty sucker." We all stared at her not believing what we had just witnessed. She said, "What the fuck. I got rid of him didn’t I?." Ern replied, "Please, go brush your teeth or something." Sarah didn’t protest, she did, and was soon back with minty fresh breath cracking jokes with the rest of us.

Sarah had some good jokes. Here are a few that are worth repeating. A priest and a Rabbi are walking through the woods. Off in the distance they see a little boy who appears to be lost. The Priest says to the Rabbi " hey let’s go fuck that kid really quick", the Rabbi says in response "first lets see how much money he has". Some of us laughed at that one and some of us groaned. Jesus sat there looking a little anxious.

Sarah fired off another one, There’s a pedophile and a 6 year old boy walking through a dark wooded area. The kid looks up at the pedophile and says, " I’m scared" the pedophile looks at the boy, and says " You’re scared, I’m the one who has to walk home alone". Yea, I know it’s sick but most of us laughed. We were drunk as skunks. Beads of sweat appeared on Jesus’s brow.

I stagger to my feet and spit out, "I have a confession to make." I pause for effect and shout, "I have NO ASS." I give a twirl and show off the back of my baggy pants. "I got a nice big gut, but no ass." I explain that a physical therapist once suggested that it was because I wore a belt. The belt held everything back from sliding down to my ass. He said I should wear suspenders instead. I found this hard to believe, outside of the realm of possibilities. It would be impossible for my gut to slip around the back to my ass. The laws of gravity dictate that it would slip straight down and I’d have two swollen twenty pound balls hanging between my legs. Hard to walk like that. He then tried to convince me to invest in a natural herbal medicine pyramid scheme and I knew right then that he was totally full of shit. Ern said, thanks Hank, thanks for sharing and rolled his eyes. No one seemed impressed with my confession so I flopped back down in my seat and drank what was left of the vodka.

Sarah, says I got one more and then I’m done. Rich guy buys this new hummer with an awesome high tech sound system. It’s got 160 amps, mega bass speakers, all sorts of bells and whistles, as well as voice, recognition. So he’s driving down the freeway and he says out load, Play something funky for me, James Brown immediately starts playing. He pulls off the highway and is driving through a residential neighborhood. He wants to relax so he says, Time to chill out, and some smooth jazz starts to play. All of a sudden a couple kids run out in front of him. He jams on the brakes just in the nick of time to avoid hitting them. He’s pissed off and shouts, "Fucking kids", and Michael Jackson starts to play. Rim shot, please. We’re all trying not to pee ourselves. I’m practically choking to death on my laughter. Tears are rolling down the sister’s eyes. That was a good one.

Jesus jumps up, fires an evil eye at Sarah and say’s, "You trying to mess with my head bitch?" It gets deathly silent and we all look at him. He says, "Nobody fucks with the Jesus". You could have heard a pin drop. He yells, "Quintano done his time, don’t be persecuting me or I’ll pull out my new Bic lighter, sick it up your hairy Jewish cunt and flick it till it goes click, click, click." " I’m not confessing to nothing." At that point Big Ern steps in and says " Whoa, compadre calm down or maybe it’s time for you to go." There’s a knock at the door. It’s a guy with Jesus’s suitcase. Jesus is shaking with rage. He shouts, "Fuck you all", and catches a ride back to the city with the courier. Touchy, touchy

With that little drama over we realize that it’s starting to get dark. We’re all getting hungry and the bear has eaten our steaks besides the fire has gone out. Ern’s got a couple big boxes of Tyson frozen drumsticks in the freezer, so we slosh them with bar-b-cue sauce and pop them in the oven. I love southern girls they are so domesticated. Linda Lou and Betty Sue start setting the table and take out all the goodies our group has prepared, potato salad, baked beans, and the like. I switch to beer and start nursing a bottle of Bud. Mc Cracken turns to Sarah and tells her, "Well you are just full of surprises tonight." and he lays on the charm.

We’ve been drinking heavily for 4 or 5 hours by then. Most of the hard liquor is gone, but there’s a shit load of beer left and the wine that Jesus brought. Big Ern is putting the moves on Sarah. I think the whole thing with the bear got with really turned on. I’m doing my best to entertain the sisters. I read them some of my old poems, do my drunken clown act. Soon the chicken is cooked and we move to the casual dinning room.

The dinning room is adjacent to the porch and with the sliding glass doors open we get a cool breeze from outside. We’re all chowing down pretty good. The chicken is spicy, the side dishes are tasty, and the beer and wine keep flowing. I’m two sheets to the wind and having trouble finding my mouth. I keep slobbering beans all down my front which begin to form a pile on my balcony of a stomach. In contrast the southern belles are nibbling on their food and wiping their mouths daintily with their cloth napkins. Ernie is still flirting with Sarah and he does that old routine with the airplane and the hanger using a large fork full of potato salad. "Here it comes, Open wide." says Ern. I call to Sarah, "Hey, Sarah watch out Ern doesn’t have his pilot’s license" and with that she turns her head and the potatoes hit her cheek and bounce down her chest into her cleavage. She’s loaded to the gills so it doesn’t phase her at all. She reaches in, pulls out a hand full of potatoes, gives Ern a devilish grin and flings them at him. They spatter across his shirt. Sarah attempts to wipe the mayonnaise off her milk jugs. She brushes too hard, the thin scraps of her blouse break and her breasts tumble out. The sisters are laughing. I’m licking my lips, And Big Ern is taking aim with a slice of cherry pie. He tosses it at Sarah, but she sees it coming and ducks. Unfortunately for Linda Lou and Betty Sue they don’t see it coming and the pie manages to hit both of them. Their nice white dresses are covered with red and it looks like the both of them have been blown away with a twelve gauge shotgun. By now you’ve figured out where all this is going. All hell breaks loose. Food is flying everywhere.. People are dodging beans and salads. Biscuits are hurled across the table. Chicken and pie is everywhere.

Big Ern stands up, makes a ‘T’ with his hands and yells time out. We stop and all burst out laughing.. I’m laughing so hard that I accidentally bend over and my face lands in my half finished plate of food. Ern announces that dinner is officially over. I wipe my face and down the rest of my beer. The ladies drain their glasses and we all head for the showers. Big Ern pinches Sarah’s behind and says you’re coming with me babe. They retreat to the master bedroom.

I have a room to myself which is next to the girl’s. We stagger arm in arm toward our doors. Before we enter our rooms I brashly flash them a seductive smile and give them a double wink and slur, "I’ll see the two of you lovely ladies later." In my room I disrobe and search for the shower. I open one door, no that’s a closet. I hear the shower going in the other room. I open the door near the elk’s head that’s mounted on the wall and what to the wonderment of my eyes should appear but Linda Lou and Betty Sue buck naked standing there. Their firm bodies glistened with beads of water from the showers. Our rooms are attached, we share a bathroom. Thank you Big Ern you’re the man, you’re the king, you didn’t forget you old bowling buddy. I join them in the shower and with sponges in hand they wash the food from my body, my hair, from everywhere.

We towel off and go into their room. Each of them puts on a silky shirt and I grab a robe. They get into bed and I ease in between them. The three of us are really drunk. There’s a little fondling, a little kissing, a grope here and a grope there. The master bedroom is across the hall opposite ours. I can hear some growling coming through the door. I tell the girls, "Big Ern is up to his old tricks." He’s probably got a ranger hat on and playing Smokey the Bear.

All of a sudden there’s this loud crashing sound, glass breaking, and all sorts of noise. I bolt into the hallway and bump into Ernie almost knocking him down. We creep down the hall to see what all the racket is. The women tentatively follow. In the dining room are three bears of various sizes. Seems like the brownie has come back with some friends. They’re munching on our left-overs, pounding down beers and smashing the empties on the floor. Big Ern somewhere along the way picked up a broom and he had it in hand. He bravely looks at the bears and clears his throat loudly to get their attention. He says, "Excuse me, but I don’t remember inviting you three to the party." , "Your going to have to clean up this mess."

In unison the bears stop eating and raise up on their hind legs. They seem to look right past me and Ern to the half dressed girls behind us. Each of them let out a big burp and I could see that their peckers were starting to rise. Sometimes alcohol will empower one with the courage to do amazing things. But his was not one of those times. Ern threw the broom at them and we ran towards the front door. Sarah slipped on the carpet and fell. Linda Lou and Betty Sue tumbled on top of her. We beat it out the front door as fast as we could. We made it to Ern’s jeep jumped in and sped away leaving the girls and horny bears behind. What the hell, there are plenty of fish in the sea, women are a dime a dozen, but a good bowling buddy is hard to find.

Bowling and Balling

by John DAgostino, Eccentric Outsider Artist, a.k.a. The John Dog

No demon fighting today.  I got to strategize on that issue some more.  Right now, I’m using the ‘Dave’s not here’ ploy.  By staying stoned they can’t see that the lights are on and maybe somebody is at home. But there’ll be no drinking today, just the smoke, got to keep up the screen.  I need to hit the books.  Dust off the old volumes that I have stored in some boxes some where.  All those books that I collected in Africa and Miami weighed a ton and cost a pretty penny to bring with me to Turkey.  But, I’m glad that I have them close.  I have a feeling they are going to be very useful.  So here I stand ragged and dirty, but I’m hip. Time to pass the bottle to Hank and let him get on with today’s story.  Here Hank have a sip.

Cruised on up to Bear Mountain this afternoon. Got me an invite to a friend’s cabin in the woods.  I met this guy Ernie Mc Cracken at a bowling alley bar in North Hollywood.  Who would have know that we would become good friends and he would ’strike’ it rich on the professional bowler’s tour.  I thought he was just another bum like me hanging at the Easy Pick Up Bar on lady’s league night.  And at the time he probably was.  So we’re gulping down JBs and Tab looking for a little late night girlie action.  Some of the ladies were just closing out their tenth frames.  Soon they’d be returning their shoes and heading to the bar to drown their sorrows or celebrate their moments of glory.

The place was getting full. Big Ern and I had stools at the bar.   Perched up high we could peruse the room for lonely losers.  Team K-Mart entered en masse but soon split into smaller groups.  Ones with hubbys and boyfriends sat at a large booth together. The stars of the night, the high rollers, single and sexy stopped at the bar for a quick drink before heading to the disco. I spied two sweet young thangs go sit down at a table by themselves.  Both of them had straight sandy blonde hair and green eyes.  Their beasts were average but they each had some fine child bearing hips.  I was scrutinizing their features trying to decide which one I would hit on and I realized that they were identical twins.

I gave Mc Cracken a nudge, "Check it out, blue light special at table 8."  We moved it on over to where they were sitting and asked if we could join them.  They agreed but didn’t seem overly enthusiastic.  We both said at exactly the same time, Why, thank you Sally and Suzy.  We looked at each other with perplexed amazement. Weird I know, but we were on the same wave length back then.  Bowling bars are the best place to find women and you have an advantage that you don’t have in other dives.  You already know your potential date’s name.  It’s embroidered on the front of their shirts right in front of your face.

Sensing that the girls hadn’t picked up all their spares that night I asked them how’d they do.  Sally’s three game total was 183.  Her last game she rolled a 69, which ain’t a bad number but it’s a lousy score that lost the match for the team.  Suzy did no better, leaving a lot of open frames and tossing a fare amount of goose eggs. We ordered, double Southern Comfort shots for our gutter ball queens and got a couple more drinks ourselves. After a while they started to loosen up, we all started to laugh.  Sally asked if we were bowlers and what team we played for.  Big Ern jokingly said in a loud drunken slur, "We’re on the worse team in the league. We both work at Blue Suede Shoes in the Kingston Mall.  That place is the pits. We’re members of the Blue Ballers bowling team."  I added, "But maybe you could help us out with that.  We haven’t been practicing enough lately."  They giggled.

You know what they say, "Unlucky at the lanes, lucky in love".  We had a few more rounds of drinks, munched on stale pretzels, and lied about our lives.  Last call came.  We had shots of schnapps for the road and all left together.  Sally and Suzy had a 2 bedroom apartment not far from the alley, so we left our cars in the parking lot and walked to their place.  Suzy had her eye on Ernie and I had my eye on Sally so that’s the way we split up.  No group sex, no wild orgy, nothing kinky going on tonight.  Sally and I shared peppermint kisses in the dark and slipped into bed.  We celebrated her loosing score by getting into that position and comforting each other with our tongues.  We licked away life’s everyday defeats and humiliations and sucked away the doubts in ourselves that they bring.

I could hear growling and barking coming from the other room.  Big Ern was doing his Wolf Man Jack impression and howling at the moon.  Suzy’s laughter sliced through the thin plasterboard and we could feel the vibrations of the headboard banging against the wall.  This went on for some time.  Sally and I smoked a few cigs and talked then took turns washing up in the bathroom.  Things got quiet in the other room and we finally feel asleep.

Breakfast was polite.  We drank instant coffee and ate toast and honey.  Suzy and Sally had to be at work by 10 so we didn’t have a lot of time. We all exchanged phone numbers and promised we’d call.  And we did.  Sally and I continued our affair.  Sometimes Big Ern and Suzy would double date with us.  We’d go to the movies or bowling together.  It soon became clear that Big Ern was yanking our chains when he told us that he couldn’t bowl.  We could play 3 against one and he’d still beat us.  Ern found another girl or two and dumped Suzy after about 2 months.  Sally was promoted and sent to another K-Mart store up state.  I get a card from her ’bout every other Christmas.  She’s married and has two or three kids, and a dog named Munson.  I sincerely wish her luck.  Keeping a relationship rolling and staying together for the long haul is harder than picking up a 7-10 split.

So, I’m on my way to see the Big E.  It’s been ten years.  Sally and Suzy won’t be there, but Ern has invited a couple of southern belles by the names on Linda Lou and Betty Sue.  My old beat up V W chugs slowly up the mountain road.  The countryside is beautiful and the air is fresh.   I’m the last to arrive when I finally get there.  Big Ern greets me on the porch and gives me a big bear hug which lifts me off my feet, an appropriate gesture being that we are on Bear Mountain.  It was a long drive but there are no short cuts to any place worth going.

We go inside and I meet this weekend’s party crowd. Linda Lou and Betty Sue are both buxom blonde bombshells.  And if that don’t beat all, they are twins.  Ern turns to me and says, "Just like old times eh, buddy.  We had some good times back in Hollywood, didn’t we?"  I meet the famous comedienne Sarah Silverman, for the first time and this strange looking skinny Spanish dude by the name of Jesus Quintano.  He’s a pal of Big Ern’s from the lanes.  He’s wearing tight fitting purple pants with a purple bowling shirt to match. Jesus is written above the pocket.  Apparently, he just flew in from a tournament in Reno and his suitcase got lost.  Luckily, it’s been found and the airline is sending it over by courier.

We have plenty of supplies for the weekend.  Ern’s got steaks for the grill.  The girls have made potato salad.  Sarah baked a cherry pie.  The fridge and the deep freeze are full.  Big Ern has big bucks and he doesn’t mind spending it on his friends.  When it comes to friends Big Ern is a generous guy. He knows, "That if you give a little, you get a lot."  Jesus brought a one gallon jug of Yago Sangria.  I came bearing bottles of gin, vodka, and vermouth, so that folks could have their choice of martinis.  Ern’s liquor cabinet was already full, but it’s the thought that counts in these situations and you can never have enough booze in the house on a long summer weekend.

It was early afternoon.  Ern had just got the fire going, but it would be a half hour or so before any cooking could be done.  We were all sitting on the back porch and pouring liberal amounts of alcohol down our throats.  Sarah and Ern were big cut ups. At points they had us rolling on the ground.  We were all really plowed. Ern forgot to throw the steaks on the fire and they sat there on a table by the grill drawing flies like soldiers to a peep show.

We began to talk of funny films that we had seen. Big Ern’s favorite was Ground hog Day.  The Tennessee twins liked all the Dumb and Dumber movies.  I hadn’t seen a comedy in a long time, but I recently saw ‘Grizzly’ which made me somewhat apprehensive about accepting Ern’s invitation to his cabin on Bear Mountain.  Speak of the devil and he appears. A little brownie must have smelled the steaks and was stiffing around the grill.  He takes the raw meat and wolfs it down in a split second then licks his jowls.  This cub must have been a circus bear, freed from captivity, and returned to the wild.  His ear was tagged. He spots an unopened bottle of gin on the table, grins, grabs it, and twists off the cap.  He downs the quart as fast as he ate the steaks.

Sarah smiles and say, "Isn’t he a cute one."  Smokey looks up, claps his paws, burps, and falls over on his back.  Circus bear or not the rest of us are ill at ease with a drunken bear 10 feet away.  Sarah say, "Not to worry, He reminds me of an Italian boyfriend that I once had, only Guido was a lot hairier." "I’ll take care of him and he’ll go happily along his way and back to the woods with a smile on his face." To our horror she walks over to the bear and starts scratching his furry belly.  The little brownie burps again.  There’s a twinkle in his eye.  Sarah moves her hand lower and we can see that the little bear is getting a big erection.  None of us have seen anything this freaky before.  She slowly massages his dick and takes it in her mouth. The girls winch in disgust, but Big Ern, Jesus, and I can’t help but watch.  She finishes him off with her hand. He burps again, gets up, and trots off into the forest.

Well, I had always heard that Jewish princesses were the best at giving head, but now I’ve seen everything.  The whole bizarre scene makes me think of something a wise stranger in a cowboy hat once told me back at the Easy Pick Up Bar, something very deep.  In his thick Texas drawl he said, "Sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you." I never understood it before, but I think I’m getting the picture. A very profound remark indeed.

But I’m A Fighting Back

Full moon last night.  Had a wonderful evening hanging at Mehmet’s Bar.  Mehmet’s is more like an outdoor cafe. Actually, all the tables are outside. The only inside seating is on the second floor, but no one goes up there except to use the facilities, the crapper. Mehmet’s overlooks the beach and last night there was a cooling breeze coming from the Med that sucked the heat from the streets. Life is bearable when you are listening to the good r & b and the blues with the smell of the sea in the air and a little wind in your sails.

Slept well, woke up for the first time in many a week not lying in a moist pool of sweat.  The heat wave seems to have eased and I’m feeling good. Had me a hearty breakfast, tomato, olive, and hotdog omelet washed down with generous amounts of Coke.  When I opened the Coke I looked under the lining in the cap and found that I won a free liter.  I walked to the bank and the cash machine worked, which made me happy cause half the time it doesn’t. I’m on a roll.  I stopped at the liquor store and got some beers and cigs for later.

Overhead though some clouds were beginning to appear ‘the powers at be’ (one of my new favorite expressions) decided that the John Dog wasn’t going to have a ‘Happy Days’ Richey gets a hickey day. It was going to be a ‘Happy Tree People’ day instead. Because when I took off my socks to get ready for the beach I noticed that my legs where covered with red bumps of various shapes and sizes.  Some of them were oozing. No, no, not again attack of the oozing puss filed sores. Shit, fuck, piss, god damn mother fucker; what else can one say in these situations?   Sometime I wish that a little blue squirrel with chain saw a blazing would burst into my room and hack both my legs off. Rev up the motor and dig in. Have a ball slashing away; blood all over the room covering the walls, the bed, the computer, and everything else including me and the fuzzy little blue rodent.  Get it over with.

It felt good getting that off my chest.  Think I’ll pop open a cold one now. Time for Weird News dateline Chicago - LaChania Govan said she got bounced around by her cable company when she called to complain. She made dozens of calls and was even transferred to a person who spoke Spanish — a language she doesn’t understand. Understandably, she got p.o.ed and said a few things.

When she got her August bill from the company she had no trouble understanding she’d made somebody mad. It was addressed to "Bitch Dog."  Damn, if she was my wife she’d probably be getting most of her letters addressed that way me being the John Dog and all.

Here’s a better one from the same story, In another case, Peoples Energy customer Jeffery Barnes started getting letters addressed to "Jeffery Scrotum Bag Barnes."

He said, "I had no bad words (with them) at all. I guess the earliest letter is dated in May and from then on up until now my name has been listed as Jeffery Scrotum Bag Barnes and I have no idea why." 

Sounds like Peoples Energy needs to be more vigorous in their employee drug screening procedures.  Some low paid stoner doing data entry for minimum wage probably just got bored one day.  We’ve all been there haven’t we? Do something stupid at work that’s gonna hit the fan after you’ve quit.  Stick it the boss man before you go. Joe’d be bragging to his stoner buddies about it and they would be saying, ‘Yea, that was cool man, way cool dude. Sticking it to the maannn. Righteous’

Now if Joe Stoner hadn’t resigned and the boss man fingered him for the deed, I’m sure he’d be getting a letter with a pink slip in it addressed to Joe Fart Breathed Slacker Stoner.

These are cute little tidbits which are pale in comparison to the e-mails that I got from my psycho ex-girlfriend.  Have the children leave the room before I reel off her Top Ten Dirtiest Salutations.

Here goes;

Dear You Worthless Piece of Limp Cocked Shit,

Dear You Scum Sucking Mongrel,

Dear You Have no Right to Live Disgusting Dog,

Dear Kill Yourself and Spare the Rest of the Women of the World,

Dear Eat Shit and Die (an oldie but it still works),

Dear Pig Faced Lying Bastard,

Dear Mother Fucking Jerk Off Ass Wiped Used Tampon,

Dear Selfish Whore of a Man,

Dear You Fucked Up my Life, Now, I’m gonna Fuck Up Yours,

Dear Sleazy Ass Sucking Devil,

After the salutation she’d tell me how much she missed me, how lonely and empty she felt without me, how she loved me and wanted me back.

Sorry, not in this lifetime babe. I tried to be nice in my replies, but finally I had to block her e-mail address.

Hope is a hard thing to have when you’ve been kicked around.  You get abused, used, and refused for enough time, a month of days, season after season. year after  year, it wears you down. When it gets to the point that even a Simon and Garfunkel song can’t bring you up then you gotta listen to some Jawbreaker, just to remind you that some folks got it worse than you and you’re best to count your blessings.

Words from "Kiss The Bottle." by Jawbreaker

It gets loneliest at night down at the liquor store beneath the neon sky. By moonlight. Six a.m. the floor comes alive with lice. The pan’s dried up so tight with hardened beans. We’re hungry. So I lean on you sometimes just to see you’re still there. Your feet can’t take the weight of one, much less two. We hit concrete. How were we born into this mess? I know I painted you a prettier picture, baby. We were run out on a rail. Fell from the wagon to the night train. **I kissed the bottle. I should’ve been kissing you. You wake up to an empty night with tears for two.** Cigarettes they fill the gaps in our empty days, in our broken teeth. We’re jonesing. Say mister, can you spare a dime? Some change could make a change, could buy some time, some freedom or an ear to hear my story. It’s all I’ve got. My fiction. Beats the hell out of my truth. A palm upturned burnt blue. Don’t call it sunburn. You’ve been shaking on the job. Just one drink ahead of your past. There’s a white light coming up. You draw the blinds hoping it’ll pass. **I kissed the bottle. Should’ve been kissing you. You wake up to an empty night with tears for two."** -

I’m humbled so when I read stuff like that.  I’m just a hack with a blog, but that song be some real poetry.  Think I’ll splash some paint around tomorrow, if it’s not too hot in the morning.  Maybe I’ll blog and maybe I won’t.  Saw the old man in white again, but this time his shirt was black.  Something to think about.  Need to decide if I’m up for the battle, heaven and hell stuff, gods and demons.  It’s been a long time since I played that game. Been benched by the pain.  But the pain is a chronic thing. It ain’t gonna go away and I keep running out of pain killers.  The drug store is a long walk on bum legs.  If I fight and win at least my soul will feel some relief. If I loose, well, corpses don’t feel no pain.  We’ll see.

Nothing new, nothing original today.  Drank too damn much last night, 3/4 of a bottle of vodka and a couple 8.2% beers, Efes Extra Strong Tall Boys.  Smoked too much and got a sinus head ache on top of a slight hang over.  Lots of creative juices where flowing last night after and I finished my blog, so I was up till 5 am sending e-mails to total strangers.  They must have been good cause I got two replies the next day.  This never happens.

As for today’s blog I’ve written drunk before and with a hang over so that’s no excuse for not whipping out a witty piece on this or that.  The problem today was the damn electric. In Side where I live (pron. Sea-Day or Seedy depending on my mood) it goes out at least 3 times a week, sometimes 3 times a day.  Today was the pits.  From 1 pm to 7 pm it was going on and off every 10 minutes.  After a 3 or 4 times I shut down the computer cause I didn’t want to fuck it up.  Here’s a taste of a site that I did 6 or 9 months ago www.whereismyhat.com . The concept of the site is that I meet these famous people and I keep loosing my hat. Enjoy

Where Is My Hat?
by John DAgostino, Eccentric Outsider Artist, a.k.a. John Dog

I miss the John Dog so much.  We were together for a long time.  I met John DAgostino, the Eccentric Outsider Artist after I finished filming "Pulp Fiction"  I was so stressed out from working with Quinton.  I took to painting as a distraction.  John was such an understanding painting tutor.  As we worked together we got closer and closer.  He was so gentle. It wasn’t long before we became lovers.  We weren’t overly discreet about our relationship, but it never made the press.  We never hid from the media.  It was just that we were secluded in the Paris studio that we shared together.  We passed the days painting, smoking Tiparillios, and making love.  We spent so much time in bed that sometimes the sheets would have more paint on them than the canvases.  John Dog was into his "white" phase.  He was working very minimally using white and one other color.  He did series of huge canvases with simple line work that depicted nature, animals, plants, and the like. 

I still have a few of his canvases hanging in the Paris loft where we lived, loved and worked.  The paintings have become quite valuable since John DAgostino, the Eccentric Outsider Artist’s work is in high demand.  I keep them to remind me of the love that we shared together.  But more than the paintings, I cherish the purple cap that he wore while painting and left behind.  It makes me happy because it reminds me of the good times we had and a little sad because he’s gone.

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I met Nick in a very strange place.  We met in the women’s room of a downtown Istanbul hotel.  I was a struggling artist so I took all sorts of odd jobs to make ends meet. Well, I had run up my bar tab at the hotel and didn’t have the cash to pay it. I agreed to work off the debt and found myself cleaning the bathrooms. After I entered the door marked Bayan (woman) I heard a noise. I opened a stall with my mop in hand and found a scruffy Nick writing on the wall with a black marker. He was writing- For a Good Time Call Nick at (phone number). He was dressed in a maroon leather jacket and had a red bandana tied around his neck. I think he was humming the Tom Waites tune - The Heart of Saturday Night, as he scribbled his message there. I brought the mop up and started to swing, but he shouted, "No! Wait! Let’s talk about this."  He was embarrassed as hell to be caught in the lady’s room and he was eager to offer me a deal.  I told him my situation at the hotel bar and he quickly took care of the bill and then invited me around the corner to a sidewalk cafe-bar.   

He ordered a bottle of Raki, ice, water and a bag of sunflower seeds.  We began to talk.  He wanted to explain why he was writing on bathroom walls. I was busy sucking down the lion’s milk and pealing sunflower seeds. I wasn’t paying much attention, so I really don’t remember much of what he said or for that matter the whole afternoon. I got pretty plastered.  I do remember that at one point I grabbed his red bandana and tied it to the stupid stove pipe hat that I wore in those days. That hat is long gone now- lost in some Taksim dive or Beyoglou alley. Nick and I hung out for a few more days drinking and checking out the hot Istanbul babes. And, yes, if you were wondering, he did get a phone call or two.

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This site has 7 pages now, I want to add a couple more pages and also publish a small book. Hard copy is nice sometimes.

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Later Dudes and Dudettes, John

ps - sorry the type is messed up - big and small - I tried to fix it three times, it ain’t worth the hassle and I’m a lazy bastard so that’s what you get.