troika pictures

here are some crappy pictures of audubon park that i took at the troika festival tonight!

FREEDOM DISCOGRAPHY

FRIENDS:

As of today the complete Audubon Park discography is available for free download over there on the sidebar. Please feel free to download songs you don't have and forward to your mothers, father and somewhat hip aunts and uncles.

Of special note to the HARDCORE fans that have it all, is our cover of Work Clothes's "Turn Your A/C on High" from our trip to WXDU.

Mrs. Shakertown (ABD) was kind enough to spend a long time converting the songs to MP3 and putting them on my school webspace and then I put them on the blog. I can't check the links from work--so if any of them are messed up, let me know and I will fix it right away.

We still have a box of ART PACKAGING "Bunny" EPs, so if you want one of those, you may have one.

Hopefully, this will help us serve the public better. That is what we are here for.

THANKS TO: Shakertown, Mikey T and those who actually gave us a few dollars for a cdr at a show. HEARTS!

EDITED: Some messed up links have been fixed. "Sunbathers" by all accounts is broken, but we can't figure out what is wrong with it right now, but will continue looking.

EDITEDED: All the songs work now. Enjoy?

Spam(a)d Lib

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T R O I K A M U S I C F E S T I V A L

Folks--

The Troika Music Festival is August 23-27. There are many great bands playing--and Audubon Park! There are two or three shows each night all over the triangle.

We are playing on the 27th with lots of good bands: Portastatic, Work Clothes, Schooner, Bellafea, The Balance, Tenament Halls, Odd International, Polyna, and Goner.

If you see us, here is what you get:

• We've been practicing, some
• We have new songs that we know how to play
• Vigor
• We've been practicing our "humor"
• The Kalb-In-Shorts, as seen on MTV Spring Break Europe
• Ask us before of after the show about the screenplay we are working on: Dadport!
  

Other nights include such treats as: Eyes to Space, Jett-Rink, Hotel-Motel, The Standbys, CantwellGomez&Jordan, Cantwell's whole experimental night, Billy Sugarfix, North Elementary, Strange, Whole World Laughing, the Sames, The Rosebuds, Erie Choir, and America's Top Models. And these are only the one's who's names I felt like typing! So good.

Going back to our band though: I really can't say enough good, or slightly insulting, stuff about us. As previously reported in 'ric's Gaddis Award winning series, we have started working on our full length debut LP. We got 9 songs in the can. Take that as you will. We have three more to go and lots of mixing and twiddling. And diddling (exact science). The LP will be called "Teenage Horses" and I think it lives up to a names like that. Wait, wouldn't a teenage horse be really old? How long do horses live? Maybe we messed up. In our crazed quest for youth we turned oun the spigot of decrepitude.

Mark Lebetkin from Schooner was kind enough to come in and lend us his viola skills and put up with our rather odd behavior and mixed messages:

Me: Oh, Mark--play the chords real smooth, you know (scrawls shapes on paper).
Finn: (Open eyes) Yeah, yeah. Real staccato, just like he said (closes eyes).
Robert: Right. I like that idea--just droning, with no chords of any type.
Me: Yeah, do that. Ready?
Mark: What?
Ben: Oh, I thought of something.
Mark: What?
Ben: Leo Kottke called. It was for Matt. I took a message.
Mark: Excuse me?
Matt: JC Penny called.
Ben: That's not nice.
Finn: (Opens eyes) So, wait, what song are we putting strings on?
Me: So, Mark, you know what to do right?
Mark: Well...
Me: I'm hungry.

Our Love Is Like Woe!

The names of the songs--which you don't know, but I am telling you so you can begin doddling them in your note book--are:

1. Winter Gala (Jesus Wasn't a Doctor Either)
2. Broken Tooth
3. Frightened by the Lake
4. Empty Choir at the Camp Meeting
   
5. Fantasia on Ulalume Pts 1-3
6. Sympathy for Youth
7. Gum Run
8. Ghost City
9. Empire of Towns
   

Let's hope we can keep our strength up.

Go to Troika's webpage for the full schedule.

Great Achievements at Work

I made a banana look like a person. What did you achieve at work today?

AP Fancon 2005 Rap-up

Police detain Murry Fitzwater, one of the pranksters.

AP Fancon 2005

Greetings everyone. Well, it turns out that Audubon Park is still in the process of recording their full length debut, so I guess the apocalypse is off until the album comes out. That whole apocalypse thing may have been an elaborate prank as it turns out that Linas Coombs is in fact Matt Kalb (funny he didn’t even place in the Matt Kalb look-alike contest). I’d just like to personally apologize to Gordish Horton and the rest of the fan club administration, who we bound and gagged and kept in the janitor’s closet on the 4th floor. Sorry about the pepper spray, the choke collar and the whole banana muffin incident. I hope you enjoy the gift certificate for Appleby’s I sent each of you (via your lawyers), once you get out of the hospital. Again, my bad. And props to Mr. Kalb, you got us good. All that aside, I had a great time and I think everyone else who attended did to, at least those weren’t hog tied at some point.

See everyone next year!
-Madame Sally-Lin Chin-(formerly Coombs)

My Narrator

A number of childhood conditions lead to my being bookish: lack of cable, a TRS 80 with only two games, intense loneliness, little-to-no upper body strength, tendency to burn rather than tan, etc.

So I read. A lot.

But reading can't fill an empty life. It only highlights what is missing. When I read, I read about noble people doing brave things or crazy people doing ill-advised things--never about lonely people doing boring things. They just don’t write books about people like me.

What could I do? I couldn't set out on a whaling ship from New Bedford--my mother didn’t like me to cross the street by myself. There aren't any moors in Kentucky for me to rage about on--and even if there were, my mother didn’t like for me to be out in thunderstorms (or near telephones, bathtubs, televisions, windows, toaster ovens or door knobs). Doomed romance with the girl of my dreams? No, I don’t think so.

It wasn't until after I graduated from college and found a job that I had the money to do improve my situation.

I hired a Narrator: someone that could give voice to the philosophical depth and moral gravity of my life--without me having to do too much philosophical or moral to achieve it.

It was the worst decision I have ever made.

The first problem: when I was shopping around for a Narrator, none of the salesmen mentioned that every model of narrator built since the early 19th C. is unreliable.

***

Me: Where the hell have you been?

Narrator: He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, legs tired from standing outside of the grocery store with torn paper bags of discount black beans; the store-brand ice-cream melting; a look of anxiety, frustration and self-pity spreading across his face like oil on water.

Me: Just pop the trunk already.

Narrator: He had been crying.

Me: I haven’t been crying.

Narrator: Womanly sobs.

Me: Open the trunk!

***

Not only that, but apparently Narrators are also irresponsible.

***

Me: [Opening mail] What’s this? An overdraft notice? Look at all these bounced checks. Have you not been writing things down?

Narrator: It was then--with the amber sun slanting in through the half-opened drapes, the air heavy like the arm of a sleeper--that he realized that he was going to have to get a second job.

Me: Second job, my ass. How about you get a "first job."

Narrator: As the dust from the filthy house settled softly across his brow he wondered--my day doesn't just narrate itself?

***

And rude.

***

Me: Could you please take your feet down off of the coffee table?

Narrator: He said, fussily.

***

No-one tells you that getting a Narrator is like getting a tattoo: it is with you for the rest of your life, and what may seem cool when you are twenty-two, might not still appeal years later. Me? I chose the Southern Lit model (N1928-sf).

***

Narrator: A post. A post. A post. A tree. Birds in flight, across the sky. The sky itself a pool. A post. A post. Yellow, fast, the cars. Whirring on up ahead. Whirring and spitting, all in a place, spinning and churning like the homunculean sepulcher of--

Me: Christ Almighty. Can we not have one drive to the mall in silence? Please?

***

Of course now I wish I at least had gone with the Lepidopterist 1897 (N1950-pf). I could have had someone to play chess with.

At least I wasn’t into Beat Poets (N1956-nl).

***

My Friend Jim: [Shoveling dirt into a hole. Indecipherable mumbles escaping.] What are you talking about? Please shut-up! Please! [Breaks down in tears. The sound of jazz escape from the dirt]

***

Or Tristam Shandy.

***


My Friend Jim: Beautiful day, isn't it?

Narrator: What a loser.

My Friend Jim: What did you say?

Narrator: &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

***

Rather than make my life seem more grand and sweeping--highlighting pain and ecstasy and giving direction to my somewhat aimless emotions--the Narrator only emphasized the most mundane corners of existence.

***

Narrator: The toilet bowl--its acrid stench and fecund circumambience--roared forth with spastic fury as it battled like soldier, wounded, bloodied, but proud, and shoved back forth into this world from the next about five gallons of cold, cold water. Water that is probably going to seep downstairs if someone doesn’t stand up like a man, stop whimpering and get a bucket and mop

***

And is always with you.

***

Potential Employer: Thanks for coming in. I had a chance to look at your resume this morning. It is very impressive.

Me: Thank you.

Narrator: But his heart sank, knowing that the words on that piece of 50% cotton bond paper--stolen from his current employer--were mere puffing at best and in many places pure fantasia and misdirection.

Potential Employer: [standing] Well, thank you.

***

Always.

***

Date: Oh wow.

Me: Yeah, I made dinner. I wanted this date to be special.

Narrator: He eyed her bared stomach hungrily, knowing that once he had bedded her, he would never call. Plus she didn’t know his real name anyway so there was no chance that she could ever track him down.

Me: Wait. I'm not like that.

Narrator: As she grabbed her coat from the bedroom--the dingy, spent bedroom--perhaps she would stop to get the phone number on the way out of an intelligent, employed man with a splendid vocabulary and great upper body strength.

***

Yes, my Narrator is the worst decision of my life. Worse than thinking it would impress a girl to eat cat food at a party. Worse than telling the French Exchange Student that I would meet her at a movie and then not going because I was scared. Worse than running a stop sign in front of Denny’s at 3 am in a car that wasn’t mine, without a license, with two drunken underage girls in the backseat.

I’ve tried firing my Narrator.

***

Me: This isn’t working. You have to leave.

Narrator: He said fruitlessly.

***

I’ve tried leaving my Narrator in the woods.

***

Me: I’m going to pull over here near this deserted church out here in the middle of the woods. Why don’t you stretch your legs a little?

Narrator: Perhaps he was a fool. Perhaps he was lying to himself. But he had yet to realize that he would never get what he wants. And if anyone was going to get his ass left in the woods, it would only be himself.

***

I even thought the unthinkable.

***

Me: [Holding the cup out nervously.] Would you like some tea?

Narrator: He said, trying to conceal the vulgar and murderous looking his eye. He then knew he had best watch his back that night. And every night after that.

***

Nothing worked. So I am just going to have to live with my stupid ass choice. I give up.

Narrator: I'm re-wrote the lyrics for the new LP. That's cool right?

Me: Yeah, go ahead.

Narrator: Great. I figure since I'm going to sing them, and solo over them and have some ladies over during the sessions--you know. I don't want to embarrass myself.

AP Fancon, Day 3: Glory Awaits

Greetings fellow disciples of Linas (and other Audubon Park Fans). Today we received the most glorious of news. Audubon Park is producing a complete LP worth of tunes. The Bat Demon Vireel shall now come before us and begin the new period of total reconciliation. I am giddy with the news. Linas has instructed us to place red cloth on our balconies to symbolize our willingness the enter the final realm.

Today we spent in reclusion and reflection to prepare ourselves for the great day. Naturally, after 12 hours of reflecting we were ready to dance. The gala has always been one of my favorite parts of the AP Fancon, and since it well may be the last we really shook it.


Hobart and Leslie get down to "Dance Music".




Sven Shipman and Sally Funpants do the "Nahm."



The Idaho delegation leads the "Runaway Train".

DJ Captain Von Fjordianslimsham


Koolaid for everyone!

Sorry, don't have much time to write much more. Preparations are many. Linas prophicied that AP would produce a full length album and when they had, the apocolypse would be at hand. He has drawn the most pure and loyal into the room 326. The unpure are visiting the Riverboats to go gambling, which Linas doesn't specifically object to, but when it's the apocolypse, come on people. I'm not quite sure why he won't let us watch any of the pay-per-view movies though if it is the apocolypse. I'd really like to see "Hitch" before I enter the 12th Sector of Garthanzia. Linas sent Gareb Houndtooth to the Wal-Mart to procure some sort strange device(pictured below). I think it's for the fireworks display tomorrow. More to come...?

AP Fancon 2005: Day Two: The Tiger Drives a Car

Salutations my fellow breathers of the air that is Audubon Park and Linas Coombs truth magic energy! Day two of the Fancon has yielded splendid and wonderful realities.

Day two of the glorious reign of Linas featured one of the traditional Fancon activities that were retained, the contests.

First up, the BATTLE OF THE BANDS EMULATING AUDUBON PARK WHILE PLAYING SONGS WRITTEN BY STING.

G.E. Pop and the New Street Band break their "Soul Cages."



The Sweaty Dishtowels play “Fortress Around Your Heart.”


The Everlasting Truth and Magic Power Beings featuring Linas Coombs won for their rendition of “Englishman in New York.”
Goober Spinoza demonstrating that “Love(Linas) is the Seventh Wave!”

Next up, the NON-SPECIFIC TALENT COMPETITION.


The judges are easily impressed.


Hall and Oates impersonators Oats and Hull were beheaded after their performance.


Toss Daughter were eliminated for using banned substances.

The winners, Peter and Jane Tackleberger(not pictured) for their self-flagellation in humble servitude to our loyal master.

And then it was time for everyone’s favorite, the MATT KALB LOOKALIKE CONTEST.

First runner up, Finn Howdy!.

The winner: Flem Hardsapple.

There was only one entry for the GUY WHO’S THE DRUMMER IN AUDUBON PARK BUT WE CAN’T REMEMBER HIS NAME, IT MIGHT BE BEN OR DANNY OR SOMETHING ELSE CONTEST:

Winner? Loser? PP!

After the “fun”, the AP faithful settled in for nine hours of lectures regarding the grandeur and majesty of Audubon Park and their selected prophet Linas the True.


The Radisson staff has requested we refrain from leaving turds in the pool. Please. No turds in the pool.

To be continued?....

Senator Mix-A-Lot called...

He's anxiously awaiting the backing tracks to his upcoming "comeback" album that Audubon Park recorded this weekend. Especially the beat for the first single, "Put 'Em On those Teenage Horses."

AP Fancon 2005, Day One: A New Day Awakens

Greetings Fellow Fans of the once and greatious Audubon Park(for all time),

I am here to celebrate and notify you of the many numerous things that were witnessed and beheld at the first day of the meeting of the 2005 Audubon Park Fancon 2005. Overall, a grand time was had by many and only a few were deemed unseemly.

Before the fun could get under the way, there were some administrative items that needed to be clarified. The corrupt and villainous regime of former Audubon Park Fanclub president Gordish Horton was quickly ended minutes after the opening gavel by a rising up of the truest and most pure fans of Audubon Park. Horton and his minions had lined their pockets with our blood, sweat and their $3.24 increase in membership dues, all the while keeping the true righteousness of AP hidden. The brave heart that shone the light on this toliet of darkness was the brillant Linas Coombs. For his acts of heroics, he was named new President and Glorious Keeper of the Park. I, Madame Sally-Lin Chin-Coombs, was named Party Secretary, replacing the treacherous P. Myrtle Hogglesmith. The date Aug 2nd, 2005 shall be considered for always as day one of the glorious reign of Linas the Great. The Radisson Quad City Plaza shall be a holy place for us all.


Our beloved Linas.

Most believers missed the shameful resistance of the dog like Horton to the will of the believers, as they were enjoying the lovely buffet provided by the Radisson. The baked spaghetti was joyous. Those who had the shrimp cocktail complained of food poisoning. Clearly the work of Hordonite sabotage. Dinner was not included in our package. Another vestige of the fallen regime.

Buffet Away!

The glorious Linas quickly scrapped the frivolous Hordonite schedule of activities and implemented a glorious regime of discipline, reflection and worship. The Radisson pool was quite adequate for our immortal Linas to baptize us as we are born into the true light of AP fandom.

Entering the pure light of AP fandom.

Linas, the teacher, the immortal, the swimmer.

Local 506 owner Glenn Boothe is welcomed into the AP brotherhood.

Just because the just and true Linas is the chosen, magical future of pure light and energy, doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a good time. He wrote and directed the AP players in the play, "Hordonite Backsliders Will Bathe in their Own Blood," which was enjoyed by all, as Linas commanded.

Act six: Gordish the lizard man rises.

Linas then commanded singing and lauging to end the night.

Singing, "Linas is the true and only dude!"

"Ha!"

The look of a true believer.

To be continued...

Keepin' it that way

Text of Note Found Crumpled on Side of Street

The saddest thing ever.

***

Hey [redacted]--

Hey little Boo, how your day. My doing fine. Well I need stop front and tell you the true. I really, really like you. I know I not your type, but something about you that I really like. I mean you Kool as White. You have beauty eye, and a sexy smile. I really like talking to you. I just want to tell. I know you don't have the same feeling. I might freak you out to hear. But I couldn't hide no more. So if you don't have a boy friend you not talking, how about we start talking, or me you hook up together. But you want a just to be friend then I understand. Well, that all I have to say. I talk to you later. By little Boo.

[redacted]

Scenes From a Detective Novel with Dialogue Composed Entirely from Rejection Letters I Have Received from Literary Magazines

It was the kind of night when the air was so heavy it felt like you were inside a dog. I was sitting at my desk. It was covered with coffee stained newspapers and ashes. I was staring out of the window into the starless night when there was a knock at my office door.

Without me saying anything, she came in. I knew from watching her turn the doorknob that someone would end up dead, or at least crying really hard.

She held out a picture of a man. I didn't even have to look at his mug. I knew what she wanted.

"I appreciate your interest," I said, "But am afraid that at this time, I'm going to have to pass."

***

As soon as she had closed the door to the seedy motel-room, she was on me like mold on tile. She took my hand and slid it over the cheap fabric of her dress. She had legs like a pale deer, shivering.

Our lips locked like two dogs on hot pavement. "This isn't right for us," she said as she devoured me.

I said, "While this isn't as terrible as I thought at first, I'm still afraid I can't--" but my voice trailed off.

***

My friend Lou--who owned the joint--brought another round to the table and asked if we needed anything else. I shook my head, looking at her ruined face in the dim light of the bar. "We're full for the foreseeable future. Thank you."

***

She held the letter up to the light. Through the wrinkles she got around her eyes when she squinted to read, I could see the young woman she once was. "This isn't what we are looking for," she said.

"Try again."

I pulled a photo from the box of a young woman with a child. I hand it to her. Her eyes got wide. "What the fuck is this!"

***

I pulled my gun and squeezed the trigger. Click. Nothing.

"Your piece doesn't quite work," the thug said with a snicker as she scurried away through the alley.

***

I told the antique dealer who my client was. He looked over the counter at me and I could see fear flit across his face like startled sheep. He got up, walked to the door and flipped the OPEN sign. "We are no longer in business," he said, and started to shuffle into the backroom.

I grabbed his arm and showed him the picture of the boy and his mother. "I can't give you specific feedback on this," he said, glancing around nervously. "But please feel free to try again at another time."

***

My back was against the fence, the barrel of the tough's pistol closer to my face than paint on lips. "As always, a nice try." He chuckled as he cocked the hammer.

My eyes, frantic, searched the darkness behind him for a way out, but I knew there was none. "I'm not sure what you are attempting here, but it doesn't seem to come together."

I tried to fast talk, but he cut me off. "I'm not interested in poetry. Only non-fiction."

***

I felt the words rushing from my mouth as I tried to explain everything had I found to her.

She says, "I am confused by the long section near the end. Nothing seems to hang together." She puts her hand to her forehead and I can tell she is about to faint. Then she begins to tell me everything I knew that she had been holding back.

I tell her, "Why don't you take some time to think about what you are trying to say."

***

Weeping she pointed the gun at his head. I pleaded with her, trying to get my voice through her tears. "This is not what we do."

She was shaking. "This is not right," she said and pulled the trigger.

I screamed, "No! No! No!"

***

As they carted out the bodies, the police sergeant put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry we took so long to respond."

It was ok. Sometimes you don't ever get a response.

Welcome New Affiliates!

America's Next Top Models

"We're an American band."

The name's Karl Rove, Jr. (no relation to the political figure) and I'm a rock journalist. I've been one for over two years so naturally I thought I'd seen it all. With this band, I got to see some of it again. They are called "America's Next Top Models" (no relation to the TV show or to the models) and for all appearances they are just another one of those offensive bands that aren't just liberal in their music and words, but even in one or two of their actions. This is still America, so I sat down to set them straight. I wasn't prepared for what I found. These are good people, no different than you or me or Jesus Christ. What a treat.

The following interview took place on July 4, 2005 just outside a planning meeting for the 2005 Commemoration Celebration of the 2004 Republican Convention.

KR, Jr.: I've noticed an almost political angle to some of what you do. Do you have something against the President?

Joyce: Oh, no. It's really all in good fun. We like to think of ourselves as a musical version of the Capitol Steps.

<>

[Editor's note: The Capitol Steps might be considered a musical version of the Capitol Steps.]

Anne: We help the audience to get into the political process, but to do so politely. We hand out campaign signs so they can have a fun, but polite, rally. "The laws of Men must bow before the Laws of Evan!"

Evan: "I'm Pro-Joyce!" (He wipes a tear from his eye, laughing at his own joke. This happened a number of times throughout the evening and I didn't bother to record them all).

KR, Jr.: You have a song called "Condaleezza." What whimsy! Is it about anyone real?

Anne: It's a tribute to the Secretary of State. I think the State in question is Wyoming. But it's also a tribute to all States, and most Secretaries.

Evan: Actually, the Secretary of State in this case is a national position, held by the person who sleeps with the President but if while that's happening the President gets a phone call from his wife the Vice-President is supposed to be all "Sorry, I think he's in a meeting." The Office is one of the few notable improvements in the third draft of the Articles of Confederation, AKA the Patrick Henry remix, which was mostly shoutouts and naming all these Virginian colonies so people would go "Oh shit, Williamsburg!"

Joyce: There are some people out there, like blackboxesvote.org or whatever her name is, who don't believe this Secretary was actually elected. We thought with all the controversy going 'round, and the negativism from all the negative nellies, she could use a pick-me-up. Maybe our song could be like a bouquet of flowers that picks you up. In fact, I call it a Makes-Me-Feel-Better Bouquet.

KR, Jr.: Well, nellyism is rampant in our country today, but I have to admit I don't know a single person who voted for her. And I have seen a lot of people's voting records. But let's move on. It's great that you covered "Born in the USA." Most people remember it from the 80s, when Bruce Springsteen wrote and performed it as an hilarious send up to Cheech Marin's moving "Born in East L.A." On repeated listens, I noticed some of the lyrics were different from either version. It got me thinking about memory loss because sometimes I can't remember the words to my favorite songs either. I hear drinking sodas from aluminum cans causes Alzheimer's, but then my buddy says the data isn't statistically significant. Evan's laughing, he knows where I'm going with this! Up high! [A high-five takes place]. I'm talking about the picture that goes with the song on MySpace--the one of W holding the megaphone--what's going on there? It looks pretty crazy!

Anne: That's a rather famous photo of him leading his squadron on maneuvers in New Haven. He was Captain of the Yale Yellers. They held back the evil tide of Communism by shouting "I see you there!" at any Viet Cong who set foot in Connecticut. The liberal media won't tell you, but they were 100% successful. There was never a single Vietnamese soldier in any part of New England during the entire conflict, whereas under Hanoi Kerry's watch the region he was assigned to was just crawling with them.

Joyce: Burn.

KR, Jr.: Good stuff. So, I know some of you have done some film work. Big deal.

(Collective silence)

KR, Jr.: ...and I noticed your silence was collective. But isn't the common silence's good best served by each individual working for his silence's best interest? I mean his or her silence's best interest, right ladies? [An awkward tap to Joyce's knee takes place].

Evan: I wholeheartedly agree. [A high-five takes place].

KR, Jr.: I understand you recorded recently, taking full WTO-style advantage of labor practices in Nepal. How was that?

Anne: It was really fun. They only have, like, three tracks in the whole country, but our engineer more than made up with it with his can-do spirit! He really responded to the beatings and even though he didn't get a break in more than 36 hours of "tracking," you could just tell that if he had had a watch he wouldn't have looked at it once.

Joyce: I used two different amps.

KR, Jr.: Another great song you have is this one that calls itself "Let's Hear it for Making A Tribute to the Oil." It's a valid point--it's always troops, troops, troops, but who's thinking of the oil?

Evan: Most definitely. We thought the message wasn't out there. And we thought, how can we get it out there? So you know what we did? We went and put it out there! [A high-five takes place, once it is clear nothing else will happen until it does].

Joyce: Although after "Union 2003" I've been way into hydrogen...



Joyce, of the band America's Next Top Models, is "way into hydrogen."

• America's Next Top Models can be found online at their space on MySpace. MySpace is a subsidiary of NewsCorp.


• The Capitol Steps, "the only group in America that attempts to be funnier than the Congress," can be found online at "www.capsteps.com". The site seemed to be down at the time this article was written (panic!) but hopefully the Steps will be back online soon and doing what they do best--making us smile and making us think about smiling about our wacky political scene!


• Call the President and tell him bang up job so far. His number is 202-456-1111. Note: the old lady who answers the phones is hard-of-hearing. Just yell from the moment you get a person and say "I gotta talk to the President!" Keep yelling no matter what.

Starkly

from the NATION SACK

What Happens When You Read "Return to the City of White Donkeys" While Terror Is in Your Face

For James Potato

"The time," the station speaker
was saying overhead, “is 6:18pm."
I opened the "Weekender" section to
check out movietimes. The guy
next to me on the platform,
covered in tiny checks and an
ID hanging around his neck on a chain,
was looking at movietimes too.
"Hey,” he said, motioning to his movietimes
and cocking an eyebrow. “Mine
are better, you should take a look
at these movietimes," though we were
holding the exact same copy.
"I'll trade you then," I said,
and snatched his copy from his hands
before he could agree. "You just fucked
yourself OVER" hissed through his teeth
as he snatched my copy of the Weekender,
just as I had done his.
"Wait,” I said. “Which copy did
you mean to take, mine or the one
I just took from you? Because I think
you just took my movietimes, which is strange,
since I thought you said your copy
is better?" Just then the kora player
began, plucking the instrument's
strings with both thumbs like weaving
two identical tiny quilts with the
joysticks of an arcade driving game,
using your thumbs to fire missiles and
clearing the cars from in front of you.
The man with my movietimes moved to give
the kora player some change.
"We can trade back, for real this time,"
I said to stop him. "I'll give you back your Weekender
movietimes if you promise to agree
that mine are as good as yours."
Silently agreeing, we slowly moved
the paper toward each other in a face-off,
my right hand moving toward his ribs and
his toward mine. Just before the moment of
hand-off we both froze, unconscious
as a Ouija board. He was looking at
me and spoke more steadily than before:
"I want to remember this moment." I said,
"The time is 6:20pm," and shrieking bells
tore through the tunnel.

=seBADoh=

This Friday is Sebadoh Day. Hooray!

The Smear Campaign Begins!

I just received this email in my personal email box:

To whom it may concern at the Tropic of Stupid or whatever:

I don't appreciate you attempting to drag my good name through the mud.

Your quote is not only out of context, it is complete bunk. I never named anybody.

I merely mentioned that Sandy Bjorkback's husband might be the torch marauder.

Mr. K. "you'll never pin anything on my ass" Rove

When will the smears, lies and tacticts end?

Mr. Rove says he first heard that the Torch Marauder was Dave Bjorkback from the "media (Trianglerock.com)." Novak confirms that Rove was his second source on the TM.

How high does this go?

ghost stories

ghost stories are the perfect thing to read on thunderstormy nights when dudes who are all about school prayer get nominated to the supreme court.* not that we'll necessarily have another night like that anytime soon, but here are some ghost story recommendations anyway.


--
* hey, do you law student types have any insights on this boringly-named guy?
also, i apologize for airing my political views on your blog!

NEWS FLASH

This just in off the AP News Wire:

Kentuckians eat junk food and are lazy. Will all die soon.

When will we stop being crushed by the onslaught of lies and distortions by the liberal media? I fully expect a long report on the mendacity of this whining bunch from B Martin Spiker by the end of the week.