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Friday, December 31, 2004

Hooves Above

There was an awkard moment of silence following this proclomation by Jackfruit. During the quiet time-either Chuck, Groves, or Jackfruit cut the cheese. I couldn’t tell who did it, but I know that it sure as turtle shells wasn’t me. Once the smell had wafted onward-the odd, oblong fruit known as Jack, spoke again.

“My fallen brothers and I are what people here call “Hedge Apples”. In some parts of the world we are even called “Zombie Eggs”. Although these titles are common, they are incorrect. I can assure you that we are neither reddish fruits that grow on trees, nor are we the unfertilized shelled yolks of the undead. In actuality, we are from Africa...

Just then, a sound like that of a retired jewelry salesman imitating a rustly fog horn by way of a jack hammer came from above us. We looked up and saw a sky filled with flying animals.


Thursday, December 23, 2004

Jackfruit's Journey

We went outside to look for the Singing Toothpick™ and found that Hedge Apples were falling out of the sky like some mutant green hale. Their corpses looked like those giant green things you put on your hands to make it look as though you have the fists of the incredible hulk, and were much the same color too.

“Oh what shall become of the mulberry family” they all said with their last breaths as they lie dying on the sidewalk and street outside of Mouse’s Cave.

“Jeeepers” said Chuck.

“Whoa” said Groves.

“Crazy” said yours truly.

“The Mulberries will live forever” said a voice that belonged to none of us three and had henceforth never been heard by the Catfish, the Meteor or myself.

We all looked over to see that one among these three foot long, 100 pound pieces of green fruit that looked like an egg with its shell gone soft, was still moving.

“Are you ok” said Groves.

“No, I’m not ok, I’ve just mysteriously fallen from the sky. I am, however, known as Jackfruit and am considerably glad to make your acquaintance” was the Jackfruit’s reply.

“I can relate. Believe me, I can relate.” Said Chuck with a knowing look on his face.

“Yup, I hit pretty hard, and I thought I was a goner until I heard that little toothpick sing. Man, that was the best rendition of “Sister Christian” I’ve ever heard. Why, I think that little Singing Toothpick™ saved my life. “ said the strange fruit known as Jack.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Sonic Tooth

Chuck, looking quite satisfied with his dental hygiene, placed the Singing Toothpick™ on the bar.

“So, you think you can sing any song I can name?” Asked Groves.

“Indeed” said the Toothpick.

“How about ‘Sonic Reducer’” said Groves.

The toothpick reared back and belted out such a great version of this punk classic that my hair spiked itself. Groves leapt from his aquarium, and then he,Chuck and yours truly began slam dancing.

After this, and at Chuck’s request, the Toothpick brought it down a notch with a right on version of “Tiny Bubbles”.

Although we’d just awakened, all three of us were lulled back to sleep. 256 days later, we woke up again to find the singing toothpick gone.

Monday, December 13, 2004

This Most Gifted Splinter

I awoke the next morning a bit later than usual, and simultaneously saw/heard that Chuck had discovered the Singing Toothpick™ I’d invented (see Flutter and Squeak) .

“So, what do you think of my latest invention?” I asked.

“It’s more killer than a Rhino on an anthill” responded Chuck. He then raised this most gifted splinter to his mouth and the sounds of Flashdance (What a Feeling) echoed inside his mouth as the remains of his last meal were scraped away from his rocky enamel.

“What’s all the racket?” Said Groves as he peered above the meniscus of the giant aquarium that housed him.

Chuck began to reply, but before the words could leave his mouth, the toothpick ceased its singing and said:

“I, sir, am a singing toothpick. I can sing any tune that you can name, and I can also free the most stubborn of food particles from your teeth.”

A wave of pride that could destroy all of Hawaii were it an actual wave in the ocean swept over me.

“That’s muh boy” I said.

Sunday, December 12, 2004

A Silent Star's Sing-A-Long

“It’s good to see you smiling” said Groves.

The world went black, words appeared, you know the routine;

“I always smile when I think about the kooky hyjinx of Tootie, Blair, Joe, and Natalie”.

“And don’t forget Ms. Garrett” chimed in Mr. Mouse.

Nosferatu’s words again dominated the room and said;

“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life....the facts of life...

Right on cue, Mr. Mouse chirped;

“When the boys you used to hate, you date, it’s time that you investigate
the facts of life, the facts of life...

Something stirred inside, and before I knew it, all of us were singing as though angels had prompted us;

“When the world never seems, to be living up to your dreams. Suddenly you’re finding out the facts of life are all about you......

I broke down in tears under the weight of the moment-and these sobs of joy, like sirens, lured me to sleep.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

The Americanization Of Miko

Nosferatu looked at each of us, then to the floor. He took a deep breath and then began crying uncontrolably.

“Loosen up” said Chuck.

“Relax” said yours truly

“Don’t do it” said Mr. Mouse.

“Mellow out” said Groves.

The world went black again, and we read these words;

“How can I expect you to understand the pain that I feel”

“Now listen bub” said Mr. Mouse. “You think being a vampire is tough, try being a mouse. ‘Would you like some cheese? Mr. Mouse? Why are elephants scared of you Mr. Mouse?’ Sometimes just thinking about the dumb things some morons will say is enough to make my floating ribs hurt.”

Nosferatu stopped crying, looked up, the world went black, and we saw these words;

“You mean a sort of achy feeling? Right near the sternum?”

“Yeah.” said Mr. Mouse “Exactly. And the only thing that’ll relieve the pain is to watch “Facts of Life” reruns.

“You like that show?” said the white words on the black screen that appeared whenever Nosferatu opened his mouth.

“Are ceilometers  self-contained, ground-based, active, remote-sensing devices designed to measure cloud-base height at up to three levels and also potential backscatter signals by aerosols?” replied Mr. Mouse.

This time, the words were larger than sousaphones and simpler than salt;

“Yes. Ceilometers  ARE self-contained, ground-based, active, remote-sensing devices designed to measure cloud-base height at up to three levels and also potential backscatter signals by aerosols.”

Thunder clapped outside as Nosferatu smiled.

Friday, December 10, 2004

A Legend Befriended

“You really shouldn’t mess with that stuff” said Mr. Mouse to Nosferatu.

“Users are losers” said Groves.

“And at your age, your old heart just can’t take it” added Chuck.

“Let this be a lesson to you.” said yours truly.

The world went black and these words appeared;

“I know. I know it’s bad. But I used to be able to stay up all night. I would carouse, chase virgins, and feast!!!! But now, I just can’t make it past four o’clock. I’m not as young as I used to be”

“Well then” said Groves “You need to accept where you are in life. Drugs are not the answer”.

Again, we experienced total blackness, and these words;

“But it’s not easy being a vampire. All those negative stereotypes that are so outdated. ‘Can you turn into a bat Mr. Orlok? Do you howl at the moon?’ Fools. Closed minded idiots. Sure, I did some things back in the eighteenth century that I’m not too proud of. But those were different times. I’m a completely different person now. I like playing Tetris, making Prank Phone Calls, grooving to Ambient Dance Music. But does anyone know that? No. They shy from me because they are afraid I’ll suck their blood and turn them into immortal beings sworn to all things evil. All I want are friends that will accept me for who I am, and see beyond age old prejudices such as these”

“Well, you can count on us” said Groves.

“Yeah” said I.

“Darn Tootin’ “ said Mr. Mouse.

Chuck, who was still lying on the ground next to the wall at which he had been flung only moments earlier by Count Orlock, looked hesitantly at all of us.

“Awwwww, what the heck.” He said with a rocky smile.

Monday, December 06, 2004

Chuck and Orlock's Dance of Daunt

“Hey, none of that in my bar/home” said Mr. Mouse as Nosferatu sniffed away at his white powder.

Groves leapt up and out of his aquarium, landing to the right of Nosferatu. Chuck rolled over and flanked him on the left.

“I’m sorry sir, but we’ll have to ask you to leave” said Chuck.

Nosferatu hissed as he turned and lifted Chuck above his head. He growled and prepared to propel the meteor against the wall of the cave. As his arms began to move forward to make the throw- the ancient, hairless, man stopped. His eyes grew large with surprise as he dropped Chuck and clutched his chest.

Mr. Mouse lept from behind the bar and performed Reiki on the decrepit old body of Nosferatu. Soon he was better and sat in a stunned state on the floor of the cave.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

The Fanged Snowman

We all looked at Nosferatu, and Mr. Mouse said;

“Hey. Mr. Orlok. Good to see you again, but I’m afraid we’re closed”.

Nosferatu lifted his hand, and the whole world around all of us turned into a black screen which displayed these words;

“I realize that it's late. But surely you wouldn’t deny a new friend a drink or two.”

After a few moments the screen disappeared and Mouse said;

“I’m sorry. It’s after two. I can’t serve any more alcohol.”

Again, the world went black and we saw these words;

“Laws. Rules. What are they good for? If you will not permit me but one of your Monty Python Holy Ails, I shall have to take matters into my own accord.”

When the black screen disappeared, we saw that Nosferatu was bent over the bar, inhaling white powder.

Monday, September 06, 2004

Flutter and Squeak

We didn’t get much sleep last night , but still, yours truly got up this morning as soon as the rooster rang the doorbell to the cave. I spent most of the morning working out a patent for my Singing Toothpick™. I spent the afternoon trying to sell a few big corporations on the idea, (and I will say that I got a few nibbles! Yes indeed I did! You’ll probably personally OWN your very own Singing Toothpick™ by the end of the week.) I spent the evening mastering the art of Tunisian Plastic Sphere Printing.

When I got back to the Cave-Groves and Chuck were doing magic tricks. They made an elevator appear that would take people to Fergus Falls, Minnesota. They turned a 16-pc. Garden Tool Set (with Case) into a DeLonghi Digital Convection Toaster Oven.

Later, a group of sabrewing hummingbirds came in and hosted a tongue twister contest, which Chuck won!!!! They gave him an all expense paid ten second vacation to the United States Library of Congress in Washington D.C. When he got back, things were winding down. The hummingbirds soon bid us a fond farewell and told us to email them if and when our band played again.

When the last hummingbird had gone, Mr. Mouse said;

“Ah well, guess I’d better close up.”

But then we heard a spectral squeal projecting from the end of the bar. We all looked over and saw the black clad, skin headed figure of Nosferatu settling down onto a stool and nestling the bar as if it were a kitten.

Funny, but I don’t remember him coming in.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

Interlude in Black

As the last of the Mounties disappeared into the fax machine- Chuck, Groves, Mr. Mouse and yours truly all looked at each other and said goodnight.

Mr. Mouse went off to his bedroom as did Groves to his aquarium. Chuck opted to sleep outside.

I found a remote corner and performed a set of movements that a hermit crab from Jupiter once taught me. The result of this dance is that one shrinks to a very small size-which I did in order to fit into an empty raisin box-becuase there’s something about raisin boxes that makes me have really good dreams-this time out I dreamed that I was given the task of teaching Rin Tin Tin the Hustle.

Unbeknownst to all of us- there was another inhabitant in the cave.
Deep down in the darkest recess of the subterranean tunnel, Nosferatu was closing the lid to his coffin.

Monday, August 02, 2004

The Cyber Cavalry's Venture down the Islets of Langerhans

The Canadian Mounties appeared to be only mildly stunned by their odd transension through space and matter. They all looked at eachother, did a little tap step with their boots, and said in perfect unison; “Lord ‘tunderin’ Jesus. What’s the problem eh?”

“We’ll explain on the way” said Burgoo King Jr.

The mounties did what they do best- mount. In slightly less than three seconds, all of the red clad do gooders had jumped on the horses and made it nearly a quarter of a mile in the direction of the railroad tressle. Mr. Mouse, Groves, Chuck, Nosferatu, and yours truly all did the robot and threw confetti made from recycled hats like the one little debbie used to wear as a send off.

For the next 56.8 minutes, I endured the aches that came to my furcula, glenoid, and islets of langerhans; while Chuck and Groves moaned; Mr. Mouse fretted; the University of Vermont Equestrian Team snored- and Nosferatu drank. At the end of the 56.8 minutes the Mounties and Horses returned.

“We’ve got some good news and some bad news eh” said the Captain of the Mounties.

“Do continue” Said Chuck.

“Well, we like, got the pictures. So ya woont be hurtin’ anymore eh. They aint much ta look at after gettin’ run over by the trains, but we got ‘em”

“So, what’s the bad news ?” asked Groves.

“Oh, well, we like, got the pictures, but we didn’t get a ‘drat’ or a ‘curses’ or a ‘foiled again’ from any of the folks that tied the pictures to the track, eh”

“So, does this mean we can expect more trouble from Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Admantine in the future?” I asked.

“’Fraid sooo” said the Mounty Captain.

“Oh well” said Groves “At least my nasal barbels and adipose fins don’t hurt anymore”

So, we gave each of the mountys a wheat penny, a North Carolina quarter, and watched as they skipped into the fax machine-then took off to the Great White North.

We then turned our attention to the University of Vermont Equestrian team and their high-tech horses. To each member of the team, we gave an electric pogo stick-and to each horse we gave a package of Passion Fruit Waffle flavored tick tacks and a Theremin. It was the least we could do for these four legged wonderbeings -who had managed to solve our latest problem through their knowledge of sophisticated communication techniques.

Saturday, July 31, 2004

Caper and Careen my little Machine

By the time the horses had connected their laptop to Mr. Mouse’s modem and set up their fax machine, most of the audience had left, with the exception of Nosferatu, who just couldn’t get enough of the Monty Python Holy Ail that Mr. Mouse served up ice cold. The University of Vermont Equestrian team had all fallen asleep on the floor of the cave, while Groves, Chuck and I endured the pain produced whenever our photographs were trampled by the trains, which made their way over distant tracks, completely unaware that they were being used by three dirty dogs named Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Admantine to foil what was to be the very first Evil Wiener gig.

“Eureka!!!” Said Burgoo King Jr, the thoroughbred horse who was in the midst of masterminding a plan to relieve us from the agonizing burden produced whenever a train ran over our pictures.

“Arcata!!!” said Dust Commander III, who had just I.M.ed his cousin in Whitehorse.

“Do we have contact?” Asked Burgoo King Jr.

“We have contact.” said Dust Commander III

“Commence with Operation Tele-Dudley in X minus 3,2,1.....

Just then, the fax machine leapt into the air, did a somersault, and landed on the floor. In a squeaky, robotic, voice the fax machine screamed “Cowabunga”, then proceeded to shake its lower backside-what essentially amounted to its booty. Salmon colored sparks began to fly from the top of the machine as it shook, wiggled, shuffled and spun. A brume of chartreuse smoke shot from a slot in the spinning machine. It enveloped the entire room and smelled like two mangos making love. When the fog had cleared a Canadian Mounty in full regalia stood before us. This process repeated itself 8 more times.

Horse Sense

It was no use trying to continue. Every time I started to strum my guitar, my astragalocalcaneum would jolt, and I would fall down. Chuck howled as the crystal structure of his minerals constricted. Groves caterwauled as only a catfish can. We all looked bemoaningly at the balloons filled with watermelon seeds that we had prepared for our grand finale- knowing that this grand finale would never come. I cried like a ladylux ergonomically designed soft touch dual spray faucet with fingertip controls.

The audience stared at us as we contorted under the burden of the trains that were running over our photographs, which had been tied to the tracks by Adamantine, Thrum-Cap, and Coil-the three brutish rock club owners who would/will stop at nothing to undermine the career of Evil Wiener.

Mr. Mouse, the owner of the cave in which we played, turned to the Indian Flying Fox who had delivered the news of Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Adamantine’s latest dastardly deed.

“Is there nothing we can do to help bring an end to this tragedy?” asked Mr. Mouse.

“Probably not in time for them to finish their gig” said the Indian Flying Fox.

“Dogone it.” said a Peahen who was sitting at the bar, “I really wanted to get my Rock on”.

“Oh well. I guess we’d better head back to Vermont” said the captain of the University of Vermont Equestrian Team.

Just then, one of the equestrian team’s horses piped up; “Wait a second. I think I know how we can help.”

We all looked at the horse, and then to the Captain of the Equestrian team, who said; “Burgoo King Jr. here is one of our best horses, if he says he can help, then we should hear him out.”

Burgoo King Jr. didn’t wait for any response, but instead turned to another horse and said; “Dust Commander III, is your cousin still up in Whitehorse?”

“Yup” said Dust Commander III.

“And Kauai Queen, do you have your laptop on you?” said Burgoo King Jr.

“Yup” said Kauai Queen, pulling a G-4 power book out of her saddlebag.

“Mr. Mouse. What kind of internet connection do you have?” asked Burgoo King Jr.

“DSL Light” responded Mr. Mouse.

The horses all whinnied in disapproval.

“Hey, Man. I live in a cave!!! Whattaya expect?” said Mr. Mouse.

“Don’t fret lil’ pal” said Burgoo King Jr. “We’ll make due. Do you have faxing capabilities?”

Mr. Mouse shook his head from side to side in a sheepish manner.

“No worries, Lucky Dancer, are you packin’?” Another horse, whose mane had been trimmed in a manner that resembled a mohawk, winked as he whipped out a very sophisticated looking fax machine.

We all looked at each other, wondering what the horses had up their saddle bags.

Friday, July 30, 2004

Ma Po Popliteal

By the time Captain Lepus had made his way to the bar- a self propelled bicycle, a generation gap, and another mouse had ambled into the Cave. By the time we were ready to play, the place was full of all kinds of folks;

Nosferatu was chatting with Maureen McCormick. The Thompson twins were playing rock, paper, scissors against the University of Vermont Equestrian Team, whose horses were drinking Blue Sky All Natural Soda and flirting with a group of peahens. Fred and George Wesley were playing pinball. Benji was making eyes at Stitch.

Even with all the commotion in the room, I noticed the funnel cake with green eyes that I’d last seen next to the mystical rock quarry from which I got my guitar. She was standing in the back making a marionette do an East Coast Swing dance.

Three of my teeth fell out, which is a sure sign that I’m nervous. But I used silly putty to stick them back in place and said;

“Hi everybody, we’re Evil Wiener”

We launched into our set, and Chuck’s drums sounded like a gigantic cotton candy machine with cool pictures of kangaroos playing soccer on it. Groves’ bass controlled the weather, and even though it was nearly eleven pm, he made the sun shine in the Cave. We were seriously skating over the frozen sea of effulgence, and everyone there knew it. Then, suddenly, the bass stopped and the sun ceased to shine.

“Ouch” Said Groves.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“It’s my trigeminal nerve foramen, it hurts like crazy, and AAAAAAAAAAGH!!! Now my Suspensorium-V. Heeeeeeeeelp!!!!!

Just as I was wondering what to do, I felt an aciculate pain in my xiphoid process, and another in my patella.

I hollered out and then realized that Chuck, too , had joined Groves and myself in this most agonizing endeavor.

Just then an Indian Flying Fox swooped into the cave, landed on the bar and said;

“Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine have taken the Evil Wiener pictures and tied them to the railroad tracks. So now, whenever a train comes along, Chuck, Groves, or Billy are going to be in for some serious discomfort”

The crowd let out a mutual gasp, as my popliteal vein throbbed mercilessly under the weight of a distant train.

Foil the Foilers

Groves, Chuck, Mr. Mouse, and yours truly, Billy Sugarfix- put up 5,845,396 photographs to advertise our show at Mr. Mouse’s cave. When we got done we were tireder than narcoleptic box turtles.

We went to the cave, where Groves, the six foot plus bass playing catfish took a nice nap in the giant aquarium that used to house Mr. Mouse’s pet electric eel.

Chuck, the meteorite who fell to earth to play drums in Evil Wiener (our power-pop alternative indy post punk marathon of a band), and I filled balloons with water melon seeds to prepare for the show. We had filled up 4,857,685 balloons when three men wearing black cloaks, stove pipe hats, and sporting handle bar mustaches entered the bar. They approached the bar, confronted Mr. Mouse and said;

“You must pay the rent” The voices revealed to us that these three men were none other than Thrum-Cap, Coil, and Adamantine.

“No fuzz off my peaches” said Mr. Mouse as he handed them a Cream Colored Bali Hai Duvet lavished with lace. He paused for a moment then produced a copy of the lease, which stated that Mr. Mouse was obligated to provide one (1) Cream Colored Bali Hai Duvet lavished with lace per month in order to inhabit the premises.

The three dastardly villains winced, but then Adamantine reached into his cloak and produced the 5,845,396 photos we had posted to advertise our show.

“Ha Ha Take This!!” Said Adamantine.

“No one will come to your show. They have no way of knowing about it” Said Thrum-Cap.

“I got my hair cut by a grasshopper and boy are my arms tired” Said Coil.

We all looked at each other in desperation. What could we say? Finally we’d gotten a gig, and this trio of callous caitiffs had bollixed our chances of getting an audience.

I was just about to say “Gee-Whiz” and burst into tears when I heard a buzzing, swishing, spinning sound coming from outside. We all ran out of the Cave where we were stunned by the sight of a rocket that looked just like a giant carrot. As it was landing, a voice boomed from some speakers in the ship saying;

“Ladies and Gentlemen, does and hares, do not be alarmed. The flying carrot that you see before you is none other than the revered Beta-Kerotene, as piloted by the fabulous Captain Lepus...”

The doors to the rocket ship then swung open and eighty three different colors of smoke shot out of it until finally there appeared a silver clad rabbit with goggles and a cell phone.

I didn’t mean to eve’s drop, but I heard him speaking into the phone and saying;

“Peter, baby, my main man, whattaya mean where am I? I’m at the Evil Wiener show. Isn’t everybody?”

Mr. Mouse, Chuck, Groves, and myself all looked at each other in disbelief. Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine were not happy. Not at all.

The sleek rabbit from outer space hopped up to me and said;

“Mr. Sugarfix, I presume”

“Why, yes sir” I replied.

“Captain Lepus, intergalactic star hopper, at your service”

“But...but... how’d you know about the show? Thrum-cap, Coil, and Adamantine took down all of our photo advertisements.”

“Billy, baby, I read your blog on the internet.” said Captain Lepus.

I knew that this thing was worth doing.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

The Noble Rodent's Vision

“Bo Jo(u)” said Chuck, as he rolled up to the curb.

“Hail” said Groves, as he took a long slog from a bottle of quarry water.

“Acknowledgments all around” I said “I’d like to introduce you to my new friend, Mr. Mouse.”

Mr. Mouse jumped up onto the sidewalk and did four backflips. He then spun around, dropped to the ground, did the worm for eighteen and a half minutes, turned a sommersault, came out of it and spun on his head, walked on his hands for another eighteen and a half minutes, turned invisible, reappeared on the other side of the street, bounced back across on his tail, and said;

“Mr. Mouse is my sobriquet
I live downtown in a bona fide cave”

“Wowsers” said Groves.

“How did you know to stop at exactly eighteen and a half minutes?” asked Chuck.

“Chuck, baby, this isn’t about me. This is about Evil Wiener, my cave, big party. I got more connections than the internet. I’m seein’ stars. Three of ‘em. Whattaya say fellas? Are you in?”

Chuck and Groves looked at eachother, then at me.

“Does this mean...” said Groves.

“...That we have a gig” said Chuck.

“It sure as Christian Dior Extase Sunglasses with Lilac Lenses does” I said.

“That’s the mettle” said Mr. Mouse “So, let’s get right on this. Think advertising, getting the word out, shmoozing, networking. I can see billboards and skywriting in the future, but for now, let’s take a grass roots approach to things.”

Mr. Mouse reached up and pulled a poloroid camera out from behind my ear. It was wierd. I didn’t feel a thing! He snapped a picture of us, and while we were waiting for it to develop he reached up again, and this time pulled a sharpie brand magic marker from behind one of Groves’ whiskers.

“Mondo-cool” said Groves.

“Grape-fruit like” said Chuck (Chuck really likes Grapefruit)

Mr. Mouse wrote; “Come See Evil Wiener at the Cave” on the picture and hung it on a kiosk.

The four of us then walked from kiosk to kiosk, and at each one Mr. Mouse would take another picture, write on it, and then hang it up to advertise our big show.

Several times I noticed men in black capes, top-hats, and handle bar moustaches looming in the shadows around the kiosks, but I didn’t think anything of it.

Heart Like an Eel

Before we had gone too far down the street, Chuck said;

“I’m hungry”

Groves said;

“I sure would like to jump into a pond or something”.

“Say” said Chuck “Why don’t we look around for a place where we could eat, and maybe get a hotel room with a big bathtub for Groves”

“Gee” I said “I don’t think we have enough money for that.”

“Darn” said Chuck.

“Shucks” said Groves.

I gave Chuck and Groves the last bit of dough that I had and told them to go and at least get a snack somewhere. I then sat on the curb and felt lower than the toilet in the basement of hell.

“You look sad” said a squeaky voice. I turned around and saw a mouse.

“I am sad” I replied.

“That’s ok.” said the mouse “So am I”

He came and sat on the curb next to me and said;

“Why are you sad?”

“I am sad because our Rock and Roll band can’t get any gigs because no one likes my singing. How about you?”

“I am sad because my pet died”

“What kind of a pet was it?” I asked.

“It was a giant electric eel. What is the name of your band?”

“Evil Wiener”

“Evil Wiener? Say, aren’t you the guys who trashed Thrum-Cap and Coil’s? And then drank all of the lemonade at Admantine’s Rock and Roll Lemonade Stand?”


“YEEEEHAW!!!” said the mouse “Those jerks have had it coming for years. I wouldn’t feel bad about what they think. They wouldn’t know real Rock and Roll if it moved into their socks and played cards with their toes. To me, good music isn’t about good singing. It’s more about swimming in rock quarries, talking catfish, meteorites, and magical events that turn normal everyday creatures and objects into musicians. That’s where I’m comin’ from.”

The mouse paused for a moment and then said;

“Saaaaaaaay. I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you guys come play at my place? I live in a cave that’s right down town. Having a rock band to party with might make me less lonesome for my recently departed pet, the giant electric eel.”

I felt like a multicolored balloon with a hologram inside it. It was finally happening!!! A gig for Evil Wiener!!!! Then, I had an idea of my own.

“Why, yes, Mr. Mouse. We’d love to play your Cave. But first, let me ask you. Can you pay us a thousand bucks each? JUST KIDDING. JUST KIDDING. What I really wanted to ask, is, what kind of aquarium did you have for your eel?

“A large freshwater aquarium” said Mr. Mouse.

“Would it be big enough for, say, a six foot three catfish wearing sweat pants and a tuxedo jacket?” I asked.

“I should say so” replied Mr. Mouse.

The future looked brighter than a solar panel on the Palace of Apollo.

Saturday, June 19, 2004

Revenge of the Lemonade

On the way to the next town, Groves the bass playing catfish stopped and drank some of the water we had collected from the rock quarry. As long as he had a steady supply of it, he seemed quite content being a fish out of water. As he sipped, I turned to Chuck, a meteorite, and our band’s drummer, and said;

“Boy, you sure showed those two nincompoops. That’ll teach them to mess with Evil Wiener”

“Darn Tootin” said Chuck, who was still shedding clouds of smoke following his little trip out of our atmosphere.

“Yeah” said Groves, between sips of water “Evil Wiener is the most malleable rock and roll band the milky way galaxy has ever experienced. I just know we’ll get a gig in the next town.”

Before long, we came to a town and found a place with a big sign that said;

“Admantine’s Rock and Roll Lemonade Stand”

Chuck, Groves, and yours truly went into the building where we were met by Admantine.

“Hello Mr. Admantine. We are Evil Wiener and we have come to indeed rock. Perhaps after hearing a sample of our music, you will permit us to perform at your club.”

Mr. Admantine rolled up his pant leg and began drawing a map of Iowa on his knee with a sharpie. “This had better be good” he said.

Groves produced his bass and started us off by playing notes so low that there aren’t even names for them. Chuck joined right in, adding a beat like that of asteroids colliding. Then, it was my turn. I strummed my magical guitar, and the notes flowed like soda from a fountain. Our sound floated about the room, and for a moment I felt as though I were floating with it- and then began to sing my latest ode to a funnel cake.

Mr. Admantine cut off the power to the stage and said; “Peeeeeeeee Yew!!!! You sing like a polar bear that has been shrunk to the size of a shoe lace and dipped in a bottle of V-8 Vegetable Juice Cocktail. How dare you waste my time.”

As quickly as he had begun the song, Groves abandoned his bass and jumped behind the bar and drank every drop from every bottle, can, and cup in the club.

“My lemonade!!!!” Said Mr. Admantine. “Whatever shall I do without my lemonade.” He then called the police, who showed up as quick as you can say; “Hey, is that my tofu-burrito or are you just washing your magazine rack with jelly bean polish.”

“What seems to be the problem here” said the Police Officer.

“These jerks drank all my lemonade, now I have nothing to sell to my rock and roll customers. Arrest them. Put them in jail!”

“Which one of you drank the lemonade” asked the officer. Groves stepped forward.

“Hmmmm” said the officer. “I don't’ think we have the proper facilities to house a prisoner such as this. By the way, is that a bass guitar you have?”

“It sure is” said Groves. “Would you like to play it?”

“Don’t mind if I do” said the Police Officer.

Mr. Admantine was as mad as an ostrich with buck teeth. “WHAT ABOUT MY LEMONADE!!!! I CAN’T HAVE A CONCERT HERE TONIGHT IF THERE IS NO LEMONADE TO SELL”

“You should have thought of that before you made fun of our singer” said Groves.

“Yeah” said Chuck.

The police officer put down the bass and looked with disbelief at Mr. Admantine.

“You, sir, are disgusting. How dare you impede the path of a young rock and roll band such as this. Why I oughta.....

“Take it easy officer” said Chuck “This man is just misguided. He doesn’t understand the true meaning of rock and roll.”

“Perhaps you’re right” said the Police Officer “I guess I’ll be on my way”

Chuck, Groves, and I followed him through the exit door. I thought about sticking out my tongue at Mr. Admantine, but then I remembered what my Mother always said;

“Billy, if you ever get the chance, you should put some Grape-Nehi on the stove for a while and drink it warm. It’s really not too bad.”

“Thanks Maw” I said to myself as Chuck, Groves and I headed down the street, still searching for our first gig.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Song of the Meteorite

Song of the Meteorite

We practiced for a long time yesterday. Chuck, the drumming meteorite-and Groves, the bass playing Catfish (who wears sweat pants and a tuxedo jacket), are now without a doubt the most capable rhythm section in the history of rock music. My guitar playing sounds great because my guitar is magic and plays by itself. My voice, though not magic, is proving that it is a decent vehicle for the delivery of the lyrics that come to me mysteriously every time I think of the funnel cake that I last saw by the edge of the quarry yesterday.

This morning, I decided that Groves, Chuck, and I were ready to take our act on the road. So, we filled some jugs of water for Groves, picked up our instruments and headed down the the ole pike. We hadn’t walked too long when we came to a town with a great big building that had a sign which said “Thrum-Cap and Coil’s: Live Rock and Roll Every Night”. Chuck, Groves and I all turned somersaults in unison when we saw it.

We went inside and were met by Mr. Thrum-Cap and Mr. Coil.

“Hello” I said. “We are a rock and roll band and couldn’t help noticing your sign outside. We thought that since we are in a rock and roll band, and that your establishment features live rock and roll, that we might be able to play rock and roll live at your club.

The two men looked at each other.

“Ok” said Coil, “Let’s hear what ya got”

Chuck quickly lit into his skins and Groves wasn’t too far behind him, laying down a groove like the ones in those old slot car race tracks. I joined in and began singing.

Mr. Thrum-Cap plunged his fingers in his ears, then pointed at us and laughed. Mr. Coil signaled for us to stop playing.

“Boy, you can’t sing worth the price of a paper clip. And I don’t mean no box of paper clips neither. I mean just one. One of them little ones.” said Mr. Coil

“Get out of our club” Said Mr. Thrum-cap. “Your singing smells like a rotten avocado microwaved in vinegar”.

The two continued to point at us and laugh. I looked at Groves, and then turned to look at Chuck, but he was gone. I then noticed that he had jumped up and gone through the roof.

“What the hey” Said Mr. Coil

“Y’all are gonna pay to fix that there hole” Said Mr. Thrum-Cap.

At this point we all heard a faint whistling sound that grew louder and louder until there was a giant


As Chuck, the meteorite, came bursting through the roof -on fire and certainly not happy with Mr. Thrum-Cap and Mr. Coil.

Chuck landed with another KERBAMMMOWAMMMOBLOOMOPOW!!!!!!!

After the explosion all you could see was smoke, and when it all cleared, any fool could see that Thrum-Cap and Coil’s was completely demolished.

“That’ll teach you to make fun of our singer.” Said Chuck.

“Yeah” said Groves.

The police and the fire truck came. It took a while to put out the fire.

“Arrest this Man” Said Mr. Coil, pointing to Chuck.

“That’s not a man, that’s a meteor” Said the police officer. “ I can’t arrest a meteor. Besides, I heard that you were making fun of the way this fellow sings. That’s not very nice. If anybody should be arrested, it’s you.”

We played a tune for the nice police officer, and he complimented our music with some nice break dance moves.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Trouble at Lake Wiener

After about nine and two fifths hours of non-stop rock- Chuck, Groves and I took a breather.

"Gosh, my voice is tired" I said. "It's hard to sing without a microphone."

"What are you complaining about" said Groves "I haven't been in the water for nine and two fiftsh hours, I can barely breathe."

"Yeah" said Chuck "I don't even have any arms and I have to play drums"

"But I have to sing and play the guitar at the same time. And without a microphone I have to yell really loud to be heard over you two" I said.

"Ooooooooooooooooooh wook at the widdle singewsongwitew. ‘My voice hurts. Wahhhh Wahhhhh.’" Taunted Chuck.

We then heard a splash as Groves jumped in the water and returned with two funnel cakes. He gave one to Chuck. They both looked at me as they sniffed and ogled their tasty fried treats.

More than one can play this game, I thought as I plunged my hands into my pocket and whipped out a rainbow flavored sno-cone.

"Mmmmmm Mmmmm" I said. "Nothing like a nice sno-cone to cool you down on a hot summer day"

Chuck and Groves looked sadly at their funnel cakes and then enviously at my sno-cone.

"Say Billy" Said Groves, "You wouldn't happen to have another sno-cone for your old pal Groves would you."

"Well, I just might" I said.

"How 'bout I trade you some of my funnel cake for one" Said Groves.

"How about I give you each a sno-cone after we rock out some more"

"Deal" Said Groves.

"Ditto" Said Chuck.

"Hey guys, I'm sorry I was complaining earlier." I said.

"No problem" said Groves.

"Yeah" added Chuck "Sorry we gave the business like we did."

"It's forgotten, now who's ready to kick the oil out of the olive"

"Me!!" said Groves.

"Hooray!!!" said Chuck.

So, we cranked it up and began to mesmerize the world around us with our own original brand of power pop. I couldn't help noticing that the untouched funnel cake that lay next to Chuck had pretty green eyes.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Further Evilution

With guitar in hand I returned to the quarry the other day. I was hoping to get another glimpse of the mysterious hand that had appeared earlier in the week and given me the magic guitar. To be honest, I was hoping that would become a regular thing. I could make a killing selling vintage guitars on ebay-and with the magic thing thrown in...whoa.

Well, there was no go on the free axe front. I waited two days with no sign of the hand. I decided to go fishing.

I didn't have any worms to use for bait, so I just tied an old 45 of "Surfin' Bird" to the end of the line and tossed it in the water.

Right away I hooked into the biggest cat fish you've ever seen. Man, if you think you’ve ever seen a catfish bigger than this, than you must be mixing too much ben gay in with your nasal spray. You’ve never seen a whopper like this. I’ll bet you a herd of giraffes against a bobby pin that you haven’t. Not only was it big, but it was wearing sweat pants and a tuxedo jacket. I started to ask it what its name was , but just then a big meteor came out of the sky and landed right on the fish's tummy. The fish unleashed a robust cough that echoed like a three thousand ambulances taken down about thirty octaves. As the behemoth sound roared forth from the fish, a bass guitar shot from its stomach. When it hit the ground, there was a big explosion that turned a small rock formation into a drum set.

As though guided by the ghosts of rock legends, we took up our instruments and began to jam. The catfish on bass, the meteor on drums, and yours truly on guitar.

"What are your names?" I asked.

"Groves" said the Fish.

"Chuck" said the meteor.

We decided to name the band after my third cousin, hence the name Evil Wiener.

Wanna hear us? That’s what links are for!!!

Sunday, June 06, 2004

Evilution Pt 1

The Evilution of Planet Earth's Most Important Trio Pt 1

One day I went swimming at an old abandoned rock quarry that had filled up with rain water. I was all set to jump off the side when I noticed a ripple in the water. At first I thought it was a genuine 100% form fitting temperupedic mattress with twin pillows and a quarter inch quilted comforter/cover. But it wasn't. It was an arm. A human arm. It came up fist first out of the water and threw the goat.

All of a sudden the wind started blowing really hard. The arm plunged back underneath the quarry's miniscus and soon resurfaced holding a raspberry '74 Vintage Telecaster Custom (made in the USA for the Fender guitar company). Six bolts of lightning sprung from the heavens and struck each tuning head on the guitar’s neck. A raspberry laser shot from the instrument’s pickup and struck me in the forehead. The guitar then began playing by itself. It was a gnarly groove. Gosh I wish you could have heard it. You would have freaked. Whoa.

So anyway the wind blew me off of the side of the quarry and into the water. That very same wind whipped across the surface of the erstewhile lake and propelled me like a porpoise (not a dolphin, a porpoise, dude) towards the arm. When I got to it, I grabbed the guitar and started whaling out some killer riffs a la Dale (you know, Dale, from Chip and Dale, the cartoon... did you know that after he quit Disney he became one of the most highly respected under water guitar players in the history of all music? Well, he most dogone sure did!).

I soon found myself flying through the air, axe at the ready, still kicking out the jams. I landed on the shore of the quarry and gave a three and a half hour long concert for all the animals in and around the lake. A bunch of deer were moshing. A dragonfly was pissed off because the beavers never leave tips at the bar. But everyone was digging on the music.

Little did they know that I was only one third of the musical force that would ultimately re-align planet earth to an orbit of free mouth wash and good will.

Hear What This Trio ended up sounding like after recruiting musicians from all over the universe to join the noble cause of setting Earth back on its rightful path at: