Things That Run

Have you ever felt like people don't take you seriously because you don't have a face? If the answer to this question is no, then I would be willing to bet that you, dear reader, are NOT a meteorite with a talent for playing the drums that fell to earth in order to become the crucial last third of the mystical power pop trio known as Evil Wiener. Chuck, on the other hand, fits this description perfectly and has in fact often felt a lack of respect due to his lack of a face.

In order to remedy this situation, Chuck, ever the problem solver, installed a faucet precisely where one would expect to see a nose. It looks killer too. It has improved Chuck's outlook immensely and we here at Evil Wiener HQ are very happy about it, and we know that you at home are too.

So, in order to celebrate Chuck's fantastic triumph, we would like for you to stop what you are doing and do the running man for five seconds. Go ahead, you know you look great when you do it...so give the world what it wants. Do the running man right now.

From His Royal Head

People are always talking about how the Polish Dime is the coolest section of town, so today we decided to go there. We were in luck, because the residents of the Polish Dime were celebrating the fact that their prince had just recieved his first hair cut. The first order of the party was for everyone to eat dinner four times. Following this we listened as the community elders told us the story of how the Polish Dime was originally an orphanage for squirrels, and then we ate dinner again. Once everyone was good and full, the prince himself had to free style a rap about what it was like to get his hair cut for the first time. The DJ kept the beat fresh and we spent the rest of the evening River Dancing. Man, the Polish Dime really is the coolest. Whoa.

Academy of Tears

A few days ago I began to feel rather flat. Smushed. Constricted. It all came to a head when I went to a nearby pond the other night. I was staring into the water when unanticipatedly there was a plop in the water as a bobber fell from the air into the water, making it ripple in uncannily structured patterns. The line from the bobber led up to the moon, which was a sickle shape. There was a boy sitting in the crescent dangling a fishing pole. Music started playing, I felt completely two dimensional, and I realized that this was the beginning of a major motion picture. So, I played my part, and I calcitrated posterior. I was so good that I won an Oscar. I was very excited about this until I realized that Oscar was crying.

"What's wrong lil pal" I asked.

"I need some clothes. Just because I'm a statue doesn't mean that I have no dignity" was his reply.

So, I took Oscar to the Wardrobe Wagon and hooked him up. He was so enamored with the affordable fashions that Wardrobe Wagon had to offer, that he ended up getting a job there.

Even though he was technically my oscar, I knew he'd be happier in the fashion industry than sitting on my mantle, so I bid him a fond adieux.

The Great Gummy Prophet

At approximately 3:17 (42 seconds) this afternoon, a prophet appeared before me and said;

"Be still my son. For by the end of this post ye shall have used the phrase "up in here" two and a half times, and say it not with any hint of an African American inflection. Speak with your own voice, my son, only with your own voice."

He then hailed a cab and headed out to Red Lobster for some fried clam strips.

Soon, Chuck came along with a shoe box full of gummy worms and asked if I could hold on to them. Now, as probably is the case with nearly anyone reading this blog, when you run into me at 3:20 (19 seconds) in the afternoon, you can bet that my arms are already full of gummy lunch packs. Being as this was the case, I balanced the shoe box on my head and headed on down the road where I ran into Groves who said;

"Hey Billy, do you have any gummy worms?"

"Yes" was my reply.

"Where are they?" asked Groves as he began eyeing the gummy treats in my hands.

"Up" I said rolling my eyes towards the shoe box on my head "Up, in here".

Groves quickly relieved me of the box and went on his merry way.

I then decided to change my name to Upin just as my cell phone rang. Naturally I answered it and said;

"Hello. Upin here."

It was my Great Uncle Reginald Sugarfix. Now, I haven't heard from him in about 5,672 years so naturally, I'm wondering what the Sam Hill is going on up in

An 8 Sided Die's Birthday Surprise

I woke up this morning in complete darkness and whenever I moved I heard a crackling sound that let me know that I was surrounded and dare I say constricted by some sort of paper. No sooner had I reached this conclusion than I heard the strains of happy birthday coming from the world beyond my tree pulp prison. And no sooner had I recognized this classic anthem of annual ascent than I heard a ripping sound and was nearly blinded by the deluge of light that poured over me.

I was then scooped up by a giant 8 sided die who immediately said: "No, not this one. This isn't what I wanted for my birthday.

I was then put into a rather large grocery bag and soon found myself on a shelf in a store with a price tag on me that said $62,146.

Luckily Chuck ventured along and had the cash on him to spring me from this mess and I'm very happy to be currently nestled in the Cave and am hoping that some Organic Huoshan Yellow Sprouting Tea will magically appear before me.

The Optometrist's Belt

Once a month or so, we all return to the magical rock quarry from which our band came. If you are the type of person that likes to understand anything to any degree at all, I would suggest that at this point you go back and read the first two posts to this blog, entitled "Evilution Part 1" and "Further Evilution". If, however, you are the type of person that can be content to know that Groves is a six foot plus bass playing catfish who lives in an aquarium in a cave with myself (Billy Sugarfix), a mouse, and a meteorite named Chuck who plays drums, then praytell, continue. We go to the quarry in order to collect some of its water to fill Groves' aquarium, so that he can live in as much comfort as possible.

On this particular trip Chuck, Groves, and I enlisted the help of Beatrice, a self propelled bicycle, who pulled a cart which housed a number of big glass jugs that we planned to put the water in. Groves also carried two of the glass jugs on his back as we trudged past the black ruins of Thrumcap and Coil's.

When we were about a mile from the quarry, we experienced an odd eclipse in which the constellation Orion came to life and stood in front of the sun. The stars from his belt sent down a beam that knocked the jugs from Groves' back and melted them. After accomplishing this, Orion stepped away from the sun, closed his eyes, bit his lower lip and raised the roof for several seconds before taking back his normal place in the sky. The melted jugs had an odd violet glow to them and lay in neat globs on the ground. It was a shame to leave them, but we had to continue.

As we approached the quarry we heard loud low pitched moans. As we got closer, it became obvious that something somewhere was crying.

"Great Books Online!!!" said Groves as he approached the edge of the quarry and looked with disbelief into it.

Chuck and I looked and saw, in the middle of the lake, a large serpentlike creature with a bulbous middle and prehistoric head.

"What's wrong yo?" asked Chuck.

The beast turned its hulking head towards us and spoke;

"Aye Laddies, 'tis much that's troublin' me indeed."

"Are you Irish" I asked.

The creature responded with a slew of words that I'm not really sure of, but from them I gathered that he was not Irish, but Scottish.

"Well" said Groves "Are you crying because people think you're Irish?"

"Noooo. Indeed I'm not. I'm cryin' because nobody believes in me anymore" said the beast as it unleashed another torrent of tears.

"Well, we believe in you" said Chuck.

"Yeah" said I.

"Darn tootin'" said Groves.

The monster squinted at us and said;

"Aye, and a fine day 'tis when the famed Loch Ness Monster must rise blubberin' to the surface of a rock quarry half way 'round the world from his home so that someone will believe in him. But I thank ye none the less laddies. Ye've made me feel a whole heap better. Now, if only me poor old eyes could see like they used to"

"You have problems seeing?" asked Groves.

"Aye" was the reply.

"I think I have an idea, said Groves, who hopped on Beatrice the Bicycle and sped off in the direction that we'd come from. In just under a minute, he returned with the melted glass that resulted from Orion's little prank. In no time at all we had used the materials in and around the quarry to fashion Nessie a pair of glasses using the odd violet glass as the lenses.

"'Tis though me eyes had been scrubbed clean o' the years" said Nessie "All the best to ye laddies. Ye'll let me know when ye're playin' then."

The famed monster then dove beneath the surface, and with renewed vision he made his way by some secret corridor back to the legendary Scottish lake.

Farewell My Funnel Cake

I was incredibly excited when I recieved an invitation to go to the birthday party of the pretty little funnel cake who I had first met at the rock quarry and who later came to see Evil Wiener play. I followed a handwritten map that led me through a forest of honeysuckle to a giant apple tree. All of the apples made a magical jingling sound when they shook, and just ten paces to the right of the tree was her house.

Oh what a party. The Funnel Cake met me at the door and introduced me to the tooth fairy , who kept threatening to tell us how all of the movies we ever wanted to see had ended. Also in attendance were at least seven smurfs, and a pig in a cheerleader's outfit along with various unidentifiable sprites and a talking kitten who was interested in performance art.

Soon, the party dwindled, but the funnel cake did not. She took me on a journey into a world of hypnotic sounds and bright colors that lasted for 605 days. We ate popsicles made of frozen orange juice and honey. We made movies. We sang songs. We read stories to eachother.

Finally the Funnel Cake said she had to go. I wanted to ask her why, but instead I just watched as she disappeared behind the swingset from my childhood home.

Tell her hello if you see her. She will smile at you and make you feel really good about yourself.

South of Lake Constance

Groves finally returned from China with enough Won Ton soup to feed a small country. So, without delay, we all hopped on Chuck's stilts and headed for Liechtenstein and had a big ole soup party. In Liechtenstien the Macarena is just catching on, which is cool as Chuck never learned how to do it, but not cool because Chuck is a meteorite and thus has no arms or legs. But, Chuck never ceases to amaze anyone and came through like a champ. He did the Macarena for like three and a half days before we returned home. Chuck liked the citizens of Liechtenstein so much that he decided to let them have his stilts, which will always guide their walker to secret stashes of soup located at all points of the Universe.

In return they gave Chuck a lawn mower engine, three coaxial cables, a pair of glasses, a VW Quantum Door Handle, a fresh air intake kit, five double claw clamp ISO flanges, a bag of seawood cookies, and a clock radio.

Our Subterranean Nether World

I'm sorry I have been neglecting to write in this blog. It has been raining like crazy, and there was a bit of a flood. It flowed into the cave where I live and managed to pick up my inflatable mattress and propel it deeper into the cave than I ever would have thought was even possible. The flood emptied my bed and I into an underground river and then I discovered that Nosferatu had also been swept into the flood and was hanging onto the side of the mattress. His words lit up the endless pitch dark of our subterranean nether world and said:

"Will you give me a ride to the core of the Earth?"

I did, of course, and I'd have to say he's a much better travel companion than you'd think. He talked the entire time, which was great, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to see. Not that I really needed to. The stream, according to Nosferatu, led right to the core of the earth, and the mattress was essentially unmaneuverable.

When we reached the earth's center Nosferatu, without flashing a word, jumped off of the mattress and flung himself into the giant ball of fire. Huge flaming letters shot from the burning sphere and spelled out the word "OUCH". The letters illuminated the sunken kingdom at the Earth's Center and Nosferatu shot from the core and was bright white with blue and orange flames raging from his back. He plunged into the underground river and the water began to steam. He threw himself against the mattress and it burst open. The air from the mattress reacted with the flames on Nosferatu's back and propelled us like a rocket to the front room of the cave.

Once there, Nosferatu leaped behind the bar and into the screen of the television. It turns out, his movie was scheduled to play at 8, so he just barely made it in time.

Broth from the Heavens

The UPS man showed up early this morning with a package for Chuck-who had no memory of ordering anything from anyone-but promptly opened the package anyway. Beneath the brown paper, was a colorful box displaying these words:

"Telescoping Soup Stilts. Perform death defying stunts while making sure that you never go hungry again."

It took our friend Chuck no time whatsoever to liberate the contents of the box, which were rectangular flourescent grey things made of some substance never before experienced by yours truly. They extended and collapsed as the name "telescoping" would imply.

We took these new marvels outside, and soon Chuck was far above the ground walking on the stilts. He informed us that he was going around the block, and soon returned with a piping hot bowl of Smoked Chicken with Roasted Corn Chowder.

"I looked up in a tree and there it was, resting on a limb. Steaming and delicious. There was even a spoon and a napkin with it."

Without hesitating, yours truly jumped on the stilts and before I knew it I was looking down at the street. Groves and Chuck seemed so small. I could see the tops of buildings, and on top of an especially attractive ranch house, I found a nice mug of split-pea gumbo (no onions).

Groves had the next turn. He said he was going for some genuine chinese won-ton action. He got on the stilts and took off like NASA's Mars Polar Lander spacecraft and we haven't seen him since.

Tell him I said hi if you run into him.

Kudos from the Sea

Beatrice, a self propelled bicycle (manufactured back in the day-literally) came rolling up to the street this afternoon after having watched Facts of Life reruns with a dugong (yes, we thought they were extinct too) at the bottom of the ocean. She could tell I was impressed.

"Oh, but that's nothing" She said.

"Really" I replied.

"I mean, yeah, it's cool and all, but get this: I met this pirate and he told me about a toothpick that could sing any song he could name."

A part of me was sad to be reminded of the Singing Toothpick™-which of course is/was my invention. The problem with creating things like Singing Toothpicks™ is that once they start doin their thang they develop such a taste for it that they run away to seek their own fortunes, which is what happened in this case. The other part of me, however, was happy that my creation was making such a name for itself.

I really wish I could remember how I made that thing.

(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)(¡!)

After a hearty breakfast of roquefort and cashew butter tartare- Groves, Chuck and I decided to take our music in another direction. Instead of "rocking' we decided to "doilie". And we would have done it too, but then we discovered that during the night, someone had put the entire cave in parenthesis.

"I smell Thrumcap and Coil" said Groves.

Now, for those of you who are new to the surreal o rama, you may want to know that Thrumcap and Coil are dastardly spumekits who owned rock clubs that refused the gracious offer to be the first venues to house Evil Wiener and paid dearly for it-only to try and foil us by tying our pictures to the railroad tracks.

Needless to say, they failed, and what they were trying to accomplish by putting the cave in parenthesis one can only guess. Chuck, whose expansive knowledge of grammer rivals that of any queen or duchess used his Strunk and Whiteout™ to remove said punctuation marks and replaced them with exclamation points-the first of which was upside down and in front of the cave, the second being right side up behind the cave. This, of course derived from the language known chiefly as "Spanish".

Wouldn't you know that the San Luis Obispo Vocal Arts Ensemble all showed up for dinner. They were all the way cool! We've got some leftovers too. Hungry?

The Microscopic Messengers' Request

I've been trying for a while now to figure out how to make avocados more attractive. This seems like it would be a relatively simple task, but every time I start to do it something major happens. Today, for instance, I had just gotten started when these tiny airplanes that appeared to be made of tin foil came buzzing into the cave. They flew in some pretty rad formations for a while and then began circling above Groves' aquarium, where he was trying to nap. One of the planes sprouted a loud speaker and asked Groves if he'd like to come and be the king of a very prominent planet in an uncharted galaxy. Groves considered it, bu† bailed on the idea because we had band rehearsal that afternoon. That Groves, he is one dedicated catfish.

Add infinitum to a gumball and you've got trouble

Did you know that you can grow saltines in caves? Mr. Mouse has a whole garden full of them, which is great because saltines are all that Nosferatu eats now that he's given up blood. I like Nosferatu just fine despite his drinking problem-hey, we all have our weaknesses. Take Chuck, our drummer for instance-he's a great guy but he cannot resist those little machines that have stickers and toys and candy in them. You know, the ones that sit in the entrances to grocery stores. The wierd part of it is, that he doesn't actually stick the stickers on anything, nor does he bounce the superballs or display the glow in the dark aliens. Chuck has discovered a way to use these machines to travel back in time precisely one hour. He manages to get away with it because when the hour is up he simply opts not to use the machines as time travel devices again and thus the owner/manager of the grocery/drug/convenience store is never any the wiser. Chuck wastes a lot of time this way. I wonder if we should have an intervention?

Failed Flight Tastes Right

Today, I gave my mini-disc player to a little bird named Delila that couldn't fly south for the winter because of an orthodontist appointment. She was very grateful and told me that I could have her retainer in return for the MDP. The retainer melted in my front pocket and spelled the word "grapefruit" on my undershirt, so I guess I know what I'm having for breakfast tomorrow. Would you like some?

Bargains from the World Beyond

After waving goodbye to Jackfruit and Santa, Groves found some rubber bands on the sidewalk and decided to start making a ball out of them. Chuck was into the idea and began canvasing door to door asking for donations. He collected roughly 2,536,498,632,154,783 of them. The three of us then fashioned the ball and Yours Truly was the first to bounce it. Up, up, and up it went. When it came back, it had a note from a guy named Incongruous Johnathan who lives on Pluto and owns a shop that sells mini-disc players. He wanted to know if one of us wanted to buy one.

Well, I'd been wanting a mini-disc player, so I hopped on the rubber band ball and bounced up to Pluto. Boy, was it cold. Incongruous Johnathan gave me a whale of a deal on the player.

Dilatory Icons of Winter

Our eyes quickly adjusted to this spectacle, and it was plain to see that these were not just your average flying animals, but were indeed the famed flying reindeer of the North Pole-and that they were pulling a sleigh which was inhabited by the Big Man in Red.

Before I personally even had a chance to really fathom what was happening, Jackfruit and all of his comrades began to fly towards the sleigh, as though some kind of vacuum were sucking them up. They landed neatly in Santa’s bag.

Mr. Claus bellowed out his signature Ho Ho Ho and sped away with his new load of green oblong African fruit.

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.

YOURS TRULY WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE TO JACKFRUIT AND ALL OF HIS FRIENDS FOR MAKING THE COMMON MISTAKE OF REFERRING TO THEM AS HEDGE APPLES. I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER. HONEST.

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.

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.