Archive for the Rants Category

Darby Crash, You’re My Hero

Posted in Rants on January 14, 2016 by dissectingthefetalpig

Let’s get it very clear. I have a drug problem. I would like to lie about that, honestly. I may not totally admit it. But I’ve definitely got one and pretty much always had one.  But I’ll always admit that life is better when you’re fucked up. It’s not to say I do drugs all the time. It ain’t that bad. But I’m always down to do them and when I’m not on them I certainly miss them.

Though I’ve steered from some of the more serious shit like Crack or Heroin, I can’t say I haven’t always avoided the hard stuff. I guess I started the whole thing ass backwards. I was doing shrooms and acid before I was sipping whiskey and, sadly, I most definitely was doing lines of coke before I discovered the wonders of marijuana.

Go big or go the fuck home.

I didn’t mind pills, but they were never my thing. I’ll admit they are fun, but I consider them a good consolation prize to an injury. Or, the perks of living fast. No percocette jokes there folks. That shit will kill me. I got an allergy to codeine.

I even enjoyed making bad narcotic decisions. Though those were also special occasions and usually controlled experiments. I mean who doesn’t want to drink a forty of Old Gold with your buddies in a parking lot one high school afternoon after donating blood to later eat a tab of ecstasy and a 10 strip of LSD? Or smoke a bowl of weed while tripping on shrooms, get a couple of beers in, nurse a 20 bag of coke, enjoy a snack spread and do fun stuff like play video games or movies  for the first few hours to only later to get weird and queue up some self depreciating level of porn and masturbate while huffing poppers till you pass out in your bed cock in hand on your first day off in weeks. Both, coincidentally, were weeknights. Decades went between.

Like I said, it ain’t that bad.

It ain’t that often either. Except booze. That was a constant, sadly. If there is truth to anything I write, ever, it’s that alcohol is the biggest gateway drug known to man. Coke was another bad habit that I picked up and it would come and go in phases. Late teens and again from my mid to late 30’s. While it is a fun drug, and many of my adventures involved it, it’s most definitely an asshole drug. If you doubt me, think of the type of people you’ve met while doing it or perusing for a minute and get back to me. Or even take a second to think of the shit you’ve said, thought or done while on it.

Shame on you too, motherfucker.

Pot was discovered later in life. I always hated that my friends scrambled around looking for it when we were supposed to be doing other shit. Regrettably, I wish I had started smoking the stuff earlier. I probably wouldn’t have done half the shit I’ve done if I had been toking earlier in life. I like it a lot and it has a medicinal value that applies well to me. It was what I had been looking for all along. It’s probably my last vice.

I never was one to go too balls deep, though I didn’t fuck around either. I never borrowed money to do it or compromised my bills. Though I can’t say the same for my savings. That doesn’t mean I would say no if you were treating either. I always maintained an ethic of trying to be as generous as my friends with anything I ever had. Unless my extinction agenda was set to high. Then it was best to let me play my hand through and let me cash out when I damn well please. I kept a budget. Or I’d sell some of the fat off my record collection to sustain it. I mean, what good is a record collection is it ain’t gonna get you money, pussy or drugs anyways?


The Reluctant Nose Goblin That Refused To Leave Home

Posted in Rants with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig
010-A Conversation with the Nose GoblinsOnce there was a young nose goblin who feared the outdoors. When pressured to leave he would say “What for? It’s comfy here. Why shall I go forth? It’s dreary and gloomy. The people hate us so!  They bind us in tissue and toss us in trash. They flush us in toilets and wipe us on sleeves. They fling us on strangers and claim that we carry disease. There’s nothing out there for me, I’ll stay, if you please.”
Great gusts of winds and large fleshy probes would could not pry this goblin from his big comfy nose. No matter the struggle, he never gave in. No matter the cost, the goblin would win. He was rooted deep in the depths within. In the thicket of nose hairs far from where any finger could reach.
“I’ll leave when I’m ready! I’ll leave when I please! I leave when I feel like it, no matter your pleas. This is my home born and raised and I’ll remain here till my last dying day. My time is short lived, regardless the course, so deal with the discomfort. My life span is sparse. I’ll vacate the premise when I’m dull and I’ve withered. I’ll go out with a bang, not like a slug and slither.” And with the outside he never did mingle. Till he gave up the fight and dropped down like a tired old shingle.

Better Luck Next Time

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Rants with tags , , , , on November 10, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

They say “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” as an uplifting statement when you’ve had a brush with death or when you’ve had an accident. Maybe even when you’ve just gone through a raw ordeal. It makes perfect sense. The more incidents that occur, the keener you get (hopefully) and you try not to repeat any mistakes.

I, on the other hand, say “Better luck next time”. I figure the Grim Reaper is getting pretty fed up with my wily antics and last minute get-a-ways, so I encourage him to try a little harder. I’d hate for him to get mad at me and take it personal. When I take shit personally I have a tendency to hurt the other person more. It’s a normal human reaction. So it makes perfect sense to show some encouragement and hope that your retirement package is something lavish and glorious rather than something slow and painful.

It’s simple math really:

Dying in bed banging a beautiful woman >; Dying from dysentery in the middle of a desert.


Having a mediocre life, heavy in debt due to lack of insurance, the wife stopped loving you years ago and your kids want to cash in on insurance as cancer ravages your body and you pray for death to come quickly <; Going down in a hail of bullets after a heroic battle that changed the course of history because, although you are about to die, you somehow managed to save the world and people are going to name their babies after your amazing ass.

What would be even worse is if death got frustrated and gave up on you. You outfox him and live forever. That would seem ideal at first. But you get to watch everything and everyone you love die. Your body may betray you or you sustain a serious injury that you may have to live with for an eternity. Imagine being in an accident that cuts you in half and you have to spend forever with no legs. Or the world blows up and you float in space forever like a lost meteor. These are terrible scenarios I never want to experience. Which is more reason to encourage death to practice and put me in a first class coffin.


Posted in Rants on May 9, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Walls are specifically designed to keep unwanted elements from coming in or out of an area.  Much like a cage at the zoo, it keeps people from harassing whatever wildlife that is being kept and it keeps said wildlife from attacking the families at the zoo.  It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Which is why it always would amaze me when people would give me shit for putting a wall up between my emotions and them.  Obviously people who put up emotional barriers don’t like being hurt and so they throw this wall up as a way to protect them…. Sometimes that invisible wall is put up to prevent hurting anyone too.  No one ever gets that.  Life is funny that way.


The Magician’s String

Posted in Rants on April 19, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Not too long ago a friend and I were bumbling around town looking for something to do.  We decide to eat at a tourist trap of a joint and consume some rather savory, yet totally unhealthy food.  As per my usual, I decide to load the touchtones jukebox with some of the worst songs known to man.  There’s just something about watching the other patron’s faces go sour in mid bite when 4 Non Blondes starts blaring loudly overhead that makes my burger taste that much better.

Upon leaving ye old sud shack a young artist has set up camp and is doing elaborate paintings with spray cans.  He has his own sound system and light show, complete with semi cute girls acting as assistants and auctioneers.  My friend, who is a brilliant artist in his own right was fascinated with what was going on and so we took a minute to watch.  I explain to my friend that the artist sprays on layers of aerosol paint and then with utensils peels away layers or carves into the paint to give it the desired effect.  It’s a rather simple technique once you have the formula laid out.  I’ve seen these tricks before.

When I used to work in Chinatown I used to see a guy do similar work.  All of these quick paintings with similar stylings cranked out one after the other and put up for sale for tourists and locals alike.  I would stand and take a few minutes each day to watch and figure out his technique.  Taking time to see if I could find the magician’s string and tear apart the magic of what he was doing was rather simple.  In turn, the artist was clocking me.  He’d notice me and watch me watching him.  We’d both exchange a civil nod of acknowledgement.  Eventually it would be time for me to scamper off to my next job like a dutiful little drone and the cycle would begin anew each weekday, 7:15 PM EST.

What bothered me the most is that this street artist was mainly doing portraits of the World Trade Center and this was in the very wake of 911.  I found that to be semi tasteless, also considering that this gentleman was British.  It just didn’t sit right with me.  I never thought that my disapproval showed, but he seemed to notice.  One day he takes a moment and looks up at me and says ” I bet you listen to a lot of punk and oi!”, which I nodded and said yes.  He asks if I have a compilation called “Strength Thru Oi!”, to which I again said yes.  He grins and says he’s in one of the photos standing next to members of a particular band on there.  The next morning before I begin my commute to work I rifle through my records and sure enough, there he is. Albeit much younger.

There we are again after my shift finishes, our silent exchange begins as per the usual.  He looks up and asks if I had found him.  “Yup, right where you said you’d be”, I say.  He then asks if I like any 2 Tone era ska.  “Some, not too much”, was my answer.  “I bet you’ve probably got a copy of Madness’s ‘One Step Beyond in your collection?”, he grins.  “Yup.  Let me guess, you’re in that album too?”, I volley back.  He laughs and says “Yeah, two or three pics over from Belinda Carlise’s tits on the insert!”  He then looks up at me and says the following:

“Look, I know what you’re thinking.  Here is some limey cashing in on a tragedy.  I get it.  But really, all I am selling is memories.  And that’s not a bad thing now is it?  People come and go wanting to remember what was there and not think about what has happened.  I can’t blame them either.  Sure, I’m hustling for money, and I am sure you’ve figured out how to do what I do and in time, you could probably do a million of these yourself.  But it’s honest work and I’m no vulture.  Honestly.  And you and I probably have more in common than you’d think.”

And that was the magic trick right there.  This whole time I am paying attention to the paintings he is making.  Trying to figure out how it is done like some cocky asshole trying to find the ball in a game of cups and I over look the real magic.  He had read me.  He had clocked me and figured me out faster than I him with a minimal exchange of words.  It’s a simple ordinary magic practiced by street hustlers on a daily basis.  So base and primal that it is easily over looked.  Even now, some 14 years later I have to tip my hat and applaud him.

And for the record, he can be found on the insert a few pictures over from Belinda Carlisle’s tits.

Parents Are Liars

Posted in Rants, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 12, 2011 by dissectingthefetalpig

Let’s face it and simply admit that our parents lied to us. I know for fact mine did. Hell, they still do. Here are a few common lies that pretty much every parent has dropped on their kids for better or for worse

You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up:

In theory, yes you can be whatever you want if you really try. But that little harmless morale booster doesn’t quite tell you the fine print. Like if you told your quadriplegic kid he could be an athlete some fine day if they really wanted to… That’s not a complete lie. They have the Special Olympics for people who want to challenge their disabilities and overcome personal barriers. It’s a good thing. But what if that kid wants to get more specific and be a swimmer? A quadriplegic can’t swim! Float, sure. But never swim. Let’s even go so far to add the hope of a medical or scientific breakthrough. Even if they found a way to fix your broken kid tomorrow, your child may never ever receive treatment. Shame on you lying parent, shame on you!

Or let’s say your kid wants to grow up and be the next Hitler? Do you really want to encourage that? Seriously folks, shoot your kids straight. Your child sometimes shouldn’t be encouraged to be whatever they want.

I will always be proud of you, no matter what:

That’s just bullshit right there. Wait till your kid is strung out on drugs because they had their dreams crushed and do animal porn. Will you as a parent be proud of your kid then? You should be, it’s your fault. Your the one that lied and said they could be whatever they wanted. It never happened and it sent them on a spiral. Great parenting asshole, keep up the good work!

However, I will say this, there are some lies that parents say everyday that actually work. For example:

We’re not poor, just broke:

I heard this a lot as a child and when I look back I know full and well we were fucking poor. But it left the parties involved with some dignity and it was very encouraging. As an adult when I find myself at a financial rock bottom I know that this will pass. I am not poor, I am just a little skint on money at the moment. I’ll check myself and totally understand why my pop would pull that line on me now. It made me appreciate what I had and taught me the value of a dollar.

It’ll be alright:

I don’t even have kids and I use this lie all the time. No-one has anyway of knowing the out come of anything, not even Walter Mercado. But, at the same time, it might just be alright. If you get your ass in gear or look at the broader picture you’ll see how things may actually pan out. Even if you are terminally ill and dying; it’ll still be alright. It’ll be over in time and everything will work itself out. The getting from Point A to Point B may not be fun, but that’s OK. It will be alright.


Posted in Rants on August 20, 2011 by dissectingthefetalpig

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