Why the Jonas Brothers Fear the Whale (Google it)

‘The Ballad of Trenary Toast & Yellow Snow”
-- Shadow, 2008

Sudsy Hussein, there’s a ring to it. I like it. That’s why I’m giving Shadow a new last name. From now on she’s Shadow Hussein. My guru.

Shadow claims that God is the central conceit in one’s personal narrative, and since Dog is my co-pilot, I always listen. Kinda like Son of Sam. We create myths that mirror our preoccupations. If we dwell on anger, or worry, that emotional state, or attitude, becomes the main God in our self-created pantheon. One might assume people, events, goals, and regrets comprise the majority of our thoughts. This is a mistake precipitated by the error of conforming to the reigning paradigm. What really rules our lives, then, are emotional states of mind, attitudes like anger, envy, jealousy, possessiveness, love, freedom, truth and peace. That moment-to-moment contentment, to which we constantly strive to adjust ourselves, then becomes a matter of sustaining a disposition towards, say, love rather than anger. Or, as George Carlin would say, bullshit!

So I say to Shadow. Dog, why do we suffer? Why do people get tortured, contract cancers, get swept away in Tsunamis, have school on earthquake days, run out of Trenary toast, have to listen to Yanni, get dizzy, and generally lose their way? Dog says, because that’s in my plan. Say what? What kinda plan is that, you mangy cur? Next thing you’ll be wanting is rain for Blissfest. Blissfest? Why not call it March of the Mosquitos, or Fuckaroo, or Plaidbeardiganfest, and who do you have to blow in a kayak to get in that thing? Don’t look now, but we’re on the Eve of Pretension. They even hired the Spruce People. A couple a fellas I know were doing the FucKowie rain dance last night, trying to out juju the hoodoo man. They went so far as to steal the Hoodoo man’s carefully annotated NYT.

Speaking of amputated, FUBAR’s booked into BIIDStock for next year. At our practice last night we all chose which body part we’re getting rid of. It was unanimously decided that I didn’t need my hands. I better leave this alone. Seriously, I can’t wait to watch the dance contest. Something they call the Stump Jumpers Ball. Hunter Thompson’s gonna be there. He took his whole body out: “I find myself an appendage. I’m no longer necessary. I’m in the way”(NYT 6/29/08). I mean, some man at work who eats the cheese from down under longs to be paralyzed. Does wanting to die qualify as a case of BIIDS? I myself, have always wanted huge hemorroids, the kind that jingle-jangle at hoochie-coochie time. I’m talking big old rubbery fingered polyps that stand up like ball park brats on a rainy day. Say what? But wait a minute, that’s adding parts, not subtracting. Actually, I feel alienated from the middle toe on my left hand. I come from the Liverworst generation. Massage this.

So, Shadow Hussein, why does god allow suffering? Well, Master, three reasons: 1) suffering is a test of character that results in spiritual redemption. For instance, when you suffer excruciating thumbnail pain after eating truculent pistachios, the Man-Whore God is punishing you for drinking too much. Or say, when you’re the Magic Poetry man, and you convert to Catholicism, that circumcisional pain at losing your squid ring, or, if you’re Jewish, Shmuck, is redemptive. Your throbbing penile discomfort just got you into heaven, buddy!; 2) Suffering is punishment, ass-wipe. Remember that time you puked on me? That’s why god gave you cancer. And what about that electric shock collar? That’s at least worth a dose of unbearable anal pain, the red-hot Phillips-head up the ass feeling you know you love. And how about the time you put the cat in the dryer, she didn’t forget that. That’s why you couldn’t swallow, and talked like an idiotic neo-teenybopper with multiple tongue rings. I just sent our electronic bids press pack to Chemofest. Will everyone who took the brown acid please report to the infusion center. Shane, come back; 3) You silly-billy, suffering is a sign of god’s impending return, where she will vanquish evil and establish her kingdom of peace and harmony. At the last judgment, she’ll throw the Bushwacker into the big lake of fire, and restore all them dead babies he’s responsible for killing. I’m working on writing a song about it right now, “Season of the Chuckys.” Wait a cottin-pickin minute, you write songs, Shadow? Yes, I do. That’s why I’m changing my name from Shadow Hussein to Dog…I mean, Cat, Stevens.

That’s enough….

My sainted mother was in town over the weekend. She and my sister, Genea, were in attendance at FUBAR’s Top of the Park gig, after which we repaired to the Earle and had dinner with her grandchildren, Russ and Sarah. Russ’ upright bass playing was top drawer, and Ma also had the chance to talk with Sarah. This Friday, the 4th of July, FUBAR will be at the Heidelberg Club Above Happy Hour from 5:30-8:30. Because Andy and Oni will be vacationing up north, R.J. (Rick Jacobi) will be playing the guitar, and Kim French will be on bass. Jamming will commence. Then, next Sunday, George Bedard & the Kingpins close out the TOP. The following weekend, on Saturday, July 12th, FUBAR will be playing Legs Inn in beautiful downtown Cross Village. Not coincidentally, that Saturday falls on the same weekend that Blissfest holds sway. So come on up friends, and remember, be better to your neighbors and you’ll have better neighbors.

What else can I bore you, I mean myself, with? How about an electric drill (see FUBAR’s electronic BIIDS web-site)?