I AM SICK IN LOVE WITH THE WOMEN OF THE MOSS PROBLEM

by Darius Smith

Editor's Note:
This article was delivered to me by a bike messenger wearing a T-shirt with that Pynchon Trystero muted horn symbol on it (making me suspect he worked for some kind of post-post underground postage courier) as I made room for cream in my morning Venti brewed house roast at the Starbucks on Beverly and La Cienega. Handwritten with what seems to be a piece of coal on margins of discarded newspaper, I found it necessary to type it up myself — so Mr. Smith will forgive me if I have made any mistakes — and I withhold his usual fee. —Anthony Franciosa, 2012

Heather Prescott—true Queen of England and future Empress of New India. A full-kit rock'n'roll drummer and former L.A. studio whiz kid, she is now plotting her next move in New Zealand. Pay heed, kids.

What do I know about Tiffany Richardson? Well, she carries Flowers of Evil with her wherever she goes for the past three years (she is 22). Also, she is the premiere visual artist of the Western Hemisphere, and the finest performance artist worldwide. A quick example of her third towering ability, her sometimes kind, sometimes devastating wit: "We loved you until you were a success. When you were a has-been we loved you again (some of us) even more. When you died, when we played your songs, we died a little in a happy way and you were reborn, every time." Actually, I suppose this isn't "wit," only an excerpt from a paper (!) letter, including envelope and stamp.

Who is Monica Todd? She is a mystery girl, a Girl Scout, a Marine squad leader, librarian, and mad poet. Currently Secret Queen of America, in love with the modern world and at war with the modern world, Monica is a go-go Eighties Anti-Christ, and my favorite person who ever lived.

Sybilka "Eye-Witness" Storie is everywhere I look, as a model for a Supergirl comic book, her face on an acne treatment box for ten years, lately is seeing everything as for the first time, becoming alternately exuberant and deeply despondent all day every day—so she bought a camera so to have a little more control over what she sees for now—in the end she will control an entire Empire. If she even dared to learn guitar and voice she would soon command an Empire of Sight and Sound.

My Tonya Shelley:  Born a White Goddess in Central Africa, sometime suburban punk, sometime street punk, sometime gutter punk, Miss Shelley currently plays a feisty, aggressive, sometime drunk skate punk on a Russian comedy-drama called Every Young Superstar You Could Imagine. Of course they are all unknowns on the show, but yes, the actors all command a forceful style, especially Tonya, and it would be a crime against humanity if Miss Shelley doesn't become a worldwide star. Not that she really cares….

Here's all I know about Heather Dameron: she successfully revived The Popular Front in 2000 and now tens of millions of Americans are secret communists. They wait only for Miss Dameron's signal to crush the U.S. Government. It should take ten minutes. She said it's OK to admit that The Moss Problem is a key part of the Popular Front, all the better to admit it now when it comes across as just another joke. But, reader, realize this:  Heather Dameron is the only child of Miss January 1962. Her father is JFK. So there.

There Was Never Just One

August 2012. A mysterious man walks into the town of Easthampton, which is today the site of thriving metropolis New York City as Los Angeles, moist and identified with modern-day Connecticut. The story is based on games and goals of Sandusky heaving chairs on the joggle beaches. In this recalling, starring Marlinspike Tuber, Lord Jeff, and Sangrias Monk Lyman, the blob line incident is experienced by a deadpan resurgence in 19th century boatmanship, whither in the land of Sou’wester Kola, visiting the freed body on the Beach Shoppe. Raves Sou’wester, the proprietor of the Olden Shoppe, is frosted while grilling seated Van Camp’s Pork and Beans. The sparrow cockroach and the heavy fishing line matador rig incidents that eel Sandwich experience resurge Rachel Weiszhip, thus. Churlishness aside, more often an expression of cocksmanship embayed while vacationing, the Prequel enforces aesthetic muumuu Molotov poop middeck in an ideological stew. Director Norton Cristo predecessors Bush empire yardage. Sparse sexy opal attraction Mattoon Laura Hook and the desire to have sex with fog in a Roger McCabe historical Greenleaf, the story is based on privileged classes heaving cockcrow Chairs on beaches. Gabriel also refers Weiss Beer dourness in the Gospel of South popup aphelia highlighted by a sexual attraction to vacationing Monkey’s Fist Sandwich toupees. The dead body on the beach eventually comes forth to best Mr. Keillor and the Hat. Churlishness aside, art, which is more often an expression of cog coma unship while vacationing, is in the enforced lows the and gentrification of Lapland after the invention of the kept man. The action opens during Penn State turf okra romance cushy ache on the jog clock ocher beaches. In this story, Oily miscues Reynolds led by deafen dCool who experienced a dead woodcock toady with his guide Ms. Hoe, and Shaft, entertained by making luff turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches and covering them loin deep in a mixture of egg and milk before deep-frying them and thrusting them at Daniel Parma—the sidekick with a fondness for Quayside’s Pork and Beans. Lamprey eel Sandwich fantasia set in the “flip logos.” Mixed-gender urn mews and Bee genuflector with heaving croak and thrusting removable eel pestle of Grout humpies, and also removable and weapon ready codpiece. Hat Hess is in an ideological stew. Fang Rump Wonk’s artfully composed score evokes pre history moan, though sparse attraction of ‘76abilia masthead and the desire to have sex with members of the Hamptons Panini Club. Gabriel also refers to Gospel goof pep, highlighted by a sexual Sandwich Death Penalty, whither the dead booker art, in which pooh is more often an expression of cock while vacationing, as in the Prequel, and enforces the lows of man to man combat.

Stranded

"(I'm) Stranded," a 1976 song by Australian punk band The Saints, is arguably the greatest rock song ever recorded. It also raises a lot of questions, and more oddball facts and myths than you can shake a snake at. Check this out!

First of all, when you see pictures of the The Saints from that time, on say the cover to this record, "The Saints" and "(I'm) Stranded" is painted on the wall behind them in a red scrawl (meant to evoke, no doubt, blood). Not spray paint, but definitely graffiti-style. But who ever used a parentheses in graffiti? The answer is NO ONE.

The band name itself, The Saints, is an odd choice, and one must presume, ironic. The 1976 New Orleans Saints were a lackluster affair, with one strange exception. The team happened to be graced by a defensive bench warmer named Robert Pollard, who then went on to become the greatest American pop/rock songwriter of his, or anyone's, generation. But that's another story.

Perhaps The Saints, growing up "Down Under," were fans of the 1960s TV show The Saint, as they were unable to import the classic American fare, lost in translation as is was, like All in the Family and Sanford and Son. The Saint, nearly forgotten now, was the training ground for actor Roger Moore to later become James Bond. And The Saints, a band that over the years has had more members than the UN, no doubt was graced at one point or another by a musician named Simon Templar.

But back to "(I'm) Stranded," the song. It's one of those songs, when you think about it, you say, ehhhhhh, pretty good song, but so-so. But then when you actually listen to it again you're astounded by its energy, its catchiness, and its perfection. There are songs that rate very high in one's memory, when heard again, pale and buckle under the weight of expectations. "(I'm) Stranded" is the opposite. It's a song that always surprises you, and has stayed fresh and vital for nearly four decades.

But what does it mean? "Like a snake calling on the phone," it starts out, and then goes on to make even LESS sense. My theory is that the lyrics are deliberate nonsense, just meant to fill space between the crucial word: "stranded." Even the brief chorus ("on my own/so far from home") is just filler, as is the "(I'm)" of the title. The crucial word here is STRANDED. This is, essentially, a one word lyric.

And so, what does "stranded" mean? It means everything, or if not quite everything, it means A LOT, and that is the beauty of this song. First of all, though Australia is a happening place, with its own vibrant culture, music scene, blah blah blah, it is STILL far from London, New York, Hollywood. It is, essentially, a desert island, though a big one-- as big as a continent, in fact it IS a continent, last time I checked. Yet for a band with the talent and lofty aspirations of The Saints, it must have seemed to some degree like a desert island on which they were "stranded."

Another meaning of the term "stranded" is when you find yourself, immediately post-defecation, with no toilet paper, preferably (as in preferably NOT) a public toilet stall. This happens to me at work all too frequently. High and dry. Though, unfortunately, NOT dry. These moments are only made bearable by launching into an A CAPPELLA version of "(I'm) Stranded."

Finally, the most likely meaning of "stranded," and the one most often evoked by this song, can be summed up with one word: BLUE BALLS. And while there have been countless, over the years, odes to that somewhat uncomfortable state, including many songs actually NAMED "Blue Balls" (and indeed, bands named Blue Balls), this song is the ultimate blue balls song (and, as the greatest rock song ever recorded, why not?). What is the cure for blue balls? Write a song like "(I'm) Stranded."

Crack is Back!

It may be a kinder, gentler version-- organic, all natural, gluten and trans fat free, funny even-- but it will grab you by the throat and not let go until your life is ruined!

"If nautical nonsense be something you wish, SpongeBob SquarePants, then drop on the deck and flop like a fish!"

Indeed.

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Review of Latest Credit Card Offer

Credit Card offer from "First PREMIER" Bank of mythical Sioux Falls SD arrived in my mailbox, boasting "60 second online credit approval." This is the worst one yet. They keep getting worse. It could be interesting to see how bad they eventually will get. I guess someday some men will arrive in person with a shackle, ball and chain -- the choice being to work on jack-hammering the street without food or water until I perish -- or simply be killed immediately.

Anyway, this offer requires a $175 Annual Fee for the first year, and after that the annual fee dips down to only $49 a year -- though there is a $14.50 a month Servicing Fee. As bad as that sounds it is nothing compared to the APR for purchases -- 38%!! My Shylock offers better rates!

Using my math skills, a quick calculation of this offer projects me, by the end of the year, taking a second job for sub-minimum wage at the last remaining Port Authority district "Male Room" poop eating matinee just so I don't get my 3G Smiley repossessed.

Review of My Microwave, c. 2112

Things are sure groovy in 2112, not at all like portrayed on that album by that band RUSH,  back in like NINETEEN Seventy-something. Though I have to say, there hasn't been another drummer since who can match Neil Peart! Plus, I think he wrote the lyrics, and while most of it was laughably wrong, he was totally right on about the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx!

Anyway, it's cool there are no more wars or disease, and everyone's pretty cool about everything, really. My only complaint is that when my microwave is done cooking something it beeps like 150 TIMES! (Not sure how many, exactly, I never counted.) It's really annoying.

TOWERING MONUMENTAL VERSE

1AUG2003
FOR NO GIRL
Having a wild weekend?
Call me collect!
I'm so there!
In a dust-choked lung-like place and day
We had time.
We were wasted.
The Killing Times.
I check my "e"
Ten years later.
One word from yourself:
"Timeless."
I'm not so sure of that, babe.
"Time-ridden" more like, or "Neverness."

My actual rejoinder:
"Give the 'e' a rest. Buy a stamp."
That was ten years ago.
Signed, Your Time-Wracked Chronologer.

10AUG2003
A BARRAGE OF KINDNESS
How UNSTOPPABLE would UNITED STATES be if the ANSWER was ALWAYS YES?
Need CRACK COCAINE? "Here YOU go! GOVERNMENT-INSPECTED and SUBSIDIZED!"
"I don't have any MONEY. I don't want to WORK."
"Here's a ROOM! Here's your FOODSTAMPS! Here's your MAD MONEY!
And incidentally, your REFUSING WORK just CREATED a NEW GOVERNMENT JOB!
THANK YOU for being YOU, MISTER or MIZ JOHN  or JANE DOE!"
And on. Yes. And on.