Title: 4um becomes the official Discussion forum to SiaNews/ FriendsOfLiberty/ Libertythink and OldRight Source:
[None] URL Source:[None] Published:Jul 2, 2005 Author:TBF Post Date:2005-07-02 11:13:55 by toddbrendanfahey Keywords:FriendsOfLiberty/, Libertythink, Discussion Views:1103 Comments:101
As I have said, you have a swollen ego; to substantiate my opinion, you seriously abused LP with your rants designed to hurt others within your creative short stories. How many websites have dis-owned you for variations of reasons?
I don't want you to hurt yourself. The truth is, you are prolific writer when motivated with a tremendous background coupled with intellectual capability. You tend to abuse yourself and others, though.
"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive. . . ." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"
God I loved this book, it made me want to go on a road trip (pun intended).
"Work was impossible. The geeks had broken my spirit. They had done too many things wrong. It was never like this for Mencken. He lived like a Prussian gambler--sweating worse than Bryant on some nights and drunker than Judas on others. It was all a dehumanized nightmare...and these raddled cretins have the gall to complain about my deadlines." - Hunter Thompson, "Bad Nerves in Fat City"
The sporting editors had also given me $300 in cash, most of which was already spent on extremely dangerous drugs. The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab. We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . . and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of high-speed driving all over Los Angeles County - from Topanga to Watts, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.
The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably at the next gas station. We had sampled almost everything else, and now - yes, it was time for a long snort of ether. And then do the next hundred miles in a horrible, slobbering sort of spastic stupor. The only way to keep alert on ether is to do up a lot of amyls - not all at once, but steadily, just enough to maintain the focus at ninety miles an hour through Barstow.
This is the archetype of the "amiable but stupid helper." Pinky would be an example of this, as would Simon Bar Sinister's sidekick, Cad, who could do little more than say, "Duh...okay, boss!" Also note that the amiable but stupid helper is invariably used as comic relief.
Why do I keep seeing Chimp boy in my mind while reading this.....strange.
There is an archetype in cartoons I call the "would-be world conqueror." That's what Simon Bar Sinister, from the old Underdog
cartoon, is: he's brilliant, evil, humorless and power-mad, and wants to conquer and rule the entire world. (The "Bar" in his name comes from heraldry, meaning a bar on the shield. "Sinister" means both "evil" and "left." His name meant his bar was on the left side of shield, indicating illegitimacy. A whole generation of children grew up not knowing his name meant "Simon the Evil Bastard.") If you want to see something scary, notice how much William Kristol looks like Simon Bar Sinister
Todd Brendan Fahey is the author of Wisdom's Maw: The Acid Novel; his collection of short stories, Dogshit Park & other Atrocities, will be published in late 1998. [am a bit behind schedule in putting out Dogshit Park...]
Triggers the memory of Tom Wolfe and The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test......
Black Shiny FBI Shoes
That's good thinking there, Cool Breeze. Cool Breeze is a kid with three or four days' beard sitting next to me on the stamped metal bottom of the open back part of a pickup truck. Bouncing along. Dipping and rising and rolling on these rotten springs like a boat. Out the back of the truck the city of San Francisco is bouncing down the hill, all those endless staggers of bay windows, slums with a view, bouncing and streaming down the hill. One after another, electric signs with neon martini glasses lit up on them, the San Francisco symbol of "bar"--thousands of neon-magenta martini glasses bouncing and streaming down the hill, and beneath them hundreds, thousands of people wheeling around to look at this freaking crazed truck we're in, their white faces erupting from their lapels like marshmallows--streaming and bouncing down the hill--and God knows they've got plenty to look at.
That's why it strikes me as funny when Cool Breeze says very seriously over the whole roar of the thing, "I don't know--when Kesey gets out I don't know if I can come around the Warehouse."
"Why not?"
"Well, like the cops are going to be coming around like all feisty, and I'm on probation, so I don't know."
Well, that's good thinking there, Cool Breeze. Don't rouse the bastids. Lie low--like right now. Right now Cool Breeze is so terrified of the law he is sitting up in plain view of thousands of already startled citizens wearing some kind of Seven Dwarfs Black Forest gnome's hat covered in feathers and fluorescent colors. Kneeling in the truck, facing us, also in plain view, is a half-Ottawa Indian girl named Lois Jennings, with her head thrown back and a radiant look on her face. Also a blazing silver disk in the middle of her forehead alternately exploding with light when the sun hits it or sending off rainbows from the defraction lines in it. And, oh yeah, there's a long- barreled Colt .45 revolver in her hand, only nobody on the street can tell it's a cap pistol as she pegs away, kheeew, kheeew, at the erupting marshmallow faces like Debra Paget in . . . in . . .
--Kesey's coming out of jail!
Two more things they are looking at out there are a sign on the rear bumper reading "Custer Died for Your Sins" and, at the wheel, Lois's enamorado Stewart Brand, a thin blond guy with a blazing disk on his forehead too, and a whole necktie made of Indian beads. No shirt, however, just an Indian bead necktie on bare skin and a white butcher's coat with medals from the King of Sweden on
I hit my stride in the late 60's. It's a shame when all beer does now is give you gas and puts you to sleep. Never did like the hard stuff.
I drink only a little beer now. It just doesn't taste the same. It seems watered down and lacks flavor. The only beer I drink now is either St.Pauli Girl or Sam Adams. Two of the few brands left that have a traditional beer flavor.
I probably had hard stuff twice in my life. I never cared for it.