How Molly defeated Balthazar and gained the gypsy voice…

This story is completely true, and we all have one. More to come…

Molly was born human, which may come as a shock, especially since her parents were rare Irkutsk Hummingbirds made of copper wire and green tinsel. Once every seventeen years, their entire population would descend from the lower troposphere to nest on Russia’s eastern seaboard. Molly’s birth had been accompanied by a double eclipse, when the sun is covered by the moon twice, and some say this might have been what caused her peculiar defect, namely being born human.

For a long time, she didn’t know what her arms were for, and the other hummingbirdlings would tease her. Especially one of them…that bastard.

The rest of Molly’s tale is a little hazy, not much is known about the most exciting events of her life, but suffice to say they are filled with intrigue, adventure, a little action, romance, some comedy, perhaps some dancing in unison with large groups of people.

The story of how she gained the gypsy voice occurred after she met a demon in the form of an accountant named Balthazar. Molly realized immediately that Balthazar was not who he said he was and told him that not only was he a slime sucking demon from hell, he needed a shower and had bad taste in clothes as well. For more than a decade they battled in the darkest depths of the deepest dankest caverns, causing much tectonic plate movement and the formation of the Adirondacks, which happened with such speed and force that the whole event traveled back in time. In the end, Molly triumphed, but not without totally exhausting herself and getting really, really tired.

For seven months after all of that, Molly toured East Asia with the Bovalt Circus. There, she met an old gypsy fortune teller who sheltered her and taught her how to shapeshift.

“I see in your future,” the old gypsy muttered over a glass of tea one day, “quite a few dried, crumbled leaves and lots of hot water.”

Within three minutes, the magnificent old lady had packed up her caravan, and was on the road, as gypsy’s are prone to do. But, at two hundred yards she stopped, drew a slingshot and fired a ruby down Molly’s throat, the jewel containing a hundred silver tones and bells of a Roma orchestra. The shriek that was trying to push its way up her throat met the gem going down. Particle bonded with sound in an explosion of sub-molecular pan-vibrational energy, creating a voice that hearkened back to the days before Pharaohs, and foretold the second coming of Zoroaster.

And thusly went going just so did the story go, and so it is today.

How Pat tamed the fountain pen and rode off into the sunset...

This story is completely true, and we all have one. More to come…

The pen was a fountain. But for ink it used a certain combination of base and acid, which was more or less water. When you placed this liquid on paper, invisible words would appear and disappear at random, intentionally forming no sense at all. When Pat came upon this self-propelling machine of non-purpose, he immediately saw the potential that it held. He tried to put the pen to use by writing the most comprehensive study of humankind ever written from the perspective of a dragonfly. Sometimes the words would flow like something that flows really well, and at other times they didn’t. In frustration, he threw up.

Next, he decided that he would consult his brother Jeff. This had to be done in secret, in order to protect Jeff’s identity…but that is another story. In the end, he couldn’t think of anything that would solve the problem, and suggested that Pat become a hermit in Mauritania to think this over.

“I suggest you go become a hermit in Mauritania,” said Jeff, “to think this over.”

“No,” said Pat. “That is a terrible idea.”

In desperation, Pat finally discarded the pen. He threw it away with such enthusiasm that a nearby blacksmith was inspired do something that no smithy has ever done: a job for free (most people will agree that smithies are stingy). He took the pen, and worked it over. Bending and tweaking. Hammering, breaking, twisting it here and folding there, until he forged a guitar the likes of which had never been seen. He strung it with fragments of statues and cast a pick out of an eagle's beak. Then, one night, he left it on Pat’s doorstep. Actually, he just put it on the floor outside the door. Because apartments don’t have doorsteps.

A breeze stirred the guitar’s strings, and they sang out in a frequency that Pat’s oddly shaped ears are particularly suited for hearing. He rushed to the door and upon seeing the pen his hair stood on end and shot out of his head and imbedded themselves in the ceiling. His nose spontaneously combusted. And he suddenly realized for the first time that he was not double jointed. Thinking it an appropriate moment, he commandeered a horse and rode off into the sunset. He later admitted this was a mistake, because it was a long ride back and he had only minimal equestrian experience.

And thusly went going just so did the story go, and so it is today.

.2

1. "hehehe." that's what my x just emoted to me after she told me about her "mr. booty call". Eew puke.

2. My good friend, band manager extraordinaire, Caitlin Maire Gorman, told me that the link for that song I posted didn't work. I checked it out and she was right. I forgot to save it as an mp3 and I was going to apologize but then I realized that not one person tried to download it so... nevermind, I guess, right?

3. Surprise! Here it is anyway in working format, enjoy all you legions of self flagellating fans. Worship your God!

4. I am the sun!

5. The song is called "I'll Do Anything", but might come up as "House on a Hill". "House on a Hill" is not the correct title and anyone henceforth who believes the title of the aforementioned song to be "House on a Hill" shall be forever wrong and misinformed.

6. Copy and paste the URL to the bar at the top of your web browser and download away, please.

7. Mrs. Jenkins then posted the link for the song and published the blog entry.



Copy the link:
http://www.mediafire.com/?jdznyxtioz4

How I got the monk's trumpet and escaped a fate of clamdiggery...

This story is completely true, and we all have one. More to come...

When I was 12 years old, my family visited Greece. The original plan was to leave me there, to make my life among the clamdiggers and farmers. But, a few days before their departure, we took a hike up Mt. Olympus. It was there that I met Lao Tzu's envoy to Zeus, and escaped a fate of clamdiggery.

I was walking up the path, when I heard a voice say, "Kindly remove your foot from my face."

The holy man looked like a hillock of mud when I first stumbled upon him, for he had been sitting in the same place for so long that flowers sprouted from his wrinkles and his skin had turned to soil.

For three hours he talked at me of his beliefs and adventures. Before becoming a monk, he had been the greatest trumpet player in Bollywood, rivaling Miles Davis in vision, and Cootie Williams in soul. He played with The Beatles, and opened their minds. He claimed to be the only player ever to hit the quadruple C.

Being a polite person, I believed every word he said, though I knew he was lying. Sensing my doubt, he reached into the earth and uprooted a trumpet. I was blinded. The sun glinted off its surface, and diamonds spilled out of its bell. He placed the mouthpiece to his lips, and a single golden tone echoed from the mountainside. It was heard as far away as Tripoli, and began the second Renaissance. Deafened and blind, I groped for the instrument. Though I couldn't see my fingers, nor could I hear the sound, I smelled the most beautiful melody since Henry Longbutter played for the King of France in 1776. When I regained my senses, the holy man had disappeared, morphosed back into dirt. But in my hand I held the monk's trumpet, a hammer made of brass.

And thusly went going just so did the story go, and so it is today.

.

Hey guys,
Here's one fresh out of my hungover-ass head.
Love,
FP

Copy link to URL bar:

http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=047190bb7054237f36df4e8dca14196930ac330d829ae39e5be6ba49b5870170

The Malkmus God Cometh

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks are playing at the Bottom Lounge (on Lake Street in Chicago) on July 2nd. The mind explodes with excitement so I'll just post a picture of him playing a guitar that looks suspiciously like my bass.





And here's a link to the music video for Gardenia, which I find tearfully beautiful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-64FTeOZvk

Holy Shit (literally?)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLoOD-m610U&feature=channel_page

For or Against?

Shakitsnandabotoradacakazikstan!!!!

.

Anyone else have brothers who pick their noses?