New Cover Bands

J.P.G.R.

Let’s Zeppelin

The Doorks

BAAB

AKA C/DC

Expensive Prestidigitation

The Spinning Boulders

Esque

Metallic Daniel

Black Sabbatical

Ozzy and Harriet

Gary Busey Plays Buddy Holly

Nick Nolte Plays Buddy Holly

The Buddy Hollies

The Elvis Impersonators

Presley McMannis and the Unattractions

12cc

The Comebackaways

JJ and the Shades of Greyhearts

Spring Brucesteen

Not So Sly and A-Bunch-of-Friends Stone

James Beige

Rick James Brown and The Family Stone

Earth Wind Fire and Ken

Crosby Stills and Fire

The Clash of The Titans

The Ramones of The Day

Never Mind Sandra Bullock

The Bees Gees

The Carpenters and Tennille

The Captain and 10cc

The Foreigner Takes a Journey

Journey To The Center of Earth Wind and Fire

Pixies Cover Band

Private Friend

Nice-guys With Gratitude

New Kids Off The Old Block

Kitchen-Sync

More Than Words (A Tribute To The Third Incarnation of Van Halen Featuring That Guy From Extreme)

Lee Roth

Elton’s John

Elton John Lennon Sisters

Leonard Skinnard

–Dan Kilian

Two Variations On The Same Joke

Version 1:

A guy walks into a bar and says “Your door is squeaking. I could replace those hinges for you, cheap.”

Bar tender glances at the bar owner who is sitting at the bar. Bar owner says, “Not interested.”

“You sure? I specialize in saloons.”

“We’ll think about it.”

Guy has a drink, hands the owner his business card and leaves.

Moments later the roof collapses. The bartender and owner climb from the rubble of what used to be their bar.

Bartender says, “I think that guy had something to do with this.”

“What makes you think that?” asks the owner.

“I think he was a bar hinger of doom.”

Version 2:

Same kind of deal, instead there’s a laughing pirate getting really drunk and he’s a HAR! binger of doom.

–Dan Kilian

Three Variations On the Same Scatological Joke

A Hollywood Exec Calls Up Alan Alda

This Is What I Got Out of It, Chapter I

Holy crap this is a good book. It’s amazing, start to finish. It’s over: the end. It ends before it even begins. Then, Phoenix, it rises from the flames. Some say (and when some say “some say” they don’t mean someone, they mean no one. “Some” means “none” means the straw man means some asshole means “Look at this argument some asshole made! I’m going to tear this asshole a new asshole!” Assholes tearing assholes, babies making babies.”) you should say “Phoenix from the ashes,” as that’s the true myth, (true myth!) but some people and not just some people but one person, Boudleaux Bryan, would say that when love hurts love is like a stove, it burns you when it’s hot, but Nazareth would say love is like a flame it burns you when it’s hot, and some people would say what the fuck does that mean, of course flame burns,  when is a flame not hot (oh we shall see! We shall feel!) it’s got to be a stove, something that can get hot and burn, but other people, particularly this person, who is the narrator (and yes, I am a motherfucking omniscient narrator, so I an speaking with the voice of God, so how can I be wrong?) would say, yes, but is “stove” a word that rocks? Can you really stick a big lump of cast iron onto the delicate threads of beautiful song and not have it pull them til they stretch and snap? Is love, burning fire that it is, really a kitchen appliance? Rock music burns and therefore you can add fire anywhere, whether it makes any damned sense or not. Likewise, Phoenix from the flame, because we’re not waiting for the ashes, we’re borning again right now, and besides have you never learned that alliteration is truth? Anyway, it’s a great book. Wait til you read it.

Keep waiting. Wait for it, wait for it….Wait forever. It never begins, because first you have to live for eternity, in a fire that is cold and then gets hot (See? Feel?) and burns forever. The iron ball in the sky is brushed by a pigeon every thousand years (Some might say million, but you cannot know a million, only a thousand thousands.) until it is worn away to nothing, and then eternity has just begun. Don’t crack this book’s spine until your spine is scattered like dice in the dust and then the dust, and then glass and then broken glass ground down into powder and that powder turns to silt in a riverbed turned to mud turned to man turns to all mankind born and died until the last man, last spine, last pile of sand, glass, dust until there are no riverbeds and there is no dirt only fire in the flame that burns you when it’s hot but then it cools and cools until the flame is frozen, only then should you gaze upon the page you are now reading. I probably should have given you some advance warning.

If you’ve ignored the warning that was never given (the most important of warnings to heed) then you are hungrily eating a forbidden fruit that you should have waited to bite. (If only Adam and Eve had not been forbidden the fruit! If only they’d been told to wait, just wait for the fruit, albeit forever, maybe they could have waited, and then we wouldn’t be doomed from birth and ages before birth to eternal punishment for a crime we did not commit, praying before we even learned to speak or even learned to be, for The Lord’s forgiveness and the Church’s holy wash-tub to soak us free of those first hungry sinner’s heartburn. They probably wouldn’t have waited, either. No one likes to wait.) You should have waited, for our hero, who is hardly a hero, hardly a protagonist and hardly a man, more a morsel of sin than a person before he begins again, he had to wait, wait forever, frozen in fire, waiting without waiting, for he’d long ago lost all expectation, except for the expectation of more eternity passing in infinite slowness, and the expectation of extreme pain.

For this is the story of the one man to escape from hell.

–Dan Kilian

Simon and Guildenstern

The Invention of the Weekend

The Secret War Between Leprechauns and Elves

George’s car broke down along a lonely stretch of road in Colorado. He’d never hitch hiked, but as the length of the walk to the nearest exit dawned on him, he stuck his thumb out. No takers.

With his car miles behind him and miles to go, nature called. Gearge saw a small patch of woods, and took advantage of it. Sweet relief!

Just as he was making his way back to the road he heard a loud rustling in some nearby bushes. He was startled to see a very small man, perhaps two feet tall, emerge from the bushes. The man was very portly, with a bushy and fiery-red beard and carrying a proportionally large and evidently heavy cloth sack. He was dressed all in green, in a dapper classic style and a Puritan style hat. He also had three small arrows protruding from hip, side and back. He was bleeding profusely.

“Pleas sir…” the little man gasped.

“Oh my God!” George shouted, “What? What can I…?”

“Please sir!” rasped the little man, opening up his bag. Inside it was packed with gold coins. “I’ll give you all this gold if you just wish these arrows out of me!”

“You want me to wish those arrows…”

“I’ll give you three wishes, but they’ve got to be for the arrows! You can have all the gold!”

“You’re a…Why can’t you just wish them out yourself?”

“It doesn’t work that way! Please sir, I’m dyin’”

“Okay, okay! I’ll do it!” The Leprechaun (for that was what he was) set the bag of gold on the ground before him. “I wish that arrow…” George pointed at the arrow protruding from the Leprechauns hip, “I wish that arrow would go away…”

“and leave no wound!”

“…and leave no wound.”

The arrow disappeared, and the bloody hole from which it protruded was gone as well!

“I wish this arrow gone and leaves no wound. And I wish this…wait can I wish for more wishes?”

“NO! PLEASE! I’m bloody dying, you greedy prick!”

George wished the third arrow away. The little man smiled and did a little jig. “I’m alive! Aye, tis good! Here’s your gold, as promised! Now I must be off before…”

He could not finish his sentence, as another small arrow had lodged itself in his neck. In quick succession two more arrows lodged themselves in his chest. He collapsed, blood gushing from his mouth.

Out of the bushes George saw three of the most perfect looking little people he could ever imagine to see. They were shorter and slimmer than the leprechaun, dressed in leaves and carrying bows. They walked purposefully towards George and the fallen leprechaun. Two of them grabbed the bag of gold and one shot the leprechaun again in the chest, ending his twitching. His body began to smoke and dissolve.

One of them looked up at George and glanced to his compatriot. “The son of Man has seen us. What do we do?”

“Kill him.”

In an instant the little elf shot a tiny arrow, piecing  George’s throat. He fell to his knees. The elf shot him again in the eye, the arrow going into his brain, killing him instantly.

The elves took their gold and left.

–Dan Kilian

The Monitor vs. The Minotaur

Skullhead

Parrrker New Year 2012 Remix

Click on the red letters below to hear the song.

PARRRker New YearOkay it’s not a remix at all, just the same thing I did last year. But I changed the number on the baby!

–Dan Kilian

Confession to Rassilon

On Language

December, December

SOLSTICE BREAKS THE CLOCKWORK OF NIGHT

CONSTELLATIONS COME UNPINNED

FROM THE CRYSTAL SPHERES

AND FALL TO THE EARTH BELOW

MAYHEM UNSUES –Steve Kilian

State of The National

Post-”Bitches!”

 

 

 

Great Moments in Amish History

Esau! G’Day to ye!

G’day to ye!

Arr!

Arr.

Why Esau, what have ye there?

Why it be a razor! And some shaving cream!

But Esau, you don’t intend to…to shave, do ye?

That is exactly what I intend to do!

But Esau, the bible says to grow your beard!

Aye, that it does!

And that shaving is proud!

Shaving your beard IS proud.

And we like being plain and not proud!

Aye aye! But the bible does not say anything about mustaches.

Arr! Is that so?

Aye! Tis!

Have ye found yourself a loophole, Esau?

I don’t know what that means, but yes! Now I’m off to shave!

Minutes later…

Esau, is that you?

Arr! Tis!

Looking smooth, m’man!

Thanks!

May I borrow your razor?

You want that smooth mustache look?

Aye! Tis good!

Arr!

Arr!

–Dan Kilian

Constuputid K Words

Flying Blind

She Had Still More To Say, and How!

“I wish we had a gondolier,” she whispered romantically.

“It’s just a small pie!” she said, tartly.

“I might have gotten you virtual flowers, and I might not have,” she said, evasively.

“I’m going to molest your, um…well…” she said, groping for words.

“Tell me I’ve gotten some color! I’ve been to hell!” she said, satanically.

“I’ve got friends who have their hands on the levers of power. Gross friends! And they’re going to use those levers on my behalf!” she said, politically.

“I want to be a flight attendant, or fix bicycle wheels,” she said in a plainspoken manner.

“I’m a primate! Don’t I look cute?” she asked, girlishly.

“I’m an angry drunk! Don’t I look cute?” she asked, girlishly.

“Maybe we could make some money by getting my nephews to do some corrective follow-up landscaping in the first hours of the morning,” she said, entrepreneurially.

“Now I’m naked from the waist down!” she shouted, expansively.

“I was deep in thought considering all the money you’re going to give me, but I’m not thinking about much anymore,” she said, expensively.

“Camping is over. The circus is over. Living in the dessert is over. The traveling craft-fair is over. The evangelical tour is over,” she said extensively.

“It’s my considered diagnosis, I’m getting droopy,” she expertly opined.

“If you think MY shirt’s been torn, you should see my other boyfriend’s!” she shrieked, hysterically.

“I may have a black eye, but the other guy has an empty socket!” she laughed maniacally.

“I’m going to be eating alone,” she said wanly.

“I’ve been given the gift of long legs,” she said, solemnly.

–Dan Kilian

The Way She Said It

She Had More To Say, and How She Said It

Regarding Heating of Aquifers as a Result of Ground-Source Heat Pump Based Air Conditioning Systems

The funny thing is that there are colonies of archaeoprotozoans that sparsely populate the fractured shale that underlies the majority of the world’s aquifers.  They died back during the Silurian period, the temperatures of the aquifers having dropped to non-optimal levels.  As the aquifers start absorbing surface calories, the environment may become more hospitable to these colonies.

Now I know what you’re thinking:  “Zombies.  Hordes of ravenous zombies, feasting on the flesh of the living.”  That’s what I thought too, having seen enough educational television to know what’s what.  But further research (from assumed principles, not the empirical work that passes for science these days) shows that the colonies would likely not interact with topside biology, so the West-Guimard reaction would not occur.

At least not initially.  It turns out that in the process of drilling geothermal wells bits of human DNA can be introduced into the aquifers, which can in turn be incorporated into the pRNA of the colonies.  I’ll skip ahead here, since I’m addressing an educated audience.  Thus:

. . . upon achieving the requisite level of connectivity, the sheets of protozoan tissue will have achieved sentience.  This coupled with the higher levels of proteins in the aquifer (resulting in low impedance to chemo-electrical signals) provides an ideal setting for a networked intelligence.  The reflective and amplifying characteristics of certain aquifer geometries may very well result in “spillage” or “leaking” of these signals to the surface. . . .

Again, I’ll skip ahead:

. . . blasphemous piercing of the chthonic vaults of the Old Ones, minds torn asunder by those unholy emanations, infants twisted in the womb to shapes not seen on this planet since the moon coalesced from the Great Ring, rifts in the mantle of the Earth spilling forth long-subsumed telluric currents, vomiting forth armies girded not in leather or steel but in the horn-like carapaces they were born with — or designed to bear by something still more ancient and unutterably evil. . . .

You get the idea.

–Steve Kilian

Ice Cream

A Good Put-Down

The First Insomniac

Oog! What was that? Has the sabretooth gotten into the cave? Maybe Oog should check. Too tired. Maybe Oog just call out oog and see if anything growls. No, don’t want to wake the others. Just go back to sleep.

Oog. Can’t get arm comfortable. Sleep like this. Okay, that’s better.

Maybe tomorrow Oog grab more long branches and stick them over the cave hole. Maybe go down to the pond. Some good trees and branches there. Maybe figure out a way to carry more branches. Sometimes they stick together. Why?

Still awake! Want to sleep! Go to sleep Oog!

Go to make urine. That will help. Walk quiet! Don’t want to wake the others. Sorry Ooog!

Ahh piss wall! Looking at you makes Oog have to make urine even more. Oog like your stains. Maybe Oog will make art like the hunting and sex pictures Ooga makes, only with urine. Maybe art doesn’t need to be about beasts and sex parts. Maybe shapes are enough. Oog think crazy things when Oog doesn’t get enough sleep.

Walk quiet!

Back to sleep. Back to oog. Maybe instead of just calling everything oog, Oog and the other oogs could change the sounds, so each thing gets its own sound, and we’ll know what we mean without even looking at the thing or dancing like it, just by the sound of the oog. Or the sound of the…oogoog. Or the…goog. Oog think crazy things when Oog doesn’t get enough sleep.

Still not asleep!

Does Oog put too much mud on Oog? It’s nice and cool in the hot outside, but maybe it makes Oog look lumpy. Maybe the female oogs don’t like so much mud. Maybe tomorrow Oog will go light on the mud. Why is Oog worrying about that now? Oog needs to sleep!

OOG! Still not asleep!

IS that the sabretooth?

–Dan Kilian

Who is JASON D? K-Riddle

The Sentient Slab