Friday, March 31, 2006

NP:Crestfallen-Pecking Order

i get the feeling that the 9-11 Trade Center Memorial is going to be a 500 ft. kevlar-laminated statue of George Bush dressed up like Captain America, a crying eagle purched on his left arm, and his right arm raised in the air, holding a shield with a giant red-white-and blue middle finger painted on it. and instead of the big capital "A" on his forhead it's going to say "GIT R DUN!!!"
NP:Flaming Lips-Bad Days

i've been on a bit of a rewrite/editing rampage the last week when it comes to lyrics. the first volume of lyrics i put together this past summer Carrion Baggage has been ripped to scraps, the more appealing pieces saved and incorporated into amped-up songs. it's a combination of cutting the fat and adding stronger parts as well. i was able to take 2 pages of random stand-out lines from like 20 different songs and slim it donw into 3 longer, better songs. listening to Opeth and Starkweather has me wanting to do heavy, mid-tempo epics.

i also realized that i have a lot of songs that could be considered "Characters", that is the song titles sound like characters that could be in some kind of absurdist sludgecore grind-opera. another idea that may never some to pass, but i felt it was worth mentioning on this lazy afternoon.

the players;

Locust-Woman
Corpse Apprentice
Shit Figure
Mr. Hindenberg
Ice Driver
Ragdoll Concubine
Prayer Cannibal
Partisan Idealist
Orphan Coddler
Molested Cherub
Salt Charmer
Lycanthropy Wife
Mengle Messiah
Coprophagist

that's a whole album right there, ain't it? someday....

NP:Flaming Lips-the Spark that Bled

Sunday, March 26, 2006

from Jim Norton's blog;

One major problem I have with most comedy writing is the obsession to make the characters likeable. It’s not the ‘likeable’ part I hate, it’s the common, faggoty interpretation of what likeable is. On most shows it means you do a little good natured ribbing, get a scolding and finally learn a lesson at the end of the episode. It’s this unspoken rule in Hollywood that has hindered the creation of my own sitcom, which has been ready for production since 2000. The working title of my show is Yuck Mouth and revolves around the trials and tribulations of Terry, a male nurse whose spaghetti obsession causes his mouth to constantly be filled with the bile brought up from acid reflux burps. Terry is the everyman; 6’8, 400 lbs and trying to re-acclimate into society after doing 17 years for a string of robbery/rapes. The potential for merriment is virtually endless. The pilot begins with Terry’s release from prison. He walks out into a sunlit afternoon, throws his arms open to breathe in the fresh air, then promptly trips and falls down (to add to the humor, sound effect will be used; you will hear a loud BOING every time Terry takes a tumble or induces a miscarriage with a battering ram). Due to physical restraints, I obviously will not be playing the lead. In addition to being very large, Terry has a beard which he keeps to hide the eczema that covers half his face and 80% of his torso. He habitually bites his fingernails down to the soft pink skin, so he has to scratch his itchy beard with pens, car keys and butter knives. There is a very funny and surprisingly touching scene in episode 3 when Terry is having breakfast at a roadside diner called Hitler’s Eats. The meal is a substantial one; two sow belly omelets with a turnip juice chaser and a bedpan full of low-fat grits. He is trying to flirt with the waitress while unconsciously scraping a fork back and forth through his beard. She notices the skin flakes covering the counter top and quips, “Ya autta scrape yer face over a baggie, we could cut it with baby powdah and sell it to the Mexicans”. Terry pounds his fists onto the counter top as he howls with laughter. The waitress (whose name, according to the tag on her uniform, is Mildred Jawcancer), curiously studies this large, jovial man who sports dandruff in his beard and bloody diapers hanging from his coat pocket. In mid-laugh he bursts into tears over his condition and we are left to ponder this man’s agony as he weeps softly into his grits while Mildred cleans the counter with a Dust Buster. I have two possible endings for this episode; in the first, they become involved in a short term relationship. Her 11 children have taken to Terry after only one brief, alcohol fueled molestation. They want him to move in, but idea of an ‘instant family’ scares him after so many years alone in prison. Instead of facing his fear, Terry bakes them a chocolate cake laced with rat poison and hops a midnight bus to Shreveport. Most people who read this felt depressed by it and much preferred the alternate ending which had Terry and Mildred breaking down on the highway. He tells her to check the engine while he stays in the truck and masturbates to Japanamation photos he carries in his wallet. Suddenly there is an explosion, and Mildred is horribly disfigured with 3rd degree burns over 98% of her head and face. Seeing her smoldering with no hair or eye lids, Terry mumbles, “Yuck” and attempts to hitch a ride to Beverly Hills where he feels he’ll fit in. Due to a series of wacky events and misidentifications, Terry becomes the mayor of Beverly Hills and proceeds to wreak havoc. He tries to get a bunch of nutty laws passed, such as Mandatory Blowjob Tuesdays and having all non-whites summarily executed. The Beverly Hills scenes very well may need to be rewritten, as networks have historically been squeamish about genocide humor in sitcoms.