Shit That Is Awesome: A Positive Portrayal of Satan Courtesy of Star Trek

Have you ever seen Star Trek: The Animated Series? It's fucking sweet! It's an old Filmation cartoon from the mid-Seventies that continued the adventures of Kirk, Spock and the rest of the crew of the Strarship Enterprise. It's typical bad Filmation Seventies animation, lots of stock shots and close ups on character's eyes and such to limit the actual amount of animation that had to be done. Super old school! As if that's not enough already, the original cast supplies the voices for they're cartoon counterpoints! Hell yeah!

Alright, so this show is like all the other Filmation shows from the 60's/70's. It's kind of shoddily animated and the pacing is kind of slow, but whatever, that's what kids used to get on Saturday mornings, and they liked it dagnabit! But what truly elevates this cartoon above the cluttered Saturday morning landscape is a little episode "The Magicks of Mega-Tsu". In this episode the Enterprise is investigating something in space like they always do. I don't exactly remember what it was, maybe a wormhole or maybe Kirk was just cruising for some alien tail, but whatever. So anyway the Enterprise is orbiting this planet when all of sudden who should appear on the deck? Why Old Split-Foot himself; Lucifer! Well, apparently he goes by Lucien on his home planet, but we all know who they're talking about. Just look at the picture above! Anyway, Lucien takes the crew down to his planet where they discover that magic is for real as far is this planet is concerned. But the crew is only able to chill for a minute, because Lucien starts to freak out that they're going to get caught. Why is this a big deal? Well the crew is about to find out.

You see, as it turns out, the Megans visited earth long ago. In fact the entire Christian myth about Satan turns out to be kind of true, except that Satan wasn't really all that bad of a guy. Also the Salem Witch Trials where actually brought against the Megans, which is why they left earth. So they decide to take their revenge by putting the crew of the Enterprise on trial, Salem style! Heads in stocks and everything! But who comes to their defense? Why Lucien of course! (Man, it seems like I'm using a lot of exclamation points in this. Why? Because it's that awesome!) So a bunch of stuff happens, and it looks like it's going to be end for Kirk and his crew, but than Kirk saves the day by reasoning with them blah blah blah. Lessons are learned and hearts are warmed. Lucien was on the side of the humans the entire time, and in the end Kirk saves him from the Megans themselves, which in turn proves to the Megans that might be able to trust the humans after all. Yea! How does Lucien celebrate? Beers all around! And all of this on Saturday morning? Extra Fuck Yeah.

My fellow lovers of the Dark Lord, we should hold this episode up as a truly first rate piece of art. How often is Satan portrayed as being the bad guy? Like, every goddamn time! But here we have a positive portrayal of the dude, just a guy who wants to chill and kick back a few brews, someone who's been misunderstood and mistreated by the mainstream. An underdog, an outsider who's really a good guy at heart. Fucking awesome.

Hail Satan!

-Jon J

South of the Mason-Dixon

I returned from Nashville late Sunday night/early Monday morning. I think I'm finally recovered from the weekend, it took me a minute but I've finally put the pieces back together. So here is my somewhat hazy reflection on my time spent in the Dirty South!

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(From a phone call on the way back North)

"How was Nashville?"

"Fun."

"What did you do?"

"Got drunk, rode bikes."

"So pretty much the same thing you do here?"

"Yeah, just eight hours away."

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I had gotten off of work around noon on Thursday, took the half day as we had planned on leaving around 2:00 in the PM. I was beat, as I am in a constant battle with insomnia. When I got home I had a quick bite to eat and attended to some final business before leaving the homestead behind. I changed out of my work clothes into a black t-shirt and black jeans, with my gas station attendant Rat Patrol shirt on over it. I packed a pair of shorts and another t-shirt to make it through the weekend. I packed a couple of notebooks, my iPod and a copy of WiRED for to break the monotony of the road. Smoked a bowl and was out the door.

I arrived at Michael and Michelle's house in Ukrainian Village. The crew was complete following Whiskey Joe's arrival, a few minutes after I showed up. Michael and Michelle, formerly of the Hell's Satans, and Danny Madness filled out the car and we piled our bikes up and made way for Nashville post-haste.

As we crossed the Illinois/Indiana line I saw anti-evolution sign and a shiver went down my spine. Indiana smells bad, I don't know why exactly, but every time I find myself their I am always taken back by the smell. We stopped for coffee and cigarettes, goodbye Cook County taxes! Adding fuel to Michael and Michelle's vehicle we returned to the open rode.


We passed the time on our way down to Nashville smoking hitters and bullshitting. Michael and Michelle are in many ways the perfect couple, they're older than the rest of us, sometimes acting in an almost parental role to the Chicago Rats, sometimes a bit more like an older brother and sister. Whiskey Joe don't smoke the reefers, but we did crack open a bottle of Early Times to make the time go by a little easier. People grabbed naps and we stopped for food and to relieve ourselves a few times. Around midnight we pulled up to the Rat Trap in Nashville.

We were the second car down from Chicago that made it in. Earlier Jessie's car arrived with Rachel, Yannis, and Danarchy in toe. We were greeted by Steve-O and Daniel, owners and operators of Nashville's Rat Trap flophouse for transient bike punks. Joey Jello and his girlfriend, Dotti, emerged from the backyard and greeted us.

We made our way into the backyard, which had been turned into a shanty-town with blue tarps erected as makeshift tents (the threat of rain all weekend made this a necessity.) But that was not the only questionable structure in that backyard dear reader, they had also built a Thunderdome. Well, dome might be too generous a description of the shape of this monstrosity, but for brevity's sake let's just call it the Thunderdome. It was built out bikes welded together with chicken wire surrounding the enclosure. We sat around a pit fire, drinking beers and whiskey until late into the night. Slowly people made their way into the house, calling it a night, until it was only Whiskey Joe, Danny Madness and myself left. We finished our whiskey and smoked some weed, and discussed our opinions on psychology. Rat Patrol philosophers circle.

We arose the next day to more out of towners arriving. Biggles and Kat made it up from southern Illinois, representing the Klunkers. We elected Tori to be the Mayor of shanty town, having erected another building and a tent in a short amount of time.
A group of us spent the morning watching the director's cut of Highlander. It was decided that at the conclusion of bike games there would be shouts of "There can only be one!" We bought forties and the day swirled away from us. The kegs arrived, a party was at hand. Rock n Roll was committed in the laundry room, by the far the smallest space I've ever seen a band play. The name of the first groups escapes me, but the second group on was Daniel's very own Heavy Cream. Garage rocking with chicks. I liked it, but passed out not too long after. The booze will do that to you. A rodeo-do.

Ah, sweet sweet Saturday. Any morning that begins with fresh keg beer is a good morning indeed. An observation; Nashville kids smoke shitty weed, but they smoke a ton of it. The Nashville girls are cute, and everyone is friendly as hell. Today would be the day that Moon Bounce was to be delivered. We waited in hot anticipation to see if they would let us even keep it. When the moon bounce people arrived Daniel went to go and talk with them. They explained the rules, no sharp objects, no shoes, no more than four of us in the moon bounce at a time. I think that they were banking on us destroying the moon bounce so that they could get a new one. But there would be none of that! We made an addition to their rules; NO PANTS IN THE MOON BOUNCE!

But the day wasn't all drinking and moon bounces friend, today was going to be about bikes. Nashville is a very hilly place. I found out later that the Nashville Rats had purposely picked out the hilliest routes possible to torture us flatlanders. None the less I tackled the hills with gusto, huzzah! Perhaps a little to much gusto (gusto means whiskey- but you should have already guessed as much). Following the first round of tall-bike jousting we made our way to the Halycon bike shop for whip lash. This is were the story turns tragic, gentle reader, for in my drunken state I ate shit coming down a small incline and scraped my right side into the gravel at the end of the parking lot.

From than on my recollection grows hazy. There were several more rounds of jousting, foot down was played in a large parking lot that covered in glass. Dotti threw flour on everyone as they rode by. Jousted under an underpass in the heart of Nashville, picked up some Red Bull girls and brought the back to the party. Party, party, party, pass out.

Sunday we had Mexican food at La Hacienda, it was amazing. 45 ounce margaritas were $8.49. We packed up, said our goodbyes and made our way back to Chicago.

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ME: Man, I think I got a mosquito bite on my dick.


JOE: At least someone got their dick sucked in Nashville.

Do I Really Need To Come Up WIth a Title? I Do? Well, Alright Then....

I haven't been keeping up with this as much as I was before, been busy, hustling for that dollar. Also, I've been hungover a lot lately, which is not the ideal mode to be in while trying to organize thoughts. So what's new? Patrick Swayze died, and I didn't care. Nothing against the guy, Point Break is fucking incredible, but when Jim Carroll dies the day before and no one seems to give a fuck, I can't really give a fuck about some washed up actor. But there are bigger fish to fry; namely one who likes fish dicks, Mr. Kanye West.

So at the recent VMAs Kanye West jumps on stage during Taylor Swift's acceptance for the Best Female Video award and proceeds to rant about how Beyonce deserved the award, everyone's outraged blah blah blah. But you know what? I don't think it's that shocking. This Kanye West after all, if anything he's shown that he never knows when to keep his mouth shut. More so, I think Kanye can be held up as an example of our generation.
I'm completely serious. I'm not saying it's a good thing, but I think it's stock and trade for Generation Y to be prone to egotistical outbursts and attention grabbing behavior. We're talking about people who grew up with the little league culture of "everyone gets a trophy" and Barney telling all the kids that they're special and unique blah blah fucking blah. American culture is all about self-promotion, accolades for little achievement. Paris Hilton is famous because she's, well, famous. Stars don't get treated like everyone else, they're special and unique flowers who must be handled with care all the goddamn time, you wouldn't want to rattle them would you? We all know how fragile they are, precious stones to be shined and put on display in a glass case.

That's all well and good for the Hollywood set, stars have been pampered, self-centered babies forever, but the attitude is leaking from those rarefied heights down the line to the rest of the chum. The generation brought up on the junk culture of ego and celebrity have also had access to all these social networking sites from an early age. Kids get to stroke their egos and quantify their popularity, creating a culture of pompous self-importance. Myspace, Facebook, Twitter, all tools used to continually reinforce for people their popularity, their social value. Because of this, I nominate Kanye West as the spiritual leader for this new generation of self-centered 20 something babies. He is a symbol of commitment to one's ego, the "me first" attitude. Who else can be such a consummate jackass as the illustrious Mr. West. Paris Hilton? Eh, we've kind of moved past all that, haven't we?

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So I will be away from sweet home Chicago for the next 3 days, trading in the city of big shoulders for some southern hospitality. I'll be in Nashville for the Hootenanny, I plan on drinking moonshine and riding bikes all day. I haven't really gone anywhere this summer, not even to jaunt up north to Milwaukee, Algonquin for the "Good Land", so it will be nice to cross some state lines. Hoping to return with a tall tale or two, and maybe, just maybe, some fresh injuries. For those of you in Chicago this weekend I suggest checking out the Brew Not Bombs show on Saturday, the 19th. Good friends the Read and Al Scorch will be playing along with local favorites Sassdragons and The Rustbelt Ramblers. Last but not least, we've got two of my favorite bands playing, Bloomington Indiana's Defiance, Ohio and This Bike is A Pipe Bomb out of Pensacola, Florida. Check it out for the rock and roll musics. 3951 W Fullerton 8:00pm $8

That's all
-Jon J

I Have Some New Enemies....

Some kids that live right across the street from me have started a band. I should have seen it coming, really. How long could we have been the only game in town?

It started some point over this summer, my recollection wasn't completely crystal, therefore the exact time that I first noticed the banging I can't quite put my finger on. But one day I did hear it; the birth of a shitty drummer. There was the sound of muffled crashes and snare drums, slow, embarrassingly offbeat fills, shifting, changing beats without rhyme or reason. And thus it began.

Some weeks later I first heard the addition of a second instrument to this mess. I began to hear the sounds of a thin, trebley guitar over the din of those talentless drums. Upon the addition of this new threat plaguing our gentle eardrums, my friend Karl and I dragged my amp out to the front stoop, plugged in and played some improvised front stoop blues. With Austin holding it down on the mouth organ (harmonica for the uninitiated) and Karl on guitar I sang a song of Mexican food gone bad:

I could have a burrito,
I could have had a quesedilla,
But I had a bad taco
Now I've got diarrhea

Yes, I really am quite clever aren't I? Anyway, we claimed our victory and drank our beers in celebration. Where were their beers you may ask? Losers don't get beers.

But alas, our victory was short lived. Now this rag tag bunch of moppets (I assume them all to have their hair in disheveled mop-tops that flow wildly as they twitch and bob their heads as is so popular with these "beat groups" of today)has added a screechy, worbly lead singer to howl over their unexciting, amateurish clatter. (I have no problem with amateurish clatter, as I do it often myself, but please, give me EXCITEMENT AND DANGER!)Now this all fine and good. These kids are just starting out on their road to local obscurity and poorly recorded demos, house shows and maybe even a 7-inch that they will lose money putting out, and that's all well and good, but, the real crux of the problem is this: They play "American Music" by the Violent Femmes at their rehearsals somewhere between 10 and 30,432,122 times per practice. And it's my favorite Violent Femmes song.

Well, at least it was.

First they come into my hood, where I am the reigning king of rock n roll, and try to usurp my throne. Next, they set about a campaign of psychological warfare by ruining one of my favorite songs. Oooh, they have no idea what I have in store for them. I'm going to steal their guitarist (the only member of the band who doesn't suck) and we're going to start an amazing garage rock band, he's going to get addicted to heroin and then the band will implode. For the other two, well I'm just going to fuck their girlfriends. And then I'm going to steal all their equipment.

That'll show 'em.

-Jon J

The Right Wing Needs To Get Clipped

You have to be retarded to be a conservative. I say this not because of any of their positions or beliefs or what not (although it does make them idiots) but it's their reaction to everything, actually it's more like their OVERREACTION to everything.

This time around it's the fact that Barack Obama plans on addressing the nation's school children. Next Tuesday the president plans on making a televised appearance to encourage kids to study hard and stay in school. Not unlike former president George H. Bush's address to school kids in 1991 to encourage kids to say no to drugs. But if you listen to all the backwards thinking, evolution denying neo-cons out their Obama plans to indoctrinate America's youth with his socialist agenda.

Alright, let's get one thing straight right here, right now. Barack Obama is NOT A SOCIALIST. If he was I would be a lot happier with the guy. He's in corporate America's back pocket just like every other politician. (Just check out his bailout for proof of that.) There by he's not going to push some socialist agenda, he doesn't have one. Let's examine a quote from one mom who's obviously full of shit:

"Thinking about my kids in school having to listen to that just really upsets me," a suburban Colorado mother, Shanneen Barron, told CNN affiliate KMGH-TV in Denver.

"I'm an American. They are Americans, and I don't feel that's OK. I feel very scared to be in this country with our leadership right now."

Yeah, it's scary to think about someone encouraging your children to stay in school and study, because then they might be able to think, which obviously is some kind of issue for you.

So your an American eh? And your kids are too? Well guess what? So is the president. Um, so you can shut the fuck up now. Read a goddamn book, something other than the bible, and then you can open your mouth again.

Fuck this country.

-Jon J

There's A Lot Going On With Dead Rock Stars Today

Two things in the news today that have to do with dead rock icons. First, there's word that "Sublime" will be continuing their "reunion" by playing the Smokeout Fest October 24-26th. Secondly we have word that the Sussex police are reopening their investigation into the 1969 death of Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones.

Alright, let's start out by working backwards towards the present. Brian Jones was found dead in the pool of East Sussex home (formerly owned by Winnie the Pooh creator A.A. Milne) on July 3rd, 1969. At the time the Sussex police ruled Jone's demise to be the result of "death by misadventure" (which is how I hope to go out). Almost immediately accusations were made that the police hadn't thoroughly investigated the death and that Jones hadn't died from "misadventure" but had in fact been murdered.

Well the Sussex police have reopened the case. Although they have not revealed any new evidence or leads or any real reasons for reopening the case, they are treating it as a murder investigation this time around. For years people close to Jones have said that Jones died at the hands of Frank Thorogood, a live-in builder at Jones' residence at the time of his death. Thorgood died in 1994. Hopefully this new investigation will finally answer the question of how did Brian Jones really die some forty years after the fact.

Moving on, 90's ska/punk act Sublime will be reuniting to play Cypress Hill's Smokeout Fest this year. But wait a second, is Sublime's frontman, lead singer and songwriter Bradley Nowell dead? Yep, as a doornail. So how can this be you ask? Well, the other two guys in Sublime found some dude who sounds like Brad and are going to go around calling themselves Sublime. Worked for the Germs right?

It's been the trend of late for bands that have disbanded to get back together and go on the reunion tour circuit. Just this year we've blink 182 and No Doubt get back together and do large scale summer tours. The Misfits and The Dead Kennedys have been up to the entire reunion gig thing for years now, both with new lead singers. Now, I've got much less of a problem with the blinks and the No Doubts out there reforming. They've reformed as intact bands with the same members that you remember being in those bands. Then there's the second tier, the Misfits and Dead Kennedys out there who have replace their revered, but still living, lead singers with some ringers so they can go out on the road and make a quick buck or two. This is lame as fuck and anyone who would shell out good money to go and see these acts is a chump of the highest regard. But that's not the worst of it, oh no.

The real worst of the worst is the bands who a pivotal member has not just left the band, but DIED and then they reform with some ringer up their on the mic. It's necrophilic karaoke just after the quickest of bucks. Look, we've had The Doors of the 21st Century, Queen + Paul Rodgers, The Germs with Shane West and now we've got Sublime with some dude named Rome. Not only do these act reform, tour and sometimes put out new records, but PEOPLE WILL ACTUALLY PAY TO SEE THEM! Why? What's the point of seeing some over-hyped, glorified tribute band? I don't know, for me when I have a connection with a group I find to be in the worst taste to go see some facsimile band pretending to be said band. Would you go see the Beatles without John and George? The Clash without Joe Strummer? Nirvana without Kurt Cobain? I wouldn't, but I have a feeling some of you out there would, and that's terrible.

There ought to be a law, that's all I'm saying. The Federal Don't Reform Band Whose Members Are Dead Act. I want to see this on the senate floor by next week people. Get to work, write your congressman today.

-Jon J