31 October 2014

19 Loons



Ever seen the tv show "19 and Counting?" It is about a loon American Christian family with 19 kids and their life (or lack thereof).

Show the other day - a two hour special - featured one of the 19 getting married off to another loon American Christian. Think they danced at this wedding? Think again. Theses loons do not even permit their children to hold hands or hug properly - side-hugging only.

Until we get a tv show about a Taliban family this is truly the craziest shit on tv. Naturally, I am drawn to it like a teenager with a gun to a school cafeteria.

26 October 2014

Additions and Subtractions



Some additions have been made to the Dope City Free Press' Fellowship of Motherfuckers. WDVX-FM may be the best radio station in the world but both Dope City Radio and Lord Nelson's Kootenay Radio are fine examples of Free Radio both close to my heart and home. Check them out if you prefer not being bombarded by advertisements for shit you do not need.

Added Roar Magazine too. You just might like it if you have maintained your love of Freedom, are politically inclined, or are thinking about becoming politically inclined. The world needs your activism, motherfuckers. Now more than ever.

Deleted a few old Fellow Motherfuckers as well. If you are one of them I wish you had kept writing but most of all I hope you are well. If I know you have died, as England's (Doc 40) Mick Farren or Newfoundlander Lloyd Rees (Lloyd's Newfoundland) have done, you will remain a Fellow Motherfucker Forever.

As ever the Dope City Free Press remains untainted by the twin abominations Facebook and Twitter. #They can go fuck themselves and repeat as necessary.

Tale of a Blue Ass Dog



Some things, it must be said, are easier to write about than others. (That is what I was thinking as I looked at what once was a blank page until I tuned into WDVX-FM and began listening to Little Richard and Chuck Berry and my toes started tapping and I got happy as a man with a case of beer hanging from his arm and my fingers start hitting the letters on the keyboard and I got to making words like all writers do until they give up and die like motherfuckers.)

The Hammer, I could not help but notice the other day, got diarrhea. The Hammer does not like it when she is not shitting like she usually does. Regular dog shit is hot enough. I imagine dog diarrhea must be hot enough to cook on. Imagine shit that hot pouring out of your ass.

Upon closer inspection I noticed my old dog's ass had turned blue as those funny shooters I see women and their sissy boyfriends drinking in the bar when they are trying to make sure someone is going to be puking out the car window on the way home from the bar.

Off to the vet we went. Told the vet, "The Hammer is not shitting right and her ass has turned blue."

The vet checked out my dog, who appeared to be doing fine, and was figuring what she had was just another case of a dog not shitting right that did not really need fixing but who would go home with medicine that would make her owner think the vet was doing his job and knew everything there was to know about dogs not shitting right.

That was when the Hammer raised her tail and the vet could see her ass - blue as the Caribbean. "Never seen a dog's ass that looked like that," is what he said disbelievingly. Apparently there is no medicine that will make a dog's ass go back to its normal colour after it has turned blue so he just gave me some stuff to help her shit right and told me, "Keep an eye on your dog's ass. If it gets any bluer than that or changes into some other colour a dog's ass is not supposed to be bring her back in."

The Hammer has got better. Shits like a champ. But her ass is still blue. Reckon some asshole must have spilled some extra dye into her dog biscuits back at the factory. Could see him laughing with his work buddies thinking about how some asshole's dog's ass was going to shit fire and turn blue. Is kind of funny when you think of it. Funny enough for me to never buy that brand of dog biscuits again.

Fuck you Milk Bone motherfuckers.            

23 October 2014

Beavers, Screech and Wilf Carter



Was a time
Everybody
Who came to Canada
Loved the fucking place.

Guess Canada
Is not
As lovable
As it once was.

Canada is not all beavers,

Screech and
A Wilf Carter record
Playing on the hi-fi
On Saturday night any more.

19 October 2014

Change For the Better



Here in British Columbia it looks as if our Indians have had their ambition to once again control their land and resources, realized by a still recent Supreme court decision which made clear that stealing land, even if that land is stolen by white people, does not mean the stolen land remains in the control of the thieves forever.

The fucking government and the fucking corporations (who have been watching and beating off the whole time), have been fucking the Indians for well over 100 years on this coast. It is the only thing they are good at: Indian fucking and watching the Indians get fucked.

I would suggest the size of our fucking government is due for a good shrinking. The Department of Fucking Indians and its big steaming shitpile of lawyers, for one, ought to have a fork sunk deep in its ass - its done. The Legislature in Victoria should be turned over to the Indians. If there is anything left for the old Indian fucking government  to do they ought to be able to manage their affairs from a few cheap offices in Newton.

Seems to me the political parties that call British Columbia home ought to turn themselves over to the Indians as well. Our next Premier and Premiers forever more ought to be Indian people. Our province is their fucking land, they ought to manage it without interference.

I hope they change the name of this place too. The one we have now is way too fucking white. I, for one, would prefer Spuzzum to British Columbia.

Long as they do not close any liquor stores, I do not give a fuck what they do. Indian management of the place I call home cannot get any worse than the screwing of the people we have seen going on year after year after year.

12 October 2014

Brand New Age, Same Old Pigs



Briefly, for the benefit of those of you who do not live near, a cop was charged who, along with some screws, thought it good fun to sit back and watch two female inmates grind one another in a cell some years back. I am not saying the pig and his screw buddies were having themselves a good old circle jerk as they watched the live sex video but if they were not literally doing so they most certainly were doing so figuratively.

Canadian justice, when it arrives at all, arrives slowly, by dog sled one might say, with chihuahuas pulling the sled over thawed ground. So it was that last week a judge provided the clarity judges are so famous for in her ruling regarding the policeman's behaviour - a clarity all were expecting.

Scandalous behaviour by the police is permitted in Canada. Perhaps that is why my country has been so slow to permit police monitoring of society by closed circuit camera. We permit the police to behave like scumbags but we try to limit the possibilities for them to do so.

My country is really quite fucked. But then, so too is yours.

6 October 2014

Canada Pulls On Its Big Girl Panties



Looks like Canada is pulling on its big girl panties and going to drop some fucking bombs on some Muslim Loon Beheaders if we can find any. My government, fuckheads all, would like it if I would show some enthusiasm for our Air Force and its bombs. A little good old Canadian rah-fucking-rah.

Alas, my cupboard is empty of good old Canadian rah-fucking-rah. Cannot even find any way in the back of the cupboard to support the murder of the homicidal religious assholes we are pissed off at presently. No tears need be shed for those soon to be dead or maimed motherfuckers.

My tears will however flow when non-combatants get blown to Hell. If wars were only about soldiers killing and raping other soldiers I would be war's biggest supporter. Shit ain't like that. War is an indiscriminate killer: a psychopath.

We Canadians, we westerners generally, are supposed to see our civilization as superior to the one we are about to splat with bombs and misery. Could be our civilization is superior to theirs but everybody knows it will not be long before the ever widening gap between the 1% and you and me inevitably results in our own pile of smoke, ashes and bodies. The bodies, in fact, are already getting piled up pretty fucking high.

It is written.

So you go ahead and plaster a Support the Troops bumpersticker on your car and think you could not possibly be wrong for standing behind our religion deranged Prime Minister and his sickfuck yes men and yes women. But remember this:

The planes and their payloads are not going to get us anywhere and their cost to our society will not be small.

Fuck them and fuck their fucking war.

2 October 2014

Double Checkin' Dishrags



Some time ago I bought the Dishrags' complete recordings. Double album's worth of two-tittied motherfucking punk rock history. I was supposed to write something about it long ago. Got sidetracked I guess. Not the first fucking time.

The studio tracks are every bit as good as the 45s on which they first deafened disco fever urban cowboy Earth. The live tracks, I am talking about the ones recorded when the 'Rags opened the Clash's first North American show in Dope City, are another story.

In those days magnetic north for my dick was the Dishrags. They had all the attributes a punk rock boy (or girl) could hope for. Tough as a loggers; sweet as sugar cookies; creative as Stompin' Tom Connors on Sudbury Saturday night.

I recalled their show as being about as good as punk rock got. Fast and loose as a two-bit whore loaded on speed and alcohol. As I may well have been that enchanted evening.

The recording does not quite live up to that. Their cover of Eddie and the Hot Rods' "Double Checkin' Woman" cannot even save them. But I still think you should go out and fucking buy it.

For the music.

And the photos.

Now, wet dream motherfuckers.

26 September 2014

Long Live Rock, Long Live DOA



From day fucking one I have preferred listening to Metal Machine Music at maximum volume to watching music videos on my television. I can see why the imaginationless would go for music videos. The imaginationless go for all sorts of rot.

Have a listen to Hawkwind's "Psychedelic Warlords" with your eyes closed if you have lost touch with the power of your imagination. You know what to do should you wish to push your imagination into four wheel drive.

If it were not for the rare film in which a really good bit of song gives the action a little extra spark I would have the same feeling about music in film as well. For every "Easy Rider" there are a thousand films with music I would have preferred not to hear - ever!

What I do like (and have always liked) are filmed rock shows. That is how I first heard Status Quo, Rush, Mahogany Rush and a great many more when in my stiff dick youth. Still like a good rock show turning up on my television screen.

Watched The Who's 2013 performance in London last night courtesy of my cable provider. My cable provider offers very few good rock shows but this is one of them. Odd thing about the show is the back drop behind Roger, Pete and their damn near faceless band is a giant video screen which takes the watcher through British history, both musical and otherwise, with a focus on the mod sods themselves, of course.

Highly recommend it. Glad Pete and Roger have chosen to rock on. Take a bow, motherfuckers.

Oddly I received news after watching the concert that DOA are officially unretired, making a new record, a rock opera tentatively titled "Gino" according to my suspect sources, and preparing to tour once more. Hope Joe sees The Who show. A similar video historical/biographical backdrop behind Dope City's most durable rockers (besides Sparkling Apple) would be pretty fucking cool.

22 September 2014

8-track Collection



Spent the weekend,
It was hotter than most,
Getting loaded and
Listening to 8-tracks.

Stompin' Tom,
Elvis,
The Beatles,
Jerry Garcia,

10 cc,
George Carlin,
Creedence Clearwater Revival
And West, Bruce and Laing.

There ain't no more than that.