lick my presidential balls...heh...heh...heh heh heh heheheheheheheheh.

Good morning everyone…It’s time to return to my saga of crappy jobs I’ve held in an attempt to figure out where my life has run so drastically off track. When we left our hero, he had held jobs at the comic book store, the ice cream parlor, the jewish summer camp, the Metro, the Record Exchange, McDonalds, drywalling basements…blah blah blah…pretty crappy for a college grad, huh?
It’s funny, because I think about how when I was a kid, the big, omnipresent societal barometer in the sky kept telling us, through articles, newscasts and all that shit that my generation would be the first one to make less money than their parents generation on the whole. I remember thinking, ‘wow, that really sucks for those people in my generation who are gonna blow the curve, because I’m pretty sure that I’m destined for millions.’
Funny how shit tends to sneak through the tall grass, worm into your sleeping bag and bite you on the tip of the dick, [leaving your camping buddy in an awkward and up-to-this-point hypothetical situation…oh, nevermind], because I’m pretty sure that I make less money than everyone in my family. My little brother’s a lawyer for fucks sake…I’m currently in workout shorts doing this, with no paystub in sight…Hmmm…I blame society.
Okay, so the next job I’m going to talk about is sort of the main job I’ve ever had, I’ve done it longer than I’ve done anything and it’s probably the reason, in some way or another, that you stumbled across this blog in the first place. I’m talking of course, about being a glory hole attendant.
When I was fourteen, I went down to this place called the bijou to get some weed. Clark, the night manager, told me that I could get the good weed for cheaper if I ‘worked the weasels’. Hmmm….I didn’t know what that meant, but then he explained that it was just like the whack-a-mole game at carnivals, where the moles, or weasels, depending on your region, pop through the holes and you hit them with a mallet before they disappear. This was like that, but when the ‘weasels’ popped through the holes, you just had to hold this warm, wet sponge around them UNTIL they disappeared. Oh, what? Did you think someone was really, HONESTLY sucking your dick back there? Now who’s being naïve?
Okay, this isn’t the job I was gonna talk about. From the time I was twelve until, well, now…I’ve been a guy in a band. It’s been the way I make most of my money since I was eighteen. The first show I ever played was at my middle school, outside. The band was called Spermicidal Tendencies and we did two songs, the second of which fell apart and we had to stop halfway through.
Spermicidal Tendencies was also the first band I ever recorded with. My friend Nick has been proficient with a four track since we were about eleven, so we’ve been recording ever since. (In fact, the most recent song I’ve recorded has been with Nick. We’re a rock and roll type thing called the Coke Horse. Say it out loud if you don’t immediately think it’s funny…It’s the best band name ever. I will say right now that if you like any of my other bands, this probably isn’t for you, and I don’t really know when/if the Coke Horse will ever release something, but it’s a creative partnership that endures as the longest running one in my life, if not the most consistent, fruitful or successful…whatever)
Now, when you’re eleven or twelve and you’re recording songs, they tend to be pretty narrowly about one or two possible subjects, as there’s really not a ton of life experience to go on, (unless you’re one of those kids who used to have to do horrible things to get by, in which case, you’re most likely in porn), so we had songs about finding pubic hair in food, songs about blowjobs (the idea of them; Empirical blowjobs were still a LONG way out of our realm of imagination) and a whole song about balls, called “nuts, nuts we want nuts”. Looking back, it was kind of a gay project, but hey, we were writing about what we knew, and as anyone who’s ever been a twelve year old can tell you, every bit of information that comes in or out of you is filtered through your junk.
Freshman year in highschool, my best friend Chris and I decided to form a band. We had been playing acoustic guitars and making tapes in our rooms for a while, and we decided it was time to bite the bullet and get a drummer. We went with this dong-wallet who couldn’t keep time with a fucking clock. He was terrible. THEN, we got this guy on bass named Tim, who was like the bass playing version of the drummer. I just sang. We called ourselves Vegetable Train and we sucked the dick off a dog.
We played two shows, that I recall. The first was in the drummer’s creepy religious girlfriend’s basement, for a birthday party. Her parents were very clear that there was to be no cursing or anything like that. Well, we launched into ‘nuts nuts we want nuts’ (it was such a jam that I brought it with me from Spermicidal …I know) and Chris, Tim and I pulled off our pants, inciting a religious frenzy that led to us running out the back door as the drummer’s girlfriend’s parents chased us. We left our poor, terrible drummer there to apologize/pack up his drums. Heh. The next show was in his kitchen. While he was in the bathroom, after we had played and before ThoughtCrime played (don’t ask how I remember that) this guy got on the drums and started fucking around. He was way better than our drummer, so Chris and I covertly talked to dude, and got him into our band.
The next day at school, in gym, I was standing next to our drummer in some sort of drill line and I said
“dude, the band broke up”
Which is hilarious. As though I was talking about a band that neither of us were in…I was a freshman in highschool, though, gimme a break. After getting over the shock and confusion (How could Vegetable Train break up?) he asked if I wanted to start another band. I said, nah. I already had another band. It was with all the same guys from our band, but with a different drummer.
I think he took it pretty well.
Okay, so we changed out name to Gladhand, and we were still terrible. This four piece incarnation of Gladhand took the Spermicidal tendencies, ahem…tendencies to write songs about schlongs and magnified it by a billion. In that first creative flurry, we wrote “penis manwich’, ‘penis of the night’, ‘dicks’, ‘penis rising’, ‘ride the anal train’ (which is, actually more about dicks than anuses, despite what the title would lead you to believe) and of course, we brought along ‘nuts nuts we want nuts.’ In fact, I think that with the exception of any song of the first Lawrence Arms record that we still play, (which is only Evening, Detention, Kevin, and L and L, for those of you who care) Nuts nuts we want nuts may be the most enduring song in my musical career. That’s fucking terrible.,,,But whatever, things were starting to happen.
Oh, make no mistake, things were starting to happen. We had this drummer, (who, by the way is the guy of living in the laundry room, under the bed, working at the hot dog stand, getting abortions fame) and this exciting band. We were hanging out with all the big local stars like the dudes from Mama’s Groove (one Jeremy Sisto of Hollywood fame was the vocalist of said band) and CheerioHead. Cheeriohead featured awesome song titles like “battle Axe’ and “fat booty alert”. The members went on to form, and this is not a joke, “Freakilicious Alien Booty”.
People say that 99% of all records never sell 1000 copies. See why? Everyone’s an idiot. Mama’s Groove? FREAKILICIOUS ALIEN BOOTY??? ULTRAVIOLET HIPPOPOTAMUS????
Okay, this saga will continue another time…that’s all for now. I gotta go to the bank and get paid.
XOXOXO