Saturday, October 15, 2005

Black Dog is more a Zep toon about the infamous Billy Blackbird, than this feral Finn.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm lying. It's actually pert near 3:00am and I'm here
sipping a cup of bravo sierra and smoking a few bong
rips of French Roast.

Some evenings are too enchanting to waste on sleeping.
Tonight, I'd rather write on questions existential and
ponder why every twist and turn in our random mutation
gives us a shit load of statistical outliers that are
simply smarter than I, more creative than I, but ain't
as good looking, nor foul mouthed.

At every level of our advancement we had a lot more
obnoxiously arrogant geniuses around but their numbers
were kept near zero because thicker dummies like me
clipped them all.

Don't get me wrong, we need lots of ultra-bright yet
mad geniuses, we just can't discern them from monkeys
with a microscope, DNA swab nor chainsaw.

Years back an alcoholic trailer whore had six kids all
suffering horrible birth defects. When she got
pregnant again her pimp and colleagues recommended she
seek services from the town Barber. He performed all
the bloodletting and leach/rat poison abortions for
girls of such dismal economic potential.

Town folk were surprised that she refused to evacuate
her soul kitchen at Dr. Squat Vac's Rape and Scrape
clinic with all the bloody rags spinning in the wind
and drying on the clothesline out front.

Thank God she refused his hemorrhagic help.

Cuz the runt bastard whore bait kid was Mozart.

Thank fucking God for cable access broadband cuz now
my Eskimo wife can indulge herself with mondo
gigabytes of this sickly gimpoid genius's wonderful

With the help of this arctic computing station north
of 70 lat and kick ass subwoofer system she rotates
from online Baroque old fartin' dust toonage, to
Russian and Polish opera music streaming Internet
stations, capping her Siberian extra-cultural paradigm
musical interface cocktail with Joe Sat, SRV, Zep and

Seems someone has been a bad influence on a lethal
native girl playing above mass graves haunted by those
that went before her more than 5 and 50 years ago.

Since when does pre-cathode subsistence blended with a
caveman's version of Nightmare on Front Street create
the statistical outlier that listens to 400 year old
music with 400 year old membranous tympanic of
Siberian origin?

Speaking of misusing tissue, I didn't protect my
hearing fer shit so I crank the shit outa everything I
need to listen to, even my dick.

This suits my Siberian Mrs. just fine.

Weird huh? Since when did short, retarded and backward
Eskimos ever hatch a sid that fully comprehended the
multi-dimensional field theory and poly-rhythmical and
poly-phonic sound pressure levels created from
hardwood and cat gut sound boxes pert near half a
millennia ago.

For centuries I drove everyone around me crazy with my
stupid shit music. Officer Jewell used to call my
space toonage fag music. All without revealing his IQ
nor sexual preference. Something called a tell.

If I slept off a hangover in Dispatch with Coyote
Oldman or Robert Tree Cody, Billy Blackbird would
chide me for my airhead reservation retarded fuckin'
music, and shit.

Hey ease up, for the record he told me to call him
spear chucker Jones, just to get old lady Helen
Barger's cooter biscuit hot for a back door backup
sloppy seconds stinky tap.

"Fuck You Lorin." "Only Karl call me Blackbird."

Ain't that a beautiful friendship? Same shit different
day and I’m still surrounded by minority butt fuckers
possessing extraordinarily violent capabilities: look
in the mirror then your neighbor.

Like us, Billy Blackbird made lots of mistakes. Just
he shot more pussy and fucked more stray dogs than
canine and Inupiaq DNA history depicts. Fuck there's a
lot of ugly mutts and mangy bitches in his wake, just
left all kinda ugly.

He's good people, if ye keep him away from open flame.
Fuck that boy could bust up whole packs of fanged rat
fucking stray dogs with his nugger shooter and smoke
all my cigarettes in one shift.

One day Blackbird went a little Nam on me.

He and I cruised up to the graveyard in the gray dog
catcher's truck, sparked a hooter and brew and set a
spell on municipal officers hourly pay, baked. On our
rally back to town we saw a really pretty black lab
jumping and chasing a bunch of kids right near the

Blackbird pulled over, ran down the gravel embankment
and out on to the grassy marsh under the water bridge.
He got between the kids and their pet, kneeled down
and blew off the dog's collar along with generous
amounts of its neck. Billy cycled a round, then
blasted fur off its face and front torso dropping the
mongrel quicker than a Chilean cleaner crew on loan
from Texas, Nixon rich.

He yelled at me to come down, which I did, and we
dragged that hog leg meat leaker up to the truck and
pitched it in the back.

Those poor kids never looked at me the same again.

If you saw the look of shock on their faces you too
would doubt they'll ever be able to form words either.

Blackbird chunked their pet into kibbles and bits
right before their eyes.

On another occasion, Billy and I were cruising South
Tent City (kvl camp) for pellet meat puppets, when we
seen a loose husky running a bit south of Burnor's
camp. Billy got out and ran the dog down whereupon it
whirled around and snapped at Mr. Bird.

So Billy blew its front leg off, then spun it around
with a hip shot. That fucking dog did a cooler’n shit
gimp boogie scrambling crippled in the dirt until
Billy put a charge into its face, full stop.

The screaming continued cuz the owners were in
two-thirds hysteria harmony now minus their howling
mutt mess. Fuck they were shrieking loudly. Made me
wanna encore their red wet faces with my chrome sissy
gun I bought from Garoutte.

These folks weren't at all happy to see their
poocher's blood and poop mixed, 'specially when a wild
eyed killer in uniform blasted it to bits one shot at
a time.

I also highly suspect some of their frustration with
our public services rendered was that the Kotzebue
Police Department unleashed such sick grinning fucks
who to this day cackle and howl like fucking hyenas
whilst performing our hobby killing before breakfast

I find it convenient to retell these tales without any
benefit of Blackbird plausibly refuting culpability.
Mighty white of me huh? Like the Chief commented just
last week, "There's always more to the story." I'm
human; to blame it on the other guy is even more

Truth be told, but not likely, I never owned a gun,
nor fired one. I was never there and I didn't do it.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

It's always the butler that did it, or the black guy.

Like I said, every twist and turn in our random
mutation gives us a shit load of statistical outliers
that are simply smarter than I, more creative than I,
but ain't as good looking, nor foul mouthed.

Despite origins not healthy wealthy nor wise, Old
Billy Bird was gifted at some things. Telling true
stories from way back when, sure as fuck ain’t one of
'em. My savant forte lies in my memory for details,
his lies in his affliction for killing and raping.

As with all you killers in uniform, may God bless that
soldier and I pray you men live as long as I. Cuz I’ll
be writing about your lives long after your kids fart
dust and suck dirt, even if they look more like
Blackbird than you. And you thought you were only
eating yer own sperm.

Up yours truly,

Ben Dover.


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