Wednesday, August 30, 2006


Trail Goes Cold on International Espionage Duo

Where are they now?

Interpol has released this photo in an effort to enlist your aid in capturing the glamorous girl twosome known as Mr. and Mrs. The Cap'n, and their accomplice, a former groundskeeper known only as Gree C. Hair. The trio is being sought as the perpetrators of a crime spree across America and Europe whose victims are primarily men. Taken at the tony resort of Dolphinia on the shores of the Black Sea, these are the last known surveillance photos snapped by bounty hunter and freelance IRS agent The Dog before
the couple and their cohort commandeered a Kuntsvagon and disappeared into the desert, seeking to expand their underworld empire. If you have information on their whereabouts, call 1-800-GiveMeBackMyDick.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006


Odaliques hello turky

The Capt'n is fighting the good fight face down in a toilet and has asked me to post in her stead. No worries though we know that this brief period of the Capt'n on her knees is just more preparation for the life changing events that are coming everyday here on the Bosphorus.
For reasons we can never talk about in this century we are not able to post photos from Turkey yet. Again no worries we know this too is just a minor delay.

For now, the Team would like to thank the monkey and the whole crew of the Turkish Star Wars for such a warm and beautiful welcome immediately upon our arrival. On our short flight from Istanbul to Central Anatolia the team asked eachother- "do you think there will be naked poetry in the valley between the mountains of Cappadocia?" Never did we expect the valley to far exceed our wildest expectations. Thank you is all we can say for now.

gree c.

Friday, August 25, 2006



Here's me, jetlagged in Istanbul. Gree C. Hair and the Mrs. seem to be doing ok. Perhaps because they are not old sea hags like me.

But more interestingly,


...even more than before.

Monday, August 21, 2006


This one's for Zoe Strauss

Q: Can the Dagger watch it only once?
A: Doubt it.

Sunday, August 20, 2006


Hey Gree C.

Just so you know, the Mrs. is extremely excited about her righteous new listening device. As evidenced here, she comes from a family of excited-about-listening-devices family.

<---Brother Pieter and his best friend Dean with their righteous new Walkmans™. Rock out to the Beethoven, dudes! Anyway, Gree C., you should also know that we will most deffinitely go to the righteous used record stores located in the basement passages underneath the ancient, crumbling buildings of Istaklal, the pedestrian shopping street located in the righteous Istanbul district of Beyoglu, where we will most certainly find many gems from the beloved Turkish pop singers Bulent Ersoy and Zeki Muren.

Thursday, August 17, 2006


Goodbye, Sea Monkey

Good luck to you and Cherry. See you later, G.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006


Monday, August 14, 2006


A mighty wind blows

Saturday, August 12, 2006


If you need a little pick-me-up...

An excerpt of Rep. Dennis Kucinich (D-OH) during an Iraq War debate on the floor of the House (June 12, 2006).
*Thanks Randi Rhodes
*Thanks Dennis Kucinich

Thursday, August 10, 2006


Dr. Laurie Weeks
Writing Wild Style™


Countdown to 2012:
Writing Your Way Out of the Rubble

Hi! What feral children, data-entry clerks, prison matrons, char girls, are bound and gagged beneath the floorboards of your soul? What Enchanted Beings exiled to the Lower Realms are secretly giving you all these symptoms? There’s only one way to find out—that’s right, it’s time once again for a writing workshop with Dr. Weeks! Come for the examination, stay for the revelations. You’re not who they say you are—and I’ll prove it.

The journey from diagnosis to deathless poetic prose is a perilous one, but you won’t be alone. You’ll have your own multiple personalities, as well as the loving accompaniment of your fellow passenger/patients. The key word here is psychedelia. Let’s just leave it at that. The most important thing to remember is that you’ll be lovingly nurtured as you write your way toward that rapturous space where invisible whatevers burst through in new and startling forms. I hope we even recognize them!

Assignments and awesome readings will be provided each week. You can use these to create new work, or to help you with ongoing projects. You can work on scripts, performances, and any prose-type things you like.

The workshop will meet for 3 hours one night a week for 8 weeks. 10 participants maximum. Class starts the 2nd week of September, on a week night to be determined by the participants.

Cost is $350. If you’re interested, email me and include a li’l sample of your work. I’ll get right back to you. The classes are always intense and superfun. Also they’re not really even that intense.

Testimonial – Dear Dr. Weeks, I attended your Writing Wild Style™ workshop in 2004. It's been 2 years and I have not had fibromyalgia pain since then! Thank you for spreading the word that we CAN take our lives into our own hands and heal ourselves with prose exercises! I've passed on your books to many people and have told my medical doctor, chiropractor and massage therapist about your work. Blessings, Helen Benko, Ontario.

Greetings, Doctor! When me and my family of teenage girls came to you they was all in back pain and had no hair, plus juvenile delinquents who was flunking. You made me and my ex-wife go home and then I guess you read The Holographic Universe out loud to my daughters and made them pretend to be writing the journals of Film Stars of the French Avant Garde. Well, when my 3 girls came home they had heads full of long glossy curly hair and were very clean, with stylish glasses! They also got jobs and moved away to New York City. They don’t even bother me and my wife with phone calls no more! Thanks, Dr. Weeks!

Dr. Weeks, I attended your workshop in Burnaby on March 11, 2006. I was not ill and went to satisfy my own curiosity. I had read your story Debbie’s Barium Swallow at that time and since have acquired and read excerpts from Zipper Mouth. When I say I was not ill it's because I do not consider chronic debilitating shoulder pain that interrupts sleep and goes on for several years illness, rather I thought of it as expectable wear and tear on an aging body. At the break however, after the mornings healing session, where we discussed Lynda Barry’s book Cruddy, and how The Dad wanted to murder Cruddy, the young girl, I realized that my shoulder was pain free. Being the sceptic that I am I have not written sooner than this because I wanted to give my shoulder plenty of time to return to it's former painful state. Today is July 14th and I think it's time to tell you that I am convinced my shoulder is healed. I have loaned your stories out many times and continue to encourage others to enter this path of learning. Many, many thanks to you and your cats/friends for supporting all girls with your gifts.
Posted by Stephanie

Testimonial – A year ago I emailed you asking for one-on-one treatments. The other doctors told me to go home and be with my family because I will probably die. I had tremendous abdominal pain, diarrhea, severe anemia. My platelet count was down and I had MRIs, CT scans, barium enema and colonoscopy to try to find out what the diagnosis was, aside from countless blood and stool tests. I dropped from 112 lbs to 79 lbs and I could not eat. Everything I ate cause even more pain. I was so weak and in so much pain I could barely walk and crawled most of the time. As a matter of fact, I crawled to the subway one day and just by chance I saw your ad for Dr. Weeks Writing Wild Style™ workshops next to Doctor Zizmor. Anyway I emailed you immediately but apparently you were too busy to answer, so, in desperation I crawled all the way over to your doorstep to express my disappointment, but your handlers picked me up and threw me in your basement, which is where I am now, did you think I was too stupid to use this computer, you bitch? Or did you just forget about it, probably having 4 giant MACs upstairs from all your asshole books that everyone knows you TALK ABOUT BUT NEVER FINISH LET ALONE PUBLISH. You are the biggest charlatan of them all, and when I get out of this fucking basement where I am turning my rage into a masterpiece, rest assured I will crawl upstairs to that ivory tower where you sit NOT WRITING YOUR SO-CALLED “NOVEL” [i.e. piece of shit] and I will KILL you with my weak, bare hands and then write a best-selling true crime book about it from prison, where it is I, not you, Dr. Weeks, who will be giving writing workshops to the Lesbians, and it is I who will be telling the prison matron to go fuck herself, only this time it’ll be for real, and not in my mind, like the fantasy world of lies and shattered dreams you are so busy selling to lonely girls full of disease and no hope!
Keepin it real,

Dear Unsuspecting Victims of Dr. Weeks: If you care about ART, do NOT take this workshop!!! In the 10 minutes of her class that I attended before leaving in a rage, I felt like John Lennon being infantilized by Yoko Ono. Dr. Weeks makes you feel like a stupid little baby because you don’t ever even understand one word she says, nor did she ever mention the Triumph of the Human Spirit, which all the great male writers say is what makes great writing! Everybody felt really good about themselves in her class, plus no one in her class was spelling anything the write way, and still she didn’t say ONE MEAN THING! I felt like a baby, not a writing student! As noted before!

Eat shit and die,
Camille Paglia

Tuesday, August 08, 2006


A Bum Wheel

Here is Dick Blu's diagram of what happen to poore Sea Monquey de obba dey. She was trying to come out the water after an action-packed session of getting reacquainted with the moody ways of the Sea, which included getting her leash wrapped around her neck like a noose, and at another point paddling into an enormous wave which then suddenly broke right on top of her. All I saw was a gigantic explosion of whitewater, and Sea Monkey shooting straight out of it about two feet above her board, which also shot straight out. Like two parallel arrows, or like when they shoot people out of cannons. Then a tumbling Monkey and surf board in a mountain of whitewater. Because i am cruel and evil I cracked up so hard I nearly drowned. But she did, too, we both did for like 20 minutes. After we made sure she was ok. It was the most spectacular wipeout I have ever seen in person. And although the tumbling Snow Pony did karate chop her leg, that's not what really hurt her. It was when she was coming out of the water. Kara and I had gone ahead to get changed at the van, thinking Sea Monkey was still out there waiting to catch her last wave in. In fact she had ridden in on some whitewater in the classic prone position, and when she was close to the shore, she gave one last kick and that's when her leg went out. Sea Monkey has a bum wheel that sometimes slips out of it's propper alignment, and it's an excruciating situation for her until it goes back to where it should be. So there she stood, trapped & screaming in the shallow water as each wave hit her leg, until a lady and man carried her to the beach, where she then struggled to get her leg back into place, alone, while everyone sat around ignoring her and not even asking if she was alright.
Pictured above: Sea Monkey uses the Snow Pony as a walker to hobble past a lady on her cell phone while she thinks of happier times of being strangled by her leash.

Sunday, August 06, 2006


This just in from Sea Monkey's herstory archives

The caption reads:

My 1st time at Tourmaline

No shit-sat on surfboard-San Diego-1980-snake went in my twat

Boyfriend's brother tooks us-I'd forgotten

Friday, August 04, 2006


San Diego: irony-free zone

So we went to the gay pride thingy the other day. I had an out-of-towner friend visiting and the parade goes right by our house, so what the hell. But we were feeling a little snippy and annoyed with the commercialism of the absolut vodka pride floats, etc. that are typical of today, combined with the non-critical, stunted, relatively flavorless community here in San Diego, so Dick Blew and I had to wear our matching shirts to express our frustration with the asimilationist tendencies of the queer power structure within a bloated imperialist society during the dance macabre of late capitalism and plus. You know what I'm saying. But I'm not so sure the people here did. Sure, we thought we were hilarious, but all we got were resentful crickets from the San Diegans.
Pictured above: Dick Blew gets ready to tuck her "Gayness is a fucked-out whore" shirt and her slip up into her underpants, with her excellent ass hanging out, which she then wore that way until a disturbed Old Navy queen came over and tried to "help" her and fix her outfit. He actually grabbed Dick Blew's dress and pulled it out of her underwear. But Mary, you can't be physically grabbing a lady's person like that without the lady then having to correct you, which then commenced. I didn't catch the whole thing, but I think I did hear Dick esplaining that she was, in fact, gay too, "even though I only look like a fucked-out whore." It was really funny, though here I am esplaining the joke so it's actually probably not funny any more.

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