Keith McNally

KeithCourage.com

2007-03-15T03:37:08Z

Man, I fucking forgot about livejournal. A pimpin' wouldn't be complete without this.

I've got a new website at http://www.KeithCourage.com

Thanks to Bill for the StumbleUpon. It got me a buncha hits.

I'm setting up a standup show in New York next month. Details are still scant, but I suspect it'll be fucking awesome. I'm gonna film it, so no matter how it goes the world will see my triumph / destruction. Probably triumph though.

I hope you're all well, as politeness dictates.

Podcast

2006-05-07T06:01:20Z

My friend Erin and I have been working on a podcast, and after throwing out 4 demo shows we finally hit our stride. It turned out really well and I am very proud. AYIYIYIYIYIYIYI!!!

http://logorrhea.libsyn.com/

New York City Fuckers!!

2006-04-26T03:59:36Z

In my last entry I was excited that I got a letter read on the world's most excellent comedy podcast, Keith and the Girl. Now, in my very next post (seven months later), I've travelled to New York, opened Keith Malley's annual standup comedy show, kicked fucking ass and made an appearance on the podcast. HELLS YEAH! This is what they call keeping the eye on the prize.

Eventually I should have a video of the event, and I'll be a dvd extra on Malley's 3rd dvd, out later this year. Until then, check out what I consider to be the greatest guest appearance ever on Keith and the Girl: Me.

http://media.libsyn.com/media/shitecom/KATG-2006-04-17.mp3

Mild fame!

2005-09-29T01:14:56Z

I sent a letter to Keith and the Girl, my favorite podcast, and they read it! Yeah! The gist of it is that I'm the only person in the world who's listening to their often offensive show in a public place and the results of that. It's episode 143: The Porn Shop. You can skip to minute 29 if you wanna get right to me.

This is the direct link:

http://shitecom.libsyn.com/media/shitecom/KATG-2005-09-27.mp3

keithmcnally @ 2005-08-28T12:02:00

2005-08-28T19:11:15Z

My life is becoming like a pathetic episode of an eighties cop show. This morning at 6 o'clock, on my way to my job, I saw an over the hill prostitute who I've come to recognize, offering her wares. Then, while waiting for the bus, a fellow on a bicycle asked me if I'd be interested in purchasing some "rock". I sure was glad to get out of there and nestled safely behind the counter at the pornographic-item dispensary.

Maybe this environment combined with my sleep-deprivation explains why I laughed for almost a whole minute at this Neil Hamburger joke:

Why did E.T., the extra terrestrial, love Reeses Pieces?

Because they have the same flavor that cum does on his home planet.

keithmcnally @ 2005-08-22T20:32:00

2005-08-23T03:46:23Z

So I'm working at a porn shop these days. Selling dildos, butt plugs, nipple clamps, you name it. There's an internet connection here that I'm not supposed to use, but I'm getting paid $8 an hour to sell dildos, butt plugs and nipple clamps. So here we are.

I just heard a Dave Grohl radio promo that had me laughing all the way to the discount-lube bin:

"I'm Dave Grohl, and the Fox rocks. I know these things. I know foxes. They rock. They rock my cock. Cocks rock. Have you ever seen a fox's cock? It rocks."

Keith vs. Ben Affleck

2004-12-19T03:36:27Z

Keith McNally vs. Ben Affleck!!

--

The Scene:

Interior Vancouver coffee shop, corner of Granville and Davie.
3:45pm, November 7, 2004.

The Cast:

Ben Affleck, in red jacket and ball cap

Sunny, a korean girl learning english, coffee shop employee

Keith, our hero, also a coffee shop employee

An assortment of lounging customers, who remain completely oblivious throughout

--

[Affleck enters and approaches counter. He is tall and handsome, even moreso than Keith.]

Keith (surprised, sly grin forming): Hey, it's-

Sunny (making tiny leaps of excitment): Matt Damon!!

[Affleck laughs.]

Keith: C'mon, it's B Flek! The Aff!

Affleck: Can I have a large latte, please.

Keith: Sure!

[Keith rings it in while Sunny goes to make the latte.]

Keith: You need like a fake beard or something, man. You're way too recognizable.

Affleck: Well, it's a short walk.

Keith: I gotta tell you, the Chasing Amy and Dogma commentaries, best commentary tracks ever. You and Kevin Smith, hilarious.

Affleck: Thanks. Kevin puts a lot of work into his commentaries.

Keith: Mm.

[Suddenly the chemistry between Keith and Ben evaporates, so Ben starts singing along to the song playing in the store, which Keith does not recognize, and therefore cannot harmonize.]

Keith: So, this is kinda anticlimactic. My first big celebrity encounter and it's just, "Hey, I saw you in some movies. Good job."

Affleck: Well, it's just people. You must have met some others around here.

Keith: Apparently it used to be David Duchovny town, you'd see him all over the place. But he never comes back now.

Affleck: Hm.

Keith: I read this thing about how after Mallrats you left a note to Kevin Smith saying, "Please, if you have any more movies, give me a call!" And now you're all in Armaggedon and shit and he's like, "Fuck that guy! He should get _me_ jobs!"

[Affleck chuckles noncommittally, looks around.]

Keith: So what're you, doing a movie or something?

Affleck: Yeah, "Man About Town."

Keith: Right, I read about that.

[Pause.]

Keith: I saw Jersey Girl.

[Affleck nods.]

[Much longer pause.]

Affleck: So what's it like working here?

Keith: It's good. I get away with a lot. [Keith suddenly cracks up.] Haha, that was great... "Matt Damon."

[Affleck raises eyebrows, nods obligingly.]

Sunny: Supremo latte!

Keith: That'll be $4.23.

[Affleck pays with credit card, his signature a quick illegible scrawl. Keith notes that his receipt does in fact say "Affleck, Ben".]

[Ben goes to get a lid for his latte, sliding on his sunglasses.]

Sunny (speaking quietly to Keith, clapping hands): I saw him, he was in... Purr Harbor.

Keith: Pearl Harbor, yeah.

Sunny: I can't believe I didn't bring camera... I'm going to tell all my friends!

Keith: Hey, man!

[Affleck turns on his way out.]

Keith: Sunny here said she's gonna tell all her friends, so to counter balance, I'm not gonna tell _any_ of my friends!

[Despite Keith's yelling, other customers remain oblivious to Affleck's presense.]

[Affleck tips his cup in Keith's direction.]

Affleck: Good enough.

[Affleck exits.]

--

Epilogue: Keith then spent the rest of the day telling everyone he could think of about how he met Ben Affleck.

--

Winner of the line Keith most regrets not having said to Ben, which comes from Erika, Keith's cute girlfriend:

"God dammit. I have to see your face all over the place, and now I've gotta see you at work too?"

keithmcnally @ 2004-08-26T16:50:00

2004-08-26T23:51:49Z

First, a quick aside: I know nothing will ever top Jack Chick in the world of crazy religiosity, but some lady handed me a pamphlet the other day that lists the following as sins:

-gambling
-drinking
-swearing
-dancing
-card playing
-theatre going
-pipe
-snuff box
-"secret sins"
-obscene stories
-foolish talking
-worldly amusement
-worldly fashion
-unsaved associates
-etc.

All I can say is HOLY FUCK. I thought Ned Flanders was kidding when he said "I don't drink or dance or swear". Seriously, dancing? Theatre going? Worldly amusement? That isn't condemning "fun" as in mudering people or taking heroin. That's condemning actual fun. They could save a lot of space on their pamphlets if they only listed two things as sins:

-breaking the law
-enjoying life

And, optionally:

-failing to stand on a busy street screaming about Jesus

However, that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I still don't have a job, so I'm still spending all day reading old comics.

More Fun With Discount Comics

I wish I had a scanner so I could show some of these panels, but you'll have to use your delicious brains to imagine the stupidness.

My latest favorite-book-of-ever is the premiere issue of Cat & Mouse, published by Aircel. Written by Roland Mann, drawn by Mitch Byrd and Steven Butler.

Price in 1990: $3.00
Price in 2004: Fifty cents

Right away you know this comic's gonna be exciting. The opening caption reads: "New Orleans. Just an average city with average people and average happenings." It's a good thing they put that right at the top of the page, so all I had to do to keep reading was look down. Because if I had to turn a page to see what happened next, I don't think I would have bothered.

Cat & Mouse are a team of mentally challenged burglars who work for the Yakuza. Cat is a teeth-grinding fountain of anger, and Mouse is a slut. Mouse gets shot during a heist, and Cat doesn't want to take her to a regular people hospital. So he takes her to the vet.

Cat tries to convince the vet's secretary, Nancy, that they should help Mouse. He doesn't use the fact that she has an animal name as a direct argument, but he does make sure to mention it. Mostly he tries to sound clever and fails badly.

Nancy: "This is very out of the ordinary."

Cat (teeth grinding): "Most bullet-wounds are."

Yet somehow that does the trick, and she lets him in.

Mouse is wearing her high-cut one-piece leotard, otherwise known as her work clothes, and Cat lays her out sluttily on an operating chair. I don't know where that chair came from, since Nancy made it clear about a million times that they don't operate on people at the vet. Even though Mouse has been shot and has lost "a lot of blood", there's no blood anywhere near her. I think the wisdom is that being covered in blood makes a chick less hot, a point on which I respectfully disagree.

It turns out that the guy who owns the veterinary clinic is a furry man-monster with three tails named Demon. That would be sorta cool, except that it took seven pages to tell his origin, which can be sumed up in three sentences: 1) Ordinary fellow has a veterinary clinic filled with animals and volatile chemicals. 2) It blows up. 3) He wakes up with fur, and a lot fewer animals.

Nobody really makes a big deal out of this guy being an animal-man. The other characters bring it up just enough to be polite, like you would to someone who just got a promotion. "So, you're an animal man now? Well, good for you! You should be very proud. Hell of a job."

Demon starts checking out Mouse, and his first order of doctorly business is to get her out of all those clothes. Well, the one piece of clothing that she's wearing. "What seems to be the problem?" he asks. "She's been shot," Cat replies. Since there's still no blood or visible wound, that's actually pretty helpful.

Demon says, "I see!" Then he forms a thought bubble that's filled with so many problems, I don't even know where to begin:

"I'm a veterinarian, I really shouldn't do anything. It's probably unlawful for me to work on people, but she's gorgeous. I can't just let her die."

Well reasoned.

Then through the power of convolutedness, we learn that Cat & Mouse had been double crossed by the Yakuza, then triple crossed by the regular Mafia. They ask Demon if he wants to help them and he tells them to fuck off. So in gratitude for saving Mouse's life, Cat says he'll tell everybody that a big furry mutant runs the vet clinic. And Demon says well, fuck. I guess I'll help you then.

So they start fucking around with the Mafia. But tragedy strikes! The Mafia counter-strike at the vet clinic, and Nancy gets a broken arm, several cracked ribs, and a miscarriage. I didn't even know she was pregnant, I thought she was just fat.

I love it when goofball writers who write everybody like a dork resort to baby killing as a plot device. "Golly gee, we sure are in a pickle! Wowzers, what are we gonna go? Whoops, your baby is dead! Jimminy!"

This means business. Cat and Mouse change back into their 'tards, which only cover about 1/100th of Mouse's giant white ass, but nobody seems to mind. They take the fight to the underworld, kicking the shit out of the Yakuza. That turns out to be a total waste of time, so they go to kick the shit out of the Mafia instead.

The Mafia guys are kinda worked up. True life dialogue from their poker game:

Goon #1: "--and then the old guy looks at me and says--"

Goon #2: "Shut up and ante up!"

At this point Goon #1 is about to start crying, but Cat bursts through the window just in time.

Goon #2: "It's that Cat dude that works for the Yakuza."

Goon #1: "No problem. He'll bleed just like anyone else."

That last line might sound pretty tough, but Goon #1 was seriously on the brink of tears while saying it.

Cat replies, "Make me bleed, then," and a giant fight scene breaks out. This page is important, because it's when we learn that Cat and Demon actually share a common bond, which neither of them realize: They both have the maturity level of a six year old. Cat leg sweeps a guy ninja-style and thinks, "Yeah!" Meanwhile, Demon punches a dude and says, "Hello, gents! Are we planning any kind of illegal activities tonight?" Which by itself might be alright, but he follows it up by thinking, "Heh-heh."

Mouse decides to join the fight, because, and I quote, "I owe these guys. I may never be able to wear a bikini again because of the scar from the bullet wound." At least she doesn't try to pretend she's not a bimbo.

Finally, they're about to meet the Mafia boss who got Mouse shot and who was responsible for Nancy's miscarriage. Cat is understandably upset, but stands in a manly pose and thinks, "Got to try to hold my anger. Set a good example for Mouse."

And boy, does he. They burst through the door -- Well, not so much burst as carefully open it and walk calmly through. And then Cat gets all crazy and... No he doesn't. He just gives the Mafia boss a stern talking to. "Listen, and listen good. I'm only going to say this once. You tried to set us up. It may have just worked, I'm not sure yet. But in the process Mouse was shot. Don't ever try that again, or I'll come back and deal with you personally. Maybe even fatally."

Apparently realizing how retarded this is, the Mafia boss just looks at him and says, "Uh-huh."

Man, I wish I had a scanner. That's really what he said.

However, Demon doesn't take such a pussy approach! His secretary's baby was killed, for christ's sake! He's out for revenge! So he walks up and punches the Mafia boss right in the stomach! WOOMP! "This is for Nancy. I'm not concerned about any of your stupid squabbles." I know I gave the Starriors a lot of shit for using so many exclamation points, but come on! Give me at least one! This is the revenge panel! It's bad enough that it's nothing but a faggy punch in the stomach, but he can't even get worked up about it. I guess in the nineties they traded in their exclamation points for excessive italics. "Don't you or your goons ever come near me or the veterinary clinic again. Is that clear?"

Totally defeated, his criminal empire in shambles, his stomach punched, the Mafia boss slumps over and says, "I... understand."

Satisfied, the Demon tells Cat & Mouse to fuck off and goes home. I hope he can use some of those volatile chemicals he keeps around to ressurect Nancy's baby.

--

Then comes the pathetic story of "The Origins of Cat & Mouse":

Writer Roland Mann recounts his words after seeing comic artwork in artist Steven Butler's dorm room: "I asked who was into comics. Steven answered with 'I draw comics.' My reply was 'I write comics. We ought to do something.'"

Steven, you stupid sack of shit. This is why you never made it anywhere in the business. Just because some guy says he writes comics doesn't mean you should shackle yourself to him. Ask for a sample! It would have taken about two seconds to realize that this Roland guy can't write worth fuck. For instance, in this issue's back-up story, a ninja girl sits on Demon's window cill and says, "Ahem!"

Demon, being smooth, says, "WHAT!?! How did you get in here? We're closed! Who are you!"

Roland and Steve met at college. Most people don't know this, but college policies clearly state: "We will happily admit retards into our student body and faculty. We will not attempt to curb the spread of mental retardation in any way. In fact, we encourage it. Give us ten thousand dollars."

In the backup story, Cat, aka Jerry O'Neil is sitting around his apartment. He's deep in thought. Thinking about crime? No! Thinking about fucking Mouse in her big sweaty ass? Double no!

Cat's brain: "Wonder if the Cards won today. They might've been rained out. The rain was headed this way though, so maybe not."

Then he took off his shoe and chewed the leather for nine hours.

Oh, man... The origin of Cat. This is just too sad: He was a cop who expected to be promoted to head of Homocide. Instead some college kid got the job. "Jerry knew he had skill. He'd show the Force, and he knew just how to do it."

So he went and bought a ninja costume and became a burglar. Who works for the Yakuza. Brilliant. He even beats up a couple of guys who laugh at his pajama costume. And it's not self defense. He throws the first punch.

Obviously Steve just couldn't figure out how to tell Roland to get lost, and drew an entire comic book for him out of pity. Jesus.

The worst part about a crappy comic like this is seeing the ads in the back for other comics you wish you had instead. Like Scimidar! Or Retief! Those almost sound like real words, but they're not!

Whoah, this one actually sounds good: "A General of the Army turned into a Saboteur! Parents turned into... rabid Killers! Trusted police become... Arsonists! Told in a panorama of fantastic, terrifying BLACK AND WHITE! Invaders from Mars!" Holy shit. I hope I find that in a discount box someday. I'd buy that for a dollar.

keithmcnally @ 2004-08-16T18:17:00

2004-08-17T01:17:25Z

How To Be A Better Writer

Part 1 in a one-part examination of the greatest literary talents of the past

Introduction:

In my continuing quest to become a better writer, I have found myself turning away from conventional paths. I shun textbooks, I spit at teachers, I fire wildly with an antique tommygun at other writers and their workshops. For I follow a narrower path. A holy path. A path of righteousness. A path of reading whatever I can buy out of a bin for less than a dollar.

So far, it has been a rocky path. Most literary works puchased for a quarter are merely bordering on exceptional. Rarely do they tumble down the jagged hill of true delightfulness, into the lake of majesty which I crave so to drink fromwith. But I have persevered, and my wild pursuit has born sweet, suckling fruit. As unexpectedly at a sharp slap to the testes, I was delievered from feeble perdition into sweet, babylonian valhalla.

I was sitting in a McDonalds, and wishing to appear cool to the other customers I nonchalantly pulled out a copy of a newly purchased illustrated periodical, of the comical variety. This particular pamphlet was entitled "Starriors: The Quest Ends! - #4 In A Four-Issue Limited Series." I was undeterred by its apparently incorrect placing in a logical reading sequence, and the grown up in me appreciated the uncredited but snappy Bill Sink- Sinka... Billy Sinkawitz cover. The kid in me remembered having the big Starrior's cobra base, which was a device of such awesomeness as to bring one to the point of mental insanity.

And now, on to my delicious tale.

--

Fact Sheet:

Name: Starriors #4
Date: February, 1985

Writer: Louise Simonson
Artists: Chen, Akin & Garvey

Cover Price: $1.00
Current Price (2004): $0.75

Additional Notes:
Starriors, Hotshot, Crank, Cut-Up, Thinktank, Motormouth, Runabout, Tinker, Nipper, Slaughter Steelgrave, Gouge, Sawtooth, Deadeye, Auntie Tank, Backfire, Speedtrap, Cricket, Scrapper and Grub are trademarks of Tomy Coporation. No similarity with any person living or dead is intended.

--

I began reading while eating an extra large order of fries with a super sized root-beer. Before long my eyes were wide, my heart was pounding, and my head was spinning. Was it the effect of the salted grease sticks and flavored sugar water I was ingesting? No! It was the prose. Something about this particular missive was taking me to new heights of brain related excitment, and levels of physical joy so profound that I could scarcely stop myself from yipping aloud. I could do nothing but put the literature aside, my mind racing, and try to hold onto my crude remnants of sanity until I could return home and study the work in earnest.

Arriving home through the force of sheer will and walking, I removed my shirt, pants, socks and underpants. I donned my Speedo swim cap, which helps to contain my thoughts, and fashioned a crude diaper from a discarded industrial sized roll of low grade toilet paper. I then laid the piece in question in front of me and, gulping once in fear, delved back inside.

The story was an obtuse and opaque tale of two groups of battling automatons, one of whom was trying to protect and someday awaken their human creator, a man named "Man." Yet despite the work's overall sense of foggy near-inscrutability, I was enthralled. I knew that this was a piece I would read many times before my death, and I relished the notion like the relish I poured into my makshift diaper.

The only way to face an unknowable entity such as this, the only way to stare into the abyss and make that abyss stare into an abyss of its own, is to confront it with science. Cold, pure science, involving math. Thus, using science calculations, I came to the conclusion that the answer, the very secret of God itself, is in what the elders teach us is known as "punctuation". My findings are supported with the gathering of the following informational data.

Starriors uses a wide range of exciting punctuation, such as:

?

--

--?

...

...!

...?

?!?

and even a heretofor unthought of !!?

But most notable are the two cornerstones of writing, the humble period and the robust exclamation point. Generally, the simple period is used to denote the end of a sentence, while the more manly exclamation point is used sparingly, in order to denote exciting action. This is the way of the old guard. This is the way of the teachers, of the schools, of the museums. What has been hidden from us by an inscrutable cabal of bafflingly unnurturing elders is that this is not the way it has to be. This is a reversal, a perversion of the natural way. Studying the ratios inherent in Starriors #4 (of 4), one learns that what one has learned is not what one should have had ever endeavored to have been a party in learning.

Number of sentences in Starriors #4 (of 4) which end in a period: Two

Number of sentences in Starriors #4 (of 4) which end in an exclamation point: Three Hundred and Seventy Eight

This is no mistake of typography. Read carefully:

. = 2

! = 378

Clearly, something is being hidden from us! Clearly there is something we are not being taught! Clearly works of a sublimity even approaching that of Starriors #4 (of 4), from a bygone era almost entirely forgotten to us, would be forever out of our grasp, because we have never been taught of its magical techniques! I cannot stress the moral and intellectual crime that has been perpetrated on us by the very people who claim to be our teachers!

Okay, that's enough. In my original draft this goes on for several more paragraphs. But it isn't funny anymore.

However, maybe some Starriors quotes will be! Funny! Anymore!

--

[I can't believe a chick wrote this violent shit:]

Crank: "I'm sorry, Hotshot! Geo's brain circuit's smashed! Even a transfer ring can't save her!"

Hotshot: "The Destructors will pay with their lives for what they've done to her!"

--

[Now I believe a chick wrote it:]

Nipper: "I know how Hotshot feels Crank, 'cause I'm in love with you!"

Crank: "No, Nipper! It's Tinker you love... or would love, if only your memory hadn't been wiped!"

[I would like to note that Nipper is a jagged clamp on wheels who is irrationally assumed to be female, and Crank has a drill in his chest.]

--

[Why in god's name did they let a chick write this comic?:]

Tinker (the male clamp on wheels): "Never mind, Crank! I- I won't pester her about [our love] any more!"

Crank: "Tinker! Why...?"

Tinker: "A while back I vowed to protect Nipper from harm! But she was injured in that battle... She could have been destroyed, like Geo! You're the one who got the ring -- who restored everyone! Against a guy like you, I don't have a chance!"

Crank: "But, Tinker, we were all injured! And Runabout brought us the ring, from the battlestation, not me! I just--"

Tinker: "No, Crank! You're just trying to make me feel better! I don't know why you bother!"

[Fuck you, Tinker. There is a war going on, you fucking fruit.]

--

[This is more like it:]

Runabout: "Hotshot, on my way here from the battlestation, I found Sawtooth's body -- dismembered and abandoned by the Destructors, but still conscious!"

Hotshot: "A Destructor -- Here? Perhaps we'll take from him a life for a life!"

--

[After Sawtooth successfully pleads his case:]

Hotshot (holding a hand dramatically to his face, although his hand is a laser and his face is a windshield): "Restore him, Crank! For so great has my hatred of Destructors grown, that I will not save him myself!"

--

[After restoring their turncoat enemy, they bump into Motormouth, their turncoat friend. They vote down the middle about what they should do with him, so the tie-breaking vote is made by the bad guy they just restored.]

Sawtooth: "Abandon the traitor! He chose Slaughter's service! Well, let him serve him now!"

[Remember, kids -- even if a bad guy might have turned to good, don't let him decide the fate of your friends.]

--

[Cut-Up, the guy with the saw in his chest, notices that Crank, the guy with the drill in his chest, is wearing a flower on his shoulder. So he awkwardly tries to segue it into the conversation:]

Cut-Up: "After the carnage we've just witnessed, I'm almost glad I haven't been able to overturn my non-violent programming and use my saw against the Destructors! Even you're dressing up for battle now, right, Crank?"

Crank: "This flower? No... It's just that... I believe in the future! I found it growing on the battlefield!"

--

[Meanwhile, on the evil side of the war:]

Cricket: "Clik-Clik-Ikk"

Deadeye: "Yes, Cricket, my scout! I may be blind, but I do have ears!"

[No reference is ever made to what "clik-clik-ikk" means, though.]

--

[Dissention in the ranks!]

Slaughter Steelgrave: "What shall we do?"

Auntie Tank: "Show ya what I'm gonna do! Destruction to those who'd destroy the best among us!"

[Auntie Tank shoots Slaughter Steelgrave right in the fucking chest! SHRAKKT!]

Slaughter Steelgrave: "Auntie Tank! You dare to defy me?!? Attack me?!?"

Auntie Tank: "You bet!"

--

[You remember Bonkers? Why don't they sell those anymore? Those were awesome.]

--

[Auntie Tank, who is surprisingly bad-ass considering her name, shoots the shit out of Cricket, whose final words are "Clik-A-Clik-KK! Clik-AAK!"]

Deadeye: "Cricket! My scout! My eyes! They have hurt you! Murdered you!"

[Deadeye picks up Cricket's pathetic, charred remains and cradles them in his giant claw-hands.]

Deadeye: "And they will pay for that foul deed!"

[Deadeye then murders four people.]

--

[Crank, the guy with the drill on his chest, is still carrying that faggot flower around. That is, until he meets a guy with a bigger, spikier drill on his chest -- Gouge!]

Gouge: "And so, friend Crank, we meet again!"

Crank: "Gouge!"

[Gouge gouges the shit out of Crank, which makes the same noise as Auntie Tank's matron-missiles: SHRAKKT!]

Gouge: "I trust this time you will remain among the slain!"

[Crank's head gets dashed apart as he falls to the battlefield, and with his last moment of life, he says:]

Crank: "Poor little flower! I should never have brought you here! You never had a... chance!"

[That's how I wanna die. Sputtering out an exclamation point.]

Cut-Up: "Gouge! He was the gentlest among us!"

[Referring, I assume, to Crank, and not Gouge.]

Cut-Up: "And yours is a murder most vile...!"

Caption: And blinded, even to the tenets of Protector programming, by his overwhelming rage, Cut-Up, blade whirling, attacks... But even as his saw blade slices deep...

[Then a giant laser out of nowhere blows them both up, which is never explained. BA-BOOM!]

--

[Now what the fuck is this shit? There's an ad for "Trans-Bots" that clearly pictures Megatron and Starscream. Except these knock-offs have the worst names in the world. After "Auntie Tank", I mean.]

Astro Magnum!
Locorob! (robot to locomotive!)
Transfob!
Protectob!
Transforming Deception Plane!

From a country that no longer exists! Wholesale rates are available!

--

[Then the good guys win the war. In the horrible aftermath, Nipper realizes its... her horrible love for the corpse of that claw-thing, Tinker.]

Nipper: "Now that I know what kind of Starrior Tinker was, I know why I must have loved him once... as he loved me... now that it's too late!"

Hotshot: "Maybe it isn't too late though!"

Nipper: "Hotshot!"

--

[Even in 1985, F.H.E. was charging $39.95 for each crappy G.I. Joe tape. With inflation, that's like $150! That's highway fucking robbery! I'm glad I stole all mine from the video store. The video store which later went out of business.]

--

[They use technology to bring all the good guys back to life, then go to wake up Man! And he turns out to be some dirty hippy in a Jack Kirby New Gods outfit. But they all kneel anyway.]

Hotshit -- I mean, Hotshot: "Welcome, Man! Welcome to... the future!"

--

[And what do they get for bringing that pussy Crank back to life? More shit about that goddamn flower!]

Crank: "And so, before Starriors and Men, I'm plantin' this flower as a symbol of unity between us! Now the forbidden desert isn't forbidden any more! It's a place for Man and Starrior together, where both our people can flower!"

[No one takes into account that Man is the only human on the entire planet, and that while fucking Tipper or Nipper or whichever one is supposed to be a girl may be fun, it's not gonna lead to any offspring. But everyone still says "YAAAAY!"]

Man: "A good speech."

Hotshit: "Crank meant every word of it!"

--

[Wait a sec -- Now that I look closer, there are a bunch of humans on the last page. But they're all guys...]

--

Final caption: The Beginning!

--

[Then there's an ad with Iron Man in a Santa outfit. I fucking hate comics.]

The Turning Point

2004-06-04T22:05:44Z

I think this will be the last update to the livejournal about going to see bands, because tonight was the turning point. I'm drunk while I write this, but not so drunk that I can't type. The first time I went to see Hopeful Melancholy back in Fredericton I tried to type when I got home, and it sucked. I had to retype everything 30 times before it made sense. I remember I borrowed some of Dave Jenkins' rum before we left, and it was all gone by the time we got to the Chestnut. I actually couldn't finish it all because I'd poured it into a 2 litre of coke, and I had to pass it around before we went in. I think we even threw a little bit of it out. But that's neither here nor there.

I bought a calender at the dollar store a couple weeks ago with extra large boxes to write stuff in. It was actually 3 for a dollar, so I've got a couple more calenders that are just sitting around doing nothing. So for today, Thursday Agust, I mewan June 2004, I've got two things wirtten down. One is Banned in Canada w/ Second Stall at Pic's Pub on West Pender, up near Grandville. 9:30pm, $7 at the door. That was the plan, basically just because it said "punk" somewhere on their poster. The poster actually seemed a little lame -- it was this guy at work thinking "Work sucks, work sucks, work sucks... I just farted, and it smells like punk rock." Yeha, fucking fantastic. You're punk as fuck, buddy. I hoped they'd be awesome, but I had reason tp believe that theyd suck. Jesus, my spelling it going to shit. Anyway, I wrote the info down in the little notebook I always keep in my pocket. Which Daphne said was a perfectly okay thing to do, so I don't wanna hear any shit. That was the plan for Thursday.

But the other day I decided to get a better lay of the land by walking from the internet cage I always use -- internet cafe if I had spelled that right, but "internet cage" sounds cooler anyway -- to the Tinseltown cinemas. On the way I found a comic shop, which totally sucked shit, just like every other comic shop in Vnacouver so far, and I also found the Cobalt.

I was walking down a fairly dodgy part of Main street, neat the Skyway station. The same thing happens on Broadway; once you get near the Skyway it gets real scummy, because there's so much traffic that it seems to naturally atttract annoying scumbags. But this time it was a good kind of scum -- I saw a poster for this place called The Cobalt, which was having bands play the 3rd, 4th and 5th of June, for about $5 each night. The posters made it clear that these were punk or at least metal bands, especially with the "sport a mohawk and get in free" addendum. I don't know what the fuck "addendum" really means, I just see it once in awhile and extrapolate from those instances what it almost certainly implies. That's really the only difference between me, being smart, and most people, being stupid fucks: I pay attention to things like that, and then integrate them into my day to day life. I didn't pay any extra attention in school. In fact, by the time high school rolled around, I'm willing to bet that I payed less attention than any of the rest of you. I hated that shit, but I still learned stuff. Because I payed attention. Now, I'm gonna try to write a sentence really fast without fixing the spelling mistakes.

The thing I like about drinking is that when you drink for an extented perious of time you ge tht sense that it's okay to talk to poeple anbd do what you like without have ing to be wotried all the time. I was alrwayus eorries as a kid, alwayus unsure about wherer I was should be or wha tia was doing or of I fit in with a figfvig goiven social group. It fgpot ot be a real pain in the fucking ass after ahiwlme, so it's noce fo it fto be gone. I'm writing way too fast, this is roidicuouls. I'k surprise dit's even readiable. Thjat's enpougfh.

So anyway, after I jotted down some info from this Cobalt poster, I took a look around. It was on the 900 block of Main street. I was on the 900 block of Main Street. I looked around a little more. I was at the fucking Cobalt. The place was covered in graffitti and looked like hell. For all my mouth running about being smart and knowing words, I don't know how to spell "graffitti". Does it have one f? Two t's? Who knows? Some Meriam-Webster guy, but not me. So I'm putting two of each. If that's wrong, go suck a cock. You're gonna be dead soon, and nobody's gonna care that you were a good speller.

When I got home I added The Cobalt to my calender, but there were way too many bands on different nights for different amounts of money, so across the bottom of the 3rd, 4th and 5th I just wrote "COBALT MISC".

When Thursday rolled around I decided to check out my original lead, Pic's Pub, where Banned in Canada was playing. The Cobalt seemed to have a lot of shows, and seemed like the place I should logically be going to, so I of course did what I could to avoid that. Fucking stupid sober brains, they're no good for nothing. Except coherent, rational thought, I mean.

So I jumped on a bus and travelled down Hastings, past Main, until it turned to West Hastings (a.k.a.: "Not a total crack hole" Hastings). Then I got off and walked a street over to Pender and found this Pic's Pub place.

The washing machine had broken earlier in the week at my place, and I hadn't done laundry in awhile. I've only got 3 long sleeve shirts, and I've learned the hard way that it's a good idea to bring one with me when I go out. It might be warm at 9pm, and Vancouver may be the mythical, snowless land, but by the early hours of the morning it can get pretty fucking chilly. The only long sleeve I had left was my Bad Religion "No Religion Allowed" hoodie. It was a little too heavy for the weather, but I had to wear something. I bought it originally at the Regent Mall in Fredericton, because I liked the iconography -- On the front has one of those "No Smoking" signs, except instead of a cigarette it's got a christian cross in it. Like Ghostbusters, except for religion instead of ghosts. I loved it as soon as I saw it, even though I'm only a casual fan of Bad Religion, because I fucking hate organized religion. It's done more to fuck over the world than it ever has to help it, and as time moves on that ratio is just gonna get worse and worse. So when I lost my first one, I bought another one in Montreal.

I still for the life of me can't figure out why my mother, an otherwise sensible and awesome lady, made me go to goddamn church. We didn't even go to the fun, singing and clapping and speaking-in-tongues church, we went to the old, boring, bullshit church. My brother and I got in a fight in church once, and that still didn't do the trick. We still had to go the next week. Totally baffling. I've never gotten a straight answer out of her as to why, and I probably never will. I think it was just that her social circle was based around church, and it would have been awkward if her kids didn't go, so she made us. I'm pretty sure she doesn't believe in heaven. If she does, being dead is gonna be quite a big disappointment.

I remember one day in the late eighties, after we'd gotten our Sega Master System but before we got a Nintendo, when my dad was still really into video games. He'd just gotten a copy of Thunder Blade, a game we'd all been excited to play, and he had one of those fancy Master System joysticks attached to the table with two clamps, which was how he liked to play, to maximize the arcade-like experience. We got to see the game in action for about 30 seconds before we had to go to church, dad smiling and cooking bacon and listening to music and telling us to have a good time. That son of a bitch. Talk about your long goddamn mornings.

In the end I could never get past the backview, or "3-D" part of level 3. If you could, you were either the coolest kid of the eighties, or a total goddamn liar. That shit was impossible.

Where the fuck was I? Right, I was wearing my Bad Religion hoodie. I'd just gotten my hair buzzed off a couple days earlier, and I was wearing my ever-present Undertaker Red Devil/Big Evil hat. The beauty of that hat is that once I tore off the "WWE" label, nobody could tell it was a westling hat. Jeremy of the Argentos complimented me on it once. Although I later learned that his bandmate Roger is a wreslting fan, and has a Nintendo 64 just to play No Mercy. I gave him my ECW Cactus Jack DVD before I moved. I miss seeing those guys play. They were on my "Top 3 Favorite Bands in Fredericton" list, and were number 1 for theatrics. Roger always had a face covered in fake blood, and the first time I saw them play he had made a video of all the kill scenes from the Friday the 13th movies to play beforehand, and a smoke machine. That was some class shit. Those guys ruled. The point, though, is that maybe Jeremy recognized the hat as a wrestling hat. But I think he's mostly just obsessed with Satan.

My Top 3 Favorite Rocking Argentos Songs (as of June 2004):

3) Madness Room (from the 2003 unreleased punk demo)
2) Teenage Sex Murder (from same, during which, the first time I heard it, Jeremy poured fake blood on Diana the underage Starbucks girl's breasts. That was definitely memorable.)
1) Lucifer Rising (from the 2003 Brimstone Demos)

Lucifer Rising is one of the coolest songs I've ever heard. If, through some amazing course of events, the new punk book I'm writing ever gets made into a movie, that's the song I want the protagonist to hear at his first punk show in the big city. I tend to think a ways in the future. It helps me ignore the crappy aspects of the present.

The shaved head and devil hat by themselves don't stand out that much, but when you add the "Fuck Religion" shirt, things change. I notice a difference in the way people look at me, or avoid looking at me. To the punks it's no big deal, I'm just some guy wearing a bad religion shirt, but to the populace at large, I have become part of a demographic. I am not a punk. I like hanging out with punks and listening to punk bands, but I'm not a punk. I know it, and I don't try to pretend that I am. I see plenty of lameoid bullshit punks in day-to-day life, and I don't want to become one of them. But to the populace at large, the combination of hat, shirt and haircut equals punk. They assume that I'm a punk, and they treat me as such. I gotta admit that I like it. I like having people make a deliberate effort not to meet my eye. After all, I'm a crazy punk! I might go nuts and smash them in the face! Or something!

The truth I've learned in Fredericton, which has held up in Vancouver, is that most punks are either wimps or burnouts. There's really nothing to be afraid of. But the scene keeps it's taboo fuel by the fact that outsiders don't know that.

So I got to this Pic's Pub place, and there was a small line. I stood in it for about ten seconds, long enough for me to get a look inside, and I calculated that this place was fucking lame. Everyone I saw was just some preppy university kid, and that might have been alright if I'd been dressed normally. I might have gone in and mingled. But I was affiliated, I had enough punk gear on that I wouldn't have fit in there. The question on everyone's mind, including my own, would have been "Why am I here? Isn't there some place else I should be?" In Fredericton I had no choice: If the only show was at some bullshit schoolkid bar, then that's where I had to go. But this was Vancouver; surely there were alternatives. And I knew where the alternative was: The Cobalt.

So I kept walking, down to Main street, toward this graffitti covered nightmare building that frankly kinda worried me. I should also mention that finances had become an issue, just the day before. I got my first paycheck from my shitty job and it was less than I expected. If I wanted to pay my rent next month, my lifestyle was gonna have to change. I'd blown over a thousand dollars since I got to Van, and that was no longer gonna be possible. So I hadn't had anything to drink that night, which didn't make screwing up my courage to go to The Cobalt any easier. But the cover at The Cobalt was only $5 as opposed to Pic's $7, so I was saving money already.

I had $20 set aside for Pic's, for cover and a drink, and I altered that to a mere $10 for The Cobalt. Then I took a bobby pin and pinned my wallet to the inside of my pocket, so I couldn't get at the rest of my money and it wouldn't fall out during the night. In a pit, you never know.

But the guy at the door wanted ID, so I had to unpin my wallet. Whoops. I had $80 dollars in there, and now it was free. I could have left the money at home, but I might have needed it. I might have had to take a cab, in which case you can never have too much money in Van. But as soon as I unpinned that wallet I knew that money was gone.

But it was all worth it. Inside was a fucking dream. It was deliverance, it was beautiful. Just the night before I'd written a rough draft of one of the chapters of my new book, Hate Your Enemies / Save Your Friends. That's the demo title, until I can come up with something shorter. In it our protagonist, Akito, describes the first punk show he went to after moving to Tokyo. The similarities between that fictional venue and this actual place were amazing. The Cobalt was somewhat smaller than the place I'd written about, but besides that, spot on. Really dark, disorganized, posters for old shows covering the walls, run down and dirty and fucking awesome. However, not especially well attended. There was a band playing when I got there, a really good band, but the 30 or so people in attendance were all sitting around, watching. It was just like a bad night in Fredericton, but thousands of miles away.

The trouble, as I told Youthinasia's merch guy Chad later that night, were the tables and chairs. If you give people the option of sitting down, they will. Then the only way to get a pit going is to fill all the chairs, and hope that you've got enough overflow for a crowd to form near the stage. Chad told me that he'd been talking to the chick working the bar, and she said that The Cobalt was the original Vancouver hardcore bar (as their posters also stated), but that since they'd opened about 5 years ago, 5 or 6 other similar venues had opened up, splitting the demographic. I made a mental note to try to find these places, though I really liked the Cobalt. I figured I just needed to show up on a busier night. Bands were playing the next night, a Friday, but I was already booked to go hit on Daphne from the Basement Sweets, so maybe Saturday.

I missed the name of the 1st and 3rd bands, but the other two were called Beer For Breakfast and Youthinasia, and all 4 were really good. That's what I'm talking about, $5 for 4 bands that all kick ass. That's what going to see bands is all about. The other good news was the liquor. Remember that $8.25 I paid for a double rum and coke at Richards? None of that shit. At The Cobalt I got a whole picture of beer for $7.25. I don't even much like beer, but I was trying to be economical. Lars from the T.Dot would have been proud of me. That fucker drinks beer with his meals because he likes the taste. It may just be that I've still got my little kid sweet tooth, but I hate the taste of beer. I only drink it to get drunk. But get drunk I did. Drinking a whole pitcher by yourself, that's what I call a good fucking start to a night of drinking.

Unfortunately the pit never got any larger than 4 people, but I partook for a couple minutes. There was this extremely dedicated asian guy who told me I should help him out with some spontaneous punk dancing, so I did. The funniest bit was the first two guys who tried to start a pit. They were out there, thrashing around, smashing into each other, and this third guy showed up. He got over to them and fucking fell down. How the fuck did he fall? There were two fucking guys out there! It was ridiculous, but it cracked me up. Fucking spastic.

The bathroom was especially fucking excellent. The restaurant where I work is known for its fantastic bathrooms. It's got televisions in front of each urinal, and a leather couch in the bathroom. A leather couch in the bathroom. Who sits on a couch in a bathroom? That's where you go to take a piss, not to debate fucking Aristotle. The Cobalt was the diametric opposite of that poncy shit. The door to the bathroom had a spraypainting of a mohawked guy taking a piss on it, and inside was covered in graffitti tags, people's names everywhere. It was awesome. That's what a bathroom should look like.

My friend Mark has a theory about breaking the seal: You can drink piles, initally, but as soon as you take that first piss, you're done for. You're gonna have to piss every 15 minutes. And he's right, because I drank over half that pitcher without blinking, and then I had to piss like a maniac for the rest of the night. Mark has a hilarious webpage for his drinking team back in Fredericton, but I lost the address.

During one of my trips to the bathroom I met Newfie Mike. He introduced himself while pissing, and I told him it was my first time at The Cobalt and that I'd moved from New Brunswick. No shit, he said. I moved here from Newfoundland, 5 years ago. And then he pointed out his name on the wall, next to my head: Newfie Mike. So there's my contact. Next time I come here I can keep my eyes peeled for him, and say Hey! Mike, from Newfoundland! It's Keith, from New Brunswick! And even if he doesn't remember me he'll probably act like he does, and we're all good. I got the impression that he was a regular, because the 3rd band of the night invited him onstage to sing one of their songs. "Where's Newfie Mike? We need Newfie Mike on this one!" So I think Newfie Mike might be a good person to know. I even met his girlfriend, from Nova Scotia.

Newfie Mike mentioned to me in the bathroom something that Chad the merch guy and several others have all mentioned to me: That no one in Van seems to be some Vancouver. I've already met 4 people from Newfoundland -- Newfie Mike, 2 guys from work and some random chick I met on a bus -- and a couple from Nova Scotia. Several people from Ottawa, and the bartender at Pat's Pub was from Manitoba. No New Brunswickers yet, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. Everybody moves to BC, and everyone from BC seems to move somewhere else.

The question is, by the end of the night, how did I have only $20 left? Let's investigate now, shall we, now?

$80 in pocket
-$2 bus fare
=$78
-$5 cover charge
=$73
-$7.25 pitcher of beer
=$65.75
-$2.50 mug of beer
=$63.25
-$30 Youthinasia hoodie (reduced from $35, a $5 savings!)
=$33.25
-$5 Youthinasia EP (reduced from $7, a $2 savings! Damn that smooth talking Chad!)
=$28.25
-$5 misc junk food on the way home
=$23.25

Yep, that does it. A twenty dollar bill and some change. It seemed so mysterious at the time, but there it all is. It's that hoodie that really killed me, but it looked really fucking cool, and I needed another long sleeved shirt. I was gonna go to Value Village and grab something for $5 tomorrow, but I had just drunk and entire pitcher of beer. I didn't even use a glass, I just drank it like it was some giant orgre glass. It was great.

I should also mention that the punk demographic in Vancouver seems to be about the same as in Fredericton, which is a little disappointing. Of the 30 or so people there, I was as punk or punker than half of them, and I'm not a punk. I've just got a Bad Religion sweatshirt and a willingness to get happily devil eyed and violent when drunk. But that was enough to put me firmly in the middle of the crowd.

Now that I've found The Cobalt, the search is basically over. I can look for other, similar venues, but this is the blueprint. This is exactly what I was looking for, this is where I wanna hang out, and this is where I'm gonna draw inspiration for my punk book. So I think that means that this livejournal is finished. If something especially notable happens I might update again, but I think I'll be directing my various adventures into the realm of fiction. So when the book is done, you can all buy it and read altered and made-more-exciting-for-fiction accounts of what happened to me. It's gonna be great. May Christ be with you. Thanks for reading.

Decembrists, Basement Sweets

2004-05-31T00:48:39Z

I didn't want to write a journal about my move to Vancouver because I didn't want to cheapen what is a big, crazy, life-altering relocation by filling the internet with a half-assed travel log nobody would care about. It's good that I didn't, because the first three weeks had so many ups and downs that it would have sounded like the world's most manic-depressive bi-polar idiot on cocaine-laced prozac. So I'll keep the preamble brief:

Week 1 and 2 were fantastic. Everything was new and exciting, and all I did was find an apartment, find a job and spend money. Good times and sunny skies.

Week 3 I started the job. Keep in mind that I used to get paid to watch movies and read comic books, so the transition into real work was seriously difficult. I even went so far as to tell my boss I was quitting. I later smoothed things over and kept the job, because it's not really that hard, I'm just extremely soft. But fuck, I thought I was living in hell. The fact that I had no friends was also brought into sharp relief. Not my best week ever. In fact, probably my worst week in many years.

As for money, it's been disappearing fast because besides rent I only spend it on four things, but I can't seem to make myself stop spending on those four things.

1) Fast food -- This one's killing me. I gotta go buy some groceries. I've been eating all my meals from small restaurants and road-side vendors for two weeks. It adds up, but it's very easy and delicious.

2) Movies -- I don't have a tv, so the theatre it is. They have tons of great movies here that would never play back in Fredericton. Garden State, for example, which has one of the coolest trailers ever. I can't play it at this here internet cafe, but the one time I saw it was mesmeriffic.

3) Booze -- I've done pretty well on this one, mostly because I like drinking in combination with live music, and that was slow getting off the ground.

4) Bands -- This one is the most important, and is why I decided to re-activate this journal. Music is my salvation, and the fact that it took me so long to get out and see some bands is one of the things that made my third week so bad. In fact, mssing a particular band made that week much, much worse.

As soon as I got into town I started making notes about bands. I almost caught an all-ages hardcore show at the end of week 1. I just happened to see the poster and tried to find my way to the venue, but by the time I finally got there it was probably half over, though I don't know for sure, because I never actually did find the place. I knew I was in the vicinity, so I decided to try tracking it down later, for future reference. Which reminds me, I've still gotta do that.

Week 2 was a bust, because I knew nothing about local bands and could only go by what was listed in the free entertainment papers. Week 3 looked more promising. The Distillers were playing, but they wanted $25. That seemed crazy to me, being weaned on the Fredericton scene -- $4 to see four bands who you probably knew members of, that was the kinda scene I liked. So I was 50/50 on the Distillers thing. I would have had a good time, but $25 is a load of dough.

What I was really excited about was NoMeansNo, which was the day before The Distillers. It was only $12, and I ran out and bought a ticket right away. I first heard NoMeansNo around 1997, when they had already been together for six thousand years. Dan lent me Worldhood Of The World and I loved it. Humans is still one of my favorite songs. Also, the week before I moved, I was talking to Matte (or "Matty", as he likes to be called) about punk bands, and he told me about the time he saw NoMeansNo play, and the insane power they projected. So I was seriously stoked.

The day before the show was my orientation as a dishwasher at Fancy Restaurant, Inc., and my spirit was instantly trampled. NoMeansNo might have saved me, but my first official shift overlapped the show. As a final kick in the balls, I also had to work during The Distillers.

Man, did I hang my head on the way home that day. I found some kid with a Pennywise t-shirt at Broadway Station to take the NoMeansNo ticket; he wasn't old enough to get in, but he told me he'd find somebody who could us it. I don't know if he scalped it or gave it away or what, I just didn't want the ticket to go to waste. He was the closest thing to a punk I could find on such short notice.

After the brain-crushing of that whole week, I told my boss I was quitting before getting transferred to days instead. So work shouldn't interfere with any more bands. And on that note, the vehicle of my salvation... my first Vancouver show.

The Decembrists w/ The Long Winters
May 28, 2004 - Richards on Richards - $15

Waiting in line outside, I started chatting with the two guys on either side of me. I will re-iterate that I have no friends, so if I see these guys again, I can at least say, "Hey, I met you at the Decembrists!" and properly introduce myself. Even if they become friends who I only see at shows, that's fine with me. We hit it off pretty well, and one guy told me that Richards was a good place to see my first band, because it's an excellent venue with the best sound in town. The name refers to the fact that it's on Richards street, by the way.

I got inside and he wasn't kidding. The place was beautiful, a good size without being huge, gorgeous woodwork and a big circular balcony around the dancefloor/theoretical pit. At first I felt a bit of a twinge of annoyance, because this is where NoMeansNo had played the week before. Until about halfway through the opening act I couldn't help envisioning them playing, and imagining all the head-nodding nerd-chic kids in attendance replaced with rowdy, moshing punks. Fuck. But The Long Winters suddenly played a song that really stood out from the rest of their set, and that finally snapped me into the coolness of the present. It's not often that a song can really fully grab you the first time you hear it, but that one did the trick. I didn't buy their CD, but that's because I had somehow already spent six thousand dollars that day.

I was introduced to The Decembrists by my friend Josh. I didn't get around to listening to them much before I left, but I knew he was mental for them, so I bought a ticket. I had made a bunch of mp3 CDs before I left Fredericton, and one of them had a Decembrist album buried deep within it, so I listened to it a bunch of times in preperation for the show. They started off with Leslie Ann Levine, which was my favorite song on that one album, so things were all downhill from there. Haha! I'm kidding! They played a pile of great songs I'd never heard, and I started to suspect that the album I had (Castaways and Cut-Outs) may be eclipsed by their other albums, because every song they played seemed to kick the fuck out of my ass.

I got to drink some booze and listen to some great music, and on the way home I felt
downright happy. I couldn't wait until the next time I had internet access so I could tell Josh all about it, which eventually turned into me writing this instead. Without his recommendation I never would have gone, so kudos to you, Josh! Internet friends: You can take them wherever you go, because you've never actually met them in the first place. Fabulous.

When I got home I fell straight asleep and slept for five or six hours. It was a shallow sleep, which made it easy to remember my dreams, and -- get this -- they were all about me hanging out downtown, drinking, going to shows and getting to know people. There was no deep symbolism in those dreams, folks. Before the Decembrists I felt like I was seriously lost at sea, a million miles from home and without a friend in the world. After the show, I was so energized and confident in my social potency that I was dreaming about how cool it was gonna be living in Vancouver. That's good stuff. Thank you, Decembrists. Best $15 I've spent all year.

Kids These Days w/ The Basement Sweets
May 29, 2004 - Pat's Pub - $5

I saw the poster for this show on a pole near my work, and it looked really cool -- All the show info was written of the various parts of a guy's hand, and then somebody took a picture of his hand. Take my word for it, it ruled. I had two choices for bands that evening, but the poster was enough to sell me. Sparta was also playing at Richards, and on the one hand I had fallen for the charm of Richards really quickly, and wanted to go back. But on the other hand, Richards puts on a lot of their shows, such as The Decembrists and Sparta, really early, so they can kick everyone out by 10:30pm and make some more money off the club hoppers. That kind of double booking rubbed me the wrong way, since I don't understand clubbers. I can't see going to a bar unless there's a band, it's just too weird. Even if you go to see a band in order to get a feel for the scene and hit on chicks, at least there's a band there to justify it. Going to a club for no reason but to hit on chicks is way too nakedly honest for me. And if the girls aren't biting, then what is there to fall back on? I could never figure out what the club scene is actually based around, since it's just a buncha cheesy dance music and the occasional disco ball. Maybe this is why I don't meet more chicks. But everybody waiting outside to get into Richards after the Decembrists show yesterday seemed like a real loser, so I didn't feel too bad about not being one of them.

Actually, with the early show I probably could have gone to both Sparta and Kids These Days, but Sparta wanted $18.50, and Wiretap Scars just wasn't that great. So it was back to the roots. Two bands I'd never heard of at some weird, run-down venue, for the low, low price of $5.

Pat's Pub was not a bad place, it reminded me a lot of those pubs you always see in British movies. More like somebody's really big kitchen than a bar. It was connected to a hotel restaurant, so under BC law they had to stop serving alcohol at midnight, which was sorta weak. I did appreciate their pricing system, though: A single rum & coke was $3.50, but a double was only $4.50. That was music to my ears, because I usually get doubles and Richards charges $8.25, which is a serious kick in the nuts.

Pat's Pub is unfortunately located right in the middle of East Hastings street, otherwise known as Crackville. We used to call my neighborhood back in Fredericton "Crackton" as a joke, because once or twice a year there was a low-key drug bust. Take any rundown, graffiti covered shit-street you've ever seen in a movie, and that's Hastings. Bums and dealers and general weirdos wander the streets at all hours. Luckily that night it was raining, so that put a pretty good cramp in their numbers.

Vancouver's a weird city. It can change literally from block to block. You'll be walking down the crappiest crap street you've ever seen, and all of a sudden you'll stumble into a public park filled with laughing children. One street over from Hastings, on Pender, there's a mini Chinatown and a huge movie theatre that are both immaculate. It's like they have those dog collars with invisible fences to keep out all the vagrants and scumbags. Or maybe a system of serious beatings. Whatever it is, it seems to be working.

One of the guys I met at the Decembrists the day before mentioned how much he missed seeing smaller bands for low sums of money -- Apparently the heyday in Vancouver was 3-5 years ago, and all of the old venues have systematically shut down since then. He listed off a few places, but the only one I remember was The Starfish Room. So apparently bands need to find new places to play, and one of the members of Kids These Days mentioned that it was their first time playing Pat's Pub. The place wasn't packed, possibly due to the rain and the new venue, but it was still a pretty respectable turnout. I had kind of hoped that Vancouver would be such an insatiable hotbed of music fans that every single show of any kind would be teeming with people, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Which can be a good thing, because lack of numbers is how I met all the band members I knew back in Fredericton, and that theory held up here in Van.

Kids These Days were a five piece with four different singers, all of whom were pretty good. They sounded a bit like Modest Mouse, and they had a few moments of really kick ass stuff, as well as a few moments where it sounded like they had gotten lost, though that may have been deliberate. I found out their CD will be out in July, so if I'm not broke I'll give it a shot.

The highlight for me was the opening act, The Basement Sweets. They're a 3 piece and tonight was their CD release gig, so I bought a copy. At varying points throughout the evening I introduced myself to Jesse the guitar guy, Kevin the drum guy, and most importantly, Daphne the bass/keyboard girl. Just to save myself future repetition, I'm gonna state for the record that it only takes me about half an hour to tumble into a crush on any female musician, and if she's got black hair it only takes half that long. So about 15 minutes after they got on stage, I started thinking that this Daphne chick looked pretty swell.

They've got another show on Friday, so I'm gonna swing by and see if any of them remember me. I figure if I'm gonna make friends with people, they may as well be musicians. Because musicians are intrinsically cooler than other people. Don't question it.

My favorite song on The Basement Sweets cd is Minus Minus, which Daphne sings. Give yourself 10 points if you saw that coming.

So Long And Thanks For All The Shows

Posted to the Deleted Scene board, May 03 2004

This is Keith, the guy who used to work at the comic shop downtown. I'm taking off for B.C. tomorrow, and before I go I want to post a final message to thank everybody involved in Deleted Scene. I've been to some great shows and some not so great shows in Fredericton, but I wouldn't have been to half as many without DS.

Thanks to Sean and Tanya for getting this ball rolling, and to everybody I met along the way: Zach and the boys from Dionisus, Jon from El Diablo, Roger from the Argentos, Justin, Emo, Davey Danger and everyone else I gave a bruise to at some point.

Also Kora and Matte, for putting on the only shows I went to last year where my ears didn't ring the next morning, and Pimp Tea for teaching me the true meaning of having balls the size of watermellons.

If anybody from Fredericton is planning on being in Vancouver in the next year, drop me a line. Even if I never met you before, it's always good to have a connection. We can show those British Columbia fucks how it's done.

Keith McNally

keithmpire.com
keithmpire@hotmail.com

keithmcnally @ 2003-09-29T17:00:00

2003-09-29T20:00:06Z

HEY! Are you feeling down, feeling listless, feeling like you need somebody to pick you up? ANDREW W.K. IS THAT MAN!!

http://www.islandrecords.com/awkworld/qanda.las

Holy crap, that page just makes me feel better. Andrew is the most positive man on the face of the earth, and going to a random page of his fan Q&As puts a big smile on my face. There are hundreds of these things! Read some examples!

-=-

Question:
Hey Hey Hey!!! I dont really have a question, but i just wanted to say how much I think you ROCK!!! I saw you at ozzfest in Cleveland on 8-4-02 and it was great!! You are the only performer I left the stage to get an autograph from. Id also like to say i think its so cool that you are so nice to all your fans! Thanks for the autograph and the great music!!
asked by Buzz on Thursday, February 13, 2003

Answer:
Dear Buzz, Thank you for your very nice compliments and statements! I appreciate it very much! I was really happy to be able to meet so many people during the Ozzfest tour. I'm glad you wanted to say hi! You know what? I think that Buzz is one of the coolest names of all time - it really is. I've known a couple people that had that as their nickname, or actually one of them might of actually been named Buzz for real - anyway it's a really awesome name. The older brother in the "Home Alone" movies was named Buzz, remember? He had that awesome pet tarantula... and of course there's Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story, and the astronaught Buzz Aldrin, and of course... YOU! I think the Honey Nut Cheerios mascot is named Buzz Bee, and I'm sure there are tons of other cool Buzz things that I can't think of or don't know about. What's the buzz? Thank you!!! Your friend, Andrew W.K.
answered by Andrew W.K. on Thursday, February 13 , 2003 5:29 PM

-=-

Question:
Dear Andrew, I'd prefer to call you Andy, and you can call me BJ! OK? I'd like to know, what do you think of spider webs?
asked by B.J. Swiftly on Sunday, February 9, 2003

Answer:
Dear B.J., I think spider webs are one of the greatest things ever of all time!!! The delicate jeweled dew drop morning spider's nest all strung up like silk and string! It's cool how the spider's feet can stick to the web so that it doesn't fall off, but it's feet aren't so sticky that it's completely stuck - the bugs that crawl onto the web by accident get completley stuck, and then the spider bites the bug and the bug curls into a ball and then it drains the blood! Spiders are awesome!!! And webs are one of the coolest things about them!!! Thank you, B.J.! You can call me Andy, that's no problem! Your friend, Andrew W.K.
answered by Andrew W.K. on Monday, February 10 , 2003 1:02 AM

-=-

keithmcnally @ 2003-09-18T20:43:00

2003-09-18T23:55:05Z

So this girl's been coming into the comic shop for awhile, and I'd heard she was a musician, but I never asked her about it. I figured she was probably on the net somewhere, but even then I was too much of a lazy shit to actually check. So today I finally got off my ass and looked her up, and she is awesome. Give this a listen:

http://www.keithmpire.com/demo/Vetch_-_Stranded.mp3

First I listened to Caine's Song and thought "Wow, that's really good!" Then I listened to Stranded and thought "Holy crap, that one's even better!" I'm like an instant fanboy now, but most of our previous conversations have gone something like this:

Me: So what can I help you with, little lady?

Her (raising an eyebrow): Trying to make friends?

Me: Actually, I thought that was a little insulting.

Her: I was gonna say, you're not doing a very good job.

Goddammit, I am the biggest dumbass in the world.

keithmcnally @ 2003-06-23T14:23:00

2003-06-23T17:19:24Z

Wow! A special bonus livejournal update from Keith M!</font>

A Conversation I Would Like To Have With Spike Lee Someday

(Keith M, media mogul and billionaire tyrant, sits at his giant desk in his extravagant high rise office.)

Secretary (through intercom): Mr. M, sir? A Mr. Lee is here to see you.

Keith M (hard at work): Send him in.

Spike Lee (holding hat in hands): Hello, Mr. M. Thank you for seeing me. (Spike begins to take a seat.)

Keith M: Stay standing! Now, what is it you're here for? You want financing to make a movie, is that right?

Spike Lee: That's right, sir.

Keith M: What did your last movie make, about fifty bucks? Why would I want to invest in you?

Spike Lee: Well sir, it's my feeling that the rich heritage of african-american culture can be used to mesh together a quilt of negro-potence that will help us all achieve a higher level of understanding and tolerance for-

Keith M: Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. Spike Lee? Aren't you the guy who sued TNN in 2003 for trying to change its name to Spike TV?

Spike Lee: Yes sir, that I did.

Keith M: You silly sack of shit. What the fuck were you thinking? What does Spike TV have to do with you? Do you sue railroads for using your name when they lay track? Did Spike Jonze sue TNN for using his name? Who the fuck are you, anyway? Nobody cares about you! How could someone capitalize off your name, most sensible people don't even know who you are! Christ, what a megalomaniac! That lawsuit was the craziest thing I've ever heard!

Spike Lee: Yes, but-

Keith M: But nothing! Do you realize how much wrestling was on TNN in 2003? Do you realize how many millions the network lost because of that frivolous, insane lawsuit? Wrestling is more important than your shitty movies! Wrestling is more important than anything you'll ever do in your entire life! You fuck with wrestling, son, and you fuck with me! I'll make sure you never work in this town again! Now get out!

Spike Lee: But, but, the struggle of the black man-

Keith M: Get out! You're lucky I don't have you killed! I'll get Booker T to do a spinarooni on your tiny corpse!

(Spike Lee turns and exits, head hung low.)

Keith M (to secretary): Natalie? Have Mr. Lee beaten on the way out. Make sure his glasses are broken. And don't give him back his hat.

Secretary: Yes, sir. Shall I have security 3-D him through a table?

Keith M: No, I think a running powerbomb should be in order. A 3-D would snap his little neck. Keep the table though, I like that.

Secretary: Yes, sir.

Keith M (putting his feet on his desk and lighting a huge cigar): Ah, that silly little bastard... Spike TV... Christ. Someday, I'll eat his bones.

THE END!

keithmcnally @ 2003-02-27T19:16:00

2003-02-27T23:14:30Z

So liquid915, if that is his real name, made the hilarious comment about my livejournal:

"I give it a week before you go to your website's updating system."

Ahahahaha! That's funny! 'Cause I don't update a lot, you see? You see the joke? That I update slowly? Bwarharhar! That's a good one! Oh, man... I'm slapping... I'm slapping... my knee... oh... oh shit... oh... fuck... god, that's good...

Well, he was actually right. Fuck this livejournal. I gotta admit that it's convenient, but it's too convenient. Normally I gotta write something moderately intelligent, write up the html, upload the shit... it's worse than digging ditches in the third world, I swear. But at least I end up with material that's halfway cool to somebody. I dunno, my mom thinks I'm cool... ah, no she doesn't. Anyway, the fact is that I'm gonna turn into some kinda bullshit spewing bullshit machine if I keep this up. It's too easy, it's too immediate, it's not me, man. It's not me! I stick fucking needles in my eyeballs for no fucking reason, I twist my own balls until they turn purple, I fucking fill my bathtub with salt and then I eat that shit, I eat all that shit before I let myself take a bath. That's what I do. That's who I am.

So to finish this off I'll talk about my trip to Montreal. Man, that was awesome. I didn't read a damn thing on the toilet except for the back of a DVD case, though. It was La Blue Girl Live Action Vol.3, and man did it suck. But shit, I had to buy it. That's some weird shit, my man.

I got to see a Fozzy concert, I went to Club Super Sexe, which I totally recommend to anybody visiting Montreal -- definitely the swankest strip club I've ever been to. Damn, there was this one black/asian/spanish chick that me and my friend Sean spent piles of money on for private dances, she was so fucking hot... god damn, she was hot...

Anyway, then I went to wrestling, and that wasn't nearly as erotic, but a good time none-the-less. That old bitch Hulk Hogan got his ass kicked by The Rock and Vince McMahon, and Steiner got booed more than I ever expected. It was brutal, I felt kinda bad for the guy. It was weird seeing the difference between the caliber of matches, too -- Without the changing tv camera angles, matches like Big Show vs. The Undertaker just fell apart. They looked like a taping for a tv show fight scene, you could see all the seams. On the other hand, the Lesnar/Benoit vs. Team Angle match was a thing of beauty, it was so smooth that it was completely easy to suspend disbelief and really get into it. And Austin's return match was obviously weak, being against Eric Bischoff, but it was worth it just to see the reaction when he showed up. I've never seen a place go so nuts, it was insane. They didn't have any Matt Hardy V.1 shirts, of which I planned to purchase fifty, but it was okay, because he won! He kicked the shit out of that punk Billy Kidman to become Cruiser Weight champion! If only the Cruiser Weight title wasn't continuously undermined by poor booking, that would be even more excellent.

And the hotel! Man, the hotel we stayed at, it was crazy! The Hilton had a damn heated pool outside on the roof. It was the middle of winter, and we were swimming. You ever jump out of a pool and lie in a snowbank, or put snow down your shorts and jump back in? It's crazy! Craaaaaaazy! And the breakfast buffet! Holy shit! It was fifteen bucks, and worth every penny. Get this: They peel the oranges, split them into slices, and then peel the skin from the slices. Who the fuck gets that job? That's insane! That's the most fucking retarded thing ever.

Then what did we do? We went to the Biodome, that was pretty cool. Then we came home.

So thanks for coming with me on this magical livejournal journey. It was fucking fantastic. Until next time, which is never, remember: If the women don't find you handsome, they should at least find you handy. And keep your stick on the ice.

keithmcnally @ 2003-02-20T15:55:00

2003-02-20T20:02:22Z

Crayon Shinchan from ComicsOne is the order of the day. It's a comic about this little kid who always mouths off and shows his dick to people, and then his mom beats the shit out of him. I'm not kidding at all, that's pretty much what every 3-page strip boils down to, and its awesome. Shinchan's reasons for showing his dick keep getting more and more abstract, and by the second volume he proclaims "Thank you for this beautiful snow, Mr. Winter! In exchange, I will show you my penis!" I laughed until I cried. I love it.

In Japan this comic was meant for preschoolers, which of course means that in North America it's suggested for 13 and up. It's about a damn kid mouthing off at his parents, for god's sake! What's so wrong with that!? Anyway, for an example of how a small child's cock and balls can be used to achieve hilarity, here's a shoddy translation of the very first Shinchan page. Remember to read from right to left, since this was taken directly from a japanese scan.

keithmcnally @ 2003-02-19T14:44:00

2003-02-19T19:01:32Z

You know what the best part of this journal is? Regular updates.

Today I had nothing at my disposal but the May 22, 2002 edition of Awake!, which doubles as low-grade toilet paper. The thing I love about Awake! is that despite being the sister publication of The Watchtower, it looks on the surface to be pretty respectable. Respectable, that is, until you look at the fine print.

"(Awake!) reports the news...examines religion and science," etc etc. But then, way down at the bottom, it says, "Most important, this magazine builds confidence in the Creator's promise of a peaceful and secure new world that is about to replace the present wicked, lawless system of things."

Man, I fucking hate religious people.

There's nothing lawless about the present system of things. Everything makes perfect sense to me, but then I'm not the offspring of my dad and my sister. I suppose there's a certain amount of wickedness floating around, and without the comprehension of the basic laws of science and the objective nature of reality, it must be a little frustrating trying to find a way to fix said wickedness. Good thing the Creator promised to fix things, since a lot of us are obviously too retarded to understand how to fix it ourselves. I mean seriously, the answer is obvious. Hardcore communism. All hardcore material, be it magazine, video tape or DVD, should be distributed equally. No one man should have access to more pornography than any other. Also portable pocket-pussies and Realdolls. Gay pornography can be distributed equally among the gay. It's the only fair way.

The "From Our Readers" section was a haven of joy and enlightenment, too.

"With reference to your article Popular Celebrations - Harmless Fun?... Thank you for showing how Halloween has a connection with the occult."

"Thank you for the article Young People Ask... How Can I Make Bible Reading More Enjoyable? Because of this article I tried reading the Bible, I found out that it is very interesting. Now I am reading the Bible regularly."

And let's not forget the letter in response to the article Too Many Toys, in which a concerned father noticed that his young daughter had four boxes of toys. Awake! recommends a mere half box, so he gave away the excess. I'm sure she's grateful, you Jehovah fucks.

keithmcnally @ 2003-02-18T11:57:00

2003-02-18T16:14:44Z

I wandered into my parents law office around noon to mooch some food and internet access when I felt a rumbling in my bowels. "Uh oh!" I thought. "Feels like a livejournal update coming on!"

So I ran out to their waiting room and rummaged through their magazine stand until my hand fell upon a pamphlet called What Should I Know About Land Titles? Answers To The Most Frequently Asked Questions Concerning Land Titles. I was a little confused as to its content, so I flipped it over to read Que Devrais-Je Savoir Au Sujet Du Régime Des Titres Fonciers? Réponses Aux Questions Les Plus Fréquemment Posées a Propos Du Régime Des Titres Fonciers. "Ah," I said, conprehension dawning. "It's a pamphlet about land titles." French is so much easier to understand. I think it's because it takes twice as long for the dirty frogs to explain things.

By this time I really had to shit quite badly, so to the bathroom I went!

It turns out that the New Brunswick Land Titles System is a computerized process in which the government guarantees title on properties that are being sold or mortgaged. There is a not-insubstancial fee for entering a property into this system, but once it's entered there's no further need for costly title searches, therefore leading to a less expensive and more efficient process in the long run.

I was also interested to learn that while Australia and several European countries use variations of the Land Titles system, New Brunswick's version is one of the most advanced models.

Remember, these inane facts are not the result of my inability to write an interesting livejournal. I just happened to pick up the wrong pamplet. I'm sorry, okay? Jesus fucking christ...

I had to take the lid off the toilet tank because it wouldn't flush right. A little bit of dunking-my-arms-in-toilet-water and just a touch of elbow grease and I was good to go! One piece of toilet paper didn't flush all the way, but I decided not to flush again.

That's right, for those of you paying attention: The above was my tribute to the hardworking men and women of livejournal. To them, that would have been a full update. May god have mercy on their mediocre souls.

Join me later in the week when I hope to write some fascinating updates from the road, as I'll be going to Montreal to see WWE's No Way Out! Maybe I'll even get some reading done in the arena bathroom, perhaps during HHH/Steiner II. I also look forward to seeing Hulk Hogan die in the ring, perhaps as the result of a particularly thorny verbal barb that I will throw from the confines of said bathroom.

I am, as always, Keith M, and remember: You will still need a surveyor to subdivide your property if you want to sell a lot, but it will provide the security of guaranteed title.

keithmcnally @ 2003-02-17T12:10:00

2003-02-17T16:29:30Z

I'm starting a livejournal. How about that? At first I was gonna let everybody know what I had for breakfast every day. Haha, I thought, that will be funny. People will laugh at the inanity of that, since, you know, livejournals are boring and pointless.

But wait, most people actually do post about what they ate for breakfast. The kind of toast they used, or if their peanut butter was a little too thick that morning. So maybe my livejournal wouldn't be funny at all. Maybe it would in fact be very very interesting, just like all the other livejournals out there. Maybe people would read it and leave me comments like "My toast was dry too" or "I like apple juice more than orange juice". That would be pretty gay.

So instead I thought, maybe I should make a livejournal about what happens after I eat breakfast -- namely, what my shit was like. Every time I took a shit I could log it in my livejournal, describing its various qualities and my overall satisfaction with the process. I could use little smiley or frowny faces to accompany my decision, in order to make it clear that constipation makes me unhappy while diarrhea also makes me unhappy. Haha, I thought! That would be funny!

That is not funny. That is disgusting. I'm definitely above that sort of thing. So I came up with a final solution: Kill all jews. All of them. Failing that, write a livejournal about what book I was reading while taking a shit. That seemed like a reviewing process worthy of livejournal. So a big thanks to lauralbaby for giving me a livejournal code. None of this would be possible without her.

Yesterday I took a shit around midnight, and took with me If Chins Could Kill, the autobiography of Bruce Campbell. I borrowed it from Stefan, and I ended up sitting on the toilet five or six minutes longer than I had to due to being caught up in reading it. Certainly not a great book by any stretch, not particularly in-depth or insightful, but man, it's impossible not to like Bruce Campbell. He's just a good guy, and his stories about how Sam Raimi insisted on putting his car in every movie they ever made was some good reading. I wouldn't say run right out and buy it, but if you're looking for a way to pass the time and you're a Bruce Campbell fan, you could do worse.

If you don't know who Bruce Campbell is or don't care for him as an actor, then don't read it, you fucking retard. That's just common sense.

While attempting to wash my hands after I had completed shitting, I found that our hot water pipes were frozen, so I had to use cold. Also, my ear is still kinda bothering me from the frostbite I got on Thursday morning.

Note: The above paragraph is an example of what not to write in your livejournal, ever. Nobody cares. The mundane details of your life aren't even interesting to you yourself, so there's no way they could be interesting to someone else. Maybe if you're a professional bukkake ninja who breaks into celebrity's houses with your clan and proceeds to ejaculate fiercely all over the rich and famous before making your escape, but you do it so often that it has become commonplace for you, that might be interesting to someone. The fact that your discman broke and you really wish it hadn't broke, that's not interesting to anybody. Not even your mother. Your mother thinks you're a boring fuck and secretly wishes for a more exciting son, and if you're a female that just makes her shame all the more powerful.

Join me again for more bathroom book reviews, and go update your livejournal. If you don't write about the small pain in your left shoulder right away, you might forget to do it later. Don't rob your readers of that information, you cruel cunt.