My Disgust Runneth Over

Every once in a while, I read something in the news that really frightens me. I mean, more than the everyday indications that Hell will soon be on Earth, as the ice caps melt and Iraq & Iran boil over into World War III.

Today, I was horrified by an article I saw on CNN.com, which I had been trying to ignore since yesterday. I admit I can believe this is how things are in parts of the United States, but it saddens me to witness it. I couldn't help but jot down some thoughts as I read:

(click the pics to see full screen)




After reading, I had to find the location of this backward little hellhole of a redneck cesspool. As I suspected, it's at least 150 miles from anything even resembling civilization. God help me if I ever break down along I-75.

Just Brilliant

Hey Fergie, kiss Alanis' ass.

If He Weren’t a Devil, Nick Cave Would Be a God

He shocks you, burning horrific images of unholy violence and debauchery into your head. He sings duets with beautiful women, such as Kylie Minogue, about violent skull-crushing murder. He even writes screenplays about fratricide.

Yep, Nick Cave is my goddamned hero.

Nick Cave’s music confronts the darkness that lurks in man. He doesn’t play the observer gaining an understanding of the evil being examined. He plays the evil man gaining an understanding of himself. It’s one thing to fear the shooter; it’s something else entirely to shudder at the thought of you being the shooter.

Through his music, Cave has long traveled the roads of guilt (Knoxville Girl), drunken gang-rape (Papa Won’t Leave You Henry), domestic violence (Jack the Ripper), and damnation (Up Jumped the Devil). And he rocks doing it.

Nick Cave, and his long time compatriots, the Bad Seeds, explore these dark roads in order to carve out some of the baddest-assed rock every to grace my stereo. He makes every other rock star out there look like a total pussy. This is a man who wrote a letter to MTV in 1996 asking them to never nominate him for another award again. Damned right – fuck your marketing culture, music industry. Nick Cave doesn’t need your shit. He's too busy kicking ass.

In his own words, “MY MUSIC IS UNIQUE AND INDIVIDUAL AND EXISTS BEYOND THE REALMS INHABITED BY THOSE WHO WOULD REDUCE THINGS TO MERE MEASURING.”

Thank Heaven (and Hell) for that. Thank them for the continued genius that led Cave and a couple of his Bad Seeds cohorts to hit a London Studio and form Grinderman, releasing a downright awesome new album. With that, they’ve churned out a dozen more ass-kicking journeys into the sick world of the man I fear inside myself. That’s fucking rock and roll. Now give me a guitar to smash on the floor.

Grinderman’s sound is a little different from the Bad Seeds, but the feeling is all the same. With tracks like “No Pussy Blues” and “Love Bomb,” Nick Cave and Co. have delivered one of the most fantastic offerings to the pagan rock gods in a long time. I’m headed to the nearest church of true rock – a garage – to pray.

Have a listen:

The Bull Charge

So I was headed to for coffee this morning with a couple of coworkers, when two people passed me walking into Starbucks – a male and female, both twentysomething. She walked by first, followed by him. I barely noticed them as my eyes scanned the dozens of people right in front of me. But, I stopped when I saw the guy giving me a malicious stare.

I think most any man will understand what I’m about to describe, and I’m even going to give it a name: this putz tried to “bull charge” me. He misperceived I was taking a look at his “girl next cubicle” – probably the only joy in his poor Junior Investment Banker existence – and felt threatened. So, he reacted with an ancient male instinct. He looked right at me with an expression that said loud and clear, “STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER OR I WILL TEAR YOU TO PIECES.” His eyes said he was a bull about to charge, if necessary, to keep me from the object of his desire.

Basic explanation, for the uninitiated (female) reader: it’s natural instinct for men to use subtle primitive looks and gestures to keep each other in check. It’s a little trick we’ve never shed from the animal kingdom. Imagine happening upon a bear in the woods. Don’t run away, but don’t look right at him.

It’s the same with men in situations where their manliness is in question. And no, men can’t be blamed for such behavior – it’s ingrained after thousands of years of evolution. The cavemen who successfully stared down or fought off competitors got the child-rearing women and propagated their line, while the pussies who backed down were weeded out of the gene pool. Thus, all men today are products of those winning tough guys.

The funny thing about evolution, though, is that it’s ongoing. In this case, all the remaining men left still challenge each other for superior rights to females. And while I am no great proponent of my own superior manliness, I can say without a doubt that this guy’s line will be weeded out within a couple of generations.

I say this because the guy was, to use the technical term, a twerp. I’d have kicked the living piss out of him, no doubt. He was about 115 pounds and looked like the Backstreet Boy with the shitty little skinny-beard.

Another fact for the uninitiated: men regularly size up other men around them, calculating which he could beat in a fight. It wasn’t hard math, here. This guy’s bull charge at me was a death wish. I’m not saying that because I’m a tough guy – frankly, I’m not. But this guy was a pussy. Big time. Knocking him down would be a cinch, and it’s just a few well-placed shots from there.

So, I brought this up to my coworkers, and we all evaluated the guy and girl from across the room. First, I got the “Why were you checking her out? She’s not that attractive.” Fucking duh. That’s the point. Let’s not forget – I wasn’t looking at her. Next, my comrades confirmed – this guy was picking the wrong fight. See? Told you so.

God love ‘em, my friends then started giving me shit about the whole thing. Not that that worked out well. When asked if they’d have to hold my coffee while I politely excused myself for a little beat-down session, I responded that I would of course be employing the steaming hot beverage as an improvised scalding-beverage-grenade to the head. Use the weapons you have, right? Insert horrified looks from the coworkers here.

Perhaps there was discomfort with my outward admission of a disturbing reality – that men still have instincts to throw down, even in civilized situations. I wanted console my friends by telling them I had just found the situation funny because I’m more refined than that. But that’s not entirely true. While I could calmly tolerate the guy bull-charging me without getting into a knock-down fight, I would have shown him up by making nice with his lady friend, given the chance. No harm in being the alpha male, just a little bit.

Where to Start?

I have a feeling this first post will be more awkward than others in the future. I’m typing with a spectre over my shoulder – the spectre of the fact that this whole thing is just a vanity for me. It’s so lame to be saying, “Look at me! I write!” And that’s not a condemnation of blogging in general. I just don’t feel quite like part of the group: “people who write stuff.”

What it comes down to is that I really like writing. All writing, though, in my hands, feels like a vanity. That’s where Seven Wicked Demons comes in – to immediately throw things I’ve written out into the world, if even for a small readership, just to get over the anxiety of doing so. I was inspired to do this by my buddy Rob over at Murder by Baltimore. He’s one of those friends I’ve always admired for putting himself out there. I hope to be so brave and get as good of results from life.

I guess the next question is, “So, when do you send that first email to all your friends to say ‘Check out this place where I open myself to the world. Hope you like it!’” Oh, man, one step at a time.

All that having been aired, on to another important topic: the name. Listen, I thought about the name for this thing for like a week. I’ll probably change it in another week. Who knows? Don’t read anything too deep into it. It has a couple levels of meaning to me, just about none of which are related to the apocryphal text, “The Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of Cannibals” (in case you’ve Googled it). But, I’m not afraid to say I just thought it sounded kind of interesting. Someday, I’ll do a whole post on the phrase "seven wicked demons" and why I chose it. It's gotta gel first, though.

So, there’s more to come. But, the Life, she beckons. Hateful bitch. Lets me do what I want far too rarely. I’m stuck with her, though. Since I certainly don’t want to leave her and can’t trade her, I’ll have to just change her a little at a time.