MC FRESH DARKCHYLDE

Can you be said to be a goth when you're sitting in a Burger King with your grandfather and wearing a black T-shirt that says "Ain't nothing but a goth thang?" A goth thang? I'm out of the loop. Are goths now the shizzle?

Okay. I googled "goth thang," expecting nothing at all, and instead got a cold dark wave of hits (foolish me - if it's on a T-shirt, it's on the internet). I'm surprised, but perhaps I shouldn't be, to find Marylin Manson apeing the goth ethos. But as I said, I'm out of the loop; the goths I knew ten years ago, all hunkered down in their basements with Bauhaus and Sisters of Mercy tunes echoing in their heads, have become software engineers and graphics designers. The newest crop of goths seem to be blurring the lines between blacklaced misery, rave ecstatics and Marylin Manson 'tude. This guy refers to 'glam-goths' staked out by the Muchmusic studios in Toronto. I like the term 'glam-goth'. But I will never forgive that kid with the "goth thang" shirt for forcing me to remember that Gene Loves Jezebel ever existed. Although anything that gets me humming "She's Lost Control" earns the bonbon of my esteem.

I felt a bit embarrassed for the T-shirted kid (not to mention the grandfatherly figure he was eating with) but it added a dash of interest to an otherwise zombie-like atmosphere. I swear, the Burger King by my work is the dumping ground for burnt out fast food workers (have I complained about this before?). Just as the old residential schools were a dumping ground for the most vicious, predatory and psychotic of the clergy, the Burger King by my work employs only those who are closest to breakdown or catatonia. I spent thirty seconds at the head of the queue watching a counter person stare blankly at the fryer before he swivelled his head, locked eyes with me and blurted out a startled "I can help you!". What can it mean, that I have come to a place where those who are beyond all help are offering to help me?

Oh hey...goth rap.

BUGS THESE DAYS

I'm not sure if it's the result of shifting climates, natural breeding cycles or an insect lab deep beneath the Earth (and powered by the Earth's spinning core! Yesss!), but every few summers I start noticing different bug species: shinier beetles, more motivated ladybugs, or horrible crawly things that appear to feed on linoleum glue (and powered by the Earth's spinning core!). It's possible that insects herald the stages of a person's life, and that on the day of my death a gigantic preying mantis will bite my head off and carry it in its mandibles down to the underworld (and powered by etc.). There my head will be f�ted as the funkingest head ever to do a dance in the land of the dead, and everyone will want my autograph. Or so I predict. I always get a little apocalyptic frisson whenever I see a new bug.

GOOGSHOF

I've been looking for a way to sum up the many arguments raised against gay marriage. That each of them is pigheaded and daft I already know: sanctity of marriage, what about the children, horrible gay penis diseases, blah blah blah. Straighten out the logical loops, light a match to the straw men, realign the misdirection and it boils down to a single maxim, which I have further reduced to the acronym GOOGSHOF: God Owns Our Genitals, So Hands Off, Faggot. Hey lesbian: put that cunt down and leave it on the desk. That's for the Lord. Yo, homo! I believe that's God's cock you've got there? Haven't you noticed all the joyless baby-making marriage machines in production, pumping out more miserable and marriageable people? That's what God wants: people as procreation machines, paired up and paying their bills, rendering taxes and tykes to Caesar and hosannahs to Him. No doubt the opponents of gay marriage would consider the earthly happiness of a few homosexuals trifling in comparison to the salvation of the soul. It's my experience, though, that those who demand misery from others usually take license from their devotion to gratify their own desires. Leading a miserable life? Good. Don't forget to love and praise God, who heaps misery on you and yours but treats me just fine.

REFERRALS

Googler Per�n, that suave mute personification of my referral page, has passed me the following note: Eiffel Tower Craft Pattern. I have no idea what poor bastard is going to receive a sweater with the Eiffel Tower knitted semi-eptly on its chest, but I have compassion for that bastard or bastardrix, flowing from my palms like ashes.

While we're on the subject, I've been getting regular hits from people looking for:

Burton Cummings
Salisbury House
Jackal Movie Sunglasses
Robins Donuts

parode - exode