Wednesday, April 24, 2013

George Clinton Gets Into an Argument with a Chicken



You know, people say a grown man shouldn’t be hanging out with a chicken, but I don’t give a funk! 

And I don’t give a cluck!

What’d you say there?

I said I don’t give a cluck!

Oh. I see. You’re doing a bit of naughty wordplay. Instead of the F word, you’re saying cluck. I get it. 

Cluck yeah! 

But you should be saying funk. It’s I don’t give a FUNK. 

I don’t give a cluck! 

It’s funk. FUNK! 

Cluck. 

You’re not even attacking it from the right end of the word. I’m telling you, if you want to do this thing, it’s got to be FUNK. 

I say cluck. 

That’s funking stupid. 

You’re clucking stupid. 

Funk you!

Cluck me?! Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Ah, go funk yourself!

YOU go cluck yourself in the clucking ass

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Go funk your mother. 

Cluck your mother in the ass! 

Leave me funking mother out of this, or I am going to funking pluck you and cook you!

Go clucking pluck yourself, you clucking hippie! 

Pluck you. Ah, shit, now you’re funking me up. FUNK you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Shut the funk up!

Why don’t you stick a clucking sock in your mouth!

Why don’t you eat funking shit! 

Why don’t you stick your clucking dick in your mouth and shut your motherclucking hole?!

FUNK you!

CLUCK you!

Go funk yourself in the ass! 

Cluck motherclucking you, you clucking clucktard! 

I don’t even understand what you’re funking saying.

That’s because you’re so clucking stupid, you’ve got clucking shit in the clucking cluck-hole where your brain should be. Clucking cluck! 

Funk you.

Cluck you, you clucking cunt. 

Whoa! The C bomb! What the hell! Can’t it be...clunt or something? 

No. That’d be confusing. Sorry. You were clucking pissing me off. 

Yeah, I’m sorry too. If you want to say cluck, you go ahead. 

Thanks.

Just leave my funking mother out of it.

Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Just swearing. Didn’t mean anything by that. 

That’s cool. So are we good? 

We’re clucking good!

Funk yeah! 

Monday, April 22, 2013

Drink and Drive (Freedom Reign!)



 --Dan Kilian and the Million Man Band

Dinobot

Friday, April 19, 2013

ALL OF THE SHRIMP

ALL OF THE SHRIMP
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
I SWALLOW THEM ALL
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
 
LARGE
SMALL
WHOLE
DEFORMED
 
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
I SWALLOW THEM ALL
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
 
ECHOING THROUGH THE LIMITLESS DEEP
I BELLOW TO MY SLEEPING BROTHERS
JOINING IN OUR ETERNAL SONG
THE ARITHMETIC OF WONDER AND LOVE
 
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
I BECOME THEM
THEY BECOME
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
 
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
WE ARE ONE
THE WATER IS WORLD
WE ARE
ALL OF THE SHRIMP
 
COLLECTING OUR THOUGHTS
THE SCHOOL'S EMBRACE
EXTENDING CLOUD
WE ARE ONE
 
CONSUME US NOW
MERGING
FULFILLED
IN DEATH WE ARE WHOLE
NO LONGER
DEFORMED

--Steve Kilian 

Fireball 

Steve Helps Me With My Script

 


Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Personal Best

The blast took his right leg just below the knee.  He was eighteen yards from the finish line. 
 
Now, months later, he wheeled himself to the spot where he had fallen.  There was still a token police presence in the area, and advertisements for the federal tip hotline took up space on nearby bus kiosks.  The teddy bears and photos on the makeshift shrine were faded and dirty.  His prosthesis was brand new, plastic and nylon accented by stainless steel and glossy neoprene. 
 
They said he could run again, in time.  After the surgeries he was weak, and the prosthesis would need to be refitted as his atrophied quadriceps bulked back up.  He was in for at least a year of physical therapy.  He glanced at his watch and did the math. 
 
He kicked back the footrests on the chair.  Shakily, he pushed himself upright, settling his weight onto his right knee, feeling the pressure points where the doctors hadn't bothered to tune his leg.  Eighteen yards.
 
He took a step forward with his left foot.  Easy enough;  he'd done it a hundred times in the hospital.  And then with the right.  There was a scraping sound as the artificial foot touched the ground, coming a fraction of an instant before he felt it in his knee.  This was what he would need to get used to, they said.  For now he had to look where he was walking.  But he was standing.
 
He took another step.  And another.  There was definitely a pinch point on the right side of his knee.  Another step.  And another.
 
It was the prosthesis that crossed the finish line first.  He took one more step and was fully across.  He looked back at the chair, where she stood wiping away tears.  He looked down at his wrist, the stopwatch still running.  "Not my best time," he said.  He went to turn it off, and then hesitated.  He let it run.
 
And took another step.


 --Steve Kilian

The Ring of Fire

S.T.E.O.F.

 

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Scaveler Fong

I am Scaveler Fong and I trade in flesh of all kinds. 

ALL kinds? How great is your variety? 

My variety is great indeed. Barthag. Mule. Dog. Gorlak. Human. Poachgroan. Rotterfen. All kinds. Live. Pickled. Cold. Quick. All kinds. Young. Old. Male. Female. Grinnerback. All kinds. Workmeat, Foodmeat, Pleasuremeat, Sciencemeat. All kinds. 

All kinds. 

What kinds of treatments to these fleshes? 

All kinds. Scarred. Painted. Tattooed. All kinds. Burned. Clean. Bleached. All kinds! 

What kinds of decompositions do you feature? 

All kinds! Bogrotten. Mountain-dried. Beetlebitten. All kinds. Buried. Fermented. Bloated and shucked. All kinds! 

 And how might they be prepared for eating? 

We're fleshmongers, not chefs. Preparation is by the purchaser, as limited by their digestion, predilections, and metaphysical restrictions. 

Do you have any condiments? Treatments? Dog treats? 

We have flesh. All kinds of flesh. If customer wishes to use it as a condiment or feed it to a dog that is entirely their business and none at all of ours. Would you be interested in any flesh? I have all kinds.  

--Steve Kilian
--Dan Kilian

Word Worms

Matt, Dan and R. discuss Billy Corgan and Danger

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Friday, April 5, 2013

John, Eric, Barry, Mitch, Rich, and Tom Get Drunk

Now that The Sequester is kicking in, let's revisit the thinking behind it, though instead of a nation, let's make it a bar tab.

BeerOne more round!

I’ll be back in a minute.

Let’s get drunk!

I AM drunk. I think we’re all drunk!

Hey, guys, you set a hundred-dollar limit on your bar tab, and you’ve reached it. Should I close you out?

We definitely want another round.

But close up the tab!

Then how do you want to pay for the round?

Close the tab, but get the round.

You want to start another tab?

No.

Well then...

Just get us the round and we’ll figure out how we’re going to pay for it.

All right...

Hooray!

Hooray what? How are we going to pay for those drinks!

How about Rich pays for it?

No, Rich is always getting rounds.

He got the first round, but he hasn’t chipped in in a while. Also, he’s drinking expensive Scotch, and he spilled all that beer just a half an hour ago. They’re still mopping it up.

No! Rich is our friend. Plus, he might throw us some work. We’re trying to be nice to him. It’ll pay off in the long run.

Then who’s going to pay for it?

We’re not going to pay.

Look, let’s just keep the same tab, and we’ll all chip in. We’ve already ordered the round.

We’re definitely gonna keep drinking.

How about Tom?

Tom’s broke. He’s been out of work since last year.

We’re always buying rounds for Tom. Tom’s out of this round. That’ll take care of it.

One, that’s a jerk thing to do to Tom, and two, it doesn’t take care of the rest of the beer we ordered.

Let’s do some shots.

We can’t afford shots!

We can’t afford beer!

We’ve got to pay for the beer we ordered!

What if we got glasses instead of pints?

What if we only get a drink for Rich?

We’ve got to chip in.

I think we need to join Alcoholics Anonymous.

That makes no....Even if we are alcoholics, we still have to buy the round.

What about you, Barry? What about that envelope?

What?

I saw you putting money into an envelope! We could use that money!

That’s for groceries for my mom!

And beer!

Is this an allegory?

We could use that money for the round and then figure out how to pay it back later.

Maybe you don’t need as many groceries as you think! Are you shopping Whole Foods or Costco? We need beer!

I hate allegories.

No! You can’t use my mom’s grocery money!

We need to stop drinking so much.

Okay, you can use some of the grocery money, but Rich is going to have to buy a round.

No! We need Rich!

Okay, I’ve got it. If we can’t figure out how to pay for this beer by the time the waitress comes back, we get a round of Tabasco J├Ąger shots.

The “Hot Jags”? Those are nasty!

I’ll throw up.

Exactly! With that hanging over our heads, we’ve got to figure out this tab.

Okay!

Yeah, I guess.

So...can we all chip in?

Use the envelope!

No beer for Tom! But he’s got to do a Hot Jag!

No one’s doing the Hot Jags. That’s just to get our heads straight. So, Mom and Rich get the next round?

No! Rich’s already bought a round.

And he’s good for another!

No!

I like Hot Jags!

All right, guys, here are your beers. You want to pay cash or start a new tab?

Neither!

Excuse me...?

Sorry about that. Um...give us a moment. And in the meantime, could you order us a round of Hot Jags?

And more beer!

To be continued...

--Dan Kilian

Three Kitchen Jokes and Three Hippie Jokes

The Weathergoat

Monday, April 1, 2013

Jokes


jokesWhat's worse than being kidnapped and having a burlap sack put over your head?


Hearing the rattling sound of the agitator in the can just before they spray-paint a contestant number on your head and push you bound and blind into the arena.


What's worse than being kidnapped with your wife and child?

The weight of the machete and the numb animal stares as they demand from you an impossible decision.


What's worse than waking up in a pile of rotting meat, unable to move your arms enough to unwrap the coarse shroud that binds you?


Getting jabbed in the side by the emaciated frames of hundreds of previous victims, some still moaning, begging for water, for air, or quick release from this agonizing and pointless death.

What's worse than dragging yourself through the useless ritual of education, work, breeding, and inevitable decline?
Knowing that it is all in service to a select cabal of invisible tyrants who extract wealth from the masses while offering nothing more than bleak reassurances such as, "hard work is its own reward," or, "a craftsman's work is always his own," and that this will always be the way of things.

--Steve Kilian

psi K a tree

Novelty