Dan = Stan

I had another damn dream last night that I was a Stan Laurel impersonator. This has happened twice in the past month. Maybe I should just get a job at Universal Studios as one of those weirdos that walks around the lot acting like a dead film stars. Then if I kept having this dream it would makes some sense, because if my brain is trying to tell my subconscious anything with this recurring image I have no idea what it could be. Do I have a Stan Laurel complex? What the Hell would that be?

I Lost My Sex Juice!

Okay, so I couldn't resist...I even lost a good one about a man creating "Sex Juice" out of malt liquor and shampoo who rode around in a limousine made out of a refrigerator box and stolen tricycles... his true love Becky turned out not only to be a man but an amateur feather weight boxer to boot. It was a work of pure genius and now it is gone with the wind. Anyway, no use crying over spilled Sex Juice...who knew I could even keep thinking stupid shit up to annoy people with for my own amusement?...More Craig's List personal posts.

Frail, Geriatric Doll Maker Creates Hot Young Sex Toy - 96 (downtown / civic / van ness)
Reply to: mailto:pers-1013152222@craigslist.org?subject=Frail,%20Geriatric%20Doll%20Maker%20Creates%20Hot%20Young%20Sex%20Toy%20-%2096%20(downtown%20/%20civic%20/%20van%20ness) [?]Date: 2009-01-29, 3:52PM PST

Must you slather so much mayonnaise on the dog? Always with a hand full of mayonnaise...at least I hope to God that's mayonnaise! Good Gravy! Little Jimmy's gone and swallowed Uncle Rolo's dentures again...this time I hope the little bastard chokes on 'em...him and that stupid Jimmy Carter impression. Who the Hell does a Jimmy Carter impression these days? It isn't even politically topical...especially for a little boy. I tell you there is something seriously askew with that child...like the doctors took out his brain and kicked it around the room a few times before they stuck it back in his thick, misshapen skull. Are these raisins in this carrot cake or cockroaches? Not that it matters...it tastes like shit anyway. Hand me granny's mustache wax Rothchild, I have to give her that jaunty roaring twenties look she likes so much.

Man In Rubber Cantinflas Mask Claims To Be Inspector Boobs Of Sex Squad - 37 (potrero hill)
Reply to: mailto:pers-1012987139@craigslist.org?subject=Man%20In%20Rubber%20Cantiflas%20Mask%20Claims%20To%20Be%20Inspector%20Boobs%20Of%20Sex%20Squad%20-%2037%20(potrero%20hill) [?]Date: 2009-01-29, 1:52PM PST

Who wants to eat a putrefied corpse infested with maggots? It isn't sanitary and just because Grandma does it doesn't mean that you have to be such a lemming...show a little backbone....pull one out of the cat and wave it around. I've created a new sandwich spread using paste, apricot schnapps and corn oil..I call it "What the hell is this shit?"...it doesn't taste very good but it's my own creation...I was attempting to play God...but I couldn't find the big bushy, white beard and wings....so instead I created a sandwich spread instead of two little naked people to have sex with each other and begin the race of human kind. Did you ever try to swallow an entire jar of raw sour kraut in one gulp? That shit is hard! You wouldn't think so looking at Grandma. That old bitch is a bottomless pit.

Danish Butter Manufacturer In Silk Thong Can't Believe It's Not Butter - 38 (haight ashbury)
Reply to: mailto:pers-1012923546@craigslist.org?subject=Danish%20Butter%20Manufacturer%20In%20Silk%20Thong%20Can [?]Date: 2009-01-29, 1:10PM PST

Hans Delbrook is stunned, as he stands amongst the assorted baked buns, that he has been duped by a non-dairy product that tastes exactly like butter. The butter that he would so lovingly rub about your buttocks with his rubber glove-clad hands. Hans is very sexy in his silky thong under pants...they show off his muscular buttocks and Shemp Howard tattoo. Hans wears a hat that he made out of cardboard...a funny red top hat with plastic eyeballs glued across its surface. Sometimes Hans wears a purple Afro wig and makes a high pitched squealing sound...a bit like a siren...but much worse. Hans would not only cover your buttocks with butter, but would also be willing to offer you a delicious T.V. dinner following your erotic butter massage. Perhaps even a tall glass of Tang or Ovaltine. Come...let Hans give you buttery pleasure. If you are lucky he will kiss you on the lips...with his lips, which are covered with melted chocolate.

Wild Sex Demon In Homemade Iron Man Costume Is Lookin' For Some Sex! - 37 (castro / upper market)Reply to: mailto:pers-1012961912@craigslist.org?subject=Wild%20Sex%20Demon%20In%20Homemade%20Iron%20Man%20Costume%20Is%20Lookin [?]Date: 2009-01-29, 1:35PM PST

Ricky Dynamite is a sexual locomotive! Ricky loves to get down with the ladies between his Star Wars bedsheets! Don't worry...they're clean...Ricky's mom changed them after his last wild tryst with that really hot chick that he was doing all of that sexual stuff too! You can call Ricky, "Mr. Dynamite"...or since Ricky is wearing his new homemade Iron Man costume, you can call him "Iron Man"! Ricky can eat and entire bag of Halloween candy in one sitting! Candy makes Ricky STRONG! Then Ricky runs around, hopped up on sugar until he eventually throws up. That's why the carpet in Ricky's bedroom is so sticky! Ricky can't wait to get you into his bedroom and do sexual things to you with his action figures!

King Kong Lives! Original One Sheet! I Am An Idiot!

Because I am an idiot, I am now the proud owner of yet another piece of retarded movie memorabilia. Today I found the original one sheet poster for the fabulous, "King Kong Lives"(1986). The sequel to the 1976 remake. It is one of the most ill-conceived, idiotic films I have ever seen and one of the funniest bad movies ever made.

Apparently Kong's fall from the top of one of the twin towers of the then still-standing World Trade Center in 1976 didn't kill him...oh no...you see at the beginning of "King Kong Lives" he's hooked up to a gargantuan life support system and is retro-fitted with a gigantic artificial heart in a scene that plays very much like a Monty Python sketch. The entire film is so jaw-droppingly stupid in every way that it is almost unbelievable it was even finished. I first read about this in one of the "Golden Turkey Awards" books where it was mentioned in a write up of the 1976 remake. The next time I heard about this "film" was on Siskel and Ebert : At The Movies...I vaguely recall that they mentioned not even being allowed to see it for the show before it was rushed into theatres so it could dodge the inevitably horrified reviews it was simply doomed to receive....or something to that effect...I know they weren't given any footage of the movie to play during the show. My friend Ken and I finally found a VHS copy for rent at Long's Drugs in Fairfield and immediately snatched it up.

It was one of those rare viewing experiences in which the grotesque stupidity you are witnessing transforms its self into one of the most hilarious things you're ever seen...each stupid moment topping the next. I almost ruptured an intestine I was laughing so hard...granted I was high as a kite, but still...this shitfest was a LAUGH RIOT...if you go for that sort of thing...and I sure as HELL do! It was much like the experience of seeing "Out For Justice" starring Steven Seagal for the first time...a movie so gory and violent that it starts to seem like a Three Stooges short directed by Herschell Gordon Lewis. I am even the proud owner of the soundtrack album for "King Kong Lives"...who even knew they bothered? I must own the only copy...and now I own the poster...and I am quite happy about that...perhaps I have mild brain damage.

A Rose By Any Other Name

So I'm in the process of committing to a book title and I made a list of some of the titles I've thought up. Previously the book was titled "I Hate You And None Of You Will Be Happy!"...which is a line taken from the Herschell Gordon Lewis film, "Santa Visits The Magic Land Of Mother Goose", which is basically a children's play put on film that he was hired to shoot. I have decided to re-title the book due to a similar title being used by another writer. So here are some of the titles on my list :

In Case Of Bleeding, Immediately Stop Bleeding
The Happytown Train To Funsville
In Case Of Decapitation
Welcome to Planet Syphilis
Who Drank All Of My Homemade Embalming Fluid?
(or just) Homemade Embalming Fluid
A Passionate Choice Of Underwear
Acknowledging Grandpa's Leather Thong Underwear
An Inflatable Sex Doll For Grandpa
Sleaze Train To Thrillsville
Zeppo Got The Shaft
The Case Of The Chewy Underpants
Now Try My Homemade Dental Drill
A Grandmother's Volume Of Erotica
A Plastic Nose Flute For Jerry
The Erotic Adventures of Barney Duncan
Dental Mishap Results In Candy Corn Dentures
(or just) Candy Corn Dentures
Captain Barclay's Cod Piece
The PCP Diaries
(or) The PCP Years
A Werewolf Mask For Grandma
The Rubber Cleavage Of Satan : Acknowledging Grandpa's Sex Change
Sexual Twinkie : A Fertility Manifesto For The Frail And Elderly
Existing In A Greasy Cardboard House Of Shame
Walking A Fine Line Between Filth And Smut
A Pervert's Doctrine Of Strange Underpants

Vincent Van Ghastly

I've always felt that my forays into oil painting have been rather hideous or tedious affairs. Most of my older paintings should have been destroyed after their creation. 80% of all my output as a painter has been pure shit...but the 20% that has been funny...the strange and sarcastic ...perhaps that crap is worthy of survival...this is one of the 20%. I traded this painting for a word processor in the late eighties.

These days my oil-painted monstrosities solely focus on the oddball theme of fake Mexican pulp novel cover art. In this concept I have found my calling in both technique and subject matter. I now like my paintings because they are truly absurd. They still aren't good paintings, but now they have no reason to be...now they are ABSURD paintings. You can throw any bullshit you so desire onto a fake Mexican pulp novel cover, literally ANYTHING...werewolves, buxom women, ghosts, aliens, cowboys, you name it. Previously the only painting of mine that I ever kept was my oil portrait of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family...now I can't fathom parting with any of these new, ugly monstrosities I've created.

Ghosties and Spooks! And Pain!

There's nothing quite like a good pratfall...especially when it's not witnessed at your own expense. I have a very fond childhood memory of being at school during a Halloween costume contest and seeing a classmate who was dressed rather unimaginatively in a sheet with eye holes cut out, walk off the edge of the cafeteria stage while howling "WOOOOOO...WOOOOOO" in a sinister voice, his arms out-stretched and waving about. Apparently he should have invested a little more effort in cutting out the eye holes of his makeshift and incredibly lame ghost ensemble, as they didn't permit him to see where the stage ended and the drop to the floor below began. I have a vague memory of a flag pole being involved in the fall which added even funnier sound effects than just the kid hitting the floor..I remember him darting across the stage, woooooing, and then stepping off into thin air, landing on a piano at the side of the stage, rolling forward and subsequently knocking over the flagpole..then quickly being surrounded by frantic nuns rushing to his aid. The funniest element of course being his stupid costume and added voice effects, which suddenly turned to a shriek of terror and pain as the floor beneath him disappeared. God that sounds sadistic, but it was laugh-out-loud funny at the time...he wasn't terribly hurt...the biggest bruise he received was to his ego.

One of my own worst pratfalls involved a rainy day, old thrift store shoes with no traction, a trash can, a coffee shop audience and two fresh cups of steaming hot coffee. That one came fast and furious, as pratfalls tend to do. I was exiting the coffee shop, which had a very slight, and very smooth incline/step at the entrance, a full cup of coffee in each hand, when suddenly my feet flew out from underneath me and I landed flat on my back, knocking over a trash can and dumping two hot cups of coffee into my face. I heard several people gasp and ask if I was okay as I attempted to again place myself in my previous upright position. I was so mortified I simply rushed away in embarrassment, dripping hot coffee and charging blindly forward and cursing under my breath. From a viewer's perspective it must have been pretty spectacular..seeing as it had all the right props for its disastrous conclusion.

Dream Weaver

I had a strange dream the other night in which I was riding in an open-air train through the French countryside dressed as Stan Laurel. My friend Raoul was also there...he was dressed as Oliver Hardy...the train passed several small castles and was driven by two very sarcastic engineers. This was a much better dream than the recent one I had in which I had squashed a sarcastic little boy who had turned into a pile of dog feces. In the dream I was horrified that I had actually killed a kid, albeit slightly by accident. The kid was actually child actor Matthew Lawrence...well now he's just plain actor Matthew Lawrence...but in the dream he was the kid version...and I killed him by stepping on him in dog shit form...it was pretty horrifying...as idiotic as it sounds it seemed very real in the dream. Why am I sharing this? I have no idea...but there you have it.

Performance Art

Years ago, in ancient times, when I attended Holy Spirit Catholic School in Fairfield California, my friend J.B. and I were enlisted by our teacher...Sister whatever the Hell her name was, to create and perform a sketch before the entire school which would trumpet the excitement of that year's chocolate drive...a yearly fund raising event in which students were sent out among the public to peddle chocolate bars in the hope of winning fabulous prizes while raising money for the school. I cannot recall exactly why were were chosen...perhaps we freely offered our stunning theatrical talents in the hope of rallying the troupes. We were like Abbott and Costello pimping war bonds during World War II. We had approximately one evening to write this sketch with our chosen performers having about 30 minutes to memorize lines before we went before the school on the cafeteria stage.The afternoon before we were to write this masterpiece there was a quick brainstorming session in which two of our actresses decided they would, for no logical reason, dress as "punk rockers" who went door to door selling their delectable wares.

For some reason we decided to create a two-act play that involved a fortune teller, and an elderly couple who seemed to be mildly senile. The elderly female was written as nearly deaf for comic purposes. So we have two, female, punk rock chocolate sales persons, A senile couple, one of whom is deaf, and a fortune teller...it seemed to make sense at the time...I still have no idea why.

We quickly rehearsed and advised the student "stage hand" to close and open the curtain when given a certain cue between acts...apparently these instructions were a bit vague...or perhaps, as the fortune teller I had simply forgot the chosen phrase to cue the curtain...in fact I think I forgot everything I was supposed to say once the curtain opened and simply started ad-libbing strange lines to which the chocolate selling punk rockers had no idea how to respond...they asked me( the one in the turban) if I would like to buy some chocolate...to which I responded "No...I don't want any chocolate"...then there was a very long awkward silence during which the punk rockers simply stood there staring at me. Finally I blurted..."But I know someone who does!...they live at...."...here my voice trailed off...expecting the curtain to close...it didn't...we all simply stood frozen for a few seconds as the entire school audience watched in perplexed awe...suddenly I exclaimed "Go to 435 CLOSE THE CURTAIN LANE".....finally the stage hand caught on and closed the curtain. This did get a laugh..the single laugh we received. I should also mention, for no particular reason, that one of the punk rock girls was wearing a lampshade on her head. Perhaps that seemed really punk at the time.

When the curtain opened again the punk rockers were seen approaching a door...obviously the 435 Close The Curtain Lane address given to them by the weird, ad-libbing fortune teller...The door was answered by the aforementioned senile couple...J.B. giving an Oscar-worthy drag performance as the elderly deaf woman. This was really the only part that stuck to the script, which went :

Punk Rocker #1 : We're selling chocolate for the Holy Spirit Chocolate drive...would you like to buy some chocolate?

Deaf Old Woman : Nope don't smoke!

Punk Rocker#2 : No we're selling chocolate.

Deaf Old Woman : Nope, don't drink neither!

Old Man : Come, Mother

The End.

Now I only recall at that point an entire audience of students with their jaws agape...staring in dead, puzzled silence. It was one of the fucking funniest moments I can remember from my childhood...that "What in the fuck was that?" response. It was horrifying at the time...a goddamn disaster...but it sure as Hell makes me laugh now, Jackson! That was some weird ass shit...and our teacher was FURIOUS! She approached me after the performance, red-faced..all she could manage was "Ah, Danny! What the hell was that?!!!!!"

Such fond memories...especially given my dislike for my Catholic education...they can shove that straight up their asses, that play ruled!

The Holy Grail Of Schlock

Permit me to gloat over my latest bad movie acquisition. I'm now the proud owner of what can only be described as my personal holy grail of insane movie memorabilia. There is only one movie that rivals my obsession with the original "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and that is the schlock masterpiece "Shriek Of The Mutilated", a film that truly has to be seen to be believed, involving a cannibal cult who use a ridiculous abominable snowman costume as a ruse to lure victims to their deaths. This film is precious to me and, bad or not, I rank it near the top of my list of my favorite movies all all time. I FUCKING LOVE SHRIEK OF THE MUTILATED!!!! In fact I am so obsessed with this film that I once even wrote a sequel screenplay...I still have this screenplay...maybe some day I will make the long-awaited sequel...long-awaited by no one but me...my friend Ken Dashner...and our friend Kim Stevenson. You see they also love "Shriek"...but only I am now in possession of the original one sheet poster...which makes me the fucking coolest mother fucker alive. Yes, all of you must now bow down before me, drinking in my majesty, for am am truly superior to you now that I have acquired this fabulous bit of memorabilia. I am truly pleased with myself about this. Kudos to me!