The Bravest of Lions, the Smartest of Scarecrows, and the Most Loving Tin-Man To Ever Drown a Healthy Man Begging for Mercy

I Keep Fighting to Keep From Drowning. Somebody Toss Me an Anvil...


Mistakes.
We've all made them. But watching the birth of a mistake that everyone knows will lead to one of those, "Sweet Lord, what have I done" moments fifteen years from now kind of makes me want to vomit. Not because the cute little mistake fetus is covered with error filled after birth, but because that sweet little catastrophe that passes off as adorable while it's screaming and peeing everywhere is going to grow up into a ball of hellish disaster mommy's going to have to face for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, dive in, old friend. In the end it'll only kill you.

//Let's talk about the weather//
I've been in Nashville for a grand total of 15 days now and have been directly hit by two (2 for those who can't read and only visit this blog for the pictures) tornados. The latest of which kicked through my tailgate with the vigor of satan himself. It amazes me that wind can blow hard enough to bend the hinges on two (II if you're a 15AD Roman and only read this blog for the classical Latin references) tailgate doors, toss them carelessly into the bed of my truck, move everything about and flood my (home?) in a matter of seconds. Everything I own got completely soaked. From clothing to guitars, I looked like I'd just finished playing a show on the bed of the Caspian Sea. Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy, you have no idea how good you had it landing in a magical faerie-land of singing midgets, witches and flying monkeys. I've been hit twice and am still stuck here in Nashville praying to some day win her Tin-Man heart...
On a dietary note,
as it stands (or sits), I'm currently at an empty Panera with the only other person in the restaurant sitting unbelievably, awkwardly close to me. Apparently I chose the only table in Panera Bread that doesn't inject a crippling, poisonous toxin into your legs when you sit down and my dinner guest enjoys the benefits of walking. I'm not sure how true that assumption is, but it has to be close to accurate considering my current seating predicament. Funny thing is, if he rolls his eyes the slightest bit to the right he'll be able to read this entire blog (quite easily, in fact) and know that I want him to leave...hopefully he can read...extremely well.

Sweet Nostalgia/Tennessee Rose

It's been an eventful week. A series of random happenings leave me wondering what the heck comes next? After heading out of Tampa around 8am, I began my journey to the hills of Tennessee. There's something strangely sobering about an extended drive alone that makes you realize there are still several things you want out of the place you left, and leave you wondering if you'll be able to replace them in the place you're going. I guess I'm just a coward. Anyway, after arriving in Nashville, I forced my tired way through a depressing show and decided to find some random place to sleep. It was about 60 degrees outside and, after (bathing?) in some apparently freezing river of Tennessee, I somehow wound up talking to a Jewish hotel owner who, after haggling with me for 15 minutes, ended up letting me get a room for $20. Since I didn't need a shower anymore, I went to bed and tried to figure out what on earth I was doing in God-forgotten Tennessee.
I awoke the next morning around 6:15 to some random dude waltzing into my room and, after a brief second of awkward glances, he calmly asked if I was checking out at eleven because he had just paid for the room and they had apparently double booked it. He then proceeded to say that, were I checking out, he would simply go get coffee or something for a while and return rather than bother the man at the counter who had given him such a good rate. "Okay." I replied, "there's nothing weird at all about that..."
Deciding I had better give the man his room, I departed and made my way to Madison to meet with a man about a horse (okay it was a job interview...just roll with it). Upon my arrival, I realized that it was actually only 6am and my clocks were still on Eastern Standard Time. Seeing that I had 10 hours before I was supposed to interview, I found an amazing cemetery, parked beneath some pine trees and slept for nine. Thanks to the nutritional supplement I received from some pancakes and the energy boost that came from re-arranging my house truck, the interview went well...although the weather looks gloomy.
Bored and hungry, I headed downtown to figure things out. There was this amazing group of typically cynical, hipster street performers playing outside of a boot store I ended up hanging out with (the hipsters, not the boot store). After throwing around music and so forth, we all ended up at this sweet, little, indie elitist's paradise to play an open show. I love how raspy my voice has been in the two days I've been up here. I want to put my voice in a jar and take it all around the world with me. I met a bunch of people and ended up hanging out with these girls from Illinois and Virginia, discussing time travel and the bizarre relational habits of a nearby couple. When it was all over, we had decided to start a storm chasing company and name our van Stormchaser Carl. The weather looks threatening.
The girls left for wherever and I drove around awhile and found an under construction golf course to park on. It was violently windy and, within 10 minutes, it started to rain. I sat in the back of my truck eating crackers and writing a song about hating things; all the while being amazed at how hard it was raining. 2:30am: I went to sleep. Around 4 am, I woke up to the sound of, what appeared to be, a freight train barreling toward my truck. Except it wasn't a freight train. It was already super windy, but out of nowhere, my entire truck (which was facing west) spun around and was blown about twenty feet from where I had originally parked. Now that I was facing the opposite direction I was previously, I looked out the only window my truck bed provides. Ironically enough, my phone rang with a weather warning to inform me that there was a severe tornado warning within 1 mile of my location. I believed it. Mainly because I could see it. There was a tornado right outside my truck that had just caused me to do a complete 180 and slide 20 feet across the green of the 16th hole. It was strangely loud and, despite the fact that it was dark out side, everything kind of looked greenish for an hour or two. I'm not really sure what happened after that because I went back to bed and thanked God for rain. 5:30am. Headlights. Redlights. 1 Light, 2 Light, Red Light, Blue Light. This one is a little cop, this one says this sleep must stop. Knock knock, knock knock. You're trespassing. Don't you see the sign that says Trespassers Will? That's short for Trespassers William. You have to leave. I was too exhausted to argue and too cold to even really worry the fact that a branch had knocked a huge dent into the side of my truck and was now laying on my hood. Ces la vie I guess. I talked to my dad awhile before crashing in a Wal-Mart parking lot for the next 4 hours. It hasn't stopped raining now for the last two days. For some reason I'm outside of Knoxville tonight. I was thinking a lot and guess I just kept driving after I left the city. It's raining too hard to really know exactly where I am. Judging by the fact that it's unusually cold and mountainous I'd have to say I'm somewhere in the mountains. It's pretty here though. I like the acoustics of playing guitar in a sardine can-esque truck topper in the rain. Something calmingly nostalgic about the whole situation. It's like my primitive roots are being quenched. Living in my aluminum covered wagon, searching for the last pale smile in the west...

The Truth Behind Lying

Love. You feel it? There's something strangely nostalgic about walking through a crowded shopping center and watching the love-struck, invincible duo, weeks away from implementing the knowledge gained from that book on nautical rope-works that your sea-faring grandfather left on your diner table years ago and tying the knot way later in the sentence than the punch-line should have been.  Like the 3 musketeers after that one guy died and the other guy who replaced him got electrocuted by an eel, they parade through the isle armed with I Want This Guns, blasting everything with their registry lasers, everyone with their smiles and every career dream with their hopes of getting married. Her shimmering dumbbell that some call a ring blinds all who pass as their smiles explode like hand grenades; forcing obnoxious amounts of happiness-shrapnel into everyone's faces. It's spring; and more than the rosy cheeks and escalating flowers prove such. In the spring of their love, romance blooms like tiny flowers pushing up through the dust, held together by the confidence that his arms will be the blanket that keeps her warm through the winter years...that and the blanket she just laser beamed with her buy me this cannon. Plants need fertilizer...so does love...so fertilize her...and fill the world with tiny little babies and other little human, baby-human things. Hope it works out for you, overly happy, cheezy-joke telling, hyper jock guy and smoking hot despite your incredibly unrealistic height but your perky smile and charming personality make up for it girl. I miss your joy. Treat her like a queen, good sir. Trust with all you have, pray to God she's honest and treat her like a queen regardless...forever...  

Honesty. Remember it? It's that age-old, ancient practice of telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth; so help me God, I feel like this behavior is far from prevalent in our society. While we all smile at the nostalgic tales of chopping trees, *happy sigh* walking miles to deliver change, *proud grin* and the inability to tell a lie *uproarious clapping*, our daily actions leave these stories seeming more like mere works of fiction rather than depictions of true human behavior. In a way, I guess they are. After a rigorous counting exercise, I discovered there are a grand total of zero cherry trees at Mt Vernon. Meaning...either ol' George went to freaking town with his Paul Bunion-esque lumbering tendencies or the whole story is contrived around myth and is complete and utter BS; thus proving this entire work of literary genius correct. In truth, however, through experience and simple observation it appears that our principle goal in nearly everything is simply self furtherance and the fulfillment of whatever the underlying motive may be. Whether the ulterior goal is to further a career, learn the interior, molecular structure of the Atlantic Blue Whale or become the leading synthetic goat skin manufacturer in the greater south-eastern region, our motives motivate us to stay motivated for our true goal; us. What happened to selflessness? Who jumped sacrifice and left her bleeding and lifeless, floating face down in the estuary? Who shot decency through the heart and replaced his nobility with shameless self-promotion? It saddens me that, through an endless list of contacts, I have more clean shaven, middle eastern friends than I do those I would trust with even the lightest of situations. We've allowed ourselves to slip into a world where fear drives us and a lack of trust sustains us to the point that honesty and openness scare the living death out of our very being. Locked away in shells like clams, we hide from the truth behind our quarantine signs in attempt to protect ourselves from the world outside; all the while spreading the disease and and feeding the rampant outbreak by doing so. An epidemic of deceit. A widespread plague with a cure that we all possess.    

Fetus. Push. Despite our endless attempts to conceal it, we're all hiding from something. We all lie about something. Whether it be to ourselves or to the world, we all play pirate. We each bury our emotions on deserted islands, conceal them with X's and construct a means of recovering them we never will reveal. We sort out our fears with the parrot hanging over our shoulder as we wave our pointed hooks at those we fear and turn our blinded, eye-patched eye on the flaws of those we love. Don't believe me? Trust me...I'm lying too. Regardless, there's still trust in the world; just ask the swooning, moonstruck lovers and you'll find hope, dependency and purity in that single, unfaltering emotion we call love. There's still honesty; just don't ask any politician or televangelist. There's still self-sacrifice; just look at the endless bags of lifelessness delivered to the homes of mourning families while war rages on forever. For the rest of us, there's birth. We're so locked away in our routine insecurity and terrified of feeling things that we need to be reborn. Kick through that cozy little shell, break through the walls of conformity, hack off the umbilical chord and fetus plunge face first into the world that we're supposed to be living in and truly live. Rebirth trust. Rebirth honesty. Rebirth life.
Strength to change. define it...

Unicorns and The Way Things Die

Everyone wants to change the world. Some attempt to do so with money, others with power, fame or silly haircuts. In truth, many have gone so far as to trade vintage car parts with the Devil for a shot at winning Superbowl tickets in hope that they could then sell them to feed a starving kitten in Malaysia and, by doing so, provide a starving child with a slightly more filling meal than he would have had. However, I have not allowed myself to be swayed by fashion, tradition or the ever surrounding methods of charitable culture. While curing cancer, battling vikings and finding economical fuel sources are all worthy causes, I have pledged my time...nay...my life, to something far superior. For the last sixteen years, I have dedicated myself to the study of mythological creatures, sacred mammals and the way things die.

After years of endless study, at last I have discovered the reason Unicorns no longer roam the earth. I will admit that my research was hindered by the fact that my entire life I had been taught that their extinction occurred as the result of a tragic tuberculosis outbreak brought to their valley by the giant crabs who lived on the island across the sea. According to popular belief, when the crabs attacked Unicorn Valley, they cut off the horns of the alpha-males and harvested their tails to produce stronger jump-ropes. Without their unihorns, the Unicorn's immune systems shut down and they all caught tuberculosis. Being a member of the salmon family, this caused severe birth defects resulting in their children being born as elven trolls and leaving Unicorns alive no more. However, as so often happens, what once was accepted as fact has now been revised. History has rewritten itself and the world is enlightened by means of my shocking and violent discovery! The truth in Unicorn extinction lies, not in disease, but in their dreaded unihorn itself! As we all know, in 1411, Unicorn Valley was revered for their tall grass, flowing fields and tree-high barley fields. However, due to the famine and people disregarding the "Please Do Not Walk On The Barley" signs, the height of these once luscious fields began to decrease. As a result, their supplies diminished and whenever a unicorn would attempt to eat, his unihorn would stick into the ground making it impossible for them to eat grass shorter than 8". Once the tall growth was gone, all the Unicorns either died of starvation or were eaten alive by rabid wolves while they were stuck to the ground and unable to run.

After last night's interview, I've had a lot of people asking for the lyrics to the songs I played. Rather than responding to every email individually I'll post them here. As I've also had several requests to explain the movie references in Last Plane to Lisbon, a brief breakdown is posted below as well. Enjoy

*all songs are copyrighted 2008-2011 Jordan Eastman Music*

The Devil Wears a Smile

                               

I promised to love you and I did

I swore that I would give you, girl, everything I had to give                                       

And you gave your word that you'd always be mine

For always and forever right until the end of time...but how you lied

I swore that I’d honor and protect

I’d give you all my love and kindness, passion and respect

And you gave your word that you'd stand at my side

Through sickness and in health, riches and when I can’t provide

                   

Now you're gone and I’ve lost everything that I held close

They say the Devil wears a smile and pointed horns…but I can see…

That the Devil is a woman and that woman’s got a hold of me

On bended knee I begged you to be mine

You took my ring and said that you'd forever be my bride

But forever doesn’t mean always to one as cold as you

You walked away as quickly as you swore to say I do

…I see through you…

Still you burn, burn like a fire that erases each beautiful memory

Breaking hearts and stealing desires you consume 'till you've broken each part of me

Still I pray that the fire will have no desire to hold you too...the way I once held you

The Boxer

                         

You were an angel sent to the ground by the Lord in the skies up above

Wrapped in arms with a boxer whose beatings surround but you took the bruises in the name of your love

You were silent and graceful and faced every blow with a prayer- hoping he’d someday change things

You’d bandage your wounds after all you could bare

You took count of your scars with a true soldier’s pride as you cleaned off the blood in the mirror

When he’d finally collapse you would pray to someday be free

You’d say nothing on earth lasts forever - soon I’ll be released from this pain

You’d cling to your bible that lay by your bed saying someday this is all gonna change

You’d cover your scars as you walked through the streets

To the old wooden church where the choir would meet

Where you’d beg to learn to forgive the cause of your bleeding

You were clinging to the edge of a prayer - saying someday all this hurting will change 

He’s still the man he used to be - he’s just lost himself along the way

When he finds his way back home I'll bid my hurting and my sorrow goodbye

Black eyes couldn’t blind your faith and the bleeding couldn’t make hope die

You carried everything, with grace. You could withstand anything…

You were a lamb with the strength of a lion full of grace not a beating could tear

You stood while he broke you down and in response all you whispered were prayers

You thought of the days when you were young and you wondered what happened

When you fell in love with a man who swore that he never would leave

But those days now are gone and he constantly swears that he’s changing

But the bottle’s a gun and it slaughters the man of your dreams

Now nothing he says you believe anymore...
(chorus)

You carried everything with grace. You’d withstood everything. 

He came home one night to greet your goodbye and the vision of an old suitcase 

You’d carried everything but he couldn’t change

The phone rang hard in that hotel room saying Daddy’s driving all over town

His prizefighting days are over he claims that he’s never gonna ever let you down ever again

It’s over - you win - let’s wipe clear the past and start over again

Though your arms both were broken you had carried him high in your prayers

As you whispered goodbye I watched tears leave your eyes as you were freed from the burdens you’d felt

He fell to his knees watching you finally leave every beating and bruise that he'd dealt

He was the boxer, momma, but in the end you won the belt

Silhouette the Sky

                                  

Alone tonight beneath these devil painted skies

Once for love I was protected now for the same at dawn I’ll lose my life

I'm torn back to the memories that I hide

Soon to be erased by gallows where the hangman’s noose is tied

I close my eyes as my regrets play in black and white

Just like a film noir of my life - the devil sleeps with me tonight

As my door swings open wide so soon I’ll silhouette the sky 

Through a deafening sound like thunder above the crowd I can hear my mother cry

My chains sing an eerie chorus in the wind 

To the rhythm of a healthy, beating heart that’s soon to end

They’re singing: 

Step by step, beat by beat, soon this dust will be replaced with air beneath my feet

            

I can feel the sun’s embrace falling softly on my neck so soon to be replaced…

I feel a burn on my neck moments before my last breath

May God have mercy on my soul as I am ferried to death

The judges deafening cry to let this murderer die

I should have hung up my guns before I hung up my life

Last Plane to Lisbon

        

I’ve kissed you half a million times in the backseat of my dreams

And in my head you’re hand in hand with me

I must have watched a million times my scripted movie scenes

Where we fall in love and it winds up perfectly

But a girl don’t need a boy whose name is in lights

When there is someone else out there for her who can come home every night

A girl should never have to miss her man

So settle down with a loving boy and put a diamond on your hand

I wish that I was selfish enough to beg you please

 take my hand and destroy your life with me

But just like Bogey’s classic lines on Casablanca’s screen;

 I love you, girl, enough to let you leave

Still I die a bit inside when I think about your smile

 but I smile, baby, dying just for you

I wonder when you’re lonely do you think of me awhile

 if you’re wondering the same, well girl, I do - think of you

I can be your Woody Allen if you’ll be my sweet Diane 

We can kiss beneath Manhattan stars if you say that I’m your man

I’ll be the bravest lion, girl, if you’ll walk my yellow road

I hear there’s one more plane for Lisbon - let’s go

I’d love to beg you, Princess, to come and be my bride

But we’d collapse like Rhett and Scarlett running like Bonnie and Clyde

So I’ll drink the poison water so you think that I have died

And I won’t drag you through this wandering world of mine

I wish that I was selfish enough to beg you please

 take my hand and destroy your life with me

But just like Bogey’s classic lines on Casablanca’s screen;

 I love you, girl, enough to let you leave

So I dress you up in Tiffany’s in my streetcar of desire

Where you’re the Audrey Hepburn starlet in my mind

But when I awake I paint my face and end it all in fire;

Only to dream again that night that you were mine

There’s one more plane for Lisbon and you’re boarding it with him

Here’s one more last goodbye I guess this is how it ends

Here’s the last plane to Lisbon so I’ll fake a smile as you climb aboard with him

And kiss you softly in my mind  - here’s lookin’ at you kid…

Okay...

As a general rule, the entire song takes the final scene in Casablanca where Humphrey Bogart makes it possible for Ingrid Bergman to leave on the last plane to Lisbon, despite their being in love, as it's better for her and draws a parallel with a real life attraction that is hindered by career paths, circumstances, etc.

Verse II is full of movie references with similar or comparable themes:

'Bogey's classic lines on Casablanca's screen...' - the entire story of Casablanca is about loving someone and letting them go because it's best for them. Humphrey Bogart lets Ingrid Bergman leave with another despite his being in love with her.

Woody Allen and Diane Keaton/"kiss beneath Manhattan stars" -  Diane Keaton stared in several comedies with her costar/director/boyfriend Woody Allen including a dark/romantic comedy called Manhattan.

"Be the bravest lion if you walk my yellow road" - The cowardly lion, brainless scarecrow and heartless tin-man walk the yellow brick road with Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz

"One more plane for Lisbon..." - The plot of Casablanca revolves around attempting to catch the last plane to Lisbon

"Beg you, Princess, to come and be my bride" - play on the title of 1987 film The Princess Bride

"Rhett and Scarlett" - Tragic love affair from Gone with the Wind between Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'hara

"Bonnie and Clyde" - 1967 film staring Warren Beatty and Fay Dunaway based off the life and death of a 1930's era gang of outlaw lovers.

"Drink the poison water so you think that I have died..." Juliet drinks serum that makes her appear dead in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet

"dress you up in Tiffany's" - Tiffany's is a jewelry store featured in the 1967 Audrey Hepburn film Breakfast at Tiffany's

"in my streetcar of desire" - A Streetcar Named Desire: 1951 Elia Kazan film staring Marlon Brando/Vivien Leigh based of Tennessee Williams play by the same name

"When I awake I paint my face and end it all in fire..." - in Jean-Luc Godard's 1967 film Pierrot Le Fou, Jean-Paul Belmondo's character (Pierrot) paints his face with blue paint prior to blowing himself up over the loss of his girlfriend.

"Here's one more last goodbye" - Line whispered by Bogart before bidding goodbye to Bergman in Casablanca's final scene

"Here's lookin' at you kid..." - line used throughout Bogart and Bergman's love affair in Casablanca

It's A Disaster!!!

I had another great interview/acoustic performance with Double D and Bones at 99.1FM WIKD this time in promotion of my own project rather than Hot Riot!. In case you missed it, you can check out the entire interview here: http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/13210449.

In case you don't want to watch/listen to the entire thing, here's a two hour interview in 18 seconds:

A series of horrible jokes, Derek grew a pedostache/long conversation where I mock said stache. DD: "If I shaved my mustache I'd look like you know who...NINE NINE NINE!" Me: "That was 1943, with inflation it'd be TEN TEN TEN!" more terrible jokes, played hot-potato with an open metal fan, discussions about my upcoming EP/Tour/real interview questions including stories about bums/nazis/plane wrecks, The Devil Wears a Smile live acoustic, cleverly timed divorce joke/discussions about jumping around on stage, The Boxer live acoustic, explanation of previously mentioned song, Last Plane to Lisbon/Silhouette the Sky. Talk about religion, shameless self promotion, a really long joke about spaghetti, end of the Disaster Show/start of next show, spaghetti joke continues through first few minutes of next show...

**WARNING: the following paragraph contains jewmor (Jew related humor), makes light of the holocaust and contains holocaust related, super catchy lyrics. If you are pregnant, have heart conditions or are offended by such debauchery, please skip to paragraph 23, section a7 **
       Shortly following the show, an impromptu jam session broke out in the lobby concluding with my improvised Holocaust tune "Put On Your Shoes and Hide Your Jews". In my opinion holocaust jokes are immoral Anne Frankly won't be tolerated. Needless to say, by the time it was finished, the entire room was singing along to the uber catchy chorus of, "...put on your shoes and hide your jews - in the wall. Pray to Yahweh they don't have hammers to break it down and make it fall. Put on your shoes and hide your jews - in the mattress; because the painful fact is - sad but true -they're after you - if you're a jew."

---> Paragraph 23 a7:
**WARNING: the following paragraph contains reLENTless witticisms (Lent related mockery), cult references and the use of the words festive, angry, and wednesday. If you have prosthetic limbs, are sensitive to light or are offended by such content, please stop reading my blog and go back to watching your 'Best of Glenn Beck' broadcast**
        Unaware of the fact that it was Ash Wednesday today, the following conversation took place just as I was walking out of the studio: (randomly attractive girl walks out of a student gathering with, what I believed to be, facepaint from said festive gathering.) Me: "Whoa! Somebody painted a cult symbol on your forehead!" (unbelievably angry look from said girl as she storms off) Derek: "Seriously Bro? It's Ash Wednesday and she's obviously Catholic." Me: "Oh, that is today, isn't it? Well that makes a bit more sense then. Before I just felt like I told a semi-offensive and awful joke, now I feel like an ill-informed jerk. That's discomforting."
And that's the story of how I became slightly embarrassed for the first time in my life...

Thanks for a great show guys! Can't wait to do it again!

Je t'aime

"Love is a viscous cycle of switchblade sons and poison girls fighting to die the slowest..."

Meat Hooking With Grandma

I'm laying on my back in the middle of the floor, searching for meaningful pictures in the seemingly ambiguous patterns scattered across the ceiling. I've been listening to Tom Gabel's solo project through the last crackling speaker left in my 1948 laptop. The acoustic version of Random Hearts is fantastic. This record sort of made Against Me!'s seemingly instant leap from gritty acoustic screaming to polished and professional melodic rock make a bit more sense. Good stuff. On an observational side note, band names with exclamation points look ridiculous when used in a possessive context (see above). I booked another radio interview/acoustic performance for next week, this time in support of my own musical endeavors rather than someone else's band. There's something more fulfilling doing it this way; even if the money isn't there. The dependancy on someone else to move a project forward is stupidly exhausting and often more frustrating than profitable. I don't know if it comes down to my simple hatred for the human race or if I just don't like someone else holding the keys to my destiny, but I'm pretty sure that I hate both the human race and anyone attempting to hold my preverbal destinal keys. I'm kind of excited about this whole live in my truck and tour the southeast situation that I've been planing. I want to be somewhere, and being back on the road might solidify that equivocal emotion. When it really comes down to it I know exactly where I want to be; I'll just never willingly admit that to myself as it seems to be the first thing I've ever perceived as impossible. I guess impossibilities are possible. Regardless, it doesn't change a thing.

It's my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary tomorrow...and there's your title explanation.

A Timeless Display of Gelatin Manslaughter (in 1945)

A 4:30am wake-up call means Spanky let me sleep in this morning.  There's nothing more enjoyable than getting up a half hour before going to bed and spending the day in a ditch full of stagnant, rancid water, blackened by the contents of a backed up, broken pipe. I love when shows get canceled and this is my rockstar replacement. However, out of the ashes rise beauty. These last 4 days of constructional glory paved the way to an absolutely timeless dream that God alone allowed to posses my thoughts during the angel induced sleep on the 3 hour drive home...It all began on the highway...*mental images go blurry and the sound of harps begin as we segway into the dream portion of the story*...there I was, riding shotgun in the truck just as I was in real life, when to the left of the road I saw, what appeared to be, a group of 19th century, bearded mariners. There were six or seven of them just standing there, holding umbrellas, large trunks and giant mugs of steaming hot tea. As we got closer, more of them began to appear; men, women and children, all dressed as ancient sailors; complete with beards, umbrellas and over-sized steins of tea. We turned the corner and my seat shot through the roof of the truck and sent me flying into the air; giving me a visual perspective of the surrounding area. While I took in the panoramic view, I noticed that these sea-faring creatures lined the road for hundreds of miles. Apparently I ran out of helium, because after a minute or so, I fell at a million miles per hour and landed back inside the truck. When I did so, a giant rocket shot from the muffler and propelled us through the street at what I'm sure was a highly illegal speed. The road started winding incredibly and hills appeared out of nowhere. Judging by the speedometer, we had cleared 900mph now and were getting faster. The people on the side of the road were simply a blurry mass of bearded fishermen and women until the radio came on and started playing I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by the Proclaimers. Apparently the vehicle didn't like that song and stopped short instantly; sending me flying through the windshield. Rather than breaking through a sheet of glass as expected, it turns out that windshields are apparently made out of cauliflower (which is far less injury inducing than shattered glass) and I wasn't injured at all. I soared through the air for a moment or two before landing in an enormous field of gummybears; clutching a large piece of cauliflower about the size of a tennis racquet. I sat up and realized that the gummy bears were all alive and were rather upset by the fact that I had brought a vegetable into their sugary gummy patch. They told me I had to get rid of the cauliflower if I wanted to become "The Warrior" and, since I had no earthly clue what they meant by that, I convinced one of the bearded sailor women (turns out all of the mariners on the roadside were women. Go figure) to trade a harpoon for my cauliflower and I returned to the gummy patch. I made friends with this gummybear (who talked extremely fast and only spoke French) and he explained to me that the bears had been held captive by the beauty of a wonderful woman they had captured, but that because they were all in love with her, they needed someone immune to her beauty to kill her so they could go about tending the coal mines in the area without distraction. As it turns out, the gummybears were responsible for distributing coal to the local communities and since they spent all their time arguing over who was going to marry the girl, the people were starving to death because they had nothing to burn in their charcoal grills and were too afraid to eat raw steak. Despite the monstrous amount of capturing and community romance that seemed to be going on, I agreed to kill her. I picked up my harpoon and followed them to where they had her imprisoned. Finally, after walking for miles, we arrived at what appeared to be an enormous strawberry. As the fruit began to crack, the gummybears scattered like mice at a kitten factory and hid in the surrounding trees. The berry broke open with a flash of light and a good friend of mine (who, to avoid any kind of awkward conversation in the future, will remain nameless) stepped from the fruit shaped prison and began walking my way. As I've known her for a good while, I decided it best not to thrust my harpoon through her chest without discussing it with her first. However, before a word was said on the subject of my slaughtering her with a whaling spear, she smiled softly, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me for what seemed an eternity. I was dumbfounded. Without a word, she took my hand and led me through a heavily wooded area and into an enormous car dealership. As we walked through the dealership, I looked over my shoulder to see the tiny eyes of the gummybear army peering through the trees of our recently departed forest. My beautiful friend told me that if I ever wanted to become their leader, I'd need a new truck. Somehow she talked the dealer into giving me a free truck with helicopter blades on top and we hit the road for God knows where. I guess some time between me freeing ______ from the strawberry prison and getting this awesome truck, a huge war had broken out between the gummybears and the sourpatch kids because by the time we got back to I-4 the two armies had lined up and were prepared to attack each other. They didn't have any weapons and, because they were all gummy creatures, they didn't really look that angry, but for some reason we knew that if they started fighting, the whole world was going to end. Looking into the passenger seat, my companion had somehow changed clothes into this amazing, Zelda looking outfit and had an enormous machine gun in her lap. Not too sure how I got there, but the next thing I remember is flying my truck into battle along side a monstrous army of, now sword/spear/giant fork wielding gummybears with _______ hanging out the window blowing the living crap out of the sourpatch kids with her beastly gun. I think it goes without saying, but for the sake of the story I'll throw in the fact that she looked amazing while doing so...no joke...anyway, we fought for hours until we eventually ended up in a 1940's era military airfield. Because our helicopter truck was on fire and had sourpatch limbs stuck to the undercarriage and hood, we jumped from the cab as the truck fell from the sky into a giant pile of gasoline-filled barrels laying next to an ammunition hanger. Needless to say there was a huge explosion, the whole place went up in flames and we (of course) wound up flying a B29 bomber flying over metropolitan Japan. As it turns out, it really was the 1940s. August 6th, 1945 to be exact and we were on the Enola Gay; the plane that dropped the "Little Boy" atomic bomb and utterly destroyed Hiroshima. There was a lot of noise and screaming that eventually led to my waking up to Spanky's profane cry of profane profanity at some foreign broad who cut him off in traffic...as I looked down at the half-empty bag of gummybears laying in my lap, all I could do was smile. : )

Blue Eyes Beneath Grey Skies

by Jordan and Jeremy Eastman

She stares toward the horizon a lot lately.  The sound of crashing waves she once found comforting, today leave her feeling helpless, vulnerable and afraid. Even the distant laughter of children playing in the sand serves as little consolation and echoes through her emptiness, heightening her awareness of her life threatening circumstances.  As the somber waves draw closer with the rising tide, she feels as if she will be swept to sea and drowned in their fatal embrace.  Slowly looking back toward the joyful children, she watches them smile as they construct tiny castles of sand and wishes she could hide beneath the security of their sandy fortress and escape the tragic reality that surrounds her.

          The sudden screech of a seagull in search of his next meal forces her to realize how powerless her traumatic accident has left her. She now finds fear in even the most common occurrences and even the birds she once chased boldly, now leave her trembling in terror and longing to run from them. Looking down to where her legs once were, she trembles. Despite the familiarity of her surroundings, her brokenness allows an increasingly familiar fear to consume her; every wave seems like a funeral, and every screaming bird strikes horror in her heart.

          Without warning, she is torn form the ground and thrown violently through the air. She lands in the treacherous waves, only to be pulled once more into the blindingly sunlit sky. As her body is consumed by the ravening birds, she hears the distant cries of her now-captivated youthful audience as they exclaim in excitement, “Mom! Mom! Did you see that seagull eat that crab?”

The Breast of Times/The Worst of Times

I'm pretty sure I just watched a trailer for the worst cinematic homicide since the television premiere of Roadhouse. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something about any film staring Nicholas Cage that makes me want to dress as an indian, swallow rat poison, slit my wrists, tie a plastic bag over my head and hang myself in a room full of burning dynamite above trap doors that drop me into a river of alligators causing the steel shoes I'm wearing to pull me beneath the waves so that if the poison doesn't kill me, I don't bleed to death from my self inflicted wounds, the asphyxiating bag doesn't suffocate me, my neck doesn't break, the dynamite is somehow extinguished and I don't drown in the violent river, the raging gators will eat me alive for appearing as an avid supporter of Florida State University. With the rapid influx of commercials, I've come to realize, and after sitting through an absolutely fantastic Superbowl XLV my realization has become a sort of solidified belief, that the primary marketing tactic employed by major corporations looking to sell ANY product whatsoever is, in fact, boobs. Honestly. (Follow along): Worried about your next root canal? Well here's a large breasted blonde in a soaking wet bikini to convince you that you should come to our dentist's office! Example II (that's 2, not eleven): Breast cancer is plaguing the world and millions of women's lives are in danger and have been dramatically altered by this horrific disease. However, as if my double J cup breasts don't obviously imply that I am not a victim of breast cancer, we'll do a strategic zoom out so you can see my entire, perfectly toned body in this ridiculously skimpy outfit that accentuates my curves like latex paint as I try to convince you to donate $1.00. In all honesty, the pitiful display of half-naked American salesmanship makes me wonder how far business will bend over to sell a product...then I saw a commercial staring some Olympic gymnasts doing back bends and thought to myself, "oh, that's how far they'll bend over." In all seriousness though, international marketing's perpetual run on sex appeal makes me wonder how absurd the televised commercials in third world countries where clothing is 100% optional would be if only they had television. Hey there hut-dwelling, fully naked, morbidly skeletal Aboriginals, want to trade your starving chickens and bone necklaces for a quality, hand made, partially used spear soaked in dingo blood?! If not, here's a fully clothed fat woman sitting inside a comfortable home to draw you from reality and convince you to buy (trade, haggle or barter) out of a sheer, unquenchable lust for the unobtainable rather than logic or necessity. In short, and what could have saved you the reading of this entire verbal slaughter I call a blog post, the fact that we see nothing wrong with perpetually complaining about the travesty we call an economy while a simple draw from reality dramatically increases a products ability to sell is sickening. Snap out of the illusion that a half naked woman holding an over sized head of broccoli means that you too like broccoli and help repair a lost society in a tragically wounded world. Thank you.

A Step-By-Step Guide to Committing the 7 Deadly Sins in 30 Seconds

I am pleased to announce that, while our Daytona show was by far the highlight the trip, our hotel lived up to the high standard of our previously visited rooms. At first glance we were amazed to find, what appeared to be, a flawless hotel room complete with mini fridge, safe-box, beds with flawless appearance and a delightful swan made out of a towel perched atop the toilet. However, after hearing Kelly complain about the fact that she only had one blanket on her bed, I pulled back my comforter to find that, beneath the deceitful appearance of bed making perfection, I had no sheets whatsoever. Glad to know housekeeping didn't let us down on our final night of the trip. I'm pretty sure there is a hotel hotline that rings every time Hot Riot! books a room. "Attention all hotels, Hot Riot! is coming to town and needs a good laugh, mess with their rooms!"

As was expected, last nights show in Daytona was incredible. I could play Universities every night. The energy and excitement that comes from the crowd is amazing. Despite our obnoxious behavior, horrible sense of humor and atrocious knack for remixing Sesame Street and Jesus Christ Superstar records, the guys at 99.1 FM were cool enough to invite us back to hang out and do a pre-show broadcast with them and even took us to hang out after the show. Be sure to check out DJ's Double-D and Bones if you're ever in the Daytona Beach area. Awesome awesome people.

I'm really glad I was able to make it through Tampa tonight. There was this amazingly somber looking old man with an obvious lust for dance in the parking lot of Perkins blaring techno at 2:30am. All I wanted to do was give him a Hot Riot! CD and beg him to be my dad. I really want to be him when I grow up. I adore the fact that our ever-awesome-late-night outings always leave me with timeless stories and hilariously offensive one-liners rolling through my brain. Good times.

 "...he wanted to go out with a wooo wooo." - Hillary, on the subject of the St Pete man who filmed his train-induced suicide. Priceless.

Filth and Fury

(Filth)

(Fury)

This last week of my first extended road trip with Hot Riot! has given me a new perspective on hotel cleaning policies. From ashtrays in 'non-smoking' rooms to mysterious underwear it's been an adventure. I get joy. After an unbelievably awkward interview with the epitome of douchebaggery (hereafter referred to as the Earl of Douche) whose sole desire in life is to convince all breathing souls that he alone is God's gift to mankind and that the world is a better place because of his unparalleled sexuality and charm, we arrived to our hotel room. After walking in the bathroom, I noticed a pink and white thong hanging from the towel rack. As it was 3 something am and all my thongs were in my suitcase, I assumed it belonged to Kelly so ignored it and went to bed. The next morning as we were heading out to our interview, I hear Kelly scream from the bathroom, "there's a freaking thong in here!" As it turns out it wasn't either of ours. When we got back from an even weirder interview than the previous night's, we ran into housekeeping and told them about the lingerie themed artwork that adorned our bathroom and were literally told by the maid that "a lot of people have keys to the rooms so someone probably just left it there." Thankfully enough she removed the panties and was even kind enough to spray copious amounts of air freshener throughout the room. Service at its finest.

After Monday and Tuesday's awkwardly uncomfortable interviews, coming in to an amazingly fun 3 hour interview and acoustic performance with the guys at 99.1 Eagles FM was a bigger relief than the bathroom break after a 16 hour, liquid filled drive. If you can tolerate our belligerent behavior, ridiculous nonsense and exaggerated humor check it out at: http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/12266856
I can't wait to make it back to Daytona and play that show tomorrow. I love the excitement that comes with playing Universities. I'm super pumped.

We played the Vintage Ultralounge in St Petersburg, FL tonight. Despite the super cramped stage and lack of a decent PA, we had an amazing time playing to a really fun crowd of screaming fans living off Sylvie nostalgia and forever unable to separate the reality of Hot Riot! from the fictitious characters of Halloween past. I love the way that we can put on a high energy show despite the tiny nature of the venue. Performance kings.
There was this flaming homosexual arguing with the door guy at the venue tonight. Tickets were only $5 for 21+ and he was arguing that he shouldn't have to pay since he wasn't a fan of the band and promised to tip the bar tenders the cost of the door charge. After slapping the door guy and calling him a 'homophobic #$%@' he stomped off only to return a half hour later and pay the door charge. Apparently the guy does nothing but kiss dudes and argue basic principles of life because the second he got through the door he made a bee-line for the roped off VIP Band Only area, un-hooked the rope and proceeded to try to walk up the stairs into our 'back-stage' area. When security stopped him, he threw what seemed to be a routine tantrum and the previously mentioned actions repeated themselves. Needless to say, after attempting to slap security, he was in the venue for a total of about 7 minutes and we kept his $5.

Headed to Daytona tomorrow. That show is going to be a ton of fun.

01-20-2011

"Do your own thing" - hcl
Never underestimate the significance of a silver plated pick. Enough said.

Perception: finding the LAUGHTER in sLAUGHTER.

I understand that the PETA induced repercussions associated with posting this photograph will quite possibly be entirely disproportionate to the offense and, therefore, leave me humbled in a reddened mess of faux blood and latex balloon shrapnel. However, my actions have been thoroughly...rationalized...besides, screw PETA. Quite honestly, the vast array of wimpy, protein-lacking pansies is on the same level of unbearabillity as listening to a recently dumped highschooler's sob story or sitting through a Taylor Swift song without going the full 'Van Gogh'...Ha! those are both the same thing!!! Ahem, please disregard the redundancy...and we're back on track...as I was saying, PETA's opinion is of little or no importance to me. Forget I even mentioned PETA. Who is PETA? I don't believe they exist. Really though, if you put this whole thing in perspective, nobody really cares about dogs anyway. When warped correctly, canine homicide actually seems like a rather godly conquest. Let me explain (in far more words than necessary) while utilizing the often overlooked italic option this site so generously provides. Exhibit A:  Two young men are sitting in a 1950's era diner strategically planning a mass animal slaughter. Their server, possessing an uncanny ability to recognize deceased political figures, realizes that the two men are, in fact, Dwight David Eisenhower and General George Patton. Filled with excitement at the fact that he has been given the chance to wait upon such men of valor, he attempts to strike cheery conversation and, in time, inquires as to the nature of their conversation. “We’re planning an animalistic massacre,” Eisenhower declares, not wishing to hide their genocidal agenda. “Really? What’s going to happen?” the waiter replies. "We’re going to kill 10 million puppies and one outrageously clever bicycle repairman with a tasteful affinity for wearing silly hats in public.” With that the waiter recoils in despair and screams “Why are you going to kill the bicycle repairman, he's innocent!?!” “See" shouts Patton "I told you no one would care about the flippin' puppies!” And it's all just a matter of perception...
Case Closed.

The Alamo: The Untold Story

I just found this story that I wrote on the bus after visiting the Alamo back in 2007 with the CLC chorale. It made me laugh so I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

THE ALAMO, You may know it as the final resting place of such great souls as the legendary Davie Crockett, Jim Bowie, and Colonel Travis…or so they are known. However, there lies an untold story behind the accepted "facts." A tale which reveals the true identities of these men, a story so heroic that Hollywood was forced to revise it for fear of civilian dependence upon such heroic men of valor. Their names were changed, the tale was diminished and their legend left in sheer and utter ruin. However my friends, family and patriotic war memorial fanatics, I now bring you the true, uncut, unedited, facts, names and deeds of these great men. The tale has been revived and I now bring you…The Alamo: The Untold Story. 

The Alamo: The Untold Story

By: Joel Prush ((Jordan Eastman)) 

Starring:

Bruce Springsteen as Davie Cricket …………….Adolf HItler as David Bowie
Salvador Dali as Carlos Santana……………..And introducing Sean Connery as Colonel Travis Saunders

"It is hard here…" Colonel Travis Saunders wrote as he began to pen a letter home. "…It is hard here…" he continued. "…It is hard here...Darn!" he shouted. "Why doesn't the Army supply some softer mattresses? I keep trying to write but it's just so hard here!" rising from his chair, he clasped both hands about the legs of his computer chair and sent it hurling towards the door just in time for young Private Spot to enter. 

"Message for you Sir." the private managed before the chair leg struck him in the chest and impaled him through the heart. 

"Thank you Private, I shall see that you are awarded the Purple Heart for your tragic casualty." Travis stated with a smile. "Now, if you wouldn't mind reading it to me, I seem to have lost my glasses." he concluded

"Certainly sir." the lad managed to mumble as his life was slowly draining into a pool of blood about his torso. 

"Dear Colonel Saunders," the lad struggled as he slowly began coughing up blood and his eyes began rolling into his head. "I write to you in a mood that is an antonym of buoyant, buoyant being synonymous with good-humored meaning that I am deeply troubled as I pen this note. Why I am so opposite of jovial and purely tantamount with distressed, you ask? Because the boy scouts I have been using as replacements for my usual scouts, due to the ever increasing rate of salary expected by fully developed spies, have informed me that you are now living in a Monastery. However, the fact that you now seek lodging in a church has absolutely nothing to do with my ill-humor. I, in fact, have been suffering from ever increasing migraine headaches for the last week and this has thrown me into a not-so-good-not-so-very-happy-grandfather-like-mood. All this aside, your church stands in the way of my taking over Texas and I'm going to attack you and your men with my not very small army of bellow average American height Mexican people with rather large wives who at one time were skinny and beautiful young super-models strutting about in bikinis on the shores of the Rio Grande. Hope you have fun dying."

Sincerely,

Carlos Santana

P.S. 

"I sometimes…"

At this time the gaping wound in young Private Spot's heart had become infected with gangrene and was now too much to bear. Being unable to force life to remain any longer, the faithful, trustworthy, foreign exchange student turned private in the US Army due to several forged signatures and a stamp he bought off eBay for $4.75 fell prey to this armchair's gruesome and painful death. 

"Private?" stated Travis. "Private, what does he sometimes do?" seeing the private left lifeless in a pool of blood and being cheerfully devoured by grateful maggots he removed his cap and began his eulogy.

"You were a good private, Spot." He concluded, realizing he had kicked the bucket. 

"But drat, when you kicked the bucket you had to kick it right onto my Daffodils. Now they're flooded you fool. You can forget about any Purple Heart awards from me young man."

Suddenly remembering that his fortress would soon be attacked he quickly rushed from the room, struck his forehead upon the beam outside the door and was knocked senseless. 

*blackness*

"There there, Colonel," he heard. "We'll have you all fixed up in no time." 

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, and wait a minute." Travis began laughing, "I know that voice! That's Davie Cricket if I ever heard him!" 

"Right as three lefts, Saunders." Davie replied. "You seem to have knocked yer noggin when ye tried to get out and give them orders. That's why you need protection on your head. Wear a skunk skin cap like mine and you won't be noggin knocking no more, promise." Davie said as he tapped himself on the head violently with his pistol.

"Orders? That's right, Carlos Santana is going to be attacking today. I must warn the troops." Travis shouted as he leapt from the bed. 

"No worries, I've already done it." Cricket replied. "Ah here, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. David, get in here. This here is David Bowie." Davie stated as a man dressed in flashy, effeminate clothing carrying a long butcher knife entered the door.

"Greetings, I'm David Bowie." stated the man in a fake sounding British accent. "You must be Major Tom?" 

"Colonel Saunders, but most folks call me Travis. Just a question, but, how on earth did you squeeze into those leather pants?" Travis inquired.

"Never mind that now." Cricket interrupted. "We've got some planning to do."

The next few hours Cricket, Bowie, and Colonel Saunders laid their plan of defense against the Mexican terror, Carlos Santana. Since their chapel was conveniently located in the heart of San Antonio, Texas, they planted soldiers, dressed as tourists, along the river walk, in the mall, and all through the windows of the Holiday Inn across the street. They then placed little hanging felt tubes attached to poles marking pathways going in all different random directions all throughout the Alamo so that Santana's army would have to walk the weaving path for seemingly an eternity before actually getting to anything important. They also placed signs throughout the yard stating to stay off the grass so that the attackers would be forced to stick to the strategic path. As if this wasn't enough, they then planted cacti and overpriced coke machines all about so when the enemy got thirsty during their eternal maze walk they had to either use up all their cash or damage their hands trying to get water from the cacti. All things in place, they were ready for the attack. They had stationed a man, Paul Revere by name, in the tower of the Hilton Hotel to signal with Chinese Lanterns the approach of the Mexican Terror. His signals being 67 if by San Antonio St. and 66 if by Alamo Way, they new there was no way defeat would ever occur.

"I do believe we're ready." Stated Colonel Saunders as he finished putting on his white suit and made his way to the dining hall. "I can't wait to tear that Santana fiend apart." 

"Yeah, I hope that out of the kindness of his heart he decides to visit a leper colony, and then he gets a small cut before he goes in and gets leprosy and loses his arms. Then I would challenge him to a duel with the weapon being bowling balls but he couldn't pick them up because he wouldn't have any arms and I would win." said David Bowie malignantly.

"David you're so stupid, that would never happen." Davie began. "Besides, if you challenged him to a duel he would get to pick the weapon. Knowing Santana, he'd probably pick blowguns and he'd kick your butt." he finished sarcastically.

"Well, I don't like your tone, young man." Bowie shouted in defense.

"Young man? I'm like freaking 57 you idiot; I'm not a young man. Good grief, I'm old enough to be your stinking father you moron." Screamed Davie as he flipped a young raccoon onto David's lap causing it to panic and bite him in the lower arm.

"Yeah well if I had one wish that would come true if I wished it, I'd wish that you were a goldfish in a goldfish bowl. Then I'd put you on a record player and make you spin so fast that you had to swim up current to keep from slamming into the wall. Then I'd pick a really long symphony so that you would have to swim for a long time until you got too tired to swim and you'd stop and smash against the wall and die. Then I'd take you out and I'd barbeque you on the barbeque grill that used to be yours when you were still a human that I took when I turned you into a goldfish and I'd cook you in lemon so your eyes would sting then I'd serve you to your kids and chuckle to myself while they ate you then I'd tell them when they were done that they just ate their daddy who got turned into a goldfish and they'd cry." Bowie replied in tears.

"Yeah well I'd wish that you would become a famous politician and then the press would look for things to make fun of you because you're republican and I'd sell them that story about you when you took a poop in my chili in high school and then got the bowls mixed up and you at the poop chili just before your girlfriend came up to you and gave you a big kiss and got really sick and died because she ate your poop. Then they'd print it all over the press and you'd be made fun of a whole lot until you got tired of it and got really stressed out because every time you would go to get food at the store you'd see yourself on all the magazines kissing a girl and putting poop in her mouth. Then you'd go to jail for murder." Davie retaliated

"Don't do that Davie Stupidbutt!" Bowie Shouted

"Poop-mouth-kisser-killer-head!" Davie shouted back

"Davie, no more talking until you eat all your food." Said Saunders softly. "and by the way, you call this chicken? This is worse than kissing a guy with crap in his mouth!" 

"What did you say?!" shouted the Emril, the chef. "If you think it's so bad, why don't you cook it yourself or something?"

"You know what, maybe I will! Maybe I'll just start my own restaurant after we win this stinking battle."

Suddenly there was a colorful flash. 

"Look!" shouted some random person who wasn't paid because he had only one line.

"Is it 67 or 66 lanterns?" asked another with the same description.

"It's 67 I counted!" 

"no it's 66."

"That's just because he hasn't lit them all yet."

"Or it could be because one burned out."

"It's 66…no 67…no…"

As they sat there bickering and arguing over how many lanterns were in the window, Santana was marching his army through the felt labyrinth at that very moment. However, he had a secret spy on the inside of the Alamo who, being dressed as a janitor, had rearranged the path making it more direct and far shorter. Marching his men up to the main hall he broke in and began singing loudly in Spanish causing the men to cover their ears, beg for it to stop and eventually begin killing one another. 

"We have to do something, all defenses have failed." shouted Cricket. "Where is Colonel Saunders?"

"He's in the kitchen frying chicken." Bowie replied.

"Drat, he's our only hope. Without him we're as helpless as those colorful creatures with shaped antennas and televisions in their chests on PBS." Cricket replied.

"I've got it." Shouted Bowie. "But it'll take humility and pride." 

"Humility and pride? that's kind of contrary don't you think?" Cricket asked.

"Not in the least. Humility, Pride!" Bowie called. 

Suddenly two young polar bears roared through the crowds and picked up Cricket and Bowie rushing them out of the Alamo and out of harms way. However, in the process of picking them up, they managed to crush them both beneath their strong jaws causing life to drain and their tragically historic deaths to incur. 

Struggling to survive, Bowie managed to whisper over the PA Microphone sending his message of hope and victory throughout the fortress, "You may win today, Carlos, but look where the Alamo is now…in the heart of Downtown TEXAS AMERICA! God Bless the USA Boys, and Remember the Alamo." 

"Of course I remember." Davie responded. "I was just there not five minutes ago you idiot." 

"I meant it as a figure of speech, as something that would go down in history." Bowie stated in response.

"Go down is right, down right into the gutter. What kind of idiot is going to go around saying, 'hey, remember the Alamo?' sheesh, what a stupid waste of life." Davie managed to whisper, still holding on for dear survival

"What you think you could do something better?" Bowie responded with his final breath.

"Um, yeah." 

"Well, go for it."

"Try something catchy like: 'What's up man'." Davie responded with a victorious smile as his life spilled out and he collapsed forever.

"And you think kids are really going to say that? What's up man? Seriously? By the way, your life just spilled all over my legs and now I'm going to die with this cereal and milk all over myself, jerk." 

"Well, at least I'm not a poopie-head-mouth-cootie-head-killer-head-butt." Davie managed.

These were the final words of two of the greatest men in history, Davie Cricket and David Bowie. Colonel Saunders went on to start his own restaurant know as Alamo Fried Chicken. Unfortunately it was bought out by Pepsi Co. and changed to Kentucky Fried Chicken in the late 1970's. However, the legend remains the same and the story no longer remains untold. 

The End./..and there you have it...