black rat snake24

Michael Jackson - vox, beats
Kurt Cobain - guitar
Dave Grohl - drums
Krist Novoselic - bass

story by Norm and paul

music by Dave

Harold "Hank" Steiner (a.k.a. "Santa Claus" a.k.a. "Papa Smurf"), a sixty-four- year old Hells Angel from Birmingham, Alabama, whod recently been busted out of federal prison by his "best buddy", one Mr Shit, or just "Shit" for short, a ratty-looking character from Texas with a, filthy, greasy beard completely obliterating his face from sight ... Upon these men and their army of ragged Hell's Angels the fate of humankind rested. "He's a bit insane" Black Elk warned me. We entered Hank's chambers after several pointless knocks -- The music -- a "dub -- down" 0f Hank and Mr Shits new "album" was blasting from twin Marshall stacks aimed from the corners into the center 0f the palatial master bedroom ... The crash cymbals and heavy multitracked distortion drenched guitars produced a deafening roar, amplified to nauseating extremes, making Black Elk sway dizzily as he crossed the room, surveying the scene ... The room was a complete mess -- Beer cans, empty bottles full of tobacco juice, dead pizza boxes rotting under every couch ... Cigarette butts everywhere, vomit, spilled whiskey, hypodermic syringes, broken booze bottles, burnt black spoons, roaches, overflowing ashtrays, beer puddles, stacks of crusty chili bowls, chip crumbs, matchsticks, crumpled baggies, seeds, stems, spent shell casings, assorted knives, guns, and other weapons lying around ... Hank strode forth out of the heroin smoke and introduced himself. "Nice meetin' you, Mr Vimps" -- I noticed the midgets had freakishly pointy long ears "Are those fuckin elves ?" I asked. Hank nodded. "Unfortunately -- The place is infested with 'em ... Take a fortune in goddamn ammo just to slaughter 'em all. They make good slaves, though -- Once I took out all the most vicious ones ... I heard you got a file on the aliens?" -- "Yeah,"I tapped my head -- "In here", I says. Hank nodded, pleased. "Hey, you! Elf! Could you get off your fat sorry ass and see if theres any Jim Beam whiskey left?" hank barked, hypnotically stroking his wiry white beard ... a heinously deformed midget ran to the intercom, cranked the volume to the max -- But Hank actually stopped the tape for this momentous query ... Myron Nerfburger answered, in the pantryroom -- He sounded peeved, hostile -- "Go fuck yourself! -- Im busy!" ... Nerfburger squawked the intercom box ... "Who was that?" asked Hank, calm, but beginning to show signs of homicidal glee -- A certain maniacal twinkle to the eyes-Ice blue, bloodshot, bulging a little bit out of his skull ... The swastika tattoo on his forehead and shaven scalp didnt make him look any less of a mean old bastard ... "That would be, um, Myron Nerfburger, I believe" -- Myron was no friend of Arlos-He was one of the taller elves -- not the tallest, by far -- and he lorded it over Puffenstuff, a three-foot pipsqueak ... Arlo actually felt a little half-guilty thrill at the thought of what Santa might do to him -- Yes, the poor fool's fate was likely sealed -- But Hank was loaded on H, the whiskey wasn't a pressing matter, and he seemed actually in a somewhat forgiving mood ... Hank (or "Santa" as he's begun fancifully to call himself) loved his drugs; but he also loved his power -- He loved to play judge, and especially to play executioner -- But the law was full of loop-holes here -- Finkwater, the chef, was always mouthing off, talking backsass, stepping clearly out of line -- But he made the best damn chili north of Chicago, and Hank wasnt about to throw that away over a little bit of lip ... But Nerfburger hadnt said anything clearly offensive toward Hank himself -- Hed merely been rude to Arlo ... "Mr Shit -- Take down that name" -- Shit looked puzzled -- "HUH? ... Take it down? -- Uh ... Take it where ?" Santa just sighed -- "Write it down, ass head! -- Shit looked embarrassed now -- "I dont read and write so good -- my pappy kept me locked in a shed most o' m'youth ... " Hank rolled his eyes, popped his bull neck-"Well fuckin' remember it then, in-fuckin'-case I forget!" ... This was likely ... An elf strode in beaming: "Great news sire!" Hank leveled his gaze on the severed head of Ed McMahon on a silver platter. Hank grinned. "Get me my meth and DMT" ...

Apache "Shaman"^Black Elk had some how tapped into another dimension that I had only seen a few dozen times while on astral travel vacations after consuming so much lsd or opiates so that my nod had become a funnel into the spirit world. Vimps, Norman, chuck, king plopo, nancy, Ryan Seacrest's dilapidated brain inside the freezer next to that thing that came out of chucks girlfriends anal cervix. That David Hasselhoff alien butt larvae thing. They all seemed to be telling me what to do. I was also getting information that Farrah Fawcets ghost had opened up a sex toy factory and was making a killing selling all sorts of lubed up plastic sexual toys to any of the crack heads left.

story by Norm and Paul

music by Dave
The extensive bunkers were equipped with a nuclear warhead (they claimed) and their plan of attack centered on Los Angeles, where the aliens were most strongly established--They were using it as their point of "assimilation"--In other words, they've been there a long a time--Well even before World war Three broke out--And as the rest of the world destroys itself they are already making L.A. and Vegas their home.--O.J. Simpson has been broken out of jail in Las Vegas, and he is President there, with Tom Cruise and his sex bitch Barbara Streisand ruling L.A. from Universal Studios with Charles Manson (free at last!) as wisest advisor and right hand man...

The massive cloud of red black smoke from all the various gangs fighting in the distance was for some reason making me a tad bit nervous. The dam meth I had been consuming along with the morning shots of prozac had my hands shaking like they never had before. Was I Vimps or was I Norman? And where the fuck was Chuck? Some how I was back in my city and for all I know everything is just a dream or nightmare in my head. I get so fucking confused all the time from lack of sleep. But one thing was for sure. I had cracked the new alien egg and was shooting some of the best crack in any universe. My paranoia tried to kick in, but I just gobbled 4 more xanax bars, and shot the last of my morphine I had stolen off those two dead junkies that I could have swore were fucking narcs. Had to take care of that edgy feeling. One of my crew came back to fill me in on the fighting between the under cover piggies and those dam stinky beaners, the Loco Vatos. This little maggots name was Nancy Fawcet. The son of Farrah Fawcet. He had a sex change and now went by the name of Nancy. He was a withering pathetic specimen of a human being always wanting to suck cock for another hit of alien space crack. I kept him around for shits and giggles. His doctors made twat was infected and trying to close back up. It was encrusted with goopy greenish pus filled blood bubbles and feverish scabs that stunk up our camp half the time. And Nancy would still think that he was a sexy woman. Always trying to come on to my cracked out gang members as if one was going to eat, and lap that grotesque pussy he flaunted so badly. One dude in my gang, named Billy, who was basically only a torso with a long banana shaped dick from being blown up during the second invasion was just sick enough to do it one night... He chowed down on all that rot, and Nancy loved every minute of it... I had some of the boys film it, and I blew Billy's brains out after the filming with my special gun I kept for killing certain sickos. Sent the video to the then leader of the Loco Vatos. With a dead rose wrapped inside the anal crevis of a dead pig. With a message inside the pig's anal canal. Asking: Seen Chuck lately? I lay back in my chambers with my favorite pet for the time, Nancy. Laughing my head off with an arsenal of weapons surrounding me. "Master, oh master... I have some news for you", Nancy said... Withering around on the floor trying to untie himself from my rodeo rope, as I kicked him non-stop in the mouth wondering why he wouldn't die. What news would you have for me you sperm of Hollywood scum? Do you know Nancy I use to have a huge poster of your mother on my wall when I was a boy and I would jack off to the thought of her every night and this was before I had even formed any sperm in my gigantic testicles! Nancy stared at me, his shaking hands reaching for this crusty needle I had used last week... Master... I have information for you. And I do not ask for much from you... but never... ever... mention my mother in those terms again... or... or... slobbering saliva dripping from his mouth I felt sort of sorry for him and what I had said about his dead mother... So I picked him up off the ground and kicked him across the room like I was punting a football, and he flew into a glass mirror. His head half cracked open, his bloody deformed body laying on the floor. We both started laughing. What information could you have for me oh sweet Nancy boy?-- The king of pop, he's dead. His heart gave out from all that drug addiction. Master... oh master. The best part about it is is..." "Go on ... what what? is the best part about it? He sure wasn't no Elvis. And we all know about the Elvis issues around here in this camp so whats the best part about the king of pop dieing today?" I asked. Nancy stood up and grabbed his backpack. I was stunned when he pulled out the head of Michael Jackson. It was embedded in some sort of slippery stream of alien guck inside a crystal ball. "Oh master,, oh master... and this is not even the best part. Watch!" A long cord came from the back of the king of pop's dead crystal ball head. And Nancy plugged it in and my mouth was now wide open...

Covering the classic track on Jimi Hendrix Experience's first album, "Are You Experienced?

story by Norm and Paul
music by Dave

Some "Cleans" will even engage in this perverse activity just to keep the ruse up-- But secretly they are attempting to mobilize a resistance against the Aliens. they are stockpiling gunpowder, bullets, firecrackers, fertilizer, car batteries, gasoline cans and bottles of pure ethanol-- They plan on mounting an offensive three eggs from now-- Their plans of course become nullified if next time they land, They decide to simply wipe the rest of us out. The name's Hillary P Vimps. I work for the Resistance, but aint no Clean. I huff more crack hits than Whitney Houston, but I'm the best there is at what I do. I'm in charge of gathering intelligence on these Alien cocksuckers. I've already assembled a file on them more detailed than Darwin's dicklice. I know (for example) that Michael J Fox was the first Alien implant released for mass consumption-- A hermaphrodytic leper from the Horsehead Nebula-- Then Ronnie Reagan was flown in from Alpha Centauri on a nuclear timewarp saucer and once he was in office you had Michael Jackson, Joan Rivers, Bono, Sting, and all thse goddamn Aliens coming in, buying up the planet-- no one suspected a thing-- until Obama's eyes turned to two beetle black bulging eggs on national TV press conference and next thing the whole shit house blows wide open-- Slaughter the likes of Hiroshima put to the scale of ants-- Armafuckinggeddon!-- And now they want me to Clean up this mess?-- well I'm just the motherfucker for the job. I lit a blast of that fine Alien coke and sat back. I already knew seven words in the Aliens's language: "Preebers" meant "Humans"; "Dlaa-gorp" meant "crack-cocaine" (not sure which element is which however) etcetera. it is an ugly, unbeauteous language of bodily bleeps and gloops, the language crustaceans would speak were the capable. A knock suddenly came at the door-- It was my neighbor, Chuck-- I let him in and let him smoke a few hits of my crack-- His bloodshot eyes radiated pure pain until the drug smoke rushed out of his mouth in a dense white vaportrail and he fazed back into the sofa, the dead red eyes now glazing over as a twitching, rottentooth smile spread across Chuck's wrinkled, leathery face. "Shit man," he says "When I first met you, I thought ya was a fucking Clean, man". I laughed. "You've got to be joking". Chuck's girl-fiend, who was actually posing as a Clean to gain access to the ethanol supply (she drank it) came in, sloshed as usual. Her hair was bleached almost white, and there were huge bald spots where she'd been pulling it out in back. I let her bum a few hits as well. They never had any money, and their groceries all came from some dumpster. Everything was running out for people like them. Sometimes I wonder if they're even worth saving.

Chuck's girlfriend's name was Sally. Most people figured she had lost her mind right after the first invasion. She was forced to watch her own parents be chopped up in a massive meat grinder by a rather vicious street gang called The Loco Vatos. An all Mexican gang of about 90 that were some of the craziest blood thirsty dope fiends left in the city. Sally had been gang raped by all the Loco Vatos and her vagina was infected with every STD known to man. The Loco Vatos had filmed the gang rape and posted it on their web sight for all the other gangs to see. This had infuriated Chuck and he swore revenge on all The Loco Vatos. Sally was also convinced that the Aliens had been capturing her and doing their own sexual experiments on her rotted out vagina. She was convinced they had implanted a hybrid mutant baby in her womb with the face of David Hasselhoff. I use to think Sally and Chuck were both under cover Cleans but I soon realized that was impossible after many a late night drug session with them. And Sally wasn't as crazy as one might think. Her, Chuck and me had an all night LSD crack MDMA Nitrous oxide Salvia party at my place one night. she wanted to show me and Chuck something so we would stop laughing at her. She was very agitated, walking around in circles mumbling gibberish while pulling huge white chunks of her hair out after a 2 week no sleep meth binge that I was not invited to. She pulled down her nasty corroded spandex jumpsuit from her massive camel toed fupar and bent over for me and Chuck, spreading her thick gravy dripping oatmeal caked diseased ridden butt cheeks. I couldn't believe my eyes. But sure enough a massive brown blood dripping algae colored turd began slowly coming out her anal crevice. It was about the size of a watermelon. It sprouted miniature red hands out each side with long black nails that wiggled around while Sally let out a scream of horror and pain. It would suck back up into her butt hole and squirm back out every few minutes, each time another mutant hand or foot sprouting from it.

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