In 1925 and 1926, the two volumes of author Adolph Hitler’s political treatise “Mein Kampf” saw their original release in Germany. The book was a success, selling approximately 240,000 copies in its first ten years. However, Hitler’s next work, a book of comedic observations and irreverent anecdotes called “Hitlerious!”, saw the author’s sudden decline into the obscure ranks of literary one hit wonders. He passed away in 1945.
Sing, O Goddess, the anger of Achilles / cuz m’mind on fire t’night / like m’brain be eatin’ dem red hot chiles / Athena in all her wisdom / couldn’t calm me down wit gentle song / but if she wanna save some livez tonight she better pass me dat Olympian-sized bong / it was forged by Haphaestos / packed by Eros to its brim wide ‘n’ long / takez Zeuss thunderboltz ta light dis / don’t play like Chronos puff puff pass it along / like Hector when he bit da dust I take a long-ass drag / anxious like Penelope hopin’ her man come back from sea befo’ her titties start t’sag / now oh shit m’anger risin’ again / you m’right hand man but don’t be thinkin’ you my friend / do you see fucking smoke risin’ from m’bowl now and dat hot hit flash / cuz all I see is some resin on da sides and a pit full a-ash / pack it again, monkey-ass, and dis time don’t use y’schwag-ass stash / ‘less ya want me t’draw d’sword of damacles from m’side / and slash slash slash / brain not calmin’ down yet it still flamin’ like Thebes / or like da early Christianz tryin’ to convert da last handful o’ stubborn Heb’s / like Ithaca I been without my “master” for way too long / know a hot bitch is out der for m’ / so I’m abstainin’ from da palm / but she better come soon, needz ta be beatin’ da clock / welled up a long time cumin’ wit da trojan horsechock / headache in da mornin’ from which da world began / m’being is infinite in time and space so don’t need to scheme or plan / (peace out, kriggaz)
LBS has been fortunate enough to join forces with Humbert Humbert and offer an online advice forum for men (or women if they feel so inclined) who are having trouble with their significant others. Now, whether or not our patrons need guidance with partners they are currently involved with or they simply need advice on how to snag a potential lover; who better to offer wisdom on the ways of love than one of the greatest lovers of all time. So, please feel free to submit your problems and let Mr. Humbert help you on your way to discovering this mysterious fig we call love.
H.H.
- I am currently in a relationship with a very lovely older woman. I am in my twenties and she is in her forties. When we first started spending time together it was all we could do to keep our hands off one another. We made love three or four times a day and would spend all day in bed. We’ve only been together a few months and she is no longer interested in sex and I do not know what to do. I think I may be falling love with her but how can I be sure if she no longer wishes to be intimate? Any advice you could give would be greatly appreciated. Please help me.
- Young and worried in Elk River
Y&W -
Ah. To be young again. The days of my youth, as I look back on them, seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation car. As a college student I spent my time in Paris and London loving women in short durations; relationships that came to an abrupt end as quickly as the money had changed hands. I had never enjoyed the company of a woman older than I, except as a very young boy when I lost my virginity to the throws of a girl nine years my senior. I was bashful and clumsy, an experience I relish in as much as I despise it. I had sometimes wished to make love to her as I got older, I was driven by the desire to show her what a skilled lover I had become, but I never got that chance. I digress. I believe I have an answer to your predicament, young resident of Elk River. Let me explain something to you: Now I wish to introduce the following idea. Between the age limits of nine and fourteen their occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as “nymphets.” You seem to not know these girl-children and this is your problem, my dear boy. You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholy, with a bubble of hot poison in your loins and a super-voluptuous flame permanently aglow in your subtle spine (oh, how you have to cringe and hide!), in order to discern at once, by ineffable signs, the slightly feline outline of a cheekbone, the slenderness of a downy limb, and other indices which despair and shame and tears of tenderness forbid me to tabulate – the little deadly demon among the wholesome children; she stands unrecognized by them and unconscious herself of her fantastic power. If you follow these words, I am certain that you will come upon the path of righteousness that leads to this sinister mistress named love and shall be overwrought with the breathlessness that accompanies such discoveries.
On this day in 1977, Fleetwood Mac released their album “Rumours” fueling rumours that February 19th, 1977 was the worst day in history. This rumour was in fact confirmed by the time listeners got to the track “The Chain”.
On this day in 1981, George Harrison was ordered to pay a fine for “subconscious plagiarism” relating to his song “My Sweet Lord.” His lawyer touted the monetary punishment as a victory for the former Beatle, as the prosecution had originally sought to have Harrison’s “id” put under house arrest.
In 1985 on this day, Mickey Mouse was welcomed into China for the first time. He was served as “pork” in a heavy sauce on a bed of rice using a completely out-dated forerunner of the modern “fork”.
In 1986 the U.S. Senate ratified the U.N.’s anti-genocide convention a full thirty years after it was originally passed. No word yet on when the superpower plans to begin following it.
In 1987, U.S. President Ronald Reagan finally lifted the trade ban on Poland causing a sharp spike in imports of products like “football bats”, “two-legged tables”, and “cars with square wheels”.
The reason that Motel 6 promises to “leave the light on for ya” is so that you can better identify your rapist and assailant at the trial subsequent to your stay.
In anticipation of the coming Major League Baseball season, we take a moment here at LBS to offer up a bit of baseball trivia that is remembered only by the oldest baseball fans. The year was 1914 and old Weeghman Park was being renamed Wrigley Field (it would now serve as home to the Chicago Cubs, rather than the Chicago Whales). Opening day was full of excitement, but the excitement was not as much for the Cubs as it was for a now forgotten all male dance troop that was to perform at the 7th inning stretch. The troupe had been a staple of Whales games for years and hoped to carry over into the new Cubs era, albeit with a new name and sensibility as well. Under the whales, the group had been known as the Chicago Crushers. They had performed rigorous and visceral routines that pumped up the crowd to levels of enthusiasm that sometimes bordered on violent. As the 7th inning stretch began, however, this time the new incarnation of the troupe took the field. They came from the up-and-coming Lakeview neighborhood near the ballpark which had a distinctive feel from the rest of urban Chicago, and they were called The Ballpark Franks (presumably because they were all named Frank, though this is unconfirmed). Taking the field in what could be considered forerunners to modern cheerleading outfits, these men pranced about, pirhouetted, and giggled their way through a twelve minute set. The performance was fierce but the crowd balked at this new style. It was to be their only performance with the Cubs. The troupe subsequently disbanded, many taking on wives and families in the area, but it is said that they and their male offspring have continued to meet in a sort of secret society fashion over the years in numerous Lakeview bars, parks and public restrooms to practice their routines in hopes that one day they will be able to strut their stuff on the field once again.
It is well known that hyenas are capable of speech. The Ancient Mursi Tribe spun magnificent yarns about the spotted hyena who would spend weeks sleeping outside the village, following the tribesmen and actually learning their names. After weeks of this, the hyenas would wait on the outskirts of the village and call the name of the tribesman, luring him out to the brush where the pack would close in and gobble him up.
Now, what is not as well known is that blue whales have been known to practice this same technique. The great blue whale will rest in the ocean until a fishing boat approaches and the massive sea beast will swim along side or underneath for days, learning the names of the different crew members. Once memorized, the blue whale will then swim up to the surface of the ocean when a crew member is out on the decks and call his name. Once the whale has his attention, it will whisper bogus stock market tips to the fisherman, thus ruining him financially.
The end of the story is the most interesting part, so I’ll start from the beginning of the end and work my way. Let me feed the beast: I disembarked in Shanghai dirty sweaty probably stink like trash bin juice. Walk 25 miles to baggage claim motors whir conveyor belt starts bag ejected from dark tunnel. Head for the Maglev… the high speed train that carries a person from the airport into central Shanghai. The final train for the day had departed 20 minutes ago. I examine the bus information screen in search of another economical way to make my way and find it confusing. ”Hmmm… Just take a taxi… Take a blow on cash and get it over with… You need sleep.” I usually pounce on these ideas that pop into my head; Follow the stream. A bad feeling usually aids with navigation. Like when, last night, I was lead into a dimly lit stairwell following a guy who claimed he could get me to town for 200 Yuan. When the stairway, however, lead me into a back alley where an unmarked car was waiting with the words ‘lets rob tourists’ written on the windshield, I experienced one of these bad feelings, and hastily made my way back upstairs…
Speaking of spontaneously sprouting ideas, I had one the day before I left Chiang Mai. Sick, as I was, of riding on the backpacker friendly ‘VIP’ busses that take one straight to Khao San road in Bangkok, I thought it a good idea to spend a bit more and take a real VIP bus. One with plenty of leg room to accommodate lankiness. And what a great choice it was! I’ve never slept better during transport. My arrival in Bangkok the next morning was followed by a day of laziness in the wonderful Thai Cozy House, where I received a discount because it was my fourth time staying there in two months. Hot shower TV eat coffee coca cola internet off to China. Arrive in Shenzhen, China wandering around with a similarly lanky individual from Australia named Phil. Phil is recovering from Typhoid he picked up in Pakistan… he’s tired… we’re staying at the same hostel… we wander through late night China red green neon doing our best to decipher what looks like Chinese to me. The metro is closed, let’s just take a taxi. (This taxi thing seems to be a recurring copout, or viable option if you prefer, in the labyrinth of Chinese symbols). Hostel is comfy… meet creepy sleazy ‘English teacher out of a job…’ sleep… eat… figure out how to get to Shanghai. Mr. Ryan Daly booked a flight with Air China and the next morning he leaves the hostel with a smile blazing on his face, clueless of the nightmare that lies ahead.
…back upstairs and off to find a taxi stand where one can find a legitimate ride into town. I arrive at the taxi stand and the windshield says ’safe, government provided service vee-hickle.’ Talk to driver. Words fail to function… sounds like Chinese to me…
Me: ”I’m going to West Nanjing Road, Shanghai.”
Driver: ”Nanjing! Nanjing!”
Me: ”Yes, West Nanjing Road.”
A man who speaks a bit of Engrish comes to join the deep conversation:
Engrish Man: “Where you go?”
Me: ”West Nanjing Road, Shanghai.”
Engrish Man: sounds like Chinese to me…
Driver: “unknown, OK OK OK Nanjing! Nanjing! Nanjing!, unknown.”
Me: “Yes, precisely good sir!”
Engrish Man, I thank you… Off we go speeding into the night. Light a cigarette, shrug. There’s a slight hint of a bad feeling, but I’ve grown used to this in China. Bad feelings are perpetual when communication is sick in bed. Nanjing Nanjing Nanjing, here I come…
Walk to Shenzhen metro go to Luo Hu station find ticket booth for Guangzhou buy ticket hop train sit relax hot sweaty maybe stinky keep arms tight against body Guangzhou looks ugly. Remnants of 70’s and 80’s Chinese gaudy neon architecture moldy from humid years. Someone said other parts of the city are nice. Train tracks’ll do that. Arrive Guangzhou taxi airport check-in nice easy trip is going incredibly smooth. Take some photos, kill time. The flight boarded just a bit late and we sit. An hour passes and Chinese start to become vocal (not that they aren’t always vocal). A man shouts something, people laugh… Other men join, sound rather angry, people laugh more, I wonder. Sounds like Chinese to me. Flight leaves just over an hour late. On to Wenzhou for an interesting connector.
…Another cigarette. Taxi meter runs moon is out silhouettes of mountains pass. Peaceful outside bad feelings continue breath relax. I point forward… “Shanghai?” Driver points forward… “Shanghai!” Relax close the ashtray take a nap. Meter runs…
Arrive Wenzhou hurry! Small town airport no English. Mr. Daly doesn’t know what time his connecting flight to Shanghai leaves so he’s in a rush to check in. But first he has to wait for his bag to arrive, make his way once again through the labyrinth. Motors whir conveyor belt starts bag arrives mouse completes maze check in re-check bag. The flight doesn’t leave for another two hours. Should arrive in Shanghai at 8:30pm… Exactly 13 hours after the journey began. Wait coca cola potato chip pepsi green tea cigarette smokey room read eat papaya. Waiting room austere echoes children yell people talk loud airport announcements cloaked in cacophony. Wouldn’t work well as a recording studio. Sounds like Chinese to me. Boarding time comes and goes… and goes. Board when I should be in Shanghai. The flight is quick, smooth. Reading is accomplished… Arrive Shanghai, begin the night.
We’ve come to the place where two points meet. If you are confused, try again. I sit confident in the back of a taxi that I’m heading to Shanghai after my brief episode of pointing straight ahead and saying ‘Shanghai?’ When Driver pointed straight and shouted a confirming ‘Shanghai!’ things seemed alright. Sleep now… wake up soon. I awake on a dark highway. A glance at the meter shows 500 Yuan. Nervous light cigarette only 900 on me too dark wrong way pick skin around fingers bleed. Meter runs. Drivers eyes droop. Once again… “Shanghai?… City!… Nanjing?” And the driver replies with the affirmative point ahead and say ‘Nanjing.’ Now, I knew the ride would be expensive, but I never thought it would be more than maybe 500 Yuan. I justified this in my mind… “The Maglev train travels at over 300 km/h and it took nearly an hour right? Maybe less… or was it more. I can’t remember… it was something close to an hour, I’m sure of it. So… that should be around 300 km then… I guest this ride should be a considerable distance. But why the hell would Shanghai’s airport be three hours away from Shanghai?” So on and so on driving myself crazy. I wait. Driver grows sleepy… I’m sleepy… half sleeping. Wake with a scare as Driver dozes and heads slightly off the road. Wide awake now… car begins to feel like jail… a pimple is born beneath the surface of my right upper lip. Fed by stress, anxiety. I can almost feel it bubbling to the surface and rearing its white head.
Me: “You OK man?”
Driver: ?????
Me: “Pull over and sleep if you have to, man.”
Driver: Sounds like Chinese…
Me: shrug.
I was offering all the hand gestures I could muster, but he kept right on. Unsure eyes on the rearview watch his eyes make sure he doesn’t doze wait it’ll be over soon. Three hours after leaving the airport, we arrive at a toll. Driver says ‘Nanjing.’ I say ‘Shanghai’ and reach for the map in my bag. Once the map is revealed and I show him West Nanjing Road, he erupts. The dashboard takes a healthy beating and words are yelled (curses, I’m sure… Sounded like Chinese to me). So there Mr. Daly sits, in Nanjing, China, back seat of a cab, a meter reading 1300 Yuan and a tired grouchy pissed off Chinese taxi driver pounding on the dash. You’ve got to be shitting me…
Through the toll turn around back through the toll back on the highway heading to Shanghai only 3 more hours watch rear view driver sleepy me too smoke bite chew skin nail bleed. We stopped off at a rest area to pick up something to drink and go to the bathroom. Driver was really a nice guy, it turns out. He offered me cigarettes and offered to buy me some tea. We smiled at each other and laughed knowing how terrible this miscommunication mistake was. Laughing was all one could do really. Back in the car refreshed ready to go take the opportunity to sleep. I slept for about an hour and a half and woke up with about 100 kilos to go. How did I manage to sleep with my life in danger? Good question. When I woke our Driver was getting pretty sleepy again. Swerve left right droop lean adjust lights window radio cellphone mirrors. The ride got to the point where I was so afraid… I told him I had to use the toilet. When we pulled over, I motioned to him to go to sleep for awhile… at least ten minutes or something. He agreed shut his eyes my eyes shut trucks being worked on humid air wrenches clank. After five minutes, he made some kind of noise and rose from what didn’t seem like any kind of sleep to me. Cab fills with the smell of Tiger Balm as he rubs his fingers on his temples, takes a pull from a tea bottle, and heads back to the road. The balm wore off quickly and the nap apparently didn’t help. Driver was dozing dozing dozing and I was watching with much anxiety. Good thing I was: Flying down the left lane of the highway, a truck in front of us in the right lane. Our good driver dozes and starts to merge right. Just a lane change right? Over into the middle lane truck is getting close. Driver doesn’t stop merging heading straight for the back of the truck. WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA! I’m yelling driver wakes up wheel jerks adrenaline rush rips. Get me out of here. The sun is about to rise. That should keep him awake and it did. It was absolutely beautiful, by the way… On we go into Shanghai to West Nanjing Road. Following my 6.5 hour metered road trip, 2800 Yuan is what the screen reads… or about $380. Argue a bit not much you almost killed me hand motions emulate car crash wrong direction to say the least. A sum of 1000 Yuan is agreed upon. Still ripped off… it’s all Chinese to me.
Hand over the cash driver offers to take me wherever I need to go… I tell him I’ll walk. I walk beautiful morning Shanghai alive people running dancing music tai chi pork chicken duck laden motorbikes whiz. I walk and walk bags are heavy sweat pours finally reach familiar area. Made it to Charlie’s exactly 24 hours after leaving Shenzhen. Telling stories beats sleep… but sleep comes eventually.
Tomorrow it’s back to the airport and I see no taxis. The pimple on my right upper lip is laughing at me, telling me it’s time to go home. And I’m laughing a bit myself.
Many have wondered how the band Coldplay came to name one of their hit singles “The Scientist”. It turns out the song gained it’s moniker due to Chris Martin’s groundbreaking discovery that pure estrogen could be turned into lyrics.
In a remote part of southwestern New Mexico, the famed outlaw “Salsa” Sam Lawless is sitting around a campfire with the men he has chosen to form his new posse. His old one was wiped out in a deadly shootout with the Pinkerton Detective Agency of Chicago during an attempted bank robbery. It is a solemn moment as he inducts them in one of the wild west’s most sacred rituals.
“Alright, men… After a lot of a deliberation, I have chosen each of you to be a part of my new posse. Now, I’m going to officially welcome you by giving you your outlaw nickname. As you all know this is probably the most defining moment in your career as an outlaw. This is the name history will remember you by… the name that will appear on wanted posters throughout the country… the name that one day will be etched on your tombstone. Ok, you there… you come from the brushy regions in southern Oklahoma… I’m going to call you “Brushy” Bill Roper. And you over there, you made your name hunting buffalo on the great plains… I’m going to call you “Buffalo” Bob McRee. And you… you’re probably the deadliest man in the gang now… you’re known for your custom pistol with the hammer filed down extra short so that you can cock and shoot faster than any man alive… I’m going to call you “Short-Cock” Steve. Alright, now you over there… (Sounds as “Short-Cock” Steve tentatively interrupts) Huh? No, no, no… we can’t call you “Fast-Cock” Steve, my friend… all guns cock fast. No, no… what makes you so unique is that you filed that bastard down short. “Short-Cock” Steve it is. And now you over there… I’ve gotta confess the only reason you’re here is that we needed one more man. You’re cowardly… effeminate… and you’re about the least physically intimidating man I know… but we gotta give you a nickname so we’ll call you “Deadly” Dan Nash, “the Fastest Gun in all the West”. (Sounds) Hey… hey… where are you going, “Short-Cock” Steve… “Short-Cock”… come back!
