Author Archives: JD

Dear South African Man Who Showed My Friends And I His Dick In Line For The Mud Slide At Mud Fest 2009

Word Count – 380

For the record, we never had any doubt that you were not “an Oriental”. Your thick accent and dark complexion were enough to sway our inquisitive minds to broach the subject of “This very drunk man swaying in front of us, what do you think is his country of origin?”

I don’t know where you came from that cloudy day, or why you started talking to my friend. All I remember was I was in line, looking aloft with my inflatable whale, when my friend started shouting at you. I looked over and saw that you were looking down for some reason. Following your eyesight, I was treated to the sight of a shrivelled, mud soaked dick and ball sack. As I turned away to laugh hysterically, you insisted that this was evidence that you were, in fact, not “of the Orient.”

I’m glad you are so comfortable with you heritage that you embrace it publicly, but you embraced it in line for an inflatable slide with a parade of strangers parading slowly behind you.

Being a naturally positive person, I guess I have to thank you for finding a way to quickly evidence your point without dragging me through the exhaustive and irrelevant game of guessing game your ethnicity, which would truly have been a bore. I also feel like I should thank you for not throwing up on my back after you butted into line behind me. While I’m thinking about it, I would also like to take this opportunity to thank the women behind you, who noticed how inebriated you were at four o’clock in the goddamn afternoon and took pity on me, making sure to shout whenever you teetered forward slightly, looking like you were ready to expel chunks of fish onto my back from your fine fat belly.

Truly, you reminded me that we are of one world and one peoples and our differences are not many. We remain divided only into tribes of the meek and tribes of the brave, with a final division being those brave enough to get drunk and put their genitals on parade for a float full of school children.

– Timothy Legion

PS – We only thought about shoving you into the Police Pony once. I hope you’ll forgive us. We are only human.

Dear Showcase Television

Word Count – 1200

Hey. How’s it going, Showcase? Yeah, its been a while, I know.

I hope you don’t think this is weird or anything, me writing to you out of the blue and all. I mean, christ, its probably been, what? Seven? Maybe eight years? However long ago it was, it was probably right around the same time I just started getting high speed internet in my home.

Now, listen, I know we did not have a very amicable split. I just want you to know, it was all me, not you. Things just kind of happen, you know? You grow up, you find that the things you’ve been used to for so long no longer excite you. You want to try new things, see what else is out there. Turns out the “what else” that is out there is people having real sex with actual penetration, free and ready to view 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I don’t mean to upset you, but there really is no competition for that.

But let us not dwell on that, shall we? Let’s think back to some of the better times. Why, I can remember a time when you and I were practically smitten with one and other. I can remember waiting for the school bell to ring on fridays, knowing later that night you and I would share another magical evening together. It was a time of discovery, a time of experimentation. Those truly were ‘Fridays Without Borders’.

You were the home to those little known television series’ that promised at least one carefully staged sex scene, and a minimum of two pairs of exposed breasts every episode. For a young boy with nothing more than an active imagination and basic cable, it was heaven. The best of the lot, in my memory, was Red Shoe Diaries. Every week, David Duchovny would unveil a new tale of unrequited love and forbidden sexual desire before my young nubile eyes. He taught me more about sex than my own father. This was so long ago, it was before I was able to distinguish between actors on screen and the characters they played. There was a time when I figured that when Mulder was not finding out if the truth was out there, he was answering letters that began with “Dear Red Shoes, I just fucked a french zookeeper in a janitors closet.”

But then, at midnight, when those shows ended, you and I shared our most cherished times. Every week, you would open up the vaults, and share with I and the rest of the country your vast collection of top quality soft core european pornography. I don’t think I ever formally thanked you for those gems, but no thank you would truly suffice for the generosity you showed. I watched you every friday night of my entire teenage life, and not once do I recall seeing the same film twice. I can just picture the basement of your headquarters being endless catacombs full of dusty old VHS tapes, with an old grey haired gatekeeper proclaiming “BEHOLD! The vast annals of european muff! Stare in bewilderment at the failed community theatre actors from across the British isles. Gaze at body hair in places you never presumed it could grow!”

You taught me so much about myself, Showcase. You showed me that the physical expression of love is a beautiful, natural act. Well, most of the time. Sometimes the physical expression of love happens when a man who looks like a romanian Santa Claus foists himself on top of a woman with more facial hair than he has. Regardless, those were teaching years, and through masturbation trail and error, I learned more about myself sexually than I ever would have watching conventional pornography. Some weeks, the sights and sounds pleased me from dusk till dawn. Other times, it was a film where the penis/vagina ratio was waaaaay too lopsided for me to maintain composure. But I did not despair, because I knew my own desires were starting to solidify and become more refined. I became open minded, and proud of my natural urges. I never questioned my sexuality. You questioned it for me, night after night, when I was praying that the next people to have sex on screen would not have been alive when Lincoln was shot.

At a point in my life when I needed a friend, you were there. You may not believe it, but… I love you. I know it is not normal for a man to say he loves a television station, but I think when you go through an entire box of kleenex and two rolls of toilet paper every weekend with one, the label is only appropriate.

But I’m worried about you, Showcase. I checked in on you a little while ago, just to see what you’ve been up to. What I saw in the place of what used to be is a slew of reality shows about the porn industry. I understand your motives, you are trying to compete with the big, bad troublemakers on the internet who are stealing your thunder, and riding the reality tv bandwagon at the same time. Frankly Showcase, you’re better than these shows. Your appeal is your innocence, your knack for not showing us everything all at once. Some of us like to use our imagination, to pretend that the genitals we are not seeing might be our own. The thing that those reality shows do is ruin the mystique of pornography. If you watch enough of them, over time it just becomes depressing. Its like an ongoing documentary about type casted character actors, only instead of “whatchew talkin’ bout, willis?”, its gaping anal cum shots.

The other reason I worry is I don’t think you truly understand the vital role you continue to play in this world. For christ sake, children are watching this, man! You gotta make sure these kids become perverts slooooowly. You can’t reveal everything all at once and ruin whimsy for the people who are just starting to enjoy it. You’ve turned into the guy who rushes the stage at magic shows, pulls open the magician’s jacket and shows the kids where he hides the doves. If you and the rest of the basic cable smut peddlers carry on like this, pretty soon we are going to have a whole generation of kids who will become bored with sex before they even start having it. Without the intrigue and fantasy that late night soft core porn in your pre-pubescence provides, they will all become nothing but joyless, oversexed douchebags. Having “ironic orgies”, buying cockrings at American Apparel, and claiming they liked double penetration “before it was cool”. There is a name for these kind of people, Showcase, and they are called Hipster-sexuals.

But do not misunderstand me, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful. Truly, I thank you for all the great times we have shared together. I thank you for being there for me, when the scrambled Pay-Per-View channels were too jumbled to distinguish between where one body part ended and the other began. And lastly, I thank you for acknowledging the fact that anyone at home watching television on a friday night is only doing so because every other plan they had to have sex that night failed miserably.

– J.D. Renaud

Cunning Boy Detective Elli Pope and the Satchel of Secrets

Word Count – 440

Cunning Boy Detective Elli Pope carried the bag of evidence into the family room and presented it to his mother, who sat on the couch and observed the television with great interest.

“Mother! I have solved the Case of my Toys Disappearing!” Elli announced with the charismatic glee of a seven year old. He wore his Crime Solving Hat – a white bicycle helmet of courage and certainty that he imagined the Hardy Boys would wear as they solved mysteries and if they wore Crime Solve Hats – and Elephant Pajamas of Business.

“Elli, don’t interrupt the teevee,” said Mother.

“Aha! But Mother! In solving this Mystery, I have also unlocked the Truth of Satchel of Secrets in the garbage!” Elli beamed. “In investigating one case, I found them linked and behold: satisfaction!” Elli unwrapped the knot on the bag of evidence and dumped its contents on the ground in front of Mother. His missing toys, filthy and covered in refuse, emerged from the bag like trash emerged from a bag of trash.

“Elli!”

Cunning Boy Detective Elli Pope, recognizing the familiar tone of Angry Step-Father, Criminal Empire Mastermind, dropped the sack of evidence and turned to face him, being completely overshadowed by the villain’s monstrous, adult size.

“I solved the Mystery! Mother must have dropped my toys in there by accident. And then You covered it up!” Cunning Boy Detective Elli Pope accused Angry Step-Father. He pointed his chubby fingers at him threateningly. “You sir, have been defeated by my superior deductive skills.”

“I threw out your toys because you’re too old for them and they’re filthy.” Mother lifted her feet from the ground as a thick liquid cascaded from Elli’s sack.

Elli Pope stood stunned, shocked by Mother’s betrayal. He had read about treason before, but had never imagined it could infect someone as high as Mother. “He’s gotten to you! You’ve become slave to his criminal plans! He means to kill and rob us all!” Elli Pope shouted, dodging Angry Step-Father’s long arm by dropping to the floor and kicking wildly. “And I hate you!” Cunning Boy Detective Elli Pope added for good measure.

Cunning Boy Detective Elli Pope, after being flogged by Angry Step-Father and returned to his room, was flogged again for making long distance calls to Scotland Yard demanding they get off their fannies and rescue him.

————-

Tune in Next Time as Elli Pope solves the Riddle of the Moans of Mystery coming from his Mother’s Bedroom by bursting in and shouting: “What’s all this then?”

© Timothy Legion, 2009

Proposition Nixon – 003

Word Count – 1120

In 1974, after the pardoning of Richard Nixon, an unknown senate delegate proposed a proposition to strike any and all record of the Nixon presidency from public record. Furious anger at the mere proposal of the proposition led floor delegates to add nonsensical and irrational riders to the bill, rendering its passing impossible and irrelevant. For nearly four decades, Proposition Nixon has been the longest running inside joke on the senate floor, with new amendments being added to it to this day. When interviewed, all representatives thought to have contributed to its creation deny any knowledge of its existence, many claiming the pages leaked to the media are fraudulent at best and treasonous at worst.

These are those pages…

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Dear Drunk Guy Who Showed Me His Asshole In Front Of A Liquor Store In May of 2008

Just so you know, I have still not forgotten about you, but whatever point it was you were trying to make about my disdain for whatever nationality you were is still as lost on me now as it was then.

I promise to be nice to everyone forever if you can assure me we will never meet under those same circumstances again.

– J.D. Renaud

Dear Girl In Giant Pants I Saw Fall Down In The Middle Of The Sidewalk While You Were Walking With Your Boyfriend

Word Count – 500

Thank you for making my day just a little more special.

I was in a bit of a bad mood as I was trailing you two down the sidewalk. A little worried about finances, politics, women. General malaise, I guess you could say. Then I saw you, in your tank top and parachute panted glory, fall down in the middle of the street. Hard. You were holding hands with your boyfriend, who was not paying attention and did not catch you. He did not even make an attempt to catch you, as a matter of fact. He was busy staring at a poster taped to a pole for a concert that happened four weeks ago.

I was watching the entire time, but was too far away to have provided any assistance. I walked past you both and attempted eye contact to see if you were alright, but quickly looked away once I heard you two ‘talking’ to each other. You both made a series of groaning noises to signify that the afternoon walk would be temporarily delayed. Instead of moving aside and seeking refuge, you both sat in the middle of the sidewalk and waited out the pain. Your boyfriend actually poked your shoulder to see if it would hurt. Based on your reaction, I assume it did. As he helped you up, neither of you said anything that could be construed as english, but the general attitude from both of you was one of confusion and annoyance. He, for not understanding why the walk suddenly had to interrupted, and you, wondering why your arm, the one he was still holding, suddenly hurt so much for some reason.

In a perfect world, I would like to imagine that neither of you were drunk or high. I would truly love it if you two were merely stricken dumb for your love of one and other, and now require constant supervision from the other in order to survive. Perhaps his less than speedy reaction was attributed to an incident I had not witnessed, such as him walking into a mailbox up the street that you failed to warn him was quickly approaching. I hope this fantasy reality I have created gives you some solace as you continue to shamble your way around this big, crazy world.

One small word of advice before I go. You’re five foot nothing and wearing sandals, do you really think you should be wearing size 62 length pants? They had to have been at least two inches longer than you were from head to toe. May I suggest some casual capri’s, or perhaps a modest seasonal skirt? Unless of course you were on your way to a belated fourth of July celebration (in Canada), and were just about to pick up your stilts and fake beard to complete your Female Uncle Sam Meth Addict uniform, in which case, pay no mind to this comment. I’m apparently just talking out my ass.

– J.D. Renaud

The Placeholder Salutes – I’ve Been To A MARVELOUS PARTY!

Word Count – 330
 
Alright store owners, you can all stop now. The sport of retail naming has officially reached its zenith.
 

 

Glory, I tell you. God damn glory.

I personally can’t think of any better way to name your business than a six word sentence describing in the first person past tense what service it provided once. Top that off with an all-caps closer and a completely unsuperfluous exclamation point, and you’ve just hammered the last nail in the coffin of any and all of your customers’ reservations. All that is left to do after such a brilliant marketing move is wait for the doors to burst open and welcome the rushing hoards of customers crying and violently throwing money at your head.

I hope and pray that other business take note of IBTAMP’s innovation and quickly follow suit, making all of our shopping excursions just as refined and uncumbersome. Might I suggest…

I’ve received a STYLISH HAIRCUT!

I’ve seen many ADORABLE ANIMALS!

I’ve eaten a SPECTACULAR MUFFIN!

I’ve fished with SUPERIOR BAIT!

I’ve had my teeth PROFESSIONALLY CLEANED!

I’ve purchased QUALITY PORNOGRAPHY!

I’ve experienced a THOROUGH DOUCHING!

Can’t you just hear the jaunty and debonair voices of a Noel Coward or a Frasier Crane reverberating in your head as you say those names? I know I do, and I’m sure that is exactly what these fine banquet accoutrement proprietors intended with their moniker.

Our pointy elastic chin-strapped hats are off to you, good sirs. Climb The Highest Mountain, And Punch The Face Of God.

When in Chicago, be sure to visit them for all your marvellous party needs. They’ve all been to at least one, or else they would not have gotten jobs there. A special thank you also goes out to yellowcardigan on twitter for bringing this to my attention. If we ever party together, now that I am aware of your connections, I expect at the very least for it to be somewhat astounding.

Kidz Korner – Richard Nixon

Word Count – 1170

Are your kids waking up screaming every night with nightmares about a 10 foot tall demon with giant jowls and a hell hound named Checkers? Well then sit them on down as we will teach the children of the world all about the glory that was… Richard Nixon!

What is a Richard Nixon?

You may have heard a lot of the kids at school talking about someone or something called “Richard Nixon”. First of all, do not worry. There is nothing to be afraid of. Richard Nixon is dead, and has been dead for almost fifteen years. No matter what the other kids tell you, he can’t get to you. Any of the rumours you may have heard about him stealing children from their beds and forcing them to die in rice patties is only a half truth.

Richard Milhous Nixon was the 37th President of the United States, back when you could still be kind of ugly and wind up being President of the United States. Remember, this was in the 1960s, so even though he may look kind of goofy by today’s standards, most people looked like him back then.

A lot of people did not like Nixon, because they thought he didn’t do a very good job as the president. In fact, he quit the job before his time was up. Not because he didn’t like the job. Oh boy, did he ever LOVE that job! It is hard to explain, but try to think of it this way. If you have a job that you love, but every other person you work with says you stink, it would make going to work every day way less fun, wouldn’t it? These people might even try to get you fired, but before they get to, you yell out “You can’t fire me, I quit!” and storm out of there, confident that you really showed those bullies who is the boss. Way to show ’em, champ! This little scenario brings up two good pieces of advice you should always remember. First, people in glass houses should not throw stones, and second, people who live in houses that are wired for sound all day every day should not talk about illegal activities that they will later try to deny ever having any knowledge of to the House Judiciary Committee.

What did he do as president?

Nixon was the president during the Vietnam war. This was a war between the United States and one really angry guy named Charlie. It is not very well known what Charlie did exactly, but whatever it was, it must have been really bad. Because of the war, lots of people got to take a plane to the jungle where they tried a whole bunch of drugs (which was okay, since there was a war going on), and listened to The Doors over and over and over again (which is never okay, regardless of war). This was a big, scary adventure that Nixon led a lot of Americans into. It was kind of like a big camping trip, only the guide had no idea where they were going, most of the campers did not want to go, and all the owls in the forest had machine guns. Good thing we had bigger guns than the owls did, so we made it out of that adventure a-ok!

President Nixon also had a lot in common with some famous people you might already know about. For example, you know how Santa Claus has a list of kids who are naughty and nice? Well, Nixon had a list like that, too! The only difference was his list was only a naughty list, it was full of grown ups, and instead of lumps of coal, he made sure they had to pay more taxes and would never find out why.

Nixon was also the president the first time man walked on the moon, and would often brag about it like he had done it himself, or actually had something to do with it.

That is really all I can tell you about what he did as president. The rest will have to wait until you are older and are less likely to cry when you hear sad or frustrating stories.

What is a Watergate?

A lot of people talk about something Nixon was involved in called “The Watergate”. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but don’t get too excited. “The Watergate”, sadly, is nothing like a slip-n-slide or any other kind of lawn-oriented water sport. Although, for Nixon, the Watergate was very similar to one of those in many ways. Mainly the part where you go too fast and fly off the end and into your neighbours driveway.

You see, like I said before, Nixon LOVED being the president. In fact, he LOVED being the president so much, that he wanted to be the president for as long as he possibly could. The problem for Nixon was there is a silly law in America that says a person can only be the president for eight years. Even worse, after four years, you have to apply to be the president again. It is kind of dumb when you think about it. I mean, if you drive an ice cream truck, they don’t make you learn how to drive it again and try to get you job back every four years, do they? Of course not. That would be stupid. But wait, think about this! What if there was another guy who wanted to drive your truck? YOUR truck! And this guy, he’s pretty confident that he’ll get your job, and you are convinced that he has a whole bunch of secret plans on how to trick people into thinking that he is a better ice cream man than you. He is being a real jerk about it, too. Really rubbing it in your face. That isn’t fair, now is it? Well, suppose you know where this other guy lives, and you pay a bunch of people to sneak into his house and find out what he knows. It’s only fair, right?

Well, as it turns out… no. Not at all, actually. In fact it is the exact opposite of fair.

The reason Nixon was bad for doing this was because we have to make sure different people get a fair chance to be the president. After a few years, the american people start get tired of seeing the same guy saying the same things over and over, and usually like to see a new person say those exact same things for a few years. If you’re really good at saying the things, then you get to keep the job for the whole eight years. However, if you’re not, its not okay to turn it on the person who wants your job and only talk about how bad they would be at it compared to you. But that’s okay, because since Nixon, no person trying to be president has ever said anything bad about anyone else ever again.

Or at least they’ve known better than to record themselves if they do.

 

Poster by Frank Kozik

 

Proposition Nixon – 002

Word Count – 1140

In 1974, after the pardoning of Richard Nixon, an unknown senate delegate proposed a proposition to strike any and all record of the Nixon presidency from public record. Furious anger at the mere proposal of the proposition led floor delegates to add nonsensical and irrational riders to the bill, rendering its passing impossible and irrelevant. For nearly four decades, Proposition Nixon has been the longest running inside joke on the senate floor, with new amendments being added to it to this day. When interviewed, all representatives thought to have contributed to its creation deny any knowledge of its existence, many claiming the pages leaked to the media are fraudulent at best and treasonous at worst.

These are those pages…

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The Placeholder Salutes – Raymond Scott and Powerhouse

Word Count – 850

Don’t you think its about time you showed some appreciation for the man who wrote the soundtrack to your entire childhood?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tEuwAh3LFvM&hl=en&fs=1&]

Raymond Scott never scored a single Looney Tunes cartoon in his life. It was the wise acquisition of his music by Warner Brothers that would forever bind him to its bevy of colourful, unkillable characters. Scott was more content to create music for its own sake rather than cater it to the antics of an anthropomorphic cross dressing rabbit. His compositions, left in the skilled and able hands of Looney Tunes musical director Carl Stalling, would be reused and interweaved into dozens of popular golden age cartoons. As all this was going on, Scott continued to compose and create, paying little mind to the fact that his music was being drilled into the heads of children all across the world, and would continue to be for generations to come.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8GYChLym_M&hl=en&fs=1&]

Scott’s music has been running through your head all day and you probably didn’t even know it. You’ve had dreams that he was responsible for. You’ve watched strangers walking, working, moving and playing while his compositions played in your head as their unknown accompaniment. His most pervasive and engrossing song was undoubtedly Powerhouse, a three minute salute to mental frenzy, featuring two distinct yet equally engrossing segments. The first, a fast paced running theme, usually invoking images of speeding cars or out of control mass transit vehicles (in my mind, anyway). The second, and probably the better known of the two, is the victory march of the industrial era. The simple jazzy riff that is the sound of all things coming together in a mechanically maniacal fashion. Simultaneously sinister, jubilant, and whimsical, Powerhouse can currently be heard playing on loop inside the head of every productive malcontent on the planet.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti-bpjcPD40&hl=en&fs=1&]

The term ‘brainwashing’ often gets a bad rap, and is seldom used in a positive sense. It is not very likely that you could convince people that having their brains anesthetized by an intoxicating piece of music is a good thing. Even though this was not the intent of Warner Brothers, Stalling, and certainly not Scott, that was exactly what happened with Powerhouse. Hum a few bars of any part of the song, and watch as all those around you smile and nod in recognition.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plVfqsbyAVc&hl=en&fs=1&]

A skilled artists’ endurance is all about audience remembrance. You see it, you hear it, and if it did its job, you will remember it. Decades before advertising firms fought desperately to find the way into the minds of young people, Powerhouse was already settling in for a long stay. While certainly no accident, the pervasive use of the song aided its rise to prominence greatly. However, its catchy hooks were not created by studio wizards, and its repetition was not ushered in by black hearted marketing gurus. Scott, either by chance or wilful desire, was able to find an empty spot in our minds that Powerhouse was meant to occupy. There is a hole in our heads that we fill with the sights and sounds that please us the most, and that give us the most energy. We will often dip into that hole for those little remembered nuggets at the oddest moments, and are never angered or displeased when they suddenly come upon us. Powerhouse is not alone in this category. A special spot in all our heads is likely reserved for this, this, and most certainly this. To assume that getting a song stuck in your head immediately makes said song bad is underestimating the power of the skilled song and dance man.

Powerhouse is the soundtrack to the productive abstract mind. A mind that thinks of things that move and crash and turn and burn and jump and grind and fall. It is not a song for the relaxed or pacified. It begs for visualization, for physical manifestation. The many cartoons it has been featured in are obvious examples of such creation, but the fertile brain sewn with the seeds of Powerhouse can still provide beautiful and unspeakable visions that dare to be usurped. If your child is acting up in school, before turning to ritalin, turn to Powerhouse and hand the kid some crayons. Tell him to go nuts, and say it like you mean it.

For the indelible skid marks it has left on our brains, we at The Placeholder salute Raymond Scott and Powerhouse. Climb The Highest Mountain, Punch The Face Of God.

For more Powerhouse goodness, see the Steroid Maximus garage band version of destruction, maybe my favourite cover of the song to date. Not on youtube, sadly, but it you can preview and buy it here at track 13. Also, the Soul Coughing song Bus to Beelzebub uses the song as its backbeat. Told you it was synonymous with demonic public transportation.