Sunday, February 28, 2010

Genderbending McDonald's

This is a tale of righteous indignation gone horribly awry; perhaps my most repeated state of being. While barely audible, constant, muttered remarks pour out of me like the aftermath of filling the dog’s water bowl with mineral oil (and no doubt just as pleasant to witness,) I rarely throw down, yell or go off on people. When I do, though, it’s usually something to see. The trouble is, I invariably blow my big scene and wind up looking like a goddamned idiot. I’ll scream my final, devastating blast of angry reasoning then storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me only to find I’ve walked into the hall closet with nothing to do but ponder my options. Do I stay there, as though I meant to do exactly that, saving face but seeming peculiar as hell, or do I slink away leaving the target of my fury with the feeling they’ve just had their beads read by a mongoloid? Or I’ll gesture emphatically in mid-argument in such a way that a drinking glass flies out of my hand, sails across the room and strikes a baby square in the forehead, rendering my previous, brilliant line of logic utterly forgotten by the onlookers. (If no baby is in the room the glass will hit and dislodge a supporting bracket from a knick-knack shelf, filling the room with the sound of a padded woodblock arpeggio as an elderly visitor sitting beneath is smacked repeatedly in the head by a falling family of diminishingly-sized wax owls.)

Believe it or not, this is the preferred outcome for those moments when I decide, like a premature ejaculator, to get my panties in a wad. Because my most usual scenario is far more mortifying than accidental injury to the old or newborn: I go off in full-tilt, rant mode--delivering a blistering, gloves-off condemnation of everyone present like a tent show evangelist—only to find there’s been a misunderstanding and what set me off never happened in the first place. Everyone in the room knows what I really think of them and for motherfucking nothing. This is a world in which I cannot exist. I would rather live every day with the fact the shot glass baby will communicate with slurred speech for the rest of its life and that it is entirely my fault, than have my friends know just how shallow I consider them to be. Again, at least without a damn good reason.

Today may have been a turning point; a red-letter day. It came within a fraction of a percentage of a millisecond from turning seriously ugly, but in my world that tiny time slice shows a mature, heretofore unknown restraint. I actually held back in the face of ghastly effrontery and spared the general public from one of my beastly turns. It was such a close call. But, damn it, I did it. Instead of behaving like a turn-of-the-century meths drinker, I actually waited out the portion of a second and got the full facts before responding. I must be getting old.

I went to McDonald’s today for dinner and naturally some yahoo in a canvas shirt with an embroidered name tag was at the head of the line placing a to-go order for his entire work force. This meant that I would be there for some time, so I leaned against a post and wished myself somewhere else. I ignored the two girls in front of me until one of them spoke.

“I mean like, hel-lo? As if he can act his way out of a paper bag?”

It was not a woman or girl at all. It was a teenage gay boy, fourteen or fifteen at the most, who had every sarcastic, drama-infused mannerism and eye roll down perfect. Damn, I thought, this kid is a quick study. Granted, I find these affectations insufferable in anyone over the age of twenty. But it’s the same as it is with the feline population: if my cat sinks its claws into the back of my calf, drawing blood, I will pick her up and bounce her off the corner of the television. If a newborn kitten does the same thing I will cock my head and say Awww. So it was with this teenage gay boy who spoke like a bar-ravaged faggot. His transparently manufactured body language was charming, as opposed to making me want to dash a kiwitini across his face. He was rocking the androgyny look and he was beautiful. Painted-on pants, silky shirt, and carefully-coiffed hair like a trailer park bimbo. I wished I was in high school.

I am insanely jealous of today’s queer kids, who can fly their own freak flag and get by with a snicker instead of a serious beat down. Kids today understand that there are gay students—whether they like them or not—instead of when I was growing up and there was no such thing and anyone whose personality defied this reality got destroyed for their trouble. There were, of course, people in school incapable of hiding their overall gayness. Everyone was their enemy. Especially kids like me, who knew what they liked but could pass as straight by benefit of not lisping or flouncing about. We were the worst: we joined in on the harassment, lest anyone discover our secrets. Watching the young flamer in McDonald’s took me back and hurt me for being such a bastard. I wished, deeply, that I had the chance to be him instead of me.

Cause, fuck, gay kids are taking one another to the prom and still invited to sit at the same table as the straights. They hang out together and no one cares. My friend Becky’s kid, at age thirteen, came out as Bi on MySpace. (It’s my suspicion this is stepping-stone Bi and not real-deal Bi, since the boy is so light in the loafers that he levitates. Time will tell.)

The McDonald’s kid and the girl, whom I’d decided was his sister and not a fag hag owing to their identical teeth, got their food and found a table. Before I was even addressed, the manager came out and spoke to the cashier:

“Was that a boy or a girl?”

A thousand red flags shot out of my pores.

“I dunno,” the cashier said. “I have no idea.”

I could not believe the two of them were discussing this, out loud, in front of me. Yes, absolutely, I could understand their confusion. The kid looked, at first glance, like a female until you noticed the Adam’s apple and newly-post-pubescent five o’ clock shadow. But the voice was clearly screechy, teenage queen with a penchant for convoluted theatrics. No high school girl could ever hope to come across that self-involved.

“I’ll find out,” said the cashier. “Maam? Maam?” the woman shouted across the room, “Was that a boy or a girl?”

Involuntarily, my breath drew itself in with a loud, sucking sound like when Madge the manicurist’s customer discovers her precious fingernails are soaking in Palmolive dish detergent. My brain sputtered and sparked like an electrical outlet being hosed down with cat pee. The intake of breath, I knew, was to insure my forthcoming volley of fury would be received at maximum volume. The problem was that there were simply too many possible responses to choose from:

“Any idiot with eyes could see that was a boy and he is beautiful for being who he is!” Nope, too much like a Catholic priest gone sideways.

“Just what is your motherfucking need to know? You can’t make a hamburger without a chromosome count?” Slightly condescending. Not that either seemed smart enough to pick up on it.

A stolen line that all gays know, somewhat paraphrased: “He’s more of a woman than you’ll ever be and more of a man than you’ll ever get!” This was immediately jettisoned as a possible response owing to its popularity among drag queens. But it did cross my mind.

Instead, I decided to blend all of these elements together, as well as playing the race card. You wouldn’t think, as a white male, I would be able to do this, but the plan sprang, fully formed, in my offended head:

“I would think, Hispanic manager lady and African-American cashier, that you would have some idea of what it’s like to be viewed as different. But no, by calling into question the gender of this beautiful, free-spirited person, you think you get to be one of Us instead of one of Them. Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are?” I know, I know: I might have well been wearing a sheet topped with a Nazi helmet. But from my perspective, so could they.

This is nearly what came blowing out of my mouth, today, in a McDonald’s, in full view of a wall poster featuring the Hamburgler and the Purple Grimace. And some kindergartners and their parents and an obviously gay kid.

Ten years ago it might have happened. I would have raved and ranted and not gone away and the police might have been called. Ten years my ass; how about last week? But somehow, today, there was a newfound delay that hadn’t been there before. Within the space of my outraged gasp I was able to take in what was really happening:

The cashier was calling to another woman entirely, not the gay boy’s sister.

“Was that a boy or a girl?” referred to which Happy Meal box and toy the to-go order should reflect: Hannah Montana or Harry Potter?

The teenage androgen had gone unnoticed and uncommented upon, like any other customer.

The world had changed.

I hadn’t.

Tales From The Bus Part Two

This is me reading a true-life adventure for the never-realized Spookshow In Your Pants Radio Show. I think I did a crappy job; it would have came off much better if I'd just told the story without reading from a script. But Delmer wanted the story so here it is. Background noise is by non-descript.

As usual, click on the title if you want to listen to my devastating impression of a street person.

You're right, I don't think "delusionary" is an actual word, either.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Shaken, Not Stirred

Shoulda put this one several posts down so that it fit in with the whole James Bond vibe I had going on. But this post is sort of personal and has to do with a phone call I had with a friend tonight and that's all I'm gonna say. You're not the only one, honeypot. Everybody feels like that sometimes. Shortest Spookshow In Your Pants song ever and for good reason: if I'm talking about fucking squirrels or corpses I can go on and on but if I have to be real I'll clam up in a heartbeat. Click on the title to listen or save it to your digital scrapbook.


My friend Richard made a hilarious yet informative short film about the funeral business. It's on YouTube in two parts:

Stiffed part one is here.

Stiffed part two is here.

So click on the links, already.

Drug Days

This is from a hopefully, forthcoming book of mostly true stories. We all have our pasts and this was part of mine. I had a fondness for LSD and it took me to some pretty peculiar places. Click on the title if you wanna read about it.


Magazine was a freaking great band and here is their cover of the theme to Goldfinger.

James Bond Theme

Along the same lines, here's Spookshow's take on the John Barry classic. Click othe title to listen or download

Friday, February 26, 2010

Pitch Meeting For Lidsville

"Sid, Marty, great to have you here. Whatya got for me?"
"It's gold. Gold, I tell ya, gold. Imagine this. An entire world populated with hats."
"No, hats."
"I don't follow."
"What's not to get? There's a cowboy hat, a football helmet, an Indian headress...basically any one-dimensional stereotype you can wear on your head. We're calling it Lidsville. Get it? Hats? Lids?"
"You do understand that a 'lid' is a popular drug reference?"
"Don't start that again. We got that crap when we came up with Punfnstuf."
"You mean H.R. Pufnstuf. As in hand rolled puffing stuff. Please."
"We make shows for children. Not stoners. Can we help it if there's a huge crossover market? Hell, that's how Scooby Doo built a fucking empire. They've got a pothead, a talking dog and a goddamn lesbo solving crime. Who wouldn't need a brick of hash to sit through that?"
"Marty, calm down. Look. Our new thing is all about hats. Hats of every imaginable type. They sing, they dance, they fall down. Hilarious."
"Am I missing something? Is there a third grade interest in headgear of which I'm not aware?"
"Look, there's a top hat that sings opera. A straw hat that carries a pig and talks like a hick. A cowboy hat that sounds exactly like John Wayne. It's the goddamn melting pot only with hats. What's not to like?"
"Do people even wear hats anymore?"
"That's beside the point. Everyone knows what hats are. Now they can see them walking and talking and doing pratfalls."
"So if a hat falls off a table it's entertainment?"
"It is if it shoots out a one-liner afterward."
"You should tell him about the boy."
"Right, Sid. So there's this teenage boy, a real kid from the here and now, who gets dropped into this world of hats."
" I see. Another kid wandering around in a land of puppets. You two are a one trick pony."
"No, these are hats. An entirely different animal than Pufnstuf."
"Different how?"
"Well, like I said, they're hats. And the kid is American, not British."
"We're thinking Butch Patrick."
"Butch Patrick. You know, Eddie Munster?"
"God, that show's been off the air for years. How old is he now, sixteen, seventeen?"
"Whatever. The important thing is he's being chased by a gay magician."
"Come again?"
"We thought it would be a good idea to get Charles Nelson Reilly and paint him green."
"Okay, we're not married to it. Blue would work just as well."
"Are you telling me the plot revolves around a green child molester trying to get a teenage boy?"
"You're forgetting about the hats, sir."
"So this kid goes to a magic show and peeps inside the magician's hat. And it, well, grows."
"Frankly, the subtext here is making me kind of sick."
"No, wait. The kid climbs onto the growing hat and falls inside. He wakes up in this world of hats. Living hats. That's Lidsville."
"Yeah, remember? The opera singing top hat?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute..."
"Marty, tell him about the wacky henchmen."
"Oh yeah. The magician has evil henchmen. One is a comical stupid rabbit."
"What's the other one? A goddamn gerbil?"
"Look, you're focusing too much on the homo factor. True, adults find Charles Nelson Reilly absolutely creepy. But to kids he's just silly. They see him as a silly, funny man. Which is why he'd be great as the magician."
"You two were the ones who said a gay magician."
"Well, it is kind of hard not to notice."
"So you've got a green queer, a has-been at sixteen and a bunch of hats. What else?"
"That's pretty much it."
"Okay. Fine. Give me two seasons."

Even It Out

So the crazy landlady mentioned in 'Cat People' and sampled in 'Separation' was too drunk to find the rent check I'd stuck through her mail slot in her 'ortist' studio and was too lazy to sort through her mounds of junk mail that had been piled on top of it since I'd put it there. I'd just landed a new boyfriend, I had a new roommate who was more difficult to live with than Beth; times were just not right for waging a legal battle. Her attorney showed up at the door, I visited him at his office and it was just a nasty time. Eventually she showed up there with the original rent check I'd put through the slot, saying "Whoopsie! Found it!" and her own attorney told me "You know, she's an artist, and there's a fine line between being an artist and being nuts, and I think she's crossed that line." The beginning barrage in this tune consists of telephone calls between me and the crazy landlord arguing about the check, the new boyfriend, the creepy new roomate and the attorney, then launches into a musical interpretation of how my head felt at the time. Even it out, indeed! Somehow I managed to.

Oh yes, the very last part is when I crawled back from a bar, more shitfaced than I'd ever been, and plugged in a mic just to see what would happen. There are healthier ways of keeping the demons at bay but at the time I couldn't think of any.

Click on the title to share or save my lunacy.

Death In The Beanmobile

This is one of the few moments where Spookshow In Your Pants let go of the notion of being regarded as an internationally popular artiste, which indeed we are, but just let down their hair and had some fun. I had watched the Andy Kaufman biopic Man on the Moon, featuring the title song by R.E.M and thought "wouldn't it be funny if the Spookshow sound were used in an R.E.M. tune?" or, along the same lines, "what if R.E.M did a Spooskshow In Your Pants cover?" The notion was too funny to just let sit there, so I banged out this one in an afternoon. Alas, the problem with parody is that it often goes unnoticed. My friend Richard, when he heard this one, said, "Sounds like Lou Reed's New York album." Yep. Exactly what I was going for, and how perceptive of him to notice.

Want some lyrics?

Once there was a man who dressed up like a frying pan
and he drove his magic beanmobile to lower Harlem.
Once there was a girl who let her flappy tits unfurl
and she flapped 'em just like angel wings to lower Harlem.

And we knew the two would meet
And we knew that the two would meet
Yeah we knew that the two would meet
on the street
in lower Harlem.

She descended upon the beanmobile
She descended upon the beanmobile
She descended upon the beanmobile
and she looked pretty pissed.

She used her magic tits to cover up the little slits
where the man could breathe in his frying pan suit.
And he choked and he choked and he choked.
You could hear him choke but she laughed like it was a joke.

This is what the neighbors heard
as he suffocated in his frying pan suit
in the beanmobile
in lower Harlem:

Oh yes, absolutely. Lou Reed. R.E.M. I scare myself sometimes with my awesome talent for osmosis.

Click on the title to listen or (yawn) download.

The Magician and The Gates of Love

Mn, I posted this on facebook but it needs a more permanent home here at Der Spookhaus. Nathan is a friend and fan from Langley, British Columbia and he does music as "The Magician." He's teamed up with the band The Gates of Love and the result is splefindiferous pop magic. To me his sound is a hybrid of The Boy Least Likely To, Throbbing Gristle and The Beatles. This one sounds more like the latter; it's very pretty songwriting and performance. I like it when someone can go weird on one track and total pop accessability on another. This song is called "Take A Trip."

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

I Get A Trick Out Of You

A magic show, Happy Tree Friends style.


Another one playing in heavy rotation here at der spookhaus. Just your average, sensetive, chick-flick kind of love story about a man and his sheep.

Oh My God, Oh My God

Someone got killed and I used an eyewitness sample to build a song around. I'm going to hell.

Click on the title to listen or download.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Plagued By Midgets

I'm not the tallest guy around. I keep meeting up with midgets, or dwarves or little people, depending on your level of political correctness, who want to talk to me. Maybe the mindset is "He's short, he'll understand." I don't know. More specifically, I keep meeting gay midgets, who I assume feel we have something in common on several levels. Just spotted one at Target a few weeks ago. I fled before the inevitable encounter ensued.

Good lord, there is so much queer stuff on this blog I can't stand it. It's not an identity, just something that happened, but when I look over the stuff I've posted it's gay, gay, gay. I'm starting to spook myself.

Anyway, this is a story I wrote about how I keep, against all statistical odds, running up against homo hobbits. Click on the title if you wanna read it.

Poot The Pooter

The thing about doing music is that sometimes you feel like you've done a good job and other times you think you've just phoned it in. I always considered this one a throwaway, but after listening to it again today it stands up better than I originally thought. Not, mind you, to the entire history of music but in comparison to my own body of work.

Click on the title if you want to re-think this with me.

Period Piece

This story rates 100% on the truth-o-meter. Click on the title to re-live my horror or save it to re-live the experience whenever you want.

Love Theme For A Slug

More noise than music. Sam will kill me for daring to impose chord structure on an otherwise jarring piece of random annoyance, but so it goes. Click on the title to listen or save.

Listen To Jesus, Jimmy

This is from Reefer Madness: The Movie Musical and while the whole thing's cool this has to be my favorite bit. Joe pointed out that some of the choreography (how this guy wound up with a wife and kid I'll never know) was taken directly from 'You Cannot Fart Around With Love.' The guy doing Jesus as a lounge singer just nails it. Some of the cleverest lyrics ever. Satan does a spit take. What's not to love?

The New Zoo Revue

So as I kid I was entranced by anything with life-sized puppets. The Banana Splits, H.R. Pufnstuf, Lidsville, and this...the New Zoo Revue. If only sone of the outtakes had made it on air...things might have wound up a whole lot different.

You Cannot Fart Around With Love

Words to live by.


This was back in the synth-rock incarnation of Spookshow In Your Pants, and while my vocals sound like the love child of Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly, I gotta admit I like this tune and even the instrumentation despite all its weedy, faux-industrial hoo-hah. Still, I'd love to do it over in a more contemporary fashion and someday I might. Here's the words, as best I can recall them:

Did you know
where you're concerned
I'm not right and terrified of being burned?
Did you know
inside my head
a crazy fucker butchers all the things you've said?
He tells me
it's all untrue
makes up nasty shit about the things you do.
Sealed up in a box again
Hiding from the real again inside my shell of doom and gloom
Strangling on contrived suspicion
Frightened by a mirage
Put me in a rubber room
Jealousy is based on fear
The strange belief that when you're gone I disappear
Could it be
the voices say
I am one of several whom you treat this way?

Is it me that needs replaced?
Is that what you're searching for in cyberspace?
Answer me!
I swear this oath:
If I find you've lied I'm going to kill us both
Close to cracking up entirely
Insecure and mad and quickly driving off the rails
Scarring up my arms again
Crucified by utterly imaginary nails

Yes, I was well aware there was a Sabbath tune by the same name when I did this. Click on the title to listen or save forever.

Satan Keeps Fucking With My Head Muscle

Had some lyrics once but lost and forgot them. So as usual now it's just a fun thing to listen to with no meaning other than what you bring to the party.
As is our custom, click on the title to listen or download.

Lamb Chops and Jello

This is another ancient one recorded on horrendous eqipment. I like it much better as a piece of songwriting as compared to the way it turned out. Since the recording quality is so crappy, once again I'm compelled to post the lyrics in hopes someone will see what it could have been instead of what it is:

A tiny little dollop of domesticity
can get you all you want
A momentary break in your quest for dominance
A useful little taunt
A glimmer of a hint of a perfect lifestyle
A teasing show of how it could be
Gone would be the squabbles and the slow resentment
Just like on TV
A tiny little dollop of domesticity
Just enough to further the lie
The two of you together on equal terms
Both of you dividing the pie
Secretly you know equality is miserable
What you want is your wil as law
Secretly you know that if you can't have it your way
you'd just as soon not have it at all
You dump the big charade on your unsuspecting mate
You play house not wanting to be rude
"Which one of us is bringing the bread?" you ask politely
then pray for solitude
The lonely cynic sings of how he sees it everywhere
while a nation full of couples scoff
"What a stupid song," they say then go to bed
and think of someone else to get off

Click on the title to listen to this amateurish piece of fluffle or save it to your hard drive.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Meet the Beetles

Where did this story come from? I honestly do not know. I had an alcoholic grandfather, my mom's dad, who would arrive at family functions so shitfaced she wouldn't let him in the house (being like that behind the wheel was fine, just as long he wasn't in our home spoiling the Christian vibe.) When I was four or so he arrived on Christmas eve, and though he couldn't come in, he did drop off a package for me. It was a toy called 'Flea Circus' that featured flea-shaped magnets that could do tricks like clinging to a miniature trapeeze and shit. Somehow that got extrapolated into this story, worlds removed from what really happened but that's how writing fiction works most of the time. Click on the title to read.

Fanatacism and Ignorance

This one's not exactly burdened with sonic detail but sometimes it's fun just to rock out. I threw this together in a couple of days---I mean, I carefully crafted it in an expedient manner. Yeah. That's what I meant.

Click on the title (containing the two hallmark elements of my upbringing, which is why I'm so fun to be around today) in order to listen or download


Another, kind of drony, Spookshow In Your Pants song. Towards the end it features a vocal sample from the crazy landlady I wrote about in 'Cat People'. Click on the title to listen or download.

At Last The 1948 Show

This was the precursor to Monty Python and featues John Cleese and Marty Feldman. I find it about a thousand times funnier than the studio audience; something about this skit just cracks me up every time. There's a very specific spot in my vast array of what I find funny this bit hits and few other things strike that particular target.

Bowie's In Space

Another classic from Flight of the Conchords.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

The Green Police They Live Inside Of My Head

Here's a true story about life and work as I live it. Autobiographical raps, bring the rhymes! (Click on the title to read it.)

The Apple

Bryan had a movie review website I was going to write for but he got offered bigger bucks to do the same thing for a local TV station. I don't blame him in the slightest for going for the gold; it's just my style of yammering won't play with the 'look how much we care' media lapdogs. So instead, I'll post some of the reviews I wrote for him here on Der Spookhaus. Funny, this never-realized column was the first incarnation of what you're looking at now. This particular review was to be the first for Bryan (a/k/a Dr. DVD) so I guess it will be the first one I'm putting up here. Click on the title to read the review; below you can watch the original 1980 trailer.


This is a very old song I've never been able to finish. I wrote one bit of lyrics for part of it:

Yeah I'm the one who gets kissed
But I'm still last on your list
No I won't cry or get pissed
Or make some cuts on my wrist

You're disenchanted
I swear to you I haven't changed at all

...and that was it. Can't come up with the rest of it. I think it's doomed like most of the others to remain an instrumental. Click on the title to listen or DL.

If First-Time Exploration Was Better Than It Was

A very short, fairly new story. A bit more pervy than some, not as much as others. It's about the teenage fumbling we'd all like to forget. As usual, click on the title to read it.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Loss (Live at the R.I.P. Club, May 1995)

Another mouldy oldie (which cannot be said for Glen because my friend was cremated and his ashes got divvied up in little cobalt blue jars, which do not moulder nor stink.) This one was composed, performed and recorded the day he snuffed it and done in one take. One of the coolest things I've ever done from a creative standpoint. He had a thing for dogs. Click on the title to listen or download.

Oops, don't wanna be a liar. Other stuff was added to the track later.

Sleep In Heavenly Peace

I know, the title sounds like a Christmas story. And it's set at Christmastime and involves the usual let's all get hardons over the baby Jesus imagery, but still. I want to hope this one transcends all the holiday flapadoodle and just speaks of what it means to be human all year round. Click on the title to read or save it.

Friday, February 19, 2010

You Have Questions, I Have Answers

Apparently certain people want to ask me questions. Instead of going through Facebook you can email them to me directly at if you want to get involved. I'll be glad to answer them on the blog. This first one comes from (name and email witheld upon request) and wants to know: "If you masturbate, what magazines do you do it to?" Yowza. Not where I ever intended this place to go. But click on the title if you really want to see this. And please send along your hopefully more innocent questions. Or not.

Oh yeah: any guy who says he doesn't spank it is either lying or can't get it up.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Go Away, I'm Busy Seeing Ghosts

I mentioned in my post about the Spookshow In Your Pants cover In The Hall of the Mountain King how I was a big fan of The Electric Light Orchestra. That one was my own take on a piece they'd covered but hopefully sounded worlds apart from their version. Go Away, I'm Busy Seeing Ghosts is a deliberate attempt to recreate the synth style/sound of their keyboard player, Richard Tandy, especially from the On The Third Day album. I put it in a (barely) contemporary context, but still tried to make it sound like it was the late seventies and Tandy was playing three keyboards at once. Click on that lovely key lime pie-colored title and listen or download.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


We here at Huffco are so committed to our product line that we are reproducing a page from our competitor's catalog just so you can compare for yourself which concern has the more useful merchandaise. Click on the green title to see a list of items immediately available for shipping. We guarantee, you'll be grabbing for your credit card so fast your wallet will leave scorch marks trailed across your buttocks.

Ikea Lamp Commercial

One of the best commercials ever aired. Directed by Spike Jonze.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Another Snow Day!!!

God has spread his mighty buttcheeks and shat frosty fun all over Columbus. I don't have to work again. So, another drawing from years ago when I wanted to be a cartoonist:

Warm Feelings

Tor once commented on my music and said "You go through a period of doing what you do and then you hit a whole new plateau where everything changes." This song was certainly such a watershed moment, as the whole Spookshow sound changed and everything I've done since has been completely different than what had gone before. I do miss the old days of writing actual songs with lyrics, but sometimes the music speaks louder than anything I could express in words. This one references all the shit I can't bring myself to talk about, at least outside of close friends. Click on the title to explore your options.

Square Danse Macabre

Another one from the vaults (this time, quite literally.) Wretched, wretched vocals and production values but still, I think, a fun song containing all the political correctness you've come to expect from Spookshow In Your Pants. Click on the title to hear or save it.

Mn, the sound quality is so lousy, mabe I better post the words:

(Spoken:) I don't buy your life-oriented morality. I despise your necrophobic view of romance. I just wanna go down. Down. Down. Down to the zombie square dance.

Dig me up a teenage redneck drunk driving statistic
Take me to the hoedown of the dead
Find a pretty carcass with a thing for boys and lipstick
Take it home and throw it's ass in bed
That's what it wants
That's what it wants
And the little dead thing with the cute butt crawls from the wreckage of the crashed Corvette
And the little dead thing with the cute butt ain't going back to the grave just yet
And the little dead thing with the cute butt wiggles it and lights up a cigarette
'Cause the little dead thing with the cute butt wants to be somebody's pet
Necromantic love child
Happy that it died
When you spread for the dead there's maggots in the bed but you feel all sanctified
You can get your butt greased by the recently deceased and you're so damn glad you tried
When you're sick of all the giving and you're fed up with the living and you got no soul inside
It'll taste kind of funny but eventually Honey you'll swallow formaldehyde
Necromantic love child
Toll the fucking bell
Cause a laddie or a lass with a decomposed ass ain't never gonna kiss and tell
And the dear departed ain't never done farted that's just the way they smell
Throw down
Go down
Hump that corpse!
Necromantic love child
Hear the angels sing
When you wanna get laid with the partially decayed there's nothing that you need to bring
When you're working up a lather with a cute cadaver just fuck 'em till you squirt their spleen
'Cause playing it safe with a little dead waif is so goddamn boring
Ain't no dead lover ever made you wear a rubber on the end of your little dead thing
That's what they want
That's what they want
That's what they want

So there ya go. Just your average, bi-sexual, necrophilla-themed pedophile love ditty. Why I'm not on the radio remains a mystery.

Every Time A Dog Barks

Sam shot me an email and said "What are you doing? Dusting off the oldies? (The worst possible job at the nursing home.)" I guess I am these days. This song, for all it's weedy, Gary Numan synth meandering, does have a strong emotional attachment for me. The giggling man you hear is Tor, who was visiting and reading the National Lampoon Cartoon Book, and I let the tape roll just to capture his merriment, a rare thing in those days because Glen was about to die. The song itself just sort of stops without a real ending, plus I was ignoring guitars back in those days. Still, I like it for what it is so here ya go. Click on the title to listen or download.

Monday, February 15, 2010


Gigantopithecus is a truly remarkable local band. One guitarist, one drummer, that's it, but they can sound like a huge band backed by a symphony orchestra. I heard their music from blocks away (they were appearing at an oudoor concert) and as I approached I kept wondering, "Is someone playing a cello? Oh, it's a band with a cellist. Oh, it's a band with a full string section. Jesus, how many guitarists does a band fucking need? What is that?" and was blown away to discover this massive sound was only two people. Nick and Colin are technical virtuosos; the playing was just amazing. Plus at first I thought Nick was a woman. There is nothing hotter than that sort of confusion. The video really doesn't do them justice, but it does feature a surprise walk-on cameo.

Click on the title to go to their myspace page. Be sure and check out Untitled 1 and Untitled 2. Yummy, delicious and dreamy music. (Untitled 2 is especially lickable.) Thing is, when you listen to this you'd think they'd filled up 48 tracks but those boys can do it live. You watch their set and you just want to puke with jealousy. Absolutely incredible.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Pedro Wants A Buddy Boy


Another true story about Todd and I working in the lab in Cincinnati. Click on the title to read it.

Tales From The Bus Part One

I first thought of this as an idea for a book, then as a segment on the Spookshow In Your Pants Radio show (click on the title to hear the theme song.) Essentially, it's true stories overheard or experienced while using public transportation. Here's one that happened not too long ago.

I was on the bus and a young couple was sitting behind me. The girl was crying.

She: It's just you're so...distant.
He: What?
She: Distant.
He: Whatever the fuck THAT is.

The Difficult Listening Show

This is a concert by the noise super-group Vulnavia, consisting of members from Spookshow In Your Pants, Non-Descript, Louisiana Crunch Cake, Synthetic Sound and Pubic Jaz. This band is jarring, edgy and entirely fictional. What you get here is all of our stuff chopped and re-cut and layered on top of one another. It's taken from sessions where Spookshow In Your Pants and Non-Descript jammed with Pubic Jaz, Louisiana Crunch Cake rocked with Non-Descript in my living room, Spookshow played with Non-Descript and so on and so on. But we were never all together in the same place at any one time. Hell, Synthetic Sound hasn't collaborated with any of us.

But I slapped all of our stuff together and created the entirely fake band, Vulnavia. It's noizy, harsh and rough. Left to our own devices we'd all do entirely different things, but mashed together this is what you get. Click on the title to listen (you can download, but at 18 minutes it's a huge honking file.)

The Merry Nun

Here's a little insigght into the creative process. I did this song about five years ago but never finished the lyrics. A half a decade down the road; same thing. I think it's a good idea, but apparently not good enough to bother going through with. The plan was for me to sing the song from the point of view of a woman, but obviously using my male (?) voice. Here are the lyrics I wrote but never finished:

I was ugly I was plain
my social options down the drain
A girl like me just had no chance
at getting some hippie boy in her pants
Thanks to the church it turned out nice
at 21 I'm a bride of christ
Sexually I'm finally free
O lamb of god I come to thee

I'm the merry nun
I'm the merry nun
God bless you everyone
I'm the merry nun

Holy water douche and douse
a nail scarred hand stuck down my blouse
If it slipped too far there'd be no hope
that's why I gotta rope on my plastic pope.
Every Easter, mercy me
My palm splits through like a big pussy
I snuggle up with the son of G.
and jerk him off horizontally.
I fill it up with lotion--Jergens
crank the iPod to Christian dirges
give him just what he's been urgin
Shame his sisters and his mom are virgins.

I'm the merry nun
I'm the merry nun
God bless you everyone
I'm the merry nun

(Right before the tune goes into the funk thing, a spoken vocal would say:) Oh,and he's really into 70's porn.

A strap-on up that holy butt
or stuck inside a Centurian's cut
Sword wound? So? He's got no pride
Talk about getting some on the side
Instead of jiz he spurts out wine
A parlor trick that's mighty fine
Skinny white body yet from Palestine
He's an anorexic borderline.

It's kinda funny how things ended up.
(this would be a refernce to how musically the refrain from the SSIYP song of the same name comes into play)

Healed my gash like I was a leper
No monthly blood just Dr. Pepper
Gave him praise as well as head
I hear five thousand have been fed.
Moving in to my convent digs
Double cheese pizza but please, no figs
Cast my period into a herd of pigs
It's a HIStorectomy-- no stirrup rigs!

I'm the merry nun
I'm the merry nun
God bless you everyone
I'm the merry nun

Ok, maybe one of thse days I'll actually finish it. Til then, good luck singing along. Click the title if you wanna try. 'Cause, yeah, it's kind of fun as an instrumental.

The Best Song Ever Written

Fuck Mozart, fuck Elvis, fuck The Beatles, fuck Spookshow In Your Pants. (Actually, I wouldn't mind fucking Gigantopithecus.) The greatest pop song in all of music is living in our time thanks to Flight of the Conchords. Click that play button and be a part of history.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

We Hate You

If you read my story 'Cat People' on this blog, you'll have a good idea of the circumstances surrounding this recording. I'd put together a music thingie incorporating generic samples supplied with the sequencing program Acid and a few of my own, then Beth came in and played piano overtop. She really, really polished the turd. I played additional keyboards but this wouldn't be worth posting were it not for her contribution. Click on the title to listen or download

Rainbows Too

Legendary Pink Dots has been my very favorite band since 1986. The band has an interesting historical repeating pattern: they put out something groundbreaking, tragedy strikes and a band member leaves and they're forced to reinvent themselves. They go through a period of putting out interesting, but fumbly music while trying to figure out where they're going and then the spark ignites and they do something topping everything they've done before. Wash, rinse, repeat. Good news: They're back in their genius phase.

Here Comes The Mole

Another, older, Spookshow In Your Pants track. I am especially proud of the vocals in this song as they have been compared in the mainstream press to Justin Timberlake, Luciano Pavarotti and Frank Sinatra. Of course, there was that one article that described my singing as "a weed whacker shoved down some guy with a cleft palate's throat" but there's always bound to be one critic. Fourtunately the instrumentation, performed with a pawn shop keyboard on a four-track cassete recorder alongside a toy sampler, overcomes any vocal shortcomings. Clickety-click on the title to listen or download.

The ChaCha Puddlewinks Diet

Seriously. You eat nothing but this and the pounds melt off. Click the title for details.

A Conflict Of Interest

Another Spookshow In Your Pants oldie, but one of my favorites (aside from the clunky-ass drum machine.) No guitars, just pure synth deliciousness. Or weediness, your choice.

As is our custom, click on the title to listen or download.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Making My Living In Sandy Land

This is a story about how I can't keep a job and how Sandy Duncan is to blame. Click on the title to read it.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Those Wacky Magicians, Pt. 1

The first of a hopefully continuing series of helpful news articles about real-life magicians and the stories behind their worlds of wonder. Click on the title to be informed.

The Sentimental Nose Affection of Amsterbury Lane / Tammy

Starts with a plane crash. Moves into driving synths. guitars and subliminal spoken word samples. Bela Lugosi shows up. Unliscened samples from Mary Poppins are brought into play. Morphs into a punk/dance recreation of Debbie Reynolds' Tammy. But of course. Another natural progression from your friends at Spookshow In Your Pants. Click on the title to hear or download.

The Great Flydini

Steve Martin's awesome magic act.

The Hall of Douchebags

"Professor! Something's gone horribly wrong with the Liberace Virus experiment!"

Just another hilarious example of a picture and caption from Rock and Roll Confidential's genius idea The Hall of Douchebags. Thousands of pictures of amateur bands from across the country supplied with captions from web-surfers who know lame when they see it. Sadly, this great feature discontinued in 2006 but the archives are still just as funny. Click the link or title to go there

Top,middle cage: Is it my imagination or does that guy have a boner?

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Drunky is a 2002 flash cartoon that is still one of my favorite things I've ever seen on the net. Just click on the title to either watch it or save it on your puter to love for ever and ever.

The toon was created by Aaron Augenblick of Augenblick Studios, who has gone on to better things as an animator and is doing great work for TV and movies. You can view a lot of his stuff (including a preview of a new Drunky short he's doing for television) at

What, Again?

The neighbors are pounding on the walls because I simply cannot stop yodeling. Going to bed.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I Like Food

Man, I am so lucky to live in a place where I can get any kind of food I can think of delivered to my doorstep. Right now I'm chowing down on a P.J.'s Fat Cat (two hamburgers, french fries,lettuce, onion mayo and ketchup all crammed into a sub bun.) All of Columbus is locked down and snowed in but the food delivery folks are out in full force. Chinese, Japanese, Italian (not just pizza, the full range of pasta dinners, stromboli, rolls, etc.), chicken, fish, Indian...I can get it all with a phone call and a few places also deliver beer and cigarettes. It's a wonder I don't look like pancake batter spreading when I sit down.

Click on the title to hear Krista Ravengael's great song of the same name. Or go to her website for more:

Disappearing Act (original)

Ok, because people have sent me facebook messages owing to my post about the remix, here's the original Spookshow In Your Pants version of Disappearing Act. Contrast, compare, discuss.

As usual, click on the title to listen or download.

Bar Patron

Here's a skit from the yet-to-be-realized Spookshow In Your Pants Radio Hour podcast. Joe Blankenship ranted and free-formed, I edited it and added sound effects. Click the title if you wanna DL or listen.

Snow Day

Ah, a free day off from work due to gobs of ice and slush. Thanks, Mother Nature!

Here's a couple of cartoons I did as an urchin. They date from around 1985, I think. They would have been lost forever but someone kept them, scanned them and sent them back to me years and years later.