"a few words from your lord and master"
by scott crawford
we'll open this month with a contest of sorts. tonight, it occurred to
me that i'd been living blindly, without questioning my surroundings on
a certain issue, so rather than hauling my ass out onto the web for an
answer to this, i'm leaving it up to you, the readers (all 3 of you who
read my columns) to answer it. remember the late 1980's-early 1990's new
york hardcore group, gorilla biscuits? WHAT THE HELL IS A 'GORILLA
BISCUIT'?!?!?!?! please email your answers to
sdcrawford@earthlink.net, and
the winning answer will get...something. i dunno what.
now, as the three of you who read my column might remember (if you don't
sniff TOO much glue), last year, i did the collector times holiday gift
guide. this year, when that magical time came around, i pre-empted any
attempt sheryl was going to make to enlist me with a profanity-laced
tirade, where i think i might've even name-dropped cthulu. if not, i was
thinking it. anyway, as much as i may try, i can't avoid the stain of
the holidays entirely (being in retail will do that to a person), so i
figured i'd contribute something holiday-like. hopefully, in the
interest of selfless gift-giving, some of y'all will open your hearts,
minds, and wallets, and fill some of these meager requests.
scott crawford's christmas list:
a home somewhere other than new jersey. this place is getting kind
of stale.
some broad who can take care of the old man, since it's obvious to
me that my fiancee's betrayed our sacred trust for some dude that looks
like spider jerusalem. ;)
a major label recording contract that pays me a shitload of money
in exchange for my soul and any semblance of a calm, quiet life i have
left.
the entire recorded output of marc almond on cd, with the
exceptions of soft cell's "non-stop erotic cabaret" and "non-stop
ecstatic dancing", and his solo efforts "open all night", "enchanted",
"mother fist", and "slut" (his collaboration with j.g. "foetus"
thirlwell). especially high on the priority list here are his marc and
the mambas records "untitled" and "torment and toreros", and his solo
record "the stars we are".
a sheet of acid.
a teleporter.
an intern.
the rest of the all-star comics, adventure comics, world's finest,
more fun comics, all-american comics, sensation comics, and phantom
stranger vol. 1 runs.
rollergirl.
the institution of a worldwide "naptime", that can be called
whenever necessary.
venom. yeah, the actual comic book character venom. it's not a
sexual thing, i just think it'd be cool to hang out with the dude.
a solar powered, Y2K-compliant autosuck.
a really nice robe and slippers, so i can walk outside my house
daily, and say "hey you kids, get off of my lawn!" in the height of
fashion, even when there are no kids around.
a performance by slayer on new year's eve 1999-2000. seems to me
like a perfect way to ring in the new millenium.
an advanced, flawless, yet incredibly simple to use brainwashing
technique that makes anyone who calls me at work who's a complete and
utter idiot magically forget my phone number. must work on telemarketers
as well.
diplomatic immunity.
four fried chickens, and dry white toast.
a complete wardrobe of metallic neon green vinyl clothing.
did i mention the autosuck?
a habitrail to live in, in my new home city. lots of tubes and one
of those cool red plastic wheels that my feet won't get stuck in. make
sure you buy a few extra water bottles for it, too, because i LOVE
chewing through those friggin' things.
someone to convince mumia abu-jamal to call rage against the
machine "a bunch of spoiled, corny suburban crackers" before he's
executed. send your letters requesting this to mumia now, they're
bumping him off soon!
the movie "the last american on virgin", dvd format, preferably
with a dvd player to watch it on, although i'd actually buy a dvd player
if i could get it.
every episode of the cartoon "pingu". that pingu, he's a bad
mutha...
the implementation of the irc "/ignore" command in real life.
"have a nice day" by mick foley, since, although i haven't looked,
i'm sure every place in the country's out of it right now.
a box of crayons.
a permanent, natural white streak in the middle of my head of hair.
a 4 player cocktail table warlords arcade machine.
a titty bar of my very own.
new sweaters for all of my teddy bears, and a teddy bear hospital
that does good work for one of them in particular. (wow. titty bar.
teddy bear. similar, but different.)
a few midgets, preferably ones with nothing against being used as
ottomans.
a lifetime supply of all 4 monster cereals, including new batches
of FRUIT BRUTE!
and finally, my birthright: power. supreme, total power. limitless.
boundless. the ability to create, destroy, give life, or take life from
anything or anyone. the merging of my consciousness with all of reality
to mold it in my twisted image. children slaughtered in the streets in
my name. adults devoting their entire lives to being my worker drones,
with no reward or rest in sight except for their death, which will not
happen until i say they're ready to die. in short, complete dominance
over every living and non-living thing in this pathetic, accursed,
decaying universe. oh, wait, did i mention the autosuck yet?
werd.
-s
Scott Crawford can STILL be reached at sdcrawford@earthlink.net, or, if
you're feeling especially daring and your mommy and daddy say it's ok, go to
and visit his home on the web.