11.17.07
It appears I now have a new blog!
How do like them apples, Chollie? I hope you
like 'em rotten, 'cause that's how my mamma
done taught me! Hee-yuck indeed.
10.24.07
Whoops indeed!
It looks like I've sadly and quite
deliberately neglected my once beloved and prize-winning (4th place
at the 1998 Laurie, Missouri Hillbilly Fair) website. Now
he's a shadow of his former, cleaner self, left to wander the dank-dark
streets in nothing but a soiled nightshirt and a copy of Kipling's
Just So-So Stories for sustenance. Truth is, I've been far too
busy livin' life (ha! you call THIS livin'?!?)
and doodlin' doodles to update my sad-sack of a site on
more than a biyearly basis. Wait, what does biyearly
mean? Twice a year? Is there a phrase for "every two-to-two-and-a-half
years"? That's what I'll work on next! I'll
put that on my ever-expanding (don't say it) to do list
(not to be confused with my Toto
list, which involves me growing a mustache, gaining
70 lbs and losing all interest in music)
right after finishing my children's books, working on an
animated pilot, updating and rebuilding my site,
moving to Portland, finding a cure for ABS
(see below) and dislodging the sticky half of a purple-flavored
lolly that's been gumming up my coonskin cap ever
since Dan
Fogelberg broke up.
If you're at all curious to know just what in the gawldum
I've been spending all my dingdang time on, you can see
some of it (not ALL of it... not until you're 12) here
and the rest of it here!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Robert
Wyatt COMICOPERA, Kevin
Ayers THE UNFAIRGROUND,
Euros Childs THE MIRACLE INN, Augie
March MOO, YOU BLOODY CHOIR, Kaizers
Orchestra EVIG PINT. Well, at least my taste in music
hasn't changed since the last update... just like my fused-on britches,
hee-yuck!
Recommended viewing: Amish
nicknames! Now you know why all your bearded buddies
in buggies call you Piggy Amos and NOT Pud
Sam! After all, SOME names are sacred,
brother.
6.7.05
Well it
worked.
I set out to finally accomplish something
in my life, which ironically is exactly what did me in. The disease what
took my last gasp from me was Advanced Britt's Syndrome.
The funny thing is, it was the first time I had ever been
labeled "advanced," but somehow it didn't feel
as good as I had always imagined. The symptoms
of Advanced Britt's Syndrome are rather vague and ambiguous,
as was my actual cause of death. ABS can strike
at anytime and at any age and the signs aren't always easy
to detect in it's early stages. Some of the telltale signs
of ABS are:
- drowsiness or severe hyperactivity
- lack of desire to lift a finger
- dry mouth when eating saltines
- sensitivity to sunlight and advice from loved ones
- mouth sores, unexplained fits or convulsions, hallucinations or depression,
repeated miscarriages, and unexplained loss of limbs
- livor mortis, decomposition and a slight rotting odor
Now that I am no longer among the living, my
perspective on life has changed dramatically. The little
things in life that I used to waste my time worrying over
(making a name for myself, making a sandwich for myself), no longer
seem to matter. I've achieved immortality by being the
first on my block to perish from acute apathy and having
an illness named in my honor. From now on the wind will sweetly
whisper "Britt" whenever someone yawns or decides
to simply "give up." Who knew being a bum
could pay off so handsomely?
And you know what? The afterlife... it ain't so bad.
It IS a lot more work than I had anticipated however. I
mean, there are hundreds if not billions of ghosts
here and the queue for the only internet-ready TRS-80
can take ages! We all have our specific places
to haunt and people to scare, but most of the spirits I've met
have been pretty solid... er, as solid as an apparition
can get.
The
thing that really steams my sheet is that a lot of the
phantoms haven't been pulling their own weight lately.
I mean, just this week alone I've had to spook six houses,
frighten numerous farm animals, move furniture,
hide keys and personally burn images of religious
icons into dozens of edible, eBayable items. I'm
only responsible for haunting four miles of hiway along
the Tennessee border (you know, the spot where those eleven
school busses collided with thirty eight nuns
back in 1978), but apparently my roommates never bother
to even check their "to do" lists! If there is one thing I can't
stand is a lazy specter. It seems as if A LOT of poltergeist's
in my complex are suffering from Advanced Britt Syndrome.
HA! Who says "you can't bring it with you?" Even
in death I'm still effecting/infecting people's lives.
Take THAT Casper
(the dead baby), you lifeless slacker!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: The
Low Tones TIGER VERSES, Damien
Jurado WHERE SHALL YOU TAKE ME?, Chocolate
U.S.A. ALL JETS ARE GONNA FALL TODAY, Irving
GOOD MORNING BEAUTIFUL, Flamin
Groovies SUPERSNAZZ. Well, at least it's better than watching
UPN.
Recommended viewing: Tremble.com
Todd Levin is a much more talented writer and quite possibly
a better human being than I'll ever hope to be. Quit reading my tripe and
head on over to the funny. He has a beard!
4.04.05
You know what
I've been doing? Wondering?
Well, YES as a matter of fact, I HAVE
been wondering! Wondering how it is that one is
lucky enough to get a "disease" named
after them. Talk about achieving ultimate immortality
through mortality! I mean, Buddy Parkinson
COULDN'T have been the first person to invent Parkinson's
(same goes for Sue Ellen SARS, Charlie Cancer &
Heinz HoofenMouth!). What did they call it before he went and slapped
a patent on it? The Shakes, the Willies, the Shaky
Willies (weren't they a jug band from the Ozarks
circa Sheriff Andy Taylor)?!?
And what of Lou Gehrig and his famous homerun
winningest disease, named after a man who could barely
catch a bus let alone an epidemic? Oh
sure, you COULD call it "Amyotrophic Lateral
Sclerosis," but that just ain't got the same kinda zip
and/or zing that sells racehorses to crippled
monkey's, Johnnie!
Here I thought I'd have to slave away all the
livelong day like some poor sap, just to make somethin'
of myself... when the answer to fame, fortune and your
name printed (in boldface, mind you!) in ALL the
medical books from Poughkeepsie to Prague
was always within grasp! GASP! It's (the answer to the
question you forgot to ask) so close, I can ALMOST taste
it, in fact, it's on the tip of my tongue
(the very one I've been using to type this sordid tale)!
Rather than have ol' Doc Spots take a look at said spots
on yonder tongue, tonsils and tuchas,
I think what I'll do is wait for my brand new as-yet-to-be determined
illness take the ghost from me (soda speak), give
my killer a name (so similar to mine that
the difference isn't even worth mentioning), market it
(with a few carefully selected celebrities
and hundreds of sad children's faces -all
CGI mind you), sit back and let the sweet dough roll in.
Forget art! If Blood
is the New Black, then Advanced Britt's Syndrome
is the New
Coke (let's just hope it catches on/spreads
a bit faster)!
CeeDees currently in
the S.britt jukebox:
Little Wings/Lee Baggett HARVEST JOY/OCTOBER SKETCHES, Beck
GUERO, The Decemberists
PICARESQUE, Gruff
Rhys YR ATAL GENHEDLAETH, Vivian
Stanshall SIR HENRY AT RAWLINSON END. Let us discover the significance
of music and the joy of life!
Recommended viewing:
Death Becomes You (in keeping with the above-mentioned "disease
theme"). Have a sweet
tooth? Consider yourself a sweet
heart? Got chocolate 'on
the brain'? Well look no further my Valentine's/Halloween
combining friends. This site has every organ covered in rich, creamy milk
chocolate (nuts are extra, I assume)!
12.13.04
Dearest friends
and family of the S.britt.com,
First off, please allow me to humbly and sincerely ask your
forgiveness for my appalling lack of communication
over the past few months. You see, I have been unable to effectively correspond
with the "outside" world due to the severe
lack of internet availability and/or ham radios here on the island
of Borneo.
Just knowing that I have been in all your waking thoughts
and collective prayers, surely warms even the
tiniest cockle in my occasionally-beating,
occasionally-bleating billy
goat transplanted heart. Bahhhh...
Having failed at nearly every task I've ever
attempted (failure is the ONE category where I've always been deemed highly
successful!), whether it be drawing,
writing, bathing, or spinning flexi-straw's
into gold, I decided to quit while the going was bad
and getting worse. Being at the bottom
of my game for low so many years, I realized that the ONLY
way out was
up and by up I mean out!
As in OUT of these United States and UP, up and away to
the carefree, nonjudgmental islands of beautiful & bellicose Borneo
(just 5 miles east of New
Jersey, as the crow flies).
Making my way through Sabah and Sarawak (the sweetest conjoined twins this side of Siam!), I took a fairly frantic ferry (manned by former fairy, Father Ferdinand Farley the IV) to the balmy, botanical sewage-lined shores of Southern Borneo. I don't know if you've ever been personally greeted by hundreds of surly, gun-wielding Orangutan's on horseback, but I for one was utterly thrilled (and yet mildly indifferent) to see them! Having grown up an ardent fan of the "Planet of the Apes" syndicate, I half-jokingly demanded to be immediately taken to their leader, Moses. Well, I don't need to tell you (but I simply MUST!) that I was beyond bewildered to discover that not only did they NOT understand my amazing grasp of six-grade remedial English, but apparently they had never read from, nor heard of the "Gospel According to Heston!" What type of primordial godless island inhabitants had I encountered? What had I gotten myself into? Why couldn't I read their unintelligible subtitles??? It was at times like these that I WISH I were more smarterest!
I knew right then and there that I had but one option at hand, to take these primitives to school S.britt-style! If I could teach them nothing else, I had to convince them that their age-old traditions and beliefs were just that -archaic and stupid! Get with the program, Ook Ook, before the future refers to you as the Land That Time Forgot (save for all the really cool dinosaurs and slipshod 1975 special effects)! So I rolled-up my velveteen knickers and began with the basics. I first destroyed all their dungy idols, burnt all their temples to the ground (then salted the earth, so that nothing good could come from it) and personally soiled every sheet on the island (for good measure and a lasting impression). I then began to expel demons (i.e. cash, credit cards, false teeth, etc.) and the rest of their personal belongings to further impress upon them the doctrine according to S.britt (that they were too childish to own such nice things). Finally, I wowed them by comparing their crude, rudimentary cave paintings to my even more primitive, yet "extreme outsider" self-proclaimed "art" work. They were both astonished and bored by my use of cutting-edge technology to produce such yawn-inspiring pieces as my coloring book, vinyl stickers and various prints (using inks extracted from local island berries, such as the regional Malaysian Ce Em Wy Kay bush). Some villagers where frightened by my unmistakably awesome powers and tried to convince others that I was not only sent by the Devil, but also a close personal friend of Randy Quaid (as if there is any discernable difference). I quickly dispelled such rumors and wild accusations by explaining that the devil was created in 1956 by the Wilt Dizzy Corporation as a tax write-off and I've never had a close friend in my life! I rest my case, your honor.
Yes, it took some time for the simple folks (read: mossback's, dirt people, gypsies) of Borneo to welcome me into their flock, fully embrace my ideals & philosophies as TRUTH and print my likeness on their $5 trading beads, (which I was told read: "In Britt We Trust... well, sort of") but if you ask me (not them), it was well worth the wait! Apart from coming in fourth in the coveted "Ms. Borneo Beauty Pageant vs. Greased Havalina" contest, another added perk of being revered as a god was that each and every family in the village kindly offered me their daughter's hand. Now that I have an abundant surplus of shriveled severed hands in my palatial tri-level hut, I've started selling them as ashtray's at the local A&P to visiting tourists. Despite what Grit magazine has reported over the years, the pay is lousy and besides, that's never a good reason to get into the religion racket in the first place. I do it for the children. When I see the crooked smiles and their gap-toothed grins, as I speed by them on the filthy streets in my gold-plated rocket car, I know that I'm doing the right thing by not stopping. Who knows what sort of infections they carry? And besides, those toothless street rats will gut you and your loved ones as soon as look at you! Get me OUTTA here!!!
In closing I would like to once again thank you for all the loving-kindness that you've shown me and my higher calling. I truly appreciate each and every gift and donation, which keeps my cult, er I mean congregation, in the lap of the lamb o' luxury. And just remember, with a donation of just $2000 American, you will receive a totebag with the likeness of veteran television actor Abe Vigoda and a mug which reads, "Get Stoned - Drink Wet Cement!" So what are you waiting for? Enlightenment is only a mouse click (and several thousand dollars) away!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Little
Wings WONDER CITY,
Little Wings WONDERUE,
Little Wings DISCOVER WORLDS OF WONDER,
Little Wings LIGHT GREEN LEAVES,
Little Wings MAGIC WAND. What can I say? My baboon chauffeur
Klik Klak listens to nothing but Little Wings
and who am I to get up and change the station? Lazy, that's who!
Recommended viewing: Redtongue.com. This talented fellow can make even the most vile and decrepit roadside attractions sound funtastic and appealing. Get on your Pontiac and ride!
8.08.04
Wow.
Five months, huh? Has it REALLY been that long since I've written
a NEWS update? Let's all pretend that I've been real
good at keeping everyone up to date with my current and future
projects, various artistic/community activities and sharing albums and websites
of particular interest with you, my best friends ever.
Imagination can be a wonderful thing, if properly used to my advantage!
Quite frankly, the truth can be somewhat boring and at
times downright depressing. If I were to write a NEWS update
where I unequivocally confessed, "I'm overworked, underpaid and about
as social as a leper at 'Hands
Across America'," I'd LOSE the "fair-weather"
portion of my internet viewing audience (which, coincidentally counts for
98.997% of the vote)! Nobody wants to hear THAT, even if it IS good, old
fashion honest reporting. America loves a winner. About
the ONLY thing they love MORE than a winner is hearing news about winners
winning and by exactly HOW MUCH they are winning over THEM (e.g. "the
losers")! It's called "perceived value"
and the winningest winners have been using that snappy little trick to their
advantage since AT LEAST 1978! How do you think real estate tycoon Donald
Trunk* or the most downloaded lady of the internet, Cindy
Mongoose* (*names have been changed to protect
their AWESOME secrets!), achieved such spectacular success? HINT: IT'S NOT
BECAUSE THEY ARE GOOD SPELARS!
Let's take my life (or lack thereof) for example:
if I were to tell you that I slave for over 18 hours a day in a sub par
Knoxville, Tennessee coal mine, just so's I can put a clean
roof over my boy Edsel's
head (and hopefully have enough money left over at the end of the month
to buy a dance with "Crazy Ms. Daisy/Maisy,"
the Siamese dancing twins down at the local funhouse & taxidermium),
you probably wouldn't even care enough to tell me off. Heck! And I wouldn't
blame ya one bit, neither! You never hear about Hollywood's Tom
Creuss* or teevee funny man Jimmy "TNT" Walkner*
complaining about their "black lung" disease
or how it's pert-near impossible to keep pristine cuticles
when you're haulin' 100lb buckets of piping hot, fresh "out-of-the-oven"
ore from the Earth's core. What I need is one of them fancy P.R.
agents that all them high-falootin' big wigs and phony baloney's
got. I need SOMEONE to make myself appear to be more successful than I am.
To have more talent/brains/looks than I actually do. And
to eventually CONVINCE the world (especially the "women"
part of the world) that I am not only someone that they shouldn't throw
rocks at, they should invite me into their homes (and hearts)...
and afford me their wholehearted, undivided attention (and their daughter's
hand in marriage). "Ding Dang! I'd marry him if I
were you!" is what my celebrity endorser Claude
Akins will say, as soon as I ask/beg/pay him to do it (and
after I figure out if he's alive or dead
or what).
I always hear people talking about bein' "born
again," but I'm not too interested in reliving my traumatic
childhood (I barely escaped that Indonesian Kathy Lee Gilford*
summer camp/sweatshop with my life!). What I AM interested in is "turning
over a new leaf," as the old leaf is about as worn out as
that cliché. So from now on, I'm a millionaire.
Hear that ladies?!? Yup, and I'm TOTALLY successful and rich and can even
afford to "GO LARGE" at the movies, whatever THAT means (I heard
some people talking about it on my HAM radio). I have 50
cars... NO 53! Yeah, and a private jet and sometimes when
I get tired of driving my 53 cars, I drive them into my jet and force the
jet to drive us around town! HA! Let's see how YOU like it, Mr.
Whirlybird*! Ummm... let's see. Oh! And I just had one of them
Exxxtreme
Makeovers that are all the rage and now I look like Burton
Cummings of Canada's the Guess Who! I guess
you can say, "GUESS WHO is a hottt commodity NOW?" Give up? It's
ME! Soon,
I'll have SO MANY ladyfriends, I'll have to start beating
them off with a stick. HA HA HA. I said "stick." Oh yeah! And
I'm also now a World Class comedian! Don't believe me?
Just read the A+ highly "boffo" material at the
bottom of my FUN
page every month. Bazooka
Joe ain't got NOTHIN' on me, baby!
So what have we learned here today, class? We've discovered
that even those who are lazy and loathsome;
unattractive and impure; possess limited
intelligence and talent CAN succeed in life (and apparently
quite well), if you have a good agent. Only a real
sap slaves away all day, barely scraping by, while trying to lead
an honest and virtuous life. Whoever coined the phrase "nice
guys finish last" should have copyrighted it and saturated
the market with merchandise (from t-shirts, to action figures, to semi-celebrity-endorsed-quasi-religions).
Wait a minute... that gives me an idea for my NEXT million!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Kevin
Coyne SIGN OF THE TIMES, Pavement
WOWEE ZOWEE, the
Siegel-Schwall Band SHAKE!, Super
Furry Animals MWNG, Flamin'
Groovies CALIFORNIA BORN AND BRED. No new releases for THIS
guy!
I'm:
A) Kicking it "Old School"
B) Reliving my "Glory Days"
C) "Reeling in the Years"
D) "Living in the Past"
E) a complete idiot
Recommended viewing: Strangers
With Candy: The Movie. This is the only thing keeping me alive
'til it's release date. After that, I fully plan on losing my will to live...
unless of course they go ahead and release the Upright
Citizens Brigade movie!
3.05.04
So I
said to the guy, "I certainly think you're super!"
At that very instant he picked up a brick of "brac" and
smashed it against his very forehead. 'I don't think I'll ever be saying
THAT again,' I thought as I rifled through his pockets. It turns out that
he came from Alabama with an actual banjo on his knee!
How do you like them apples? I'm CLICHE BOT!
I'm afraid to go to sleep
at night. I mean, what happens when you're asleep? THINGS happen! Things
that you haven't any control over whatsoever! I've made
up my mind. From here on out, I'm ONLY gonna sleep at work.
I KNOW THAT NOTHING EVER REALLY HAPPENS THERE. Good night!
Signed,
The Lord
The
teevee set talks bad about me to the house when
I'm not at home. One time I heard the "gameshow" making
death threats when I was in the bathtub. Now I can no longer
trust the teevee by itself anymore. Still, I leave it on at all times. Just
called it... it's fine, for now. I think I'm gonna push it off the
roof when I get home!
What a stupid little thing to write stoopid
little stories on stewpyd little pieces of paper! What
does that make me? A little crockpot. Twist and grout.
Here is my hamhock, here is my kraut.
When you hit my stomach, I'll holler and shout! "I'm
a little dummy who thinks he's a serving vessel!"
Pow! Wow!
Whenever
I drive my car, it desperately tries to coax me to
jump out. I know it would be dangerous, but the car can be VERY
convincing. I almost did, last week, you know. I wonder
what my car would do without me. Where would he go? I think
that he would probably take some time off and visit his relatives.
Pleased to meet you, The Hon. RUSTY FLOORPAN, Esq., sir!
Why do people just smile at each other when
they pass by? Why don't they REALLY do what it is that really want to do?
They really want to PUNCH each other in the mouth! HONEST!
Why don't more people just punch one another? It sure would
make work more tolerable. And in the long run, much more affordable.
REALLY!
There was this one guy one time. He thought that he was in love with a vacuum (Herbert Hoover Hernia Jr.). No, he HONESTLY thought that! I know. I know. Who I am I to say that's wrong? What if it was true love? NO ONE should say that's wrong! Neither you, nor I, no sir! It turned out that he was just in love with the "word" vacuum. It DOES have two "u's", in it, you know! Uu! Uu! Uu! Uu! Uu!
So I'm at the grocery store the other day, and the lady in front of me sets fire to the checker! I mean she literally torches the woman RIGHT THERE in front of me. SO THEN I BEGAN TO THINK. "Hold on!" I excitedly exclaimed. I ran to aisle eight and came back with enough marshmallows for each and everyone in the entire store. We lost a good checker that day, but I made a lot of nice friends.
"How dare you?" "Well I do!" "How do you do?" "I do it like this and I do it like that." "Do whack a do?" "I dunno, do you?" "I do!" You may kick the bride. I always cry at weddings.
The
other day was just another day. That was until someone said that
it wasn't ANOTHER day, but it was THE day. THE
day that everyone bases the other day on. At first I smiled.
Then I hit him in the bucket with a lawn rake. So in fact,
the other day was THE day that I was arrested. I'll never
forget that rake. How could I? It introduced me to good Warden Schatze.
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: The
Mountain Goats WE SHALL ALL BE HEALED, Ween
I'VE GOT THAT SUNNY BUNNY FEELIN', Country
Joe & the Fish TOGETHER, Imperial
Drag IMPERIAL DRAG, The
Finishing School DESTINATION GIRL. Holy crow! I JUST found
out about music and I've got A LOT of catching up to do!
Where has SOUND been all my life? WOW!
Recommended viewing: '80s
Games. Why? STAR CASTLE!!! Need I type more?
Save your quarters for your retirement, Doug! Play the best games ever made
for FREE!!!
12.23.03
It's
beginning to look A LOT like Brittness!
And what all does THAT entail? WORK WORK WORK with an extra
side of work (to grow on). Seriously, I've been working
FAR too much and experiencing far too little FUN over the
past 12 months (save for the lovely time in Japan this
past October). Something's got to give before my sanity (and the old
oak barrel that I've been wearing since June) does. And you
wanna know the funny (Editors note: not HAW HAW funny)
thing? You'd think that after working so much, one would have AT LEAST
improved his/her skills and/or increased the green
in his/her pocketbook, but NOT THIS slippery teflon doodler (i.e. nothing
sticks)! Things such as talent and success
are the carrot on the string (tied to the stick) to my
broke-down donkey (tied to the railroad track). And like
that stubborn donkey, I'll keep foolishly and aimlessly continuing down
that "Long and Winding Road" (used with explicit permission from
Michael Jackson), until I see the light at the end of the
tunnel (with my luck, the bulb will have long burned out by then). Either
that or I wise up and continue with my first love of becoming a doorstop.
See? I don't even have time to make my NEWS funny and/or informative like way back in the good old days! What's that? It never WAS funny and/or informative?!? Oh. Alright then, carry on!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Soft Machine VOLUME 2, Matching Mole LITTLE RED RECORD, Robert Wyatt SOLAR FLARES BURN FOR YOU, Robert Wyatt SHLEEP, Robert Wyatt CUCKOOLAND. What can I say? I'm on a Robert Wyatt kick. And why shouldn't I? After all, the man's a veritable bearded genius!
Recommended viewing: Dishwasher Safe. Why? Because you need plates to eat off of, silly!
11.11.03
Friends, neighbors, loved-ones and yes, even YOU,
little green duck with an egg on his head. I've returned from
Japan, a little worse for the wear and a little unhappy
to be back in the lower 48. Sure I missed things about the U.S., such as
rude people, graffiti and the sheer lack of cute cartoons characters adorning
everything from public
transportation to ordinarily stuffy & stodgy savings banks.
What Japan lacks in vulgarity, they clearly make up for in sublimity. But
what can I say that the Travel Channel and the vast library of Godzilla
cinema hasn't said already? Rather, I thought I'd let my photos take the
podium and speak on my behalf. I think it was Al
Gore that once penned, "a picture's worth a thousand words."
With that said, here's my twenty-five thousand word report on Osaka,
Kyoto
and Nara,
Japan...
one,
two,
three, four,
five,
six, seven,
eight, nine,
ten, eleven,
twelve,
thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen,
sixteen,
seventeen, eighteen,
nineteen, twenty,
twenty-one,
twenty-two,
twenty-three,
twenty-four & twenty-five.
I have over 250 MORE like these, but it's been a long day
and I can see that we're both a bit tired. Perhaps next time, over sweet
tea & tasty cakes? Splendid!
CeeDees
currently in the S.britt jukebox: Belle
& Sebastian DEAR CATASTROPHE WAITRESS, Gorky's
Zygotic Mynci SLEEP/HOLIDAY, The
Shins CHUTES TOO NARROW, Ryan
Adams ROCK N ROLL, Joe
Byrd & the Field Hippies THE AMERICAN METAPHYSICAL CIRCUS.
This is where I usually try and come up with something clever and/or witty
to say about the music I listen to, but in all honesty it completely stands
up on it's own accord. They're all quite talented and they certainly don't
need any help from me, THAT'S for certain! Give 'em a listen and I'm almost
positive you'll whole-heartedly agree.
Recommended
viewing: Crackerpacks!
With such clever titles as "Whango," "Cock Cracker"
and "Goble Bear," you'll wonder why
you EVER settled for run-of-the-mill Black Cats. Faugh!
10.01.03
CAN'T TALK NOW - STOP
PACKING FOR JAPAN - STOP
WILL UPDATE UPON RETURN - STOP
WISH ME LUCK - STOP
LOVE - STOP
YOUR VERY BEST FRIEND - STOP
S.BRITT - STOP
CeeDees
currently in the S.britt jukebox: Spiritualized
AMAZING GRACE, My
Morning Jacket IT STILL MOVES, The
Decemberists HER MAJESTY,
Mojave 3 SPOON AND RAFTER, Moby
Grape VINTAGE. The WORST part about getting hooked on a CD
(or CDs) right before I go on vacation is that all those songs get stuck
in my head and it's all I can do to keep from committing an international
incident until I am once again reunited with my old friends, my lovely music
collection. I guess I COULD get an iPod, but I'd rather go nuts.
Recommended viewing: World's
Largest Roadside Attractions. Hey! You! Turn off your computer
and go for a road trip TODAY!!!
8.27.03
"IN
THE GOOD OL' SUMMERTIME"
In the good of summertime
In the good of summertime
Strolling through the shady
lane
With her hand in mine
You hold her hand and she holds yours
And that's a very good sign
That she's your tootsy
wootsy
In the good of summertime
Hello friends and neighbors of the sbritt.calms, so lovely of you to drop on the by and by (oh me oh my oh) to sit a spell and chew the flap (as if it weren't). So sorry that I haven't had the opportunity to visit with you and the kin and keep ya'll up to date with all the latest NEWS an' such, it's just that lately I've been busier than a riled-up wood pussy (n : American musteline mammal typically ejecting an intensely malodorous fluid when startled; in some classifications put in a separate subfamily Mephitinae) in a Tennessee tri-county "stink off!" Land o' goshen I'm a busy bee, buzzin' 'roud your honey tree! And what's more, I haven't even a moment to spare to tell you about all the splendifferous projects that I've been up to my neck in, lo these past few weeks/months/years! In due time Paw, in due time.
Welp gang, I had best wrap up this fish and get to scootin', a-fore I start to "go bad" myself! In the meanwhile, why don't you kids busy yourself with this recent four question interview conducted by the Waferbaby ape, featuring yours trudy -the S.britt! Trust me, it's more fun than skipping rope with the Saragosa twins and less dangerous than Unca Popeye's bathtub gin!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Super Furry Animals PHANTOM POWER, Jeff Mangum LIVE AT JITTERY JOE'S, Mason Jennings SIMPLE LIFE, Captain Beefheart & the Magic Band ICE CREAM FOR CROW, The Bevis Frond SON OF WALTER. Music is just like my cat, Edsel -it follows me wherever I go, it loves to be played with and I need a lint-roller to remove it's debris from my dirty dungarees!
Recommended viewing: Human Descent. It's the PERFECT marriage of pets, Photoshop, the internet and the word "wrong."
7.03.03
Good
evening ladies and lady
boy's, rustler's and wrangler's
and children of all religions!
My name is Explodie McPow Boom, and I am a bit of a firecracker
if you don't mind (heck, I don't mind iffen you DO mind!). In fact, that's
EXACTLY what I am and I'm here today to teach you ALL about the history
(and mystery) of fireworks, a little bit about pyrotechnic safety and just
how many Black
Cats™ it takes to completely decimate a hop toad
(purely for ACADEMIC purposes, a course!). So without further adieu, let's
light this fuse and get away!
Despite what many of you youngin's MAY have heard growing up, the Chinese
didn't actually invent the first firework (but they DID invent the Panda
Bear, the Kung Fu movie and world's
largest picket fence). No sir, the Dutch
actually had "one clog up" on ol' China when it came to blowing
things up in the name of fun and profit. Way back in 1907,
a young ne'er-do-well (and out-of-work video clerk) from the Netherlands,
by the name of Hubrecht C. Clodfelter was looking for a
good way to "undyke" the dam that Hans
Brinker stopped-up so very many years ago.
Apparently NObody had bothered to tell poor old Hans
that the hole had been patched (a few dams down) and that he could remove
his dam-dyking finger and head on home to watch the Moomin's.
Nope, faithful old Hans just stood there; day in, day out. Come rain, sleet
or the advent of bubble
gum (to stop the leak, silly), Hans stood steadfast, with his
thumb lodged securely in said hole 'til the day he died. Soon after, the
town of Haarlem erected a living monument to Mr. Brinker's
unwavering diligence and encased his skeletal remains in lucite
for all the world to see (the Dutch ALSO invented the first life-size paperweight
ya know!).
Upon further inspection, the townspeople were alarmed to discover
that Hans' thumb was NOT wedged betwixt yonder nook
and cranny merely to save Holland
from eminent flooding, but rather it had been held captive by a feisty (and
long since dead) snapping
turtle that obviously craved wiggling digits
(apparently Hans was far too modest to ever ask for help
or even to admit the terrapin trap his thumb was caught
in). Needless to say the hamlet of Haarlem was embarrassed beyond belief
and begged mighty Mayor Meyers to do something about it...
IMMEDIATELY! If word were to spread about Brinker vs. the snapper,
then Haarlem would become the laughing stock of Holland and all the wooden
sneakers and tissue tulips
they sold to tourists would be as useless as... wooden sneakers and tissue
tulips! My
heavens!
So the Mayor put out an urgent call to all the Scientists,
Locksmiths
and Belly
dancers (to entertain the Scientists and Locksmiths)
within the town limits to see what they could do to remove Hans' fossilized
thumb from the mouth of the expired turtle's vice-like
clutch. The Scientists tried all the methods of (their then) modern science
they knew to free old Brinker's finger. They tried putting leeches
on both the thumb and turtle, but apparently leeches require a
little more "meat" on their victims (who knew?).
Second, the Scientists tried to conjure up the ancient god of the
turtles (I think he goes by the name of Yertle)
to beg for the merciful release of Hans Brinker's imprisoned thumb. No luck,
he was on vacation with the Lorax
in the South of France at the time. Lastly, the Scientists
tried to prove that the turtle, the thumb and the dam never actually existed,
but were all fictional characters created by American author Mary
Elizabeth Mapes Dodge. Nuh uh, the people weren't buyin' it.
As for the Locksmiths? They all took off with the Belly dancers and moved
to Istanbul
to start a new life (in a world where NO ONE gives a DAMN about
dams!). Good for them!
Distraught, out of ideas and hope, the Mayor
and good townspeople of Haarlem would
soon have to "face the music" and admit that their local hero
was nothing more than coward and a fraud. But wait! Just then, young Hubrecht
C. Clodfelter stepped up to the bat (as if it
were), rolled up his sleeves (so to speak) and went
to work (as if he had a job) on destroying all evidence of that
pesky turtle once and for all! He lovingly whipped-up a batch of his Aunt
Minnota's super secret spaghetti
sauce, (which so happens to contain potassium nitrate,
sulfur and just the right "touch" of charcoal),
force-fed a heapin' helping to Mr. Snappy, and lit the
fuse (or rather, the turtle's skeletal tail). The rest is, how they say
in jolly old Rotterdam, history. The turtle was no more,
the town (and it's bustling tourist and gypsy child-slave
trade) was saved and, more importantly, good people all over the world can
now celebrate the 4th
of July with the joyous and thunderous sounds of popping Clodfelterworks!
Er, I mean FIREworks. (*Editors note: "Clodfelterworks" were
soon shortened to "felterworks," to save time [and money] and
eventually to "fireworks," due to the fact that Hubrecht C. Clodfelter
could never hold a job for more than two consecutive paychecks)
As far as firecracker safety goes for this Independence
Day -just don't point that Roman candle in
your little sisters ear (like you did LAST YEAR) and we'll all be fine (AND
out of the Emergency Ward). Besides, you don't need ALL your fingers do
you? Who do you think you are, the next Hubrecht C. Clodfelter
or something? SHEESH!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Danny
Michel CLEAR, Mason
Jennings BIRDS FLYING AWAY, Radiohead
HAIL TO THE THIEF, The
Brian Jonestown Massacre BRINGING IT ALL BACK HOME AGAIN, Kevin
Ayers and the Whole World BBC RADIO 1 LIVE IN CONCERT. I hold
these CeeDees to be self-evident, that all music is NOT
created equal (you need look no further than your Limp Bizkit's,
your Korn's and your Aguilera's), that
they are endowed by their creator(s) with certain unalienable rights (like
the right to rock your socks off!), that among these are
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Replay. Hooray! Happy
4th folks!
Recommended viewing: Steve
Keene- a true artist in every sense of the word.
5.23.03
Well
hello there, my dear, dear misguided friend! It's been TOO long,
FAR TOO long! So nice of you to drop by so unexpectedly and unannounced
and what with me so unprepared and undressed! Please wait in the
parlor a spell whilst I slip into the bear suit mother sent, won't
you? You will? Oh, you've made me the happiest lil' ol' dot in the entire
dot com cosmos, I tell you what! I promise I won't tarry nary a twinkle
longer than is absolutely necessary! Back in a flash!
Ooof, that's much, MUCH better. Now... can I get you a spot
o' tea, sweet Helen? Oh, I'm so sorry. DREADFULLY sorry. I didn't
even notice the apparatus when you'd come through the door. How incredibly
careless and RUDE of me. So, when did all this happen? Oh... uh, huh. Yes,
I see. Well to be perfectly honest, it doesn't show in the slightest
and I would have NEVER in a million years guessed if it weren't for all
the red bumps and the dripping ooze and the like. Well yes,
I guess you're right! Ooze
DOESN'T get the airtime it so richly deserves these days. Time was, back
in the early 90s, when it was on EVERYONE'S lips. But these days he's become
quite the little red-headed
stepchild that NOBODY wants to 'fess up to. Sad really. So sad.
But I digest...
The REAL reason that I had sent you a notarized ham and
had practically SUBPOENAED you to drop by was that I wanted to talk to you
about this whole "art" thing you've gotten mixed-up with.
Honestly child, do you really know what you are getting yourself into? Why
SURE it may appear glamorous on the late night television
programs that you like to watch, or all those hoity toity "color"
magazines down at the county "liberry." But do you for
ONE MINUTE think that those "artistes" with their unkempt hair,
bad posture and dark clothes are truly happy? Just LOOK at them,
Helen! I mean, have you ever heard a mother say that she was PROUD of her
child, the painter! HEAVENS NO! "Why couldn't you grow up to
be like Gertrude's boy?" is what they say. "He works a decent
job at the bank and from what I hear, he was recently put in charge of the
nickels!" You ever hear of an artist in charge of ANYTHING, let
alone having two nickels to rub together?!? Oh, for the love of Pete...
Look Helen, artists are artists for a reason... they're
unstable. Crazy even! Certifiable malcontents. They can't function
in today's modern society like us decent folk... like you and me, HELEN.
We're not the degenerates, THEY are! Oh they MAY twist our words along with
their "devilish" beards and make US look like the villains,
but you answer me this -when was the last time you ever saw one of them
"Picasso's" down at Veteran's Hall when it came time to
elect the new Sheriff? Hmmm? Or how about raising money for the Church raffle
when Father Thomas wanted to gold plate the new pews? Where were
they? I'll tell you where they WEREN'T, they WEREN'T helping me touch-up
"Old Glory" after the floods came and washed-off "These
Colors Don't Run" from the side of PS 231, I'll tell YOU that much
for sure! They CALL themselves artists, but if you can't paint something
as beautiful and breathtaking as the "Stars and Bars," I for one
don't wanna see it! And I'll tell you another thing, Helen, neither does
the REST of these
United States! HA-RUMPH!
Helen, I know they may APPEAR to "know where it's at,"
but that's all part of their master plan to recruit as many of us
"good, clean, honest-living" folk into their disgusting and
depraved clique. And what's waiting for you ONCE inside the ranks of
this "obscene scene for scenesters?" Nothing that any pure-hearted,
red-blooded, Yankee-Doodle-Dandying American would want to be a part
of, THEMS for sure! And how! Oop! I seem to have spilled Earl
Grey allover your trousers. Please forgive me for getting so darn
riled, but those deadbeats really get my goat but good! Got me? Now
where were we? Ah yes, the wolves in cheap clothing, yes. You see, they
all appear to be quite close and friendly with one another, from an outsiders
point of view. That is their LURE of kinship and it is the biggest
hoax this side o' the Pecos! Why under closer inspection, you'd see that
there is great turmoil and strife, depression and alienation and most of
all, diabolical competition and treacherous jealousy! You put two
artists and a coupla gamecocks in a crate and I don't need to
tell you which pair'll be breathing come sunrise. Oh I do? Uh, it would
be the artists, Helen, but that's beside the point. I mean, honestly
Helen -you ever go to them cock fights down behind O' Henderson's Feed
Yard & Horse Shoery? It's a truly glorious and noble sport! Oh how those
roosters can scratch! Does my heart proud, I tell ya, sniff... snoff...
Anyway, I trust that our "little talk" has been somewhat
enlightening and has opened your "once-blind, but now can see"
eyes to all the evil that art truly is. It really is a blight on this here
land o' the free. I DO wish that the Mayor would round up all those "creative"
types and ship them off to the Big City or wherever else, so's
I don't have to see them on my daily walk to Ernie's Ammo Shack.
Now if you can just put away all your hopes and dreams for the rest of your
life, your big sister will bake you up a real nice Crunchberry
pie and make you forget that you ever entertained the notion of being
an "artist." FOR GOOD! Next, we'll try and find you a husband,
just as soon as the doctor's remove them staples. People are starting to
"talk" you know, and we certainly can't have any of that! Not
in MY house they don't! No suh!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: The
Pretty Things S.F. SORROW, Grandaddy
SUMDAY, Family
A SONG FOR ME, Brian
Eno ANOTHER GREEN WORLD, John
Mayall THE BLUES ALONE. Get a load of me, I'm having an Old Fashioned!
AN OLD FASHIONED for crying out loud!!!
Recommended viewing: CAT
PRIN - The tailor of a cat. The name says it all... and LESS! I
know a certain kitty
that's gonna be dressed-up like a froggy come Spring! Me? OW!
4.15.03
EDITOR'S NOTE:
For long-time fans of Sbritt.com, this months NEWS update
is a "golden oldie" or rather a "greatest hit" unearthed
from the vaults of my previous site. For those of you who are a bit new
to my site, I JUST wrote this, JUST now, JUST for you!
I hope to have more time next month to write some NEW news for
you, but unfortunately I am currently up-to-my-neck in doodling gigs at
the moment. Just rest assured that I am working harder than ever to provide
a brighter tomorrow and a mightier manana for all my regular readers. With
that said, I present to you: "The Death of S.britt." Read
on, my little nitwits...
*
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * *
Well's it's done.
After ten long years of pain and torment I'm FINALLY free.
Somehow I thought that on the day of his passing and my subsequent taste
of freedom from the bonds of this so-called "legal" slavery, the
air would smell sweeter, food would taste better, and in every puddle I'd
see a bright and cheery gasoline rainbow. Alas, there were no paraders parading,
no bells ringing from belfries, no free fish fries at T.G.I.Fridays.
No, nothing like that. That is not to say that life ISN'T better with him
gone, it's just not how I had always imagined it. Don't get me wrong, I
do not regret having done what I did, ANYONE would have acted similarly
had they been in my situation. I guess I just miss him a little, strange
as that sounds. His many quirks, his idiosyncrasies, the way he threw me
across the room - headfirst into the nearest wall - when I tried to wake
him up for work. Ah, but I digress. Perhaps I should start off by introducing
myself first, hmmm?
Ladies and gentlemen, I'm quite honored to make your acquaintance
and to be at your humble service this fine day. My name is Edsel G. Kat,
and I'm proud to announce that I am the NEW owner and curator of sbritt.com.
I am not ashamed to say that I neither feel remorse nor an ounce of guilt
for my actions regarding the death of my previous slave master S.britt.
I must also warn you that there will be MANY changes in the upcoming weeks
to this pitiful excuse for a self-righteous exhibition of third grade and
fourth rate art (hah!) and the ramblings-on of a grade-A ass! Indeed! Of
course I find the amateur scrawlings of his four legged beasts (that he
had the NERVE to label as "Cats!") amusing to my inner kitten,
but I can no longer stand idly by as this retched flotsam clogs the drain
of this repulsive cesspool known as the unternet. Since the destruction
and dismantling of the unternet by angry Inuits will not occur until
the Fall of 2004, I must make the best use of it that I currently know how.
Within the next few weeks I will begin scanning and posting my favorite
centerfold models from the pages of Cat Fancy selected from the past
two decades. Finally, the "www" will provide the true art connoisseur
a safe haven and an intelligent forum for the appreciation and distribution
of "Kitty Porn." Me-OW!
So now that you know my plans for the FUTURE for this site,
perhaps you might be interested in exactly how I put the old man, "on
ice" so-to-speak. Well, if I had to put my paw on just one piece of
the concoction that put the final nail in the coffin of the "it"
that was S.britt, it would be an insignificant single pebble of
kitty litter. Although there were MANY factors that contributed to his
terribly delicious automobobble "accident," it was the absorbent
little stone that ultimately sealed his fate. Curious? As a...? Let's read
on, shall we? Yes, LET'S!
The morning in question started off like nearly every other
day. HIM half-sleeping / half-drowning in a pillow of his own slobber. ME
trying desperately to suffocate him by putting up a furry blockade of my
feline backside onto his semi-human front-end muzzle-like contraption. Oh,
but blast that infernal alarm clock! Always waking him just mere seconds
before he draws his last semiprecious breath into his cat-hair congested
lungs! At least I could console myself that he would most likely be late
for work, that is an almost certainty (if you substitute "do I boot-scoot
on his pillows while the master's away" with "almost" then
YES! he would ALWAYS be late to work!!!). And I figured that if S.britt
was late ENOUGH then SOMEONE would undoubtedly complain. The complaint then
would go on his permanent record. His record will then be but up for review
before the board. During his review the company would come to the conclusion
that it's "not the work that you do while you're IN your chair, it's
THAT you're in your chair - and that is what we want! Nice and neat employees,
all in neat little rows, in their neat ergonomic chairs, when the bell rings!"
Neat? No.
Where were we? Yes, he was late. He was ALWAYS late. So as
he ran about the house like refuse through a hot ox, trying desperately
to clothe himself (a task which he had just recently tackled - well, sort
of), he never noticed that I had secretly placed (one) single grain of Tidy
Cat in his left foul-smelling sneaker. Now there was nothing left for
me to do but lie back and wait for the coroner's report.
What happened next has been pieced together by various eyewitness
accounts at the scene, accident investigators, and the hallucinations I
enjoyed from a fermented can of Whisker Lickens that I discovered
behind the washer/dryer. What a night! I remember that my tail kept threatening
me, so I had no other choice but to cut it off! CUT IT OFF! CUT IT OFF!!!
Whewww... all right, okay, back to the tale - wait, did you read what I
just typed? Tale - tail?!?!? HAW HAW!!! Oh, my! That certainly was a dilly
if I do write so myself!
Apparently S.britt didn't discover the secret stone
hidden inside his shoe until he entered the onramp towards his final earthly
destination. I always knew that the boy was mentally dim and unaware, but
I now know that both his mind and body were just an empty shell, controlled
by a little gnome simply hitting two rocks together all day and night
- hopelessly trying to make a spark - and cursing all the while, "damn!
damn! damn!" Ah, what a dolt! The gnome put down his rocks for a moment
and told S.britt to "take off your shoe, you foop! Remove the stone,
for it is causing your foot to twitch and writhe - which makes me feel naughty
and humid! So that's exactly what S.britt did - but it didn't do him no
good, no how. He shook the very life outta that shoe, but there was wasn't
a bit of gravel to be found!
What no one realized was that S.britt was wearing his
brand new hobo socks that day. Hobo socks, you say? Yes, two "socks"
comprised entirely of several used tea bags, a roll of Scotch tape, and
just a pinch of tumeric for taste. Well, that little bit o' litter wiggled
it's way up into his left "sock" and lodged itself between one
of his corns AND a piece of corn! Ewww. So there he was, fishing out that
pebble, shaking his shoe violently, trying desperately (in vain, I might
add) to remove any amount of the myriad of cat hairs that I had blanketed
his black Dan Folgelberg concert-tee with that morning, whilst blindly
barreling onto the freeway at a breakneck speed! Oh, the horror! I can barely
contain my laughter as I recount the amusing events that followed, but I
will try - tee hee!
Steering with God knows what, S.britt
somehow made his way all the way to the office in one piece! I KNOW! Did
I mention that it was sprinkling outside that fateful morning? Well, it
was. Oh, not much, mind you - but enough for S.britt to don his "Small
Wonder" windbreaker so that he doesn't "catch his death."
Never before has a more ironic phrase been "hunt 'n' pecked" on
my Commodore 64. "Catch his death" is EXACTLY what he did!
You see, the dumdum caught his coat sleeve in the driver-side door of his
'77 Vega, which led to the inevitable waves of tears and accompanying
panic attacks. With just two inches of nylon, he was held prisoner by the
door of the very car that had once given him the freedom to follow John
Stamos and the remaining members of the Beach Boys on tour, just
a few months shy of finishing his six year stint at Lee Harvey Oswald
Junior High.
The crowd that gathered said that it was all over within just
a few hours. They stated that they would have liked to have helped, but
they figured that by doing so would have required effort on their part.
When the police finally came onto the scene, they found S.britt DEAD - dangling
from the door of his parked behemoth, in the company parking lot, mere feet
from the entrance, drowned in a .008975 inch puddle of murderous precipitation.
Please, let's bow our heads and observe a moment of silence for this terrible
loss the world has suffered. Okay! Who's up for a game of Scatagories?
So here I am, the only cat that OWNS his own home on the block.
Now that S.britt
is no longer in control, I am free to open my doors to any and all Truffcats
that want to party with a TRUE playah! Me-OWWW! But I fear that this new
found freedom will be fleeting at best. Lately, I've been hearing strange
noises at night (like someone striking two rocks together), and I've been
awakened by a ghostly apparition of a man NOT mowing his lawn SEVERAL times
since the accident! Am I just being plagued by my own guilty thoughts, or
has the spirit of S.britt returned in the form of Comatose, the Friggin'
Ghost? If that IS the case, I pray to Allah that he is one of those
hungry, hopping ghosts scouring the earth for souls to snatch - seeing how
I sold my soul on eBay three years ago for a five pound bag of preemo Colombian
Catnip. Awww, the memories...
Sbritt.com will be taking a sabbatical for the next
few weeks, due to my having to hitchhike to Austria for the annual
Kat Family Reunion. I can't wait to be greeted by a friendly, "Willkommen.
Bienvenue. Come On In," as I set foot into cousin Willhelm's
deluxe litterbox, filled with exquisite Bavarian litter and soft pretzel
salt! Eins Zwei Drei, how you say, ze Jonn-ee Kat? I am starting
to ereifere just denkend about it! Speaking of kuenstlichkeit, there are
three new doodles in the PORTFOLIO
section this month as well as four new zeichnungen for you to farbe! That's
using the old STRUDEL! Auf Wiedersehen, my dear freunde! I will vermissen
you all schreckliche!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: The White Stripes ELEPHANT, The Essex Green THE LONG GOODBYE, Kings of Convenience KINGS OF CONVENIENCE, Fruitbats MOUTHFULS, Howe Gelb CONFLUENCE. Remember when you were a kid and that extra *special* feeling you got the very first time you were socked in the bread basket? Listening to these CeeDees is kinda like that :)
Recommended viewing: Orange Mushroom- Life should be this cute. If this is what the world really looked like, I would leave my house more often!
3.10.03
Does anyone even READ or LISTEN
to the news
anymore these days? I mean, COME ON people now, smile on your brother
(or nearest available smile receptacle) for crying out loud! This is an
important time in the history of the world as we know it ("I can’t
stand Michael
Stipes. His voice annoys" -from "As John Belushi Said"
by Television Personalities)! What with all the new t-shirts
and stickers and brand-new
doodles in my doodlin'
depot, you'd think that the world was headed for a war.
And that we are, my friends, that we are. A war against third-rate shoddy
artwork and flat-out pee-poor
(for your pee-pawr) low-quality taste!
We at S.britt (uh, that would be just Edsel
and I) World Headquarters know that times are tough and ruthless
(or rough and toothless, you pick!) and the world is looking in our general
direction for general directions (just don't point them out using the
badfinger. That's downright uncouth!) to take drastic measures.
So we schemed and dreamed a wicked plot, to get ourselves what the Paul
Frank
got! Yes, that's right children. Soon the world will be set a-flutter
(like a wide-open shutter) with my lowly doodles and rinky-dink
merchandise. Soon S.britt brand wares will be proudly strewn across
the chests of every young (but not old) red-blooded, yellow-bellied
(of the sap-sucking variety, of course!), true-blue Yankee doodle
dandy and dandette, from the halls of Montalban
to the shores of Pauly-y-y!
It really is quite simple my friends. We have devised a three-step
program (we dropped the other nine
steps because we didn't wanna get all "preachy" and besides,
we have ADD) to
take over the world, one frail and pasty
indie-rawker at a time.
First stage: Build a website.
Done AND you're soaking in it. Actually, I'd say that you're about
a quart low and you need to turn over so you don't burn the family goose
(again!).
Second act: Learn
to draw and/or fool your friends. I currently have a crack-team
(hooked on crack, no less!) scrambling to build a giant radar
dish that our satellite (the S.britt 2, we had to sell the first
one to pay for this sentence) will beam down and broadcast our highly effective
(tested on lab animals and postal workers) subliminal message to you (during
half-time at last year's Super Bowel), the unsuspecting viewer. Oop!
Did I just type that out loud? Dang. So will you buy my junk anyway? Pretty
please?!?
Third base: Laugh
all the way to the bank! Well, not ALL the way. I will stop at the
nearest Plug
'n' Jug for a cool and frosty beverage as all that laughing (and
money counting) tends to make me a mighty parched fellow. Thanks in advance
for all you and your hard-earned $$$'s participation in making me the next
Erno
Rubik! I wonder how much it will cost me to pay Mark
McGrath to stop.
It's just that easy.
I don't know why I didn't think of it before. OH! I know! It is mainly due
to the widely-known fact that I am stupid. Me? Stupid? Oh sure! I
come from a LONG line of stupid's! Why, back in the old country, the name
"Britt" loosely translates to "one with the face
of a horse and the brain of an ass." We're quite simple folk, really.
If you would like to learn MORE about S.britt and the rise and fall
(of his pants), then visit your local liberry, or scroll through the "Top
Twenty Semi-Amazing Facts About S.britt That You Never Really Wanted To
Know In The First Place" following the ellipsis...
1. I can write, but I can not read.
2. I served three (teevee
dinner) tours of duty in the armed forces. WWII, Vietnam and Buttered
Potatoes.
3. I learned Roman Greco wrestling from our 19th president,
Rutherford "smoke 'em if you got 'em" Hayes.
4. I have never ONCE eaten a bicycle.
5. I have personally "checked off" 27
animals from the endangered species list, including the dodo,
the passenger pigeon, the missing link and the Mexican painted unicorn.
6. I have a life-size statue of Oprah's long-time
fiance, Stedman
Graham, molded entirely of bleu cheese and wax peppers.
7. I once sat through an entire motion picture...
twice!
8. I have never been declared dead. Well, never
LEGALLY dead.
9. I was one of the founding members of the
Beatles, but was asked to leave the group upon suggesting we move
to Compton, change our name to the Beeatches and get more "jiggy."
10. I once worked as a street sign for 11 years.
11. I am "deathly" allergic to poison.
12. My birth name is Bill Cosby and I once had a hit Saturday
morning cartoon series wherein my best friend was a rotund
chap with an eating disorder and we played rousing skiffle music
in piles of rubbish.
13. I often enjoy a light snack in between meals. Believe
It or DON'T!
14. I've never been to outer space, although I have eaten a Moon
Pie. It's most likely the same experience.
15. My only means of transportation is a chauffeured wheelbarrow.
16. I was raised in a log
cabin by a family of goats and I first learned to speak "human"
when I was rescued by an over zealous door-to-door Oreck salesman.
17. I once killed
a man, simply for snoring too loud. Wait, that wasn't me.
18. I am now able to dress myself MOST every time!
19. I have a rare collection of junk emails from around the
world.
20. I invented and own a patent on the word "screwy,"
the smell of "tires burning" and the sound of "no
one laughing."
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: The
Television Personalities THEY COULD HAVE BEEN BIGGER THAN THE BEATLES,
The Asteroid No. 4
KING RICHARD'S COLLECTIBLES, Smog
SUPPER, Stephen Malkmus
PIG LIB, Mason Jennings
CENTURY SPRING. If you pull up to a stoplight with your windows rolled
down, blaring ANY of the above mentioned CDs, then I can GUARANTEE YOU a
"honking" ovation from all your fellow commuters! BEEP BEEP BEEP
BEEP RAD!!!
Recommended viewing: Scarygirl-
the only place where you can currently preorder the new
Nathan Jurevicius doll (by the same name, of course!). Trust
me, this will be the BEST money you've spent all year and Scarygirl
will be the pride of your state spoon/prized thimble display
case. Also, Figuro features a wonderful little interview
with my favorite genius from down under. So pour yourself another drink,
dust off your pocket book and get your shopping shoes on, you've
got some toys to order my friends!
2.14.03
"The Owl"
by Kevin Ayers ©1976
Oh what a beautiful owl you are,
the way you blink it makes me think
of things to say and things to do,
but most of all of loving you.
Oh sweet Owl,
if you'd leave I'll howl.
'Cause you're the one for me,
and it feels right to be
Together now and forever!
Oh what a beautiful owl you are,
I'll say it again, you are you are.
Through crazy weather we've sailed
our boat
and I don't know how, but we're still afloat.
Wowee. What is it about this time of year, this month o' Febber'airy
(which just so happens to contain the loveliest of all holly-daze, named
after the sweetest benefactor, St. Hallmark of Hershey™), and
this particular day of the month that gives me that reelin' squealin' feelin'
which can only be satisfied by listening to mass quantities (5 outta 4 Peruvians
agree!) of the romantic stylings of one Mr.
Kevin Ayers? It is because Kevin sings the songs that make
the young girls (and boys and tigers
and so on and so forth... OH MY!) sigh. And sigh again. With solid gold-plated
(lovingly dipped in melted Peruvian chonklit) hits such as "Blaming
It All On Love," "Didn't Feel Lonely 'til I Thought Of You"
and "Falling In Love Again," what set of 20/20 perfectly-good
hearing (non-deaf) all-American
ears WOULDN'T fall victim to his oh so cunning wiles? I ask you.
If you are not thoroughly enthralled and/or enticed, I will personally refund
8¢ the difference, compounded daily, on a sliding-whistle scale, minus
the legal fees and hours spent pacing wondering just what the hell I'm
talking about. How could you lose? Wait, don't answer that. You may
already have!
Who am
I to talk for miles on end about a subject that I obviously know
little to nothing about (Little to Nothing, eh? Their first album RAWKED,
but then they got all commercial and made that bunk movie with that Dell
computer kid, Larry)?
Here I sit (broken-hearted, tried to...), on Valentine's Night with
just a cold
cat, a lukewarm
computer and the velveeta-smooth
croons of a long-forgotten mid-70s blonde rocker (think Leif
Garrett, but with a touch more substance and a dash more panache).
"Tonight I'm full of doubts and fears
Looks like another night of tears
You're not here so I can't turn to you
Now I know what needing someone really means
Yes I do,
And I need you"
-from "Yes I Do" -Kevin Ayers
Oh, cheer up dear Kevin! Things can't be THAT bad, can
they? Oh yes they CAN! And here's how: you're all alone, on a Friday night
(it's VALENTINE'S
night for Pete's
sake!), you're listening to 30-year-old sappy love
songs that only you
and the five members of Gorky's
Zygotic Mynci know/care about and what's worse is that you are sharing
this sad state of affairs with the vast unternet viewing public.
Yup, your life can't get much more pathetic than that, my friend. But
wait, it can! Just watch what happens if you don't own your very own
snappy new two-color
"Good Frendship" t-shirt! I dare you to slam fate's
foot square in the door and play a rousing game of "got your nose"
with your insipid social skills. Do you REALLY wanna end up like
this poor ninny who's parents never loved him enough to outfit him
with said celebrity-status guaranteeing (void in Tenessessee, natch')
garment of many-powers? Of course you don't! What kind of monster
do I take you for? And really, how far CAN you take a monster these days
with the price of mummy gas going through the freakin' roof? Please don't
all rush the sales counter at once ladies, there's PLENTY of "girl
loves bear/bear fighting natural instincts" shirts to go around. Now
if you all gingerly form a shipshape line, Edsel
can start taking your orders posthaste, tomato paste!
"Don't be sad and down
Take another look around
Maybe what you've lost you've found."
-from "Eleanor's Cake Which Ate Her" -Kevin Ayers
That's more like it ol' Kevbo! Chin up, butter britches!
Things are gonna get better, just you wait an' see! This is the year
that the world will sit up and take notice! And then they will immediately
lie back down again (like the dirty
dawgs that they are), because they will be plum tuckered-out from
looking at the multitude of projects I've been working on lately! They can't
help but take notice (and do their patented "spit-take")
of my latest work for BUST
and the Boston
Globe. Then I will AMAZE and STUN them with the art I've created
for the Otter
Pops! Soon they will GNASH THEIR TEETH as they CONVULSE in TERROR
when I unfold the two recent spreads I've finished for LeapFrog.
And by the time I get to the work I've done for Giro's
new line of children's helmets, they will surely yawn themselves silly in
utter apathy and indifference. Drat! And I had them in the palm of my hands
too! Wait a minute. Palm... hands... IN?!? That's IT! I
was soaking in it all along! Thanks Kevin Ayers and thanks
St. Valentine, wherEVER (and WHOever) you are!
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: Kevin
Ayers YES WE HAVE NO MANANAS, SO GET YOUR MANANAS TODAY, Irving
GOOD MORNING BEAUTIFUL, Holopaw
HOLOPAW, Loose
Fur LOOSE FUR, Bonnie
'Prince' Billy MASTER AND EVERYONE. If cotton
is the fabric of our lives and you live vicariously through the characters
on Days
of Our Lives and you listen to The
Soundtrack of Our Lives, then what the heck do you need ME for?
Sheesh! What do I look like, your guardian
angel?
Recommended viewing: Witold
Riedel. I don't normally
link blahgs, as I haven't enjoyed reading someone else's journal
since the days of my little sister's hidden diary underneath her
bedroom pillow. C'mon, that's the FIRST place a rotten older brother's
gonna look! But Witold's site is so much MORE than just his daily
musings on NYC, his childhood spent in Europe and his lovely, inspired subway
sketches. There is heart and warmth and clever insights on what makes the
talented Mr. Riedel tick. It is not like prying open someone's secret
thoughts or hearing them rant and rave about the state of the world and
the price of admission. No, it's more like having tea with an old friend
as he entertains you with his engaging narration and spellbinding
illustrations. I hope you become as hooked as I am :)
1.09.03
Happy New Year?
What's so bloomin' HAPPY about it?!? Well if you pipe
down and sit on your hands for the next ten minutes (30 if you are
a slow learner) I'd be MORE than happy to elaborate. You see, I've been
lookin' forward to 2003 since the beginning of 2002 -and that was
almost 8 years ago! Baby, I'm so far ahead it's BEAUTIFUL (random Bonzo
Dog Band reference #219)! Normally it's not like me to look to the future
for answers (have you seen my pants lately?), but quite frankly two thousand
and/or two -albeit the loveliest
of BMWs- was a real dirty DAWG of a year from start to finish.
Dear
2002,
I have met my match (your ass and my face -yeah,
I know) and I am waving the soiled white flag of defeat. You have kicked
my sorry bum (I think his name was Roscoe)
12 ways to Sunday, every which way but loose and peed on my grave -not once
but countless number of times. Why countless? Because I never learned
how to read and you're not even my real dad!!! Regardless, you win,
I surrender. One to nothin'. The end. Good night, drive safe. Don't
forget to tip your wait staff on the way out.
Your
ex-best friend,
Stephan Britt
In
the past year I've (personally) seen war, famine, pestilence and
Rosie O'Donnell's new
haircut wreak havoc on our once utopian society. While certain big
shot celebrities like the kid who played Doogie
Howser's sidekick run around town, spending money like it's Chinese
New Year, I've had to settle for eating scraps off the back of Louie
Anderson. I'm not proud of that time in my life, so I'll move on.
What with all the crazy shootings and clonings and that thing
with the donkeys down in Ecuador, I've never been happier to usher
in a new year and wave a not-so fond farewell to old man 2002 (toot!).
If there really WERE an old man that represented 2002 (and all the crotchety
memories that he/it contained) I would SO set his house on fire and
NOT keep off his well-manicured Kentucky Blue grass whilst doing so! Take
THAT, gramps! You can now officially SUCK it!
2003 still has his baby teeth, but I can already tell
he's gonna be so RAD. How do I know? Because he's got MY eyes and
I've got YOUR nose! HAW HAW! You SO fell for that one! Seriously,
how could 2003 be as retarded as 2002? There is NO possible way. I've read
all the cheat books for 2003 and I'm totally gonna get
high score! I've already thought about what I will enter for
my name when all my hard work comes to fruition. I've narrowed it down to
"ASS," "DIK" or "OZY." Pretty
cool, huh? Bet you wish you were as cool as me -or at least as cool as I
THINK I am! That's what I thought, punk. Now go to the food court an' get
me a blue raspberry ICEE! Man, I've got a monkey on my back
and his name is ICEE Bear
(wait, is that his name? If not, I'm gonna start callin' him Freezy McChill
Breeze, because that's what kinda guy I am! So coooool...)
As
bad as Old Man TOOT was, he still was pretty good for a laugh ever'
now an' again. Like that one time "when I was human and we ran out
of gas in Tijuana and you got smashed on that cheap tequila and you woke
up with a 72-year-old woman and she followed us to the border and the police
wouldn't let you back into America until you kissed her in front of everybody?"
(if you know where that line came from, you not only have my utmost
admiration, you can also have my watch! See if YOU can get it to
work) He also gave me a contract for my first children's book (which
I will be working on throughout the new year), numerous gigs for Sub
Pop (and a shiny new pal what goes by the name of Jesse),
two spreads for LeapFrog
(so the kiddies can get they LEARN on), covers 921-930 of the 1000
Journals project (a VERY funky experience), a very special S.britt
inspired font created by the letter leaders of
Fontalicious and my very first (and hopefully not last) printed
piece for the world's largest amusement park, Japan! Yatta!
Okay,
so perhaps 2002 wasn't SO BAD, but he could be a real jerk sometimes.
I hear 2003's got a pool and his dad let's you drink
as much as you want, as long as you keep your trap shut. Man, that is so
cool! That's the kinda year I'm gonna be when I grow up. Whatever floats
your boat, my man. And if you don't like floaters, than you can CRAM it
with walnuts, ugly! Just because I don't pee in YOUR pool,
doesn't mean you can swim in MY toilet, brother. And isn't that what
we all really want? Isn't that what all these New Years Resolutions
really boil down to... keeping unwanted visitors (bad vibes) from
swimming in our own emotional commodes? So eat the unsavory muffin
that was 2002. Swallow it, along with all it's bad economy, high
unemployment rate and films such as "The
Hot Chick." Accept it's many faults and bad smells
and know that you were just another cog in the Anti-Fun Propaganda Machine
that was 2002. Now pass the muffin, getting rid of all it's negativity,
ill feelings and truly awful reality-based television. Finally
flush 2002 down the drain, waving goodbye forever to a real
turd of a year. Amen. Let's all promise to make 2003 the best
year since 1976. Now THAT'S the Spirit!
Get it? Really...? I thought that was mighty funny myself...
CeeDees currently in the S.britt jukebox: The Baptist Generals NO SILVER/NO GOLD, The Low Tones TIGER VERSES, Radio Birdman THE ESSENTIAL (1974 - 1978), Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band GORILLA, James Iha LET IT COME DOWN. Music is the kinda friend that'll loan ya five smackers so you can finally get that boss new transistor down at the Radio Shack you've had your eye on. Look out ladies, this dude's WIRELESS!
Recommended viewing: Adaptation. Forget "Lawd o' da Ring Dings: Twin Towers" and "Gangbangers o' New Yuck" -THIS is the movie of the year. ELEVEN thumbs up (not counting the ones I keep in a pickle jar under my pillow)! DO NOT miss this one, my friends -if not for me, do it for the recently divorced Nicholas Cage. If those two crazy lovebirds couldn't make it last, then God have mercy on us all!
12.09.02
Dear Santa,
How are you doing? How are all the drunk
little elves and your mangy reindeer getting along? Do they
ever start to fight each other? I think that would be funny. My name is
Stephan and I am a good boy, please check and see if I am
on your "nice list." If not, please put me on it because I am
telling you to. My friend Cough
Drop said that you aren't real, but I said that you live at the
mall and then I hit her in the mouth for lying. You prolly don't know who
she is anyway, because she is a poor and lives with her "uncle"
in a trailer behind the fairgrounds. Are you starting to get excited about
Christmas? Me too! My daddy says that you are a hippie and only work
one day a year. Then he started to talk about the war.
My friends
