Never Buy A Stripper A Drink

Ever wonder what exactly it is that characterizes a type of music as a certain genre? Ever try to dismantle the intangible essence of something that is wholly and entirely subjective? Well, we did and we suggest that you probably don’t, but if you want to know what it would be like then we DO suggest that you listen to this episode. Nick’s away on a super secret mission but Robby C, JW, The ‘Sauce, & Apple step up to the challenge as they discuss what does, doesn’t, did, was and will give music a label. We feel some comments coming on so call the Chainsaw Memorial Pussy Grout Hot Line at (206)339-7771 to let us know where you weigh in!

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During the song break (58:23), you heard “It’s Hydro, Oh” by Opposite Day available on their album, “What Is Is?”, available at their shows or by clicking on the cover below.

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This week we start the first in a multi-part series dealing with a subject very near and dear to our hearts; Titties! From the Guns of Naverone to the Itty Bitty Titty Committee we cover it all with admiration and no discrimination. Marty Sauce and returning guest Damien Marcos join us as we delve into our past to determine what shaped our love and respect for the might mammary!

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This week’s song break track was ASSHOLE by THE BE SHARPS.

Discuss or share your comments for this topic here on our forum or leave us a voicemail at our Chainsaw Memorial Pussy Grout Hot-line! (206)339-7771

The Fleshlight - Sex Toy For Men
From: Vibrators.com

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Another dose cummin’ atcha! If you’re just starting to check it out, but sure to start at the bottom of the page and work your way up through the parts to stay in the right order.
-jw

The familiar silver doors parted in front of John-7 laying the office out before him and as usual nothing was different. Mary-4 was sitting at her desk, head down, pencil moving furiously across some document, K-Tall brand cup filled with orange drink. John-7 walked past her to his desk not looking at all.

“Good morning,” she said. She did not look up, her pencil did not stop.

John-7 continued walking saying nothing in return, not even a nod of greeting. He went straight to his cubicle, placed his briefcase on the desk and waited to start the day. When the announcements sounded and the orange drink was passed out he repeated his plan being extra careful not to spill this time. With the deed done he placed his case at his feet and set to look as busy as he could. He had just brought up the file for his new proposals when his tiny door was darkened by Richard-1. He was smiling and holding a cup of coffee, the K-Tall logo screaming from its side.

“Good Morning John.”

“Good Morning sir.” John-7 turned his chair to face his director while he slowly pushed his briefcase even further under his desk out of sight.

Richard-1 took a large sip of coffee. “So, are we in good shape to have those proposals for me by tomorrow?”
He said “we” as if he had anything to do with the work besides presenting it to the higher ups. John-7 had forgotten that it was already Thursday and that his ideas were coming due, but he was not worried. They’d been completed since Tuesday, the rest of the week he had spent spinning his wheels looking busy.

“I’m just putting the finishing touches on them now sir. They’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

“Good work John. Keep it coming.” Richard-1 winked at John-7 when he said this and made a thrusting motion with his fist as if to imitate a train piston. Richard-1 then turned on his heels and headed toward another cubicle to deliver more lack luster motivation.

Once he was gone John-7 turned back to his monitor and stared blankly at it for several minutes before his eyelids grew heavy and he started nodding off. Just as he was getting comfortable he felt someone behind him and he quickly straightened up.

“Are you alright John?” Adam-10 was standing in the opening to his cubicle holding two cups. He didn’t even have to ask what they were, he could smell. His whole cubicle filled with a warm, sour stench. “I brought you a cup of coffee it looks like you need it.”

John-7 fought hard to repress the gag reflex. The coffee did not smell anything like he remembered it smelling like in the past. Adam-10 set the orange K-Tall mug on John’s desk.

“Uh . . . thanks I’ll be alright I just had a late night that’s all.” John-7 brought the mug to his lips to take a small sip to be polite, but was overcome by nausea so he instead feigned blowing to cool it off.

“You have your proposals ready for tomorrow? Richard-1’s putting the heat on everyone today.” Adam-10 was now leaning casually on John-7’s desk sipping his coffee.

He opened his mouth to answer and was overcome by the sick feeling. It was all returning to his nostrils now: the coffee, the portable toilet, the sewage plant. He stood up, pushed his way past Adam-10 and rushed to the men’s room. To get there he had to pass Mary-4’s desk. She did not even glance up as he darted past. Once there, he kicked open a stall, dropped to his knees, and vomited clutching the porcelain toilet. When he had finished he sat on the cold tile floor catching his breath. The substance that had come out of him was thick and black. It resembled nothing that he had eaten recently, or ever for that matter. John-7 flushed, got to his feet and went to the sink.

The men’s room was empty save for him, and he was glad. He splashed cold water on his face which he noticed was extremely pale. He had never had much color, but he realized that now he looked quite pasty, ill looking. He took several deep breaths before returning to the office. He passed Mary-4 once again receiving no reaction. He was glad that his cubicle was empty when he returned. He would explain his actions to Adam-10 some other time, but now he wanted to leave. Although the sick feeling had passed he was now hit with an overwhelming feeling to get away from the office. He wasn’t worried about his proposals; they had been done for days. As for taking the rest of the day off; he’d have to talk to Richard-1 about that.

John-7 packed his things into his briefcase and approached Richard-1’s door. He glanced over at Mary-4 before he knocked. She took a large sip of her orange drink, but did not avert her eyes from the work at her desk. John-7 knocked without asking.

“Come in.” Richard-1’s voice was muffled by the door. John-7 entered the office.

“Sir,” he started, “I’m really sorry but I’m just not feeling well today. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave.”
Richard-1 was leaning against the front of his desk looking at a file folder which he now closed and dropped on his desk. He approached John-7.

“Good god son, you’re as white as a sheet. Did you see a ghost or something?” Richard-1 was now close enough to John-7 that he placed the back of his hand against his forehead. “You’re clammy as hell too. What did you get yourself into?”

“I don’t know sir. I think it may be something I ate; either that or its one of those twenty-four hour things that goes around from time to time. Whatever the case is, I’d rather just go home and try to rest up.”

“I’d love to let you son, but you know we have those . . .”
John-7 cut Richard-1 off. “Our proposals are due tomorrow sir, I know.”

With that John-7 set his briefcase upright on the chair to his right, opening it just enough to retrieve a folder from inside before shutting it up tight again. “Here are my ideas I finished them up early for you.”
Richard-1 took the folder from John-7 and flipped through its contents before closing it, and placing his hand on John-7’s shoulder.

“Good work son take the rest of the day off and get some rest, but I expect you back here bright and early tomorrow now.”

“Thank you sir.” He turned to leave, but was called back.

“Hold on a second, son.”

John-7 turned back to see Richard-1 holding a silver carafe that always sat at the corner of his desk. He picked up a tall, plastic K-Tall cup that was next to it very similar to the one Mary-4 drank from. Richard-1 poured into the cup from the carafe.

“Here, take this for the road. It’ll make you feel better.”
Richard-1 handed the cup to John-7 filled to the brim with K-Tall brand orange drink.

“Thank you sir.” John-7 tried hard to cover his disgust.

Richard-1 gave him one more solid pat on the shoulder and he was off. He held the cup the entire way down the elevator and through the lobby never drinking from it. Once he was out side he poured the orange drink onto one of the shrubberies that grew outside the entrance to the K-Tall Corporation. Halfway to his car he dropped the plastic cup and it rolled off into the parking lot. Once in his car John-7 caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. He was still much paler than usual, but at least his stomach had settled and he was going home.

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Sorry for the once again very long delay between posts. If anyone is interested in still reading, here is another installment . . .
-jw

The familiar silver doors parted in front of John-7 laying the office out before him, but something was different. Mary-4 was not at her desk, and he slowly walked past looking around to see if she was anywhere nearby. When John-7 looked in the direction of his cubicle he saw Mary-4 and Richard-1 both at the small opening of his work space.
John-7 swallowed hard, his mind raced. They must have found out about his orange drink scam. He was caught and now he was going to have to face the consequences. John-7 approached his desk.
“Good morning sir, Mary.”
The two stood blocking the entrance to his cubicle so he could not see behind them. Richard-1 looked at him sternly; Mary-4 looked at the floor.
“You shouldn’t have done that John. After all this company has done for you, after all that I’ve done for you.”
Mary-4 was silent.
John-7 looked back and forth between the two of them.
“Sir, I don’t think I understand what you’re . . .”
Richard-1’s voice rose. “You don’t understand? Well maybe this will clear it up for you.”
With that the two parted revealing the cubicle to John-7. There on the floor by his chair was the open trash bag he had filled the night before with the K-Tall brand coffee, and arranged on every bit of available space on his desk were small cups brimming with orange drink. Flies covered the walls and floor of the small cubicle crawling in and out of the cups, perched on their rims, and swarming the trash bag. Tiny white maggots were already squirming their way to freedom from the open bags of coffee. The intensity of the buzzing was almost deafening.
John-7 stepped back and dropped his briefcase. He looked at Mary-4 and saw that flies were crawling up and down her arms and around her hair as she stood unflinchingly staring at him. Richard-1’s lips parted in a giggling smile allowing flies to enter and exit his mouth. They were crawling out from behind the lapels of his suit, and the collar of his shirt occupying the fleshy underside of Richard-1’s neck.
John-7 realized that he could no longer draw in a breath. He heaved against tremendous pressure to try and breath but it was no use. He turned away from the cubicle and stared into total blackness. A blackness that pulsated and buzzed as the flies covered everything. He could see the tiny hair of the flies legs and bodies mingling together with each other, dripping filth.
John-7 was instantly transported back in time inside of his own mind. Once, when he was very young, six or seven, his father, who worked for the city, took him on a tour of the sewage treatment plant. In his youthful curiosity John-7 had asked where things went when he flushed them down the toilet and his dad decided to show him. Cashing in a favor owed to him by the director of the plant he was able to get them both in for an unofficial tour with no problem. John-7 remembered the pungency of the smell intensifying with each door they went through until it could get no stronger and they were in the center of the plant where all the human waste was processed.
John-7 had only smelled something similar one time in his short life, but it was nowhere near this bad. It was the previous summer when his parents took him to the fair that came through town each year. The temperature had reached record highs that summer, and that day was no exception with the thermometer topping out at 102 degrees. John-7 had been drinking cherry soda all day, a treat he indulged in every year at the fair, and by mid afternoon he had to go to the bathroom bad. His mother walked him over to where the portable toilets were set up and told him to go ahead while she waited outside.
He approached the light green box with caution, opened the door slowly, entered, and let it bang shut behind him. The first thing he became aware of was that he was in total darkness save for a small bit of light that streamed through tiny ventilation slats towards the ceiling. Then, the smell hit him. The sun had been high and hot in the sky for nearly the whole day turning the portable toilet into a kiln for baking all the shit and piss that had been deposited in it. As John-7’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light he was able to see the state of disarray the place was in. The entire area surrounding the opening of the toilet was wet with urine, as well as the floor in front of it. A piece of soiled toilet paper was next to John-7’s foot and he stepped to the side so it would not touch his sneaker. He approached the opening and peered down into it. Less then ten inches from the top were lumpy mounds of shit floating in a filthy blue liquid that was supposed to act as a sanitizing agent.
John-7 turned and pushed the heavy, spring bound door open squinting against the light as he ran over to his mother. He lied saying that he had gone because he did not want her to know he was made sick by the smell, a smell that was now in his clothes and robbed him of his appetite for the rest of the day. Not even the tempting greasy fair food could entice his appetite back.
John-7 clung desperately to his father’s hand as they walked out over the processing tanks. The walkway they were on was no more then three feet wide with a short railing protecting them on either side. John-7 was afraid to approach the side and look.
“Go ahead,” his father coaxed, “take a look at where things go when you flush them down the toilet.”
John-7 cautiously approached the rail, took hold of it, and looked over. Beneath him was a massive, flowing river of human shit that bubbled and pulsated as if it were a living entity. John-7 stared almost hypnotized by this spectacle, the shit itself involved in some alluring dance that beckoned him. The scent had now permeated every part of him, but he was unable to think about that, or that the portable toilet’s scent paled in comparison to it. His mind was disconnecting, giving in to the dancing swirl of the sewage, and that was what this was like.
John-7 stood there captivated by the living wall of flies that danced and swirled like the sea of human waste he had seen so many years ago. The stench was there too, not the overbearing shit smell but the sourness of the coffee was all around enveloping him in its unpleasant warmth. John-7 fell down on his hands and knees still trying to breathe, and finding that he could not. His arms gave out at his elbows and his head hit the ground with a thud.
John-7 opened his eyes and shot from the oversized recliner in his living room dripping with sweat and breathing erratically. It took him a moment to get his bearings and realize that he was not in the office, but at his own home. He was dreaming. It was something he hadn’t done in longer than he could remember, but dreaming none-the-less. He wasn’t sure weather to be excited that he had a dream, or horrified by its vivid grotesqueness. The clock on the book shelf read 6:35 and it was time for John to start getting ready for work anyway, but the whole morning he thought about his dream and what it could mean. He also began considering that he may be losing his mind with seeing these flies. Dreaming them was one thing; people dream strange things all the time, but the fact that he was actually seeing and hearing them made him worry.

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This week award winning Houston Tattoo artist Sean “Ozz” Oliver sits in as our very special guest to tell us all about his tattooing experience and to do what he does best. That’s right, our very own pussy willow, John Wayne, gets all inked up during the recording of this episode. Also, the guys undergo ethnic re-assignment surgery (so to speak) when they get wind of how they’re sexy voices make them sound to other people.

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Discuss or share your comments for this topic here on our forum or voicemail us @ (206)339-7771

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