"What's in that there can?"
I heard these words whilst walking down the sidewalk on my way home from a brief visit to Shadowplay record store. They frightened me a wee bit, not having known from whence they came. Moreover, the gruffness and deep, throaty tones of that voice sent shivers down my spine. There was no denying it. This man wanted information, he craved knowledge, he was not afraid to risk ridicule in his quest to know the key ingredients in the can that I was swigging from.
"Are you talking to me?" I asked, looking in the general direction from which I thought I heard the voice coming from.
"You da only sucka on da street sportin' a can o' beverage!" His tone was slightly condescending. It rang hard on me. "All I be wanting to know is WHAT PARTICULAR BEVERAGE is crossin' yo lips tonight, home slice butter top wheat?"
I called back to him. "Why are you talking that way? You sound ridiculous."
"Now you just wait one goldurned minute. I talk this way because it the way my mother taught me. Are you saying you got a problem with the way my mom raised me or even a grudge against the woman herself? Because if that be the case, m'nigga, you goan have to step to may. Let's get it on."
"What in the fucking hell are you talking about?" I was sincerely inquisitive. "I don't have a problem with yo mother, nor yo father, nor anyone else who had to put up with you during your troubled childhood. I wouldn't call that bitch lucky by any stretch of the meaning. You sound to me like you most probably be happiest in a room, alone with a mirror. Having a conversation with your reflection, for once truly speaking to the only one who gives a damn about anything you have to say."
"You a wordy mutha fucka," he shouted. His accusation carried some merit. "You a little too long in the TOOTH, now ain't ye? You got more to say than there is people who want to listen to it. You wanna know how I know these things? Do you really want to travel so far deep within a mind that, I assure you, is infinitely more depraved than any that you may have ever known before in your life? Is that what you're wanting to do, because if it is I need to know. I got plans tonight and I cannot break them and I will not break them and you have no control over what I say right now you are in a zone right now that has never had to dust your footprints from the welcome mat that lies and lies and lies."
"You got a lot of nerve to call ME a 'wordy mutha fucka'...I ain't even close to being as verbose and, to borow your words, long in the tooth as you are." I felt like I had a strong case to defend my position, if I could only find the right words to state it. Just the right words, you know It's the deal-breaker. "Dude, I don't know why you wanna argue and get into some kind of trouble with me, but if that's what you sought out to do this evening, well I'm fair game. Bring it on. I ain't shying away. If there's only one thing in the world that I have in common, it's that neither one of us is going to back down. Hell, no. Step yo sorry us UP. I don't know how I can say this any clearer. Fisticuffs? That's what you're after? Well put up yer dukes. You put 'em up and I'll be sure to teach you a lesson like you haven't experienced in a long time, if ever. "
"What's in the can, man? Beer or pop?"
"Huh? What? What are you talking about?"
"I want to know the contents of the aluminum can you are currently transporting."
"Well, it's a Dr. Pepper can, as you can see?"
I took him at his word.
"Well, hey, do you think I could get a drink from that, eh, guv'nor? I am on the brink of death by dehydration...you just may be saving the life of this thirsty man."
"Well, uh... you see...it's full..."
"Don't think twice. I don't mind. I won't take too big a sip. It'll still be 'almost' full."
"No, no, it's not that. You see, I've..."
"I see, I see. You may be worried that your germs, a huge lot of them at this very moment having a hell of a great orgy right there on the brim of that can, might be passed on to me and consequntly infect me with all that is ailing you. I assure you, it will not turn out that way."
"You've got it wrong, mister. You're getting it all wrong. You've got to hear me out. It' not about..."
"Silence. Silence, I command. You worry of getting your own set of germs from me. It's only natural, mind you. My only request is that you bestow a swallow or two from your can there. I like Dr. Pepper a lot, actually. I know there are people out there who say they can't stand Dr. Pepper, but I guarantee you this, if the Coke runs out and there are still a couple of Dr. Peppers in the refrigerator, they will lower their tolerance for the stuff right then and there. "
"Okay. I guess so, seeing as how you have put so much effort into making it crystal clear to me. Take it all, I'm being generous tonight, people."
"Thankee, Crown."
And with that brief expression of gratitude he lifted the can up to his lips. You could hear the liguid flow over his tongue and the sound of the swallowing...
...followed by a steady stream of projectile vomit as the guy realized, all too late, that a Dr. Pepper can does not always, and does not of necessity, contain Dr. Pepper.
In this case, indeed it did not.
The Dr. Pepper can had long since been drained of the original 12 ounces of it's name sake. In their stead was about 4 ounces of Skoal spit. It was fresh, pungeant, warm, pitch dark with the gooey gelatinous feel of thick saliva. I'm surprised the cat didn't know what was coming. Maybe he had a cold or something and could'nt smell the stuff. Whatever it may have been, he drank it down long enough for quite a bit to get into his stomach.
This was the root cause as to why he was so sick for the next few days. Though it must be stated, and he would tell you, that the constant vomiting and the foul taste of the tobacco diluted gob was the worst of it and that anything else that migh have happened in the near future, unbearable as it might be, could not hold a candle to the overture of nausea.
"I tried to tell you, you dumb shit. Why are you incapable if taking orders? I assure you that your dignity remains intact. It is not shameful to exist under the tyrrany of a faithful leader. You have my permission to bow down and worship me."
And so he did. I didn't expect him to. Don't go away thinking that I did. It was only a form of expression. But that motherfucker sure took it to heart, didn't he? So I let him do what he wanted to do. I let him get down on one knee and acknowledge that the great god of Baal commanded his sole devotion. I watched him bow, surrendering his integrity to me and my tormenting habits. Crouching, hunched over an altar I'd constructed in my mind for just such an occasion of this. His face expressed nothing less than total sorrow and repentance for what he had done. A tear glistened as it grew into a puddle that flowed down the side of his nose, to meld into the snot that has started running out of your nose...not just one but both nostrils...Having already sampled the taste of the light greenish snot, it will be quite an eye-opener to see what the snot/tear combo tastes like.
"Okay, you can get up now." I was being much more generous than he deserved. "Up with you, Cap'n. Arise from this degrading position you have somehow found yourself in. Bite the bullet. Let's see your face."
He arose and boy let me tell you what. His face looked HIDEOUS. It was a technicolor nirvana mix of teardrops, snot, sweat, blood and a mixture of Skoal spit with dense salival juices.
"My God, good God, O Lordamighty. O, Lordy, lordy. Praise Lordy!"...it was almost as if he was in a religious mood. "That was some BRUTAL JUICE!"
"Yes it is, my friend. Yes, it is. As you say."
"Well I'll be damned. The last time I had Brutal Juice I was living in a facility that provided lodging and health care for the developmentally disabled individuals in the community. I wasn't doing too good back then. I was struck mute, which was the icing on the proverbial cake. I was the target of much abuse, my friend. Never assume that there's a single one of 'em there that don't play with your minds or take out their frustrations on you in cruel, unthinkable ways.
"Had this guy working, he had a mean streak in 'im. Really mean and a drunk to boot. Trouble followed him, especially on nights when he brought in a bottle of the cheap whiskey he preferred to the more expensive brands. You see, Jim Beam had taken his woman away and Jack Daniels had drove him to bankruptcy. He was pissed with those bastards. He drove to the liquor store and became acquainted with a man named Evan Williams. He's a right stand-up guy. He's not quite as fancy as Beam or Daniels. But he knows how to party and his bark is never bigger than his bite. He's got as much proof as either of those spend thrifty SOBs. Class of 80. It's the real deal.
"What I'm tring to say, squire, is that he brought Williams to work with him all too often. He brought that glass bottle one night decided the time was right to risk losing his job and he was in the mood to beat on one of my retarded frtiends.
"Whack! Thwack! Schmack! Crack! Thump, the sound of a fist penetrating the air space of a belly. He made the guy pull down his pants, had him change his clothes in front of him. For years he lived with the realization that the only reason he did that was because he was so in awe of the guys large penis. He was jealous of it It's length and girth held a strange fascination in his soul. He felt he needed to punish the dude because he had this incredible cock and yet he was too fucked in the head to be able to use it.
"He would pour cold water on my back as I lowered myself into it. He would make a special effort to ge water in a cup from the fountain in the hall, as it was much, much colder than the tap water from the bathroom sink. He would pour that ice cold water on my back and laugh at the way my body would tense up and how I would jerk out of the tub. Then he'd say, 'Do you want some more?'"
"I thought I would be punished if I said 'no'. I played along. I nobbed my head. Did I mention that I was mute in those days? I did? Good. Because it's hard to fully grasp the things Im trying to say here without that information.
"He did it again. And again. And yet again, till I could not play along antymore. When I finally shook my head
'no' he erupted into fresh gale of laughter, fueled by scorn of someone who would submit so easily.
"One day he brought me a cup. Some styrofoam vessel he stole from the cafeteria or, more likely, pilfered from trash cans. There were several in the building to choose from. Inside the cup was a thick liquid the color of blood. He told me to drink it. I wasn't so sure, as I didn't like tomato juice very much, and I sort of smelled a waft of pepper or other strong spice.
"Go on. Knock 'er back. You'll like it. It's BRUTAL JUICE!"
"Apparently 'Brutal Juice' was the trade name of a concoction that mixed tomato juice and Tabasco sauce in equal portions. It was hot, hot, so hot I felt like the inside of my mouth was having the flesh melted. I lost all sensation in the back of my throat. I could, however, still taste the crackling flame.
"My friend, with God as my witness, I have no need of keeping secrets. I will not need a priedt at my death bed as all my dues have been paid, forged in the crucible of the real world. I will gladly represent you and spread the word to the Native American masses, THIS WAS, I ASSERT AND ATTEST, WORTHY OF THE NAME BRUTAL JUICE!"
I don't know how it came to this, but by now I almost felt sorry for the guy... I should have kept the can away from him. It really IS my fault.
"If all this is true," I asked. "How did it come to be that you were once a mute retarded man and yet now you converse with those even as lofty as myself? Oh, how you endured years of torture at the hands of a man whose only excuse was 'Because his dick's bigger than mine'. What happened that now you stand before and converse with one whose sheer mental powers are registered with the U.S. Government as lethal weapons. How do you presume to keep up with one such as I?"
"It was a stone cold miracle, that's what it was. It was a god damned stone cold miracle, by God. One day I was living out a Stephen King nightmare existence. Then the next I'm fit as a fiddle."
"Maybe it was the Brutal Juice."
"Hmmm. There's much reason in that. Compelling, indeed. I suppose the more reasonable of us would admit it...it was probably the Brutal Juice."
"Brutal Juice."
"Yeah that's what I said."
"Brutal Juice."
"Uuuhhh, yaw dude. Brutal Juice.
"Brutal Juice"
"Okay, dude, you're really freaking me out here. Why do you keep saying Brutal Juice? What's that all about?"
"Brutal Juice."
"Man, you're making me mad. I'm really getting angry. I can attest to the fact that I am getting very, very angry. A might pissed off, if you've got time to want to know. One more 'Brutal Juice' out of you and I'm gonna remove this switchblade knive from this convenient pocket hidden inside my vest and I'm gonna use it to test the strength of your blood veins. I'll take a punch at your very heart and ram this regal blade into that organ until the damage it inflicts takes you to a place you'd heard about but only seen in dreams. I'll suck the very life out of you, sir. I'll drain you of everything you need to survive. Are you really going to tempt fate by disobeying my most reasonable request that you stop foolishly repeating the words 'Brutal Juice' like a fool. Are you dumb enough to take a chance the I may not be downplaying the situation one bit at all, but that, there may well be the chance that I'm rock solid on the level, and that you're very life is at stake. One wrong move and it's to the gallows with you, my friend. Hang 'em high, high and dry, high and mighty...You better think twice and measure your words very carefully before you answer this here question I'm about to put to ye.
"Answer me, oh by the powers of Jesus Rice Pudding, be honest and forthcoming in your answer. This is life or death. I pray that you answer me when I ask...
"By the love of every living thing, every breathing thing, every moving thing, every wounded thing, every one on 'em...what have ye got to say for yen, Crown?"
"Brutal Juice"
...and so it was.
Thought I'd take a break from loading my new music player and turn you on to a seriously fun time waster called AUDITORIUM.
It's the "Halloween", "Nightmare on Elm Street" "Friday the 13th" marathons that get to a man. Especially that last one. You could almost fill an entire 24 hour day watching all these sequels. No sleep. No appetite because all of the blood and gore has you a little grossed out. The lights off and the door unlocked. A six pack of Guiness stout warming up on the coffee table, sharing it's space with a bong, a lighter, and a miniature oak chest just big enough to handle the contents of your drug collection, the contents of which, I think you should know, have been diminishing gradually at a disturbingly rapid rate of speed. Maybe a shot of crack all nice and pre-prepared. That would surely do the trick. That would drive a novice horror film nut into the realms from which there is no turning back. Into a place where fantasy yields for one toxic moment and to live vicariously through these psychos is just not enough anymore. Next thing you know you got your wallet in your back pocket and you're still looking for your key chain. It ain't a big key chain. There aren't a whole lot of keys on it. But the two that a man genuinely needs are there...the house key and the car key.
Yesterday I posted about renting the movie "Unspeakable" and discovering a litany of negative reviews at IMDB before watching it. So bad, in fact, that I was actually eager to sit through it, if only to see if it was half as bad as the naysayers made it out to be.
It's bad enough that I misspelled my name...I JUST DREW A LINE THROUGH IT! Why didn't I just smooth the concrete over and start from scratch? I swear I wasn't THAT stupid as a child. Or was I?
In this shot you can see my hand print fairly well.
This is all that remains of my brother's contribution to this exercise in posterity. 
It's the ninth entry on a list of "Top Ten Incredible Recordings" that can be found at The List Universe. The other 9 (with bonus 11th) are interesting in their own way. Especially the Russian exorcism. But there are very few things I can think of that are as disturbing as this tape, made during the last hours at Jonestown, as Jim Jones encourages his flock to "take the medication" and exhorts them to give it to their children. The tension and fear of death is palpable here, as is the fanaticism of the ones who were more than willing, even eager to do as their leader commanded.
Pandora played the second part of "Tubular Bells" from this set yesterday. I had "Boxed" on LP when it first came out...oh, what was it? 30-35 years ago?
