Saturday Morning Cartoons vol. 1

Madison Underground Press Presents:

The Marvelous Masked Mower

Chapter 1

"Snakes in the Daisies"

Daniel Robinson

 
The Marvelous Masked Mower is deeply kissing a pretty girl with short blonde hair and bangs. His shaggy black hair is pulled behind one ear and the rest hangs free. He looks strangely healthy, glowing, and she incredibly ethereal, her face changing slightly as they kiss.
 
"Every time I see your face, I get all wet between my legs.
Every time you pass me by I heave a sigh of pain."
 
He's fresh from being born, clean and warm, and his blue jeans, plain black t-shirt and all black Chuck Taylors are strangely crisp, standard issue.
 
"Everything you ever wanted, everything you ever thought of, is everything I'll do to you, I'll fuck you in yer hero suit."
 
She stops kissing him before he's ready and breathes warm and wet in his ear, "Tag! Yer it!"
 
"Your face reminds me of a flower, kind of like youre underwater. Hair's too long and in your eyes, your lips are perfect suck-me size."

"You act like youre fourteen years old, everything you say is so obnoxious, funny, true and mean. I wanna be your blowjob queen"

The Marvelous Masked Mower takes off after her, playing tag in Longwood Gardens, chasing one girl, but not quite able to catch up. He chases her into the greenhouse steam past banana trees, orchids and fly-traps. He chases her over acres of old Brandywine Arisocracy's rolling back-yards. He chases her through birthday present fountains to Alexis I. and Pierre S. and with much deference to the semi-domesticated gaurd cats. He chases her past ginormous flora whose chromatic schemes simply can't be sensed with one's eyes open. He chases her in her little tank top and tight jeans, no shoes or tit... always right behind her until... He loses her entirely and experiences a desolate moment.
 
"Every time I see your face I think of things unpure unchaste. I want to fuck you like a dog, take you home and make you like it.

"Everything you ever wanted, everything you ever thought of is everything I'll do to you. I'll fuck you til your dick is blue."
 
Then suddenly she alerts him from behind, "Hey boy…" and a gentle tap on the shoulder.
 
He turns to face her, but she's blurry, indistinguishable from the flowers behind her.
 
"Wake up motherfucker!"
 
This obviously makes no sense to one who dreams he's awake.
 
"Hrrrmmm…"
 
 
 
Rogue Taylor is all asunder in his bed on Paper Mill Drive. There are candles and water and etc… His pseudo-girlfriend stands over him putting on an earring, rolling her eyes.
 
"I said wake up motherfucker!"
 
Rogue winces in pain, "Unh… why? I was having a good dream…"
 
She plops down next to him and puts her hand on his back, rubbing. A spidy-sense tingle forms around her hand, because, unbeknownst to her, back rubs are the Marvelous Masked Mower's greatest weakness.
 
"Why!?! Because it's the first day of the rest of yer life, that's why!"
 
"What else is new…?"
 
"And anyway it's after noon on Saturday and I've been up for hours trying to go back to sleep waiting for you to wake up and I need smoke-a-rettes so I was gonna go but I thought I should wake you up first and then…"
 
The throb in his head in conjunction with this mini-rant becomes unbearable.
 
"Shut the fuck up dude! I just woke up! Can you get to the got-dang point, Grace?"
 
She looks hurt.
 
"Jeezis, Rogue… I was just gonna ask you if you wanted to fuck…"
 
Rogue buries his head under his pillow.
 
"NO!"
 
Grace walks out the door and slams it.
 
"Psshhh… whatever, dick."
 
Rogue Taylor lies in bed, squinting in pain.
 
"Ahhh, my daily headache."
 
He lays in bed in boxer shorts, leaning over hacking.
 
"Man, I fucking hate mornings. The domain of hangovers and other such twenty-something boogady-men. As per usual, my brain hurts. Too sharp and overly emotional, a severely shuffled Rubix Cube of blacked out memories. Every morning my back aches and I can't remember a damn thing from the day before. Was I even here?"
 
"Hachhh…"
 
He spits out the window.

 
"I don't think so. Am I the Disappearing Boy?"
 
"Ptooie!"
 
He flops back into bed with his eyes closed.
 
"Fuck, I just wanna be well…"
 
His hand going down his stomach.
 
"I just wanna be happy…"
 
Into his drawers!
 
"I just wanna feel good…"
 
Rogue's head opens up at the top and his dreams pour out. An elaborate sexual fantasy is taking place. A beautiful girl with weird hair and a huge ass is beckoning him into his own dreams.
 
"It's good to have a dream girl."
 
Rogue bites his lip in pleasure.
 
An invisible electric speaker breaks the wall between dream and reality.

 
"Come in Waking World, come in! This is Neural Nancy, rank of Three-Star Party Girl in Her Make-Believe Majesty's Mouthful. Rogue Taylor trigger sequence initiated…"
 
Rogue's eyes roll back in his head.
 
"This kid is one of our heavy hitters, people, so get ready to rock and roll!"
 
Rogue is waking up to a higher consciousness, his lips turn up into a smile as dream and reality become one.
 
"And here we go, in 3... 2… 1…"
 
SPLOOGE!
 
"In order for you to play with this record, you must tune your guitar to ours. We will start with the first string..."
 
 
 
Rogue shoots up in bed, straight, alert, too happy, huge grin, domino mask and cum dripping off his face.
 
"We would drag ourselves to bed. And sleep took everything I had. I kept it up till he would call. You made me feel like a criminal. And then there's you, you kept a smile though I would always walk the wire."
 
"Good morning Miss Bliss!! Special Agent Rogue Taylor reporting for duty, whatever it may be!!!"
 
"Another successful blastoff! Give 'em Hell, Marvelous Masked Mower! Give 'em Hell!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower is silhouetted, shimmering against a bright and beautiful sun. His arms are extended, holding a grit.
 
"And with that, the pain melts away. On a never ending manic swing, I'm walking on sunshine. And don't it feel good."
 
He touches down on a suburban sidewalk, still smoking.
 
"The life of the Marvelous Masked Mower is like a first love on heroin, every day ever."
 
"Damn, I talk a lot of shit…"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower walks an inch above the concret in long cut-off camouflaged shorts and a three quarter length t-shirt, sunglasses on and face up.
 
"And so, as the sun shines life down upon Muther Earth, the Marvelous Masked Mower screws around, until…"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower walks merrily down the street reading "The Great Gatsby," laughing a great deal. A Prospect Ave. sign hangs above his head.
 
"Ha ha ha ha! Damn this dude is funny! Huh!?!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower peeks out above his book. Converted suburbs for college students in various stages of disrepair mark this block of the Mower's world. Clearly, the F.U.K. sorority house is in desperate need of a thorough mow. Two sisters are out front struggling with a lawn mower, amidst foot-high grass, the high weeds tickling their booties in varying degrees of sex-ware.
 
"Awww, damn! I knew there was a reason I walked down Prospect!"
 
The chicks crouch around the mower. One smoking a joint.
 
"Bitch is all gassed up! I don't know what the prob is!"
 
"Gassed up, Schmassed up! The motor hauls too, but the fucking ripcord won't pull, so our lawn is doomed!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower's shadow envelops the girls and their machine.
 
"Maybe you girls just need…"
 
"A gentle touch!"
 
"The Marvelous Masked Mower!!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower stands triumphant with the chicks clinging worshipping around his legs, clawing at him, like Frank Frazetta's little brother black-viking.
 
"At yer fucking service."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower pulls the ripcord.
 
"Vaa-Rooooom!!"
 
He tears into the lawn with calculated abandon, like a Mexican Jackson Pollack.
 
"I wanna be stereotyped. I wanna be classified. I wanna be a clone. I wanna suburban home."
 
Internally-combusted, gas-powered, carbeurated, seven horse power abstact expressionalism.
 
"I want to be a statistic. I wanna be masochistic. I want to be a clone. I want a suburban home."
 
A checkerboarded color field of a prisms worth of greens, manufactured and packaged, well... recognized and catalysed by... me.
 
"I don't want no hippie pad. I wanna house just like mom and dad."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower lays flat on the lawn smoking a joint with the two chicks lying next him. The lawn is beautiful.
 
"So, *ahem* Mr. Marvelous Masked Mower… would you be interested in coming up to our room for some… *ahem* coffee?"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower sits up purposefully.
 
"Sorry Daphne, as tempting as the offer may be, the same strange, unnatural urge that brought me here is beckoning me elsewhere… later, babes!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower walks away down the street. The two girls can't hardly believe it.
 
"The fuck! Elsewhere? Hotter girls?"
 
"No fuckin' way."
 
"...believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eledud us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farth.... And one fine morning..."
 
"Ha ha ha ha! Hmmm… I'd know that song anywhere!"
 
Quarter and half notes float in the air, round about the size and weight of a banana.
 
A wicked tricked out ice-cream truck pulls up behind the Marvelous Masked Mower, hydrolics bouncing, gold rims, and a dictionary worth of treats painted on the side in day-glo taste paint. "The Merry Go Round Broke Down" so loud that adult ears bleed.
 
A shady-ass dude leans out the window and daps the Marvelous Masked Mower.
 
"Mr. Tastee! Right on time, as usual!"
 
Mr. Tastee is an infantryman, on the front lines in a dirty white linen suit and crooked red bow-tie.
 
"W'dup Mower!?! What'll it be today?"
 
"Let me see… I'll take a Lemon Licky Nubs."
 
Mr. Tastee open the freezer and condensation fills the truck. He hands the mower a radioactive-yellow frozen pop.
 
"Great choice."
 
The Mower licks up.
 
"Sooooo… wanna go to the bar?"
 
Mr. Tastee and the Marvelous Masked Mower look at each other, smiling.
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower rides upon the hood of Mr. Tastee's truck.
 
"Whoooooooo-hooooo!!!"
 
The truck screeches to a halt, in front of the bar, the Cantina. "God is a Punk Rock Chick" is scrawled on the wall with an expert hand.
 
As Tastee's brakes stop on a dime, the Mower flies off.
 
"Whoa!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower and Mr. Tastee walk in through saloon doors.
 
Tastee fist slams the bar.
 
"Whattaya say, Jay! Big-ass lager!"
 
"Summer special my man!"
 
The boys sit at the bar with a hottie bartender, drinking beverines, surrounded by various weird-os, denizens of pirate city.
 
"One ice water with lemon for the resident super hero."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower discards his straw and pounds down.
 
"Word!"
 
A grungy dude in a flannel scowls derisively at the MMM, sucking on a brew.
 
"Ha! I wouldn't believe it unless I saw it wit' my own two eyes! The "mighty" Marvelous Masked Mower can't hang with the booze no more! Pussy…"
 
Mr. Tastee is quick to stand up.
 
"Shut the fuck up, Dillinger…"
 
The Mower is generally unaffected.
 
"You know what they say dude, a thousand drinks are never enough…"
 
An other worldly hot chick with hair made out of yarn holds out a tall glass of ice water to toast the Marvelous Masked Mower.
 
"And one is too many!"
 
The three boys are dumbstruck at the sight of this angel.
 
"*Burp!* The fuck are you?"
 
Tastee slugs Dillinger in the mug.
 
Molly and Mower stare into each other's eyes with Tastee behind them.
 
"Molly Meadows, the right place at the right time."
 
"Rogue Taylor, likewise."
 
The two smile at each other, silent and smiling, Tastee rolls his eyes and pounds his beer.
 
"Oooooh-kay… I got a neighborhood full of kids whose lives need saving. Retarded Masked Mower, new sexy girl, catch you on the flip-flop."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower and Molly walk down the suburban street, Molly enjoying a Blue Tornado Bar the Marvelous Masked Mower smoking a grit.
 
"My health is failing me, so I flip on the television
And watch sad movies. And look for sad, sick people like me."

"So, no girlfriend…?"
 
"None to speak of."
 
"And you don't drink…"
 
"Not anymore, but I fuckin' love Mary Jane."
 
"(Me too.) And you're… a super-hero?"
 
"Well, that's what they tell me. A lot of times, I'm not really sure what I am at all. I keep the town clean and safe and beautiful. I can't really help it, you know? I mean, I'm my own boy, but I serve that which makes life more magical… lightning bugs and bong pieces, punk rock and peanut butter, go-karts and Hustler magazine… you know, the usual."
She looks at him.
 
"Yeah… the usual."
 
"I hear noises in the darkness. I hear sadness in your voice.
I hear noises in the darkness. I hear sadness inside you."

He looks back.
 
"Uhh... anyway. Your hair is, ummm… well, it's fucking beautiful, but it's, umm… made out of yarn? Pink and orange, glittery yarn?"
 
She poses her weave and talks.
 
"Yes it is! See, when I was a little girl I had leukemia, and went through chemo and all, and lost my hair.
 
"Part of my therapy was making all kinds of funky wigs with my big sister. This is one of my favourites, so I wear it from time to time… you like?"
 
"Yeah. Yeah, I like. Listen Molly, they're doing Lazer Operation Ivy down at the University Planetarium tonight, and it's gonna be fucking awesome, and I'd be honored if you'd go with me…"
 
She stares at him, smiling.
 
"I'll be there!"
 
 
 
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower walks alone down the street, whistling.
 
He walks into his bedroom.
 
Lies down on his bed and lights a joint. He holds the remote control in his other hand.
 
"Fuck I love summer! And it's time for Urkel!"
 
CLICK!
 
He turns the TV on, but instead of Urkel, it is pseudo-girlfriend, Grace Mayday in her Mystery Femme gear, silver and tight.
 
"Come in Marvelous Masked Mower, come in! This is Mystery Femme, Special Agent and rank of five-star Motherfucker. We have trouble Mower… big trouble."
 
The Mower tokes and looks confused.
 
"The fuck? What kind of trouble?"
 
Mystery Femme adresses him from his TV.
 
"If you've kept up on Her Make-Believe Majesty's Memos, you're familiar with the Tri-Delta Centurions' extended efforts to terraform phantom planet #2369, codenamed "David Knox". With recent advances, their dream has become a reality (as they are prone to do for people like us), but… it worked too well."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower leans back on bed, smoking and watching her speak like the dude in the Maxell tape ads.
 
"The entire planet is disgustingly overgrown. It's a nightmare! We have grass and dandelion height at Redneck Level 7.5. These poor alium's very summers are at stake!"
 
"Yeah, I dig, but the thing is I got a date and…"
 
"We know. Your ship is fueled up and the coordinates are already downloaded into your on-board. Help them Mower
Wan Kenobi. You're their only hope!"
 
He finally puts down his bong.
 
"Quit pandering, Mystery Femme. I'll be right there."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower's rocket… a 1986 Volvo 240 Wagon is parked in the lot out back.
 
"Fuck!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower straps in, smoking his grit in his spacesuit, wearing aviator shades.
 
"I hope that all this interplanetary travel and saving the day doesn't interfere with my chances of making out! 3…2…1…"
 
"Oi!"
 
The jets ignite and the Mower takes off.
 
The rocket hurtles through space.
 
"Is it cruel or kind not to speak my mind,
and to lie to you rather than hurt you?
Well I'll confess all of of my sins after several large gins
but still I'll hide from you, hide what's inside from you."

The mower lands his Volvo-rocket in an extremely overgrown lawn.
 
"A few hundred-million light years later."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower opens his trunk with his equipment in it. The grass is well above his head.
 
"The fuck? This shit's as high as an elephant's eye!"
 
He unsheathes a large cybernetic weed whacker sword, with spinning light saber blades.
 
"Ha! I love a challenge!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower goes wild all over the planet, mowing a sphere with questionable gravity is just the sort
of thing the Mower was trained for.
 
"Over the next few hours of gonzo lawn care, manicuring the phantom planet…"
 
"Something started to smell fishy…"
 
"It was quiet… too quiet…"
 
"And there were no super-grateful hot alium girlies anywhere…"
 
"I was almost done, and I knew I was seconds away from setting off a trap…"
 
The mower finishes the job and ghost rides his mower off.
 
He kneels down and examines the ground.
 
"And away we go!"
 
On the ground is a panel of metal, the face of a bomb. It reads "Gotcha Turkey!" and says "3…"
 
"Ha! I should have known! A reverse-grass-time-bomb!"
 
"2…"
 
"This is gonna suck!"
 
"1!"
 
"Cover yer nuts, Rouge!"
 
The planet explodes and hurtles the Marvelous Masked Mower into space.
 
"Cover yer nuts!"
 
KA-BLAMMMMO!
 
 
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower free-falls through deep space.
 
"But all the highs and the lows and the to's and the fro's,
They left me dizzy, Oh won't you please forgive me?
I no longer hear the music!"


"Dickhead! What'd I do to deserve that? Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to explode a pacifist!"
 
"I thank my lucky stars I got my Walkman and a word-ass mix tape! Space Jam!"
 
"And the full extent of my filthy, prismatic imagination!"
 
"Well I no longer hear the music when the lights go out,
Love goes cold in the shades of doubt. The strange fate in my mind is all too clear."
 
"Music when the lights come on, the girl I thought I knew has gone, And with her my heart had disappeared..."

"Still… it's a long way down."
 
"Worst part is I'm totally going to be late for my date. "
 
"What an asshole! I get lost in space instead of maybe getting honeysuckled kisses whilst listening to OPIV. Sheesh.
Maybe I'm getting a sinus infection or something!"
 
"And even with all the cool shit that I can do as the Marvelous Masked Mower…"
 
"I can't light a cigarette in space."
 
"But I no longer hear the music.
Oh no no no no no..."

Molly waits outside the Planetarium looking hot as hell.
 
"Later that night."
 
The mower touches down, scorching the earth around him. He instantly is lighting a cigarette and his whole body is smoking. His clothes are burnt and torn form space travel and re-entry. Molly waits dressed hotly in fishnets, short skirt, Gang War t-shirt, and eighteen eye red Doc Martins. She's heavily accesorized in spikes and glitter and is wearing a different bob-style wig.
 
"Oh my gawd, Molly… I am sooo sorry."
 
They are face to face.
 
"See first there I was trying to get high and then I got a call, and when there's a job to do I gotta do it, right?"
 
"Rogue…"
 
"But it turned out to be a trap (of course), and my car got exploded, and I had to space-swim for like, forever, and…"
 
"Dude…"
 
She puts he finger to his lips.
 
"And I'm just really sorry is all. Umm… you were saying?"
 
"Hush up boy. Walk with me, talk with me."
 
They walk hand in hand down a dark sidewalk.
 
"Don't sweat it, Rouge. I am a very laid back chick, and understand how shit comes up. Especially seeing as how you're a *super hero* and all. So guess what…"
 
"Uhhh… what?"
 
"I'll give you a chance to make it up to me."
 
She kisses him goodbye on the cheek.
 
SMACK
 
"Meet me at Black Angel Park Tuesday for lunch. Be there, or You. Are. Cooked."
 
"Promise."
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower walks in his back door on Paper Mill Drive.
 
"My new girlfriend is better than you, she's got bigger breasts and a higher I.Q. And she always knows which fork to use. And she doesn't always have some lame excuse."
 
"HA! The luck of the Welsh strikes again!"
 
He throws his keys on the table.
 
"She's a gigglin' and a wigglin' and a bakin' a pie, and I can tell just by the look in her eye that she's never gonna leave me wonderin' why, and we're gonna have a hell of a time."
 
"She is some kind of terrific girl! I can't f-in' wait til Tuesday!"
 
"My new girlfriend is better than you, she's got higer breasts and a bigger I.Q."
 
He walks down his hallway with punk flyers on the wall.
 
He walks into his room which is horribly disheveled, comics and books, and records, and tapes, and etc.. everywhere.
 
"The fuck! My OCD is going haywire! Did the damn cat do this!?!"
 
The mower spies something lying on his pillow. Sight lines lead to a seven inch record.
 
"What's all this then?"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower holds a forty-five which reads "David Knox – While Her Majesty Sleeps"
 
"So either the exploding planet cut a forty-five, or this Knox dude does not like my ass."
 
He puts it on his turntable.
 
"Huh."
 
The record plays.
 
"It's pretty cool British mod-pop. It's got that freak-beat, but it's got something else…"
 
He puts his hand on the turning record.
 
"Like just a touch of…"
 
He spins the record backwards to reveal a secret message.
 
"Devil Rock."
 
"The magick's about to die, Marvelous Masked Mower. The peanut butter well will dry up and yer candy will turn bitter. I'll break the necks of all the baby dragons, and do it for profit. Heart will be measured in inches and pounds and Big Brother will smoke all yer trees. Punk Rock is dead and you'll never see another tit! We're gonna pave paradise and put up a parking lot. It's the New World Order, Mower, and you are squarely fucked! Hugs and kisses, kiddo, Knox Out!"
 
The Marvelous Masked Mower lights a grit.
 
"Hmmm… I think this may be the bad kind of interesting!"
 
TO BE CONTINUED...
 
*OMG!  More drame than Gossip Girl!  More action than the NHL!  More laughs than eight hours of Nick at Nite!  Join us in just 7 days when the Mower's adventures continue!*
 

Moyer Miffs Marlins

By the time we rolled into Claymont, Ryan Howard had smashed his league leading 29th home run, a solo shot in the second, and his 85th R.B.I. As the Big Man rounded the bases in Miami, the Main Man boogied down in the parking lot, transistor radio in hand, and by the time we got out of Between Books after purchasing this week's comics, your Philadelphia Phillies had added another run on a Geoff Jenkins R.B.I. double, scoring Pat "the Bat" Burrell who had also doubled. Jimmy Rollins led off the third with yet another double and eventually scored on a single by All-Star second basemen Chase Utley, his 70th R.B.I. of the season. By the time our delicious Checker Burgers were ready, Geoff Jenkins had socked another solo shot leading off the fourth to give the Phils a 4-0 lead over the Florida Marlins.
 
The only drama for starting pitcher Jamie Moyer, who improved to 9-6 this season and 10-0 lifetime versus Florida, came in the bottom of the fourth as we got back to Timmy's neighborhood. After giving up the first Marlin run by an R.B.I. single to noted Philly-Killer Jorge Cantu, who had two of the Marlins four hits, Moyer loaded the bases for Florida's own All-Star second basemen Dan Uggla. Moyer got Uggla to ground into a double play, driving in the second and final run the Fish would score tonight. The 45 year old Moyer pitched his trademark calm and skillful six innings otherwise, enduring rare Florida showers. Chad Durbin and perennial hot-head J.C. Romero combined for a scoreless eigth, and Brad "Lights Out" Lidge rebounded from his All-Star Game loss to get his 21st save of the season. The red-hot Ricky Nolasco is handed the loss to go to 10-5.
 
A good night for Jenkins couldn't have come at a better time. The Phillies came into their first game since the break in a tie for first with the hated New York Mets. Fortunately, the Mets lost 5-2 in Cinncinnati and Jenkins, who hasn't given Philly fans too much to cheer about since joining the club in the off-season, contributed two key R.B.I.s, putting the Phils (53-44) back atop the National League East.

Blue Rocks Beat Salem on Cegarra's Gem

Your Wilmington Blue Rocks continue to strive for mediocrity as they beat the Salem Avalanche in Salem's Memorial stadium Thursday night. 19 year old Venezuelan Ed Cegarra pitched beautifully, eight shut-out innings, matching his career best from earlier this season. Cegarra (3-4) bounced back from his previous horrendous three inning, three homer outing against the Lynchburg Hillcats last Saturday to dominate the Av's on their home turf, allowing only five hits and racking up five strike-outs. First basemen Brad Correll, assigned to the Rocks on July fourth, socked his second dinger for Wilmington in the first inning, sparking the eventual 7-2 victory. Correll went two for five and currently has an eight game hitting streak. Salem did score twice in the ninth off reliever Greg Holland, but it wasn't enough as the rocks beat up on the Avalanche's starting pitcher Sergio Severino (0-2) and his relief. The Rocks continue this crucial seven game road trip against Salem tonight, sending 'The Thunder from Down Under' Paul Mildron (0-2 5.40) to the mound before swinging into divisonal rival Lynchburg for four games, and then heading home to take on the Kinston Indians. The Blue Rocks are 12-14 since the all-star break, three games back of the Carolina League, Northern Divission Leading Potomac Nationals, and 47-49 for the season.

Marvelous Masked Mower Serial

Bzzz!  Bzzz-ap!  Come in children of the past!  This is me, Dan from the year 2021, transmitting to you from the future with an important (and entertaining) message!  In the year of 2009, Todd and I will unleash upon the land the greatest comic book ever known, even better than X-Babies!  The adventures of the Marvelous Masked Mower will enlighten and embiggen the Earth young people, causing mass evolution by the year 2012!  It will achieve Holy Book status soon after, and eventually become a Saturday Morning Cartoon, ushering in a renaissance in that medium not seen since '86!  Earth's greatest PR agency landed super special guest scripter, God (whose existence is proved by 2015, much to his dismay as his popularity dropped significantly, but he's still a good draw) to do the novelization.  Due to copyright laws that won't be invented for another decade, I can't broadcast the cartoon, nor display the comic... but holy loop-holes!, I can send Yahweh's Novelization back through time.  Look for the serialized Adventures of the Marvelous Masked Mower every Saturday Morning throughout the summer, and enjoy some Fruity Pebbles, a fat bong, and a Cola of yer choice.  Bzzz!  Good luck, children of the past (yer gonna need it!)... I'll see you in the future!  Bzz-ap!  *End Transmission*

What can ya do...

Last 700 Social Club Show - July 31, 2008

The 700 Social Club begs appreciation. And not just for having over a hundred shows in one year in the basement of a residence where you can drink, smoke and party all night long. Like most good properties, it's all about location.
 
When I was coming up, the pre-emminent local punk club was Art Callahan's Barn Door on 9th and Tatnall, right in Wilmington's Center City. And in those hollowed halls you could see Explosive Kate, Jake and the Stiffs, the Crash, Plow United, the Halflings, Third Year Freshmen, Wally, the Bouncing Souls, Fifteen, the Queers, and many, many more, no matter how old you were. If you were underaged, when you walked in Art would say, "Go near the bar and I'll make ya' sleep with my sister!" or something like that. My first band Ninja Attak played our first show at the Barn Door when I was 16 and Brendo-Nintendo was only 15.
 
When punk rock crashed in 1998, the Barn Door went with it, and I started my bar tour of Delaware, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, New Jersey and New York, which would stretch over the next few years. Bars suck because ain't no one there wanna hear you play at all (unless you suck, then people are more inclined to enjoy you). The younger people are, the more they are willing to listen to you play. Plus, in larger metropoli, people tend to be more jaded, or at least wear an aire of jadededness. And they overcharge for booze! Only after playing fucking bars in Times Square or Southeast Philly or Newark, getting berated by everyone with a mouth, forced to lower our volume, and slap-fighting with coked out oldsters can one really appreciate the 700 Club.
 
Do you understand? It's in WIlmington, the finest city in all the Mid Atlantic! Sure, West Chester, PA and Brooklyn, NY have strong and good voices. And granted the voices of Philly and Manhattan are very loud indeed... but this could be the voice of Wilmington! (Voice supplied by Tit Patrol, Count von Count, the Headies, etc...) WIlmington offers most anything a city could want, except for and adequate night-life. For the most part, that is left in the hands of our extremely apt citizenry. Situated nicely at 7th and Harrison Streets, a block off Hilltop in the West Side of WIlmington, three or four times a month the Club regularly attracted good crowds for every show, black, white, Mexican, Asian, and Cherokee, very young and very old, sexy and busted alike, hippies (boo!) and punks like me, and a plethora of touring bands from all over these United States. And presiding over it all was the Dungeon Master Tom von Count.
 
J.P. Neary introduce me and Tom in 1997 and he joined Ninja Attak to replace the recently schizoed Mike Cruz. Tom was officially in the scene, and since that time I have seen him grow exponentially as a sick drummer, and into someone who can and did hold the entire scene on his shoulders. What Tommy accomplished at the 700 Club is one of the most impressive things I've seen locally in regards to love of punk rock. Any idiot can form a band, but it takes gumption to sustain a venue! He made sure that the music I love could be played in the city I love. And he has an Afro.
 
So, when my band the Headies gets back from playing the Mean Fiddler or some such nonsense for a bunch of pretentious hipster fucks, the greatest feeling in the world is walking into that basement at 104 degrees, after some dirty bitches played an hour and a half long set of industro-stoner power-sludge, (while me and Timmy listened to the Phillies on the transistor radio on the porch), it smells like a catholic boys school locker room, everybody who came to see the show is too tired and drunk to stand, so we play for Tommy, Peter, Sammy, and Jess. Thanks 700, I appreciate you.
 
 
The 700 Social Club will host it's last soire on July 31, 2008, the lease runs out at midnight.

yea!

And Don't Forget!

gotta keep movin'!

cant wait for funtime 8!

The best sax player this side the brandywine!

Mr puppy

FUN TIME COMIX # 8 COMING SOON

Not necessarily the final version of the wrap around cover, but the general idea indeed!

This marks the beginning of what should be a pretty extensive promotion campaign, so I reckon folks oughta get used to the idea of this book's existence!

so i got invited to join this blog but i dont know what to write about or why. except for this... can someone please tell me what season of the simpsons the episode where bart falls in love with the babysitter(darlene) is in? or better what number episode it is. any info would be greatly appericated!

p.s. bowling next wenesday night. in queens. come! birthday madness.