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By Root 523 0

puds ain’t too glorioski but I don’t know a single woman who wouldn’t be proud to be known as a bitch; like take Helen Wheels whom I’m sure most of you’ve all heard of NYC punk rock and Blue Öyster Cult lyrics fame… she's just basically a nice SWEET girl who wouldn’t (couldn’t) hurt a dying katydid if she was ordered to by Sandy Pearlman… but she likes to pass herself off as a black leather badass macho toughchick feralteething molteneyed stilettopalmed BITCH straight & drooling rat venom from the lower depths of the IRT… she hangs out with Hell's Angels and other subhuman trolls to reinforce this “image,” not only that and speaking of which she actually wears a jacket upon the back of which is emblazoned the stigmatic spinal marquee “SUBHUMAN” but what's even worse she had the godawfullest tattoo that looks shit man I dunno like some hood ornament on a ‘53 Oldsmobile in red green and bile imprinted forever all the way around one of her wrists and that's something she’ll carry to her grave which hopefully will welcome her approx 120 years from now if she eats enough yogurt, it's like Lenny Bruce said about being Jewish and having to get buried with a tattoo, your relatives would rather you just cut off your arm and buried it in the East River before the funeral, but by now if they’ve got a gander at some of her masculine companionados I imagine Helen's folksies would feel only slightly less mortified if she deported herself to a

nuclear silo buried 40 miles underground in North Dakota, which only goes to show that in spite of manifold and pervasive evidence to the contrary it still is not all that hard to be an out-and-out all-American deviant at least in the eyes of Dom ‘n’ Mad in the year of our bored gumsgnashings 1977 so I hope all you ponque kidleets out there take proper inspiration from this twice-told talke of Helen Wheels and stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourselves that both me and Phast Phred-die15 would just as soon put you to death at this point. Either that or tie you to your high chairs and make you listen to The Idiot for the next eight years, by which time we’ll have another prezidunce who hopefully will be a Republican and a criminal as well so we can all relax and go back to feeling cynical about the basic fact of being alive and everything else from there on up and not have to bear the onerous brunt of thinking that maybe rock ‘n’ roll and you and me and all the other war-pos are not dead after all so things might actually get better if we pulled our paging fingers out our buttholes and got around to applying ourselves again like we did starting in 1963 or thereabouts as soon as that jock creep JFK caught a skullful of era's end and everybody thenceforth went berserk till Nixon got in but have ya ever noticed how even berserkness travels in cycles, shit it's almost enough to make ya go back to throwing the I Ching. Notice I didn’t say where you should throw it; I threw mine out the window after it told me I was gonna marry a short blonde girl I went to high school with in 1963 when there were no blondes in my high school and all the vergingly verdant womens there were six feet eight inches tall which meant I could eat pussy without having to fall on my knees which did a hell of a lot for my masculine ego which by the way reminds me if Cherie Currie is reading this I’d love to fuck you even though I know you’re nothing but a stupid bitch who thinks Quaaludes are the apogee of Western technological civilization, I’d like to tongue your clit till you screamed and then make you suck my cock till I bled joy and then I’d kiss your pouty lips just once just to show how sensitive and compassionate I am and then I’d bite your pathetically teeny titties and maul and twist ‘em around with my practiced mouth until you screamed louder better in real nonschmaltzy unromantic pain kinda like a Russian intellectual being tortured in a Soviet mental institution for writing poetry that didn’t hype the proletariat and then I’d hunch crawl and maybe even grovel down trailing drool across the pale tender white breath