Archive for the ‘Friends’ Category

Strange, Great Times

July 8, 2013

One of the most wonderfully strange things that ever happened to me was this.


We called it The Ken Socrates Like-A-Look Contest.

Twelve gloriously beautiful loonies whom, to this day, I adore with the sort of undying affection that will earn you a restraining order in most states. They came from all corners of this crazy globe but they all had one thing in common.

The willingness to don the fur hat and sunglasses and, for a moment, just a fleeting moment, find out what it’s like to glide so effortlessly through the stratosphere of cool.

To each of you, a raised glass. Now and forever.


Black Mold Madness

May 31, 2011

So I spent the entire Memorial Day weekend helping someone with a remodel of an old home. Three straight days of hard work in 90 degree heat and 90 per cent humidity was enough to taint my mood but then, on the Holiday itself, there came the task of ripping up 40 year-old orange and brown shag carpet from a “finished basement”. Well, if the smell alone down there hadn’t already convinced me there was something unpleasantly wrong with the situation the sight of giant swaths of black fungus underneath the carpet and all through the foam cushion was the fucking alarm bell ringing confirmation.

Mold. Black Mold. Shitloads.

I was horrified, of course, that we had been breathing the corrupted air in there for three days. I knew full well the possible damage that stuff can do to a person. From the short term effects like headaches, congestion and rash to the long term effects like permanent neurological damage.

Then I realized an even more horrifying truth.

This is how zombies are created.

I know it. This is how it starts. The fungus gets inside you and the next thing you know you’re searching recipe sites for “how to cook human brains”.

I just have a bad feeling about this. I’m worried that later tonight I’m going to be crawling through my neighbors windows, a viscous black ooze leaking out of my nostrils and ears and mouth, face ravaged by rot and a rancid black mold actively growing out of every bodily orifice. I’m coming to eat your babies, people, but it’s not my fault I swear. I’m probably going to crack open your skulls with a table leg to gnaw on your gray matter. I’m might even chew off your grandmother’s tits. I don’t know! I might!

This is horrible. I never wanted to be a zombie at all, I swear. Let alone a baby eating, grandmother defiling Black Mold Zombie From Hell.

This is what I get for helping people. From now on I’m staying in my Zombie Proof Bunker. I have soup. I have grain alcohol. I have porn.

Who needs brains anyway?

Big Box o’ Fun

June 12, 2010

Or “How To Recognize A Good Friend From 1000 Miles Away”.

No. 1

The Larch.

So a giant box of goodies arrived on my doorstep this morning. Priority Mail. I knew it had to be something important. It was.

big box of fun

This Is What We, In The Business, Call The Motherload

The box contents were as follows:

  • 5 Boxes of Franken Berry Cereal
  • 1 Box of Boo Berry Cereal
  • 1 Box of Count Chocula Cereal
  • 1 Copy of Idiot America by Charles P. Pierce
  • 10 Different Assorted Doctor Who Illustrated Books (including vintage comics, guide books and the pull-out/pop-out Space Travels hardcover)
  • 1 Mars Attacks Ray Gun
  • 1 Rubber Lobster
  • 1 Sponge Eyeball (not pictured, already lost in the house somewhere)
  • The following note was included.


    Here are those enemas you ordered last week. Pluse, here are a few knick knacks for those German Krautbrats.


    Louis Double-Entendre

    Admit it. You’re jealous. There’s no one in your life of the sort of quality, spontaneous loony like the gentleman who sent me this. Think about it. Here’s a man who took the time to track down seven pounds of hard to find sugary goodness to pack up and send one third of the way across the country to someone he knows will, very likely, appreciate it more than any other human on the planet. Here’s a man who has given up some quality, meaningful items that he surely valued in his own collection in order to put a smile on another person’s face. Here’s a man who knows the value of a rubber crustacean.

    I’m going to eat so much Franken Berry later on tonight you can start taking bets right now on what color tomorrow’s poop is going to be. Right now I’m thinking Fuscia would be the odds on favorite. I may peruse the Voyager Graphic Novel while I eat. I may have my new friend Crusty by my side. Though, he’s not getting any Boo Berry. That shit is fuckin’ gold.

    Delight was not the word when I opened up this package today. Nor was “proboscis”. But that’s irrelevant. What is relevant is that this wondrous wacko brightened the day of a pal who woke up this morning thinking it was just another dreary Saturday of toiling away in the soul grinder and who, surprisingly, discovered otherwise.

    Thanks to a real friend. A brother, if you will. A comrade-in-arms in this relentless battle we find ourselves in every day of our lives called existence. It’s this sort of thing that reminds me I’m not in it alone.

    So Thanks, Friend.

    And you just wait and see what’s coming back in return.

    In Praise of Barbarian Hockey

    November 30, 2008

    Longtime readers and historians of the Ken Socrates World News Organization will certainly remember the man called Ozzy McGurt. For the many years he served as Editor and Head Writer for the KSWNO Sports Department he was most definately difficult to miss, that’s for sure. In fact, the only thing that can match Ozzy’s talent and his determination to bring incisive, relevant sports reporting to the public is his dimensional girth. Standing 6’6” tall and weighing in at over 380 lbs, the “internet’s biggest authority on sports” has become a force to be reckoned with in athletic journalism in the same way Godzilla is a force to be reckoned with on Monster Island.

    Of course, even a global news machine like ours proved too small for the man mountain of righteous rage, so he moved on, establishing his own empire at the powerhouse where he holds forth on all things sporting.

    A while back, when my favorite hometown team, The Boston Bruins, had reached an abysmal low point (trading league MVP and face of the franchise Joe Thornton for a bag of practice pucks and half a jar of Ben Gay) and it seemed there was no hope, it was Ozzy who showed up in Beantown and tried to help make things right. As always, when we get together, shit gets broken and maybe not all our plans came to fruition but suffice to say the OZ-man not only lifted my spirits but showed both myself and the B’s what it takes to stand up and be a real man. This is, after all, the man who invented the term Barbarian Hockey.

    It’s safe to assume the Bruins management paid attention to Ozzy. They fired the oily little weasel who traded Thornton and brought in a guy with an actual NHL resume. They spent a few bucks the right way, bringing in genuine All-Star talent in Marc Savard and Zdeno Chara. They stocked the farm system and now the team is brimming with amazing talented youngsters like Phil Kessel, Milan Lucic, Patrice Bergeron, Blake Wheeler and David Krejci.

    Better than that, though, is that they returned to a style of hockey that Boston fans truly love; a tough, in your face, hard-hitting, take no prisoners style. The way the Old Gods played it. Guys like Cam Neely and Terry O’Reilly. Guys a little further back who established a presence on the ice, especially at the old “Gahden”, that earned them the nickname The Big Bad Bruins. Back then, it was true. You didn’t come into Boston expecting an easy night. You came with extra ice packs and tylenol because you knew you going to leave a little worse for wear. Guys further back, still, like Milt Schmidt, a man who surrendered three years of his pro-hockey career to serve in the Canadian military during World War II. Guys who command your respect when you meet them.

    So now, it’s getting back to that. The current Bruins provide an intense style of game with an emphasis on defense and an opportunistic, balanced, four-line attack. Along with that, there is a new attitude on the team, a sense of team unity, that allows no teammate to go undefended, no offense to go unpunished, no enemy to leave unscathed. It looks like this at times, as Milan Lucic puts the exclamation point on a recent Bruins win over the hated Montreal Canadiens and ornery defenseman Mike Komisarek.

    Yeah. That’s exactly the sort of thing we’ve been missing all these years. That kind of swagger is bringing the pride back to town in a big way. It’s putting fans in the seats again, it’s making games must-see viewing.

    Yes, folks. In a city full of recent sports champions, where you are measured not only by your record and your rings, but by your heart, the Boston Bruins are suddenly relevant again.

    And for that, Ozzy McGurt, we thank you.

    A Voice In The Dark

    November 27, 2008

    I was rather intrigued and quite happy to find a comment in my last post from none other than the esteemed Dr. Horatio Von Darfaulker. Many of you know that he is a great friend and colleague of mine from way back in the days when the KSWNO was just a handful of confused but dedicated young journalists self-publishing a fledgling newsrag that we hawked on street corners and in coffee houses, even gave away free on the subway sometimes.

    Let’s be honest, that paper ended up starting more fires in the bottoms of trash cans near the Bus Station than it did give anyone cause to sit down and read it. It was back then that I first met Darkfaulker. He had been around ages, it seemed, so much more informed on the shadowy goings on in the world that we were so intent upon delving into. How many nights we tried to ply him with Absinthe and hand-rolled cigarrettes so he would tell us a few tales. When he did, we sat with mouths agape, drinking it in like hairy little sponges.

    These days, Dr. Darkfaulker is a busy man. Take, for example, his recent escapades with the dangerously alluring Sophia The Utterly Wicked. If that doesn’t send shivers up your spine, then chances are you’re an invertebrate. And that’s only a small slice of what life on a daily basis is like for a man who walks in between shadows, slips in and out nightmares, drifts through our reality and countless others, one minute a wraith, next the black hand of an otherworldly justice that would drive most men goose-honking insane just to consider it.

    So when I do hear from him it’s always a pleasant, if somewhat unsettling surprise. I know the good Doctor is out there and retains a certain fondness for our little gang, no matter how the organization has grown over the years. Deep down I think he knows we both fight the good fight in our own certain ways. That he found the time during his neverending battle against the creeping evils of the world to drop in is a considerable honor and I do appreciate it.

    And, yes, even though the demands on his time are literally monsterous, he nonetheless makes himself available to the general public on an intermittent basis to respond to queries from concerned people worldwide. If you should have the sort of question that, when you ask it, causes ordinary folks to shake uncontrollably while their eyes bug out and spittle flies their mouths, then maybe it is best posed to The Man Who Knows in his regular column, Answers in the Dark. If you’re prepared to hear the answer, that is.

    On top of that, the man is a genuine poet and musician, and a damned talented one at that, as is plainly evident right here.

    Sort of makes the rest of us look like slackers, eh?

    Just be glad he’s out there, folks. Because, if it ever happens that he’s in there with you…well, then… you’re Faulked.