Don't Call Me Dick

I’m so fucking sick of these ungrateful shitheads. I work for months booking shows and hunting down promoters, all so their lives run smoothly.

What do I get? Angry phone calls, complaints and more time away from my sailboat in the Caribbean. The little bastards keep spray painting on people’s walls and getting loaded in front of small children.

What did I get myself into? I’m an old man.

I made a killing off of ambulance chasing and malpractice lawsuits in the ‘80s and now I agreed to manage this dysfunctional group of failing musicians.

I should have taken U2 up on their offer in ’99.

It is what it is.

- DCOI Manager, Richard Hiesner

Junkies in God's Land

By: Benjamin C. Dewey

Nine degenerate low lives were taken into custody Thursday morning after a bag of fecal matter was expelled from their vehicle and found its way on to an Iowa Highway Safety Patrol car.

Sergeant James Tyrant said it took 10 miles before he was able to run the group off the road. He claims this was no accident but an intentional act of biochemical warfare in its simplest form.

“The suspects are being decontaminated,” Tyrant said. “It seems as though they had been living in a van for some time now, they all have lice and are suffering from some form of a skin infection similar to scabies. They still have not been properly diagnosed and remain quarantined from the rest of the inmate population.” 

Reports of similar incidences across the state continue to come in since the group has been arrested.

Only 50 miles east at a Safeway in Iowa City, cashier Kelly Lincoln said three of the suspects tried to purchase a bag of feces with their groceries; before breaking the bag over the cash register.

“I’ve lived here for 43 years,” Lincoln said. “This is appalling, those junkie-faggots could have infected me with aids. Here in god’s country, we trust in the lord. I say we string ‘em up by their necks and send them back to California as a message. This is god’s land.” 

REAKonDCOI

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Wasteland, USA

Post-attack, Wasteland. USA - Clinging. To what, an old rusty truck and a pile of smut collected from the homes of the dead.

They hit us in ’32. I guess abduction had grown stale and all the information needed had been gathered, calculated and then executed with devastating accuracy.

The attack left rubble, ashes and few survivors.

The ones left, wander a scorched desert-earth. Only enhanced by the air that lingers, still heavy with toxins from the last few hundred years.

Leaders chuckled and rolled when the masses threw stones but in the end, they were the first to go.

Besides the destruction of civilization it’s pretty much the same. Greedy politicians had already sunk their fingers into everything, swaying cultural changes in their favor, a bit like brainwash. We were already slaves. Now, if left alive, you’re a slave to hunger, loneliness and a decision.

Whether to end it all and take yourself out or wait till the inevitable pounces on your ass.

It’s mathematically bound to happen - eventually water, gas and food rations run out and you're left dehydrated and cooking in the seemingly never-ending dessert. No hope of help ever showing up.

It seems a lot quicker and painless to just drive this shitty truck off a cliff and be done with it. I always hated the heat anyways.

- SEWER

THANX FRANK!