Welcome to The Tribe.
Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Whew, Raj 1, Karma 0

Don't fucking get me wrong.
I got numerous friends and family who have produced male-style progenicalistical offspringuage.
Some of them are even you.
And they're pretty much all, for the most part, lovely young fellas with whom it's a pleasure to maintain lifelong relationships of varying degrees of avunculatude.

I don't got much, but I offer it up DAILY to the Creator in deepest most heartfelt thanks that I got a Ranette at home rather than a Pravira.

Because, you see, the thing is, if it WERE a man-kid, it would, it follows, be MY man-kid, and I'd know WAY TOO fucking much about what was going on inside his devious freckled conspiratorial duplicitous little cola nut-shaped noggin to EVER be able to relax, even for a fucking minute.

Example, right about now, I know I'd be just starting to randomly uncover ingeniously hidden dirty books (wait, do they even HAVE dirty books anymore??) all over the Palace, the provenance of which would be pretty simple to ascertain.

Instead, I come in and what do I catch The Ranette reading???

Dodged the fuck out of THAT fuckin bullet, any fuckin ways.

Oh yeah, and



  1. Uhm, enjoy this while you can. There's a hail of bullets waiting for you right around the corner. And by hail of bullets I don't mean the Dutch death metal band from Amersfoort.
    I'll introduce you to my Mom. She's HAD an adolescent daughter. You guys can talk.

  2. Your Mama played with HOB???
    Wicked, I love those guys!
    Although I must say, Ed Warby's work with Gorefest was a little more up my personal alley.


Hey, thanks for the fuckin feedback.
Readers' opinions and feelings are fucking important to me.
No, I'm fucking serious.