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

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Seriously, I don't get it

OK, so, when I was a kid and used to work in theatre and shit, I was in this one play.
The director had cast this peeler as one of the girls in the play.
That's a peeler like back home

Not like in Belfast.

Anyways, this babe was, to put it mildly, a little light in the old consistency department.
Lovely girl, very talented. Kind of a Quaalude & red wine drunk, but there's nothing intrinsically wrong with that.
But it soon became apparent, even in the early days of rehearsal, that she was finding things like getting to rehearsal on time a serious challenge.
So the director charged me with minding her.
I had wheels, and was generally a responsible sort.
So I was tasked with collecting her, from her apartment or the Hoochie Coochie joint where she worked,

and getting her to the theatre on time.
Needless to say, I frequently ended up being treated to her plying her wares, as it were, often having to wait for her to finish up her set.
Other times I kind of had to physically roust her from the depths of her boudoir.
No biggie, really.
Actually, I'm pretty sure she got 'em out in the course of the play we were doing, too.
Anyways the point is, I seen her buck naked on a regular basis.

And then, one time, I was going to get her to drive her home or something, and I just gave a quick knock before opening the door to her dressing room, and she was like half-dressed, and she went apeshit on me.
Yelling at me for not knocking and not respecting her privacy and on and on.
And I was like...huh?

Anyways, that's how I feel whenever I sit for like hours having a meal with a bunch of Taiwanese people, who manage to get through like 10 courses plus soup without ever once closing their mouths.
And then when dinner's over they all grab the toothpicks and do the two handed mouth shielding thing.

And I'm like...the fuck???
Dude, I been looking down your damn gullet all night, what's the big fucking secret???


Tuesday, November 20, 2012

It's always a bittersweet moment...

...when one of you guys grows up and starts your OWN blog.

But mostly it's good, because it's one less of you to bitch me out when I don't fucking post for a couple weeks.

Anyways, put your hands together and give a big Tribal welcome to the new blog of everyone's favourite unhinged Desi, our own Divvo the Insane, it's called, wait, what the fuck is it?

Oh yeah, Gilded as charged.

Which is a pretty catchy title, really.

As usual, I got no fucking idea what the fuck she's talking about, but it looks pretty, which is plenty for me.
So, go and support our newest Tribal offering, and don't be fuckin shy about Followating the fuck out it, yeah?

How do you say fruitcake in Hindi, any fucking ways???


Mee Fucking Ow already

So, yeah, I got me hands on a hardcover trade of Batman Incorporated a while back.

I ain't that far in, but it's pretty fucking excellent, I must say.

Only thing is, I'm having some trouble with Cats.
(And no, you wiseasses, it ain't because I keep needing to go rub one out every 3 pages)

She continually reminds of you-know-who, and it's sort of distracting.
It ain't because she's so hot it'd make your teeth hurt

And it ain't because of her dynamite pooper

or the cleavage that could make the lame get up and walk.

Any joke involving "bone" here would just be too easy

No, it's actually her smart mouth and bad attitude that seem to resonate so strongly.

At one point, Bats saves her from being submerged in this huge water tank where she's about to get eaten by this gijantic Nipponese monster octopus, and all she does is complain how uncomfortable her leather outfit is when soaking wet.

Yeah, that kind of sounds familiar.

Oh yeah, her and Bats

are fucking each other.

Which is, you know, pretty cool.


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

From the Scene...

Well, there goes the Ambulance.

Hypocrisy, Intolerance, Avarice, and Intransigence are being rushed to Mercy General as we speak.

They all took a shit kicking tonight, one that was a long time coming.

They're pretty fucking resilient, I doubt we've seen the last of them, but for tonight...

Rest easy, nice work, America.


Friday, November 2, 2012

This one's for

the other path you didn't take, the one where you own 2 black suits (3 pair pants), 4 white shirts, 2 ties, both black, one of these

and one of these

just for, you know, variety.

And you live in a room over a Chinese Restaurant

where they get your mail, with a blue dog

named Roy.

The cigarettes and cheap whiskey are obvious and don't bear mention.

You can be found most every night except Mondays, playing old torchy numbers at some lounge up the street with a bartender named Jake who, despite being well past his prime, still forbears no shit from nobody, and shows you pictures of his two daughters who live in Portland with their Ma and her new husband.
And you're perfectly happy playing all the cheesy old numbers, because people pretty much leave you alone.
And things could definitely be worse.

Oh, and you can get any redhead in town, without even trying.


Thursday, November 1, 2012

Yeah, sure, kid, whatever you say...

So I got this ancient Army shirt I wear sometimes.
It has, as it turns out, one of them O Cannibas patches

on one shoulder (I think the leaf on mine is green, but otherwise the same).
I'm sure most of you have seen it at one time or another.
I don't really notice it, and most of the time I forget it's there.

Anyways, a couple weeks ago, a Friday night, the Royal Family are at some concert or some fucking thing, I'm sitting outside a local convenience outlet on the Tumbler after knocking off, availing myself of a locally produced (under license) fermented grain beverage

(or maybe two).

Of course, I was experiencing the spiritual fulfillment of, more than likely, it being a Friday, a selection or two performed by the Brothers Young et al.

Only to point out that the obvious presence of earphones was somewhat ameliorating my normally friendly and welcoming demeanour.

Odds are pretty good that I was commensurately indulging my filthy tobacco habit as well, I should say.

Any fucking ways, suddenly there's this guy trying to talk to me, to my colossal annoyance.

I turn to look and see that he isn't, surprisingly, some orange hair/bad teeth/loud scooter punk, some drunken local puke reeking of shitty antler wine with binlang drool coursing out from between stained and rotting teeth, or the neighborhood retarded guy, those being about the only strangers who come up and try to engage me out of the blue.

No, it's amazingly, this normal (for here) looking kid, maybe 1st year University student.
You know the type, pencil neck, big glasses, maybe 150 pounds soaking wet with a hardon, spotless Nikes, cute little girlfriend with the body of an 8-year-old boy attached to him at the hip, pretty standard stuff.

So anyways I turn off my iPod, mostly out of curiosity, and kind of look at him.

And he sort of stutters out:
"Theese...theese peektcho..."
And he sort of points at my shoulder.
"Theese peektcho...bewwuee koo!"
Nodding and grinning like a madman the whole time.
And I look to see what he's indicating, and it's the patch on me shirt.
And I'm like "Ungh", not really knowing what to say, and he says, more confident now, what with me not biting him or anything, starting to show off for his wee girlie there, his Adam's apple doing a fuckin Mexican Hat Dance:
"Eeeess...weep, uh, yes?"
And I'm like thefuck?? and I go, like "Uhhh, sorry?"
And he says
"Theese peektcho...ees call WEEP, yes?"
A long confused pause ensues, and then I get it.

"Not WEEP, it's WEED. Wee-DUH. Weed."
"Weed! Ahhh, weed! Yes!! Ees bewwuee koo!!"
"Well...thanks. Nice of you to say."
"Sank you! Bye bye!"
And just like that he heads off with his girl, off for who knows what manner of Friday night debauchery.

One certainly hopes he was able to leverage his proven expertise in International Communications into receiving a Kay Parker handjob

Hope you all realize the dangers involved in procuring this image for you...

or bag of Doritos

or some fucking thing.