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Ruder Than You Productions - august 99
by: rohe
RudeRestraint
The mayhem, the madness, the misinformation
First, a bit of background. RudeRestraint the newsletter began its life in August, 1994 on a particularly boring weekend afternoon. Your author had just shaved all his chickens, bikini waxed the dog, made bubble sounds in all the motor oil he could find, and it was only 4 o'clock in the afternoon.
It's at this point that legend and fact become muddled and only heavy doses of cough syrup and a moderate regimen of electro-shock therapy could ever hope to uncover the truth behind those fateful days of late '94 to early '97.
RudeRestraint has seen several incarnations in that time and even picked up a few guest authors along the way, but here it is for you now dear reader, offered for your vilification or enjoyment, to tickle or torture, to taint you or tempt you…
Welcome
RudeRestraint and its parent company, Ruder Than You Productions, make no claims as to actual mind loss from reading this product. Individual results will vary in accordance with alcohol consumption and previous drug use. If symptoms continue more than 48 hours see a doctor and then fuck off why don'cha?
Having said that, I feel better, really I do dahling. Put on that Morphine CD, won't you, dear?…and bring me a drink….WHAT?…To the last milliliter?!!…Start the Com-busting Beast!…Bring me the Big Boots!…And currency…And clean underwear!…I'M GOIN OUT! Like I'm gonna demean myself to composition without certified, proper synaptic lubrication? Furthechrissake, what is this, some piss-elegant book club?
Now, it may be observed in your author a certain tendency to tip a few every now and then. While this in itself is not cause to raise alarm, it may also be observed that your author was found in the wee hours of the morning on his neighbor's porch nekkid with a bucket of southern-fried quiche under each arm. Again, no cause for alarm, nekkid neighbor porch quiche dancing is an acceptable practice among enlightened Coloradans.
(Note: Ask a Coloradan which came first, the chicken or the egg? The narrow range of answers is quite astounding. Some will walk away from you, making sure to piss on your car as they leave. Others will give you a nonsensical answer, covertly pushing into your hand a catalogue of sex toys attached to a daytime list of unattended pets. Yet others will stand proudly and say: "QUICHE!!! Arriba aribba andelai!!!" and promptly squat in the potted plants on your porch.)
Now, the point of this story has less to do with me than the neighbors (that's the neighbor on the right if ya was in the house facing the street, not in the street face down in front of the house). Peering out from his screen door, he says: "Quit soilin' me plants, Quiche Boy." Sensing immediately he was not among the progressive and enlightened, I felt a definite urge to soil more than his plants. But keeping control of more than just my composure, I said: "It's a fine night, huh?" and "Powerful fine porch crop ya got here", just attempting the small talk in the smaller digits of the morning. So, to make a long story shorter, he excuses himself for a moment, returns, and proceeds to threaten me with a bald incontinent parrot, and my choice from column B, one of several pneumatic sex devices.
Regardless of possible…klik whirrr…grave bodily injury…whirrshlupp…it is at this point…schluppschlupp whirr…that I must tell you, gentle reader, I will leave no stone unturned, no parrot or sex device untried, in my quest to bring to you every single detail of my worthless commodity consuming life. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it grand? God Bless America and the Internet! Hyuh!
With that said, dear reader, and my reason for writing this crap divulged-I think you should know-shouldn't trust that neighbor guy around an electrical outlet with any pets in easy reach-come home find Scruffy with his eyes sucked outn' his ass…just thought you should know.
NEXT TIME: I Was A Teenage Yard Ape Boy In Chains. A play in three acts with lots of Big Wheel races and peeing behind bushes. See ya!
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