I wrote a piece of quasi-fiction for this week’s column. I hope everyone enjoys it. _______________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________

“TRANSGRESSIVE GIRL & BISEXUAL ROCKABILLY CHICK”

Today I saw a Transgressive Girl on the bus. I could tell she was Transgressive because she was reading a book by an uncompromising, anti-establishment author. (Her Dazzling Killmen shirt was soiled…ripped.)

She said she only listens to Rapeman, Scratch Acid, and Flipper. Nothing else, ever.

She was intense. Satanic. In-your-face. Counter-cultural. Uncompromising. Defiantly underground — unconventional, iconoclastic and fiercely individualistic. An indelicate ass-whistle of vivacity. Unkempt too.

Transgressive Girl said she hated “malls, corporations…your face.”

She said America was “an imperialistic pop tart full of bullshit consumerism.” She was anti- anti- anti- anti- anti- anti- anti- anti-everything, especially “your face.”

She told her bisexual rockabilly girlfriend that “Henry Rollins is a really profound man. He says some really deep shit.” She said she really “respects his work.”

The two commented on “how fucking gay the suburbs are – they’re for hedge-trimming, Kiwanis douchebags and yuppie motherfuckers.”

Rockabilly Girl said “FOX News wouldn’t know how to take back the night if you spotted ‘em 10 dead hookers and a flashlight.”

Transgressive Girl told Rockabilly Girl about the “the show in Olympia last week.” The scene was intense. Tobi from Bikini Kill was there. Fucking rad.

Rockabilly Girl said her punk rawk blog, Abba Cadaver, allowed her to “excrete neuroses via the printed word.”

I felt like I was standing on the edge of a volcano. Yeah, I said it. The chicks were hott. Even with their vast carpets of back-hair.

There was some heavy, industrial music coming from their moist apertures. The air was thick with cred.

I felt like a lawn jockey in comparison, a dead-end turd from a lifeless cul de sac.

Transgressive Girl was reading Steve Albini‘s seminal essay, “The Problem With Music.” She turned and read aloud to Rockabilly Girl:

Every major label involved in the hunt for new bands now has on staff a high-profile point man, an “A & R” rep who can present a comfortable face to any prospective band. The initials stand for “Artist and Repertoire,” because historically, the A & R staff would select artists to record music that they had also selected, out of an available pool of each…

…Lyle Preslar, former guitarist for Minor Threat, is one of them. Terry Tolkin, former NY independent booking agent and assistant manager at Touch and Go is one of them…

…The A & R person is the first person to make contact with the band, and as such is the first person to promise them the moon. Who better to promise them the moon than an idealistic young turk who expects to be calling the shots in a few years, and who has had no previous experience with a big record company. Hell, he’s as naive as the band he’s duping.

At that point, I could no longer contain my excitement. I stripped naked and rolled about on the bus floor, in the style of David Yow. I was yelling indecipherable gibberish, and eventually I got kicked off the bus.

A fat guy in an Oregon Ducks shirt farted. The ghost of Charles Bukowski snorted out an unyielding, spirited poem.

Transgressive Girl and Rockabilly Girl got off the bus too. They were headed to the Indie Cinema Palace to see M*A*S*H* 2010. The flick stars Henry Rollins and Jello Biafra as Iraq War surgeons B.J. Hunnicutt and Hawkeye Pierce. For 90 minutes, Hunnicutt and Pierce read Mumia Abu-Jamal‘s prison memoirs at the deathbed of wounded U.S. soldiers. They make pertinent, thoughtful comments while Dead Kennedys music blares.

The girls never made it to the film, though. They were blindsided by a MAX train, which killed them.

THE END

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