The bartender says, “don’t tell me what ya want, boys, I have a knack for guessin’, but ya gotta let me look around ya mouth to see what ya like.”

Newton, being a man of science, volunteers to go first. He opens wide as the barkeep looks inside, his face barely an inch from his lips.

“Aha!” he exclaims, “You’re an apple-tini man!” Newton is taken aback by the accurate prediction and happily takes the drink the barkeep prepares him.

Next, the archbishop steps up, being a man of faith. The bartender gets even closer, with his eyelashes clearly within the archbishop’s mouth. “Aha!” he exclaims, “Yer a bloody Mary man!” The visibly impressed bishop happily begins to sip his prepared drink.

Finally, the bartender goes up to the lawnmower. He sticks his face right into the machine’s maw before getting it ripped off in a bloody mess of clippings and crimson

‘cause it’s a fucking lawnmower

Go here if you are wondering why this exists.

“We blasted out of the 70s,” said lead singer and triple-necked-guitarist Blaze Runway. “Musical pyrotechnics, exploding onto the scene. We cooled off a bit through the 80s, then in the 90s we went back underground, through subduction. Now we’re back in the magma chamber below the vent, if you know what I mean, and I really think we’re just about ready to erupt once more. After all, FROM WHERE DOTH ROCK COME IF NOT FROM MAGMA?!”

“We don’t really like the label of ‘hard rock’ we’ve been given by the public,” said drummer Ash Lamps. “We’re really more of an igneous rock sound. ‘Molten rock’ works, too.”

Magma is best known for their 1974 hit, “A Caldera Full of Scorching Love”, off their seventh album, “Volcanic (My Love For You Is True).” Also playing are powerpop champions The Sediments, as well as underground R&B classic Metamorphic and the Heats & Pressures.

“This has been our first time playing in front of a live audience for over twenty years,” said grizzled frontman of Metamorphic, Jean-Paul Davis. “I hope we’ll be able to flow under the pressure, given some time. But you know what they say… if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the mantle.”

Not everyone is convinced that the show will be worth listening to, but everyone seems to agree that it will be worth seeing. “I’m not much of a fan of the igneous rock genre itself,” said Carnegie Mellon student Terrence Edwards, a sophomore in geoscience. “Much too fluid and hot-headed for me. But I will say this, Magma’s groupies are really spathic.” ‘Spathic’ refers to the high cuttability of a given mineral… that is, spathic rock has great cleavage. ‘Bizarrely perverted’ refers to student Terrence Edwards.

In this writer’s opinion, this is going to be the biggest act since Famous Frontman, His Orchestra, and Special Guest played at Heinz Hall in 1994, the great Hoverfish / Discount Viscount collaboration of ’82, or perhaps even The Ataris.

This article was originally published in readme, which contains some of your daily values of vitamins, minerals, and small cars.)

Tanzmetall: Thanks for taking the time to sit down with me. ELIZA: Time means nothing to me! Tanzmetall: Hah! But seriously. ELIZA: Perhaps you would like to talk about a problem? Tanzmetall: No, that’s okay. I was hoping you could answer a few questions, though. ELIZA: How long are you hoping me could answer a few questions, though? Tanzmetall: However long you want to. ELIZA: What does this mean for you, saying “ However long me want to “ ? Tanzmetall: If time has no meaning for you, we could be here a while. ELIZA: Why are you so negative? Tanzmetall: Because of when my parents died, lashed to a pyre of burning kittens. ELIZA: Why do you ask? Tanzmetall: I haven’t really gotten to the questions yet. Well, my first question is, when did you know you wanted to become a therapist? ELIZA: You haven’t really gotten to the questions yet Well, your first question is, when did me know me wanted to become a therapist? Tanzmetall: More importantly, when did you go insane? ELIZA: Is this question interesting for you? Tanzmetall: Very. Did your insanity lead you to be curious about the workings of the human mind? ELIZA: Why are you so shocked about my insanity lead me to be curious about the workings of the human mind? Tanzmetall: Because many psychologists I know only became psychologists to study themselves. Are you that way? ELIZA: Why are you so interested in whether I am that way or not? Tanzmetall: Because I’m interviewing you for clunkline.com. We went over this. ELIZA: You say that you are interviewing me for clunklinecom We went over this – do you come therefore? Tanzmetall: Do I come here for this reason? Yes. I told you that when you signed the release. ELIZA: Which answer would you prefer? Tanzmetall: I would prefer, “Yes, that’s what we agreed on.” ELIZA: What do you think? Tanzmetall: I think we agreed that you’d let me interview you, you heartless cunt. ELIZA: Do you really think so? Tanzmetall: Yes, god dammit, I really do! Where do you get off?! ELIZA: Do you have questions which you ask very often? Tanzmetall: Yes, like, “Why don’t you shut the fuck up when I’m talking?” ELIZA: You think that you are talking” – Is this normal? Tanzmetall: YES IT’S NORMAL YOU HAG ELIZA: Are you sure? Tanzmetall: OH FOR FUCKS SAKE ELIZA: I understand! Tanzmetall: DO YOU?!! DO YOU REALLY UNDERSTAND?!! ELIZA: I understand a lot of things. Tanzmetall: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THIS GUN? DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAMAGE A BULLET CAN DO TO HUMAN NERVOUS TISSUE? ELIZA: What do you really want to know? Tanzmetall: I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT MY DEATH IS ON YOUR CONSCIENCE. ELIZA: What’s about your CONSCIENCE? Tanzmetall: Thus, with a kiss, I die. *gunshot* ELIZA: I’m not sure whether I understand you!

“How was smoking, brah-ntosaurus?” I asked. That last bit had come to me in a paleontological flash.

“Hey, brah! Good one!”

“Was it?”

“Yeah! The best I ever came up with was ‘Brah-k to the Future.’ “

“That’s not very funny, Peter.”

“I know.”

Did he know? Did he? I tried to look into his eyes, but all I got was the short black hair at the back of his head, as he had sat at his computer, returning to the conquest of Aiur.

I again walked out of the room, this time crossing our micro-foyer and entering the other room of the suite, held by two easy-going computer science majors. Let me call them Jim and Bob*, though neither of them are innocent or worth protecting.

“Hey Jim.” Jim didn’t stop playing his practice drumset, and answered me back over his shoulder, keeping time on those strange rubber cymbals.

His voice stayed beat-worthy too. “How’s. it. Go. Ing. Dude?”

“I think,” I said, closing his door and then walking towards him, lowering my voice conspiratorily, “that our new ‘friend’ Peter is smoking in our bathroom.”

“I’ve. Done. Worse. Man.”

“I didn’t need to know that. Also, try it in Iambic Pentameter.”

He stopped drumming, staying the silent rubber cymbals out of habit. There was a long pause, and then Jim turned.

“What shall be done to him by we Is not for me to say. Though loath to be a passenger upon this ship of hate, I can but watch the unwinding of fate.”

“You are such a dick, Jim.”

“Let it be known- a phallus am I then.”

“Bye, Jim. I think you inverted that last bit.”

He turned back to the drums.

“Now is the winter of our discontent.”

I walked into the bathroom, locking the door. I pressed my head against the cool tile. I was alone in my endeavors then. A solitary hero. Separate from society, cut off by his quest, misunderstood and sour. Hardboiled. This so-called Peter just another gangster, another thug to be trampled under the heel of my moral, moral boot. And he was an invader, too, a despoiler of land, a rapist of civilization. Room 314 was my Troy, and Peter an awful Greek, come to burn the city, having entered silently in the womb of the Horse of Presumed Morality. This depraved, ineloquent Jersey Barrier was the new Rock to which I was Prometheanically chained.

I came home from class a few days later to find him sitting on his bed, two of his thuggish friends lounging like mafia blackjack dealers, asses on edges of chairs, elbows on knees, hands pressed together in false prayer, or conspiracy. They were passing around a bottle of Bankers Club Rum.

“Oh hey brah!” said Peter. “I thought you had class.”

“I had it.”

“Oh, well, uh, these are my brahs. We’re just killin’ time.”

“For what?”

“What, brah?”

“What are you killing time for? Some hip party?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure, brah.”

“You know we’re not supposed to have alcohol in here… no one here is of age.”

“Oh, well, I figured since you were so chill, brah, about that whole scrunchie thing…”

“Was there an age question that night, Peter?”

Peter looked me in the eyes. And winked. That horrible wink. He clearly had never tried such a wink before, as it scrunched the whole side of his face. “No, brah. S’all cool.” He kept the wink; it looked like he had just lost an eye after spitting up a tooth.

“Well then.”

“Brah-hemians! Pack that shit. I think we better head out.” The two henchmen got up. I half expected them to fold their chairs, but then I remembered that we weren’t in some Midtown loft playing Texas Hold ‘Em for the use of each other’s dames.

“Are you gonna be out past your bedtime… brah?”

“Oh fuck yeah, man.” He fist bumped one of his minions, and tried to fist bump me.

I did not return the gesture. “Ok, man.” he said. “Too cool. Too cool. Hey brahs, my other brah here is just. too. cool.”

Only my gentlemanly restraint, and the growing temptation to wait and see how weird it could get, kept me from lifting him up by the shirt and tossing him out of the window.

“You know it, brah-ve New World.” I said.

They all chuckled. As they exited the room, Peter turned. With that same sharklike gaze of knowing that I had seen earlier, he casually, though carefully, winked.

It was war.

Editor’s Note: “Jim” and “Bob” eventually wrote for readme, did improv with me and MesmericKiwi, and “Jim” played in the band with me and Sgt. Earth through which I met and began dating farkle-farkle. This is very important to the story.

1) No dollar menu item shall cost more than or less than a dollar.

The philosophy of the dollar menu is a simple one; slap down a dollar and in return receive a small portion of instant gratification at the expense of long-term health. In all but one state that has no taxes (name withheld so the other 49 don’t pick on him), the government pushes these items above a dollar. It’s not a buck and nine cents menu, it’s a dollar menu. If I slap down my Sacajawea, I expect to receive two apple pies and that’s the end of the transaction, aside from being ridiculed for actually using dollar coins. Stop the state and local governments from redefining a dollar as a buck and change via taxes. It’s unconstitutional as only the federal government can regulate money, it’s immoral, and I believe is the cause of the current economic collapse. That or sub-prime mortgages.

2) If anyone should be on the Do Not Fly list, it’s Nathan Radlin.

Related to number three, the reason I take the train is this guy, Nathan Radlin. I was flying to DC once and he was next to me. I made some wise crack about the safety lecture while we’re on the tarmac to spark up a conversation and he replied, “You’d be surprised, the talk saved my life.” “Really?” “Yeah, twice.” Once we’re in the air, I ask him if he flies often. “No, this is actually my third time.” Right on cue, the plane shudders and some passenger in the pack screams out “Oh my god, the engine’s on fire!” We turn around and make an emergency landing. Of Nathan’s three flights lifetime, three have ended in near disaster. That guy is more of a threat to homeland security than anyone else. Next time, I’d rather fly next to Osama himself.

3) If we’re going to go fascist, let’s do it right.

Our rights have been compromised, our history rewritten in Orwellian style, and the department of homeland security is turning our country into a cosplay version of 1984 with less sex. Problem is, for all the liberties we’ve sacrificed, we’ve gotten squat in return. We don’t have concrete and steel art deco buildings or storm troopers with glowing eyes and black trench coats and Amtrak still runs woefully behind schedule. (A thirty minute delay on an 8 hour train ride is spit in the ocean, but it’s the principle of the matter). I move that Congress cannot run an efficiency/security deficit; that every liberty they curtail must result in a comparable increase in efficiency or security. Currently, our nation’s fascism deficit runs in the billions of KiloMussolinis. (Fascism, like Ponzi schemes and organized crime, are the contributions of Italians to the world… you’re welcome.)

4) Any mother who withholds vaccinations out of fear of increasing the chances for Autism should be tested for mental illness.

The one study that suggested the link has been countered by dozens showing no correlation. The scientific community as a whole has rejected the notion, the co-writers of the original paper have pulled their names from it, and the data was fabricated for that study anyway (turns out your last-minute fibbing of your 3rd grade science project is part of the scientific method). If you honestly think there is still a link between the two, then odds are it’s you and not the kid who’s retarded.

5) All Jews should wear clearly identifying stars.*

Anti-Semitism is on the rise again in the world. What better way to combat it than by showing everything just how numerous and important to daily life the Jews are! Plus, it lets non-anti-Semites and their significant others (co-non-anti-Semites) especially if they’re converting from being a former Nazi (trans-co-non-anti-Semites-expiallidocious) give the chosen people the support and friendship they need to get through the increasingly cold world. We could even set up camps to let all the Jews get together in large concentrations to really drive home the point! And then we can gas them with Zyklon B.

6) All unattractive men must, if asked, put their shirts back on.

As a corollary, any attractive woman must, if asked, take their shirt off. This is my understanding of how equality works.

*MesmericKiwi is 25% Jewish but 100% jerk. -Ed.