#Kaiser’s old fart

[empressyu123]

My Bllk AU 33#

Chouji, Kaiser and Noa visiting Kaiser’s old man.

Chouji: You useless waste basket, You disheveled dinosaur, you prehistoric pancake, you pigeon fucking pistachio, you absolute. WISDOM TOOTH BUILT ASS RAT BASTARD!!!

Kaiser: …should we stop him?

Noa: *sipping coffee* no it’ll just make it worse

[atypical-artisan]

Happy pride month

Another Punch Out Shitpost for you all to enjoy

[riverdale-retread]

Riverdale S7 E5 Tales in a Jugular Vein

We open with the three unwise men of Riverdale who fancy themselves the key authorities of the “situation”  - Clifford Blossom, the high school principal, and Dupont from S4 that they keep giving more names to that won't stick in my memory:  His first name is apparently Friedrich.  It’s not even Freddy, it’s Friedrich like he’s some sort of kaiser. In any case, the Blossom patriarch as the source of all evil in this town asks if Ethel has been silenced. 

Yes, she has, quite literally - the nuns at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy have imposed a ‘vow of silence’ which seems like a euphemism for literal physical muzzle  (Poor Ethel).  The parents are all very concerned about the murder of the Muggs but the three wise men are not.  They are also confused about why it is that Sheriff Keller is continuing to chase down this ‘milkman’ that Ethel saw as well as the murder weapon.  The HS principal seems not to know that this is Sheriff Keller’s actual job, but Dupont (Werther? Whatever) says that the real problem is COMIC BOOKS.  

I don’t think these old farts understand how very incompetent Sheriff Keller is. He’s the man who forgot to check the time of death on the coroner’s report. Ain’t no way he’s finding the murder weapon. 

And he has a whole batch of them to toss on the table, the topmost of which is The Pit Of Tyranny.  Which is what these three men are, sitting together all close in dim lighting.  (Are they going to have a threesome after??)

Dupont/ Werther hates comic books, because they are the source of all violence and iniquity in the world, so he is going to make everyone in Riverdale focus on them.

Jughead meanwhile strolls into the offices at the publishing house looking for work. He is just so happy to be working as a writer, across all universes! So adorable.  His asshole publisher who always puts out the most terrible terms - a full issue, 21 pages worth of  stories, no errors, by tomorrow morning! - and Jug is just bright eyed and bushy tailed about it.  “Plenty More Where That Came From!!”  Super eager Jughead is so cute - “I wont let you down!” with the finger POINT.

The publisher hands him a stack of potential stories, advising Jughead to talk to Bernie about them.  The extremely paper wasting way of listing these little A03 tags, 3 at a time, in single index cards is very luxurious to me.

Boxer, Vigilante, Organ Harvesting

Man, Woman, Cult, Rocket

“Gosh Bernie, all these stories have been done to death!” Jughead says.  Aw Riverdale, you’re so silly when you get meta.  Is this actually the writers’ process at Riverdale, the Show?  Because this was actually a fan theory I saw go around - that they literally just throw darts at the wall and then weave the stories together from keywords.  Is Roberto trying to tell us something about his “process”? 

Just in time, his girlfriend (Because Veronica is his girlfriend now, right? She certainly enters the room like she’s the girlfriend) Veronica comes over, calling him her “Little Tortured Genius” as Jughead is typing away.  She wants to go see  Diabolique, but Jughead is being very intense about his deadline and says maybe they can go tomorrow. 

The idea that Jughead thinks is GENIUS is “stories about teenagers in high school.”  And his ideas grow to things like Witchy Lunch Lady, Creepy Janitor, “Homeroom of Horrors.”  Jughead is completely enamored by his own ideas. 

I really need to take on Jughead’s attitude about work, maybe.  The way he phrases it  - “Al has asked me to take on an entire issue!” makes it so sound like he is adored and beloved and trusted, rather than being exploited. 

On second thought, no.  

Jughead needs to be more like me.

In any case, Veronica takes what he says at face value.   She wants to help him, so Jughead tells her with enthusiasm about his first story, which is about gym class (“What’s scarier than gym class?”). The narrator in Jughead’s special edition is a very unhinged looking unkempt old man, a ‘creepy janitor’ with a bunch of keys.  Jughead even got one of the artists to draw a mockup for him.  He’s really good at this, worming his way into this publishing house!

The first story is called Keep Your Head in the Game. 

And this is when I got attacked for a second time by this, my favorite television show, because they came for my throat.  Poor bespectacled Asian Dilton is called “the runt, the klutz, the pipsqueak, half pint, short, near sighted and uncoordinated.”

STOP TALKING ABOUT ME!   

He is the last among a row of boys who are being forced to uselessly throw a projectile so it lands in a specific arbitrarily designated location. (I hate you, all sports. I hate you, all games that involve throwing things at me.)

Nobody can leave until everyone makes  a basket which Dilton can’t.  OMG.  My PE grade depended on making a certain minimum number of baskets in gym class in Germany, and I almost failed it, but I kept at it with such bloody minded Korean dweeb determination that even though I definitely failed it, my teacher wanted so to go home that she gave me a C. This is so personal. 

The Coach makes the other players run laps while Dilton desperately tries to make one lousy basket. Of course, the one most immediately pissed off about this is Julian.  He threatens Dilton as soon as the lap running starts, then slams him against the lockers at the first opportunity.   Actually though, I decided during the course of this confrontation that Dilton would deserve what he got, because Julian asks him a very important question: Why are you even here if you can’t make one stinking basket?  Dilton idiotically wants to be part of ‘the team.’  

Dude. 

Dilton.  

Dude.

Don’t be stupid.

Julian pushes Dilton into a locker, while all the other boys let it happen.  Including Archie.  Archie is like this in every universe - he doesn’t think this is correct, but other than voicing a sort of weak objection, he doesn’t actually do anything to solve the problem (Flashing back to the infamous birthday episode with Jughead.  Does Jughead the writer of this tale really not remember the OG universe?? HMM??).   Dilton is desperately screaming inside the locker after Julian threatens for a second time to kill him.

Dilton it turns out is morbidly claustrophobic, which somehow leads Dilton to suffering a psychotic break.  The day shift cleaner lets him out, but he steals the fire-rescue ax to hide in the same locker until he can pop out and get rid of them all.   Covered in blood, Dilton is next seen in the basketball space, easily making a basket.  The coach is all atta-boy until Julian’s decapitated head rolls to his feet.   The coach turns his head to see six decapitated heads, all wearing Chuck Taylors, sitting impossibly upright in a row on the benches, their hands demurely in their laps.  

Hahaha! OK so this was funny. 

The heads are all neatly stacked in between basketballs in a roller container. The next head that he picks up is Archie. 

Veronica is all about murdering jocks.  She especially likes that Julian Blossom got his head chopped off.   Jughead wriggles a bit on his round butt which he does when he’s being excited and smug. He explains that Dupont/Werthers (et al) don’t understand that comics are actually very *moral* forms of entertainment.  Rule breakers get punished in these horror stories, as do people who are cruel to others, as well as people who have lustful sex.

Veronica calls him Juggiekins (SQUEE) when she asks him to elaborate on what he means by lustful sex. 

Jughead says that it starts on a ‘dark and stormy night’ exactly as the night outside in Riverdale starts to get stormy.   The next story is called “Love You to Pieces.”  The “young strapping man” Archie Andrews knocks on the Blossom mansion door to explain that he has a flat tire to Nana Rose.  He asks to stay the night, to which Nana Rose generously says he can keep himself warm by the fire.  

There’s a very wholesome looking portrait of Cheryl that Nana Rose and Archie share their tea front of.  Nana Rose gives Archie a warning - he must stay in his room with the door locked all night, because Cheryl is an aggressive compulsive boy-molester.  Archie is immensely excited about this.  He leaves his door not just unlocked  - he leaves it OPEN, then sluttily lies there with his shirt off.   What we have is a Rocky Horror Show type of sequence when Cheryl comes in to kiss him.  She won’t let him light a candle, then they flop down to the bed together. (This is apparently what Jughead thinks sex is).

What the heck is Jughead’s problem with  Cheryl?  The cruelty of this story about Cheryl (as the audience knows her) is a bit shocking.  She’s definitely trapped in the house.  Her family members definitely sexualize teenage Cheryl.  She is definitely cursed.   And he’s using all this against her?  JUGHEAD.

Next morning, Archie is very pleased with himself as he bounces out of the guest room.  He sees a very ominous looking veiled young woman looking out the window, but he doesn’t say anything to her.  As he scarfs down a generous looking breakfast with Nana Rose, he proves himself to be a real asshole.  Having been told not to fuck Cheryl and then having done it, he wants NOW to know what’s wrong with her.  Apparently it’s fine if he just took advantage of a crazy girl (“What exactly is wrong with her, a mental illness?” he says as he cheerfully chows down.)

Veronica does not like this story whatsoever.  Jughead says it might be a “curiosity killed the cat” story or maybe even a safe sex story (even though that phrase wouldn’t be coined for another three decades).  Ever the smartie, Veronica sniffs out the Jarchie angle to all this, directly pricking at Jughead with “I’m hearing that Archie and Cheryl broke up” and that they didn’t actually have sex.  Jughead pretends to not be shooketh by this news and the realization that his resentment of Cheryl getting to fuck Archie before him was what was motivating this story.   He says, “Well, who can keep up with all the horny teens at Riverdale High?”

It’s only when he is told that what Cheryl has is a physical illness which is contagious - LEPROSY - is when he is upset.  Nana Rose is immune because she was ‘exposed’ to it as a child but of course, Archie wasn’t!  Then Nana Rose gleefully tells him that it “was no accident that brought you here.”  The nail in the road was Nana Rose making sure that Cheryl would ‘relish’ her last days on earth (because she is soon to die).  “We’re going to be together forever and ever!” Cheryl says as she comes from behind to grasp the terrified Archie by the shoulder. 

Jughead Jones is pro-food and anti-sex but he’s also pro-making out with Veronica. 

Anyway Veronica tells him the point of high school is for straights to  chase each other.  Jughead is just too far up his own ass to catch the hint, so he moves directly to, “Girls will do anything to get boys’ attention” to which Veronica, now thoroughly bored because the lustful sex story turned out to be an anti-sex debacle, glumly retorts, “Including feigning an interest in comic books, apparently.”  Jughead is not listening to her, at all. 

Jughead the writer next turns his poison pen upon the blameless Betty Cooper.  Or is he?  Because honestly his descriptions of her are so  completely wrong as to be comical:  “Plain Jane with the ponytail mane.  Sweater set waiting for better yet.  Whom none of the boys seem to sic their sights on.”  I mean, in the real world of the 1950s AU, Betty was targeted by the lying asshole Kevin as the perfect unwitting beard because she’s the prettiest girl in school, and no guy who can ‘get’ and keep the prettiest girl in school can be gay, right?  

Anyway, in Jughead’s story, even though he calls her Betty, this girl is not Betty in the real world.  She goes to the hair salon in tears because nobody wants to take her out.  The drag queen (is it the same actor who is playing Janitor Key Keeper?) hairstylist suggests that Betty gets the beehive.  She suggests that ‘girls in Europe’ are doing it which is immensely enticing to Betty.  The thing is, according to the hairstylist you can’t ever wash your hair again once it’s in a beehive.  It can only ever be hairsprayed  (Aqua Set).  Betty objects on hygiene reasons - hair should be washed every other day or at least once a week!  - but decides to give all that up for the joy of being beautiful.

Jughead the writer has  a thing for Dad joke level puns - he describes the girls of Riverdale as being “gangrene with envy” at how fabulous Betty looks with her new hairdo.   Cheryl is upset, and so is Veronica, so when they run into her spraying the hell out of her beehive in the girls’ bathroom, Cheryl attacks first.  She calls Betty “ponytail princess” and the haircut “ridiculous” and Cheronica laugh meanly about it.   This turns out to be the very first time either girl had paid any attention to Betty, so Betty figures all attention is good attention.  She “started needing it, feeding off it.”   Veronica is in blue-white polka dots, Cheryl is in red check, but Betty is in the same blues-and-yellows of the bathroom!    

The hairspraying is out of control, but the heavier and more shellacked her hair becomes, the more boys are attracted to her. Julian wants to carry her books to class.  Archie wants to go out with her on Friday.  Two nameless extra boys just wanna stand close by and stare!  Betty doesn’t even accept Archie on his first pass either.

She does develop a bit of an obsession with the hairspray.  Sitting very Wes Anderson-like in her yellow-green living room, dead center frame, in her yellow-greenish outfit, she is spraying and spraying.   Betty never washes or undoes her hair, instead spraying it further before going to bed.  The narration says something VERY BAD HAPPENED as Betty’s window throws a huge spiderweb shaped shadow over her sleeping face.

A week later, she and Archie are finally on a date!  Pops says that Betty has always been a peach when Archie implies she’s suddenly become good enough with the hairdo change. Go Pop’s.   Can I just say I hate the word GINCHY. Is this an actual word from the 50s or did they make this up for Riverdale?  I refuse to look it up.  Archie insists on using it TWICE in one sentence - he calls Betty and her hair both Ginchy.  Ugh. 

The song called “I got Stung” comes on so they go out to the dance floor.  Archie is the dorkiest dancer of all time but Betty seems to be having a good time, until she suddenly isn’t.  She is coughing up foam! She’s having a fit!  Archie looks so horrified.  The narration comes in to say Betty is now DEAD.

Veronica is super not amused by this conclusion, which I think Jughead put in there for her benefit because he just got done talking about how these stories in this horror comic are actually all morality tales.   She takes issue with it, in the beautifully spruced up space she created for Jughead to live in. “What’s wanting to look good?” asks Veronica, looking absolutely perfect beyond all reason.  She also says that men do the same thing, turning themselves into he-men.

Heyyy Doctor Curdle Jr. is the coroner!  He finds Betty very beautiful with a fascinating hairstyle.  He cuts the top of the hairdo off, which unleashes a torrent of spiders down Betty’s beautiful dead face.   Black widow spiders ate their way through Betty’s skull.  Well.. okay.  The Key Keeper bursts in to tell us that “beauty is only skin deep and  vanity kills.”

The thing is, even though she doesn’t appear to like these stories, Veronica is still annoyed that she hasn’t had a starring role, unlike Dilton, Cheryl, Archie and Betty.  The fact that Dilton is included in this list is interesting, isn’t it, given the relationship, both shown and implied between the other universe Dilton and the Rivervale Dilton and Jughead?   She specifically asks a tale romantic in flavor, which is not at all the flavor of what Jughead has been writing all evening NOR who he writes for, but then because Veronica is actually gay her thoughts skip directly from romantic → focus on female friendship.   

Asking a man who has written about spiders eating into a girl’s brain because she got a fussy hairdo one time to write about “female friendship” is a recipe for disaster.  I will say, Jughead does sort of start off on the right foot - he suggests a story where the girls in a love triangle  do NOT go after each other’s throats. This brings Veronica’s hopes up too much though (“Now you’re singing my tune!”).

This last story is called, “My Better Half.”  

Jughead really dislikes Archie in this universe.  Like, a lot.  He sees Archie as a really dumb slut (both terms derogatory).  Are we absolutely sure that Tabitha did a complete mind wipe? Where does all this hostility come from?  The story starts out with the Key Keeper (who has a wicked case of sunburn or rosacea or whatever) coming in too close, way too close, to call Archie “a half wit when it comes to decision making.”

I object to this. This is unfair.  Highly suggestive is what Archie is and has always been.  When Julian tells him to ask Cheryl out, he does. When Cheryl tells him to write Betty a poem and start wooing her, he starts out to do exactly that.  And so on.  

The multiple choice question Archie is struggling with is the choice between A. the girl next door, or B. the rich starlet-socialite.  Betty in a pale blue headband and white neckerchief looks like Disney’s Cinderella, whereas Veronica looks like a Betty Page type seductress with her severe haircut and dark red lipstick.  Archie chooses C, both of the above.  

MWF are Betty, and TThrSat are Veronica days.

In a super modern innovation, Archie tells both girls that he’s dating the other one, and both girls allow this to happen.    Veronica thinks Betty is a smelly tomboy and Betty thinks Veronica is a vapid airhead.  This is exactly not at all what either of these girls are so this choice is interesting. (Is Jughead pulling his punches because Veronica is right there looking at him type?)   Archie just doesn’t have the brains to explain the concept of polyamory I suppose, so his way of coping with the objection from both ladies is to tell each that she is his favorite.

Julian wants to know how Archie gets away with it, and Archie calmly offers it up.  This is in matter of fact Archie’s actual philosophy of life a lot of the time:  You tell them what they wanna hear.

He even gives them  his best line - You’re my favorite. (Doiley gets yelled at because he tells Archie this is not three words, but four.)

The three girls at Riverdale are in the bathroom, fixing their make up. Veronica in black polka dots, close fitting, with a black handbag.  Cheryl in a flared skirt red-and-white dress.  Betty in pinkish dark check with a black belt.  Of course, Cheryl is the one to start shit, while standing between these two girls, by asking Veronica who will be her date for Valentine’s Day.  She calmly continues to do her make up while Veronica and Betty have at it. 

Veronica calls Betty “dumb for such a smart girl” and a “charity case.”  Betty calls Veronica “fragile,” “desperate” or “crazy.”   Veronica is furious at being called Fragile, so she fights back with “high strung” and then they're lobbing intimate things they’ve learned about the other from Archie.  Betty takes Alice’s sleeping pills because she can’t sleep.   Cheryl turns around to call both of them fools.  Betty carries a white handbag, by the way. 

Archie says that he ‘s taking his MOM to Valentine’s day because it’s her first Valentine’s day without her husband.  Both girls are completely moved, but also get their punches in.  Archie asks them what they’ll be up to, to which both say they will be at home.  They go on a girl’s night out on Valentine’s Day.  

And guess what?  Cheryl!!!  It’s Cheryl that’s Archie’s date for Valentine’s day!!   They see them in the Diner!   Veronica is immediately about to go do some confronting, but Betty stops her, saying she has a much better idea.  Immediately the next day, both girls approach him at once (I love Betty’s outfit with the contrast belt and the white hairpin) to offer a threesome.  This is something that Archie must have been working himself up to get them to do, because as soon as it’s offered he says he knows the perfect spot.  But they’re setting him up so they get to choose the location.   They invite him to the shop room because it’s soundproof. 

Because Jughead is the one writing this story, the girls set up the shop room with TONS of candles.  (Has there ever been a good fandom post about Jughead Jones’ candle fetish? Because it’s a really persistent theme. Please share).   They’ve even set up what looks like a bed on the floor of the shop room, as well as a record player.  Veronica and Betty are speaking in unison using identical dulcet tones. They give him a thermos of coffee which is apparently delicious, even though Archie says he doesn’t “need the boost.”  

I have been living a very sheltered life because I didn’t know that caffeine caused priapism but then Archie is an unusual bird.  Archie does feel strange immediately - there’s a funny Looney Toons type of doi-oi-oi-ing! sound effect as he tries to ‘shake off’ the effects of whatever they’ve drugged him with.    He collapses. 

When Archie regains consciousness he’s strapped to a table.  It turns out the sleeping pills were what knocked him out.  “A problem shared is a problem solved” the girl tell him, calling each other B and V.   They turn on a huge saw to “double their fun” as Archie screams and screams as they slice him in half.  The camera is completely doused with blood. 

Veronica wants Archie’s top half and Betty wants his bottom half.  I wonder why this choice?  Veronica is a breast girl, and Betty is a leg woman? 

Jughead wants to know what Veronica thought of the ‘tag team twist’ at the end.  Veronica is not pleased.  She says that the sexual politics of his stories are troubling.   She interrogates Jughead for demonizing women, to which Jughead says she is overthinking it. These stories are meant to be a gas etc.  She just doesn’t like these stories.

The thing is, I don’t think these stories are misogynist so much as anti-sex.  Jughead is very puritanical and judgmental at the same time - he finds all these people’s aspirations (retaining the desire to be part of a team even if that team isn’t nice to you and there’s no team that calls for your specific strengths, wanting to have easy sex that doesn’t mean anything, wanting threesomes, wanting approval and admiration for shallow things from others) all really dumb. He wants to punish people for being vulnerable.   He’s like a lot of solitary, self conscious overthinkers - he finds other people nakedly going after things they want painful to contemplate, and so he is mean spirited about them.

The main mistake Jughead made here though was that the story he wrote with Veronica as his lead wasn’t flattering to Veronica.  And Veronica’s mistake was hoping for something like that from a man writing in the horror genre.

I snorted when Jughead mentioned Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe as somehow aspirational because I know what happened with Miller after Monroe died (he wrote a whole play where he called his ex wife a great piece of ass, which, great. Super classy. Yup.)   Anyway they’re broken up now, over Veronica not liking Jughead’s writing.  He is sad about the break up between them.  Jughead is also worried about accusations about ‘corrupting the youth of America’ via comic books.

Friedrich Werther (Dupont!) has made good on what he said to the two other Unwise Men at the start of the episode.  He’s written a whole editorial on the front page of the Riverdale Register about the dangers of Comic Books: Slaughter of the Innocent!  It actually appears to be a fully written article that’s being used as a prop.  It ends with “I am asking for a call of arms.  We must attack our attackers. No one likes a fight, but the fate of our children hangs in the balance.”

Werther absolutely does not have children, so it’s the usual huge red flag when childless men go on about ‘our’ children.   The other major thing that has happened is that Four Horses Have Escaped From Farm (this is also a fully written article.  Apparently, nobody was injured, but the children did neigh at the horses , which confused the farm animals. What?)

We cut to the principal reading his boyfriend’s article out loud to their leader Clifford Blossom with great absorption.  “Our children are being seduced by sex, by violence, by depravity.”  Blah blah.  Clifford - who is mayor by the way - says this crusade against comic books is going to be a nice distraction from the still unsolved Muggs murders. 

Back at the comic book business, Jughead is told by the publisher that his work is “incredible stuff.”   When Jughead says he needed a win, Fieldstone guesses that it’s girl trouble.  Jughead tells him he had a “sweet thing going with this one gal” and she didn’t like what Jughead was saying.  The publisher does not care what that means, and instead offers a byline (not a bonus, not a cover) so Jughead’s name is going to be in print!   The publisher names him Jughead JUGULAR Jones.  Featherstone promises that girls come and go but one’s name in print makes people sit up and take notice.   Apparently this is going to set Jughead on a collision course with Dupont (Werther! Whatever!).

I am sad that Jeronica is over, though I do like the way it just sort of fizzled out because they ran into an incompatibility that they could not find a way to overcome rather than Archie or Betty causing them problems, which I appreciate. And you know what - the fact that Jughead just can not stop thinking about Archie fucking other people makes me think the Jarchies have it right after all.

[bloojayoolie]

Bloods, Church, and Clock: LIG 70% 12:10 ADD MEMORY OPH ADD PHOTO SHARE THIS TRIBUTE JOSEPH A HELLER, JR 1937 - 2019 Obituary Obituary of Joseph A. Heller, Jr. Joe Heller made his last undignified and largely irreverent gesture on September 8, 2019, signing off on a life, in his words, "generally well lived and with few regrets." When the doctors confronted his daughters with the news last week that "your father is a very sick man," in unison they replied, "you have no idea." God thankfully broke the mold after Joe was born to the late Joseph Heller, Sr. and Ruth Marion (Clock) on January 24, 1937 in New Haven, CT. Being born during the depression shaped Joe's formative years and resulted in a lifetime of frugality, hoarding and cheap mischief, often at the expense of others. Being the eldest was a dubious task but he was up for the challenge and led and tortured his siblings througha childhood of obnoxious pranks, with his brother, Bob, generally serving as his wingman. Pat, Dick and Kathy were often on the receiving end of such lessons as "Ding Dong, Dogsh*t" and thwarting lunch thieves with laxative-laced chocolate cake and excrement meatloaf sandwiches. His mother was not immune to his pranks as he named his first dog, "Fart," so she would have to scream his name to come home if he wandered off. Joe started his long and illustrious career as a Library Assistant at Yale Law School Library alongside his father before hatching a plan with his lifelong buddies, Ronny Kaiser and Johnny Olson, to join the Navy and see the world together. Their plot was thwarted and the three were split up when Joe pulled the "long straw" and was assigned to a coveted base in Bermuda where he joined the "Seabees," Construction Battalion, and was appointed to the position of Construction Electrician's Mate 3rd class. His service to the country and community didn't end after his honorable discharge. Joe was a Town Constable, Volunteer Fireman and Ambulance Association member, Cross walk guard, Public Works Snow Plower and a proud member of the Antique Veterans organization. Joe was a self- taught chemist and worked at Cheeseborough- Ponds where he developed one of their first cosmetics' lines. There he met the love of his life, Irene, who was hoodwinked into thinking he was charming individual with decorum. Boy, was a she ever wrong. Joe embarrassed her daily with his mouth and choice of clothing. To this day we do not understand how he convinced our mother, an exceedingly proper woman and a pillar in her church, to sew and create the colorful costumes and props which he used for his antics. Growing up in Joe's household was never dull. If the old adage of "You only pull the hair of those you love" holds true, his three daughters were well loved. Joe was a frequent customer of the girls' beauty shops, allowing them to "do" his hair and apply make-up liberally. He lovingly assembled doll furniture and built thema play kitchen and forts in the back yard. During their formative years, Joe made sure that their moral fibers were enriched by both Archie Bunker and Benny Hill When they began dating, Joe would greet their dates by first running their license plates and checking for bald tires. If their vehicle passed inspection, they were invited into the house where shotguns, harpoons and sheep "nutters" were left clearly on display. After retiring from running Bombaci Fuel, he was perhaps, most well-known for his role as the Essex Town "Dawg Kecher." He refused to put any of his "prisoners" down and would look for the perfect homes for them. One of them was a repeat offender who he named "A**hole" because no owner would ever keep him for very long because he was, in fact, an daily a**hole. My Dad would take his buddy on rides in his van and they'd roam around town with the breeze blowing through both of their fur He never met a dog he didn't like, the same could not be said for the wanna-be blue bloods, snoots and summer barnacles that roamed about town. His words, not ours. Well maybe not exactly his words as those would been much more colorful. Joe was a frequent shopper at the Essex Dump and he left his family with a house full of crap, 300 pounds of birdseed and dead houseplants that they have no idea what to do with. If there was ever a treasure that he snatched out from under you among the mounds of junk, please wait the appropriate amount of time to contact the family to claim your loot. We're available tomorrow. Joe was also a consummate napper. There wasn't a road, restaurant or friend's house in Essex that he didn't fall asleep on or in. There wasn't an occasion too formal or an event too dour that Joe didn't interrupt with his apnea and voluminous snoring. Besides his beloved wife, Irene, and brother, Bobby, Joe was pre-deceased by his pet fish, Jack, who we found in the freezer last week. Left to squabble over his vast fortune, real estate holdings and "treasures" are his three daughters Michelle Heller (Andrew Bennett) of Newton, MA, Lisette Heller (Lenny Estelle) of Ivoryton, CT and Monique Heller (John Parnoff) of Old Lyme, CT. He relished his role as Papa and Grampa Joe to Zachary, Maxwell and Emily Bennett, Megan, Mackenzie and Ryan Korcak, and Giovanna and Mattea Parnoff and hopes that he taught at least one of them to cuss properly. Left with decades of fond and colorful memories are his siblings Pat Bedard of Madison, Richard (Pat) Heller of Oxford, and Kathy Heller of Killingworth, sisters-in-law, Kathy McGowan of Niantic and Diane Breslin of Killingworth, and 14 nieces and nephews. No flowers, please. The family is seeking donations to offset the expense of publishing an exceedingly long obituary which would have really pissed Joe off. Seriously, what would have made him the happiest is for you to go have a cup of coffee with a friend and bullsh*t about his antics or play a harmless prank on some unsuspecting sap. If we still haven't dissuaded you and you feel compelled to waste your hard-earned money to honor his memory, donations may be sent to: Seabee Memorial Scholarship Association, PO Box 667, Gulfport, MS 39502. A celebration of his life, with Joe laid out in all his glory, will be held on Thursday, September 12, at the Essex Fire Department, 11 Saybrook Road, from 4-7. A light dinner will be served as Joe felt no get-together was complete without food. None of his leftovers or kitchen concoctions will be pawned off on any unsuspecting guests. Feel free to be as late as you'd like as Joe was never on time for anything because of the aforementioned napping habits. Joe despised formality and stuffiness and would really be ticked off if you showed up in a suit. Dress comfortably. The family encourages you to don the most inappropriate T-Shirt that you are comfortable being seen in public with as Joe often did. Everybody has a Joe story and we'd love to hear them all. Joe faced his death and his mortality, as he did with his life, face on, often telling us that when he dropped dead to dig a hole in the back yard and just roll him in. Much to his disappointment, he will be properly interred with full military honors (and maybe Jack) next to his wife on Friday, September 13, at 10:00 am in Centerbrook Cemetery. The family is forever in debt to his neighbor, Barry Peterson, for all of his help in recent years. We couldn't have done it without you. Sorry, Mom, Lisette and I did the best we could to take care of him and keep him out of your hair as long as we could. Back in your court now. Add Condolence THURSDAY 12 SEPTEMBER GET DIRECTIONS VISITATION 4:00 pm - 7:00 pm Thursday, September 12, 2019 Essex Fire Company

[doomedandstoned]

Finland’s KAISER Dazzle With  Fuzz-Soaked LP, ‘1st Sound’

~By Billy Goate~

Album Art: Marie Bergeron

What a way to get over the hump of the mid-week humdrums -- with an advance listen to what is sure to be one of the most rocked-about records out of Finland this year. I speak of '1st Sound' (2018), the brand spankin' new spin from Helsinki stoner metal trio, KAISER.

1st Sound is nothing short of a rock 'n' roll odyssey. Pex (bass), RiQ (drums), and Otu (guitar, vox) have bottled up a lot of inspiration since their self-titled debut in 2014. As I shared in our previous feature on the band ("Chasing Kaiser"), my discovery of the Helsinki trio dates back at least a year or two prior when I randomly happened upon a single of theirs on Soundcloud.

Bringing every weapon to bear, every piece of potent artillery in their arsenal, Kaiser have devised a salvo of a battle strategy. 1st Sound is a blistered attack of stoner-fuzz and sludge metal that will keep you on the edge of your seat (if indeed you can sit still while listening). What really makes it work is Otu's vibrant singing range that more than once reminded me of the late Chris Cornell, Keith Gibbs from LA heavies Sasquatch, or even Olli "Otu" Surrmunne from Altar of Betelgeuze.

Wait just a darned a minute... Stop the presses! I think I've just made a connection. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner!

Unless it's an incredible coincidence, the powerful voice of Otu in Altar of Betelgeuze and Kaiser are one and the same! This didn't hit me literally, until I was writing this review. I mean, it makes sense, right? Both bands are from Finland, though admittedly, there can be more than one metal singer by the name of Otu. Really, I can't believe I didn't see the connection sooner than this. Altar of Betelqeuze's 'Among The Ruins' (2017 - Transcending Obscurity Records) occupied prime real estate on Doomed & Stoned's Heavy Best list last year. To be fair, the band didn't alert me to this revelation, either. "That's usual for us, the weedheads," jokes bassist RiQ when I confront him with my discovery. Well, in any event I now have yet one more reason to be excited about Kaiser. Otu's vox take both bands to another level of excellence in a scene that has increasingly become saturated by a carnage of riffs. This I can definitely come back to for second helpings!

Among the highlights for me were "Desert Eye," which serves up a fierce ride through the barren wilds, kicking up plenty of sand and gasoline fumes as we attempt escape from the Devil's Hand. Delicious, Kyuss-esque low-end and intricate bass play characterizes this track.

Another standout moment for me came with "Earthquake," which is solidly on the metal side of the "stoner metal" equation. This was actually the song that forced the Altar of Betelgeuze connection for me. I'd just never heard Otu belt loose like this in Kaiser before. It's a fearsome sound that reverberates through most every song on the album.

Mark Friday, May 25th, on the calendar. That's when Kozmik Artifactz/Bilocation Records releases Kaiser's 1st Sound to the world. In the meanwhile, you can listen to it all right here, right now on our bitchin' lil blog!

Give ear...

1st Sound by Kaiser

Track By Track:

A Kaiser Guided Tour Through '1st Sound'

After our last chat with Kaiser, I thought it would be a good time to check in again with the band. Specifically, I was interested in knowing the significance of each of the songs on the new record. As usual, I find their frankness refreshing and occasionally hilarious. (Billy)

HIGH OCTANE SUPERSOUL

This is about how you can (or should) conquer yourself, not living in fear under other people's rules and requirements. You're the star in your life, so you do what you wanna do. There might be some allegories of things that have happened in past, present, and future. The songwriting process is not that special, it's just full of riffs that have been brewing in our pocket for years.

DESERT EYE

This is a compilation from our "travels" that we used to do around the "world" -- do not ask about those you might get lost, too. The writing process is the same, just old riffs butting together.

WE BLEED FOR THIS

This used to be song about intercourse, but then we discovered it's about our songwriting processes in the rehearsal place -- full of lightning, fire, overwhelming joy, and king ideas, but there is also similarity to how this world turns over. I don't know, you people decide.

VOIDMASTER

Everyone should go into this place once in a lifetime: deep, deep down into yourself with nothing around -- no sound, no thoughts, nothing. The song was written like four years ago.

OUROBOROS

This is like a brain fart by force, you know. Our producer said that we need some more songs on the album and this came like in just a few hours. We personally don't like this song that much, but don't mind if it's there. Someone could like it. It’s a pretty cliché story about the circle of stupidity that is humankind -- like a snake who eats his own ass.

INTERMISSION

This is a song. The only song that our bassist had to write.

EARTHQUAKE

This is the very first song that Kaiser had written. It was Otu’s, some old riff that we cultured a little. Then one day, I was in the hangover of my life and this bounced into my head in the same beat as my headache, so I wrote these lyrics and it's about hangover -- THE hangover.

FUZZ OF FURY

One word: Bruce Lee!

KING OF HORIZON

This is little bit similar to "High Octane." Think about how you should live in these end times -- you decide. It's more or less about our owns lives, but you can also build your own vision about it -- you choose the story.

GALACTIC CRUSADE

This is the second song we composed, because our producer said that we needed more songs. I was thinking about a slow song, because we don't play those that much. I did this main riff at home and was little scared ("Will the guys judge me and kick my ass with this unmanly riff?"), but they liked it and when we continued the writing, it crowed more and ended quite effectively. The song itself is about something that ends and you start it from beginning, only to screw it up all over again. Sound familiar?

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[howtotechpress-blog]

Ars does Soylent, Day 2: My God, what is this disastrous situation I no longer need to put any substances of any sort into my mouth ever again.

Two days back, Senior Reviews Editor Lee Hutchinson took a promise to spend seven days eating only Soylent, a nutritiously finish feast substitution made by architect and business visionary Rob Rhinehart. He's archiving his flexibility from strong sustenance by day. Perused about Day 1 here.Day 1 recap: Like trench fighting in France

I finished the past passage saying that I would take off running, yet that did not occur. As it got closer to 7pm, I began feeling dismal thunderings in my stomach—the kind that could either be the indication of some safe gas or the harbinger of the poopocalypse. I remained in, rather watching a few scenes of The Wire with my significant other, who had a fine solid supper while I tasted my Soylent with a constantly souring gut. Somewhat after 8pm, the gas began.

It was terrible. These weren't unimportant ha-ha toot sorts of discharges; this was hair-raising. It was room-clearing, horse-slaughtering, World War I mustard gas-sort gas. I moved from space to room in the house like I was surrendering domain to the Kaiser, my face settled in a look of frightfulness as green hellfire vapor trailed behind me, peeling paint and withering plants. My significant other, favor her heart, said nothing. Eventually, I advanced back to the PC and pulled up the email correspondence between Soylent organizer Rob Rhinehart and me.

"Other than a touch of gas at first (a few people's gut microorganisms are not acclimated to the dissolvable fiber) there have been no unfriendly responses," he wrote in light of my question about potential versatile reactions. At that point my eyes begun to water from the gas and I needed to keep running once more into the parlor.

Substance fighting farts aside, I finished off Day 1 with completely zero issues with appetite. Truth be told, other than a couple brief twinges, I didn't feel real for-genuine craving even once. It even felt like there was excessively Soylent in the pitcher—it was a test to eat every last bit of it.

Day 2, 07:30

I woke up with a light migraine, which is surprising for me. I haven't gone off espresso, and it doesn't feel like a caffeine cerebral pain—it's quite recently sort of a scarcely there disturbance. I trundle into the workplace, get up to speed with overnight email and tweets, and consider my breakfast presenting with expanding fear.

My stomach has never been especially responsive to breakfast, and right now we have the most uneasy of détentes going on—any wrong move could start an episode. As I taste espresso, a few Soylent flatulates issue forward and I pull my shirt up over my nose. My better half has somewhat of an icy and dozed in the visitor room the previous evening, and I'm in reality quite thankful. In case I'm as yet gassy now, I was likely gassy throughout the night. Luckily, I was oblivious and did not take note.

The inescapable part where we discuss crap [skip to the following subhead if squeamish]

Consistency has never been an issue for me—even as I push ever assist into my late 30s, I keep on being honored with accuracy guts. My first post-Soylent crap happens ideal about at the typical time—8:30-ish—and it feels like the same old thing: neither a wild splash nor a rough hard press. I'd give it a four on the Bristol scale. From an amount point of view, it was unquestionably less, yet it wasn't especially unique. Perhaps a couple shades lighter than regular, yet at the same time a typical darker.

The lavatory business is joined by quite roused tooting also. I envision my gut microscopic organisms are altogether wired up and moving their little gut microbes hearts out. My digestive organ is murmuring and pounding like a Soylent-filled discotheque.

Day 2, 09:00—Soylent Green

I enjoy my some espresso, putting off the Soylenting to the extent that this would be possible, however as 9am gravitates toward I can put it off no more. I approach the sack and blender gradually, haggling with myself. Only a little glass at the beginning of today, I think, my canyon ascending as I envision bringing down another extensive serving like I had on Day 1.

Once more, the custom: pack in bowl, blend substance. One liter of water in blender, half of powder into blender, half of a vial of oil. This time, I include a capful of vanilla concentrate and a dash of green sustenance shading. I have now gotten roughly nine hundred hillion jillion squintillion remarks, messages, and tweets discussing "SOYLENT GREEN LOL." So on Day 2, my Soylent will surely be green. This time, I utilize super cold water and the most minimal setting on the blender, giving the blend a chance to rest after a couple seconds.Out of the blender and into the pitcher, then rehash with second liter. The pitcher has no foam today, for which I am grateful. Gradually, I pour an espresso mug-sized serving and taste.

The vanilla has a gigantic effect in taste discernment. The strange non-specificity is gone, similar to the yeasty breadiness—in its place, there's essentially an indication of vanilla. The sweetness is a great deal better now as well, feeling like some portion of the light vanilla flavor as opposed to a simulated idea in retrospect. There's very little to be done about the sticking pastiness however, and the dregs coats my mouth like mud in a riverbed. Still, I control through the mug of thick pistachio-green slurry and really feel OK about it.Day 2, 10:00: Second breakfast

This is turning into a standard hold back: I'm not eager, but rather on the off chance that I don't drink the Soylent, I won't complete the pitcher. Since the calories are incorporated with the sustenance, I have to complete the entire day's serving keeping in mind the end goal to get everything my body clearly needs to work.

The green shading isn't especially off-putting—it looks sort of cool, really, similar to it ought to taste of peppermint. My stomach reels at the possibility of peppermint-enhanced Soylent.I don't especially make the most of my second glass. I am drinking it while I work, similar to a quick paced present day kind of fellow, however regardless i'm full from breakfast and the more I drink of the second glass, the heavier I feel. It takes me 30 minutes to traverse the container, and the prospect of that whole pitcher as yet holding up in my ice chest is truly weighing at the forefront of my thoughts. Now, a light lunch of a modest bit of flame broiled chicken sounds appallingly, unpleasantly engaging. No, scratch that—now, not eating for whatever is left of the day sounds shockingly better.

I'm additionally feeling lovely darn uncreative. Morning is generally when I chip away at short news things and reports, and concentrating on a site sufficiently long to peruse something beyond a couple sections sounds like a preposterous measure of work. Reports of Soylent bringing on mental lucidity and enhanced execution and vitality can be discovered somewhere else on the Web, yet I feel the inverse: drowsy. The cerebral pain from today is starting to strengthen.

I pop some ibuprofen to help with the cerebral pain, and the little piece of water to make the pills goes down makes my stomach feel much more full. I attempt to disregard it and compose.

Day 2, 13:30: I am compelled to eat

The migraine has kindly blurred, and all the more reassuringly, I'm really feeling a little, exceptionally black out measure of craving. I'd love to give it a chance to stew longer and check whether it blooms into a real undeniable yearning to eat, however I don't have time. There's around 1.5 liters of green vanilla Soylent that I need to traverse.

The pitcher has stratified significantly less today than it did on Day 1, as well, for which I am thankful. I feel...odd, is the most ideal way I can put it. It's neither a decent odd nor a terrible odd—I simply feel a little off kilter. I get a decent whiff of Soylent as I whisk away its layers and I feel all the while queasy and hungry, however significantly more queasiness than craving. When I begin drinking it, it's not shocking, but rather I'd truly recently begun to shed the overwhelming feeling from breakfast and I'm not especially anticipating jumping again into feeling so weighted down and un-hungry.There's a considerable measure of gut moving as I drink this specific serving, as well—my digestive organs have been for the most part calm since breakfast, however evidently that is not going to last. When I'm finished with the glass, I've completely demolished any sentiments of yearning I may have been feeling and I truly have confidence in my heart that I will never need to put anything sustenance related in my mouth again for whatever is left of my life.

This sounds like overstatement, however man, Saturday is resembling it's a long, long way away.

As I come back to work, I need to accomplish something to consume through the Soylent funk I feel myself falling into. The previous evening's prematurely ended endeavor at running truly annoys me and I frantically need to get retreat there today, yet there won't be a shot in damnation if my gut doesn't quiet down and my mind remains this foggy.

It's conceivable this is a self-propagating cycle I'm in—Soylent's 2400 calories are more than I requirement for my standard "sit in this seat and compose throughout the day" level of action. Perhaps in the event that I get up and accomplish something, the action will jumpstart things and I'll get more empowered.

Running needs to hold up until some other time at night however, in light of the fact that I live in what might as well be called overwhelm hellfire. Furthermore, I have meetings and due dates and things—flying out for two or three hours today truly isn't an alternative. As the evening extends on, my gut cycles into high action, having a craving for seeming like an organization of dump trucks snarling and slipping their way through an Ice Capades execution. It's unsettling.

Day 2, 17:00: Do not need

Shane Snow, composing for Tim Ferris' blog, talks through his two week Soylent travel with mind and talkative, bypassing the days and clearly feeling great through it all. He describes that by Day 2, he's getting the fragrance of sustenance all over the place and envisioning about eating, about gnawing into a brownie.

I don't feel anything like that. Not by any means remotely. Sustenance is terrible. I have an inclination that I need to sew my mouth close. I would prefer not to ever expend anything again. No water, no Soylent, no chicken, no steak, no lager, no nothing. My stomach is finished. I have broken it.