Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Now all you loyal readers out there may be wondering whether the ticket price is worth the dough you gotta sling down. My answer is you bet your sweet round fanny. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.
So here’s the skinny, Daddy-o. You get set loose in the McKittrick Hotel (and babyluv, if that hotel ain’t the scariest place to rest your weary head since Stanley Kubrick’s blasphemous takedown of my novel “The Shining” then you can put ol’ Uncle Stevie out to pasture right now!) with nothing but a mask and some cryptic words to guide you. From there you’re on your own.
Now, your Uncle Stevie doesn't want to ruin the surprises that lay in store for all you lucky ducks who manage to snag some tickets, so I’ll just leave you with a quote that my friend Jake said to me after viewing this theatrical wonder on my recommendation. “Stevie,” he told me, “that was the best thing I ever seen in my life. From now on, unless I see some chick shit a baby outta her ass, I ain’t getting off my couch!”
Amen to that, bro.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
It was a balmy evening in Goleta, California. Kent McClard, tired from a long day of riding around in his hovercraft, was about to sit down to a delicious vegan dinner when his telephone rang.
"If it's not one thing, it's another!", Kent exclaimed as he answered the ringing phone.
"Kent? It's King Duncan," came the voice on the other end. "I would like to listen to some emotionally charged hardcore music."
"I love emotionally charged hardcore music!", said Kent in response.
"I want you to get, say, 10 or 11 bands to record emotionally charged hardcore songs and then release those songs on a compilation album."
"Great idea!", said Kent. "Although to pay for this I may have to sell my hovercraft. Anything else?"
"Yes," said Duncan. "Booklets. You must include booklets. The more the better. Educate my kingdom. Write personal essays."
"Hmmm," said Kent. "Intriguing."
"Also," said Duncan, "if you could make the vinyl some sort of snazzy color. Black vinyl is boring. I want to look at an interesting color spin on my turntable while I read the booklets. Make it so."
Kent McClard slammed the phone down, gazed into the distance, and said "I'd better get started." Unfortunately, he did this before Duncan was about to inform him of his last request: "No Still Life. Still Life are fucking terrible."
Sunday, December 11, 2011
When I wake up, I'm freezing. Quickly, I glance around the forest I hid out in for the night to get some rest. At first I think it's all been a bad dream, but then I have to face reality: I'm still in the Arena.
Things have been confusing lately, and I find it helpful to tell myself some simple facts to orient myself.
My name is Male Witch. I am in the McKittrick Hotel. I've been chosen as tribute to participate in a fight to the death. I am in an alliance with Bald Witch and Sexy Witch. I will eventually have to turn on them. There will only be one survivor.
I check my pack for food. I managed to keep a loaf of bread filled with blood, and I allow myself to eat half of it. There'll be a banquet in forty-five minutes - I can try and eat more then.
A silver parachute suddenly drops down in front of me. It's a gift from my sponsor, Hecate. Another empty container of Frusen Gladje. She keeps eating the contents and then sending me the empty containers. I know she's trying to tell me something by doing this, but I haven't worked it out yet.
Bald Witch runs in through the hospital ward and looks around to see if the coast is clear.
"Good, you're awake," she says. "Macbeth is whaling on everybody. He just bashed Banquo's head in with a brick. I wasn't sure someone from the Cawdor District would have it in him, but he's doing our work for us. Our strategy worked."
We hear a commotion coming from the hospital ward. Lady Macbeth, wide-eyed and frantic, is thrashing about in the bathtub. She keeps shouting, "Aye, my lord" and scratching at her skin. I've never seen such a strong reaction to Tracker Jacker venom.
Another silver parachute drops down in front of Bald Witch. Attached to it is a wig. Bald Witch puts it on.
"Awesome," she says. "Now I have something to wear to the ballroom."
I barely hear her. The door to The Pagoda (okay, it's not really a pagoda, but everyone calls it The Pagoda) swings open.