http://www.acidinvader.com/about-my-other-wiener daily 0.75 2016-06-06 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427926353496-3YMR390Y1HFJ764A6ALE/image-asset.png About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426970353254-4Q267PE8PCIGME55EYI5/INVERT.jpg About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426971939258-Y6UK2D55022M3IT89ZIE/image-asset.jpeg About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426972689435-L3N179JI2T1S6HAKGBUX/daftconnie1.jpg About My Other Wiener DJ Daft Connie: business woman by day, trance DJ by night. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426971189416-6V118LGAA9M3Z5ZRB5R5/ZACH_me.jpg About My Other Wiener A failed bromance.   https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427926497973-OWPV4ADOC7I1VG4X2537/image-asset.png About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426972689435-L3N179JI2T1S6HAKGBUX/daftconnie1.jpg About My Other Wiener DJ Daft Connie: business woman by day, trance DJ by night. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426970353254-4Q267PE8PCIGME55EYI5/INVERT.jpg About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426971939258-Y6UK2D55022M3IT89ZIE/image-asset.jpeg About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427926497973-OWPV4ADOC7I1VG4X2537/image-asset.png About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1426971189416-6V118LGAA9M3Z5ZRB5R5/ZACH_me.jpg About My Other Wiener A failed bromance.   https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427926353496-3YMR390Y1HFJ764A6ALE/image-asset.png About My Other Wiener https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427142562697-2L3HJWX0EX5R37L7PDJ4/daftconnie1.jpg About My Other Wiener http://www.acidinvader.com/plonk-11 daily 0.75 2015-04-01 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427841405985-GAD6GL80U0SWNW5KNNCK/image-asset.jpeg PLONK 11 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427841381221-PXR1OEGTLJFKZSA8V3IN/image-asset.jpeg PLONK 11 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427841405985-GAD6GL80U0SWNW5KNNCK/image-asset.jpeg PLONK 11 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1427841381221-PXR1OEGTLJFKZSA8V3IN/image-asset.jpeg PLONK 11 http://www.acidinvader.com/about daily 0.75 2019-08-16 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1424455335941-6RZIVZYFP3EUWBNLODDK/image-asset.jpeg About My Wiener It’s not much of a collage, but it was the first one. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1564001361455-X50KUL2VYM8VDMIL5I35/CARNIE_ulysses-2.jpg About My Wiener Stately, plump Dave Carnie atop the James Joyce Center’s Martello Tower outside of Dublin. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563579928397-AJ3UP84ON9RRKF3A6QQ6/DOX_bigbear_03small2.jpg About My Wiener Unfortunately, Beckett tragically died in 2016 at the young age of 11 and we had to endure a wienerless existence for over a year before we met these guys—Pencil (right) and Waffle—through Dachshund Rescue LA. We’ve nicknamed them The Chuckle Brothers (or, The Chucks, for short) because it’s like having 2x the Beckett and twice the ridachulousness. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1564001560747-UAY0FXD6YKZU8VHGKHDT/BECKETT_napa_ig.jpg About My Wiener Beckett. Plaze. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1424455335941-6RZIVZYFP3EUWBNLODDK/image-asset.jpeg About My Wiener It’s not much of a collage, but it was the first one. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1564001361455-X50KUL2VYM8VDMIL5I35/CARNIE_ulysses-2.jpg About My Wiener Stately, plump Dave Carnie atop the James Joyce Center’s Martello Tower outside of Dublin. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563579928397-AJ3UP84ON9RRKF3A6QQ6/DOX_bigbear_03small2.jpg About My Wiener Unfortunately, Beckett tragically died in 2016 at the young age of 11 and we had to endure a wienerless existence for over a year before we met these guys—Pencil (right) and Waffle—through Dachshund Rescue LA. We’ve nicknamed them The Chuckle Brothers (or, The Chucks, for short) because it’s like having 2x the Beckett and twice the ridachulousness. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1564001560747-UAY0FXD6YKZU8VHGKHDT/BECKETT_napa_ig.jpg About My Wiener Beckett. Plaze. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1424455543018-BL654A1OPWH1I19IZEEY/RAZORBALL_02.jpg About My Wiener http://www.acidinvader.com/supra daily 0.75 2017-09-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506373032987-ENR84F9NSRDWASCI5MQ8/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_03.jpg SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506373010162-3BXSR34554WGGBNK6CSE/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_01.jpg SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506372990894-CRVJ6HVBOPDJK4U0RCQ4/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_02.jpg SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506372990894-CRVJ6HVBOPDJK4U0RCQ4/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_02.jpg SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506373032987-ENR84F9NSRDWASCI5MQ8/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_03.jpg SUPRA, The Book 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Thank you. http://www.acidinvader.com/supra-the-book daily 0.75 2019-08-21 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506373010162-3BXSR34554WGGBNK6CSE/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_01.jpg Copy of SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506372990894-CRVJ6HVBOPDJK4U0RCQ4/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_02.jpg Copy of SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506373032987-ENR84F9NSRDWASCI5MQ8/PORTFOLIO_supra_spread_03.jpg Copy of SUPRA, The Book https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506373471150-C1WMLDG257DNJ4GY1NLM/PORTFOLIO_supra_09-8.jpg Copy of SUPRA, The Book http://www.acidinvader.com/uma-landsleds-the-honey-horn-1 daily 0.75 2023-02-07 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/c6702b40-1688-4265-899d-4957c5744309/DOX_queenteddybear_01-IG.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) - The Teddy Bear Queen (Maité Steenhoudt) The Teddy Bear Queen is a quintessential queen as far as queens are queencerned. She seemingly never does wrong and never upsets anyone, but that’s only because she, like most of the Teddy Bears in her sleuth, doesn’t do much of anything and thus there is little potential for right or wrong. She enjoys a simple life of eating and farting and sleeping and pooping and eating. At the heart of this seemingly simple agenda, though, a problem has arisen: no more Space Honey! The Teddy Bears have lost communication with their Space Bear ancestors who happen to be their suppliers of artisanal Space Honey, but the Space Bears live on a planet orbiting the star, Dubhe (pronounced, DUB-bē, “dubby”), that resides in the Ursa Major constellation at the tip of the Big Dipper 122 light years away. This is a big, big, big problem because Teddy Bears need Space Honey to survive. Teddy Bears can’t live without Space Honey. And so the Queen of the Teddy Bears made the long journey to the nearest Oracle outpost to seek help and advice. The sacred temple the Oracle’s Listening Post occupies is high atop a volcano on Thrig Island in the middle of the Ocean. Unfortunately the Teddy Bear Queen was running late for her Oracle appointment (classic Teddy Bear behavior—they are never on time for anything), and tried to apply her makeup while en route up the steep slopes of the Thrig Volcano. As anyone knows, though, Sheep Sherpas do not provide the smoothest of rides and the Queen’s retinue stumbled repeatedly on the side of the mountain’s sheer path—pretty much every time the Queen raised her lipstick to her mouth. Despite her unbecoming appearance, the Teddy Bear Queen was granted an audience with the Oracle who furnished the Queen with a remedy for her sleuth’s dearth of Space Honey—a remedy that would not come easy… https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/60045024-a9a7-4c13-a2aa-ed9563ddeb1d/DOX_cowsealtongue_01-2ig.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) - Cow Seal Tongue (Roman Pabich) There have been rumors that Grand Leader Cow was a mythical shape-shifting seal, aka a Selkie. The creature that founded the Magnificently Glorious Republic in human form would, whenever the opportunity arose, sneak away to his country’s coastline, turn itself inside out at the shore, and slink back into the sea as its original seal self. As a seal, Cow had a much more friendly personality than he did as the ruthless and austere Grand Leader of the Magnificently Glorious Republic. In the sea, Cow was a child at heart and he loved to horse around and get up to all kinds of mischief—in fact, tales of his legendary pranks are so pervasive in seal folklore that Cow is credited with being the inspiration for the antics performed in contemporary seal shows around the world. Cow’s most popular trick was balancing a tower of chairs on the tip of his nose. He could stack them higher and higher until they reached the clouds. It didn’t matter if they were armchairs, rocking chairs, wheelchairs, lounge chairs, beach chairs, desk chairs, high chairs, chaise lounges, recliners, ribbon backs, Bergères, Fauteuils, Curules, Klismoi, Morrises, Savonarolas, Shakers, Windsors, Wingbacks, or even his favorite: THRONES. He could balance them all on the tip of his nose. Grand Leader Cow was of great interest to the Teddy Bear Queen and her sleuth because The Oracle had provided them with blueprints for an instrument so powerful it could be heard in the furthest reaches of the cosmos and even in other dimensions. “The Honey Horn,” as it is called, is the most complicated instrument ever conceived. The blueprints for it call for of all kinds of ridiculous, hard-to-find components that would take multiple lifetimes to collect, but there is one component in particular that The Oracle promised would be more difficult to acquire than all the others combined: the Cow Seal Tongue. Much like the sheep intestines that make violin strings, the Cow Seal Tongue’s muscle fibers can be stretched, dried, and wound into a magical string that allows the Honey Horn to play the most sublime music the world has ever heard or will ever hear. The instrument requires only the tiniest sample from the tongue, no matter how small, in order to sing, but Selkies are extremely dangerous and no mortal has ever seen one and lived to tell about it—let alone acquired a tissue sample from one’s tongue. The Oracle, however, revealed to the Teddy Bear Queen that there is a single instant during the Selkie’s metamorphosis when the creature is completely vulnerable and one might be able to obtain a sample from the beast’s tongue: when the Selkie’s human and seal selves are both inside out and connected only by their shared tongue, it is at that moment and that moment only that the shape shifter is as helpless as a newborn butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/c73c4b73-45f4-4dc4-825d-b7e1a73645b1/DOX_theinstrument_01-IG.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) - The Instrument (Evan Smith) The Teddy Bear Queen and her sleuth of bears scoured the earth and somehow managed to acquire all of the components for the Honey Horn and assembled it. They even got some Cow Seal Tongue. Don’t ask how. We have no idea. Also, how did they assemble the instrument’s intricate parts with their teddy bear paws? They don’t have fingers. Anyway, those darn teddy bears collected every last item on the Oracle’s nearly infinite list of parts, which included, among other things… The elevator buttons from Sid and Nancy’s floor at the Chelsea Hotel, NYC. An antique radio containing uranium fuel rods from the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. A hair from the tail of Don Quixote’s horse Rocinante. The engine from the Northwest Orient Airlines Boeing 727 that was hijacked by DB Cooper. The first chemical element on the Periodic Table to begin with the letter J (extant, yet unknown). Edith Pilaf’s lungs marinated in cigarettes and soy sauce. A backflow valve from the fourth dimension. The first flower ever touched by King Midas. Pope Urban VIII’s Uncle’s unclean underwear. Cleopatra’s ancient Egyptian distillery. Siegfried and Roy’s unstable cat, Mantacore, and his favorite circus ball. A jar of cocaine from Nikolaus Johann Van Beethoven’s pharmacy in Linz, Austria. A trompe de la chasse that Oscar Wilde filched from an English hunting lodge. A frog with a chilidog from a synagogue in Prague. And on and on and on… As the Oracle had promised, the Honey Horn could produce every sound that ever was, and every sound that will ever be, from a raindrop on a windowpane, to the eruption of a volcano, and everything in between: it can play the songs of Charlemagne accompanied by an inbred on a banjo, and John Coltrane snorting cocaine amid a herd of buffalo. Every sound, every instance when quiet is quelled, from the cries of a riotous crowd, to the crash of every tree that was ever felled, the sound of every smell—because let’s face it, manure stinks outloud—the Horn plays it all, every dog’s bark, every cow’s meow, every sound from history’s start til now. The Horn blares the frustration of labor strikes, and all the music you like and dislike. It recreates the splash of a wave crashing on a beach, to James screaming atop his giant peach. It can play anything from a butterfly flapping its wings, to all of the gusts and gales it brings, to a lion’s roar, a cricket’s chirp, the carnage of war, plus every fart and every burp, from the fwip-fwap clap of a laundry snap, to a white rhino taking a gigantic crap, the Honey Horn makes every sound, all of the sound, it’s inside and it’s outside and it’s all around. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/ec61c92a-be5c-4e55-a12d-daa8fba9fe89/DOX_insects_01-1.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) - Triangle (Cody Chapman) Triangle was an experimental band from Germany in the early 70s. Triangle enjoyed success almost immediately upon their debut, but almost as soon as they appeared, they were gone. Despite the existence of a recording, purportedly made by Triangle, most scholars agree that they were never a real band and that they’re nothing more than an urban myth or, at best, an elaborate hoax. There is, however, a growing number of musicologists who insist that not only did Triangle exist, but that they still exist and are an active band to this day. “Triangle was dedicated to art, not artifice, and they found the music industry, fans, and the obligations of fame obstacles to their music so they ‘broke up,’” wrote German music critic, Ernst Schmütz, in his book Krautrock: German Music In The 70s (Schmaltzdachel GmbH, 1981), “but there is much evidence to suggest they faked their own death.” Real or fake, the fantastical stories surrounding the band continue to fascinate, not the least of which is the band’s founding principle: utter and complete devotion to Triangles and the number Three: Triangle has three members. They play songs with only three notes. All notes are triads. Their lyrics are written with trigonometry in iambic trimeter using only three syllable words and every line rhymes with the number 3 (not the word, the number). Their favorite note/key is A because it’s shaped like a triangle. Songs contain three movements. Albums are divided into three acts. The music should be listened to while sitting in the center of three speakers. Their vinyl records are shaped like a nonagon made up of nine triangles (like a pizza). Every album is triple-sided. Etc.. Pertaining to our research, however, is Triangle’s experiments with tryptamines and sonic frequencies—what they called “alchemy music.” The frequencies they created while under the influence of tryptamines are, apparently, capable of affecting (at a quantum level) the resonance of the electrons in the human body and can cause them to buzz/hum in a manner that creates a euphoric, interdimensional experience for the listener. Under the proper conditions one can apparently “see” the music and even “ride” it into other dimensions. And Triangle may have acquired The Honey Horn from the Teddy Bears to further their research in this area. A woman named, Isis Osceles, who was a groupie and sometime member of the band, claims to have attended a live performance that lasted a month and featured a wide variety of guest performers including Screaming Lord Cheeto, The Screaming Cheetah (it’s a cheetah that just sits there and screams). The performance culminated with what people assumed was a nuclear submarine launching a nuclear warhead (classic Triangle), but Isis says, no, that was a blast on the Honey Horn. Indeed, the Nuclear Detonation Detection System’s (NDDS) sensors around the world did in fact record seismic and hydroacoustic data on the day in question that is consistent with nuclear weapon detonation. So we know something went off at this concert. But was it a nuke, or was it the cry of the Honey Horn? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/a6fae41d-b4c4-471e-88e6-6f515d00dbb3/UMA_honeyhorn_ad.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) - Make it stand out The Honey Horn Collection featured four collages with accompanying stories for four UMA Landsleds pro models. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/b61a8e42-f039-4309-8e18-92d809e090a9/DOX_maosealtongue_before_01.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) - Interesting International Incident: Mao vs. Cow The “Cow Seal Tongue” image almost created an international incident (not really, but it’s fun to say). The original collage I submitted was titled “Mao Seal Tongue” and featured the founder of the People’s Republic of China, Mao Tse Tung (left), playing the role of a mythical shape-shifting seal, aka a Selkie. Clever wordplay, no? NO! Not in China anyway. UMA, like many companies, has their boards printed in China and their Chinese printer refused to touch the Mao Seal Tongue graphic for fear of retribution. They sent an email: “For the [Mao Seal Tongue board], we could understand it's your artist's design style, but our HT supplier refuse to produce any graphics which shows no respect and illegal for Country's leader. Please revise or change another graphic for these two items [sic].” As Americans who have enjoyed democracy our entire lives, this was an unusual situation for me and Andy Jenkins (UMA’s Art Director). Change it? How is suggesting that Mao Tse Tung was a mythical shape-shifting Selkie showing no respect? I thought it made him look kinda cool. UMA said I either change it or they’re dropping it because they weren’t going to ruin a relationship with a printer over a single graphic. Okay. Fine. I eventually found a head that could stunt-double for Mao. No, it is not Queen Elizabeth, as one person asked, it is a portrait of a German woman named, Maria Eisenstecken Oberrauch (above). I hope the descendants of Frau Oberrauch don’t see this graphic, or, in the unlikely event they do, they aren’t offended that their ancestor is being mouth raped by a sea lion. Interestingly, Maria Eisenstecken Oberrauch’s initials are MEO—one letter off from MAO. Mao Seal Tongue could simply be changed to Meo Seal Tongue. UMA, however, pointed out that if there’s one thing they’ve learned about China it’s that those kinds of subtleties are lost in translation and Meo would likely be considered too close to Mao and still “shows no respect and illegal for Country’s leader.” Okay. Fine. Cow Seal Tongue, then? I found the experience amusing, but also frightening. Imagine living in a country run by a single party that burns books, outlaws media, and won’t stand for anything which shows no respect and is illegal for country’s leader—it seems dangerously close to happening here at times. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1675796941602-09MNAQX5I1TQIA96HJPQ/UMA_honeyhorn_ad_02.jpg UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn (Copy) http://www.acidinvader.com/new-products daily 0.75 2016-04-19 http://www.acidinvader.com/new-products/p/boob-by-dave-carnie monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1424296078692-CPRSLFH89VXE2I71BJ7X/boob.jpg New Products - Boob, By Dave Carnie http://www.acidinvader.com/work daily 1.0 2025-09-05 http://www.acidinvader.com/work/photos-zcm3r monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101412268-ND8Y0TSMCP5A53B5Z5WZ/R_RADICALLAND_bixby-1.jpg Work - Photo - Bixby Bridge, Big Sur, CA https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101453745-KA0NQZ6PZCU7P3CL2VHH/R_RADICALLAND-3.jpg Work - Photo - Bixby Bridge 2, Big Sur, CA https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101474053-X8EGMDS1YNIO5Y9BFR5K/R_RADICALLAND-2.jpg Work - Photo - Radical Land https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101494178-10CQ31V107297W4H9RH7/R_RADAR-5.jpg Work - Photo - Satellite 2 (They're Cumming) https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101524997-L6L4ZK615CSSKRFVXDUC/R_SATELLITE-17.jpg Work - Photo - Satellite https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101690640-BEG0NC7MSQ8WJOEAWKCE/O_PIG-13.jpg Work - Photo - The Green Pig https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101728746-OFPDL36YGTTWTPII9C23/O_CHAIRS-14.jpg Work - Photo - Hegel's Chairs (Pure Being Remains) https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101785401-81TD3I52DJT8OG3NYMPM/O_ANDYROY-9.jpg Work - Photo - Andy Roy https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101813481-BYBCWQ9BMA845TK0MOMF/O_GARY-5.jpg Work - Photo - Gary https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101839407-YNCO4DQMHEJPB9VAB8AI/O_BIRDNEST-2.jpg Work - Photo - Bird Nest https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101865943-VIOTXV1AKYC8H83KM896/O_ONION2web-15.jpg Work - Photo - Onion https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101883236-5VPUCZV62W7E79HK3RMH/CRAB-5.jpg Work - Photo - Crab https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506099822872-G6JAZ6XHKXFSMMMLUPYD/M_MINUTWARfinal-12.jpg Work - Photo - The Warriors https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506099846687-E89657OCVZS5EG6JO5P8/M_CHICKENS-3.jpg Work - Photo - Let's Hear It For The Chickens (Easter) https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506099874762-G4MRVCVSG0PKM66NZTXT/M_CHRISJOHANSON-13.jpg Work - Photo - The Finish Line (Portrait Of Chris Johanson) https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506099910706-N1ZXBIBXXTOT31LH0YFM/FINNEGANSWAKE-2.jpg Work - Photo - The Mime Of Mick, Nick, And The Maggies From Finnegans Wake https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506099978360-S8WK5JVHPC8CLODK10KC/M_BADFAERIEfinal-11.jpg Work - Photo - Bad Faerie https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506099995840-VDSX6IP9BGNG302JZJ18/M_TRASHCANCHILDARMY.jpg Work - Photo - The Trash Can Child Army https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506100055840-UEKPLLMP460W64BT5PSZ/M_MERCURY1-18.jpg Work - Photo - Mercury https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101156346-9UJ2IWXAO0FA7H6UEB84/M_ASILAYDYING_square_02.jpg Work - Photo - My Mother Was A Fish (As I Lay Dying) https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101207528-7MUJTSGQ3KA1N5NF0B8E/R_SIMONEOFARC1-9.jpg Work - Photo - Simone Of Arc https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101260193-UQDALOE4PADHCMZL5OPO/LAWNBOWLER-4.jpg Work - Photo - Tribute To Roger Fenton "Here's your fucking cannonball back." https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1506101290327-LCEVMW36KHBOYHBOTYG3/TRISTANISUELT-2.jpg Work - Photo - Tristan And Iseult Featuring Tobin Yelland and Ethan Fowler. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/strange-love-sleipnir-tlx3r monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563823362637-ZNAWN0FOI31RFCZ2UVHA/SL_CARNIE_SLICK_8_78_small.jpg Work - Sleipnir - Sleipnir The Sleipnir graphic was created for StrangeLove Skateboards’ 2018 Holiday Collection. The board also came with a 28-page zine titled, Rabbit & Raven—essentially a conversation between a rabbit and a raven about the ancient origins of the Christmas myth, mostly revolving around the subjects of Siberian shamans, Nordic mythology, reindeer pee, and the red and white capped magic mushroom known as the Amanita muscaria. Below is the full graphic as well as the origin story of Sleipnir from The Younger Eddas that appeared at the back of the zine. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563823421800-XPIR0C6CCFECIBHFCDLE/STRANGELOVE_sleipnir_01_small.jpg Work - Sleipnir - Of The Horse Sleipnir From The Younger Eddas, by Snorri Sturluson: “Thou mad'st mention,” said Gangler, “of the horse Sleipnir. To whom does he belong, and what is there to say respecting him?” “Thou seemest to know nothing either about Sleipnir or his origin,” replied Har, “but thou wilt no doubt find what thou wilt hear worthy of thy notice. Once on a time when the gods were constructing their abodes, and had already finished Midgard and Valhalla, a certain artificer came and offered to build them, in the space of three half years, a residence so well fortified that they should be perfectly safe from the incursion of the Frost-giants, and the giants of the mountains, even although they should have penetrated within Midgard. But he demanded for his reward the goddess Freyja, together with the sun and moon. After long deliberation the Æsir agreed to his terms, provided he would finish the whole work himself without any one's assistance, and all within the space of one winter, but if anything remained unfinished on the first day of summer, he should forfeit the recompense agreed on. On being told these terms, the artificer stipulated that he should be allowed the use of his horse, called Svadilfari, and this, by the advice of Loki, was granted to him. “He accordingly set to work on the first day of winter, and during the night let his horse draw stone for the building. The enormous size of the stones struck the Æsir with astonishment, and they saw clearly that the horse did one half more of the toilsome work than his master. Their bargain, however, had been concluded in the presence of witnesses, and confirmed by solemn oaths, for without these precautions a giant would not have thought himself safe among the Æsir, especially when Thor returned from an expedition he had then undertaken towards the east against evil demons. "As the winter drew to a close the building was far advanced, and the bulwarks were sufficiently high and massive to render this residence impregnable. In short, when it wanted but three days to summer the only part that remained to be finished was the gateway. Then sat the gods on their seats of justice and entered into consultation, inquiring of one another who among them could have advised to give Freyja away to Jotunheim, or to plunge the heavens in darkness by permitting the giant to carry away the sun and moon. They all agreed that no one but Loki, the son of Laufey, and the author of so many evil deeds, could have given such bad counsel, and that he should be put to a cruel death if he did not contrive some way or other to prevent the artificer from completing his task and obtaining the stipulated recompense. They immediately proceeded to lay hands on Loki, who, in his fright, promised upon oath that let it cost him what it would, he would so manage matters that the man should lose his reward. “That very night, when the artificer went with Svadilfari for building stone, a mare suddenly ran out of a forest and began to neigh. The horse being thus excited, broke loose and ran after the mare into the forest, which obliged the man also to run after his horse, and thus between one and the other the whole night was lost, so that at dawn the work had not made the usual progress. The man seeing that he had no other means of completing his task, resumed his own gigantic stature, and the gods now clearly perceived that it was in reality a Mountain-giant who had come amongst them. “No longer regarding their oaths, they, therefore, called on Thor, who immediately ran to their assistance, and lifting up his mallet Mjolnir paid the workman his wages, not with the sun and moon, and not even by sending him back to Jotunheim, for with the first blow he shattered the giant's skull to pieces, and hurled him headlong into Nifelhel. “But Loki had run such a race with Svadilfari that shortly after he bore a grey foal with eight legs. This is the horse Sleipnir, which excels all horses ever possessed by gods or men.” http://www.acidinvader.com/work/strangelove-morrissey-graphic-6ycp3 monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563487319721-AM7IPCCNHO1ZO7SHZ7YJ/MOZ_paisley_01_small.jpg Work - StrangeLove: Morrissey Graphic - Big Mouth Strikes Again Board graphic for StrangeLove Skateboards’ "The Flower Wimps" Collection. The two other boards in the series were created by Sean Cliver ("Vicar In A Tutu") and Todd Bratrud ("You're The One For Me, Fatty"). The story below is from the zine, Morrissey's Toilet, that accompanied each board. "Sweetness I Was Only Joking": A Collagification Part of the attraction of collage is the unexpected juxtaposition of disparate subject matter. It’s interesting to “let go,” let the pieces fall where they may, and see what comes together. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. For this Morrissey collage, however, Chance played a lesser role than it usually does. Mostly because the subject of the collage (Morrissey), and the format (a Paisley board), were predetermined, so there was more curating of the imagery involved. And while there was a general idea conceived at the beginning, and the final image came out more or less as planned (that doesn’t happen very often), I’m still trying to figure out exactly what the fuck is going on in this graphic. And I like that. Here is the concept as it was conceived at the outset: 1. The graphic will mostly relate to The Queen Is Dead. 2. Morrissey is the Queen. 3. Oscar Wilde (top, as the peculiar octopus/owl skull thing) and Joan Of Arc (middle, from the Hermann Stilke’s painting, “Joan Of Arc’s Death At The Stake”), together with Morrissey (bottom), form a blasphemous Holy Trinity. The first two should be self-explanatory: 1. There are visuals related to Smiths lyrics throughout (“and her Walkman started to melt”) and, 2. Morrissey, though not dead, is indeed a queen in real life. The third item, The Holy Trinity concept, is, however, where we run into trouble. The general idea of a “Morrissey Holy Trinity” came from a literary theory proposed by Stephen Dedalus in James Joyce’s Ulysses. “It’s quite simple,” Stephen’s friend Buck Mulligan explains in the book. “[Stephen] proves by algebra that Hamlet’s grandson is Shakespeare’s grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.” While Buck is mocking Stephen, his summary isn’t much stranger than Stephen’s actual theory, which, in short, goes something like this: Shakespeare’s real-life son, Hamnet, died in 1596 when he was 11 and Stephen argues, as many other scholars have, that Shakespeare’s character Hamlet is a tribute to his dead son, Hamnet. Next, Shakespeare’s own real life father, John Shakespeare, died five years after Hamnet in 1601. Thus casting Shakespeare himself into the role of the grieving son (Hamlet). Lastly, there is evidence that Shakespeare played the role of the ghost of Hamlet’s father in the early performances of the play at the Globe Theater. Stephen’s theory of Hamlet, then, attempts to show that Shakespeare is, all at once, Father (of Hamnet/Hamlet), Son (of his recently deceased father, John, and thus he is also Hamlet), and Ghost (Hamlet’s father on stage). Thus, Shakespeare engages in a transmutation of identities similar to that of the Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Interesting, right? It is if you’re into this sort of intellectual masturbation. Which I am. So I thought it would be funny to create a similarly surreal backstory for this collage in which Morrissey is the daughter of Oscar Wilde and Joan Of Arc, but also the Mother of both. Or the murderer of both. Or all three are one and the same. I’m not really sure. All I know is my scenario never quite lines up as neatly as Stephen’s. In part, I suppose, because everyone in my triumvirate happens to be gay. But then that just adds to the absurdity of this whole exercise, doesn’t it? Anyway, the cast: Joan Of Arc: Morrissey’s father and husband to Oscar Wilde. Oscar Wilde: Morrissey’s mother and wife to Joan Of Arc. Morrissey: daughter to Joan and Oscar, but then grows up to become a blasphemous Queen who sentences her own parents to death. Yes, Joan and Oscar begat Morrissey, who becomes Queen, then kills his parents. I arrived at this conclusion mostly through “Big Mouth Strikes Again.” What else is he talking about when he’s verbally threatening “Sweetness?” I think that “Sweetness” is alternately Joan Of Arc and Oscar Wilde. Joan is, of course, disguised as “Sweetness” in the first line—“Sweetness I was only joking when I said I'd like to smash every tooth in your head”—an obvious reference to the ancient custom of smashing the teeth out of the heads of those who have fallen in battle, a practice that Joan Of Arc would not have been unfamiliar with in the early 15th century. (In fact, in the 1999 film, The Messenger, Joan Of Arc even tries to stop a soldier from performing this gruesome act.) Meanwhile Oscar is “Sweetness” in the next line—“Sweetness I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed”—a conspicuous reference to Wilde’s own death in which he was bludgeoned by the wallpaper in his very own bed as he read. But that’s okay. Because the conclusion I arrive at, and I think any rational human would agree—even though I don’t give a Tinker’s fart if anyone agrees with me or not because it’s my collage and I can make up whatever nonsense about it that I please—is that Morrissey is singing about murdering his mother and father in “Big Mouth Strikes Again.” The collage is an illustration of this patricide. Look at the smirk on his face. And the horns. He seems to be enjoying the idea of Joan Of Arc going up in flames and Oscar Wilde being reduced to a hideous monster with Walkman diarrhea. Yet I also see Morrissey extinguishing his “parents” as part of an infinite cycle of regeneration. If you listen closely to his lyrics, you’ll hear numerous references to his affinity for the pair, most notably, “Keats and Yeats are on your side, while Wilde is on mine,” and, “Now I know how Joan Of Arc felt.” At one point he even seems to imply that he actually is Joan Of Arc being burned at the stake with the rather explicit reference to a hearing aid melting in the flames, a device that Morrissey wore on occasion. It’s easy, then, to imagine the three of them being manifestations of a single entity that he refers to as “Big Mouth,” an allusion to their combined inability to keep their traps shut. The transposable trio go round and round and round in an interchangeable cycle of reincarnation. First, at least in our historical record, is Joan Of Arc who blathers on about her visions and is burned at the stake for her efforts, but she is then reincarnated later as Oscar Wilde; Oscar Wilde, poet to the heavens, also gets himself into hot water for his indiscretions, dies, and then comes back as Morrissey; Morrissey, the salty queen, will die someday, too, and presumably be reincarnated as a future Joan Of Arc, who will be burned at a future stake, then resurrected as a future Oscar Wilde, and the cycle continues through the ages ad infinitum. Joan, Oscar, Moz, Joan, Oscar, Moz, Joan… That’s the general gist of it anyway. As I said at the beginning, I’m not really sure what the backstory to this image is, but I thought it was worth sharing my jumble of thoughts because maybe someone reading this has a better idea of exactly what is going on here. Or not. Maybe we should just enjoy the image silently, without words, and heed this little piece of wisdom I once heard: “Never miss a chance to keep your mouth shut.” It’s a lesson our three subjects might have benefitted from? Then again we wouldn’t have had the privilege of receiving their gifts had they never opened their big mouths. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/antihero-taal-of-the-taube-ds3hd monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563486274013-0SVPB9HXIWAJOO9TYHWG/ANTIHERO_bearpigeon_small.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube - Ursquabra The wealthy King prayed to the Gods to send him a sign of their support for his upcoming war. The Gods sent the King a beautiful dancing bear, which he was to sacrifice in their honor, but the greedy King kept the beautiful bear for himself and instead sacrificed a goat thinking the Gods wouldn’t notice. They noticed. To punish the greedy King, the Gods made his lovely daughter Paloma fall madly in love with the bear. Shortly after their unholy union, Paloma delivered the monster Ursquaba into the world. The filthy flying beast with a bear’s head has a ferocious appetite with only one objective: to eat the rich. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563486349734-CCU44RQ9S3DR8WJUQ491/ANTIHERO_jagerpigeon_small2.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube - Jägermeister, The Magical Fairy Stag The Jägermeister was hunting in the woods when he came upon the virgin goddess Fartemis who was bathing near the shore of a large, dark lake. The young hunter was smitten by the goddess’ naked body as she frolicked in the waters, and he was transfixed by the sounds of her beautiful white buttocks that were farting, flapping, quaking, quacking, barking, burping, poofing, pooting, grumbling, rumbling, rattling, roaring, blowing, belching, stinking, sneezing, coughing, clapping, grunting, gurgling, squeaking, steaming, tooting, saluting, and just generally being flatulent. As he stood on the bank completely enthralled, Fartemis caught him watching her. For profaning her virginity and listening to her Sacred Southern Songs, Fartemis turned the Jägermeister into a Magical Fairy Stag, which was promptly dragged to the bottom of the licorice black lake by a Banshee Octopus. Together they feast on the blood of passing hunters in their underwater grotto and occasionally distribute swords to Kings with Certified Divine Lineage. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563486607269-6EVO5TPX2O01320QAFTF/ANTIHERO_pigeonvsstatues_small2.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube - The Great Statue Rebellion During the Great Statue Rebellion, sculptures, effigies, figurines, carvings, bronzes, graven images, busts, heads, etc. from around the world rose up and revolted against pigeons and other fowl that had been defecating on their heads for thousands of years. They even wrote up a “Declaration Of Incontinence” which claimed they had “certain unalienable Rights Of Idolization,” which included the right “to stand majestically on a base in a park, or in front of a government building, without being covered in caca, poo-poo, doo-doo, dung, poop, diarrhea, crap, shit, scat, waste, manure, dumps, droppings, dookies, turds, feces, and excrement.” The rebellion was, of course, a complete failure and pigeons continue to shit in the eyes of heroes everywhere, every day. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563486453478-6U472CMT8VNGWPJTTUHM/ANTIHERO_jesuspigeon_small2.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube - The Circusfixion A circus came to town. Its ring leader was the Carpenter Pigeon, a foolish street performer well known for his dubious miracles and bizarre parables about fat men in red suits, bunny rabbits that lay eggs, and endless stories about ghosts and demons that frightened the children. The local authorities didn’t like the cut of his jib, so they arrested him for hijacking a mythology and circusfixed him to an iron cross in the center ring of his very own 666-Ring Inferno at the top of a mountain. Three days after his death, the Carpenter Pigeon gave himself a resurrection erection, turned into a Zombie, and then was promptly abducted by Aliens who have probed him in his Holy Black Hole at the edge of the Event Horizon for Eternity. Amen. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563486521379-8ZQSXRTTQJSYKA0KQG35/ANTIHERO_pigeonvseagle_small2.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube - Squabzilla vs. Eaglejira Squabzilla, a giant prehistoric mutant pigeon that was resurrected by nuclear testing off the coast of Paris, laid her eggs in an empty nest atop a very tall French mountain. Eaglejira, also a giant prehistoric monster reawakened by radiation, was like, “Nuh-uh, bitch, that’s my nest!” And then Eaglejira let fly her war cry, “E Pluribus Unum!” and fired a fiscal nuclear la$er bomb out of her beak. The shot narrowly missed the pigeon and blew up behind her. Eaglejira’s economic bomb cost so much money that it caused the stock market to crash and forced Eaglejira into a Great Depression. The victory went to Squabzilla, who safely hatched a whole flock of mutant pigeon chicks that all became artists and poets who wore berets and they lived happily ever after. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563485842668-4QXT7NB75KLMPB93VWJM/ANTIHERO_boards_012.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube I was honored be asked to create a series of boards for Antihero—so excited that I kind of tinkled in my pants a little bit when the box of boards arrived at my house. No dachshunds here. Pigeons: the Antihero mascot (ala Todd Francis). Magnificent, majestic, monstrous pigeons. A note on the title, “The Taal Of The Taube,” since a couple people have asked what it means: Taal (Dutch) = language. Taube (German) = pigeon. Taub (German) = deaf. A Tale Of A Tub = Jonathan Swift. I have no idea what any of that means, but it sounded cool at the time. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563486690363-9MWR7LLK8IS41P7ZTPMM/ANTIHERO_warpigeon18_small2.jpg Work - Antihero: Taal Of The Taube - War Pigeon 18 Pigeons fought extensively on both sides during WW1 and WW2, and amassed an abundance of decorations for their bravery, but not many know that War Pigeons were regarded as an elite class of fearsome warriors in ancient times. One famous War Pigeon, who comes to us from the fifth century Visigoths, was known simply as “18.” There is historical evidence that 18 may have contributed to the sacking of Rome in 410 AD. One surviving text, a Visigoth exaltation of 18, suggests that this powerful Pigeon was beheld as some sort of demon with great power, or even a descendant of the Moon: “Rise Prince Of Darkness, and take flight upon blackened wings. O Holy War Pigeon, Son of Moon, rain death upon our enemy, and drown his cities in crimson horrors, lay his lands to waste, and smite his children in a storm of blood. Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of this Beast, for it is a poultry number, it is the sum of six, six, and six: 18.” http://www.acidinvader.com/work/antihero-four-pillars-of-obedience-2t5ab monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563410825011-4HOIUUTC995JDAK0Q8GL/AH4P_law_insta_01.jpg Work - Antihero: Four Pillars Of Obedience - 4. THE FOURTH PILLAR: LAW 4:1 The Commands of The Fourth Pillar, Law, will be delivered from the deck of The Big Battleship, the glorious symbol of The Greatest Nation’s Military Power. 4:2 The Greatest Nation is at War with Everyone and Everything for All Eternity. All Patriots must be on HIGH ALERT 24 hours a day and ready to deploy for battle AT ANY TIME. 4:3 All Patriots will do as they are told. Beehive yourself. The Law depends on all Patriots to report any Suspicious Beehivior. Not reporting Suspicious Beehivior to The Law is punishable by The Law. Any and all Suspicious Beehivior is subject to Conclusion Procedures. 4:4 All Patriots and their families are under constant surveillance as decreed by the Super Security Safety Statute (SSSS) enacted by The Chief Superior Officer who has the power to do anything he wants, especially if it’s for Fatherland Protection. Protecting Patriots from the hordes of Marauding Invaders that threaten The Most Greatest Nation’s borders is The Law’s number one priority, but The Law cannot protect unmonitored Patriots. All unmonitored Patriots will be subject to Conclusion Procedures. 4:5 The Law has developed extensive geo-targeted Disinformation Programs that are designed to create fear, anxiety, and terror in The Most Greatest Nation’s Enemies. Some Enemies will poop their pants due to Disinformation overload. These Disinformation Programs are only used on The Nation’s Enemies and are not used on Patriots of The Most Greatest Nation—REPEAT: only used on Enemies, totally not on Patriots. 4:6 Every Young Patriot in The Most Greatest Nation will be issued a uniform and a gun at birth. Throughout childhood Young Patriots will be taught The Good Way Of The Gun. Remember: the only thing that stops a Bad Guy with a gun, is a Good Guy with a gun. The Most Greatest Nation is a registered and certified Good Guy With A Gun Nation, indivisible under GOTT™, and does not support Bad Guy Behavior. 4:7 All Enemies of The Greatest Nation will face Conclusion Procedures. Conclusion Procedures begin with an injection of pentobarbital, followed by a gentle jab of pancuronium bromide, and it ends with a big prick of potassium chloride. 4:8 The Law depends on you to be Good. So be Good. It’s for your own Good. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563410513989-Z6WSICR14Q4HD9NNMKBD/AH4P_church_insta.jpg Work - Antihero: Four Pillars Of Obedience - 2. THE SECOND PILLAR: CHURCH 2:1 The Commands of The Second Pillar, Church, will be delivered from The Golden Ark, the glorious symbol of the cradle that created Life on Earth, thus spake The Holy Book Of TROOF®. The Church will demand unwavering belief in the almighty GOTT™, The Maker Of All Things, and eradicate Evil amongst His Children in The Most Greatest Nation. All who dare oppose His rule will be subject to Conclusion Procedures. 2:2 The Word Of GOTT™ will be delivered through His Son, The Santa Bunny. The Santa Bunny is your Savior and you owe him a big Thank You. The Holy Book Of TROOF®, along with your personal Android Surveillance Monitor, will help you discover the many ways you can show your appreciation to The Santa Bunny. Remember: Santa Bunny Saves. 2:3 All Children Of GOTT™ will adhere to a strict diet high in fatty meats and rich in Opioids. Opioids, particularly those found naturally in the Sacred Poppy Plant, help to dislodge toxins and purge Evil from the body. Most importantly, a steady diet of Religious Opiates will empty the Mind of Reason thus allowing the Soul to better assimilate The TROOF®. (Opiates are not for recreational use. Side effects of Religious Opiate use may include: ignorance, intolerance, ineptitude, inanity, and moderate to severe diarrhea.) 2:4 The Word Of GOTT™ teaches us that everyone must Beehive themselves. As a coming-of-age ritual, every Child of GOTT™ at the age of eleven will wear a Holy Beehive on his/her head and suffer the stings of an entire colony of extremely angry African Killer Bees for one month. If the child survives, he/she will graduate to Life Phase II. 2:5 [This section is crossed out with the words “I forget what 2:5 is” below it.] 2:6 All disciples of GOTT™ must enroll in the Church’s Proselytization Adventure Mission to spread the Gospel of GOTT™ in order to save the poor Souls of those who worship false idols along the shores of the Nile, or those who covet monstrous deities in the slums of India, or those who dance around stone monoliths on islands far at sea. No matter where these Evil Heathens are to be found in the World, they require The Word: GOTT™ is God #1. All others must die. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563410643027-0IXX1MX99L8VWC1BJHFB/AH4P_work_insta_01.jpg Work - Antihero: Four Pillars Of Obedience - 3. THE THIRD PILLAR: WORK 3:1 The Commands of The Third Pillar, Work, will be delivered from the deck of The Lil Red Tugboat, the glorious symbol of selfless and tireless Labor. May GOTT™[1] bless The Lil Red Tugboat. 3:2 Idleness is the mother of all evils. What is the remedy? Work. Hard work. All Patriots will need to work very hard for The Most Greatest Nation in order to earn enough tickets to obtain the Performance Enhancing Zupplements (PEZ©) that every Patriot will ingest to gain the stamina needed to work even harder, so as to earn more tickets, to purchase more PEZ©, to be able to work even harder, to earn more tickets, to buy more PEZ©, to work as hard as the hardest working Patriot ever. Lifelong, soul-crushing careers await hard-working Patriots today! 3:3 With hard work and good Beehivior marks on the annual Android Surveillance Scorecard (ASS), Patriots can achieve Success and realize The Nation’s Great Fantasy. The hardest working Patriots that eat and sleep the least will climb the Corporate Ladders and be initiated into The Class Of Best People. 3:4 Every Patriot worker will be obligated to make a lifelong commitment to the Bank of his choice. Choose from as many as two different state-financed, privately controlled Banks to manage your finance tickets and control all of your family’s most important life decisions. Let The Bank do the thinking for you. You can trust The Bank because The Bank rules. 3:5 A government-sponsored private alcohol corporation will provide Patriot workers, who have earned the required ASS scores, the necessary daily quantity of cool, refreshing alcohol at an affordable ticket price. Enjoy alcohol while watching your favorite Sportsball© team play Sportsball© on your Like Screen alone and by yourself. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563410164335-4CQU56IWQHYDSO5NQPTZ/AH4P_product_02.jpg Work - Antihero: Four Pillars Of Obedience - The Four Pillars Of Obedience FOREWORD The documents now collectively referred to as “The 4 Pillars Of Obedience” have been a curiosity to scholars since they were first discovered nearly three decades ago among the detritus of a cargo ship that wrecked off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard in the early 20th century. The pages, torn from what appears a ship’s log, were preserved in an empty rum bottle. Much of the text has been ravaged by time and conditions, but many of the pages are remarkably well preserved. Particularly those containing the list known as “The 4 Pillars,” which has been receiving a lot of attention lately due to its use of language that eerily foreshadows subjects and events today—information and technology that the anonymous author could not have known about nearly 100 years ago when it was written. The author sometimes refers to himself as the Captain of the cargo ship, and at other times a prisoner who has been exiled to a life at sea due to madness, or crime, or both. The author endearingly calls his ship/prison “my little Narrenschif” (German for “Ship Of Fools”). We know very little about the cargo ship other than that the author says it was in the business of trafficking a wild parade of inhabitants, all exhibiting various states of mental illness, up and down the New England coastline. It’s unclear whether his use of the term “fools” for his shipmates was meant pejoratively or complimentary as he alternates in this opinion throughout his writings. Most of the text is on the subject of a bizarre “authoritarian utopia” where everyone blissfully does as they’re told and welcomes their oppression. “The 4 Pillars” list seems to function as an organizing principle for this “imaginary” society. The four pillars (School, Church, Work, and Law) are like masts borne by four different boats, each with its own set of commandments, laws, and edicts. Some have argued that they are meant to be taken literally as a code of conduct onboard the “little Narrenschif,” which itself may have had multiple personalities and functioned in some capacity as all four water vessels listed: a rowboat, an ark, a tugboat, and a battleship. The list may have been a set of rules—a very colorful set of rules—designed to appeal to the cacophonic language of the insane crew that was housed on this floating asylum. The majority of scholars, however, tend to agree that the author meant for the list to be a sarcastic condemnation directed at New England high society, specifically his persecutors (whether real or imagined) who sentenced him to “life as castaway.” “Those who have dropped anchor ‘pon the Lande,” the author writes in one fragment, “they are the Mad.” He continues, in his rambling style, to belittle those who lash themselves to the mast of Reality (“Patriots,” as he calls them), who go to work, who worship “GOTT,” who obey the law, and do as they’re told, they are the ones that are truly insane. The author, on the other hand, along with his maniacal cast that disappoints him more often than not, is a little ship of fools, adrift at sea, rolling endlessly upon the waves, they are the ones that are free and who have not betrayed their Divine origin. Before we proceed with further commentary on the scant fragments of remaining text, let us first turn our attention to the best preserved pages that contain the very peculiar list known as, “The 4 Pillars Of Obedience”: https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563409428161-QSKFNDC6GWEJ5V5TR7FM/AH4P_antihero_website_promo.jpg Work - Antihero: Four Pillars Of Obedience Four graphics for Antihero collection. Each board was packaged with AH stickers, postcards of all four graphics, and a zine containing the original "The 4 Pillars Of Obedience" text (collages and zine text below). https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563410844343-BIJE51AOWJXTSAXIXJSV/AH4P_school_01_small.jpg Work - Antihero: Four Pillars Of Obedience - 1. THE FIRST PILLAR: SCHOOL 1:1 The Commands of The First Pillar, School, will be delivered from The White Rowboat, the glorious symbol of Innocence. The Pillar Of School will inoculate all Young Patriots with the tools needed for Success and Freedom in The Most Greatest Nation. 1:2 The Pillar Of School will teach Young Patriots the history of The Most Greatest Nation. They will learn that the Land that they stand on is theirs and that it was prepared for them by GOTT™ [1] and it is not to be shared with anyone. The Greatest Nation was discovered by The Most Honorable Hero, and built by The Fabulous Forefathers with their bare hands. Thus spake The Holy Book Of TROOF® [2]. 1:3 Young Patriots will sit quietly, behave, and do everything The Pillar Of School instructs them to do by order of The Chief Superior Officer, our Supreme Leader. Young Patriots will grow strong of mind and spirit so that they can serve The Most Greatest Nation and bring to fruition The Magnificent Plan. 1:4 Those Young Patriots unable to learn, or who display unacceptable Beehivior, will be administered Performance Enhancing Zupplements (PEZ©). PEZ© makes Young Patriots healthy and strong. Clinical studies have proven that Young Patriots who are administered PEZ© are more likely to be assimilated into a Premier Group such as The Class Of Best People. 1:5 The Pillar Of School will protect Young Patriots’ minds from the Corruption Of Knowledge. The Pillar Of School’s superior educational curriculum, KOOK (Knowledge Only One Knows), will focus the minds of Young Patriots on subjects that will aid them in implementing The Chief Superior Officer’s Magnificent Plan. The Pillar Of School will not allow Young Patriot minds to be corrupted by false scientific information or empirical facts. KOOK will provide the TROOF®. 1:6 The Pillar Of School will navigate Young Patriots through the treacherous waters of The Passions. Female Young Patriots are especially prone to vapors that excite the Passions and they will be tamed for The Good of The Most Greatest Nation. These vapors that permeate the female nerves will be extricated and/or eclipsed by the Holy Science of Malleus Maleficarum. The Male Passions will be suppressed—but not destroyed—and then reassigned to Corporate Orientation Programs and Fatherland Protection Training. 1:7 Electronic Tracking Devices, or Like Screens©, will be distributed to all Young Patriots for Social Obfuscation Inculcation and Passion Degeneration. Young Patriots’ personalized Like Screens© will accompany them throughout their Educational Career and will become their mentors, their pets, and their most trusted companions. Like Screens© will deliver important messages from The Chief Superior Officer, and information about The Magnificent Plan as well as access to KOOK-approved TROOF® sources. 1:8 The Pillar Of School will work for you only if you work for it. 1. GOTT™: God #1, The True. 2. TROOF®: Twist Reality, Obdurate, Objectify Fictions. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-015-pymjy monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916456271-6EZO2RQBNM7S5DJ8M3P8/DOX_111415_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - LOST: Lobster While I certainly applaud those who have rescued their pet from an imminent shelter execution, I often get the feeling that “rescue” is a little too strong and too proud of a word to describe a situation that essentially amounts to an “adoption.” Unlike most rescues, our brontosaurus really was a rescue. Our friend Stacy found him in an alleyway in Compton—a tributary of the La Brea Tar Pits, I imagine? He was covered in tar, his eyes weren’t yet open, and he was barely alive. More importantly, he was blocking traffic. Stacy scooped him up and took him to the vet. When Stacy was filling out the paperwork she wrote “Lobster” in the space for “pet’s name.” Stacy loves Red Lobster, and she has since admitted that she was “probably hungry at the time.” When the vet came into the reception area and called for the patient, “Lobster?” everyone chuckled, and that sealed the deal: the dinosaur’s name is Lobster—“Lobster,” what a stupid name for a brontosaurus from Compton. Stacy has a small apartment and too many cats as it is, so we were nominated to become Lobster’s new parents. As expected, our dachshund didn’t much care for his new roommate and has asked several times a day since, “When’s his mom gonna come pick him up?” And that’s why we suspect the dachshund had something to do with Lobster’s disappearance. In fact we think the dachshund put the dinosaur in his time machine. We have steadfastly refused to believe that the contraption the dachshund is always tinkering with is a working time machine, but we’re having a hard time maintaining this opinion in the face of recent facts. Last week, for instance, Lobster was gone for a couple days and when he finally returned he looked pretty frazzled and he was wearing a tattered Civil War uniform. Which side was the grey team? The Confederates? Oh, so he’s a racist dinosaur? (Redundant?) Anyway, we put up signs around the neighborhood, which, to be honest, we had a little chuckle while making: “LOST: BRONTOSAURUS.” I was going to write “LOST: THUNDER LIZARD,” which is what brontosaurus means, but I thought the neighbors might not get it, or think it’s a prank, or something. They’ll probably think it’s a prank anyway because how do you lose one of the largest animals to have ever walked the Earth? That’s why we have to consider the time machine a real possibility: Lobster could be anywhen. He was last seen around November 14 in a daily dachshund calendar, but he could be on any day in any calendar from any year. If you see him in your past, present, or future, please call us in the now. Danke. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916531031-QMVGH5VC7G4E0J6223RY/DOX_081315_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - Princess Poobah’s Plight One day while Faunus was chugging a jug of fig wine with the Lady Isis Thea high in the branches of their Sacred Grove, there was a brilliant flash. Before them stood their Son (they didn’t know they had one) swathed in an aura of gold. His name was Heliodox, also known as “The Millennium Falchund.” Heliodox laid Seven Golden Eggs in the center of Faunus’s Sacred Grove Of Trees and when they hatched they became the Sunshine Sprites, a race of Golden Pixies that tend to the Earth’s Sunshine and manage the Rhinebeau River, the source of all Rainbows. Faunus and Lady Isis were overjoyed with their new family of gold babies. Heliodox gave them a magical Fairy Flag that they could use as a blanket for the Sunshine Sprites when they lay down to sleep after putting the Sun to bed every Night. But Heliodox warned them that the Sunshine Sprites are a mischievous little horde of Faeries and should they ever harm a human child, the Fairy Flag and the Sacred Grove will disappear. As a precaution, Faunus and Lady Isis hired a Gold Nanny Droid (who came with excellent recommendations) to watch over the Sunshine Sprites and make sure they stayed out of trouble. One day, as the Sprites were building Rainbows in the Rhinebeau, they came upon a young girl bathing in their waters. It was the Princess Poobah and she didn’t know that entering their River was strictly forbidden. The Sunshine Sprites decided to teach the Princess a lesson. One of them splashed the Nanny Droid with water while the others used their Faerie Magic to turn the Princess’s bar of lilac soap into a dead, slimy, rotten chicken. When the Princess Poobah realized she was washing with raw poultry and maggots, she screamed and ran home to her castle. The Princess Poobah soon became very ill. It was determined by her Royal doctors that she had come down with Furry Parrot Disease due to the exposure to slimy poultry. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916682898-83E25LH06603WRYXMQFL/image-asset.jpeg Work - Ridachulous 015 - WienerschnitzHELL In an upcoming film about dach metal giants, WienerschnitzHELL, behind-the-scenes footage and interviews reveal a band that was in complete chaos while they were in the studio writing and recording their magnum opus of radish patch techno, “The Flight Of The Turnip Princess.” Metatron’s Cube, who writes all the lyrics and is known as the band’s Voice Of Nothing And The Sound Of Silence, was frequently absent from the recording sessions because she became deeply involved in Sacred Geometry and was too busy with real estate speculation in another dimension. The lead guitar player, Wolfgang Pugilisky, was practically useless because he was injecting a potent concoction of navy bean soup laced with spider webs he farmed behind his toilet. As a result, he was convinced that he was an ancient bronze statue of a Greek God that had been reincarnated in a Native American child who rode a motorcycle around a graveyard in the desert. Vicious Sintaur, usually the band’s most colorful musician, was constantly drunk on a strange brew made from floor stew and fermented earwax. That wasn’t a problem in itself (he was almost always drunk), the problem was that he had seen a Cirque De Soleil show in Las Vegas and insisted, often violently, that the band should incorporate more circus tricks and acrobatics into their onstage performances. Saint Pinocchio and his girlfriend Sweetums had devised a way of untangling the red lines from candy canes which they then crushed into a powder and smoked in a mistletoe cigarette—they said it allowed them to communicate with bees on the moon. Even J.S. Dach, usually the voice of reason in the group, became addicted to a strange mixture of old Halloween candy and his own farts. It’s a miracle they were able to complete “The Flight Of The Turnip Princess,” an album that changed the face of music. “Concerto In Fart #: The WienerschnitzHELL Dachumentary” airs next month on PBS. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916605727-WM0QSLIL6ZB6YZ1J8HZ6/DOX_101015_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - The Queen Of The Spider Beans When the Dachess Of Dork was very young, her parents died and she was forced to live with her aunt who made her do all of the chores. One day she told the Dachess to visit her nearest neighbor, The Loch Ness Monster, and retrieve the Rainbow she had lent her. It was late and the Dachess worried that she wouldn’t make it back before sunset to milk the Lady Bugs—unless she took a shortcut through the Spinnewald, a dark and evil forest patrolled by venomous Devil Spiders who created a labyrinth of cobwebs in the ominous woods. It was said that even the slightest touch of a Spinnewald web would ensnare you for eternity. As she pondered her predicament, a strange Little Green Man with gold teeth appeared and handed her a can of Electric Mayhem Beans. He told her to eat the beans, spin around three times, then enter the Spinnewald backwards and a path will appear. The Dachess figured life couldn’t get any worse, so she did as he said. But as soon as she entered the dark forest, she became very scared. The old dead trees blotted out the sun, the cobwebs began closing in, and she could hear the Devil Spiders chittering in the darkness. Suddenly, her tummy rumbled and before she had time to control her bowels, a deafening fart exploded out of her butt and roared through the forest. After the Dachess excused herself and recovered from her embarrassment, she noticed that her sonic boom-boom had blasted a path right through all the cobwebs. As she took a few steps further into the spiders’ lair, it happened again, and she produced another massive explosion that blew away all of the cobwebs behind her. The Electric Mayhem Beans had turned her keister into an Ultrasonic Fart Cannon! In this way the Dachess marched straight through the forest, fanny first, clearing a path through the webs with her new sonic weapon. She retrieved the Rainbow from Nessie and made it home in time to milk the Lady Bugs. She has been known ever since as The Queen Of The Spider Beans. To this day, people in the region always scoop up a spider and/or some cobwebs from behind the toilet and place it in the bottom of a pot of bean soup in her honor. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916570295-2UH9Y6N5YIMI50ML0PKO/DOX_081515_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - Princess Poobah’s Plight, Part 2 The Grand Poobah’s daughter, the Princess Poobah, was sick in bed suffering from Furry Parrot Disease. The Grand Poobah offered his daughter’s hand in marriage to anyone who could cure her. Beckett, a lowly wiener in the village, knew that if he could steal the Fairy Flag from Faunus, The Old Man Of The Wood, it would cure the Princess. But even before he could approach Faunus’s terrifying grove of trees, Beckett had to travel many miles and cross the Fairy Bridge at the Rhinebeau River, which is guarded by the Sunshine Sprites: if you can’t answer their riddle, they eat you. After an arduous journey, Beckett arrived at the Fairy Bridge and was stopped by a Sunshine Sprite. The Sprite demanded an answer to his riddle before Beckett could enter the Wood: “How many beans are too many beans in a bean burrito?” For an answer, Beckett lifted his leg and whizzed in the Rhinebeau River. The waters of the Rhinebeau are sacred to the Sprites and the invasion of Beckett’s urine was the equivalent of an Exxon Valdez disaster. While the Sprite was distracted cleaning up the yellow spill, Beckett crept into the Wood and entered Faunus’ grove. “What brings you to Faunus’s Wood, oh Little One?” Faunus asked. In reply, Beckett did a little dance on his little legs that made Faunus laugh so hard he nearly fell out of his tree. “Oh ho ho! You are Nature’s Little Clown! Dance for Faunus, Little One, dance.” While Beckett continued his jig, Faunus opened a jug of fig wine to enjoy while he watched the show. Beckett danced and danced while Faunus drank and drank, and soon the Old Man Of The Wood came down with a bad case of the hiccups. As Faunus tried scaring himself by drinking wine while standing on his head and breathing his own farts, Beckett used the opportunity to reach into the closet in Faunus’ tree and nab the Fairy Flag. He ran all the way back to his village, unfurled the flag, cured the Princess of her Furry Parrot Disease, and they all lived happily ever after. [Answer to the riddle: 240 beans because 240 is too farty.] https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916726871-DXF2JPAAMQBR3VQJFW64/DOX_111715_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - Lil Weenies You may have one of these floating around inside of you right now. They’re known as Lil Weenies: biochemical computers that operate on a subatomic level. And someone, or something, has been implanting them in newborn babies across the world since at least 1969. Scientists say the Lil Weenies began as a DNA molecule harvested from a subtraction sign in a third grade-level math problem which was then combined with proteins from a crack in a stump that was used as a milking stool in a dairy barn at an agricultural university. Once the synthesis between the minus sign and the crack occurred, it quickly evolved into a subatomic microorganism with a chemical profile that is distinctly long, yet very short—much like a dachshund, hence the nickname, Lil Weenies. How they got into our systems, and what they’re doing, nobody knows, but they exist in a surprisingly large portion of the population. While their ultimate purpose is yet unknown, Lil Weenies have been observed drawing on the internal walls of veins and arteries with their lipstick rockets. It’s been likened to “quantum graffiti,” but some of the observed “tagging” appears to be a form of poetry about sublime pastoral landscapes. There is also evidence to suggest that the Lil Weenie’s biochemical processing system is emitting gases composed of proteins from Wood, Wieners, and Whipstick (WWW)—the basic building blocks of the internet. There is a radical theory that not only did Lil Weenie gases create the internet, but that their emissions are the internet itself. Lil Weenies have so far proven indestructible, although they have exhibited a susceptibility to severe cases of nuclear subatomic worms. As if having a tiny Lil Weenie cruising around in your veins wasn’t disturbing news enough, there are nuclear subatomic worms cruising around in its veins—and, presumably, being excreted into our veins. So, yeah, you probably have worms. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916388912-2ODCC6MRM5887PBRUQEI/DOX_052715_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - The Sphinxeañera The Sphinxeañera was an ancient Egyptian ceremony celebrating the Sphinx’s 15th birthday, marking her passing from childhood to womanhood. Remnants of the ceremony survive today in the Latin American Quinceañera celebration. All information we have about The Sphinxeañera ritual comes from an ancient papyrus invitation that reads, “You and one guest are cordially invited to attend the Sphinx’s Sphinxeañera on May 27. Below, please find the program for the day’s events.” Much of the contents of the program are damaged, but archaeologists have managed to piece together a possible translation: 1. ENTRANCE PARADE AND RIDDLE CEREMONY. The Sphinx will arrive in the Royal Gardens at noon in a giant dress shaped like a cloud accompanied by 14 Rainbow Girls, a pair for each color of the rainbow, and she will ask her guests a riddle: what creature walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening? Please have an answer prepared before departure. 2. COCKTAILS WITH IRON MAIDEN. Each guest will slam four shots of Sarcophagus Jäger, chased by two kegs of mead, followed by three barrels of wine while Iron Maiden plays an extended dance remix of “Powerslave.” A toast will be made by the Sphinx’s Mummy and the eyes of the Nile will open, you’ll see. 3. DINNER. Guests are offered a choice between the Sphinx’s Childhood Dolls braised in cat urine, or the Sphinx’s Baby Shoes, bronzed, and cooked sous vide style, all prepared by the Dark Hand of Set. 4. FIRST DANCE. The young Sphinx dances with her father Osiris’s Wiener, Oedipus Dox. 5. DESSERT. Guests will be served a cake made from the Sphinx’s baby crib, pyramid blocks, catacomb syrup, and covered with candles stolen from tombs. 6. MORE COCKTAILS, NILE TAKES THE STAGE. The river Nile will flood the Royal Grounds while Nile the band will play a collection of blasphemous songs written to offend the Sphinx’s “stupid brother,” Horus. 7. RIDDLE SOLUTION AND CLOSING CEREMONY. Anyone unable to answer the Sphinx’s Riddle upon departure will be torn limb from limb and devoured on the spot. All hail the Sphinx. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916643772-HTWK04LTGPDNYESJQIQZ/DOX_101415_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - The Great J.S. Dach, With Primitive Blacksmith Derek The great J.S. Dach’s performance at our tiny village’s Dachtoberfest this year was an experience we will not soon forget. The maestro’s soulful howling was accompanied, of course, by Captain “Borg Face” Picard (tenor) and the Marquis De Sade on lead guitar (his Sado-Masolicks are to die for!), as well as their backing orchestra, The Little Horde—which, I was surprised to learn, really is a little horde of orphan scamps who play weird instruments. There’s a young girl, for instance, who just pours blue paint on a snare drum while a pack of hounds chase a Jazz Rabbit around in 5/3 time. There’s another rabble of rapscallions who do nothing but slap a giraffe’s tits back and forth for the duration of the show. It was one of the most amazing performances our tiny stage has ever hosted. The surprising star of the night, however, was J.S. Dach’s opening act: Primitive Blacksmith Derek. Now, I’ve never been to Vegas, but those that have said that PBD was way better than the Blue Man Group—you know, those guys that paint themselves up all blue and bang on stuff? It’s difficult to describe Derek’s music except that it’s very percussive, and almost sounds electronic at times, but it’s all made with primitive analog instruments—primarily a forge, fire, anvil, and hammer. I understand it’s an entirely new genre of music being dubbed Ludtron (short for Luddite Electronica). During the show, actors and other musicians acted out scenes from Derek’s life while he bangs out a real hammer, then a sword, on the anvil in his forge. Despite the tragedies that unfold around him, he perseveres and uses his hammer to build a magnificent bridge across the stage. Then he leaves his forge, strides across the bridge, and, once he reaches the other side, he jams the hot sword he just smithed up his butt and dies. It sounds terrible, I know, but it was quite beautiful. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916771372-VMHK65NEJUIQRC2CZDO8/DOX_112615_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - When Sirens Sleep The mesmerizing song of the Siren, Lorelei, has lured sailors to their deaths on the Rhine River for centuries so that she may feed on them under the waves [1]. Interestingly, she eats every part of the sailors except their Wieners, which she stores in pickle jars arranged on glass shelves in a mirrored hutch. Every other part of the dead sailor is ground up and shaped into patties that become her “world famous” (self-proclaimed) Sailor Burgers [2]. Many years ago, Lorelei invited her neighbors, the Dwarves who lived in the mine next door, over for a BBQ. Even though she said she was serving her “world famous Sailor Burgers,” they didn’t learn ‘til much later that the burgers they had eaten were actually comprised of ground up sailors. The Dwarves are responsible for wide array of disgusting habits of their own, but eating human sailors was not on their list. The Dwarves avoided Lorelei after that and politely declined any further BBQ invitations. Time passed, Lorelei eventually took the hint, and they all quietly coexisted in silence beneath the Rhine. If only the Wieners were lucky enough to have been ground up into Sailor Burgers, for the existence they suffered in Lorelei’s hutch was a fate far worse than death: each of the specimens in her trophy case was possessed by the conscious spirit of its former owner, yet because of a Siren Spell they were rendered limp and inert, unable to move or cry for help. Each of them was nothing more than an inanimate, yet conscious, wiener in a jar. Then one day the Dwarves heard a cacophony of deafening noises coming from Lorelei’s underwater grotto and, despite their fear of the crazy Siren lady, the Dwarves went to investigate what was causing the tumult. When they arrived they found the place in total disarray and a swarm of Wieners were running around barking, and dancing, and peeing on everything, just going crazy and completely trashing the place. In the middle of the room lay the great Siren, naked and snoring deeply in her bed. “What in the world is going on?” the Dwarves wondered aghast. Apparently the Siren’s Spell is only active when she is awake. And while it’s generally believed that Sirens never sleep, the truth is they do tend to doze off for a couple of days once every 100 years or so. This was one of those rare moments of rest in Lorelei’s life and it allowed the captive Wieners the opportunity to bust out of their pickle jars. The Dwarves went and got their instruments and they all had a great big party celebrating the Wieners’ freedom. If a ship happened to pass, they would bark at the sailors and tell them to “Git! Go on! Git!” So now, once every century, for two days around the end of November, there are no shipwrecks on the Rhine. And so it is said, when Sirens sleep, their Wieners will sing. 1. Sirens have been suspected of cannibalism ever since Circe, in Homer’s Odyssey, warned Odysseus about them: “You will come first to the Sirens, who are enchanters of all mankind and whoever comes their way; … They sit in their meadow, but the beach before it is piled with bone heaps of men now rotted away, and the skins shrivel upon them.” 2. The burger recipe appears in Gourmet Lorelei, along with many others, for cuts of sailor meat: buttock soup, kneecaps on the half shell, foot sandwiches with eyebrow aioli, toe jam chowder, scrotum dumplings with hemorrhoid filling, etc.. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916316687-XE5XE3II8E4Z5TURCEDZ/DOX_040615_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - Wieners Vs. Pussy Witch Worms Once upon a time there were two old Wieners who lived in a shoe. Their home was besieged by Pussy Witches and they didn’t know what to do. The Pussy Witches buzzed their rooftop and left fart trails in the sky. The unholy clouds contained their evil minions: tiny Toxoplasma Gondii Worms that would parachute onto the Shoe House roof where they would party all night and drive the Wieners insane. “We’ll make them a special soup filled with poisonous poops,” the Wieners sang. “Two can play at this game.” When night fell they lit the cauldron on their roof, filled it with scale of dragon and tooth of wolf. They added fillet of a fenny snake in the cauldron to boil and bake. Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, lizard's leg and howlet's wing, for a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth boil and bubble. The Worms had their party, and enjoyed the soup, the broth was delicious and so was the poop. But when dawn arrived, to cat butts they returned; and the contagious Worms made the Pussy Witches crash and burn. The End. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563916263545-N4TUH04HJ3CX9J2058RW/DOX_032415_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 015 - Citizen Jane From Canada They say she was formerly a he, and an admiral in the Royal Reichsflotte no less, but now she goes by the name of Citizen Jane From Canada. Citizen Jane From Canada now sits in her room smoking cigarettes, grooming her pussy, and writing erotic poetry, only coming out at night to go shopping for hats with her Sugar Daddy who made his fortune in gumdrops and lollies. He’s the one bankrolling her upcoming collection of poetry, her first since the war, which is tentatively titled, Who’s Afraid Of Anaïs Nincompoop? But Citizen Jane From Canada is worried the title might be mistakenly received as pejorative, and so she is also considering: I Heart Long Wieners Sex Dox Sedachtion Of The Minotaur Hymn To Him, and Deep Penetraschund The book is due out later this year. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-016-swsja monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561404372-HD5VWY1RUYWFEE87UNU6/DOX_032816_05.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Half A Hole This is a portrait of Dacchus visiting the Underworld disguised as a hillbilly wiener witch. It should be noted that Dacchus was an international world champion hole digger. He set all kinds of records in his day. He dug to China, for instance, with both arms tied behind his back. His greatest achievement, however, was the invention of half-a-hole. Before Dacchus, wieners never announced they were going to dig a hole. This was partly due to the fact that they tend to live in the Now and have difficulty comprehending the concept of a Future, not to mention that they find it rather silly to announce that they may or may not complete this or that task and the result is “coming soon.” Dacchus, on the other hand, saw a great benefit in talking about projects he was thinking about doing and it was in the midst of this practice that he made his discovery. While digging one of his world famous holes, Dacchus paused to rest and used the opportunity to announce to the spectators that he had not only embarked on a project, but that this particular project was approximately halfway to completion. He had, in fact, dug half-a-hole. At this point in history, no one had ever seen half-a-hole before. A hole is a hole is a hole. Yet Dacchus, to everyone’s surprise, had produced before their eyes half-a-hole. There was such a hulla balloo made over Dacchus’ half-a-hole that people started going crazy for any fraction of a hole that wasn’t a whole hole. One week they loved half-a-hole, the next week a quarter-of-a-hole, the next summer minimal 1/16th-of-a-hole holes were all the rage. Right now, for instance, contemporary A-Holers (as they’re known) are experimenting with mind-boggling negative holes like -3.14-of-a-hole. That’s a whole lot of nothing. Dacchus made a fortune digging fractions-of-a-hole holes and never dug a whole hole again for the rest of his whole life. He is buried in the Graveyard Of The Gods. And while Dacchus’ grave is twice as long as the usual grave, it’s half as deep. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1564502808858-0RURXT2HSH53NKDMXBAV/DOX_031916_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - The Snail & Bale Show Dr. Schneckle was a German gastropod who lived in the discokugel that he carried on his back, while his best friend, Hay Baby, was a bale of hay with a braided ponytail. Together they wrote and produced an offshore pirate radio show in the late-40s called “The Snail & Bale Show.” Hay Baby’s ponytail was, in fact, the antenna by which they transmitted their offshore broadcasts. (Technically the duo weren’t onshore, yet they weren’t exactly offshore either because their studio was situated in the middle of a salt marsh in Newbury, Massachusetts.) Their peculiar radio show was almost entirely devoted to the philosophical investigation of color. The subject of color was extremely popular with the Newbury audience because the sun rarely emerged from behind the clouds above the silent and grey fishing village; movies and television were still a rare privilege at the time; and while the Newbury Library had an impressive collection of literature available, very few of the books contained pictures. Thus, listening to a snail with a German accent and a bale of hay with a braided ponytail describing different colors on the radio was very exciting to the citizens of Newbury. Like Goethe and Wittgenstein, Dr. Schneckle and Hay Baby were perplexed and fascinated by the concept of color. They were, for instance, consumed by the problem of how to define colors without relying on ostensive definitions. Say I want to paint one of the rooms inside of my shell the same color the sky is at this instant, Dr. Schneckle once asked, how would you transmit this color to the clerk at the paint store? How do you explain the color to him? Well, Herr Dachtor, I would first commit the greyish green color of the sky to memory, Hay Baby replied. Then I would go to the paint store with my mental sky sample before my mind’s eye and explain to the clerk that I wanted something that was sort of a greyish green. I would then compare his mixes against my mental sky sample and together we would make adjustments to the paint’s tint, lightness, darkness, etc. until we achieved a match. How successful would you expect that method to be? Dr. Schneckle asked. Because I would imagine the can of paint you return with would be inaccurate simply due to the notoriously unreliable nature of our memories. But even before you travel to the paint store, I already call into question the mental sky sample you left off with: there is no green in this sky! It is a bluish grey! Your entire enterprise is booty from the get-go! Oh, but Herr Dachtor, I beg to differ, replied Hay Baby, beginning yet another debate about the color of the sky, much to the delight of their listeners. Numerous experiments were conducted in this regard and they would often invite a clerk from the paint store—a young fellow named Douglas—to participate as a call-in guest on the show. Doug was dumb as a box of rocks, and his gaffs were always hilarious, but he seemed to relish his role on the show as a paint expert and so no one begrudged his shortcomings. With Douglas’ help, Snail & Bail managed to create a very primitive mathematical language to describe colors that predated the Pantone system, but they were never able to achieve their goal of creating a universal language of color. Other notable moments and achievements on The Snail & Bale Show included: 1. They claimed to have invented a new primary color called Jasp. Jasp was a very popular request (listeners could call in and request colors to be talked about) even though no one had seen it because, according to Snail & Bail, Jasp is, for now, only visible to scorpions, crabs, and some spiders. Humans will be able to see it in the year 2222. 2. One of the most popular segments on the show was a contest called, What Color Is It? Hay Baby would drop an object on the floor in front of a microphone and callers would try and guess what color the object was. 3. They developed a magical technology that gave mirrors memory. The mirrors on Dr. Schneckle’s shell, for instance, could be persuaded to conjure up the image of anything that had been reflected on their surface from years in the past. Additionally, their mirrors could communicate and share reflections with other mirrors all over the world. It was sort of an early version of the internet. One of Snail & Bale’s favorite pastimes was to use a mirror to spy on the morning toilette of a hysterical woman in the neighboring town of Innsmouth. The Archdachess, as they called her, would fuss with wigs, makeup, and countless trinkets before her mirror for hours while eating hot dogs and smoking cigarettes. Much like a pair of baseball game announcers, Snail & Bale would give play-by-play analysis of her peculiar rituals much to the delight of their Newbury listeners. The Snail & Bale Show came to an abrupt and tragic end when the pair were struck by lightning on February 28, 1953. They were literally trying to capture lightning in a bottle (a Leyden jar) in the middle of the Newbury salt marsh because they believed that lightning bolts contained the elements that could produce The God Color, a color they calculated to be eternally black yet infinitely bright—the purest color in the Universe from which all other color was born. Some people think that if The God Color does exist, it’s preserved in the memory of the mirrors on the back of Dr. Schneckle’s burned up shell which is on display—hanging from the ceiling like a proper discokugel—in the entrance hall to the Newbury Historical Society Library. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561294019-EYE76UAKRWSQLOKHPKHT/DOX_030916_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - The Daily Racing Form Track conditions at Mrs. Jumbo’s Mother Earth Raceway have been downgraded to “muddy” due to the birth of her Divine Twins, Dacchus and Doxulus, and the resulting Flood from the Afterbirth. Here are the odds and analysis of the contenders for their hearts as they settle into the Royal Box to suck on some Trunk Milk before enjoying the first race in history (clockwise from top right): 1. Child’s Play. 88/1. This lil monster has been rockin’ and rollin’ like Johnnie B. Good of late thanks to trainer Chuck Berry. She’s 3-1 in her last four starts and at 88/1 on the morning line. This Chuckie bet is low hanging fruit. 2. Double Bull. 11/1. Hailing from London Fields Stables under the guidance of the talentless Keith Talent, this old dartboard has been flying straight as an arrow in his last few starts. Step up to the oche and drop some McQuiggin’s Gold on this Treble 20. 3. Flying Burrito Brother #1. 666-1. “Cuando yo sea grande, voy a ser Pancho Villa.” Note: all bets must be made blindfolded. Comes with a souvenir baseball bat and a side of rice and beans. 4. Salaud Canard. 99/1. Wearing the Allah Orange silks, The Arabian Firequacker From Across The Pond is always a favorite on the bill. 5. Brand New Key. oo/oo. Never a bad idea to bet on a brand new pair of roller skates that can skate backwards during “couples only.” They don’t go too fast, but they go pretty far. Owner: Melanie (Some people say she done all right for a girl). 6. Whale Ball Wine. 69/1. This homophone [wail, bawl, whine] was sired by Yadda Yadda Yadda who is a descendant of Yammer Yabber Yak. His damn dam was Blah Blah Blah who came from Jibber Jabber Stables, which is also where Babble On was recorded. Shutup. 7. Nostradamus. 23/1. Everybody knows that the nose always knows you can’t win by a nose without a nose that knows that a knows is a knows is a knows. Trainer: Snotty McMucus. Stable: The Booger Barn. 8. The Roaring 20s. 2/1. This flapper remains the favorite despite racing in drinking skirts that are bobbed too short, smoking makeup while applying cigarettes, and listening to love like she’s making jazz. Post time: stroke of midnight. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561463567-IU6IPYG53HV7VMKT7WQE/DOX_040916_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Screaming Lord Frank Farter’s Lighthouse Tantrum It is really quite ASTONISHING,” screamed Screaming Lord Frank Farter, “that Lil Baby Jubba Jingles is incapable of attending to even his easiest and most insignificant chores. It is truly REMARKABLE! The pictures on the walls in The Great Pink Lighthouse sittingroom shook before Screaming Lord Frank Farter’s thunder—a name he earned because no matter what he is doing he is always screaming and farting while doing it. Or farting and screaming. Sometimes a scream precedes a fart, and sometimes a fart precedes a scream. Other times a scream will follow a scream and a fart will follow a fart. Although it is not at all uncommon for him to scream and fart at the same time. And, on occasion, he’ll scream a fart or fart a scream. In this instance, he screamed then farted. The massive fart also caused the tower to tremble, and a most horrible odor filled the chamber and blistered the wallpaper. Due to Lord Frank’s tantrum, it had grown rather uncomfortable within the confines of the humble lighthouse in the middle of the ocean where they all lived, and so each family member retreated to his or her corner, as they did on these occasions—even though there are no corners in the tower—to weather Lord Frank’s profanity laden hissy fit. The object of his outburst was, of course, Lil Baby Jubba Jingles. His offense? He had neglected to clean up the droppings in his White Rat’s cage. When they had first introduced the White Rat to Lil Baby Jubba Jingles and made the pathetic creature a little nest in a cage beneath Mother’s toilet, they had all jokingly referred to the tiny compound as The White Rat Temple. And for a time, the little White Rat was revered and fawned over like a God. But, as is often the case with children, Lil Baby Jubba Jingles soon grew bored of his little god and he became distracted by other projects until finally The White Rat’s Temple was completely neglected and fell into disrepair. Caring for the rat thenceforth had fallen to Screaming Lord Frank Farter, and Screaming Lord Frank Farter was not pleased. Lil Baby Jubba Jingles awkwardly stroked his horn and pretended to be in conference with one of his demon servants. He was asking the beast to go down to the beach and fetch him a pelvic bone, or some such nonsense, when Screaming Lord Frank Farter screamed, BABY! HERE! NOW! Screaming Lord Frank Farter’s anger demanded more reparation than usual and he deemed this offense worthy of a spanking AND a hot salsa enema. Lil Baby Jubba Jingles had been spanked on many occasions, and he’d received his share of hot salsa enemas, sure, but never at the same time. This was the most severe sentence to ever be meted out in the history of The Great Pink Lighthouse. That’s how displeased Lord Frank was about the deplorable condition of the White Rat’s Temple under Mother’s toilet. Unfortunately for Lord Frank, however, Lil Baby Jubba Jingles had reached an age when a spanking was not very painful and nothing to be frightened of. So when Lord Frank laid him across his knees and applied palm to buttocks, Lil Baby Jubba Jingles showed little discomfort and, at worst, looked only slightly bemused. This was not at all the effect Lord Frank was after and it made him even more infuriated. He vowed that the hot salsa enema he administered would be extra hot. It’s going to be extra hot, buster! he screamed. And then farted. As luck would have it, he couldn’t find any hot salsa anywhere in the lighthouse. MOTHER! he screamed while farting, Where is the hot salsa? Mother didn’t know anything about any hot salsa. Why would they have hot salsa in the middle of the ocean? Still she offered to whip up a batch for him if he really needed it. Screaming Lord Frank Farter was too impatient to await the construction of a salsa, so he swept the baby off his lap and went stomping up the stairs to break things and curse at the wind from the catwalk around the lantern room. They could hear him terrorizing the nautical knick-knacks, gewgaws, grimcracks, tchotchkes, trinkets, and other souvenirs that were on display throughout the tower. Crash! Bang! Boom! At its crescendo, Screaming Lord Frank Farter broke the lighthouse lantern with an unfortunate projectile. The lighthouse was plunged into darkness. All was silent save the waves crashing against the tower. It would be days before the beacon could be restored. The flotsam always washed up first. Mother put the tea on in case there were any survivors. The White Rat licked his white rat lips and rubbed his little white rat paws together, for it would fall to him to harvest the bloated corpses. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561087307-7LC1HP3HQIJGXEJEYL7A/DOX_060816_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Portrait Of Titania While Lord Dacchus was touring the Underworld he sent a telegram to his wife the Queen requesting a list of supplies. An attendant read the items aloud to Her Majesty Titania. Wait, Titania said. What was that last one again? The portrait of my wife that hangs in the hallway, the attendant replied. Rounded, rotund Titania reclined upon a pile of watercress pillows beside a forest pool and wiped the crumbs of cinnamon from the summit of her pregnant belly and took another lusty bite of her sticky bun. What’s he want that for? she asked. Says here, sentimental reasons, m’lady. Titania snorted. Can’t someone just take a picture of it and send it t’m? Why does he need the actual painting? He’s just going to mess it all up down there. Titania was very fond of her portrait. It was painted when she was only a few thousand years old, shortly after the first Miracle, and it was the only object that survived the Temple fire. As a child Titania was virtuous and chaste, yet her father always accused her of pooping behind the couch. In a bid to assure him her innocence, Titania assented to an Ordeal By Fire. Barefoot and wearing a gown covered in wax, the flames refused to embrace her. Titania emerged from the trial unscathed and innocent, yet her abusive father continued to imagine that it was she who had been poopin’ behind the couch. Disheartened by her father’s paucity, Titania left home and wandered into the forest. She soon came to a clearing where a mother bear was grieving over her dead cub. An Angel appeared, bowed, and said that Titania was the Faerie Queen. The Angel placed the lifeless cub in Titania’s arms and it returned to life. From then on the mother and her cub were devoted to Her Majesty Titania and they built a temple to her on the spot. The painting Dacchus requested was painted by the baby bear and once hung over the altar in that Temple. Titania opened her Grizzly scrimshaw locket, breathed on the mirror, then shut the clasp tight, fixing her smile upon it forever. Go get some poop from behind the couch, she said to her attendant. Frame it and send him that instead. And here, Titania said handing the attendant the locket. Put this in there. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561133810-I17ODSIMT9ZASD4XADWG/DOX_073016_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Portrait Of Dacchus As the path narrowed and the dense forest grew denser to the point where it was virtually impenetrable, Dacchus paused to untangle his dress from a thorny branch. Argh! Grandma’s underpants! he cursed. Worried someone might have heard him, he added under his breath, Pardon my French. Then he wondered if he was wearing a pair of grandma’s underpants? It was very possible. Janice had disguised Dacchus as an old, dead lady. Specifically as a member of notorious Maidens Of Moth, a coven of hillbilly wiener witches that look deader than Death itself. She really decked him out and gussied him up in the finest old lady apparel assuring him, despite his protests, that this is how witchy women dress, like a cat in the dark, like a woman taken by the wind: flowing funeral skirts, ghoulish gowns, mourning dresses, black lace shawls, thunder stockings, amethyst elbow gloves, fishnet pantyhose (made from authentic mermaid nets with ensnared sailor parts), cobra wigs, mom jeans, embalming sweaters, Apache tear stains, raven veils, lil exorcist capes, suicide vests, locust wings, dark crystals, vampire bikinis, coffin nail earrings, moonstone necklaces, werewolf beards, platinum catheters, tomb sandals, born again cardigans, poltergeist panties, forbidden hats (affixed with lightning rods), age-inappropriate lingerie (but no bras), electric boots, and a mohair suit. Very impressive, Dacchus said when Janice showed him a mirror. But do I look dead? Oh yes, very dead, Janice said. Janice had helped him swap the head for the tail, as she described it, so that he was technically dead and thus on the path to the entrance to the Underworld which was somewhere between his own buttocks. He wasn’t sure how he got there, but there he was in the crack of his own ass having a fine time struggling with a seemingly impenetrable forest looking for the Tunnel Of Love, the entrance to the Underworld. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561234340-OQC03RVIIPQJR2QCA8TU/DOX_022016_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Marionette Mayhem The premiere puppet fighting entertainment corporation, Marionette Mayhem, confirmed today the rumor that has been circulating for weeks: the two greatest puppeteers in history, the ancient Greek sculptor, Pygmalion, and the German alchemist, Dr. Frankenstein, have agreed to a battle-puppet fight-to-the-death: Pygmalion’s, The Ivory Tower, will face off against Frankenstein’s undefeated world champion, The Fabulous Fracas. Tale Of The Tape: The Ivory Tower Height: 17’1” (one inch taller than Michelangelo’s “David”) Weight: 432 lbs Shortly after Pygmalion divorced his first wife, Galatea, and came out as a gay sculptor, he created the impressive and imposing puppet warrior, The Ivory Tower (TIT)—like Galatea before him, the massive statue-come-to-life is constructed entirely of ivory. Scouting reports from TIT’s open workout say he’s been grappling with Pygmalion’s wiener, choking it out, and putting it in various submission holds. Tale Of The Tape: The Fabulous Fracas Height: 16’ (twice the size of Frankenstein’s original monster) Weight: 666 lbs The defending MM World Champion is a monster bioengineered by Dr. Frankenstein with the help of his Magical ShEars: a pair of scissors that are powered by music and which dismembered a pile of corpses and amalgamated the various body parts into a massive creature endowed with a symphony of superhuman strengths. He’s been installed with a fictional history that fuels his insatiable rage. The Fracas believes that by day he’s an ancient Egyptian priest that cares for a group of orphans in a giant pyramid below the ice fields of Antarctica, but by night he is The Fabulous Fracas, a gladiator that destroys opponents for prize money that funds the orphanage. Marionette Mayhem’s fight of the century, PvF, takes place on Leap Year Day in the MM Hiptagon, the coolest seven-sided ring in the world. The Hiptagon door will open for two puppets, but only one will emerge alive… https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563562476934-LQDCDJL6L9176CZXOS6C/DOX_051416_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - The Military Portrait Of Dachtor Krieg Military Portrait Of Dachtor Krieg, General Lord Marshall Admiral Of The Doxy Empire, Prince of Frankfart, Dach Of Wienerdorf, Bishop Of Worms. Space Colors on cliff 3.61 km × 2.23 km The theft of the enormous masterpiece, Military Portrait Of Dachtor Krieg, and how it has remained undiscovered all these years, is one of the greatest mysteries in the history of art. This digital recreation is based on ancient written descriptions and eyewitness accounts by the few who saw it before it was stolen. It was, by all accounts, a massive painting and considered a religious icon by the wild barbarian tribes of Germania, yet it was relatively unknown because it was painted on the side of a cliff nearly three kilometers above sea level on the east face of the Matterhorn Mountain. The unknown artist further obfuscated the image by painting it with pigments that were wrung from a meteorite thus using alien colors from the other side of the galaxy that no one had ever seen before. Unless your eyes and brain had been trained to see these space colors, you would never have known there was a massive portrait painted on the side of the Matterhorn. The portrait of the Germanic warrior, Dachtor Krieg, was one of the finest examples of Classical Romantic Teutonic art—a style preoccupied with heroic themes and exalting the blood and soil of the Motherland. It was presumably painted to commemorate the final battle of The Great Devil Rat War in which Dachtor Krieg deployed a labyrinth spell (created by a coven of Hillbilly Wiener Witches who claim to be descendents of Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters) that trapped the Devil Rat hordes in an Underworld maze from which they never escaped. Krieg is portrayed at his homecoming. He is gravely injured, but victorious. He carries a glass barrel filled with the blood of a million slaughtered Devil Rats. Legend has it that when he turned the glass barrel over, and the blood began to spill, it did not stop spilling for 40 days and 40 nights and covered the entire country in a pool of blood three inches deep. Krieg’s helmetless head is adorned with a golden fleece and bullhorns protrude from his temples indicating that he is an incarnation of the Ancient Egyptian God, Osiris, Lord Of The Underworld. He is welcomed home by Mother Earth, who appears here in the form of Penelobee Horney Bee, who lovingly embraces and caresses his snout with her long, formidable antlers. In the background, the giant World Boy and his Mother, the virgin Faerie Queen, dance amid a parade of philosophers that have gathered to hold hands and debate the deconstruction and ontological metaphysics Pythagorean prolegomena tractatus—I have no idea what they’re doing. As impressive as this enormous monument was, it’s perhaps more impressive that somebody, or somebodies, stole it. Remember: it was over three and half kilometers tall. How does one steal the side of a mountain? Unknown, but there can be no doubt that the Matterhorn’s east face—where the artist painted the portrait, allegedly using only a vacuum cleaner, a gold mirror, and a trebuchet—appears as if it were sheared off with a giant cheese knife. There are, as one would imagine, many legends and theories as to what happened to the giant painting. One story tells of the thief hiding the art in his mother’s backyard. Her neighbors, however, began to complain because the giant mountainside was eclipsing the sun 22 hours a day. So she burned it in her oven to protect her son. Another theory contends that the thieves chopped the mountainside artwork up into 42 smaller mountainsides, each of which was hidden safely in the womb of 42 different clouds residing in the bottom of 42 different lakes throughout the region that is now Switzerland. This theory is probably derived from and cognate with the Osiris myth referenced in the painting: Set murdered his brother Osiris then dismembered the body into 42 pieces that were then scattered across Egypt. There’s even a theory promoted by cryptozoologists who have wildly speculated that the painting wasn’t stolen at all, but rather Harold, The Abominable Snowman (now immortalized on the ride at Disneyland), ate the giant painting after mistaking it for a birthday cake. While there are those today who claim to be ancestors of the burglar(s) and say they know the location of the painting and/or various fragments—at least one Swiss lake was dredged in the 70s—no real evidence of the artwork’s existence has ever surfaced and the theft is still on Interpol’s Art Crimes List as “unrecovered.” There are, however, many who believe that there will be a Second Coming of the Military Portrait Of Dachtor Krieg. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561205867-W5A2Q7LGOOAPB7Q75P2S/DOX_011916_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Click Here To Track Your Prayer PRAYER TRACKING NUMBER: 432666 1/14/16 11:22 A.M. ARRIVAL SCAN at United Prayer Service (UPS) facility. Prayer is received by Count Broccula and The Omnigüs. 1/14/16 11:23 A.M. Prayer is processed and peed on by the magnificent Wiener Angel, The Prince Of Dachness. 1/14/16 11:42 A.M. DEPARTURE SCAN. 1/15/16 12:34 A.M. ARRIVAL SCAN at Monkey Waterskiing Training Facility. Monkeys throw feces at each other while waterskiing. Delivery will be delayed by two (2) Monkey Business Days. 1/18/16 3:14 P.M. DEPARTURE SCAN. Prayer answered and in transit by rail: loaded onto a toy train modeled after the Trans Siberian Railroad and operated by a curious hermaphrodite named Chauncey who is rumored to be the Roman poet Virgil’s illegitimate child. 1/18/16 4:20 P.M. BLESSED. At the same time that the Angel Of Dachness’ flying dragon kisses the Dream Witch’s Mermaid Ring, Virgil’s Hermaphrodite guides the toy train, laden with Wishes, through the introitus formed by the Dream Witch’s supple wrists. The prayer leaves the Heavens, answered and blessed, and enters Reality. 1/19/16 12:00 A.M. DELIVERED. Prayer signed for by the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe just after he blows out the candles on his phantom birthday cake. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563561498642-0PKN8Y4UL0B4BRT2MQ97/DOX_041316_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 016 - Milk Blood Of Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters If you stand in the same spot on earth at midnight on April 13 every year and diagram the path of Alnilam, the center star in Orion’s belt, you will see that it will, over the course of centuries, transcribe the path of a 7-circuit labyrinth. A sacred breed of Moths, known as the Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters, are believed to have been born within that distant star in the Orion constellation because they also trace the pattern of a 7-circuit labyrinth in their flight path around a flame, but the labyrinth that each Moth draws in the sky is as unique as a fingerprint. The Maidens Of Moth, ancient descendants of The Old Ones and guardians of The Secret, have been harvesting Milk Blood from Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters for centuries by milking the Holy Moths in a mysterious ritual and then distilling the alien Milk Blood until only the essence of their labyrinth remains. The potent labyrinth essence is then employed by the Maidens Of Moth in their world famous sorcery. Have you ever wished to entangle someone in your heart? Do you have a monster-in-law that you need to imprison? Would you like to protect your entombed God’s resting place from graverobbers? Do you desire to destroy a dray of Devil Rats? Then you need The Maidens Of Moth’s Magical Mazes™. For the first time in history, the secrets of the Maidens Of Moth are now available to the public for a limited time only. Each custom MoMMM™ kit comes with a Magical Labyrinth Spell powered by Milk Blood from Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters that will baffle, befuddle, and bewilder your subject allowing you to ensnare, entrap, and exile him, her, or it to wherever you like: In a castle tower! At the bottom of the ocean! In the depths of Hell! To last Tuesday! Within their own mind! The possibilities are endless! Because each Magical Labyrinth Spell is custom designed to your specifications, you can banish anyone or anything to anywhere or anywhen! Harness the power of Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters today with a custom Maidens Of Moth’s Magical Mazes™ kit. And, if you call within the next 22 minutes, you’ll receive a commemorative Maidens Of Moth Milk Pail, but you must ORDER NOW! http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-017-l9kbt monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563494418725-3VKLX4E4DB48T9YGH45X/DOX_foxdox_01_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - Foxy Doxy ARTICHOKE The artichoke owes its existence to Zeus. On a visit to see his brother, Poseidon, Zeus spotted a beautiful woman, Cynara, bathing on the beach. He fell in love, seduced her, took her back to Olympus, and made her a goddess. Cynara, however, grew lonesome and wasn’t feeling the goddess life. When Zeus found out she was sneaking back home to visit her family, he turned her into an artichoke and threw her back to earth like an old piece of fruit. The scientific name for artichoke—Cynara cardunculus—derives from this woman’s unfortunate story. GIRASSE Girasse (a cross between a donkey and a giraffe) are revered for their testicles. The giant, fuzzy, spotted orbs are beautiful objects in and of themselves, but they are also considered a delicacy because they’re filled with butterscotch. The Girasse were nearly hunted to extinction because of their lovely nards. FOXY DOXY The Foxy Doxy is a species of ancient pygmy dachshunds crossed with red foxes (according to “The Scrolls Of Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters,” codex 46-orION). The Foxy Doxy live in rugged, mountainous terrain where they grow artichokes on terraces that spiral into pits in the Earth. They use the thistles for magical elixirs, salves, and the like. The ancient Romans particularly enjoyed the Foxy Doxy’s aphrodisiac artichoke recipes. DOX SAVE THE GIRASSE The Foxy Doxy valued the Girasse’s habitat and protected it from poachers and predators, thus saving the species from extinction. The Foxy Doxy eventually domesticated the wild beasts and discovered that they were a benefit to artichoke farming. The Girasse could manure the beds, harvest the highest globes, and roam the terraces of thistles at night singing a strange song that kept the pests, and gods alike, away from their buds. Their haunting melody has been described as sounding something like Billy Holiday’s “Strange Fruit,” but slowed down to the speed of a whale song. The mellifluous Girasse (sometimes pejoratively called the “The Girassic Lark”) may have created an unearthly wail, but its sublime song kept the bittersweet Cynara safe and that was beautiful music to the Foxy Doxy ear. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563494311793-PO7R36L09GPGK3KZZXHG/DOX_pigflower_02-1_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - The Pig Flower Dear Mrs. Cora Persephone, As the Superintendent of the Horticulture Competition at the Thesmorphia Underground Festival (TUF) I am writing you to protest the committee’s decision made in the “Best In Show” category last weekend. You will surely remember that I approached you and the other judges after the competition to submit my complaint? In case you don’t recall our brief exchange, I was wearing a Ramen Halo, orbited by my pet Spaceship, and I was wearing a tantalizing Sunshine Yellow Jumper with Ivory Jaw Boots. To reiterate my point: you gave the Best In Show award to a Pig who entered a goddamn Time-Traveling Pumpkin. Do I really need to remind you of the TUF Horticulture Competition Rules that clearly state: This competition is open to individuals, families, and farms only (NO PIGS ALLOWED). Surely you’re aware that your Best In Show winner, Eubuleus, is a Pig? A certified, card-carrying Sus Scrofa of the Suidae family. Oh I know he enjoys outlandish disguises, but he’s a Pig from nose to tail. He should have been disqualified for that garish ensemble alone. Who wears a Cathedral Cape with Equine Trousers in this weather? And don’t even get me started on that tawdry Octopus Frock he’s always swathed in. It’s gross and it smells. In short, Eubuleus is a disgusting Pig who never should have been allowed to enter anything, let alone a stupid Time-Traveling Pumpkin. I implore you and the committee to reconsider your decision in light of this information. I think, for instance, that my entry, a tasteful little Pomegranate Tree grown in a cup of mushroom tea, not only satisfies all of the competition rules, but is a far better representation of the spirit of the festival. I encourage you to break one open and sample some of its delicious seeds. Your Humble Servant, Dianne O’Nyssus https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563405303616-KG49S2G3BYM8HS21D5B0/DOX_blackberries_02_small2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - Dacchus’ Sunny Ensemble Dacchus walked away from the Manure Monkey thing like he was a cowboy in a movie—like he lit the fuse on some debauched metropolis behind him and it blew up. He was walking down the center of the street with his back turned to the Krakatoa ‘splosion, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Such a badass. Destruction and mayhem follow him everywhere. Cities explode in his wake every day. Chaos? Pfft, whatever. Cint Eastwood face. That’s how Dacchus likes to tell the story, but that’s not what happened. Dacchus was strolling down an avenue that led away from the ceremonial fart-weighing complex in the direction of where he thought the river was, absorbed in his stupid cowboy fantasy, when a little Librarian came jogging up alongside him, Miss. Miss. Dacchus was reminded he was disguised as a lady. After the wrestling match with the Manure Monkey he had retired to a nearby restroom (never you mind which one) to change out of his manure clothes and into something manure-free. Janice had provided him with an entire cross-dressing wardrobe for his journey. Dacchus selected a large, yellow, summer shawl handcrafted with Heliosheep wool and sewn together with sunbeams. Under his arm he carried his lifetime collection of dingleberries along with a supple, leather bag containing his winds—a limited edition collab piece by Aeolus x Le Petomane. Miss! the Librarian gasped trying to keep up. What is it? Dacchus said exasperated. I’m sorry to bother you, the Librarian said, but you dropped a turd back there. He then grabbed Dacchus’s free hand and slapped a big, wet, glob of dung into it. As Dacchus stared at the pile of waste dripping between his fingers, it suddenly coagulated and switch-melted into a chocolate bunny. Good Evening, the bunny said cheerfully. This was Phoebe, The Moon Rabbit. She was passing through the Underworld as She did every day while her brother, the Sun, was in the sky. Well, la-di-da! Phoebe said suddenly as she regarded Dacchus’s sunny ensemble. Did my brother urinate on you with his sunshine hose? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563494449766-G2QFTCFX9S47HQR8HKUV/DOX_pineapple_potatobaby_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - Spud Shower You can’t give them that, Plato C. Biscuits (centaur ferryman to the Underworld) said as Dacchus placed a package on the gift table. Dacchus had only recently arrived in the Underworld when he was invited to his first Spud Shower. It’s kind of like a baby shower/Christening ritual, but for newborn potatoes. The Queen Spud gives birth to millions of tiny tater tots every day underground, yet the Spud Shower is a very important ceremony for every newborn tot: the young tuber is briefly nursed (always with a welding mask so it doesn’t become attached to the Queen), showered with gifts, weened, and then blasted to the surface where the spuds are harvested, enlightened, and transformed into French fries, hash browns, and vodka. What’s wrong with Octomonkeys? Dacchus asked surprised. The gift Dacchus had selected was a package of instapets known as Octomonkeys that he found in a comic book. They’re sort of like the Underworld version of Sea Monkeys—very popular with dead children. Just add water and you instantly have a colony of tiny creatures that look like eight legged monkeys. Within a year they’ll evolve into torch bearing super apes. Octomonkeys carry the blight, you idiot! Plato said. He explained that Octomonkeys host a fungus-like oomycete known as Phytophthora infestans that caused the potato crop failures in Ireland and led to The Great Famine of 1845. Uh-oh, Dacchus said. Dacchus dashed back to retrieve his package from the table that was now smothered, covered, and scattered with all kinds of wonderful presents. There was an aluminum foil onesie, a blanket of sour cream, a ski cap woven from bacon, a salt rattle, a chive comb, ketchup booties, and chili mittens. But just as Dacchus snatched up his Octomonkey potato poison, Hairy Stephanie, the Overtoad Of The Underworld, arrived at the party wearing an elegant smokestack gown. She walked right up to Dacchus who, without any pockets in his giraffe pants, shoved the Octomonkeys in his mouth. I don’t believe we’ve met, Hairy Stephanie said extending a webbed hand. I’m Hairy Stephanie. And you are? Dacchus started to respond, but found that his mouth was coming to life. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563494340102-NWG2I3NR9JT66NAFJTPZ/DOX_margaritomancy_small3.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - Margaritomancy Cora Persephone, Superintendent of the Horticulture Competition, not only did not change the results of the contest, but she also didn’t respond to Dianne O’Nysus’ written complaint about the results. Dianne found this rude. Dianne vowed to write another letter, this one angrier than the first, but this one would include the results from her visit to the Oyster Oracle. Dianne chose this particular oracle because she used margaritomancy as her preferred method of divination. Dianne thought that this meant that margaritas were involved. Margaritas are not involved in margaritomancy. Pearls are involved in margaritomancy because “margarita” in Latin means “pearl.” This was very disappointing news to Dianne because she’s an alcoholic and was very much looking forward to drinking margaritas while participating in voodoo. Despite being sober, she chose to proceed anyway. In margaritomancy, the Oyster Oracle asks the pearl a question before dropping it into a golden pot resting over a flame. The Oracle closely watches the pearl to see if it moves: if the pearl moves, the answer is YES, if it doesn’t, NO. Scholars believe the pearl was chosen for this practice because it is the only precious gem created by a living organism. Dianne sat across from the Oracle at a table in the center of the temple. The Oracle removed a pearl from a sealskin bag, showed it to Dianne, and asked what she would like to know. Is that pig, Eubuleus, a pig? Dianne hissed. The Oyster Oracle mumbled some strange prayers that sounded like she was talking and burping at the same time before dropping the lustrous sphere into the gold pot over the fire in the hearth. They both gazed into the pot and watched the pearl. Within seconds the pearl came to life and began, not just moving, but actually dancing at the bottom of the pot. OW! The pearl screamed. HOT! YES! HE’S A FILTHY ROTTEN PIG! NOW GET ME OUTTA HERE. I knew it! Dianne exclaimed. That hog is gonna need a hambulance when I get through with him. [HEY! Not my fault. Dachshunds love dad jokes, especially ham dad jokes.] https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563494375088-F85YSHYGHFVHULVL3C1T/DOX_centaurship_02_1.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - The Centaur’s Ship The centaur stood on the riverbank at the base of a gangway that led to the deck of a peculiar boat. The vessel was part raft, part riverboat, and part who-knows-what-else because it appeared to be hobbled together with elements from every type of watercraft imaginable. Fare, the centaur said assuming a very business-like demeanor. Dacchus stuck out his tongue. Upon it was the Obol that Janice had given him. The centaur plucked it from his tongue, issued a receipt, and then wrapped a pink party bracelet around his wrist. The centaur stepped aside the gangway and, with a grand flourish, said, Welcome aboard the Underworld’s number one ferry, the SMS Sarkophag. This is the strangest boat I’ve ever seen, Dacchus mumbled as he boarded the vessel. It was a pastiche of dozens of different types of watercraft. As he walked up the gangplank, he recognized that it had elements from canoes, schooners, junks, galleons, skiffs, sloops (John B!), steamboats, barges, oil tankers, cruise ships, jet skis, sea doos, sea dids, yachts, dingies, pontoons, prams, proas, punts, wherrys, gondolas, masulas, coracles, cobles, sampans, scows, ketches, skipjacks, trawlers, wakas (wokka wokka!), yawls, tjotters, weidlings, whalers, pirogues, dhows, dingies, dories, boitas, braceras, and jukungs. There was even a runway for airplanes. My name, said the centaur as Dacchus strolled onto the deck, is Plato C. Biscuits. And I will be your guide as I deliver you to the Underworld where you will spend the rest of eternity in blissful Nothingness. How delightful! Dacchus exclaimed. It is a long and arduous journey, Plato C. Biscuits said as he took his place behind a steering wheel that looked like a yoke from an airplane cockpit. I suggest you make yourself comfortable. Will there be snacks along the way? Dacchus asked. Oh yes, the centaur said. Chef Kermit will be preparing a wide selection of delicacies to enjoy along the voyage. I recommend the Galaxia Goulash. It’s to die for. Is it a ghoulish goulash? Dacchus asked chuckling. Funny you say that, the Centaur said. It was originally spelled Ghoulash on the menu, but everyone’s a copy editor after they die, so we had to change it. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563494482547-U7TT07HHCEQBAAFOBVRF/DOX_weighingthefart_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 017 - Weighing The Fart I’m sorry, Dacchus said confused, but they’re going to weigh the smell of my farts? Yes, Plato C. Biscuit said. Although technically they weigh the smell of everything—your poops, your toots—the whole under carriage is considered. And how exactly does one weigh the smell? Dacchus asked. Well, that’s very complicated, but I do know that if your crap smells less than, or equal to, Hairy Stephanie’s crap, then that means you lived an honorable life and you and your crap are welcome in the Underworld. What if my crap smells worse than Hairy Stephanie’s crap? Dacchus asked. Oh, then we feed you to the Manure Monkey, Plato C. Biscuit replied, motioning to a small, dungeon gate built into the cliffs beside the citadel. Are those bones? Dacchus asked staring at the Manure Monkey’s door. Shhh, Plato hushed. They’re placing your poop on the scale. As they began the ceremony of weighing Dacchus’ farts, the choir of frogs began to sing a peculiar song that we later learned is titled, “The Weighing Of The Fart,” in F(art) Major, performed by the Brekekekex Choir, featuring Three Frogs On A Log. Hello, greetings, and welcome to the Underworld. This is the end of the road, the Land Of The Dead. At the center of the Earth like an oyster’s pearl. Or maybe a fantasy from inside your head. But first, before you depart, we must weigh your farts. We’re going to listen for smells and measure the stinks. Your poop is on the scale, the judgment time starts. Then we compare it to Steph’s, to see what she thinks. We do not care at all about how your poop tastes. We’re concerned with the smell, not the size or the mass. When we put it on the scale to measure your waste. We are judging your Soul by the fumes from your ass. If the aroma be of a pleasant nature and not adverse. Then into underground Paradise you shall pass. But if you smell bad, terrible, or even worse. Like a hot trash can that’s filthy, foul, and funky. Like a rotten fish in the back of an old black hearse. Then you’re done, doomed, ready for delivery. You’re dinner for the magnificent Manure Monkey. Why is the past tense of stinky not stunky?. Paradise you won’t see, but your death will be fast. The Monkey will eat you, and he’ll start with your ass. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-018-ydfnd monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388387584-VP0SJCZE6YBT5MQ3TY7L/DOX_druid_01_small2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Pencil And Waffle Introducing the two new guys. They are seven-year-old brothers who were previously named Wetzel and Pretzel. Since Tania and I do not support, nor are we in the employ of, the Wetzel’s Pretzels pretzel-pushing junk food chain we refuse to call them that. We felt, however, that it would be rude to dismiss their names outright and best to at least try and retain the phonetic spirit of the originals. So after much deliberation we settled on Pencil and Waffle, aka The Chuckle Brothers. Turns out The Chuckle Brothers are Druids. They worship the trees in our backyard. They worship trees that are alive and trees that have been reduced to firewood logs and stacked in a pile. They spend the majority of their time talking to the pile. They stick their noses into the spaces between the logs and snort the darkness. There are three birds—harpies, really—in our backyard that they’ve befriended. And by “befriended,” I mean that Pencil and Waffle chase them up and down the yard. The harpies lead them from tree to tree and, at the base of each, The Chuckle Brothers pay tribute to the tree through a variety of peculiar Druid ceremonies. There is one tree in particular, in the southeast corner of our yard, that they pay special attention to. I’ve been given to understand that a Squirrel Witch lives in the base of the trunk—a devil rat sorceress, named Ostara. The Squirrel Witch has “relations” with the tree and she feeds it a rich mixture of rat milk, skunk oils, and other magic potions. She can be heard late at night quietly tickling the tree’s roots as if it were a stringed instrument. Her haunting songs will cause the tree to blossom under a full moon and it will produce one magical fruit at midnight (Soma?). It is said that ingesting its juices will “light one’s way” for eternity. I’m not sure what they’re doing back there, but something’s got them lit up because The Chuckle Brothers are crazy. We’ll bring you more on this story as it develops. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388557375-ICKK45AEP0R6C74GOTD3/DOX_pantherbrain2_01-3small2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Dr. Weirdo Feeds His Ravens When Telete finally escaped her father’s prying and entered the Porcelain Panther’s brain cavity, she was warmly received by all her best friends: Dr. Weirdo, his wife, Mrs. Friday Weirdo, and their pet Poohrannosaurus, Winky. They were all overjoyed to see her because they were getting ready to feed Dr. Weirdo’s two ravens, Hugo and Muncy. Why do you insist on calling them ravens, Telete asked laughing while stroking Hugo and Muncy’s heads, when you know very well that one of them is a crow and the other is a blue jay? Oh Telete, Mrs. Friday said, you should know by now that the Doctor has never troubled himself with facts or reality. We should at least be happy that they’re birds. I’m so glad you arrived when you did, Teely, said Dr. Weirdo, because we were just arguing about what to call the baby. As you know, the birds are very fussy eaters and they won’t touch anything that they disagree with. Mrs. Friday and Dr. Weirdo only feed their mythical ravens once every 100 years. The couple conceive and harvest a baby and then feed it to the birds. It’s just one human baby, they reason, who cares? But everything about it must be perfect, including its name. Teely, can you name it for us, please? They asked handing her the newborn. You’re so good with names. She took the baby nervously, reluctantly, unsure how to hold it. Teely is the only female she knows that doesn’t like holding babies. She looked at the baby’s scrunched up face and shook her head, no, I can’t name this thing. But they begged and pleaded, so she said, Okay, and started rattling off baby names. Tybalt, The Prince Of Cats Excellent Oliver Diablo Dorsey Ham-Fisted Tornado Brain The Shit Dappled Halfwit Henry Puddle Horse Jockey Jules Eduardo, Of The Potato Headed Women Say Goodnight Ralph, Ralph Bobby Cologne Colph, Dean Of Elders The Rittenhouse Brat St. Robert Lobster King Fantastic Darles Chickens Lil Itchy Ira Shemp The Shaman Disco Moses Larry, A Larry’s Kind Of Larry Wait, said Dr. Weirdo, what was that last one? Larry, A Larry’s Kind Of Larry? Teely replied. No, the one before that. Disco Moses? Yes, that’s the one, Dr. Weirdo said clapping his hands. The child’s name is Moses. Moe for short. Honey are you cool with, Moe? Fine with me, said Mrs. Friday. Feed Moe to the ravens. Suddenly Telete didn’t like the idea of the ravens eating the baby. As she was contemplating these strange new feelings, little Moe, as he was now called, did a very unusual thing: he furped—burped and farted at the same time. Oh ho! Dr. Weirdo bellowed. Little Moe has been marinating. The ravens will enjoy the extra flavor. But Telete took it as a sign. She didn’t know why, but felt she must save little Moe. Maybe they’d like him even more if I dressed him up a little, Telete said quickly. Eyebrows were raised. Go on? Well, as they say, we eat with our eyes, Telete continued, so maybe if I made a little nicer presentation of the sacrificial baby, the ravens might enjoy it all the more? Maybe a haircut? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388509495-37LQIOFWGZ2GDS3P3N7W/DOX_mushrooms_01_small2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Triangle And The Frogs Of Dacchus The director of Efrunden Galerie, who represents me in Europe, recently discovered one of my pieces on the cover of an album by a 60s prog-rock band from Germany called, Triangle. The image of the album, which he found in an old vinyl record collector magazine, is small and b/w, but it is clearly my art on the cover. Herr Direktor is currently trying to track down a copy. In the meantime, he provided me with a rough translation of an interview Triangle did with a German music mag. Interestingly, all of their music revolves around the number three. The band has three members. They play songs with only three notes. All notes are triads. They prefer the key of A because it’s shaped like a triangle. Their lyrics are written with trigonometry in iambic trimeter using only three syllable words and every line rhymes with the number 3 (not the word, the number). The music should be listened to while sitting in the center of three speakers. The records are triple sided. The vinyl is slightly thicker in order to accommodate a narrow groove on the edge (the third side) that purportedly contains a song. I wish I had been consulted before they used my work, but I understand why Triangle chose this piece because it involves a lot of threes. The illustration is from, The Frogs Of Dacchus, and concerns a time when Dianne O’Nysus (Dacchus disguised) disembarked from Plato’s ferry to relieve herself. She gets lost in the jungle and meets a strange, cabbage-headed creature with three eyes. He offers Dianne a magic mushroom in return for a small sample of her leavings to power the holographic pyramid he carries on a tray. Dianne agrees, eats the mushroom, and achieves Enlightenment. Reality, she learns, is based on the number three: Heaven/Man/Earth, Thesis/Antithesis/Synthesis, Past/Present/Future, etc. Unfortunately, by giving away her dung (her Past) Dianne forfeits her future because mushrooms (gateway to the Future) grow from dung. A chase begins. Anyway, I will never be recompensed for the stolen cover art, but if anybody knows how to obtain a copy of this record, or even get in touch with former Triangle band members, please let me know. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388439273-1BOJSCWWH1F2CDDOXGSV/DOX_euphio_01_small3.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Piganini’s Euphioriaphone The Arecibo Observatory in Puerto Rico, home to one of the world’s largest radio telescopes, recently reported unusual interruptions in the telescope’s deep space receptions. At first they suspected Russian hackers, but it turns out that the extraterrestrial radio transmissions are being pilfered by the Underworld’s finest fiddler, Nicolo Piganini. Inspired by Kurt Vonnegut’s testimony before the FCC in 1951 on the subject of “The Euphio Question,” Piganini constructed his own Euphoriaphone, or Euphio for short. The machine harvests faint and mysterious signals from seemingly empty regions of interstellar space, reconfigures the signals into sound waves, then amplifies the sound. Vonnegut describes it as nothing more than “a wavering hiss,” but the effect it has on anyone who happens to be in the vicinity is “happiness—incomparable, continuous happiness.” He likened it to walking past a field of burning marijuana. Piganini, from his Underworld concert hall at the center of the Earth, was able to tap into the Arecibo Observatory’s giant dish, poach its interstellar signals, and then run them through his own Euphoriaphone. The frequencies are then routed through a blue whale’s larynx that is operated, and accompanied by, a choir of Buddhist monks, along with Piganini’s haunting fiddle. The sound is impossible to describe. “Better than any wine buzz ever,” is how Diane O’Nysus described the Euphio Philharmonic Orchestra performance that she attended. She said the sounds emitted by the whale’s larynx created an immensely pleasant feeling of being home, of being safe and secure, of being loved. A fellow concertgoer, Hieronymoose Bassch, told Diane that the sounds come from the center of the universe (if such a place exists) and that it is in fact the sound of our origin. It is Mother Universe’s heart beating. Well, Diane replied, it sounds more like her fart’s bleating, but that Euphio thing can hold my hand any time, any where, any when. It melted my earwax! I want one. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388470029-H7K94TWDUUCFMKXXJIRT/DOX_kermits_01_small3.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Directions To The House Of Alnilam ‘Ello, Love, said the frog named, Norman. Fancy seeing you ‘ere. You on your way to the Alnilam party? Before Dianne could say, yes, the old frog named, Eaton, said, What’s that then? Pointing at the potato Dianne had on a leash. Are you bringing an old spud as a gift? All of the frogs laughed at the idea. Who brings a potato to a party? No! Dianne said quickly. (The truth is the potato was a gift.) This is a rescue potato that I saved from a spud shelter. I’m, uh, just taking it for a walk. Awww, bless your heart, said the frog named Solomon. We thought you were going to give it to The Scarlet Daughters. No, of course not, Dianne lied. Don’t be stupid. Why, are you going to the party? What did you get The Scarlet Daughters? A Chinese Rainbow, said Wesley proudly. They’re very rare because they only come in four colors—green, blue, red, yellow. Problem is, said Norman, our eyesight aint so good these days and we seem to have made a wrong turn in Albuquerque. Do you know the way to Alnilam? Our Rainbow is melting and we need to get it in some water fast. Crafty Dianne seized the opportunity that presented itself: she could give the frogs the wrong directions to Alnilam, ditch the spud, then race to the party, and make an appearance before the frogs arrived. As a matter of fact, I do, Dianne said. First, you go straight until you come to the Electric Thunder Nymph Bakery. Then go right on Triangle Ave. (the street has three lanes and all the houses are pyramids). After about three miles, you’ll see a large dome, that’s where the Shitty Kitty Itty Bitty Titty Committee meets, and you go left there on Smells Like Horse Street. There’s no sign, but it smells like horse. Make your next left on to Blue Waffle Blvd.—if you see a 12-year old caterpillar playing cruise ship reggae on a flute, you’ve gone too far. Once you’re on Blue Waffle, listen for The Great Vowel Shift. When you hear long vowels turn into diphthongs, go left again on Orion’s Belt-evard. And there you are: the House Of Alnilam is the big house in the middle. The frogs knew immediately that Dianne was lying to them, but they decided to go along with it and play a little trick of their own on Dianne… https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388414645-OA45GNX0GFUZ2895Z6YD/DOX_elephant_IG2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Bioluminescent Enzymes In The Centaur Pancreas Some have suggested that the Virgin Witch hunts the Centaurs herself, but most agree that her childlike proportions (she’s thousands of years old, but inhabits the body of a nine-year-old girl) renders her physically incapable of this feat and that she harvests the organs as she claims: while scavenging. Whatever the case, the Virgin Witch is in the business of trafficking Centaur Pancreases. The Virgin Witch’s biggest customers are Cactopus Elephants, who have an interesting use for the Centaur’s large gland. The pancreas is known as a “mixed gland” because it plays both an endocrine role in helping control blood sugar levels and metabolism within the body, as well as an exocrine role in relation to the secretion of enzymes involved in digesting substances from outside of the body. We are only now learning that it seems to play a third role in that it is also in the business of manufacturing chemicals responsible for bioluminescence—the production and emission of light by living organisms such as jellyfish, fireflies, and fungi. Apparently the Cactopus Elephants have, for centuries, been acquiring Centaur Pancreases from the Virgin Witch and ingesting the enzymes produced by the gland to create a sort of bioluminescent avatar of themselves that is, purportedly, eternal and trans-dimensional. With the bioluminescent enzymes the elephants are able to construct, or clone, another version of themselves made purely out of light—a hologram of sorts. The human eye is unable to see the elephant’s other, bioluminescent aura because it is outside of the visible spectrum, but it has been detected by very sensitive instrumentation. Some researchers have argued that the incarnation is not visible because the data suggests it exists in another dimension. There are, in fact, ancient accounts of shaman in mushroom-induced trance states who claimed to have been accompanied to other universes by “glowing elephants” covered in “moving pictures” that, until now, were thought to be fiction. A research paper titled, “Bioluminescent Enzymes In The Centaur Pancreas And Their Effects On Trans-Dimensional Cactopus Elephants,” is expected to be released later this year. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563402295732-I1Q6TOALX9EYCHRK8V8U/DOX_pantherbrain_01-1_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Porcelain Panther Brain The best thing Dacchus could have done in the situation would have been to leave his daughter, Telete, alone (just because Dacchus dresses like a woman, doesn’t mean he understands a woman), but a father can’t help meddling in his daughter’s affairs and so he called his friend, King When. King When is a doctor, or a dentist, or an oracle, or something—no one knows for sure—but Dacchus believes that King When can “fix” his daughter because King When has a very peculiar abnormality that purportedly gives him magic powers. King When has 64 teeth in his mouth. Twice as many as normal. His toofs are arranged in four concentric circles, 32 on the roof of his mouth, 32 below. The chompers are coated in Moon Enamel and they migrate around his mouth in unison with the phases of the Moon. By channeling his dental resonances King When is able to heal people, remove obstacles, and see into the future. He can also play his teeth like an accordion. Thanks for coming, Dacchus said to King When. Teely’s in the Porcelain Panther’s Brain again and I can’t get her to come out. I was hoping you could talk to her. King When said he would do what he could. Here, Dacchus said handing King When a pigeon. The only way to communicate with her when she’s in there is via this Pigeon Phone. No, you just hold the pigeon like a pho—no, other way. Its anus is the mouthpiece where you talk. Yeah. Then put its beak in your ear and—yeah, like that, that’s it. And just press its left nipple three times to dial Teely’s number—I know, I have no idea why the bird has nipples. When King Wen finally connected with Telete, she cut him off immediately. Please, shut up, Mr. When, Telete said in a stern, but oddly pleasant voice. I want to ask you a question, Mr. When: If a monkey is hanging upside down in a tree, which way do his testicles hang? King When thought about this for a moment before replying, Down? Wrong, Telete said. They hang up. CLICK. King When was going to argue his point until he realized the line was dead. Did she play the monkey penis thing on you? Dacchus asked snickering. Testicles, King When said correcting him. Monkey testicles. Apparently they hang up. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388700670-V0J0W7QMV5JYZTL9X0FT/DOX_skateboard_01-2small2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - The Birth Of Public Transportation While working on this Underworld project, Dacchus and Plato C. Biscuits started carpooling to work every day because they live near each other. I wish there were a way we could pick everybody up, Plato said one morning. The two began to wonder if there wasn’t some way that they could indeed pick everyone up. They began to fantasize about a transportation system that would basically be one big carpool for the entire village. They became obsessed with the idea and their commutes were soon consumed by talk of nothing else: they drew up routes, designed vehicles, and drafted schedules. The idea grew and grew, and it wasn’t long before they invented what was essentially the first public transportation system. Early in the design process, the pair also inadvertently created the first skateboard. They had used the skeleton of an old roller skate as the base for a scale model of a four-wheel flatcar that would operate as a people mover in their system. The flatcar would roam around the village on a set route and people could step on and off of it as they pleased. Their transportation system evolved, however, and the flatcar concept was abandoned. One morning, upon seeing the flatcar model on the floor, Dacchus was seized by the sudden urge to jump on it. He took a short run and hopped onto the deck of the vehicle with his left foot forward, his body sideways, as if skidding across a sheet of ice. The flatcar took off with Dacchus atop it screaming and waving his arms as he zoomed across the room. He and the vehicle came to a sudden stop when they crashed into a bookshelf in the corner. After Plato excavated him from beneath the pile of books Dacchus emerged exhilarated. That was so fun, he exclaimed. When the two weren’t trying to learn how to ride their landsleds (as they called them), they were tinkering with the design. One of the more successful iterations, oddly enough, was constructed from a pair of antique, brass, barrow doorknobs they pinched off a local Janus temple. The doorknob style unlocked the landsled’s secret powers and opened the door to unimaginable speeds. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563388636261-DVTJ3QGNB0X5UHKTYKXZ/DOX_sheepboy_book_05small2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 018 - Ewelysses Last week’s image was very popular in the 17th century and belonged to a canon of stories collectively known as The Mutton Monster Myths. It was a Northern European adaptation of the ancient Greek story of the Minotaur, but with sheep instead of bulls. The kernel of the story is essentially the same: the gods bestow favor on a King, the King doesn’t reciprocate, so the gods make his Queen fall in love with a sheep, and the Queen gives birth to the Mutton Monster. In the version here, by William Sheepsheare (real name), the main story evolves into a parody of Homer’s Odyssey beginning in the title with the ovine pun on the wandering hero’s name. The Queen named her deformed child, Ewelysses, but rather than imprison him in a labyrinth, they allow the misshapen child to wander about freely. Ewelysses eventually wanders off on an epic journey with a large flock of sheep—although epic isn’t quite the right word because they’re accompanied by a pair of very aggressive dachshunds that herd the flock this way and that, always away from danger or anything that would be of interest to a reader. To modern tastes, it’s a very dull story, but it does have its moments. At one point the flock seeks shelter in a cave that is home to a giant Cyclops. When the giant returns he mistakes the small flock of sheep and two dogs as dust balls on his floor and promptly vacuums them all up. Inside the vacuum’s dust bag Ewelysses provides an amusing catalog of the bag’s contents. Besides “a small volcano, a pile of expired lightning bolts, and a Polish swing set,” there are four whales each containing its own captives: Whale One contains an elderly cobbler and his delinquent marionette; Whale Two houses a Jewish prophet named Joe; Whale Three contains a one legged sea captain; and Whale Four is hosting a hockey game between some whalers from Hartford vs. a pod of golden seals from California. To blast out of the vacuum bag, the crafty Ewelysses corked all the whales’ holes with dust balls, then he milked his flock, churned some feta, and fed the cheese to the four whales knowing full well that adult cetaceans are lactose intolerant… http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-019-tcjz3 monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563387590057-58U8ZI2KW23NLCRW9OHJ/DOX_ursa_01_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - Hail Ursa Not many people know that Hera first changed Callisto’s son, Arcas, into a sea monster—a magnificently disgusting creature with slimy tentacles in all the wrong places. When Zeus found out what his wife did to his illegitimate love child, he was pissed. He was like, Hands off the kid, Hera. Not cool. Then, to show that he was serious, Zeus made his wife’s insides come out of her ears. Hera said, Fine, fine, whatever, I’ll change the kid back, just put my gutty bits back in my ear. Zeus returned Hera’s insides to their rightful place, but the second Zeus turned his back, Hera transformed the boy’s mother into a bear. HAHA! Hera exclaimed. Now you’re a bear! I’ve always wondered, why a bear? I mean, a bear is a creature with few disadvantages. Obviously, in going from nymph to bear, Callisto would have to make some lifestyle adjustments, but it doesn’t seem like much of a punishment. Anyway, while Callisto roamed the forest as a bear, her love child, Arcas, grew up to become King of Arcadia. He did quite well for himself and was famous for his hunting prowess. One day while out hunting Arcas came upon a great bear and he raised his bow and arrow to shoot it. The bear, of course, was his own mother, Callisto. Having not seen her son in so many years, and forgetting that she was a bear, Callisto approached with open arms to embrace her son. Arcas took aim, but just before he fired his bolt, Zeus intervened and turned him into a bear also. (What’s with all the bears?) Zeus then put the mother bear and her little bear into the heavens (presumably to avoid future complications?) where they are now known as the constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Ursa Minor is also known as the Little Dipper with the Polaris star marking the tip of the handle. The handle traditionally correlates with the Little Bear’s tail, but I can’t help thinking that it’s a leftover tentacle from Arcas’ brief stint as a sea monster. HAIL URSA! https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563387293542-4F6FUYO907RTP8XS4UFK/DOX_wigs_01-4small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - Wigs Before a major battle in the French countryside with the Devil Rat forces that occupied the territory there at the time, Dacchus requested advice on how to crush his opponent on the battlefield the next morning from one of his favorite oracles: Vivian Verimetal, The Jungian Young One, aka The Lady Of The Lake. For the price of a pillowcase filled with four weeks worth of dreams, she’ll answer any question you ask. Unfortunately for Dacchus, at the time of his visit, Vivian’s talents were much in demand due to the anxiety surrounding the troubles. Because delivering her divinations to clients took up the majority of her time, she had abandoned customer service altogether and outsourced it (quite literally) to the plants in the box outside her windowsill. Vivian would convene with the spirits at the bottom of the lake and obtain the prophecy, as usual, but then she would telepathically send the prophecy to the plants who would type it out for the client. This allowed Vivian to focus on her primary talent of divination while continuing to provide excellent customer service to her clients. Plants are naturally very friendly. That was the idea, anyway. The problem was that Vivian’s plants were having difficulty learning to type. Or using language. Or both. Plants are great at counting—how else do they know when to seed?—they’re great with numbers, but words? Not so much. For instance, in Dacchus’ transaction Vivian’s answer was: WINGS. As any good general would know, this meant: air attack. Employ your ravens, your jays, use your long distance artillery, etc.. But Dacchus never received this valuable advice because instead of WINGS the plant forgot the N and typed: WIGS. While Dacchus managed to escape the defeat unharmed, his forces suffered heavy losses. The scavengers on the field after the battle were surprised by the wide array of brightly colored hairpieces strewn across the muddy grounds, which included two of the four wigs that Dacchus had donned for the skirmish. When Dacchus next visited the Lady Of The Lake, he didn’t bother with any questions. Instead he lifted his leg and pissed all over the plant. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563386943039-TUVCVIJ0FD43H6TZYMEG/DOX_teddybearpicnic_01-2small3.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - Teddy Bear Picnic If you go down to the woods today / You're sure of a big surprise. If you go down to the woods today / You better go in disguise. For every bear that ever there was / Will gather there for certain because. Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic. The tune of “Teddy Bear's Picnic” (originally titled, “Teddy Bear's Two-Step”) was written by John Walter Bratton in 1907. The words were later added by the Irish lyricist Jimmy Kennedy in 1932 and, at the time, it became a hit song. It also was the soundtrack for a number of popular movies during the silent film era. I was surprised to learn that the song was also part of the Grateful Dead’s repertoire—apparently Jerry would play it as a tuning song between jams. It was the Dead’s adoption of it that made me think, “What a peculiar song,” and wonder if there wasn’t something more to this ridiculously innocent piece of music. Indeed, it was clear from my initial research that the song is not what it seems. It appears, for instance, that “Teddy Bear’s Picnic” is, among other things, an alien incantation disguised as a children’s song. I’ve been given to understand that large congregations of teddy bears gather a couple of times a year at secret locations, usually in a Designated Bear Meadow (DBM) near the junction of three rivers, where they create a ceremonial circle out of silver pearls and summon beings from a distant star. The teddy bears get drunk (sacred mushrooms may be ingested), they sing and dance, then they perform their queer picnic song. Apparently the song is an encoded signal that is transmitted to the distant star, Alnilam, at the center of Orion’s belt. Soon after, an astronaut from Alnilam would arrive in the center of the circle, impart some secret teddy bear knowledge, distribute space honey, deliver some encouraging words, and then return to Alnilam. We’ve learned from Bratton’s recently released journals that he didn’t compose “Teddy Bear’s Picnic,” but rather wrote it from memory after hearing it performed at a teddy bear ceremony that he purportedly attended. Bratton, it seems, was a member of a secret New England society with origins in an ancient Celtic bear cult (likely Druidic). https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563227180551-XVTQJALST36GW09SEXYP/DOX_iching_01-5small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - The Chang Sisters We don’t know much about the Chang Sisters other than they were monks who had taken a vow of silence at the Tiger Nest monastery in Bhutan. They keep to themselves, don’t cause any trouble, and they manage our communal kitchen as well as anyone, so no one feels the need to pry any further. Still, all of the residents of the Phalanx are very curious what their story is, none more than I. I started hanging around the kitchen after morning supper to help them clean up, but mostly to watch them. They may have taken a vow of silence, but that doesn’t mean they don’t communicate. They seem to be of One Mind, completely connected, and I’m certain there is some sort of telepathic communication between them, but I’ve learned they also employ a secret coded language they’ve shown me hints of. Their system involves egg cartons (specifically 18-egg cartons) and the ancient Chinese text, the I Ching, or Book Of Changes. The system seems rather simple, yet I still have no idea what they’re saying. I discovered that the way they rearrange and/or remove eggs from the carton translates into symbols. Each row of three eggs, depending on the number of eggs in the row, can represent a solid or broken line. Three lines form a trigram and the eight trigrams that are the foundation of the I Ching represent everything in the universe: heaven, lake, fire, thunder, wind, water, mountain, and buttocks. Buttocks. Buttocks. I love buttocks.* With the eight trigrams the sisters are then able to construct the 64 hexagrams (six lines), along with the Judgments, that make up the I Ching. Thus, using only a carton of eggs, the Chang Sisters have a perfect little microcosm of the universe with which to communicate. While they’ve coyly revealed their method of communication, I have yet to understand it, but I get the sensation that it is not of this time, or of this world. They seem to be divining from another dimension for a present that resides in a dachstant future. #61 Chung Fu. JUDGMENT: Inner truth. Pigs and fishes. Good fortune. It furthers one to cross the great water. Perseverance furthers. *The Meatmen, “Buttocks.” https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563226715177-2HCRFZ6MDMTHG6RJGU0J/DOX_picassohorse_03-small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - Picasso Horse This collage began as a sketch, but it caught the attention of a publisher I had worked with previously and they liked it enough to use it for the cover of a book on gambling. The book, now out of print, was titled, The Handicapper’s Guide To Chariot Racing. Anyway, the horse has changed. The horse did not have that look of horror on its face when I made this collage. At that time, the horse was happy, or at least normal—I don’t know much about horses—now, however, he looks positively terrified. The reason for the terror, I’ve gathered, is because the horse has learned that his body was not drawn by Picasso but by me. Apparently he was under the impression that he was a great work of art and worth a lot of money. Upon learning that he isn’t a Picasso, he’s become rather violent. I know where his confusion comes from, but I swear we talked about this. What happened was I was at LACMA walking past a Picasso when I overheard someone say: Pfft, my kid could do that. I’ve heard the sentiment many times and I always think, yeah your kid could do that, your mom could do that, anybody could do that—but they did not do that, Picasso did that. And that’s when it suddenly occurred to me: wait, can I do that? I’ve always presumed I can do that, but I had to admit I had never tried. Seems pretty easy. But then Picasso did once say: it took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child. Is making child art that difficult? I decided to find out by trying to replicate a childish Picasso. The image I chose to copy was a drawing titled, “Battle Of The Centaurs III,” which features a couple of ham-fisted centaurs scrawled with a stubby pencil—just garbage. My attempt isn’t exactly like Picasso’s horse, but it’s “close enough for jazz,” as I like to say. (I like to say that because jazz sometimes sounds like a group of people learning how to play their instruments.) I thought the horse understood his body’s provenance, but apparently not. The horse, of course, is furious. He demands that I provide him with a body by Picasso, or—much like Frankenstein’s Creature—he’s promised to murder my friends and family. Pfft, my kid could do that. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563227069168-RCHXGMQXQTTO97LC23ZI/DOX_16hands_01-2small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - 16 HANDS The ancient Egyptians had a rather gruesome, but efficient, system for determining how many enemies were killed in battle and how to pay their soldiers (who were presumably working on commission?): in order to get paid, every soldier had to cut off the right hand of every enemy he slew. Soldiers were compensated only for every right hand they presented. I learned of this practice because archaeologists recently uncovered a pile of 16 right hands in the sands of Egypt. A pile of hands in the sands. Dacchus experienced this weird nonsense in the underworld firsthand. And Dacchus wondered: what do they do with the hands after they count them? They make wine with them. Hand wine. Dacchus tasted this disgusting concoction and determined it delicious. Dacchus enjoyed the Egyptian hand wine so much that he decided to start his own right hand winery when he returned to the surface. First order of business, we need a name. Hand Made Wine My Right Hand Wine Wine Made Right Liquid Applause Handshake Winery Hand To Mouth All Hands On Dreck Don’t Drink The Hand That Feeds Hands Sup Cool Hand Puke Palm Plonk Stigmata Cellars Hooch Of Palms Slit Wrists Mitts Cabernet Sauvignpalm Hands Down Best Wine Ever Wriestling Plonko De Mano The Phalangerist Hand Job Wine The Middle Vinger Wine Maintenant [for the French impaired: maintenant = now, main = hand] Thumb Screw Vineyards What Did The Five Fingers Say To The Face? Finger Lickin’ Good Vino Liquid Knuckle Sandwich The Palmmelier Hand Jive Juice Pinky Ripple Thunder Finger Fingo Vino Thumbsucker The Taste Of One Hand Clapping Nail Salon Winery Dacchus surely missed a few, so we look forward to your contributions. Plaze. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1563228193489-W72B1N0QRNOI1838YDZO/DOX_bearcrab_07_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 019 - Bear Crab Tania was at Art Basel a couple weeks ago and she would often share the restaurants she visited with me. One of these was Klingeli. At Klingeli, Tania ordered the spargel, or white asparagus, for her main. Spargel season is pretty exciting in Europe. For Europeans. I mean, spargel is good, I like it, but it’s just asparagus. Albino asparagus, sure—asparaghost?—but it makes your pee stink just the same as regular asparagus. Le même chose. As I was perusing Klingeli’s other menu offerings I paused on the surf and turf. SURF AND TURF … 49. Entrecôte, Bear Crab, Cima Di Rapa, Kritharaki, Cauliflower, Jus. Wait. Bear crab? What the fuck is bear crab? And why didn’t Tania order that? “Tania, why didn’t you order the fucking bear crab?” She did not respond to this question because, presumably, she was stuffing spargel in her face. I would have ordered the bear crab. For the simple reason that I require an answer to the minotaur question: is it a bear body with a crab head, or a crab body with a bear head? My first thought was: bear body, crab head. As evidenced by the vintage illustration shown here. Here’s the best thing about the teddy bear crab (as it is also called): “Despite its name, it is not friendly and shouldn't be housed with other crabs.” Does not play well with others. You know why? Because it carries weapons. No kidding: the teddy bear crab picks up poisonous, stinging anemones and uses them to fight off predators and catch prey. And, as I learned, they aren’t the only species that does this. Boxer crabs, aka pom-pom crabs, also wear stinging anemones as gloves. It gets even weirder. “Researchers discovered that removing one anemone from a Lybia leptochelis crab induces a splitting behavior: the remaining sea anemone is split into two clones which subsequently regenerate into two intact sea anemones. A crab with no anemones will steal from another crab, both splitting their lone anemone into two.” So, yeah, I would have ordered the bear crab. Apparently it comes with a side of whoop ass? And do you know what the best way to eat a pom-pom crab is? Raw, raw, raw. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-020-pdckg monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610740154255-ETQMU2K2ZYBAZE1EIXTX/DOX_popeye_01small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - Louisa’s Winds The Natives were not happy when the Sailors arrived on their Shores, but the Sailors had come and nothing could be done but deal with them. The Natives summoned their Wind Witch, Louisa, to welcome the visitors. Louisa’s father, Aeolus, is the Keeper Of The Winds on That Side Of The World, while Louisa was installed as the Executive Managing Director Of The Winds on This Side Of The World. Aeolus’ Winds have been named, classified, and catalogued by Aristotle and countless others, while Louisa’s Winds have remained relatively wild and unpredictable for eons. That’s why the Natives sent her as the welcoming party: the Sailors would be completely unfamiliar with her gusts and gales and wouldn’t know which way is which. Louisa creates the airs with her eight areolae. She jams her nipples into massive silver flutes the size of cathedral organ pipes. Each pipe roughly corresponds to the four cardinal directions (N, E, S, W) or the four ordinal directions (NE, SE, SW, NW). Seated at the base of the pipe within each nipple is a little Wind Pixie Pilot that controls the power and direction of the breezes. The eight (mentally unstable) Wind Pixies inhabiting Louisa’s nipples are as follows: NORTH— a two-headed bear banging on a piano in a bathtub. NORTH EAST— seven farting oxen. EAST— a warren of hares waving thunder torches. SOUTH EAST— twelve Chinese school children competing in a triathlon in a small hotel room. SOUTH— a spiral wad of monkey hair stuck to a bathroom mirror. SOUTH WEST— a hummingbird in a dishwasher. WEST— three sheep tied to a ladder on the beach. NORTH WEST— a Sagittarius moth in a green plastic bucket in the center of a cemetery. The plan worked. The psycho squalls and cyclones emitted from Louisa's nipples so confused the Sailors that they were blown way off course and before they knew it they had sailed all the way back home. Louisa’s storms hid the shore from all Sailors for evermore and the Land remained pure, pristine, and verdant for billions of years. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610739061297-TT105IJMGCEUHR1ZN2ZC/DOX_succulent_01small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - The Succulent Succubus Any time a forest celebrates the marriage of Thunderbolt to Timber, Lilith will appear soon after. The succulent succubus always arrives with her petulant pet plant, Sammy, to help her survey the scorched ritual site. Their role in the aftermath of the wedding is to essentially clean up and get the forest ready for the next wedding. Lilith and Sammy usually take up residence in the hollow of a burnt tree while they conduct their business, which can take months. As xerophytes, they can store a great deal of liquid that they are able to dispense to the root systems and the mycorrhizae—the underground fungal networks—of the survivors, but they are also marauders who pillage the corpses of the dead. Even if there weren’t signs all over the place—“All xerophytes must be on leash,” “Please clean up after your xerophyte”—Sammy would be on a leash at all times because Sammy is a very bad little succulent. Very, very, very bad. He makes wee-wees and doo-doos all over the place, he eats the crotches out of panties, etc.. If left to his own devices, Sammy would probably eat the carcass of every dead tree in the forest. Then he’d get too fat for his little pot, crack the ceramic, and die. Lilith’s last pet succulent couldn’t keep his nose out of anything and that’s why he died with his head stuck in a bag of Fritos—asphyxiated xerophyte. But mostly Sammy is on leash, with pinch collar, to help keep him focused on his job of distributing fluids to the wedding survivors. No one knows what the fluid actually is, but it’s been suggested that it is semen that Lilith has stolen from sailors’ dreams (one of Lilith’s distant succubus descendants will, in fact, become known as the infamous Lorelei). In short, Lilith and Sammy provide the very important service of network restoration to the underground World Wood Web. Did you know that these mycelium networks are considered the largest living creatures on earth? Apparently the largest known is a behemoth honey fungus (Armillaria solidipes) in Oregon that is 2,400 years old and covers 3.7 square miles. It is through this fungi network that Dacchus will orchestrate his return from the Underworld. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610739594954-Q66TXO2MKQWZYO1C0LFN/DOX_pencil_01-03small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - Portrait Of Psycho Pencil With Saint James’ Bathtub While the story here is about Dacchus, the inspiration was our dachshund, Psycho Pencil. Pencil likes to refer to himself as a “Psycho.” You surely have a friend who fancies themself weird? “I know! My friends think I’m soooo WEIRD!” But they’re really not weird at all and totally basic. Pencil is like that. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before,” Pencil will say, “but my middle name is TROUBLE.” You have mentioned that before, Pencil. “And my friends say I’m PSYCHO!” You don’t have any friends, Pencil. Still there is some truth to what Pencil says. He does get a little surly sometimes. Especially at dinno time, 2x daily, total spaz. Between him and his sweet brother, Waffle, Pencil is definitely the bad boy of the two. He also uses the term “bad boy” to describe himself. This image, however, has now become an illustration for a story about the time Dacchus was hunting Wild Prehistoric Devil Horses. He gave chase across half the Underworld, but he kept close, swinging his oar, axe, and a twisted Coptic cross the whole way. The herd led him across the Sea and made landfall on an Emerald Isle. He followed them to the center of the Isle to a large Lake. He chased them over the Lake to a small island in the center of the dark waters. Upon this island was a small pond. The murky pond had a tiny islet in the middle of it. On the tiny islet was an ancient beehive hut made of stones. Inside the hut was a small pool one foot deep. Resting in the pool was a bathtub. Sitting inside the bathtub half submerged was a little Saint named James meditating on baptism. Dacchus forgot all about the horses when he saw the bathtub. A Saint’s bathtub? He wanted it. So Pencil made the Saint get out of the tub, which was not difficult since he was an emaciated ascetic religious twit who weighed about as much as a wet towel, and carried the Saint’s tub back home with him—reverse order concentric bodies of water: pool, pond, lake, sea—where he filled it with dirt and planted a peach tree in it. If you’ve ever read James And The Giant Peach then you’ve partaken of this tree’s fruit because every peach in every copy of that book came from St. James’ bathtub peach tree. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610732638755-4PYMVU8VQD8DOGCDB4L6/DOX_zebrawhale_01_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - The Whalzebra Does anyone remember those Vision NSA contest videos from back in the 80s? Tahoe, Chicago (“Eggplant on the extension!”), Trashmore, Del Mar, etc.. I loved them. One of my favorite things about them was the editing of the videos themselves. There were always montage sections, like the best of qualifying or something (that’s where we’d get to see footage of elusive skaters like Groholski, Lucero, Blender, etc..) and they would be filled with these really atrocious, garish, gaudy, cheesy edit effects. The segues between shots (I think they’re called “wipes?”) were bonkers: diamond dissolves, swirling spins, imploding squares, sideways scissor cuts, psychedelic fade aways, shrink the frame, and—oh my god, the screen is flying away! etc.. (Under all this, incidentally, was the sonic equivalent of the visual effects: the most dazzling—yet generic—butt rock music produced by some mediocre studio musician with diarrhea fingers shitting all over the fret board, WEEEE! WEEEE! WAAAAHHHH!) Every time I saw these edits I’d say aloud, “What’s this button do?” Because that’s what it looked like to me: some editor sitting at his editing bay amusing himself by opening up the “Effects” folder and trying them out on a stupid skateboard video. “Hm, wonder what this button does? … Oh. Hm. Trippy…” I identify the guilty party as “male” because I like to imagine that women generally aren’t so “loud” and would exhibit a little more class and restraint when confronted with the contents of an effects folder—just because it exists, doesn’t mean you have to use it. Women, however, are not immune to the temptation. In fact the mother of all mothers, Mother Nature, is guilty of pressing way too many buttons—She may be smarter than all her children combined, but that don’t mean she aint dumb. Take for example the whalzebra (rhymes with algebra). During the Pliocene era some 4.5 million years ago, Mother Nature looked at the Pliohippus (the ancestor to all modern Equus) and went, “What’s this button do?” Mother Nature presses button. “Oh! Stripes!” And the zebra was born. She should have stopped there, but she didn’t. Disregarding all decorum and restraint, Mother Nature started using the stripes effect on all kinds of species: skunks, hyenas, pajama squids, Grandidier’s mongooses, okapi, mountain bongos, ring tailed lemurs, Indian palm squirrels, blacktail damselfish, and even whales—yes, she created a zebra whale. The zebra whale is, of course, extinct today, but it is an ancestor of the modern orca. We still have the zebra, though, one of the most distinctive and strangest looking animals on earth. When I was a teacher I remember a young girl in one of my classes asking, “Is a zebra white with black stripes, or black with white stripes?” Kids say the damnedest things, don’t they? Although she wasn’t really asking. I could tell she had posed this quandary many times before and recognized that it had deeper ramifications beyond the skin color of a horse. Her mother, for instance, was standing beside her and wasn’t the least bit surprised by the rather profound question. That said, I still enjoyed the question. And, as it turns out, there is an answer: zebras are black with white stripes. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610741598052-HQQ48ZIVCP20ANU8R72P/DOX_frog_01small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - The Porcelain Cowboy My high school math teacher, Mrs. G, thought she was part frog. In the 50s frogs were used for pregnancy tests. An “irascible zoologist” named, Lancelot Hogben, discovered that injecting hormones (from an ox’s pituitary gland) into the brain of a desert frog known as The Porcelain Cowboy (Xenopus tropicalis) would cause the frog to start laying eggs. At the time, it was known that the urine of pregnant women contained hormones that were made in their pituitary glands. Hogben wondered if those same hormones could trigger the egg laying of The Porcelain Cowboy? Turns out they do. When you inject a pregnant woman’s urine into The Porcelain Cowboy’s brain, the frog will lay eggs within a few hours. Thus the frog became a very reliable living pregnancy test and women everywhere started pissing on frogs. Mrs. G had evidence that her mother performed the frog pregnancy test on herself, but incorrectly. Amidst our protests, she produced a page from her mother’s diary that read, “Rubbed porklin’ [sic] cowboy on my hoo-ha today.” The date of the diary entry coincides with the pregnancy that resulted in Mrs. G’s birth day and thus she insists that some of the frog’s DNA—or, in her version of events, an entire tadpole—entered her mother’s hoo-ha, swam up the vagina, and into the womb where she quietly lay. Mrs. G claimed the tadpole infiltrated her embryonic brain, grew into a frog, was born with her, and controls her behavior. She called the frog her vestigial twin, an amphibious homunculus. We knew about Mrs. G’s frog because she was often hungover in class and in that condition she’d complain about her affliction. The frog, she would say, was responsible for all of her “wrong choices.” Like attending Sunday afternoon BBQs. And getting drunk. And snorting drugs all night. And sleeping with “sleazebags.” And. I recently learned that Mrs. G had been a track and field star before she was a teacher and that she still holds the world record for women’s long jump, set in Leningrad in 1988, at 7.52 m (24’ 8”). We had no idea. But it makes her crazy frog story more plausible. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610743293150-JBN18X4GSAN6PMKX9FPQ/DOX_sheeptides-1small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - Sheep And Tides In Peter Greenaway’s film, Drowning By Numbers, there are a lot of control issues in play, much of which is illustrated through numbers (the numbers 1-100 all appear at some point in the film, often in the background) and games. The father, Madgett, and his son, Smut, are fanatical about inventing and playing peculiar games that all have a very Lewis Carroll-esque flavor to them: Bees In The Trees, Dawn Card Castles, Hangman’s Cricket, etc.. One of my favorites is Sheep And Tides. Sheep And Tides is played in ocean shallows with a grid of nine sheep. Each animal is tied to a chair upon which a teacup and saucer is set. Sheep, we are told, are particularly sensitive to tides so when the waters begin to rise the sheep will move and jangle their respective teacups. Players each select a row of three sheep. The first row to jangle all three of its cups wins. A full game is played over 24 hours and three changes in the tides. A passage from Douglas Keesey’s book, The Films of Peter Greenaway: Sex, Death and Provocation, provides an interesting analysis: “Sheep And Tides enables us to see how many of our games treat the natural world as one big gameboard and Nature’s creatures as our playing pieces. This game, like most others, betrays the anxiety we feel about Nature’s unpredictability and potential threat to civilization (tides rattling teacups), and it shows our rage for order, our compulsion to clock Nature so as to foretell and forestall Her threat. (It is for this same reason that Madgett counts sheep before going to sleep—numbers give us the soothing impression of a world according to our desire, even as we are actually losing control and falling unconscious.) Finally, Sheep And Tides is a game like most games in being a competition between men over money, with the winner of the bet being the one who can best predict and control Nature, ruling over Her by using the rules of the game—the grid (of 3x3 sheep) and the count (of rattling teacups).” The lesson, of course, is that we do not control nature. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610735549111-2QKQVSFEVRLOVTLL7VHN/DOX_mary_01-1small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - Mary Joseph was slightly annoyed that his wife, Mary, made them late to their appointment at the Census office because, as usual, she took forever to get ready in front of the god damn mirror. Women! Joseph thought shaking his head. Am I right, guys? Am I right? Joseph had once harbored dreams of becoming a standup comedian, but abandoned his hopes to concentrate on carpentry and fishing. Joseph had to admit, though, that the wait for his wife was always worth it because Mary looked absolutely stunning when she emerged. As he helped her mount her steed, however, it seemed to Joseph that his wife had gained a little weight. She was, in fact, covered in an inordinate amount of attire: cerulean scarves, cobalt kerchiefs, a beryl frock, an indigo tippet, a navy mantilla, an ultramarine mantilla, sapphire shifts, various turquoise raiments—an azure ensemble, strange as angels dancing in the deepest oceans, twisting in the waters, she looked just like a dream. What was she hiding? Joseph mentioned the warm desert winds, but Mary briskly waved his suggestion aside. It was clear something was wrong with Mary. There was something about Mary. She had a meltdown in the Census office as she was filling out her documentation. Mary was deeply offended by a question on the form that requested her origin. What is this person’s race or origin? A. Jew. B. Roman. C. Egyptian. D. A Painting by Pieter Bruegel The Elder. Joseph calmed her down and showed her the fine print that said her answer was completely voluntary. Mary declined to answer, but she still didn’t like it. The next day Joseph learned that his suspicions were correct, and then some. Mary had gained weight. Because she was pregnant. Then she gave birth to a baby boy. Joseph had not yet been with his wife. He had never seen her naked body or partook of its delights. And yet he was now father to her bastard child, responsible for its upkeep. Yet he had never been with her. Joseph grew angry. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610736405570-HFN3VWKIGUPBNP4HFYUO/DOX_titaniasforge_01-2small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - Titania’s Forge The trouble began when Neptune’s only daughter, Shelly (Goddess Of Shells), had the bright idea to play Sheeps And Tides right outside Titania’s Forge. The ancient Anglo-Saxon game—which some say originated in the Old Testament—is most famously performed in the Peter Greenaway film, Drowning By Numbers. The game is easy to play, but difficult to master: Nine sheep are arranged in three rows in coastal shallows. Each sheep is tied to a post near a chair that has a teacup upon it. The object of the game is to guess which row of three sheep will be the first to react to the turn of the tide by jostling their chairs and rattling their tea cups—sheep, as everyone well knows, are very sensitive to tides. A full game is played over the course of 24 hours, or three tides. As Shelly would soon learn, Titania’s Forge is probably not the best setting for this docile sport because it is the place where all the world’s rivers converge to deliver the snowmelt they have transported from the mountains for processing. When the deluge enters the Forge it is first transformed into seawater and then assigned to various oceans. From the oceans, the waters are converted to mists that the Forge’s Large Offshore Haldron Collidor and Nuclear Electromagnetic Semi-Super-Semiconductor (LOCH NESSS) gathers into giant storms in the skies far out at sea. The storms soon dissipate as they return to land where the now gentle clouds give birth to snow that is again deposited atop the mountains. Ad infinitum. Unfortunately for Shelly, and her game, this year’s weather was much warmer than usual, so the snowmelt was much greater, and Titania’s Forge was forced to swallow a massive flashflood, plus nine sheep, nine chairs, and nine teacups that ultimately clogged the Forge’s pipes. Shelly so solly. Titania not pleased. Since Dacchus was in the Underworld, and she hated calling their plumber, she decided to try and fix it herself. First she tried some drain cleaner, which is stupid because it rots pipes. That didn’t work, so she went at it with a plunger. Plumbers love plungers because they usually compact the clog, as it did here. Next Titania sent a gigantic industrial snake down the drain, but quickly realized it was too large for the Forge’s sensitive drain. The toilet augur she attacked the clog with next showed promise, though. It was able to snake through the Forge’s labyrinthine pipes and, while she made contact with the clog, it wouldn’t budge. After wasting nearly a day on trying to clear the clog, Titania struck upon a brilliant idea: I’ll send my Sea Wolf into the drain to scare off the sheep. With the promise of a sheep buffet at the end of the pipe, the Sea Wolf eagerly dove into the hole, foregoing the requisite “sheep’s clothing.” As the bitch—for it was a she Sea Wolf—raced through the pipes she emitted an eerie underwater howl that raised the hairs on Shelly’s neck. Then came a long ominous silence that they presumed meant the Sea Wolf had reached the clog. After a spell, the Forge’s overflowing top bowl suddenly drained as the water was sucked down the gurgling pipe. Cleared! The Sea Wolf emerged from the dark hole with a mouthful of bones entwined in a web of dental floss. My sheep! Shelly gasped. Titania removed the net of bones from the Sea Wolf’s jaws for a closer look. These aren’t sheep bones, she said, these are pork chops. Pork chops? Shelly said. Who would throw pork chops down the drain? I bet I know who would eat a pork chop, then floss their teeth and throw all the evidence down the drain, Titania said drumming her chin, I bet I know who… https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610736542116-QMX9LYO0ATFMVIUGKN1D/DOX_actaeon_01-1small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - Citizen Anton And The Trippy Wizard Citizen Anton’s obsession with deer began, as far as we know, while he was the goalie coach at a local hockey camp. It was quite sudden, apparently. One day he was teaching the kids at his goalie camp how to be goaltenders, the next he was teaching them to think and act like deer. He felt that the goalie, more than anyone on the ice, needed to be lightning fast and fleet as a deer. The exercises he made the kids do were quite odd. In one, he basically created a crude recreation of Plato’s cave. He made the kids sit on the floor in a dark room and face the wall. Citizen Anton would stand behind them holding a torch casting shadows of cardboard deer silhouettes on to the wall. Mostly deer, but sometimes he’d project shadows of objects with names that rhyme with “deer”: ear, beer, steer, queer, tear, sphere, chandelier, goalie gear, Three Musketeers, Buzz Lightyear, etc.. His hope was that the kids would always think of deer so that they would then become deer. “If all you see is deer, if all you hear is deer, then all you hold dear is deer,” as he would say. Often. He claimed this directive came from Plato himself. When he was first admitted here, his condition was more manageable. He seemed to have arrived at a position where his views of the world were simply “misunderstood.” “I’m not crazy, I’m just way ahead of my time!” This perspective benefits some patients because, while it doesn’t eliminate the incongruence between their inner and outer worlds, it provides an outlook that at least allows the patient a relatively positive and undisturbed mental environment and it gives hope that alignment is possible. Unfortunately, his acquiescence with this state of affairs began to erode rather quickly. He began acting like a deer. Most of his act was routine crazy, except that he thought he could leap like a deer and he tried to jump over anyone and anything including the fences that surround the property. His continuous escape attempts made him extremely difficult to deal with and he had to be monitored constantly, stretching our already thin staff even thinner. One day Citizen Anton really did get out. We still have no idea how, but there he was prancing around on the front lawn munching on grass. He had his thumbs in his ears, palms out, nude as usual. He had escaped, but he didn’t seem to be going anywhere. So they set the dogs upon him. I always found it interesting that before they release the full pack, they would send out this one particular dog known as The Trippy Wizard (aka T-Wiz, Twizzy, Tweezy, etc.). He earned his name for always being underfoot and tripping people. He was a wizard at tripping. “Try as you might to not get busy with Twizzy,” our security personnel would say, “you’ll go down easy with Tweezy.” Citizen Anton, seeing T-Wiz sauntering across the lawn towards him on his tiny legs, thought nothing of outrunning the silly creature, but before he even completed this thought, he was flat on his face. The dogs pounced upon him. And he paid dearly for it. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1610730934363-HALKDYTTFKPX3W8T1BCI/DOX_mangostag_01small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 020 - The Mango Stag Robin’s Magic broke. Of the seven Sunshine Sprites, Robin is responsible for the color Blue in the Rainbow. If Robin’s Magic is broken, then all things blue will be broken: sky, water, jeans, jays, whales, Miles Davis (kind of), working class collar shirts, Mondays, the foundation of rock n roll, etc.. In short, the world would become a blueless mess. The problem arose when Robin discovered a boy hiding in the bushes on the banks of the Rhinebeau River. He was spying on the Sunshine Sprites as they were having their morning bath and when they caught him, they were not pleased. The boy begged, he pleaded, he argued that he had only been hunting in the woods and didn’t even know there was a river here—I swear to god, I swear I never even knew what rivers were! Pfft. Really? Where’s your bow and arrows then, huh, lil man? So Robin turned the boy into a little blue deer. Except that Robin did not turn the boy into a little blue deer. Instead, before her were three mangos on a mirror. The sisters gasped. Robin tried to cast her spell again, but to little effect. One of the mangos did sprout a stag’s head, though—a Mango Stag!—but that just made things worse. The head and antlers operated like a regular stag’s head, but the “body” was nothing more than a jumble of fruit that looked sort of like a balloon animal, but jiggled like a seal pulling itself along the beach. Robin felt bad and wanted to return the Mango Stag back to its little boy body shape, but her sisters forbade it. They said that if she turned him back to a boy, the boy would die at least six deaths because every one of them would kill him again and again—“at least six” because a couple of the sisters promised they would murder him a few times. She begged her sisters to let her keep the little creature until she could figure out what was wrong. They reluctantly relented. Robin named her new pet, Durango (deer + mango), and entrusted his care to her closest sister, Indigo (Indigo), while she took herself to the shop to find out why she was broke. None of the sisters appreciated this arrangement, but they tolerated the little lump’s presence. The meanest of the seven sisters, Peaches (Orange), mockingly referred to Durango as, DERRR-tango. She’d perform a clumsy clownish tango as she said it, much to everyone’s amusement. (To her credit, it really was a very stupid little monster.) Robin was temporarily taken off of Rainbow duty and admitted to the clinic where a Catacomb Colt could open her lil Pixie skull and have a look under the hood. Turns out her Shaka Brahs were misaligned with her Chakra Laws because a Mint Spider had bitten her inner Salmon who then took a shine to bareknuckle boxing Bald Eagles. Not good. The Salmon’s surliness raised Robin’s cobalt levels into the “too blue” zone, thus putting her in danger of dying of cyananide poisoning. Fortunately the condition is easily remedied with aural rehabilitation—any music that is not the blues will work—in this case: a recording of a mariachi band playing an Easter party at Cy Twombly’s Rome apartment. Thanks to the soothing sounds of mariachi, Robin quickly made a full recovery and returned to her place among her sisters in the Rainbow between Violet and Indigo. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/ridachulous-021-ap6kb monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1615306654795-5CXIVRYVIODIFFPHGE1K/DOX_goddess_01-2.jpg Work - Ridachulous 021 - Incantation Of The Triple Goddess 1. According to Robert Graves, who popularized the concept of the Triple Goddess in the 20th century, Diana (Artemis) in particular came to be viewed as a trinity of three goddesses in One: Diana as Huntress (Diana), Diana as the Moon (Luna), Diana of the Underworld (Hecate). In the Underworld she was concerned with birth, procreation, and death. On Earth she rules the trees, the plants, all living creatures, and the three seasons of Spring, Summer, and Winter. In the Sky she is the three phases of the Moon: New, Full, and Waning. In the deep Heavens she is the trio of stars in Orion’s belt: Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka. 2. VLADIMIR: The tree, look at the tree. (Estragon looks at the tree.) ESTRAGON: Was it not there yesterday? VLADIMIR: Yes of course it was there. Do you not remember? We nearly hanged ourselves from it. But you wouldn’t. Do you remember? ESTRAGON: You dreamt it. VLADIMIR: Is it possible you’ve forgotten already? ESTRAGON: That’s the way I am. Either I forget immediately or I never forget. 3. In Hinduism, the supreme divinity Para Brahman can take the form of the Trimurti, in which the cosmic functions of creation, preservation, and destruction of the universe are performed by the three deities of Brahma (Creator), Vishnu (Preserver), and Shiva (Destroyer), who are at the same time three forms of the one Para Brahman. 4. “Look: there are three of us and two of them,” Luna said. “Yes, but they’re both very, very mean,” Lilith said. “They seem to delight in skirmish.” “I’m with you, Luna. I say we go get ‘em!” Diana said with gusto. “I’m not scared of them, you know,” Lilith continued, “it just pains me to imagine them deriving some sort of pleasure out of this.” “Alright, so what are we going to do to these guys then?” Diana asked, assuming the project manager position and adjusting her mom haircut. “I say we put a curse on them,” Diana said excitedly looking at Lilith. “Well, I’ve still got a little bit of that Milk Blood from Alnilam,” Lilith offered. “Perfect,” Diana said. “Let’s do that, Milk Blood Magic, that’s easy, no contact.” “Ohhh, I’m so excited,” Diana said bringing her knuckles together in front of her mouth, “we’re going to cast a labyrinth!” 5. To this end, Ludwig Wittgenstein’s On Certainty comes to mind, in which he expounds upon theories of epistemic agreement. “The information ‘That is a tree,’ when no one could doubt it,” Wittgenstein writes, “might be a kind of joke and as such have meaning.” In this light, Vladimir’s remark, “It’s the tree,” becomes itself a sort of joke that we, the audience, are in on. 6. A sacred breed of Holy Moths, known as the Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters, are believed to have been born within the distant star in the center of Orion’s belt because they transcribe the same 7-circuit labyrinth pattern in their flight path around a flame as the star in the center of the belt does over the course of eons. The Maidens Of Moth, ancient descendants of The Old Ones, have been harvesting Milk Blood from Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters for centuries by milking the Holy Moths in a mysterious ritual and then distilling the alien Milk Blood until only the essence of the moth’s labyrinth pattern remains. The potent labyrinth essence is then employed by the Maidens Of Moth in their world famous sorcery. “For the first time in history, the secrets of the Maidens Of Moth are now available to the public for a limited time only. Each custom Maidens Of Moth Magical Maze™ (MoMMM™) kit comes with a Magical Labyrinth Spell powered by Milk Blood from Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters that will baffle, befuddle, and bewilder any subject allowing you to ensnare, entrap, and exile him, her, or it to wherever you like: In a castle tower! At the bottom of the ocean! In the depths of Hell! To last Tuesday! Within their own mind! The possibilities are endless! You can banish anyone or anything to anywhere or anywhen!” 7. By the 1st century CE, Hecate's chthonic and nocturnal character had led to her transformation into a goddess heavily associated with witchcraft, witches, magic, and sorcery. In Lucan's Pharsalia (65 AD), the witch Erichtho invokes Hecate and describes her as a “rotting goddess” with snakes in her hair and a “pallid decaying body” who has to “wear a mask when she visits the gods in heaven.” 8. As Diana and Luna watched, Lilith bent over her instruments and, following the ancient instructions provided by The Maidens Of Moth, poured a tiny drop of Milk Blood on a silver mirror and then added various powders—raccoon tongue ground with goat nipples, bull testicles with brass salt crystals dried from the tears of a moon dove, extract of octopus urine blended with the first breath of a newborn cobra, etc.—and then, at midnight, as the two men dimly pondered the new leaves on their tree, Lilith mumbled some incantations and released her magic upon them. “It has been done,” Lilith said. “No matter where they go, the labyrinth that imprisons them will always lead them back to the dead tree at its center.” 9. ESTRAGON: (despairingly). Ah! (Pause.) You’re sure it was here? VLADIMIR: What? ESTRAGON: That we were to wait. VLADIMIR: He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Do you see any others. ESTRAGON: What is it? VLADIMIR: I don’t know. A willow. ESTRAGON: Where are the leaves? VLADIMIR: It must be dead. ESTRAGON: No more weeping. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1619798674561-0VFC31OI060FR9HMZK8B/DOX_centaurwitch_01-1small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 021 - The Centaur Witch Hey, so the Centaur Witch game, Pazuzu, is a very difficult game to follow and understand. Worse than cricket. That is if it even is a game. Some say it has its origins in a ritual dedicated to the ancient Mesopotamian demon of the same name. Maybe it’s both, ritual/game? Mayan? Either way, Pazuzu incorporates a variety of elements familiar to ritual as well as sporting and gaming. I’ve been told that at times it does look very ritualistic, but at others it seems like a mashup of sports such as dressage, polo, capoeira, hockey, figure skating, even skateboarding. Yet it also incorporates aspects of popular table games like chess, backgammon, dominoes, go, cards, billiards, ping pong, etc.. Apparently no human has ever lived to explain the rules (if there are any?), but there are rumored to be a scant few secret texts (dubious authenticity) that provide some details about gameplay. To keep this short, I’ll outline some of what I’ve learned thus far and I’ll share the sources later, if they exist. Each game is performed by two athletes, a Centaur Witch and her Familiar (usually an enslaved human male). The game can last a few hours, or a few centuries. Pazuzu is played on a large expanse of land and is sort of like golf/baseball in that every course/field is different, but the field of play is generally rectangular and resembles a billiard table the size of a small island (in fact, Centaur Witches are rumored to especially enjoy playing Pazuzu amid the rugged, inaccessible, and uninhabited islands of Finland’s archipelago during the freezing Winter months). The six billiard “pockets” are arranged about the landscape in the general vicinity of where they would appear on a standard table—four corner pockets, two side pockets. In Pazuzu, however, the pockets are large, smoking pits in the ground (graves?) lined with the smoldering bones of sacrificial children (they’re witches, they like children). Much like Pairs Figure Skating, the Centaur Witch and her Familiar perform a routine, a schizophrenic dance that involves lots of peculiar maneuvers, some of which move the Pazuzu pieces around the field and into the pits. The kinds of game pieces they employ are nearly infinite, but billiard balls, playing cards, chess pieces and the like are common. The various combinations of moves amount to essentially what we would call spells or incantations because they produce a wide variety of sorcery. The more dazzling the magic, the more pleased are the witches, and the higher the score (how that is quantified we have no idea). For example: a Cue Ball, plus the Ace of Spades, plus the Bishop’s Black Pawn, helped into the north western corner pocket via a snapshot from the Familiar’s goat jaw hockey stick is a spell that is highly appreciated by the Centaur Witches. This spell will, apparently, summon a trio of flatulent Muskox that will play an enchanting symphony out of their gigantic, musky anuses. It was actually through this Muskox story that I learned about the Centaur Witches and their ritual/game Pazuzu. When I was last talking to Isis Osceles she kept referring to “Triangle’s Muskox record.” I had to prod her, but she eventually explained that Triangle stumbled upon the Muskox quite by accident during one their tryptamine experiments when a trio of the massive creatures suddenly floated through the sky of their trip. The Muskox were on their way to a Pazuzu match to which they had been summoned. Triangle greatly appreciated that the Muskox traveled in threes and soon became friendly with the creatures and became students of their music and asscoustics. Isis claims that the frequencies the beasts are able to emit from their buttholes are capable of affecting (at a quantum level) the resonance of the electrons in your body causing them to buzz/hum in a manner that creates a euphoric, interdimensional experience for the listener. According to Isis, one of the many albums Triangle has recorded in secrecy is a tribute, as well as a recreation, of the Muskox’s otherworldly music. Isis says it’s possible under the proper conditions to actually see the Muskoxen when you listen to the recording. Obviously this Muskox music story is amazing, but I’m more interested in the Centaur Witches the Muskox seem to be beholding to. If this is all true, then Triangle seems to have managed to enter the Centaur Witch’s dimension through some sort of Muskox backdoor (no pun intended). And from what I’ve gathered, a Centaur Witch can bestow immeasurable powers and impart access to sacred, eternal knowledge to anyone that can successfully impress them—provided, of course, she doesn’t eat you or convert you into her Familiar first. That’s all for now. Just wanted to brief you on this Centaur Witch business since you asked. I’ll surely have more to tell you next week after I have a Zoom call with Isis. It’s her first Zoom call ever. I don’t think she’s going to be able to figure it out, so who knows if it’ll even happen. Talk soon. —Foonty https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1616604008610-8MT8S499JO8PLBVP2UYP/DOX_whitegoddess02_small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 021 - Let Wisdom Lead You Out Of The Desert Of Your Mind, Ye Dummy At the start of the pandemic an owl (perhaps two) took up residence in a neighborhood tree and could be heard quietly “hoo-hooing” every night. While most of our neighborhood was delighted by the new residents one neighbor was decidedly not because he called the cops on the birds (???). And us. It was extremely rude, and a little frightening, because it was late at night, after 11pm, we were stoned and getting down to go to bed, when suddenly there were flashlights in our windows and cops BANGING on the front door. After we learned we weren’t in any danger, the officer said that a neighbor had reported someone wandering around in the street outside their house making fake owl noises. And we, apparently, were the owl impersonators. Are you being serious right now? I asked the officer. Fortunately the owl was hooting while the cop was conducting his interrogation so I simply pointed to the trees behind him and made that, “REALLY?” face that David always makes on Schitt’s Creek. I felt this incident was an excellent learning opportunity for a discussion about when it is appropriate, and not appropriate, to call the police. So I took to NextDoor.com the following morning and posted an open letter to our neighborhood about our owl experience and gently admonished the complainant (see [1] below to read the post). I still don’t know which neighbor called the cops—there is a “person of interest” nearby—but when I do find out who it is, I am going to include this collage, which is titled, “Let Wisdom Lead You Out Of The Desert Of Your Mind, Ye Dummy,” with the official California “Petition For Change Of Name” paperwork that I began filling out for him. I’m legally changing his name to, DICK. Q: Whoo-hoo calls the pigs on a bird? A: Someone with irritable owl syndrome. ———————————- [1] To whoever called the police last night about the owls hooting in the neighborhood trees, WAY TO GO! We’re so proud of you. Without your diligent phone call about those pesky owls we never would have enjoyed being awoken at 11pm by a cop stomping around in our yard, shining his flashlight in our windows, and then banging on our door demanding answers about local owl behavior. Thank you so much for that. If I may, however, make an owlternative (sorry) suggestion for your next wild animal encounter: try NextDoor. One of the primary purposes of this platform is to provide a safe place for neighbors to narc on Nature. If you see a [insert animal], DO NOT CALL THE COPS. Instead, take a picture, post its location on NextDoor, and either share your adorable wild animal experience with your neighbors, or, in the case of a predator such as a coyote, warn your neighbors to keep their pets inside and “be safe.” Your neighbors will love it, people will hit the like button, and some might even write a nice comment with a smiley face ☺. The police, on the other hand, are who you call when there has been a crime. You’ll have to do your own research as to what constitutes a crime, but birds doing bird things in trees is not a crime. Yet. So in conclusion: Nature = NextDoor. Crime = Cops. Thank you. Hoot hoot. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1738c849-1667-4b20-8237-0c9c1810016d/DOX_dosislas_01-1.jpg Work - Ridachulous 021 - Dos Islas: Thrig And Tefl Islands Abstract from a recent academic article, “The Dacchanalian Dossier,” that details Dacchus’ exile on Tefl and Thrig Islands: Dacchus could easily hop from island to island, but he chose to spend the majority of his time on Tefl. The giant rock was far from comfortable for sitting/standing/sleeping due to its pyramidal shape, but it was otherwise a paradise compared to Thrig Island, which continually endured a thunderous buffeting of gale force winds. Dacchus got used to the uncomfortable, but fair, Tefl Island and spent hundreds of years alone there with the sea, its winds, its storms, and its creatures (we briefly investigate claims that he was Shakespeare’s inspiration for Prospero). One day a horse skull with an acorn in its jaw washed up on Tefl’s shore. Dacchus had the brilliant idea to use the two castaways to seed the inhospitable Thrig Island. He hopped across the channel, buried the acorn in a stone depression at the highest point on Thrig, placed the horse skull over the hole, performed some Dach Magic over the arrangement (spells and powders provided by Alnilam’s Scarlet Daughters), and, a number of years later, Thrig Island was covered by a massive, verdant oak forest that sheltered a mighty herd of majestic equines who would become the ancestors of unicorns, kelpies, hippogriffs, pegasuses, and centaurs (one of those centaur descendants was, Plato C. Biscuits, Dacchus’ closest friend and guide). A land bridge eventually connected the islands and, over the course of millions of years, the two islands merged into one island that we suggest may have been the site of the ancient city of Atlantis. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/1621465401495-G7XTKUY2QFG93WCYHIE6/GWEEB01_01-3small.jpg Work - Ridachulous 021 - GWEEB #1: Dildo Piggins Dear Foonty, I enjoyed your Triangle art very much and I hope the band considers adopting it as their album cover, but unfortunately I am unable to provide a proper review since I have a bit of a situation going on over here that requires our immediate attention. Remember when I attended the GWAR concert and stood near the front of the stage as you suggested? I’m still not sure why you recommended I bear witness to this “artist’s”—and I use the term loosely—vulgar performance? It was horrible. I was absolutely disgusted by the lewd acts the performers engaged in on stage. I refuse to recount them here because that would likely disturb my mind’s faculty of suppression and disrecollection, but just know that it was a Deplorable (with a capital D) concert and Mother would have been very, very, very disappointed that I was in attendance. I do, unfortunately, need to recount one incident that occurred that evening since it relates to our current situation. At some point as I stood near the front of the stage, jostled to and fro by those in attendance who had a much higher opinion of the band’s performance than I, and praying the cacophony would subside and the depravity cease, I was hit in the face with a foreign substance. I’m not sure what his name is, but the intergalactic Scumdog (I believe that’s what they call themselves?) with the largest penis ejaculated all over the audience. It was not, needless to say, a normal discharge of semen. No, on the contrary, great torrents of the gooey white substance shot out of the brute’s massive member at fire hose velocity showering the entire audience with what seemed like hundreds of gallons of intergalactic Scumdog reproductive juices. Appalled, revolted, and outraged, not to mention covered in alien crotch snot, I was suddenly consumed by a passionate resolve to end the perverted riot. “This must stop!” I recall thinking. As I turned back to the stage to confront our attackers, I came face to face with the alien’s massive member, the dome of its glistening glans just inches from my face. For a split second I was spellbound by the size of the urethral meatus’ opening and the dark vastness within—I’d never seen such a large penis hole, it was like a cave…—but I was rudely awakened from my reverie by yet another colossal wave of GWAR ejaculate that shot out of the meatus hole like a cannon and struck me square in the puss once again. The force of the deluge knocked me on my back and, due to my shock and surprise, my mouth, eyes, nose, ears, etc. were all wide open in disbelief and the Scumdog’s rancid jissom filled every orifice. Although I was blinded and unable to breathe, I managed to escape the theater and sought medical attention. That was nearly nine months ago and I’ve done my best to suppress the memory of that awful evening, but last night something very strange happened that brought all of my nightmares to the forefront again. I’m not sure how to explain this scientifically, but I think GWAR’s seed found purchase in the womb of my eyeball and through some bizarre Scumdog alien fertilization transmutation process (?) my eyeballs have been impregnated with lil GWAR evil eye booger babies. The first lil evil eye booger baby finally “hatched” at dawn this morning after I suffered a prolonged and torturous labor that lasted the entire night. Almost immediately after being born, the wretched creature introduced himself as, Dildo Piggins. It is an apt name because Dildo is, if nothing else, an enormous PIG. He picks his nose. He eats his boogers. He gargles vomit. He drinks his pee. He swallows his poop. He smokes his pubic hairs. He snorts his toe jam. His anus is wide open and perpetually emits poisonous gases, noxious fumes, deafening discharges, and copious volumes of fecal matter. His revolting body is in a constant state of ecdysis and his scurfy skin never ceases shedding, molting, sloughing, exfoliating, or exuviating, leaving everything in my apartment covered in a thick layer of dandruff and knee-deep in brittle shards of flaky, dead skin scales. He wears glasses because he’s far tsighted—that means farts come out of his eyes. Not only does he have fleas, but he also has bats that feed on his flesh, and, unfortunately, on mine as well. The decapitated head of the last man he raped is still on the end of his penis. His boots are grizzly bears—he jams his feet into their anuses each morning and off they go stompin’ and trompin’ around the apartment, devouring everything in their path. Did I mention he has an unpleasant aroma? Worst of all, Dildo Piggins has a ring and, based on what I’ve seen in the short time since he was born, it’s a very powerful, magical ring. The Ring itself appears to be nothing more than the jaws of a massive shark, probably a megalodon, but Mr. Piggins “plays” the shark jaw in a curious manner to peculiar and dramatic effect. Sometimes he plays it like a fiddle with an enormous whale penis dildo as his bow, at other times he strokes it like a Tibetan singing bowl, gently caressing the mandible bones with the tip of his phallus. Regardless of the technique, the result is anything but musical or peaceful. Imagine running the gentle sounds of a Tibetan spirit bowl through hundreds of those noisemaker pedals your friends are so fond of using—distortion, overdrive, fuzz, flange, phase, delay, echo, chorus, tremolo, reverb, loop, octave, compression, wah, more distortion—with every knob on every pedal totally dimed out. Then run the affected signal through a wall of Marshall stacks 10,000 miles wide (yes, Foonty, I know what a Marshall stack is). The deafening frequencies Dildo Piggins is able to create make The Ring a lethal, military grade, ultrasonic weapon—surely, Foonty, you must have heard the squall from across the hall? Anyway, Mr. Piggins is plenty crazy without The Ring, but when he is under the influence of its immense power he is rendered completely bonkers. The Ring is, in fact, the only subject he speaks of. “ONE RING TO FUCK THEM ALL,” he bellows over and over again. That’s the only thing he says. Foonty, please, can you come over here and help me evict this fellow as soon as possible? I don’t mean to be rude, but my day-to-day duties have been seriously compromised since the arrival of Dildo Piggins and his vociferous improprieties. Love, Trowl. http://www.acidinvader.com/work/uma-landsleds-the-honey-horn-8awe4 monthly 0.5 2025-09-05 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/a6fae41d-b4c4-471e-88e6-6f515d00dbb3/UMA_honeyhorn_ad.jpg Work - UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn Collection - Make it stand out The Honey Horn Collection featured four collages with accompanying stories for four UMA Landsleds pro models. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/60045024-a9a7-4c13-a2aa-ed9563ddeb1d/DOX_cowsealtongue_01-2ig.jpg Work - UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn Collection - Cow Seal Tongue (Roman Pabich) There have been rumors that Grand Leader Cow was a mythical shape-shifting seal, aka a Selkie. The creature that founded the Magnificently Glorious Republic in human form would, whenever the opportunity arose, sneak away to his country’s coastline, turn itself inside out at the shore, and slink back into the sea as its original seal self. As a seal, Cow had a much more friendly personality than he did as the ruthless and austere Grand Leader of the Magnificently Glorious Republic. In the sea, Cow was a child at heart and he loved to horse around and get up to all kinds of mischief—in fact, tales of his legendary pranks are so pervasive in seal folklore that Cow is credited with being the inspiration for the antics performed in contemporary seal shows around the world. Cow’s most popular trick was balancing a tower of chairs on the tip of his nose. He could stack them higher and higher until they reached the clouds. It didn’t matter if they were armchairs, rocking chairs, wheelchairs, lounge chairs, beach chairs, desk chairs, high chairs, chaise lounges, recliners, ribbon backs, Bergères, Fauteuils, Curules, Klismoi, Morrises, Savonarolas, Shakers, Windsors, Wingbacks, or even his favorite: THRONES. He could balance them all on the tip of his nose. Grand Leader Cow was of great interest to the Teddy Bear Queen and her sleuth because The Oracle had provided them with blueprints for an instrument so powerful it could be heard in the furthest reaches of the cosmos and even in other dimensions. “The Honey Horn,” as it is called, is the most complicated instrument ever conceived. The blueprints for it call for of all kinds of ridiculous, hard-to-find components that would take multiple lifetimes to collect, but there is one component in particular that The Oracle promised would be more difficult to acquire than all the others combined: the Cow Seal Tongue. Much like the sheep intestines that make violin strings, the Cow Seal Tongue’s muscle fibers can be stretched, dried, and wound into a magical string that allows the Honey Horn to play the most sublime music the world has ever heard or will ever hear. The instrument requires only the tiniest sample from the tongue, no matter how small, in order to sing, but Selkies are extremely dangerous and no mortal has ever seen one and lived to tell about it—let alone acquired a tissue sample from one’s tongue. The Oracle, however, revealed to the Teddy Bear Queen that there is a single instant during the Selkie’s metamorphosis when the creature is completely vulnerable and one might be able to obtain a sample from the beast’s tongue: when the Selkie’s human and seal selves are both inside out and connected only by their shared tongue, it is at that moment and that moment only that the shape shifter is as helpless as a newborn butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/ec61c92a-be5c-4e55-a12d-daa8fba9fe89/DOX_insects_01-1.jpg Work - UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn Collection - Triangle (Cody Chapman) Triangle was an experimental band from Germany in the early 70s. Triangle enjoyed success almost immediately upon their debut, but almost as soon as they appeared, they were gone. Despite the existence of a recording, purportedly made by Triangle, most scholars agree that they were never a real band and that they’re nothing more than an urban myth or, at best, an elaborate hoax. There is, however, a growing number of musicologists who insist that not only did Triangle exist, but that they still exist and are an active band to this day. “Triangle was dedicated to art, not artifice, and they found the music industry, fans, and the obligations of fame obstacles to their music so they ‘broke up,’” wrote German music critic, Ernst Schmütz, in his book Krautrock: German Music In The 70s (Schmaltzdachel GmbH, 1981), “but there is much evidence to suggest they faked their own death.” Real or fake, the fantastical stories surrounding the band continue to fascinate, not the least of which is the band’s founding principle: utter and complete devotion to Triangles and the number Three: Triangle has three members. They play songs with only three notes. All notes are triads. Their lyrics are written with trigonometry in iambic trimeter using only three syllable words and every line rhymes with the number 3 (not the word, the number). Their favorite note/key is A because it’s shaped like a triangle. Songs contain three movements. Albums are divided into three acts. The music should be listened to while sitting in the center of three speakers. Their vinyl records are shaped like a nonagon made up of nine triangles (like a pizza). Every album is triple-sided. Etc.. Pertaining to our research, however, is Triangle’s experiments with tryptamines and sonic frequencies—what they called “alchemy music.” The frequencies they created while under the influence of tryptamines are, apparently, capable of affecting (at a quantum level) the resonance of the electrons in the human body and can cause them to buzz/hum in a manner that creates a euphoric, interdimensional experience for the listener. Under the proper conditions one can apparently “see” the music and even “ride” it into other dimensions. And Triangle may have acquired The Honey Horn from the Teddy Bears to further their research in this area. A woman named, Isis Osceles, who was a groupie and sometime member of the band, claims to have attended a live performance that lasted a month and featured a wide variety of guest performers including Screaming Lord Cheeto, The Screaming Cheetah (it’s a cheetah that just sits there and screams). The performance culminated with what people assumed was a nuclear submarine launching a nuclear warhead (classic Triangle), but Isis says, no, that was a blast on the Honey Horn. Indeed, the Nuclear Detonation Detection System’s (NDDS) sensors around the world did in fact record seismic and hydroacoustic data on the day in question that is consistent with nuclear weapon detonation. So we know something went off at this concert. But was it a nuke, or was it the cry of the Honey Horn? https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/c6702b40-1688-4265-899d-4957c5744309/DOX_queenteddybear_01-IG.jpg Work - UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn Collection - The Teddy Bear Queen (Maité Steenhoudt) The Teddy Bear Queen is a quintessential queen as far as queens are queencerned. She seemingly never does wrong and never upsets anyone, but that’s only because she, like most of the Teddy Bears in her sleuth, doesn’t do much of anything and thus there is little potential for right or wrong. She enjoys a simple life of eating and farting and sleeping and pooping and eating. At the heart of this seemingly simple agenda, though, a problem has arisen: no more Space Honey! The Teddy Bears have lost communication with their Space Bear ancestors who happen to be their suppliers of artisanal Space Honey, but the Space Bears live on a planet orbiting the star, Dubhe (pronounced, DUB-bē, “dubby”), that resides in the Ursa Major constellation at the tip of the Big Dipper 122 light years away. This is a big, big, big problem because Teddy Bears need Space Honey to survive. Teddy Bears can’t live without Space Honey. And so the Queen of the Teddy Bears made the long journey to the nearest Oracle outpost to seek help and advice. The sacred temple the Oracle’s Listening Post occupies is high atop a volcano on Thrig Island in the middle of the Ocean. Unfortunately the Teddy Bear Queen was running late for her Oracle appointment (classic Teddy Bear behavior—they are never on time for anything), and tried to apply her makeup while en route up the steep slopes of the Thrig Volcano. As anyone knows, though, Sheep Sherpas do not provide the smoothest of rides and the Queen’s retinue stumbled repeatedly on the side of the mountain’s sheer path—pretty much every time the Queen raised her lipstick to her mouth. Despite her unbecoming appearance, the Teddy Bear Queen was granted an audience with the Oracle who furnished the Queen with a remedy for her sleuth’s dearth of Space Honey—a remedy that would not come easy… https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/c73c4b73-45f4-4dc4-825d-b7e1a73645b1/DOX_theinstrument_01-IG.jpg Work - UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn Collection - The Instrument (Evan Smith) The Teddy Bear Queen and her sleuth of bears scoured the earth and somehow managed to acquire all of the components for the Honey Horn and assembled it. They even got some Cow Seal Tongue. Don’t ask how. We have no idea. Also, how did they assemble the instrument’s intricate parts with their teddy bear paws? They don’t have fingers. Anyway, those darn teddy bears collected every last item on the Oracle’s nearly infinite list of parts, which included, among other things… The elevator buttons from Sid and Nancy’s floor at the Chelsea Hotel, NYC. An antique radio containing uranium fuel rods from the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. A hair from the tail of Don Quixote’s horse Rocinante. The engine from the Northwest Orient Airlines Boeing 727 that was hijacked by DB Cooper. The first chemical element on the Periodic Table to begin with the letter J (extant, yet unknown). Edith Pilaf’s lungs marinated in cigarettes and soy sauce. A backflow valve from the fourth dimension. The first flower ever touched by King Midas. Pope Urban VIII’s Uncle’s unclean underwear. Cleopatra’s ancient Egyptian distillery. Siegfried and Roy’s unstable cat, Mantacore, and his favorite circus ball. A jar of cocaine from Nikolaus Johann Van Beethoven’s pharmacy in Linz, Austria. A trompe de la chasse that Oscar Wilde filched from an English hunting lodge. A frog with a chilidog from a synagogue in Prague. And on and on and on… As the Oracle had promised, the Honey Horn could produce every sound that ever was, and every sound that will ever be, from a raindrop on a windowpane, to the eruption of a volcano, and everything in between: it can play the songs of Charlemagne accompanied by an inbred on a banjo, and John Coltrane snorting cocaine amid a herd of buffalo. Every sound, every instance when quiet is quelled, from the cries of a riotous crowd, to the crash of every tree that was ever felled, the sound of every smell—because let’s face it, manure stinks outloud—the Horn plays it all, every dog’s bark, every cow’s meow, every sound from history’s start til now. The Horn blares the frustration of labor strikes, and all the music you like and dislike. It recreates the splash of a wave crashing on a beach, to James screaming atop his giant peach. It can play anything from a butterfly flapping its wings, to all of the gusts and gales it brings, to a lion’s roar, a cricket’s chirp, the carnage of war, plus every fart and every burp, from the fwip-fwap clap of a laundry snap, to a white rhino taking a gigantic crap, the Honey Horn makes every sound, all of the sound, it’s inside and it’s outside and it’s all around. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52fa8197e4b0e8aa92dbbb33/b61a8e42-f039-4309-8e18-92d809e090a9/DOX_maosealtongue_before_01.jpg Work - UMA Landsleds: The Honey Horn Collection - Interesting International Incident: Mao vs. Cow The “Cow Seal Tongue” image almost created an international incident (not really, but it’s fun to say). The original collage I submitted was titled “Mao Seal Tongue” and featured the founder of the People’s Republic of China, Mao Tse Tung (left), playing the role of a mythical shape-shifting seal, aka a Selkie. Clever wordplay, no? NO! Not in China anyway. UMA, like many companies, has their boards printed in China and their Chinese printer refused to touch the Mao Seal Tongue graphic for fear of retribution. They sent an email: “For the [Mao Seal Tongue board], we could understand it's your artist's design style, but our HT supplier refuse to produce any graphics which shows no respect and illegal for Country's leader. Please revise or change another graphic for these two items [sic].” As Americans who have enjoyed democracy our entire lives, this was an unusual situation for me and Andy Jenkins (UMA’s Art Director). Change it? How is suggesting that Mao Tse Tung was a mythical shape-shifting Selkie showing no respect? I thought it made him look kinda cool. UMA said I either change it or they’re dropping it because they weren’t going to ruin a relationship with a printer over a single graphic. Okay. Fine. I eventually found a head that could stunt-double for Mao. No, it is not Queen Elizabeth, as one person asked, it is a portrait of a German woman named, Maria Eisenstecken Oberrauch (above). I hope the descendants of Frau Oberrauch don’t see this graphic, or, in the unlikely event they do, they aren’t offended that their ancestor is being mouth raped by a sea lion. Interestingly, Maria Eisenstecken Oberrauch’s initials are MEO—one letter off from MAO. Mao Seal Tongue could simply be changed to Meo Seal Tongue. UMA, however, pointed out that if there’s one thing they’ve learned about China it’s that those kinds of subtleties are lost in translation and Meo would likely be considered too close to Mao and still “shows no respect and illegal for Country’s leader.” Okay. Fine. Cow Seal Tongue, then? I found the experience amusing, but also frightening. Imagine living in a country run by a single party that burns books, outlaws media, and won’t stand for anything which shows no respect and is illegal for country’s leader—it seems dangerously close to happening here at times.