The Underworld Whispers to Me

HellThe angels have taught me their secret language. Birds land on my shoulders while wild tigers lick my face. I have torn the Veil and rolled the Boulder away. The bowels of this or any other earth cannot keep hidden their terrible knowledge. The Underworld whispers to me, very politely, hey get down here!

The worlds’ scholars will no doubt attack me with their petty barbs of jealousy and ignorance, for I reveal them as hucksters pulling the wool over the eyes of an unsuspecting public. Woe unto the dogmatic pundits and paid apologists of today’s imperial realm of misinformation! For their lies are exposed, as now truth is told. I, and alone, with the exception of a bunch of others, know this powerful secret:

The Madison music scene is being destroyed. We are under attack!


Calendars show the wrong dates for shows, CD shipments are being lost, vans are being broken into, our instruments are being stolen, our clubs are being burnt down, bands are advertising in the Isthmus for new members, and our kiosks are being downsized!

The round kiosks could hold TWELVE 8½ x11 posters around it horizontally and SIX vertically. The new flat daddies, the shape and nearly the size of tabletop Plexiglas martini menus, hold only four around and five up. Too much space is taken up by KAPLAN study seminars. Come on! How many students actually make it up State Street more than three blocks? Such a waste.

And the fancy new kiosks aren’t very sturdy— Shakira could knock one over with one butt cheek. A group of frat boys could easily shatter them all with a drunken “WOOO!”


1)      Shows start too late on weekdays.

2)      Certain bands hog all the kiosk space with way too many posters.

3)      The only way to make it in Madison is to get some chick from a foreign country to join your band.

4)      Nobody drinks enough water.

There is something very rotten in the state of Denmark, and I don’t mean Denmark!

The only bands that have done anything positive to help the scene are the bands that broken up. Thanks go out to New Recruits, The Profits, and Emerald Choir.

Shame on you Electric Automatic and Little Blue Crunchy Things!  (Yes, Headpump is still playing shows but only ones we’re sure no one will show up at.)

Until we catch whoever is trying to wreck our local scene, I am playing less music and concentrating more on selling these exciting new products:


“Imagine your penis….it’s growing larger…larger…”


Have your friends keep calling until you can fit into your high school pants!


“Fat is only ugly until you put a nipple on it.”


I’m also looking into eyeball jewelry, left-handed cell phones, and DVD rewinders.

REMEMBER: The price you see is half the price you pay!

Pay nothing until first payment.

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