Issue 17 June 2010
The Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence Freak Accident
From Stonewall To Pride
The Sinful Works of
The 7 Deadly Sins of
News, Rants & Politics
Repercussions & Retardo Moccaban Retardo Moccabán, never to be confused with Ricardo Montalbán, is the wife’s cat. It’s been said that he’s a Chilean wild-cat, raised for consumption. That the muscles in his body were genetically modified to outgrow his head, including his tongue which often hangs out while he pants like that of a simple-minded canine. It’s also been said that we saved him from certain doom, from being slaughtered and eaten by local peasants, or even from those who might have traded him on the black market to other carnivores who crave the taste of such feline treats. A Lot of things have been said about this cat. He’s a strange fucker, to say the very least. Of course the wife/partner argues that he isn’t “retarded”, that he’s sensitive, but that’s the one-sided view of a debate that I’ll never win. Whether it be god’s meddling or man’s that made this creature so, really not matter to me, regardless of my love for the wife. I do tolerate this peculiar beast, though, who climbs the walls in the wee hours, who doesn’t cover his shit in his litter box, who pisses in our bathroom sink and upon any rug left on the floor; never our carpet or bed where he likes to lounge with a full belly. I tolerate Retardo because I sincerely believe the animal’s retarded. I also understand that the retarded have trouble with bodily functions, animal and human, and deciding where those functions should be performed. I understand, so I tolerate. And as much as Retardo bothers me, his simplicity amuses me. Of course, his “sensitive” actions often reap repercussions from me. Any animal of this nature, who pissses-off others, shall reap certain repercussions. In Retardo’s case, it’s putting the shower rug out of piss-reach and washing the sink out on a daily basis, and my occasional shouts of gibberish which he doesn’t understand. At least he has an excuse for his “sensitive” behavior. I don’t. And my strange behavior has had its fare share of repercussions, like when I pissed in my mother’s floor and then tried to get in bed with her naked while drunk
out of my gord one Christmas night. I’ll never live that one down. In Publishing, it’s when I wrote a column titled, “Coffee Shops & Cock-Suckers”, middle-fingering certain business who refused to carry The Sinner or ones who dropped their advertising over outright lies, as I did in Seattle many months ago. The lies are always the same, their concern for the “children” – as is their high school drama babble, like, “I don’t like that person who writes for you” or “the events (meaning people) you sponsor.” It never ends, regardless of what city you dare publish in. In case you’ve lost my message, repercussions are a mother-fucker. Think about that before you decide to print words like “fuck” and “cock-suckers” and “mother-fuckers” when referring to business owners. I did a day or so later when I thought I should have chosen, “Jackasses and Java Jives” for the heading. But the fuckers that deny us admittance when other publications of the same nature are welcomed are cock-suckers! They never seem to care about the “children” when they carry other publications with escort ads and “1-900-fuck-me” ads. Period! After being kicked out of two coffee shops in one month I felt obligated to speak my mind. Remember the 1st Amendment? But that’s an ideology long lost in this country. Truth. And truth in any publication reaps certain financial epercussions, and that’s where our national media fails us. There’s little profit in truth, whether it be written in media or spoken in politics. National media, or local? As a nation, which do we hold most credible? Most readers would say national, or global, as it has become in this technological era. But what makes “global” more credible? Is it their budget and monopolized markets that consumes the airways with over-educated nitwit pundits that makes us bend to their will of thought? Evidently so. If so, their “sensitive” behavior has its fair share of repercussions too – independent media. I never thought this way before 2000, when I was a dedicated, non-questioning republican. Then I moved to Seattle and started a newspaper of some-sort. Living there forced me to question where our national and local media had failed us, so much that we decided to take this forumstyle publication to St. Louis, Missouri – or Misery as my friends call it. I’m often asked, why St. Louis? There are numerous reasons, but mostly we wanted to spread a bit of our Seattle experience to the midwest, in hopes of helping make the midwest a bit more left. And I don’t know if “left” is even the truth of what we hoped to spread. Free thought and questioning is what we hope to spread, and a true voice that too much of this country lacks. There’s a bit of fear in that, and surely some repercussion. And I expect a bit of that, too, as we continue to piss in a few sinks here in St. Louis. All you can do as an indy publisher is hope the residents continue to be understanding and open to truth. Or hope they at least put up the rug and rinse out the sink after you’re finished like they would for any other retard. And that my dear reader, is a bit of fear and publishing in two cities...
2. Fear and Publishing 3. School Is Out 4. Weapons of Mass Distraction 5. Police State of Mind
6. Piper’s Pit
7. From Stonewall To Pride
Music, Film, Art & Entertainment 10. The Humaniods 11. Huggy Talk 12. Freak Accident Poster
14. Freak Accident Unmasked 15. On The Scene And Heard With Malice 16. One Mother Of A Show 17. CAVO 18. The Sinful Works of Juli Penny 19. Hose For Hope
Religion, Sex, & Other Sinner Shit 8. Annette 9. Our Sinful Community
20. Campfire Tales - Pike Place Market 21. Skin Deep with Stu 22. 7 Deadly Sins of Marissa Curia 23. Outlaws In G-strings
SINdication & St. Louis
Model: Jessica Boston.
Publisher: Chuck Foster Layout: Terri Daniels Cover Art : Juli Penny - Artists and Model: Jonathon McDowell WRITERS, RANTERS, OPINIONISTS & OTHER ALL-OUT FREAKS: Mark Taylor-Canfield Stu Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid Kimberly Peters Paul Blow Jeff Diggs Kristen Ivy Matthew Gorman Lucifer Emily Eufinger Saab Lofton Gabriel Zolman Malice Gina Simon Henry Nicolle Blondie Butler Bill Oberg Jason Sibert The Sinner is a group of contributing writers. Their opinions, rants and ideas do not necessarily reflect the views of The Sinner itself. The Sinner encourages contributions from its readers but retains the right to edit material due to content or length of submission. For advertising or submission information, contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org. Submission deadline is the 25th of every month.
ESSAY | School Is Out by Henry Nicolle
une at last! School will be out soon for a couple months of Summer Vacation. It is an opportunity to examine what we have been teaching our kids and to ask if what we are teaching is acceptable preparation for our future. You know, test our methods and motives for the inevitable "Garbage In - Garbage Out" problem of unanticipated outcomes and their consequences. After all, we have the "best education system government can buy". If I gore your favorite ox by the things I say, feel free to be offended. There are no rules about speech and opinion which protect anyone from being offended. Offense, like beauty, is in the mind of the beholder. Reality, Death and Birth are bloody and offensive. Slavery is offensive. Liberty can be offensive all by itself, especially among personalities which would be offended at what I write. We have a philosophy and structure for self government which says "Do little and do that slowly." We have a dominant social persona which insists "Do something, even if it's wrong." We have a transient population and an embedded institutional memory. Good ideas come and go, the fireflies of summer that bring a spark of light and joy to hearts still young and innocent enough to see beauty and the desire to run and capture their moment. Bad ideas institutionalize and accumulate. They breed and feed in the dark, consuming youth, innocense and life, the acid of
their existence sterilizes any good that might serve Liberty. Our strategic national defense policy is "Irrational Response". Minority sexual conduct has become a major influence on public law, government education and government standards for private conduct. Minority opinion has insinuated forever war on self-determination and sufficiency, on self-defense, on nutrition, on medicine and medication, frankly, on every aspect of our lives. The law and our philosophy of individual Rights, Liberty and Self-determination are no longer relevant in any significant venue of public debate. Minority domination of public law and policy, a curse and blight, birthed under the influence of good intentions and nurtured at the tit of political correctness has now blossomed, a noxious bloom, smothering individual Rights and Liberty . . . smothering the individual and our once reasonably free society. It is not the majority who demand that we bomb the world. It is not the majority who demand that we subsidize the failed monetary systems of the world. It is not the majority who demand that we teach homosexuality, dependence and indebtedness, nor is it the majority who demand that the government buy or bribe our legislative, business and religious leaders to indoctrinate false opinions and promote conduct destructive of independence. Even the majority of the true Patriot minority has fallen to the Siren's call to poverty of soul, endorsing life under the microscope and encouraging a miserable death, having never truly lived. I start off on these circular tangents of negativity after a bout of frustration. An overdose that is generally caused by the insanity of incessant group-think reported in our daily headlines. During the last week or three, (I hate writing in an contemporary mode), one American general has concluded that we have lost another war, "The Afghan war is and will be forever, a stalemate." O.K., all of you who are indignant that I should call that an American loss, I recommend to you the thousands of generals and leaders who have "won" their wars and lost their societies, the wealth and youth of their People squandered to achieve "victory" and its by product, the unintended extinction of the society itself. American policy of forever war as a means of economic stability and world dominance has meant nearly 75 years of "military-industrial-political-economic" sublimation of Rights and Liberty. It has brought us at last, past simple dominance to subservience. I read the comments of another American general who has opined that we no longer need technology superior to those who oppose our ambitions. He says that to feed forever war, we need quantities - large and expanding quantities, of weapons, materials, supplies and bodies to carry them. More war. More soldiers and sailors and airmen and spacemen. More submission of the People to the demands of insane group-think. Where are you in all this? Down for another beer and a new tat? New strings or hooks? Maybe just another stiff one, down the hatch or up where-ever? Whatever. If you think politics is something dirty and not for your delicate little paws, you are living a fantasy and reality is about to do really "dirty things" to you. The people you allow to run our lives are clean and smell pretty most of the time. They speak mostly pretty words. They are insane. Psychopathic. Deadly. Evil. Nasty. Beware. Be warned. Do something, ignorance kills.
Corporate Wars, Part II D
uring a recent interview with US Army war resister Travis Bishop, I was fascinated by his description of how US corporations have been profiting from the war and occupation of Iraq. Bishop was designated as a “prisoner of conscience” by Amnesty International. He was court marshaled in August of 2009 and sentenced to a year in prison for refusing to serve in Afghanistan. After two tours of duty in South Korea and Iraq, he says he was forced to follow his conscience and disobey orders to deploy. Following a conversation with a couple of anti-war activists outside of Fort Hood, Texas, Sgt. Travis Bishop decided he could no longer serve as a US soldier. Bishop explained to me that US fast food franchises and other major corporations were operating inside the “Green Zone” in Bagdad, catering to soldiers and contractors. He stated very clearly that he believes the real motivation for the US invasion of Iraq was never “weapons of mass destruction”. He maintains the war is simply an attempt to gain access to more oil. As further evidence of corporate influence on US decisions to go to war, he cites the widespread use of private mercenaries like Blackwater – commercial military units with no accountability to any government or civilian agency. These paramilitary squads are in fact corporate warriors helping to fight corporate warfare. Bishop is disturbed by the fact that the private mercenaries, many of whom are former Navy Seals or Special Ops, earn ten times the amount of a typical US Army soldier’s pay. It forces one to pose the question – are these corporate soldiers loyal to the people of the United States, or do they owe their loyalty only to the board of directors of the corporation who employs them? Dick Cheney’s Halliburton and Pappy Bush’s Carlyle group have reaped huge benefits from war and mayhem. Dozens of military contractors, including Boeing, have increased their profits and bolstered their stockholdings through their direct involvement in global warfare. After my conversation with Travis Bishop, I realized that the US military is possibly the world’s largest consumer of petroleum. Given that significant fact, it should not be surprising that waging war for oil is a significant part of the nation’s foreign policy. In order to maintain its world dominance, the military industrial complex must use its resources to control major sources of crude oil in the Middle East. This became especially vital to US interests after US troops left Saudi Arabia. According to Travis Bishop, this “strategic military positioning” has led to the US occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan. He does not consider religious extremism or terrorism to be the major causes of the current US military campaigns. Coming from a soldier who had been previously indoctrinated with the most intense pro-US propaganda possible, these views seem extremely radical. Yet Bishop refuses to back down or apologize for his forthright statements. He is still angry at what he sees as an abuse of power to the detriment of both the military and civilians. The US Army is currently
being over-deployed and over extended, forcing the Pentagon In the councils of government, we must guard to create “stop loss” programs against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, which force soldiers to serve whether sought or unsought, by the military-inthree and four tours of duty dustrial complex. The potential for the disastrous before their enlistment is comrise of misplaced power exists and will persist. pleted. The head of the US NaWe must never let the weight of this combination tional Guard admitted in the US Army Ranger newspaper that his endanger our liberties or democratic processes. troops were delayed in respond– President Dwight Eisenhower ing to Hurricane Katrina because of their over-deployment in Iraq, despite official statements to the contrary by the Bush administration. Suicides among soldiers are increasing and mental disorders run rampant among those seriously affected by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and traumatic brain injuries. If Bishop’s theory of blood for oil is correct, the US economic/ military positioning strategy may also have resulted in the recurring threats against Iran, and to interventions in Pakistan and Yemen. Currently secret missions using remote control “drones” are operating in Pakistan and Yemen with the assistance of the CIA. Considering international law, the United States has not only illegally attacked and occupied two nations (without a declaration of war by Congress as required by the US Constitution), it has also repeatedly attacked targets in other sovereign nations in the President Dwight Eisenhower famously warned the US about the name of the “War on Terror” or "military-industrial complex" in his farewell address. the “War on Drugs”. For example, most residents of the US get no information on the secret war in Columbia. During the last half of the 20th Century, CNN, and the reporters who have been in bed with the especially under the Reagan regime, other se- military. The government’s original arguments for waging cret wars were waged with US assistance that resulted in casualties in places like Honduras, war in Iraq have all been flushed down the memory hole Nicaragua, El Salvador, etc. One must also note so that these false flags are never allowed to become a the admitted past assassinations of part of the current media or political discussions about foreign leaders and radical activists in the situation. George W. Bush, Dick Cheney and their any discussion of US foreign policy. cronies have never been prosecuted for alleged war In many cases, the proposed solution crimes and for leading the nation to war based on to various economic or political crises falsehoods. No serious attempt has ever been made has been to start a war, and quite to hold them accountable for their nefarious deeds. often the violence is intentionally pro- Many of their actions at home and in Iraq violated the US Constitution and international law. The actions of voked for that purpose. The US has supplied military Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld have resulted in tens of hardware and support to numerous thousands of US casualties, millions of refugees and regimes around the globe who are in- the deaths of millions of civilians – which is why some volved in military and police activities. soldiers now refuse to serve in Iraq or Afghanistan. You will only hear these facts from independent In fact, according to the US government, the technical term for the US wars in the Middle East is “police journalists like Amy Goodman, Naomi Klein, Chris actions”. The war in Vietnam was also designated by Hedges, Aaron Glantz, and Jeremy Skahill. The rest the US as a “police action”. Afghanistan and Iraq have of the media has tuned reality out, leaving only sound never attacked the US. These are simply proxy wars bytes and slick infotainment news. Professor Noam Chomsky and Ralph Nader are among the few nafor economic and cultural control. How easily we have forgotten that the justification tionally recognized intellectuals who continue to confor the invasion of Iraq was the threat of “weapons of demn these corporate wars of aggression. One rare mass destruction”. Instead, the spin doctors launched example of cogent documentation of these abuses by “weapons of mass distraction” used upon us by the the state is National Lawyers Guild president Marjorie Bush administration - with the help of FOX News, Cohn’s book, Disengagement. But most of the au-
By Mark Taylor-Canfield thentic truth-telling voices have been lost in a vast wilderness of mass media manipulation and obfuscation. Some reporters have been killed on the battlefield while others (Gregg Palast) have been forced to seek employment with foreign press in order to tell the truth about these wars. Dozens of journalists have been detained and arrested by US police while covering anti-war protests in major cities across the nation. Amy Goodman and her producers were arrested in Minneapolis/St. Paul during the last Republican National Convention. These incidents are clear violations of freedom of the press as guaranteed by the US Constitution’s Bill of Rights. When Goodman tried to show her press pass to police, asserting her right to cover the protest and the arrests of her producers, an unidentified federal agent reportedly tore the pass from the cord around her neck and confiscated it. These stories are not merely conspiratorial rants on the part of people with political agendas. The state of US journalism has been in decline for several generations. Major newspapers and other media have reduced the number of reporters on their staff, leaving wide sections of culture and politics unreported. Most large cities now have only one or two large dailies due to unregulated corporate media consolidation. Rupert Murdock and Clear Channel rule the airwaves in most media markets. Corporate wars and media control are the two major legs that modern fascism stands on. Without the military interventions, our defense-based economy starts to falter. The vast billions of dollars falling into the bottomless pits of Iraq and Afghanistan could save this nation from a near catastrophic economic disaster. But the corporate war mongers and their friends among the bureaucrats in government won’t allow this to happen. To them, money is for profit and control, not for repairing infrastructure, providing healthcare or building schools. The power elite’s answer to the poor is - join the military and help the rich create more personal profits for themselves by fighting corporate wars for oil and “strategic positioning”. There’s got to be a better way to protect our interests and raise people’s standard of living. War is only profitable for those who create them. The rest of us continue to suffer as our moral, ethical and economic stature continues to decline in the world. An army should never be used by politicians to increase the profits of corporate interests.
Police State Of Mind Custom Edge Photography
Custom Edge Photography
by Kristen Ivy
his May 4th brought us the 40th anniversary of the Kent State shooting. The guardsmen, who killed four students and wounded nine more, were acquitted. America didn’t get over it that easily. In 2007, a student’s audio recording of the event was released to Yale University. On the tape, a guardsman supposedly says, “Right here! Get Set! Point! Fire!” The recording is still being analyzed for use in an upcoming documentary. The tragedy at Kent State took place during a volatile time. The President had promised an end to a vastly unpopular war, but then expanded the war. That sounds familiar. It took place in a climate where police brutality was rampant, especially against minorities and protesters. That sounds familiar, too. Kent State was a unique tragedy, but something just as appalling could be just around the corner. In the last few weeks, a few news stories have shown that we are not always served or protected by law enforcement. Take, for instance, the internet video showing policemen shooting a family’s pet dogs in front of young children. Their parents had a small amount of marijuana. Baltimore police arrested a couple of tourists from Virginia when they tried to ask an officer for directions. A Gizmodo blogger was subject to a police raid for possession of an iPhone 4G. Seattle is no stranger to these incidents. Last November, fifteen-year-old Malika Calhoun kicked her shoe at Deputy Paul Schene. He threw her into the wall, then the floor, where he proceeded to punch her in the head. And now, the Seattle Police are reviewing an incident where police made racial slurs and kicked a cuffed detainee in the head. It’s not exactly “to serve and protect” anymore. A protest against police brutality at Seattle Central Community College ended in mayhem, with five arrests and the presence of black-clad
anarchists. Masked anarchists were at a similar protest in Olympia, where twenty nine arrests were made. I would be curious to know if these anarchists are the same kind of “demonstrators” that crop up at other protests: Undercover cops trying to provoke a riot. (And provide an excuse for more brutality. They are not without irony). I don’t pretend to know the whole story, but as usual, the media spin on our homegrown protests has been dismissive, if not downright negative toward dissent. The national tone is getting more authoritarian, and the police are increasingly militarized. In April, the US Government authorized the assassination of an American citizen for the first time. With that going on at the federal level, we can’t expect our leaders to care about a few dead dogs or beat-up teenagers. Law enforcement documents equate Ron Paul supporters, people who like the film Zeitgeist, and those who “view police as their enemy” with domestic terrorists. Such dangerous types, “argue that the federal government has gotten away from the intent of the Constitution.” These documents, available on prisonplanet.com, are part of a growing body of evidence. Our police and military are learning that dangerous civilian militias must be combated with force. And if you disagree with the government or watch the wrong documentaries, you’re in the domestic terrorist and modern militia camp. Yell “fuck the police!” all you want, but many of the men and women in uniform are doing a good job. The issue is one of policy, of bad cops left to run rampant. Fuck the police state would be a better sentiment. Mary Ann Vecchio, one of the witnesses at Kent State, believes it is important to remember the 4th of May, “...It shows what can happen if the evildoers get too much power. They can take your freedom away. You could be walking to school, and what happened back then could happen to you.”
B y T h e T i m e I G e t To A r i z o n a written by Saab Lofton “Of the estimated 11 million undocumented immigrants in this country, about six million are of Mexican origin. The others come from Asia, Europe, Africa, Canada and other countries in the Americas. And yet, I have never seen a French waiter described as an illegal immigrant by anyone other than, perhaps, the authorities. The debate, as it is framed now, has become a strictly anti-Hispanic immigration battle cry. And nothing rallies this nation quicker and more efficiently than the presence of an alien.” --The Miami Herald, May 24th, 2006
The anti-Latin bigotry in Arizona is intolerable, but I have a weapon that Latinos/Latinas can use against it: Superman, the most famous/popular fictional character in Human history, is by dictionary definition an illegal alien; at no time did Ma and Pa Kent from Smallville, Kansas call up I.N.S. and say, “We found a Kryptonian baby in a starship that crashlanded in our cornfield...” This is NOT a joke, I’m being deadly serious: It’d be a crime against Humanity worthy of a Nuremberg trial if Superman’s sole purpose was to make DC Comics/Time-Warner Communications billions of dollars, so use the character to beat bigots over the head with. Quit kissing up to idiot patriots by waving American flags at pro-immigration protests and start displaying that famous “S” symbol via T-shirts and so forth while crying out for all to hear, “If you’ll accept Kal-El, then accept Miguel!” In an episode of the hit TV series, Smallville (entitled Subterranean), a young Clark Kent stands up to his Human foster mother in the following scene ... Martha Kent: I want to help [Javier Ramirez] as much as you do, but I took an oath to uphold the law. Clark Kent: All he’s trying to do is find his mom! Martha Kent: I know, but we have to go through the proper legal channels. Clark Kent: Was it legal when you forged my adoption papers? I’m an illegal immigrant, Mom. You’ve been harboring me for over seventeen years! ...and at the end of the episode, Clark gets away with defying the law and helps Javier Ramirez anyway. Speaking of, Arizona’s State Legislature recently passed SB 1070 – legislation that effectively mandates racial profiling and police harassment of Latinos/ Latinas, even though the Fourth Amendment of the Constitution prohibits unreasonable search/ seizure. In addition, even the Arizona Association of Chiefs of Police opposes SB 1070! Superstar actress Cameron Diaz is one of the finest white women I’ve ever seen, but if you blink, you’ll miss that Latin last name; her father, Emilio Diaz (1949–2008), was Cuban. And the odds of someone with Cameron Diaz’s pale skin, blond hair and blue eyes falling prey to Arizona’s SB 1070 are so fucking remote that it’s not worth mentioning, so don’t bother. That, ladies and gentlemen, is white skin privilege. This fucking sickens me. Anyone the least
bit honest will admit that competing with Latin immigrants for jobs is NOT the issue – if it was, these teabagging minutemen would aim their angst at the wealthy and the military for vampirically draining money which could just as soon be used to create ethical/ecofriendly jobs... “Wealthfare – the money government gives away to corporations and wealthy individuals – costs us more than $815 billion a year. That’s more than four times what we spend on welfare for the poor.” – Mark Zepezauer, from his book, Take the Rich off Welfare ...NOR is it a concern over the crime occasionally committed by immigrants ... “Corporate crime inflicts far more damage on society than all street crime combined. Whether in bodies or injuries or dollars lost, corporate crime and violence wins by a landslide. The FBI estimates that burglary and robbery costs the nation $3.8 billion a year. The losses from a handful of major corporate frauds – Tyco, Adelphia, Worldcom, Enron – swamp the losses from all street robberies and burglaries combined… The savings and loan fraud – which former Attorney General Dick Thornburgh called ‘the biggest white collar swindle in history’ – cost us anywhere from $300 billion to $500 billion. And then you have your lesser frauds: auto repair fraud, $40 billion a year, securities fraud, $15 billion a year and on down the list.” – Russell Mokhiber, editor of Corporate Crime Reporter ...oh, NO. The issue is the same as it ever was: Racist white men petrified of their daughters coming home with tan/brown skinned babies ... Except, of course, the only truly “interracial” couple is Superman and Lois Lane since she’s from the Human race and he’s from the Kryptonian race. Unfortunately, since both characters have pale skin, blue eyes and keen facial features, this rarely occurs to anyone (hence my purpose in life, I suppose). The last time I was in Arizona (March 2008), I gave a lecture about the aforementioned at its biggest university, but obscure as I am, I doubt what I said had much resonance. I know that using Superman to combat bigotry would work, but my advice probably won’t be followed and countless Latinos/Latinas will suffer as a direct result of my censorship-induced obscurity. Those within the corporately-owned mass media who’re denying me coverage/ opportunities will pay for what they’ve done. I swear it.
By Jeff Diggs
une 28, 1969 gave birth to the modern day gay rights movement. This date marks the Stonewall Inn riots where residents of New York City took a stand against the NYPD for repeated raids and arrests at local gay clubs. Rioting continued for several nights following the Stonewall Inn r a i d . The Stonewall riots are regarded as the single most important event that led to the modern movement for gay and lesbian issues. The year following the Stonewall riots saw many gay and lesbian groups organized across the United States. Within two years of the Stonewall riots, there were gay rights groups in every major American city as well as Canada, Australia and Western Europe. These groups coordinated the first anniversary rally on June 28, 1970 to commemorate the first anniversary of the Stonewall Rebellion. The rally was called the “Gay Liberation Day March” which was held in New York, Chicago, San Francisco and Los Angeles. In the 1980s, there was a major cultural shift in the Stonewall Riot commemorations. The previous loosely organized grassroots marches and parades were taken over by more organized and less radical elements of the gay community. The marches began dropping "Liberation" from their names under pressure from more conservative members of the community and replacing the name with the philosophy of "Gay Pride”. In the late 1990s, the name “Gay Pride” was replaced with “LGBT Pride” to be more inclusive of diverse lifestyles. LGBT is an acronym for Lesbian Gay Bisexual and Transgender. The shorthand term “Pride” is most commonly used to refer to the LGBT Pride events.
Prior to Stonewall, the LGBT community was persecuted, prosecuted and incarcerated for just being homosexual. In 1947, following World War II and spurred by the national emphasis on anti-communism, Senator Joseph McCarthy conducted hearings which discovered that communists where in the U.S. government, the U.S. Army and other governmentfunded agencies and institutions which lead to national paranoia. Anarchists, communists and other people deemed un-American and subversive were considered security risks. Homosexuals were included in this list by the U.S. State Department in 1950 on the theory that they were prone to blackmail. Under Secretary of State James E. Webb noted in a report, "It is generally believed that those who engage in overt acts of perversion lack the emotional stability of normal persons.” Between 1947 and 1950, over 1,700 federal job applications were denied, 4,380 people were discharged from the military, and 420 were fired from their government jobs for being suspected homosexuals. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and police departments kept lists of known homosexuals, their favored establishments, and friends. The U.S. Post Office kept track of addresses where material pertaining to homosexuality was mailed. State and local governments followed suit. Bars catering to homosexuals were shut down and their customers were arrested and exposed in newspapers. Cities performed "sweeps" to rid neighborhoods, parks, bars and beaches of gays. They outlawed the wearing of opposite gender clothes and universities expelled instructors suspected of being homosexual. Thousands of gay men and women were publicly humiliated, physically harassed, fired, jailed or institutionalized in mental hospitals. Many lived double lives keeping their private lives secret from their professional ones. In 1952, the American Psychiatric Association listed homosexuality in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) as a sociopathic personality disturbance. It remained in the DSM until 1973. This fear of persecution still exists today in many areas of the United States. This June marks the 41st anniversary of the Stonewall Inn riots. If you participate in any of the Pride events, take a moment to reflect on the sacrifices that many people made in order for Pride to be possible. Sometimes you must be willing to sacrifice everything in order to gain equality. Even today, homosexuals are not equals with their heterosexual counterparts. Homosexuals do not enjoy the same legal benefits, social status or community acceptance as heterosexuals. I have confidence that the next 40 years will mark significant advancements for LGBT equality.
By Jason Sibert riendship is one of the most rewarding experiences in life. We laugh with our friends, cry with our friends and talk about all of our problems with our friends in hopes that their problem solving abilities can help us in life’s trials and tribulations. But when friends are of the opposite sex things become complicated because you start to wonder if things can develop into more than a friendship. I’m currently in the above situation, as I’ve fallen in love with my best friend Annette. From the moment I met her I saw a beautiful and sweet girl and wanted to know everything about her. We became the best of friends and my feelings grew from fondness, to caring, to caring deeply and finally to love. What’s the problem with loving your best friend? Don’t the best relationships start in friendship? Yes. But there’s always one fear when friends try to move beyond the stage they’re in – that things will never be the same. Will you still connect on the same level that you did before? Or will the next stage of your relationship lead to the unraveling of anything you had before? Will you become possessive and want to control aspects of the other person’s life that you didn’t before? The nice thing about friendship is that it’s an arrangement that leaves both parties a considerable amount of freedom. Since Annette was with the same guy for years she is very skeptical of long-term relationships and for that reason she knows more of the pain of love than I do. My experience with long-term relationships left me unwilling to engage for a long time so I was spared of some of her experience. Should I keep our relationship the way it is? I can honestly say what we have is great, but I’ve grown so infatuated with the idea of being with her that I almost have to know if anything beyond friendship will work out regardless of the final outcome. Love is a powerful emotion that can open our lives to new ways of thinking about ourselves and our lives – in the case of Annette, I’ve learned that I’m capable of thinking about something besides my writing career. I now know there’s more to life than
what comes out of my word processor while sitting at the local coffee shop. But love is also an emotion which invites disaster – we see this in the number of marriages which break up because one of the parties went looking for love elsewhere, the number of criminals who went the wrong way because they were in love, or the unproductive days, nights and weeks spent pondering what our lives would have been like if we had only been able to live our lives with the one we truly loved. Love, whether it creates good memories or bad, requires us to stay in a dedicated state of mind. But even if we’re dedicated we can’t control what the other person thinks, and we only hope they won’t change their minds about their commitment. Can our mind ever arrive at a state of total commitment? I don’t think so, at least not without giving up the state of mind known as freedom. In a literary love story characters often don’t have to deal with freedom when the story ends, as they’ve found happiness and can think of nothing but the love in their lives. But a story has the advantage of having an all powerful force – the writer – to resolve any conflicts between characters and rob them of their freedom. When we create our story of commitment it’s a very confusing journey, as we find ourselves doubting both ourselves and the person we are committed to. But in the quest we learn things about ourselves that we didn’t know otherwise – I’ve already learned in this friendship that I can commit myself more than I thought before. The great accomplishments of humanity – especially in creative endeavors like art and science – happened because people put aside preconceived notions about the world around them and were willing to learn. Can you imagine living life today if Edison, Einstein, Newton or Beethoven had not challenged the orthodoxies of the time? I feel I can create something really special with Annette and I’ve found that I’m willing to learn even more about myself than before I met her. Right now, I can’t write an ending to this story, but she’s certainly made me believe in my ability to care for another human being, and I can’t argue with that.
HELLO, ST. LOUIS!... AND WELCOME TO THE EIGHTH EPISODE OF
OUR SINFUL COMMUNITY!
I’m still your host, Chet Chesterson, and my job tonight is to feature some of our local businesses and celebrities with a bit of sinful flare to them. So all you in the audience please stand up and give yourselves a round of applause for supporting your sinful community, and all you folks out there watching on the boob-tube, give yourself a pat on the back, too. You all deserve it!
The Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence Howdy, folks! So let’s get right to it tonight, because the gals I have back stage have got plenty to say. And let me say that the people at The Sinner have once again outdone themselves. Just behind that curtain, we have two representatives from The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, Sister Flambée and Guard Hunter... so everyone on your feet to give the Sisters a big sinful welcome!
Come on out gals! Wow! You two look smashing, it must take hours to achieve the final look. How do you do it? Sister Flambée: Thank you for having us here today—it’s such a pleasure to be among so many fellow sinners! And thanks for pointing out the fabulous way we look. You know, many people just assume we’re born this way! But actually, it can take up to two hours or more to complete a manifestation! Each Sister practices for months with white face, color, and glitter to achieve the look that best expresses her calling. Guard Hunter: And as a result, the bathroom sink is usually completely covered with layers of white powder and glitter! So Hunter, you’re not dressed as a nun. Why the difference in your outfit? Guard Hunter: Guards in the St. Louis Order take on a different look. We usually wear a white or black mask and dress in leather or some other manly habit. For example, I often attend events in one of my kilts. Gosh! That sounds like a lot of tedious work. I’m sure that some of the more straight-laced boobs out there in TV land who aren’t familiar with the Sisters are freaking out right about now, so who are you gals? Sister Flambée: Well, you know, freaking folks out is one way to get their attention! And that’s how we accomplish our mission. But, in reality, we’re simply an all volunteer not for profit 501(c) involved in community activities—we just do it as white-face nuns! We work primarily, but not exclusively, in the GLBTQ community. We’re gay, straight, bisexual, transgender, and pansexual. We believe we’ve been called as 21st Century Nuns, Guards, and Saints working to spread universal joy and banish guilt. We’re also dedicated to educating the community about safer sex and providing safer sex packets. And sometimes, we just show up at events or bars to spread joy, give blessings, and make people laugh. We’re out to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable! And I thought the make-up was the most difficult part of being a Sister... boy, was I wrong! Seriously though, I really appreciate your Not For Profit status, so how did the SOPI come to be here in St. Louis? Sister Flambée: Though we’re fairly new to St. Louis, our sistory is long and thick. What is now known as the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence started in San Francisco on Easter morning over 30 years ago. Three men donned nuns’ habits and went out into the streets and onto the nude beach. Well, you can imagine the stir they created, even in San Francisco! But throughout the year they continued to go out into the community in their habits, gathering more interest with each manifestation. By the next year, they began fund raising and getting involved in other community activities. The Gateway Sisters of Indulgence began when two gay men from St. Louis attended San Francisco’s Folsom Street Fair in 2005. After they met Sisters from around the world, they wanted to bring the mission and
work of the Order to St. Louis. As a result of the dedication of our founders Abbess Sister Kristi Kreams and Guard Brian and our early members, on April 10, 2007, the Abbey of the Gateway City was recognized as a Missionary Order by the United Nuns’ Privy Council (UN-PC). On March 15, 2010, our Missionary Order was elevated to a Fully-Professed House. We’re planning our Exequatur Party for late summer where Sisters from across the country will travel to St. Louis to help us celebrate the elevation of our Novice Sisters to Fully Professed Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. I hope your audience will look for announcements of the event and look for the many white-face nuns who will be in town that weekend! This will be an event all Sinners will enjoy—Sisters know how to party! We met last year after PRIDE, as I’m sure at least you remember that evening Sister Flambée... so, just how important is PRIDE for you two and how are the Sisters involved? Sister Flambée: Oh, I personally love Pride in St. Louis. It’s a time when our community comes together to celebrate who we are. For the Sisters, it’s a time to manifest with so many of our community at one time. For some folks, it will be the first time to meet us and find out about our mission. And believe me, walking around the festival is difficult for a Sister, and I’m not talking about the size 11 heels or the makeup melting in the St. Louis heat and humidity! We’re constantly stopped for conversations and photos—and we love to stop and pose! Guard Hunter: But one the greatest thrills for me started with last year’s Pride parade. The Sisters worked with the St. Louis NAMES Project in carrying the AIDS Quilt panels in the parade for the very first time. It was such a moving experience! At first, the crowd wasn’t sure how to respond: silent respect? dignified clapping? But I think seeing white-face nuns and masked guards carrying the panels and encouraging the crowd to enjoy the experience helped people realize the quilt panels represented a celebration of lives. And we just encouraged cheering and joy as we passed by! Well Sisters, this aint San Francisco... is it folks? This is the Bible-Belt... unfortunately. Just to clarify, are the Sisters affiliated with the Catholic Church or any other religion? Sister Flambée: Definitely not! The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence as a group have no connection to the catholic church or any other organized religious group. Each Sister or Guard has her or his own spirituality. Some do belong to an organized religious group. Others are pagan or Wiccan, or, like me, atheist. Some people say we’re mocking nuns when we wear our wimples and veils and habits. But we’re not mocking nuns—we are nuns, doing many of the same things the sisters in organized religions do. Like all nuns, we’ve chosen an outward appearance that helps us to be identified by others. Guard Hunter: If we’re mocking anything, it’s the archaic notions coming out of most organized religions. As one original Sister says, “We’re not really anti-Catholic at all. We’re just anti-guilt, anti-hate, anti-negativity.” OK Sisters, we’re running out of time here. So, how can someone find out more about the SPI or even become a Sister?. Sister Flambée: Sisters’ and Guards’ emails are also available on the Sisters page if you’d like to contact any of us directly. And if any of you Sinners out there think you might be called to be a Sister or Guard, click on the Member App tab, and the Mistress of Novices will get in touch. We hope to see a lot of Sinners out and about soon. And if you’re really a sinner, be sure to come up and say hi. We’ll be sure to give you a blessing done only the way a Gateway Sister can do it! Well, we’re out of time, folks! Everyone give Sister Flambée and Guard Hunter a sinful depart, and be sure to check The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence out online at www.gsoi-stl.or . And don’t be afraid to stop them for a photo or to say hi during the PRIDE parade, they’re nuns for god’s sake!
THE HUMANOIDS – a review by bill oberg I TELL DEBBIE I DON'T WANT TO SOUND LIKE A DICK, but I'm not big on celebrating birthdays, especially my own. She says to come over, anyway. She's a fan of dicks from way back. Just don't be expecting THAT kind of birthday party –– it's a school night and Jenna's still up. If I wanted that kind of party I should have met her years back during her Galaxy club days...Mmm-baby! Parts of her body get sore just thinking about it! So as soon as I'm done masturbating, I make the drive over to Dogtown. And this is how awesome Debbie is. She not only has the song to my favorite movie, "Fight Club" playing as I walk in, but the birthday cake she made reads, "This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time." I won't pretend to know what the Humanoids are singing about. I catch the random word amidst the noise but there's no lyrics on their myspace page –– why is myspace still around by the way? I guarantee whatever they're saying is important though. This band bleeds conviction. Every note is played like these guys' world is riding on it. Which it probably is. Do you remember what it feels like to be twenty-years old? The passion, the desire, the
art by Dan Zettwoch
angst, all swirling, confusingly around? I personally don't cuz it's too far back, but I bet it sounded a lot like this: Drums and bass sounding the march. Two guitars building off the other like friends backing each other's point in an argument. The singer spitting the words out in desperation, as if he senses they won't be there forever. And if they are, they won't matter half as much as they do right now, in this moment. I actually saw the Humanoids play the Blueberry Hill the night before my birthday. Alone. Well, me and a few dozen early twenty-somethings who didn't talk to me and looked at me strange. Why would a cool dude such as myself be alone at a Humanoids show, you ask? Well, a funny thing happens to people by the time they hit the magical mid-thirties. They grow up. And, by growing up, I mean they die on the inside and become a husk of a human being. Thus, music heads at thirty-five have two options: only go to concerts the rare nights your buddies can get away from their, at this point in life, over-bearing and controlling spouses, or, go alone. The Blueberry Hill crowd may have been small, but every last one of them were wise to what was about to go down. These are the people that will be able to say they knew the Humanoids before the bass player's nickname was "Cocaine Johnny"; before the singer had his own reality show; before the drummer's beard was full of STDs. Actually, by the time they break nationally, A LOT of people will say they knew them when. But those people are assholes so we'll ignore them. What I'm trying to say is if the Humanoids DON'T defy the odds then they did something wrong. That's how good they are. So did I feel like an old pervert sitting there trying to not gawk at the young pretties? Sure I did. Part of that may have been the decision to go "Say Anything" and rock the trench coat. Whatever. I'm thirty-five fucking years old. Cut me some slack. My sense of fashion got blurred somewhere along the decades. Besides, one man's leg warmers is another man's skinny jeans. The point is, watching the Humanoids firework to life in a club so small you actually FEEL the music, ignited me, taking age out of the equation, shaving fifteen years off my life. So much so that at the point in the concert when the lead singer starting climbing on things, walking atop people's tables like they were mere stepping stones in his rock-god kingdom, I cheered. Only after the song ended did I do the old man thing and worry about the well being of said tables. Hopefully, the owner had insurance. But no sooner than the next song started, did I forget again. The Humanoids will do that to you.
by Paul Ace Diamond “Huggy” Blow
What are the top ten sci-fi movies of all time? Fuggedaboutit – there’s actually only five sci-fi movies that matter. You know what I’m talkin’ about. That’s right: the Planet of the Apes series. When I was a youngster Planet of the Apes was my life. I loved those films – the makeup, the theme (talking apes), the characters – and I especially loved Roddy McDowell, my favorite actor back in the day, who starred in four of the five Apes flicks. Everything was Planet of the Apes for my brothers and I. We collected everything Ape that was made: action figures, puzzles, models, comic books, kites, etc. I even wrote my own Planet of the Apes epic, which should have been the sixth Apes film, however after writing 150 pages I ran out of steam. But enough of my rambling. Here’s the best sci-fi films in the history of man... and ape... 1) Beneath the Planet of the Apes: the first Apes sequel, made in 1971, is my favorite. This one has it all – ape armies, mutants, a blown-up New York City, Charleton Heston, and a half-naked girl (Nova). This movie combines several genres together: the western, science fiction, and war film. I still remember seeing the movie trailor for this film when I was a wee one – gorillas on horseback shooting machine guns – it horrified me and filled me with awe. My favorite scene is when gorilla General Ursus gives a speech campaigning for war and says, “The only good human... is a dead human!” This is the only Apes film made without Roddy McDowell. 2) Planet of the Apes: the original Apes film, made in 1969, based on the novel by Pierre Boulle. Astronaut Charleton Heston crash lands on a planet where Apes are the masters and humans are animals and the planet turns out to be Earth in the future. Best scene: when Heston is chased through Ape City, is caught in the gorillas’ net and says, “Get your hands off me, you damn, dirty ape!” 3) Conquest of the Planet of the Apes: The fourth Apes film, starring Roddy McDowell as Caesar (son of Cornelius and Zira from the first three Apes flicks). Set in the future when a disease has killed all dogs and cats, so humans keep apes as slaves. The apes are all dressed in coveralls, and led by Caesar revolt against the humans in a riot that destroys the city and leads to the eventual future where apes are the masters of the planet. Best scene: When hundreds of coverall-clad apes charge a police riot-squad line. Awesome! 4) Battle For the Planet of the Apes: the last Apes film made, this one also features a gorilla army (led by General Aldo, played by Claude Akins), a mutant army, and Roddy McDowell as Caesar. The mutant army marches on Ape City, and a huge battle is fought. Great action! I just love those gorilla uniforms. Best scene: when General Aldo is confronted by Caesar for killing Caesar’s son, and the other apes all chant, “Aldo killed ape! Aldo killed ape!” 5) Escape From the Planet of the Apes: the third Apes film. Cornelius (Roddy McDowell) and his wife Zira somehow launch into space in Taylor’s (Charleton Heston) spaceship just as the earth blows up in the final scene from Beneath the Planet of the Apes. They land in the U.S.A. in 1975 or so, and are imprisoned by the humans who fear them. Zira is pregnant and gives birth to the apes’ future hero and leader, Caesar. This film has no gorilla armies, so it’s not as exciting as the other Apes films, and really – how the hell did apes who ride horseback launch a sunken NASA spaceship back into space??? 6) Planet of the Apes T.V. series: sure, it’s not a movie, but the TV series starred Roddy McDowell as chimp Galen. More astronauts land on earth in the future (year 3085 A.D.) where they are chased by lots of hairy gorilla soldier apes led by General Urko (Mark Leonard, who played Spock’s father in Star Trek). This series lasted only one season, but still was the best TV series ever made. 7) Planet of the Apes cartoon series: I can’t remember the year this came out, but it was a Saturday morning cartoon show that sadly lasted just one season. Same premise as before – astronauts land on the earth in the future and are chased by the apes, but this time the apes actually drive cars! A cool cartoon – yes, the best carton series ever made. That’s my sci-fi list. Now go APE OUT!
Rock Star of the Month: General Ursus
written by Chuck Foster
few months ago I found myself shoving metal-heads and punk-rockers left and right to reach the front of the stage at The Fox Hole, just for a solid spot to capture Freak Accident on camera. This kind of undertaking, even by someone of my physical stature, demands a weapon far more deadly than a camera to clear a path through the kind of rugged freaks that were in attendance that night. This wasn’t your runof-the-mill, Hot Topic poser crowd, either; these were metal freaks, who only come out in force for shows of freakish magnitude. And that’s exactly the kind of show they got from Freak Accident. Recently, I sat down with Freak Accident’s lead guitarist Pete for a few minutes to answer a couple of questions about the band. First off, Freak Accident is Pete on guitar, backing vocals and percussion; Don Davinroy on vocals and rants; Chris Kittel, aka: CK, on bass; and Derrick McMillan on drums and percussion. Pete explained that the band, which is one St. Louis’ most solid acts, has been around since 2001. It began when Pete and Don were introduced through a mutual friend, which led to conversations about their musical interests and personal desires to produce something metal. As their discussion continued Pete shared a few songs that he had been working on with Don, concepts he had produced while working with bands like Beside Myself and Rochelle since he was 17-yearsold. The two immediately produced two or three songs right away. The only obstacle now was conjuring a few more like-minded Metal enthusiast to create a band. First up was Derek Bonn, Freak Accident’s first drummer, then came Pete’s cousin, Shane McMahon on bass. Freak Accident was complete and ready to begin playing live shows, yet not all went as planned. “Our first show was at Shenanigans in Belleville, the door was ripped off the hinges. At least we didn`t have to worry about the door hitting our asses on the way out. We were, however, told we were never allowed to play there again.” Perhaps not the best way to start a musical career, joked
Pete. Then about a year-and-a-half later, bassist Shane McMahon left the band to pursue his own Death Metal project. This apparent tragedy, however, brought Pete’s brother, CK, to become Freak Accident’s new bass player. I asked Pete how this transition effected the somewhat new band. He said that with CK aboard they became a lot tighter as a group and began to write more heavier and experimental music, leading to their first 7 song Demo produced at Jupiter Studios and Wednesday Night Records. The band’s new passion quickly set the crowds into a frenzy, developing a cult-like following that hungered the band’s high impact performances. But then Freak Accident suffered another blow in 2007, Drummer Derek Bonn went on to pursue other musical conquests. “Replacing one of the best drummers in the St. Louis area was not an easy task. He was and is that good,” reminisced Pete. “We auditioned a few drummers, but eventually answered an ad on Craigslist. It was Derrick McMillan. The first day he tried out for us, we knew he was in. We hit it off personally and musically. With Derrick in, we began writing our best music yet and our live shows are not only great, but we are having just as much fun as the crowd does, even if it is a little erratic and violent occasionally...Its kinda funny. It all started in my basement and now we`re in Don`s.” For those who have not witnessed Freak Accident live, I feel for your loss. With that said, I asked Pete about the band’s rehearsal, specifically their live set. “The only thing we rehearse is our set list and acting like jack asses. We actually anti-rehearse everything else. We don`t rehearse stage moves. Ya know? Like all jump at the same time? We`re not homophobic, but that’s pretty gay. If you`re into the moment and into the music enough, you can go where the music takes you. That’s what we do live. We move to the music to wherever it takes us in that particular moment and we feed off the crowd. That’s it.” With Pete having mentioned so many dire
straights with the band over the years, I asked him what he considered to be the band’s toughest challenge? “I think the toughest challenge has been, as of late, finding a place to record and putting up with asshole club owners and bullshit booking/promoters in St. Louis. I won`t name names. They know who they are... but the most rewarding aspect has been just watching the crowd react to our shows, and the show we played at Rolla University! That was the shit!” I like to press bands between a rock and a bed of nails every once in a while, so I asked Pete his take on the St. Louis Metal scene. “I think the St. Louis Metal scene is sad and deteriorating. For example, and this is obviously just my opinion, but Pops was half full when Devildriver came a few months ago, but Bullet for my Valentine sold out. To me that’s sad. Bands get jacked around and treated like shit in St. Louis. Especially the young bands. They get taken advantage of. Around here it just seems to be all about money and not the music. How much can a promoter squeeze out of a band? It’s bullshit and it pisses me off. And local bands as a whole bend over and take it right up the poop shoot. We don`t take it though. Que the Twisted Sister song, ‘We`re not gonna take it’. Our assholes are exit only. There is a small but strong Metal movement here, though. You know who you are. And get the Fuck out of St. Louis if you want to make it. Was I negative enough?” I asked Pete what he thought the bands greatest sins were over the years, but all he said was, “Sorry, I can`t answer that. We don`t want to be locked up in jails or mental homes.” And when it comes to tales of road trips and groupies and the media hype behind it all, Pete would only say, “In our earlier days there were moments that lived up to the ‘media hype’ but we all have fiancees and girlfriends now, so we wouldn’t know
anything about it.” Last I asked if he had any thanks or shouts he wanted mentiioned. Of course, he was not short on words. “ Thanks to all of our fans and friends who have supported us through the years...anyone who has ever stood up close in the crowd or moshed their balls off at one of our shows...Bob and Steve and the Fubar, for treating bands like bands and not like one of Tiger Wood`s mistresses. And thanks to anybody else that comes to check out one of our shows or listens to our music. We`re not done yet! We`ve got more to come! Stay tuned in!” As this edition hits the stands Friday evening, you will have time to catch Freak Accident at Conspiracy June 5th at Fubar. After that, go to www.freakaccidentmusic.com or myspace.com/ freakaccident4u for further info on shows, merchandise, forums, or anything else you may want from the Freaks. And to finish with Pete’s last words, “Check us out!”
On The Scene & Heard with Malice photos by Rabid Rabbit
e went to see our buddy Jamey Almond's new band, Butcher Holler, at this place we'd never been to (a new adventure!), Pops Blue Moon located at 5249 Pattison. This is a cozy little bar that's been open since 1908; a groovy atmosphere with lava lamps on the top shelf in Mystic Yellow and Hypnotic Orange, decorated with crescent moons, mardi gras beads, skulls and a trippy pirate in the corner, and of course, the Blue Moon art for the beer. Right away I am HOME. I'm easily entertained watching the lava lamps, checking out the STANDING ROOM ONLY crowd – crowded yes, but you don't feel like you're caught in a death trap. Some of the other places we've been to see Jamey play have been scary little dives in basements, creepy little smoky bars, VFW halls...anyway...THIS was a great place to hang out. All of The Usual Suspects showed up, too. There's a small group of us who have been friends/fans of Jamey for what seems like a hundred years now, and we've been meeting up at his shows forever and a day, but never quite seeing each other in real life, outside of work related situations, but we always come out to see him play. The opening band Jeremiah and the Red Eyes was very entertaining. My immediate impression: they LOOK like they belong in the SAME band, very cool. They were 5 or 6 guys decked out in plaid shirts, Miss Lauren resplendent in a completely matching ensemble that totally coordinated with her electric ukulele, some bluesy, twangy harmonicas, acoustic guitars, and a banjo putting out a clean sound with haunting melodies. Together they produced a definite old-school, garage band feel. I think they're all cousins/brothers, based in L.A., who have spent a year in Nashville, and have played in coffee houses everywhere in California. They had a huge and enthusiastic underground following (well I say "underground", I'd never heard of this band before). Their performance was a lot of fun to watch and I would definitely enjoy hearing them again. But we were all gathered together for Butcher Holler's CD release party (5 songs for $5-you should get one). It was a veritable “Who's Who” for this event – Miles, Prince of Hell bass player was out to show his support for his homie, and Craig Daddy (visiting royalty) came up to play “Festus Bound” and it was almost The Trip Daddys the way it used to be. The Usual Suspects were there too: Mindy, Kat & Ryan, Brad (who it turns out is a friend of Kat's), and our bud Mike (who used to be married to Mindy), and I think Chance showed up later (Mindy's bro who just returned from Iraq), along with a roomful of familiar faces. It was one of the best nights we've had out in awhile (remember, dear friends – if you're hangin' out with me, you're part of the story!). It was so much fun to dance to our old tunes. Jamey still plays our favorite Daddys’ tunes from Doublewide, with a more country flavor. The guys who make up Butcher Holler have a great chemistry, and with the addition of a new guitar player, they sound better than I've ever heard them before! I would best describe their sound as "progressive country" without excessive anguished wailing, but still songs from the gut. Jamey is an outstanding songwriter who can turn anguish and desperation into a really cool song, without a lot of twang. I still wish they would play Motorhead and Mysfit and Social Distortion tunes – you should HEAR him do metal!! But, this is the direction he's taking now and we all are thrilled to hear it. It was a pleasant surprise to see Craig out, as it's a rare thing when he's "on the scene" and not playing. It was an even bigger surprise to see him take the stage for one of our favorite Daddy songs, “Festus Bound”. We're all looking forward to the next Butcher Holler, Jamey Extravaganza! UPCOMING EVENTS HOMETOWN HERO, RONNIE "ELVIS" JAMES IS COMING HOME FOR A VISIT The party will be June 11 at Mamacita's 6245 Gravois, starting at 6pm. He's been kickin' some serious ass out in Hollywood for the past 6 years. He’s the old guitar player for Dead Celebrities, who used to open for The Trip Daddys. If you're a friend of his or a fan from back in the day, you'll want to come out and see him!! See you all at the next show!! Your pal, Malice
Clownvis and his mother hosting.
One Mother of a Show: Motherload Sunday May 9 at The Fox Hole text and photos by Emily Eufinge
other’s Day night at the Fox Hole brought a plethora of performances, all paying tribute to mommy dearest in some very sexy ways. Proceeds from the night went to Planned Parenthood: “So that we can have children when we want, and enjoy sex, like we already do.” At the entrance, Vanittimeless Flair andmother- Vanit Flair and the Jiggleasduo McGee daughter Joan and Jiggleas McGee in “Wire Hanger Melissa Rivers sold raffle in “Wire Hanger Theatre” tickets for massages Theatre” and other such goodies, and openly offered unsolicited fashion advice. The event was hosted by Clownvis and his adorable mother, who first tried to set him up with Foxy La Feelion, then repeatedly warned him to stay away from “those types of girls,” i.e., the women displaying their assets on stage that night. Vanity Flair and Jiggles McGee performed a series of hilarious skits to highlight the mother/ daughter dichotomy of a celebrity adopting a child for the publicity; the over-the-top acting drew roaring laughter from the crowd. Foxy La Feelion cooked up a confetti shower in her makeshift kitchen on the stage, Mimi Le Yu impeccably portrayed Mrs. Robinson and seamlessly seduced Swifty Deeds to a Simon & Garfunkel song, and Michelle Mynx gave birth to a feather boa baby stuffed up her slip while shimmying to Stockard Channing aka Rizzo’s “There are Worse Things I Could Do” from Grease. Sturdy Gurlesque channeled Anna Nicole Smith with astounding accuracy, setting a few sequins on her bra ablaze, popping pills, singeing her ass a bit, and ripping her bra off in a flourish of glittering finery before finally passing out.
Champagne Splits danced to a Nick at Nite version of “Fever,” containing lyrics pertaining to such classic TV shows as “Leave it to Beaver,” “I Love Lucy,” and even “Star Trek.” June Cleaver never polished a television antenna the way this woman did. Trekkies, prepare to swoon; the pièce de résistance: Starship Enterprise pasties. Wardrobe malfunctions abounded, as they tend to do around scantilyclad women. Upon taking the stage, Lola Van Ella’s bra came unhooked and she couldn’t get it back together. Muttering, “Aw, fuck it,” she tossed it aside and both crooned and cavorted already stripped to her pasties. Michelle Mynx’s fiery-haired counterpart Katrina Dohl lost one of her pasties at the beginning of her feathered fan frolic, but wasn’t phased Joan and Melissa in the least. She Rivers greet guests upon their arrival didn’t miss a beat and finished brilliantly—the crowd ecstatic to get a tit more than they planned for. Finally, the incomparable Michelle Mynx and Katrina Dohl of Gravity Plays Favorites combined to finish things up with their unforgettable pole acrobatics and indefatigable strength; their thighs encircling the floor-to-ceiling pole, each other’s torsos, and the audience’s hearts. All the exceptional performers demonstrated their love of motherhood in unique ways, using fishnets and fire, sparkles and sequins, lipstick and lots of love. Just don’t tell Momma; what Momma don’t know, won’t hurt her.
Bands You Should Know About because when Malice tells you to go check out this band, homie, ya do it. No Questions Asked.
ocal success story CAVO is a St. Louis band who MADE it big recently, and landed a major record deal with Warner Bros/Reprise...so in this case, I may be the LAST one to jump on their bandwagon. Everybody's heard about them but me... and just as my luck would have it, no sooner than I make the connection between THAT song I heard on the radio ("Champagne") and THIS band – they left town for an extensive tour with Daughtry and Lifehouse. I missed them by about a month, and they won't be back home until fall-ish. Their CD, Bright Nights * Dark Days is out now, however, so I can listen to them any time:) But YouTube is a wonderful thing. I have been able to catch up with the band while they're on tour by spending a considerable amount of time on their MySpace page watching their videos. Chad, their drummer, seems to be the spokesman for the group. He's as comfortable in front of a camera giving spontaneous interviews as he is on stage playing for a multitude. I've watched footage from a backstage birthday party @ Pierre's in Indiana (I have friends there who saw them then) where Chad takes a tour of this really cool mall in Flint, MI.; then later find myself watching the making of the video for "Crash" which is, at this moment, THE song I've got to hear 1000 times a day. The video is filmed in a junk yard amidst all the wreckage, which is HUGELY appropriate because the song is about this amazingly beautiful woman who's all kinds of messed up inside, but he's willing to be there to catch her when she crashes and burns, one more time; she can't push him away, he won't go away, he'll be there, through it all, no matter what. THIS is the song that reached out and grabbed me, pulled me in and made me want more. Sometimes all it takes is a song to FIX me. Sometimes all it takes is a song to bring me back to myself and make me face reality. Sometimes all I need is a song that's going to take me home and keep me there. "Crash" is the one that does it for me. "You're a beautiful wreck, now you're out of control, crossing the double lines. You’re a perfect disaster, the road to catastrophe, don't stop for the signs... every mile gets you further away from the past, feels like you're shattered and covered in broken glass, I'll be here the next time that you crash...losing control, can't you see that you're running too fast...” THIS is the one that speaks to me.
Then I’m on to the making of "Let It Go" filmed inside someone's house, which appears to be here in The Lou. This is another great song from a truly phenomenal band, who also happen to be splendidly clad pretty boys in very tight pants. I love watching Brian, the bass player, the way he moves is simply hypnotic – I've never met the man in the flesh, or held an actual conversation with him, but his ink has been tellin' me stories for days and daze and days. Casey is an AMAZING vocalist with an incredible range, even the "la di da" part in that one song doesn't come across as one BIT girlie! Chris is a virtuoso on guitar. And not only is Chad a funny guy in the videos, he's quite an accomplished drummer. I would LOVE to see these guys in action! They've come a long way from playing outdoor shows in the Ozarks. These guys are not an overnight success, having been around for nearly nine years. Their debut album, The painful Art Of Letting Go, came out in 2006, and was dealt with the usual production delays, one member's failed marriage, and even a former member's addiction. These guys have had the rug jerked out from under them more than a few times and they've still managed to land on their feet. A shared passion has united them in their mission for creating something both powerful and real, something that will stand the test of time. I first heard of CAVO from a friend of mine who is, himself, quite a big deal on the music scene. And when the front-man of one of my favorite Memphis bands, PROSEVERE, mentions a band's name – I take note. Gary was a fan of CAVO before they landed their record deal, and gives credit where credit is due, from one brilliant songwriter to another. Not having seen them for myself, I've also asked other local musicians for their take on CAVO. From another camp, I hear that they're very commercial and rely too heavily on their image (um, ok, they're pretty and they get radio play, not to mention they look really good in their videos), while others claim that they sound too much like every other St. Louis band. Maybe I'm out of the loop, but St. Louis is THE Rockabilly Capitol of the WORLD and I haven't heard anything like this EVER. But, in the end, I'm going to go with my gut, or rather my ears, on this one. But, don't take my word for it...check 'em out on all the usual places: www.MySpace.com/cavomusic, Facebook, and stalk them daily on Twitter. Then watch their videos, fall in love with their sound, but most importantly, go see one of their shows. I'm betting this band will be around for a very long time to come.
The Sinful works of wtitten by Chuck Foster
uli Penny grew up in southeast Missouri, just north of Cape Girardeau. Her earlier days were spent watching Stephen King flicks with her mother and whittling time away with her grandfather, a local mortician. Perhaps that’s where the greater extent of her morbid photography stems from, past experiences which welcomed the mortality of humankind instead of making it taboo. Stepping beyond the analytical realm of her work, Juli says that her passion for photography began with a crappy point-and-shoot camera during her sophomore year of college when she attempted a Bettie Page inspired shoot. But from there on she was hooked. With a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice and Spanish, she admits to having no “formal” education in photography. However, she does feel that her formal education certainly influenced the darker side of her work. For Juli it was learning about the criminal mind, the corruption of the American justice system, and all that comes with processing a criminal case which brought out some
ly, this was actually one of her first shots with professional lighting equipment, and a shot which demanded serious Photoshop on her behalf to capture the grisly look she envisioned. She described a shoot which involved her and the model literally spaying a bed sheet on her porch for a graffiti look, then grabbing an old base board with jagged nails protruding from it, and then applying blood to it and the model while attempting to keep the scene as clean and white as possible. With that scene embedded in my head, I asked Juli about the cover shot, what alternate effects she used to produce it. She explained that this particuliar shoot was actually centered around her boyfriend, John Adams, and her make-up artist, Jonathon McDowell. Since she knew John lacked modeling experience she had Jonathon pose first to break the ice, which is the image we chose for the cover. She felt that John would feel a bit more comfortable for the shoot after watching Jonathon pose and position himself first, which worked as planned. The shoot itself took place in the south Grand district, which had a 20foot black stone fireplace that took up the entire foyer in a renovated Victorian she was renting. She thought it was the perfect dark, rough background for the greasy, grungy look that she was looking to capture. Jonathon did the makeup on himself and John and they experimented with body contouring makeup, which highlighted their muscles and gave a “dirty” look to the skin, like he and John had been working under a car all day. Juli was attempting to capture an image that was fashionable yet masculine as well. In post-processing, she accentuated the highlights and shadows even more, and applied a grungy filter that sharpened the edges significantly. Being a new photographer on the scene, I asked Juli what challenge has been her toughest to overcome. Years ago, she says that it was clients not taking her seriously, as she was young and too often projected as having somewhat of a “devil-may-care attitude.” Playing the angels advocate, I asked what had been her greatest reward as a photographer. For Juli that’s been bringing out something in a subject that they did not know they could project. She says that it’s also the vulnerability of human life that makes it something to appreciate, admitting to get a kick out of freaking people out with that as well. To wrap this interview up I asked Juli if she had any last words or shouts of thanks to add. First on her list of thanks was her makeup artist, Jonathon McDowell, adding that he is Model: Ashley McDonough a stellar compliment to her. She also wanted to mention Ashley McDonough, aka Koffin Kitten, for being her muse. “Withof her more morbid and cynical views on the world. It was then out her, I wouldn’t have produced half of my overall work. She Juli purchased a SLR camera and begin learning the “ins and is a girl who will try anything once, twice if she likes it, and outs” of aperture, shutter speed, lighting, make-up, Photoshop, will go further than anyone else I have ever worked with to etc. This led her to spend a lot of time with her nose buried in get a good shot.” photography books and online tutorials, not to mention shadJuli recently had a few pieces featured at Alice, owing other established photographers and watching how they an art show at Koken Art Factory based around difworked. ferent concepts of Alice in Wonderland. To get a When I asked her how much value she placed on her lack grasp of what Johnathon and her are capable of formal education in photography, she said that she considers of, look closely to your right at “The White photography to be more of a skill or talent that certain people Queen”. Together the two created a beautiful have, that you’re either born with an ability, and hone it, or you queen, only one in drag. The model is actually choose to learn a skill, and then hone it.. With that said, she says Jonathon McDowell! I couldn’t believe it, either. Havthat many of the artists she knows and respects never went to ing admired several of those pieces greatly, I asked school, at least not specifically for their art. She does acknowl- Juli about any other showings she might have planned. edge that educating yourself with the basics of photography in Right now she is considering entering some pieces into general helps to keep your mind sharp and therefore makes the the 13 Plagues show coming to Koken Art Factory in August. creative ideas easier to process and make real. Until then, you’ll have to venture to www.julipennyphoto.com Some of the images we featured by Juli are macabre in na- to view more of her work. I promise it to be time well spent... ture, such as “Sweetness of the Aftermath”. This was a potential whether your heart desires the macabre, sinful or beautiful, need cover shot, so I asked Juli how this photo came to be. Surprising- not matter, all is there.
Model: Ashley McDonough
Model: John Adams
Model: Jonathon McDowell
Hose for Hope
va Lucien came up with “Hose for Hope” when Conspiracy was planning its pantyhose drive. She got to thinking about how many burlesque dancers she knew, and how many people might like to "save" their pantyhose from a fate in the oil and muck. So, she rounded up some of the area’s top performers to do photo shoots and donate a pair of their hose to auction off to the highest bidder. The auction will be held online, with the winners receiving a signed glossy and of course the pantyhose themselves arranged in a frame. Proceeds will go to benefit Matter Of Trust. Hopefully we will get enough response to throw a presentation party for the winners, with some of our lovelies performing, a live band, and a DJ. This issue is very important to Eva, as she has deep personal ties to the Gulf Coast and New Orleans in particular. We should all be alarmed and ready to help, as this is a catastrophe with ramifications that are not even completely clear yet. Not only that, but what a fun way to help, you get to bid online for a dancer's panties, and still feel good about it! Saturday May 29th Eva opened her home up for the first photo shoot. Photographers Rocky Andreotti, Amber Hodges and myself photographed Eva, Sugar Cyanide, Rayna Skye, Kay Dolores and Gabriel Zolman. Another photo shoot is scheduled for Sunday June 5th. I am looking forward to the end result. To find out more information or if you would like to get involved you can find us on facebook under “Hose for Hope.”
text and photos by Gina Simon
What’s going on this summer…. ART – in all forms This summer Max Iver and Ikon Entertainment, in collaboration with Skeleton Krewe, will bring you 13 Plagues - A Music and Art Masquerade. This is scheduled for Friday, August 13th, from 7-1am at Koken Art Factory. 13 Plagues is an idea Max came up with last year combining Art and a dark Masquerade. After some thought he figured what better day to do it than Friday the 13th. From there it just took off. His hopes are to make it a huge multimedia show so that there is a large interactive feel and something for everyone to see. There will be a wide variety of entertainment, including the amazing national act Beats Antique, a tribal fusion belly dance, along with St. Louis’ own Sinfinis, Brown Bottle Fever, Ami Amore‘, Go Go McGregor….and lots more!!! To Max the most rewarding part of doing an event is not the number of people who come, but to see how
excited they are to be there, participating by being in costume and meeting new people. The evening promises good vibes, art and great performances, wanting people to come back for more. He plans on doing this event yearly with new and different performers. Skeleton Krewe – Max Iver, Charity Torvea, Ami Amore’ and myself – have a lot of ideas and we are cooking up an amazing interactive show similar to the Alice show- in December- You won’t want to miss this!! In the meantime-Mark your calendars, get a costume and Artists get your art submitted! OPEN CALL FOR ART Submission deadline: July 13th. You can get all the details on Facebook under Ikon Entertainment or 13 Plagues.
By Matthew Gorman
ithin the vast lagoon of the Adriatic Sea in northeastern Italy, that is home to the beautiful city of Venice – a scenic metropolis long regarded as a romantic destination for lovers both young and old – lays a small island with an all together different sort of reputation. The island is called Poveglia, and it is said to have been the site of countless deaths throughout its long and sordid history. It is claimed by many that the Venetian locals shun the island and even refuse to speak its name, and that its dark shores are littered with the ashes and bones of those who perished there in ages past. Legend also has it that the tortured souls of these long dead still walk this island of horrors, sometimes even wreaking their havoc upon the living who find themselves unlucky enough to venture there.
photo by Chris 73 bad outbreak of the plague in 1576 literally thousands upon thousands of the infected, including children and even babies, were taken, often kicking and screaming, from their homes in Venice and out to the island of Poveglia to die. Legends claim that anywhere from 160,000 to 180,000 plague victims met their ends upon this accursed island over the centuries, the majority of this number during the 1576 outbreak.
A Brief History Poveglia was inhabited as early as the 5th century but didn’t become densely populated until around the 9th century. In the following centuries, however, it grew in importance to the region of Venetia and even developed its own local government, although it was never completely autonomous from the greater Venetian government. In 1379, when the Italian city-states were at war, the Genoan fleet came to attack Venice and the inhabitants of Poveglia were evacuated lest they had been quickly dispatched by the enemy onslaught. A fortification was built upon the island shortly thereafter to defend the city of Venice from the encroaching enemy ships. The edifice came to be known as “The Octagon” and still stands upon Poveglia to this very day. After this time, the island remained largely uninhabited for centuries until 1777 when it fell under the jurisdiction of the Venetian Public Health Office and was used a checkpoint to inspect incoming vessels before they entered into Venice. After several cases of bubonic plague were discovered on two ships in 1793 the island was transformed into a quarantine station for the ill. It remained in this capacity until it was shut down in 1814.
The Legends Legends abound concerning the goings on about Poveglia throughout its history, and none of them are very pleasant to say the least. It is claimed that Poveglia was used as a quarantine and “plague pit” as far back as Roman times and continued to be used for just such reasons each time the plague spread throughout Europe. Those suffering from the plague would be dragged from their homes and ferried over to Poveglia where they were condemned to live their final moments on Earth in giant pits of the dying and already dead. The bodies, as the story goes, would be subsequently burned in huge bonfires (the origin of the word bonfire actually comes from “bone fire”, a fire hot enough to burn human bones) and the greasy ashes of their corpses soon covered the island like a layer of silt. It is said that even today the local fishermen refuse to operate their vessels near the island, as they would often find the bones of the long dead in their nets whenever they did. The story continues that during one particularly
And to add to the horrible history of Poveglia, in 1922 it is said that a mental institution was constructed on the island to house the insane of Venetia. The hospital was allegedly presided over by a sinister doctor prone to cruel experimentation upon the patients entrusted to his care. It is claimed that he would often perform crude lobotomies with hand-operated drills or simply with a hammer and chisel and without even the smallest mercy of anesthesia upon the hapless lunatics. During this time, many of the mental patients were said to have reported seeing the ghosts of long dead plague victims, but as these men and women were already deemed insane no one would believe their claims of rotting corpses shambling about the island in spectral agony. The doctor’s solution to these terrified tales of the walking dead was to simply conduct more lobotomies, which he is said to have carried out within the asylum’s bell tower. Eventually, it is said, the doctor began to see the ghosts as well. They tormented him and drove him into madness. Then one night, so the legend goes, the spirits dragged him up to the top of the bell tower and either pushed him or forced him to jump to his death on the hard stones far below. Only the doctor didn’t die right away. As he lay broken and bleeding at the base of the bell tower a nun who worked at the hospital claimed that she witnessed a strange mist come up from the ground and enter the doctor’s mouth. As she looked on in resolute terror, the ghostly fog appeared to choke the final vestiges of life from the mad doctor’s shattered body. And now, too, the doctor’s ghost has joined the ranks of Poveglia’s dead. On a quiet night it is said that you can even hear him ringing the tower’s bell, its eerie toll echoing across the darkened lagoon. Another disturbing tale concerning Poveglia alleges that in more recent years a wealthy Venetian family traveled to the island with the intention of purchasing the land cheaply from the government and constructing a summer home upon it. It is said
that they fled the island before the night was through and refused to speak of their ordeal to anyone. Their daughter’s face had been ripped open – by who or what the family would not say – and needed twenty stitches to close her wound.
The Reality Here’s the kicker though, as tantalizing as these tales of terror may be to those of us who enjoy a good oldfashioned ghost story, the legends are, for the most part, complete and utter bullshit. First off, there appears to be no historical record of plague victims being quarantined on Poveglia until the previously mentioned cases of plague discovered in 1793. True, after this time, Poveglia was indeed used as quarantine and as is so often the case with the bubonic plague. I’m sure that the majority of those infected did, in fact, die upon the island. Also, as the burning of bodies was the accepted method for disposal of the infected dead (so as to prevent the further spread of the disease), I imagine that their bodies were burned there as well. But the numbers were nowhere near the numbers of legend, and the conditions on Poveglia were a far cry from the ghastly pits of the dead and dying attested to in the legends concerning the island. Historical records actually show that many of the infected had private rooms and nurses looking to their care. And as for the huge outbreak of plague that occurred in 1576, it wasn’t even Poveglia where the infected of Venice were quarantined. During this time, in fact, it was a different island in the Venetian Lagoon called Lazzaretto Nuovo where the plague’s victims were brought to die. Furthermore, the total number of plague deaths during this outbreak in Venice was only around 8,000 persons, still a substantial number, but quite a bit removed from the tens of thousands of myth.
Oh, and that mental hospital with the mad doctor and his bizarre experiments? Well, the building in question was actually a retirement home, and a rather nice one at that. And while I suppose that some abuses by the staff may have occurred, I’m guessing that hammer and chisel lobotomies were not in their playbook. And since there was no actual insane asylum, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that the horrible doctor
more than likely never even existed either. As for the tale of the family fleeing the island and their daughter’s face being ripped open, it’s simply hearsay, and so it may or may not have occurred. And even if it did, the girl may, in fact, have suffered her injury through completely normal means such as being attacked by a wild animal or by slashing it on something sharp during an accident. While I was a bit disappointed to find the legends of Poveglia to be sorely lacking in historical credence, the thing that I find the most irksome is that the island has been featured on two reality series, Scariest Places on Earth and Ghost Adventures, both of which simply reiterated the fantastical legends concerning Poveglia as hard fact. “Facts” that I easily found to be mostly fabrication after only the most rudimentary bit of Internet research. Sure, it made for great television but how about a little fucking integrity, especially in a field of study so oft maligned by the established scientific community?
Still… Of course, this isn’t to say that Poveglia isn’t actually haunted, in fact, I believe that it may well be. You have to remember that plenty of people did still die here from the plague, in military skirmishes, and I imagine that even those elderly people in the retirement home may have met with tragic fates involving terminal disease and suffering, all the sorts of things that can lead to restless spirits. As much as I’ve already expressed my displeasure with the show Ghost Adventures (the guys on the show remind me of a group of high-strung douche bag frat boys), the episode where they went to Poveglia was, nevertheless, a very interesting one. Lead douche bag, Zak, claimed to have been confronted and “possessed” by an angry spirit, which I had a bit of trouble believing because these guys always seem to over-dramatize everything to make the show more exciting. I do truly respect Jason and Grant’s more measured approach on the show Ghosthunters, but these Ghost Adventures guys are a bunch of fucking clowns. Still, they did manage to catch a startling piece of evidence on video, a dark and sinister looking shadow that appears to move independently from any light source down the length of a pillar inside one of the island’s buildings. If they didn’t fabricate this evidence (something that I wouldn’t put past these douche bags and this fucking show) then it is a creepy and amazing little glimpse of what may very well be a ghostly entity. Also there have been tons of reports over the years by groups of amateur ghost hunters who flouted authority (the island is off limits to the general public) and traveled to Poveglia. Many of them have had exciting and sometimes terrifying experiences there that they claim have been nothing short of brushes with the supernatural. Recently, plans have been made to open up a hotel on the island, and there is already a secondary school for boys functioning there as well. With more and more people traveling to Poveglia in the years to come it will be interesting to see if any more reports of the paranormal surface as time goes on.
Skin Deep with Stu Photography by LB Photography (LBfoto1@yahoo.com)
et me start by Saying that the purpose of this monthly column is to offer information and a personal view on matters involving body piercing and modification and is in no way meant to put myself above any other artist in the industry. Secondly, if you have a horror story and choose to share it with us, DO NOT give the name of the artist involved as I will just omit it anyway. There are many artists in the St. Louis and surrounding areas that deserve nothing but the utmost respect from myself and supporters of our shared profession. If you have a question about piercing/modification, a story, or just a desire to better understand the culture and would like that answered, please send them to: Stu@StuModifies.com. Dear Stu, I saw you perform a few months ago with your suspension crew and was super impressed. You guys were a lot of fun to watch and it really made me think about doing a suspension myself. I was wondering what the process is for getting yourself ready for something like that and also how do you know when you are ready. – Sincerely, Jessica First, thanks so much for the support. We have a large scene about to explode in this city and there are many great artists working to make sure that St. Louis is placed on the map not only as a place where you can get an amazing tattoo but as a place that you can receive quality body modification and ritualistic aid. Believe me in the next few years you will be seeing more of what we do and all of us will need the support of our community now more than ever as we seek to expand the minds of this great city. So thank you once again for wanting to get active. Keep up the great work. Now on to your question… Suspension is certainly not something you just jump into, at least not in my opinion. For me I require a face to face consultation, unless of course you are from another state. In that case we would most likely talk multiple times by phone, and a minimum of one month mental/physical preparation prior to agreeing to anything. The steps given in preparation are quite simple really, we talk about breathing, diet, living habits and pain acceptance along with discussing the many different thoughts/ emotions you may encounter while suspending and how to deal with them. Please note: just because we cover all of the bases that I just mentioned, it still does not mean that you will get in. This is not meant to discourage but, instead, a way for me to screen and get a feel for my cliental before the act takes place. If I don’t feel com-
fortable suspending you, or for whatever reason feel you are not ready, I simply will not suspend you. This is how I do my best to assure positive experiences and the safety of the participants. I WORK HARD TO NOT DECLINE BUT SOMETIMES THERE IS NO CHOICE. As for knowing when your ready it’s just kind of something you come across in your own mind. You see the act clearly in your head and you watch yourself achieve your goal over and over again as if you have already done it a hundred times before. The drive to go through with your decision shoots through the roof and you feel unstoppable until the moment you are faced with the hooks. A light fear and doubt will shadow your mind but you allow the negativity to pass and soon you confront the rig. This is the time where the real decision is made. You may feel afraid, you may distrust the rig or even the artists assisting you, but it is in this instance that you must remind yourself why you are in the position in the first place and why you selected the artists that you did. That brings me to one part I feel you left out “SELCTING YOUR PRACTITIONAR”. Suspensions are very personal and every artist handles them a little differently with only really a diagram of safety rules and regulations to protect their clients connecting their styles. You must remember that even if you are not doing this for a spiritual reason, or perhaps don’t even believe in anything of that nature, there is still a certain feeling that you are going for and it is important to select an artist/crew who fits best into your image of the experience. Just make sure you do your research and trust the situation fully. I wish you luck in your journey and hope that you will continue assisting our community in building itself. We are, after all, empowered by our supporters. Many Thanks, Stu
All questions will be answered by email or by a request for you to call me directly and may be in the next issue of the St. Louis Sinner! Thanks for reading! Stu (Myspace.com/StuModifies - Facbook.com/StuModifies) Self Inflicted Studios (Myspace.com/sistl) 1328 Washington Ave in St. Louis - (314)-621-4660 Stu@StuModifies.com
THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS OF...
Marissa Curia M
The feeling of a lot of money covering my flesh. That burning desire we all have that won’t stop until we have obtained what we have our eyes on.
An eye for an eye. I will make you taste death. You burn me and I’ll light your ass up!
If I could sleep all day and night I would be thrilled. Hell, even just lounging around and not having to worry about work would be nice!
Forrest Blvd Kingshighway
olly Shrine, aka: Marissa Curia, is a local model who first posed for the camera in bondage gear. Molly says that she has always loved dressing up and has always wanted to perform, so she thought she should put the two together and compliment her passions. She is well known for her work with photographer Gina Simon, but she is certainly making a name for herself as a performer. Over the past year she has been on stage playing with fire, grinding metal from her body, and has even performed with local Devil-Rockers, Sons of Black Mass. Her turn-ons generally change but she likes someone who gives her goose-bumps. And admits that having a dark and strong presence usually really gets her attention as well as someone who is extremely creative. Her turn-offs are people who are fake and people who pretend to have the same interests as she does. So now, please enjoy the confession of Marissa Curia...
I tend to want people’s money. If you would like to give me all your money please feel free. You can sleep easy knowing it will all be going towards super cool things that will make me smile! :-)
If I want to do something I try to do it. I have always taken pride in that about myself. I want to learn everything I can. I don’t like to fuck around.
The never ending, forever pounding, always conquering feeling of extremes begging for release. Go above and beyond your desires and let yourself be free.
I love food and I love cooking and going out to eat. I would love to be able to cook dinner at least 3-4 times a week.
Mon - Sat Noon to 9pm - Sunday Noon to 5pm myspace.com/stlouissinner
Outlaws in G-Strings: Mitzi Dupree Stories of and from a Notorious Stripper by ‘Blondie Butler’
anada, back in the early eighties, was the stripping capital of the world. Most towns that held more than fifty people had a pub, and most pubs, no matter how tiny, had a stripper stage crammed somewhere in the corner of the room, on which the week’s exotic entertainment would strut her stuff (and often that ‘stuff’ would be downright frightening). Usually, the smaller the town and its pub, the crappier the dancer (and in one of my stories I will regale you with the literal description of what happens when a peeler decides to do gymnastics while suffering from loose bowels - but let’s start off ‘easy’, shall we?). The dancers these little pubs could afford to hire were little more than drug-addicted street urchins who would barely make enough at the end of the week to pay their bar tab. Sometimes the bar got lucky enough to score a young dancer who was trying to break into the stripping circuit. Sometimes these gals would even be goodlooking. Other times a ‘feature’ (headliner) dancer would somehow piss off her agent so badly that it would cause her to be relegated to one of these backwoods lumberjack breeding grounds. However, there were some ‘big name, little town’ acts that would actively seek out remote clubs in which they could earn their (often impressive) wage. These strippers were the ones who had become notorious for some reason – like performing an act that the Canadian Liquor Control Board considered too ‘obscene’ or ‘pornographic’ for any 19-years-and-up, beer-swilling, naked-gal-loving crowd to watch. Now, I have witnessed a lot of stripper acts that could be called obscene and some most definitely have fit the porn category, but I can’t say I’ve ever witnessed an act that was so graphic that any of the men in the bar would have walked out. Quite the opposite. The only men who would ever get upset at….say…a stripper using her ass lips to remove the cap from beer bottle (and another Notorious Stripper, ‘Harley’, was famous for this), would be the
dumb-asses who didn’t make it to the bar in time to see her do it! Needless to say, none of the dancers appreciated Big Brother telling them what they could or couldn’t do with or to their pussies – especially the men who liked to watch dancers doing things with or to their pussies. It’s no surprise that the LCB was unilaterally despised by most healthy, horny, gonad-carrying men – and the strippers unfortunate enough to suffer constant persecution from the LCB became Notorious outlaws. The only places the Notorious Ones could work without fear of being arrested or closing the club down (or both), were in the little pubs that were located in the very-out-of-the-way towns. Of course, a dancer with a reputation of being ‘obscene’ and/or ‘pornographic’ pretty much guaranteed herself a loyal male following; it wasn’t uncommon for hundreds of men to travel for hundreds of miles to see a Notorious Stripper. The small town hosting her would be bursting at the seams with a sudden influx of truckers and lumberjacks, miners and oilrig workers, cowboys and suits alike. It was at one of these tiny, hole-in-the-wall pubs, while passing my own newbie-purgatory, where I had the chance to witness one of the most arguably talented strippers in the world waddle into Notorious Stripper History. Revelstoke, Alberta, in 1984, was – exactly as it is today – a sleepy little town hunkered down in the midst of the great Canadian Rockies. Dumb and Cum’s dart had spoken; I was sent to spend a week at the Revelstoke Inn. There’s a saying among dancers and musicians which warns against working in bars or hotels named after their towns – usually, this advice is aptly given. The bars tend to be watering troughs for die-hard drunks, the hotels nasty, dirty affairs where nasty, dirty affairs take place. Thankfully for me, Revelstoke proved to be a beautiful (if quaint) town, and the Inn itself was rustic but comfortable; rowdy – but friendly. It was here that I first met the infamous Mitzi Dupree. How and why this unforgettable stripper ended up in the one-horse town of Revelstoke I may never know – but suffice it to say that she set that little village – and the rest of the country – on its ass. Mitzi and I were the only two dancers scheduled that week, and I still chuckle at the incongruity – she, a chocolate-colored behemoth of a woman famous for her manipulative twat – me, an upstart airhead whose only tangible skill was being able to balance on my high heels for a few moments at a time before my ass would slam to the stage. I heard Mitzi before I ever saw her. I had just gotten off the bus in Revelstoke and was dragging my suitcase to the Inn, hoping I was going to have enough time to freshen up and change before my first butt-plopping of the week. As I neared the pub I could hear men roaring; shrieks of fear and excitement; ear-throbbing applause. Loudest of all was throaty, booming cackle that sounded like a wicked witch screeching through a public address system. What the fuck? Is there a monster-truck rally in town? I followed the cacophony of laughter and cat-calls and entered the bar, just in time to witness a middle-aged, black, naked, ele-
phantine stripper reach down from the stage and pluck a grown man out of the audience (by his head) with her tits. The woman would have dwarfed a linebacker. She was at least six-foot-three and close to five hundred pounds, sporting a white-blonde, bouffant wig, and the longest fake fingernails I had ever seen. Her nails glowed chartreuse under the black-lights; each one spread halfway across the back of the poor fool she was molesting. She proceeded to shake the dumb fuck back and forth with her massive mammaries, all the while grinning like a psychopathic babysitter. I’d be surprised if the poor bastard didn’t suffer brain damage. I dropped my suitcase and leaned against the crowded bar counter, transfixed by the spectacle. An old, grizzled lumberjack, face split in a teary grin, turned to me and said, “Ain’t that the funniest damn thing you ever saw?” I had to admit that it was. “Who is she?” I asked. “Young lady,” he said, lifting his beer bottle towards the stage in a toast, she is none other than the great Mitzi Dupree, the Ping Pong Queen.” “The Ping –” The old guy stopped me with a gentle nudge of his elbow. He pointed at the stage and guffawed and wiped at his eyes as Mitzi, laughing maniacally, sent the limp man between her tits into a propeller spin. I joined in the laughter – the old man was right, this was funny shit. Mitzi eventually tired with her victim and released her grip on his puny cranium. Dildorf fell back to his seat, his face slick with Mitzi’s sweat, looking somewhat stunned. The old man leaned towards me, still chuckling. “I bet that’s the last time the young feller ever asks a woman to show him her tits.” And that was Mitzi’s first show of the week. I learned a lot about Mitzi the next six days. I learned she was very flexible, for instance. On one lunch hour, I watched Mitzi, wearing a full-length, white, sequined gown that made her look like an enormous, glittery marshmallow, haul a middle-aged suit on stage by his collar. She ordered him to lie on his back before she walked to the opposite corner of the stage. Mitzi stood and dropped her gown to the floor, where it pooled around her size-14 feet like water running off a hippo. Then, to the utter amazement of everyone in the room, Mitzi launched her entire 450-plus pound frame into a back flip, coming to rest in the splits, directly in front of her horrified victim. Imagine a naked Michelin Man, doing gymnastics. Nah, strike that. The Michelin Man is much skinnier. I also learned Mitzi had a razor wit. She was very aware that as an obese stripper she was a novelty. The fact that she was black just added to her uniqueness, as most African Canadians rarely ventured out of the larger cities of Toronto or Montreal at the time – and the few that did had little interest or desire in visiting Revelstoke’s white as Wonder Bread streets. Mitzi played her size and color for all she was worth. One day, after dropping her generous drawers, she plucked some little fucker out of the crowd – and sat, like a gargantuan brooding chicken – on his face. The little guy went into a conniption of spastic flailing, his arms and legs flying in every direction; the crowd could hear his muffled screams being released like soft farts from between Mitzi’s flapping labia. Mitzi let him writhe for a few seconds before she lifted her ponderous pussy off of the gasping man and asked, deadpan: “What’s a-matter, Sugar? You actin’ like you’ve never given head to a 450-pound black woman before.” Not only was Mitzi a mistress of improvisational comedy, her physical comedy was pretty darn sharp, too. For example, Mitzi’s Titanic tits could crush a man’s skull, she could make them jump and dance – in opposite directions from each other – with a single flex of her deadly pecs. She could flip a quarter, end over end, from her sternum to her crotch and back, using only her abdominal muscles. She could hold her feet in her hands while she walked across the stage with her ass cheeks. Her whopping twat was also gifted; I learned that Mitzi had
spent some years in China, perfecting certain vaginal skills that she was more than happy to show off on stage. Like musical pussy farts. And flautists might cringe, but Mitzi’s jumbo beaver lips could play a mean flute. When her hairy hole blew into that little mouthpiece, people not only recognized the tunes – they sang along. That’s not all: Mitzi’s solicitous snapper could suck on a ciggie, and then blow thirty or forty carefully crafted smoke-rings into the air. One by one, they would billow out of her beaver like lackadaisical serpents, and then attach themselves to their own tails and hover, like glowing rings of Saturn, over the heads of the hypnotized men. Yes, Mitzi’s cavernous cunny held a treasure-trove of titillating talents, but when it came to Ping Pong – Mitzi’s Muff was Queen. On my second night in Revelstoke, I walked into the bar just as Mitzi, naked as usual save for the biggest, gaudiest pasties I had ever seen straining to cover her platter-sized areolas, picked up and spun a pot-bellied trucker driver over her head with one arm before tossing him over the edge of the stage. The crowd roared. Mitzi blew kisses to them and then walked over to her ‘bag of tricks’, a pillowcase she used to stow her miscellaneous pussy props. She picked up her bag and grabbed a chair from the side of the stage, placing both in the center. The crowd quieted in anticipation. Mitzi then lowers her mammoth ass cheeks – each one the size and weight of a slab of granite – onto the groaning chair. She roots through her bag, and withdraws a little ping-pong ball. Spreading her gargantuan ham hocks, she places the ball against the brambly squirrel’s nest of her pubic hair. The bar watches in delighted fascination. Her huge labia – as thick as hippo’s lips – first caress, and then completely engulf the little ball. Mitzi squirms and aims her gargantuan gash in the direction of her chosen victim (who is, by this time, is looking a wee nervous). She takes a deep breath, and pushes. Her plus-sized pussy puckers. With a loud, wet PHUUUUUUT the ball shoots from Mitzi’s giant, bearded clam with the velocity of a 32-calibre bullet; the men duck and scream as the deadly projectile cuts a forty-foot path over their heads and across the room – and then plops into the mug of beer being held by the visibly shaking, random fellow she has selected. The crowd, of course, goes nuts. Mitzi manages, with a little difficulty, to remove herself from the chair. She bows to the audience. I take my leave for my room, looking back at the stage one final time to see Mitzi signing the ping-pong ball and then handing it back to the star-struck dude. While I never saw Mitzi again, I’ll never forget her. She was a remarkable (and remarkably talented) entertainer; a massive monument to all things Notorious; beloved (and yes, despised) by many. She was the topic of newspapers, books and journals; arrested and tried in a memorable courtroom battle – even rock gods Deep Purple wrote a song about her. Sadly, Mitzi’s giant flame was snuffed out a few years later in an all too-predictable fashion – over a drug dispute that turned deadly. Still, Mitzi’s legend transcends her short life; her memory will not soon fade. Rest in Peace, Mitzi – you were truly one of a kind.