Columns - "Digital Block" 02.27.02

Let it stand. The tryst of me and a screw machine has left me with prescriptions of Vicodin and all its BEAUTIFUL side effects. Some might say I am lucky to still have my left thumb. I think I am luckier to have OFFICIAL permission to use a controlled substance.

Vicodin makes work bearable, almost fun.

It sucks that I am in a lot of pain, I will admit that, getting shots and stitched up in Emergency Rooms is not really how I like to spend my time. I dont have a family doctor; Hell, I dont even really go to the doctor. Those fuckers never tell me anything good.

"Your blood pressure is EXTREMELY HIGH. You will be DEAD in six months if you dont get it in check."

"Heres a number of a foot doctor so he can give you a chrotozone shot in the bottom of your foot."

"You are EXTREMELY overweight. You are a prime suspect to diabetes, heart disease and strokes."

"You should buy some high-top gym shoes for better ankle support."

Ok, I will admit it, that last one wasnt something a doctor said. My gym teacher, Mr. Wright, seem to find time to tell me that at the beginning of every school year I had him all the way up through high school until I moved far, far away to another state. What a fucking dick. He mistook me for someone who actually cares about physical fitness.

I revel in unhealthiness.

I rebel WITH my unhealthiness.

It took me sitting in a waiting room to realize this. In this waiting room there was a TV that kept showing the same health program over and over. It didnt matter if you tried to change the channel because it just stayed on the same channel regardless. Trust me, I tried to change it....

Facts and figures.

Tips and guidelines to a new, healthy you.

Makes me fucking sick. How ironic.

I dont need to know how to avoid a stroke. I mean fuck! It doesnt matter how much you take care of yourself or how much danger you try to avoid; danger persist.

I didnt plan on sticking my thumb between a machine wall and a cam drive.... But I did. and it hurt.

Really bad.

Watching that ‘health’ TV and all the ideas and urgings to live a healthy life.... It was all sickening. My mind wanders right away to The Floating Baron in the first adaptation of the movie DUNE. Now that guys a fucking hero.

I said HERO.


You can blame my parents or whatever for my sick and twisted viewpoints of the world. My whole Unhealthy lifestyle and anti-doctor ideologies are proof. I take reverence in the dirty, lost, misguided unfortunate energy that exist in this world. Here.Now. Things are topsy turvey.

Bad is good.

Good is bad.

Negative is good.

Positive is boring.

I like trash. Its art. I dont do drugs but I like to be around people who use or are using drugs.

One time some sort of fucking journalist student at The University of Cincinnati got a wild hair up her ass and took a huge interest in punk-rock one weekend. She was writing some sort of paper or article or some shit like that....

Some locals pointed her my way. So we sat down for a talk.

First she had to badger me because she thought I was a communist. Let the record stand, I dont say this much because its a bore usually but sounds like fun now.

Im NOT a communist. Im not even a Marxist or Leninist or whatever. Theres things I believe in:


The Right to acquire, own and maintain property.

I dont believe in stealing.

I see housing and work as a RIGHT and not a privilege.

I believe in TRUE democracy but have never voted in my entire life.

I told her how I would sell my citizenship IF I think I could get a good pinch of money for it.

These are just a few of my personal beliefs. One idea will coincide with a certain term so I dont try to classify myself.

So this student told me I would hate to visit Myanmar, Russia and China.... Blah, blah, Blah.

"Stalin killed yadda yadda yadda".

"Myanmar builds beaches with slave labor...."

"No, I would LOVE to visit Moscow."

"No, I would LOVE to visit China."

"No, I think Myanmar sounds like my kind of place, maybe even look up Gods Army while I am there."

and I had to listen to her fucking mouth.... Her fucking mouth yapping about USELESS shit. Yap. Yap. Yap.

"When I lived in Amsterdam we..."

"When I was in New York we...."

"Im writing about Cincinnati Punk Rock. What is it."

So I told her. I was sitting in the passenger side of a stationwagon owned by the illustrious Matt the Junglecat of The Gazelles. He had a twelve pack of Milwaukees Best half drank on his floorboard. Despite the fact that he was playing the venue, Sudsy Malones, and the continued FACT that his stationwagon was parked just outside thereof, he brought his own for added stimulus and after-show gatherings.

Matt The Junglecat, semper fi. That fucker is ALWAYS prepared.

I was looking down at the beer, shifting my feet around for comfort figuring out what I was going to say.

"Look" I told her and pointed out the windshield at trash laying in the entrance to Sudsys.

Empty,trodden fast food containers.


Cigarette butts.

Random pieces of paper...

Trash. Dirty. Forgotten. Discarded.



She was startled by my sudden moves. Her head scanned back and forth looking for whatever I was pointing at.

"The trash. There, in the doorway. All that trash. THATS Cincinnati Punk Rock."

I dont think she understood. No, wait. Im DEFINITE she didnt understand. Needles to say, she didnt use any of our discussion in the article for The University of Cincinnati's Student Newspaper, The Student Record. Shes gone. Never seen her again I think but Im not to sure because I tend to ignore people who I dont 1)Respect or 2) find entertainment value there-in.

Me. Im still here.

In more ways than one I am the last unicorn. More on that later.

This has been the first installment of Digital Block by Shawn Abnoxious.

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