Thursday, September 13, 2007

Guns don't kill people...

...hardware stores do.
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8 comments:

Anonymous said...

Oh. I certainly hope he meant to do that. And not, you know, having assembled it for the Science Fair or Medieval Daze or the neighbor's cat, just had to see what the blade looked like from Danton's point of view. Because that would be, well, too goddamn Melvindale for words.

2:59 PM, September 13, 2007
Anonymous said...

comatus, are you a Downriver rat? I grew up in Allen park.

3:42 PM, September 13, 2007
Anonymous said...

td, WAY down...about 50 miles.
South Detroit, Ohio.

4:21 PM, September 13, 2007
Anonymous said...

Wow. I'm suddenly put in mind of the song "The Ballad of James Moon" by Michael Longcor. I'll see if I can dig up the lyrics short of going home, digging out the CD and transcribing them myself.

You'd probably like his stuff.

4:23 PM, September 13, 2007
Cybrludite said...

Isn't Longcor the one who did "Truck Drivin' Vampire"? If so, he's a hoot.

6:59 AM, September 14, 2007
Anonymous said...

That's the guy. He's really nice guy. If you are even vaguely aware of the SCA then his talking/singing bit about Pennsic War IV is the funniest thing ever.

"We were taking lightning strikes within 100 yards of the camp. It was relatively exciting. If you don't think so, you try running through a lightning storm wearing a metal suit."

8:26 AM, September 14, 2007
Anonymous said...

Here you go. He claims the events of this song are 100% true according to every bit of historical record he can dig up. It may not look that great with the line breaks and width restriction of Blogger. Good CD too. Worth if for this track, "Truck Driving Vampire", "Pennsic War IV" and other great songs.

The Ballad of James A. Moon
(c) Michael Longcor
From the CD "Kitchen Junk Drawer."

James Moon was Indiana born and Indiana bred
and he farmed outside Lafayette to earn his daily bread.
He built himself a smithy and he learned the blacksmith's trade
and he dreamed up an invention, the strangest ever made.

The year was 1876, the summer month of June
When an urge for termination laid itself on James A. Moon
He packed up screws and hardware and some tools and rope and wood
then drove his rig to Lafayette to prove his scheme was good.

He checked into the old Lar House, that fancy big hotel
and rented number 41, a room he liked quite well.
James walked to Beech's Hardware, so Isaac Beech has said
and bought himself a sharp new shiny 12 inch broad axe head.

He went to Harding's Foundery and he lugged along the blade.
He told the clerk he wanted special modifications made.
That holes be drilled and boiler plate be bolted to the head.
"I'm inventing a device to make fruit baskets, sir." he said.

He hiked off to the barber shop and had his beard shaved clean.
The better for to carry out his strange and morbid scheme.
He ambled to the drugstore, that summer's day so warm
and purchased cotton batting and a vial of chloroform.

He gathered up his purchases and packed them in his trunk.
Along with cord and tools and wood and all the other junk.
He needed help to move it so he commandeered a pair
of wheezing hotel porters to manhandle it upstairs.

His errands done he tidied up, stepped out and locked his door.
Then he looked up friends he'd served beside throughout the civil war.
He swapped some tales and sang some songs and raised a glass or five
And that evening was the last time he was seen on earth alive.

Next morning Bridgette Cloghan went to clean room 41.
There was no answer to her knock, at noon there still was none.
By 5pm she wondered if she'd better call the law,
so she went in through room 40, and she screamed at what she saw.

A salesman from Ohio and Hank Tinny heard the shriek
they rushed up to the room and what they saw there made them weak
the room door gaping open and poor Bridgette in a swoon
and a spattered, bloody broadaxe blade bisecting James A Moon

Old James had nailed the boards into a six foot floor hinge beam
at the end of which he'd bolted on that weighted axe blade keen
held up with that slim piece of cord till a candle burned it through
He laid his neck at the business end and he bid this world adieu

James A. Moon was sure the thing would work without a hitch
So he'd even gone and written a post-mortem salesman's pitch
On the rough planks of that chopper's arm, he'd scrawled before he went
the words "Patent applied for." And the phrase "For sale or rent."

James Moon he built a gadget like the world had never seen
And he ranks with Jack Kervorkian, and old Dr. Guillotine
You can talk assorted suicides, and their schemes both great and small
But that strange device of James A. Moon, no doubt e'clips them all.

2:53 PM, September 14, 2007
Anonymous said...

Razors pain you,
Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you
And pills cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful,
Nooses give,
Gas smells awful--
You might as well live.
-Dorothy Parker

10:18 PM, September 14, 2007

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