with DeadSun

You've seen him in Fan Speak all around the antiMUSIC network, now DeadSun gets his big show as the host of his very own talk show,  The Not Quite-So DeadShow ! Forget Oprah and Dr. Phil, DeadSun knows how to liven up a talk show. 

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If you are under the age of 17, this article is not meant for you so please bugger off. For those too lazy to click what follows is parody and celebrity a**holes are impersonated

Host DeadSun: Welcome back, fellow droogies. Welcome. The time is again ripe for some good, clean fun--- fun for the whole family, in fact. This is the second installment of what amounts to little more than my own skewed and slanted views, otherwise known as "The Not Quite-So Dead Show". This time around, we've set up a long table, and the DeadShow is going to host a Thanksgiving Day supper. So without further ado, we're going to hit the lights, and kick it in gear with what should be a good intro tune--- its by The Clash, its called "London's Burning"--- and its going out to antiMUSIC's favorite son, the mighty Greenmuse.

( cue lights, and opening bars of London's Burning" )

Good music equals good times, there is no question about it--- and there's still plenty of  us kicking around who haven't shelved your music, Mr. Strummer.

So... anyone been busted by the RIAA lately? ( smirks ) Maybe just an elderly man or two, right? Sure, they've got a decent argument : stealing is stealing, after all. It doesn't do anything to alter the fact that they're still a joke, though. The RIAA takes itself WAAAYYY too seriously. Let's step out of character, and be honest with ourselves. When held up against the mountain of problems which plague the human condition on a day to day basis, do these people honestly believe that the citizens of the world have their collective CROTCH IN A KNOT, because somewhere out there, an evil horde of fourteen year-old girls are downloading Britney f*cking Spears' music? 

RIAA Spokesperson : "--- and once we have fined and incarcerated every last music downloader, the RIAA pledges itself to wage a noble and bitter crusade against the unspeakable evils of J-walking. That's right... you J WALKERS had better beware."

DeadSun : "Hey you in the designer Armani suit... while your head is up your ass, look around and see if there's a toy surprise up there." 

I make no apologies. I have never once downloaded music for free, and am proud to say that. HOWEVER, special interest groups never cease to chap my ass. Even their label is nothing but a bullsh*t euphemism--- because what many of them REALLY reveal themselves to be, are special privilege groups. 

I say, if we're going to have this donkey dung shoveled our way, let's AT LEAST make it entertaining. You know what we need? A "Legalize Crack for America" group. Wouldn't THAT be something special? They would be great alongside the multitude of special interest groups out there. 

( cut to scene of reporter standing next to a twitching, hygienically challenged man with six teeth, and front to back, color coordinated brown and yellow stains on his dirty blue jeans ) 

DS : "So tell us--- what was your name again?"

Bootny : "M... m... mah name's Bootny."

DS : "So tell us Bootny, what is the Legalize Crack group trying to accomplish on behalf of the world's crackheads?"

Bootny : "M--an, mah sista was 'upposed tah ( twitch ) give me a ride to my work, n' sh*t, buht she ( twitch )  musta foguht all about me... ( long pause, accompanied by a sequence of body and facial twitches )... HEY, you got some money? ( picks nose ) 'Cause mah baby is home, an' she ain't eat NUTHIN' all week."

DS : "Thanks, Bootny."

I think we need to get Bootny back here for another installment of the DeadShow. We'll give him a Napoleon hat and a butterfly net. 

Well, guests should be showing up anytime for Thanksgiving supper, so HOW 'BOUT A LITTLE NEWS THEN, EH?

A well-known snack food giant has announced their intention to launch a new snack treat, something which they call "Kelly Osbourne-flavored potato chips". The chips are rumored to taste like a combination of spoiled mayonnaise and solidified sausage drippings. "We were REALLY looking to create a taste that was not unlike Ms. Osbourne herself", said one executive. It is projected that the chips are likely to sell in roughly the same volume as Kelly's debut album did.

In science, a five-year long study, which examined the possibility of a link between violence and Rap lyrics, was released earlier this week. Although the study found no definitive link between to two, it did find ample evidence to suggest a STRONG connection between Rap and pants that don't fit, gaudy jewelry, moronic hand gestures, tacky fashion statements, and a deficient command of the English language. I'll have more on this as the story develops. 

In movie news, Courtney Love will be sitting in the director's for the making of her very own film, "The Many Smells of My Index Finger". No rating has yet been established by the MPAA. On a side note, if there is ANYONE who is interested in seeing this film, then the DeadShow NEEDS to hear from you.

( knock on studio door ) 

Ah! Its now that time--- that oh-so-very-special time, when we invite our dinner guests in for our Thanksgiving Day extravaganza.

( opens door, in walks Keith Richards, Bob Dylan, and an "aging music icon translator"--- cue applause sound clip and flashing applause signs ) 

DS : "Wow--- Keith Richards and Bob Dylan. I just can't believe it. Have a seat at the banquet table gentlemen. Thanks for coming on."

Dylan : "Zimma zam, 'ee say what n' ee say."

( looks to translator ) 

Translator : Mr. Dylan just said hello, DeadSun."

Keith : ( lights up a cigarette, snorts, and sticks his fist into the bowl carrots ) 

DS ( smiling widely ) : "Well okay then! Heh heh. I'm just going to grab some turkey and stuffing--- there we go. Hey guys, in my earlier monologue, I mentioned the name Britney Spears, what's your take on her? Oh--- Mr. Dylan? That's cranberry sauce, you're not supposed to snort it." 

Dylan : "You know sunthin' DS? When I's jussa little boy, my daddy used to tell me... he would say... he, umm... well SH*T, MAN... my daddy used to tell me lotsa things. I don't know."

DS : "Huh? Nevermind. Keith : what say you?"

Keith : ( looks up from plate, with pieces of corn falling out his mouth ) "Spears? Stupid, bloody, stinking cow, man. I got ten bloody groupies, waitin' in my limo, lookin' ten times what that dancing tart could pull off on 'er best day."  

( knock on studio door ) 

DS : "I'll get that. ( opens door, it is Zee--- who is an iconoFAN around these parts ) 

Zee : "Hey DS--- havin' some Thanksgiving dinner?"

DS : "Sure are."

Zee : "Are you serving nachos, per chance?"

DS : "No--- but if you want to stay---"

Zee ( looking quickly around the room ) : "Oh that's OK... I uh... yeah... my Christmas tree is on fire. Call me if you get nachos. Gotta go, see ya." ( runs away ) 

( as soon as door closes, there is another knock ) 

DS ( answering the door ) : "Hey guys, look who's here--- Marilyn Manson."

Manson : "Yes, DeadSun. I have come to shock and mortify your Thanksgiving Day supper in unspeakable ways."

DS : "Look Manson, the only way you're going to horrify me, is if you have Garth Brooks come out and start giving lap dances to everybody. Now SIT DOWN, and eat some f*ckin' tukey. ( looks over at Keith Richards ) Hey, it looks like Keith is passed out at the table. It might be time for his blood transfusion and--- uh boy--- I think he wet his pants, too."

Manson : ( taking plate of food ) In a bold artistic statement, I will fashion my mashed potatoes and peas into a swastika with female genitalia, and I will rub it onto my pelvis. This will open your eyes, DeadSun. This will cleanse you of the lies they have told you."

DeadSun : "Tell you what, Mr. Artistic Visionary, if you don't shut up, and eat that damned food, I'm going to take a dump into your ear--- YOU GOT ME?"

Dylan : "Mazza ma pamma, wee fine, cutty say." 

Translator : "Mr. Dylan says that his mattress is in love with a flying monkey."

DS ( to translator ) : "What did you say?" 

Translator : ( starts thumbing through his Bob Dylan-to-English translation guide ) "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Hang on a second... AH... here it is : Mr. Dylan wants to know if the string beans can be smoked in a pipe."

DS : "No... hell no! ( looks over at Manson, who is now showing Bob Dylan's translator a photograph of Benito Mussolini breast feeding Margaret Thatcher ) MANSON--- put the picture AWAY... NOW!"

Keith ( has since come to, and is know simultaneously smoking and shoveling forkfuls of pumpkin pie into his mouth ) : "Hey DS--- you know where I can get a syphilis shot, squire?" 

DS : "That does it... everyone GET THE HELL OUT OF MY STUDIO. ( ushering people out of the studio ) Keith, the Stones rule. Bob, you're a great songwriter, but nobody has been able to understand a sentence you've spoken since 1978. Manson, go find somewhere else to peddle your "high art"--- and you're lucky I didn't end up taking that dump into your ear, pal."

Well, that's about all the time we have for The Not Quite-So Dead Show's Thanksgiving extravaganza. Until next time. Have a great turkey day--- and get yourselves all liquored up for me. We're going to close out the show, and roll the credits to a great little number by a band called The Pixies--- this one's called "Gouge Away". This is the Dead Sun, signing off. 

( cue rolling credits)