The Bold and The Beautiful: El Hijo De Tiburcio Vasquez and His Dog’s Balls vs. Big Boss Man and El Sistema Malo


The mob’s yearning for the return of dead celebrities is insatiable. What a declaration of emptiness. Elvis… Tupac… That son Of A godMarilyn Chambers… Billy Barty, anybody?


The hunger for dead icons is morbidly funny. Was Bonnie Tyler right when she “sang,” “I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero til the end of the night.” Imagine taking credit for that “lyric”? Back to my point. I really don’t get the allure of zombies, but whatever floats your boat. Is this your thing?

Make love to you, your eyes are closed,
Your body is rotting, it’s decomposed.
Your hair straggled in a spider’s web,
You’re dead.
No remorse,
Screw the corpse.

(Colin Abrahall)


Satan’s cross points to hell
The earth I must uncover
A passion grows to feast upon
The frozen blood inside her.

(Jeff Hanneman/Kerry King)


Disgusting? I wouldn’t know. You tell me. But, I need heroes too. Live ones! And sometimes they’re closer than you think. You read or hear something and you giggle like a baby. Naturally. There are mortals who may never even get their 15 seconds. Nor do they care. There are heroes whose names are just too normal, too common for the mob to cherish.

Arthur Herman Bremer is the man being arrested here. He tried to kill a violent racist. Is that heroic? Will he ever get a medal of valor? He did try. Arthur Herman Bremer, villain? Yes? Then why the fuck does fuckface Oliver North have a medal, hmm? My Nicaraguan bros and hermanas cringe at that fact.

AL Wallace Shooter Release

Is it because they remind us that life is NOW!? Not AFTER you finish high school or college or get married or have a kid or get a “good” job? Is that “crazy”? Maybe. Often angry and righteous and TRUE, some make me see butterflies, everywhere. They are always welcome and beautiful.


Now that I think about it, why aren’t there sightings of Louis Armstrong or Carlos Almaraz or Richard Wright? Why can’t I have a sighting of Margarita Carmen Cansino or Veronica Lake or Josephine Baker?


Forgot, hunger for zombies is not my thing. Let the dead rest. Me like life and me like poetry. This morning I heard some actual poetry. Not that stuff that gets passed off as poetry: “I’ve suffered, look at me, I’m in pain… blah blah. Did I mention I’m in UCLA MEChA ?” Oh the humanity.


Above is another who knows when to run for cover when the two most dangerous words in the English language are heard (No, not “He farted!”), “Poetry Reading.” Yikes!

How many times will I attend so-called poetry events and listen to so-called poets wax moronic about mariachis and gringos and carne asada blah blah blah with such insecure emphasis on the r’s in a pathetic attempt to make their bullshit more legit? Purrrrrrrrro mierrrrrrrrrda!

So the words I heard this morning took me back to the illuminating messages of actual poets. Lucha Corpi, Rodney Dangerfield, Smokey Robinson. Poets, all of em. Listen to this and tell me you don’t remember the True Sounds of Liberty.


I present, live and uncut from Big Sky Country aka the state of Montana, Sir Erik Anthony Slye and his (let’s call it) Toccata Oblongata, more commonly known as, “Leave Me the Fuck Alone – In FU Minor.” After the short intro, you will understand.

Don’t look for that in your shitty Norton Anthology or in the latest Critical Shick-ano Poetry Collection or in some lame-ass university reader. Novia, please


I’d rather kick it with Brother Slye. Man, give it to me real.

… no oj no straw
when you give it to me
give it to me raw
I’ve learned that when you drink absolut straight
it burns
enough to give my chest hairs a perm

Kool Moe Dee and Rakim and early Clifford Smith now have company.


H.L. Mencken and Mark Twain wrote great letters. We now have one more.


* transcription*

Leave Me The Fuck Alone – In FU Minor Transcription:

“Apparently you morons didn’t understand me the first time. I CANNOT take time off from work. I’m not putting my family’s well being at stake to participate in this crap. I don’t believe in our “justice” system and I don’t want to have a goddam thing to do with it. Jury duty is a complete waste of time. I would rather count the wrinkles on my dog’s balls than sit on a jury. Get it through your thick skulls. Leave me the fuck alone!”

(Sir Erik Anthony Slye, Premier)

Not since Chief Joseph declared, “I Will Fight No More Forever…” ok ok. Using the colorful metaphor of a dog’s wrinkled balls for serving on a jury is genius, super genius. What a mind. He could never sit on a jury of his peers for he has none. We need more men and women with this type of testicular fortitude. Remember not all men are pigs. Just most of em.pigs-balls

Mr., I mean, Doctor Slye ain’t got the time for masquerades and charades. With it’s intrusive jury duty notice, the system said, “Here! You are doing this. What?! You don’t want to? Bring it on!” Our hero wrote, as only a true Poet can, “It’s already been broughtn!”

So the very next time the Man tries to put his boot up your ass, don’t just bend over like you usually do.


Do like some of our favorites, and try and grow a pair.


Go head, enjoy yourself. Have a ball. Or two.

What will you do the next time Big Brother demands more of your time? Pucker up? Me? My turn will come. But for now, I tip my hat to Maestro Slye, one of my new friends. His dog also gets my respect. And his wrinkled balls.


This is 94.7 KMET and my name is Jim Ladd. This is “The Mighty Metal Shop.” I don’t like metal, especially the heavy kind, but the 1960’s are over and I have to stay hip to the kids. (awkward giggle) We have a dedication here. Let me read it:

“Hi. My name is CT and I post up at a blog called (btw you better read the blog name or Ima go over there and cut off your Ringo Starr bangs my own fuck’n self. Capiche?) Anyways, I want to dedicate Master’s “Master” to Sir Erik Anthony Slye. He is my new friend. Yes, it was recorded in 1985 but I think it is, whadda you callit, like forever…uhm, I mean immoral. Yeah immoral. Oh and the lyrics are so cool, they make me think of my new friend. Metal Rules!! (I am holding the pencil with one hand and with the other I am throwing the metal horns, ok? I’m more metal than you, dude.)

In Sabbath,

CT (See picture below. Yes, that’s me)

P.S. I rock like a hurricane



“Master” by Master

On your knees for the Master
In the will of your own mind
Sacrifice society
And become a better kind
Stand back all you preachers
Stop looking to the skies
We are your Masters
We need no disguise
Your presidential savior,
Some bloody pope’s land
They’re still all stinking vultures
They’re scandalous when they can
Strike your idols down
And wear the Master’s crown
We’ll curse this evil world
We’ll wear this Master’s crown
We are your Masters
So set your soul free
Forget your stupid idols
And your blinded eyes will see

10 thoughts on “The Bold and The Beautiful: El Hijo De Tiburcio Vasquez and His Dog’s Balls vs. Big Boss Man and El Sistema Malo

  1. I didn’t really understand that, but enjoyed the photo essay, especially the lady with the butt crack. I’ll try reading it again tomorrow, on a day where I didn’t work 9 hours. It had to have been interesting.

  2. Nice! I’m also fed up with cliche heroes and uninspired hacks, long live “little people” subversiveness and rebellion!

  3. Chimatli,

    I agree with you. Sometimes, maybe more accurately, most of the time, it is the small victories that are more tangible to us common folk. These are the ones I celebrate with this post. There are millions of battles that will never make it to the textbooks or any book, but that means nothing to me. I don’t need their documentation or affirmation. Consider this post as valid as any Goddamned history book.

  4. Throw down CT! Whats important is the way one lives thier lives and the relationships with friends and family. That’s where it’s at.

    I carry this quote in my wallet to remind myself about what is real.

    “History is an account,
    mostly false,
    of events,
    mostly unimportant,
    which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves,
    and soldiers,
    mostly fools,”
    Ambrose Bierce

  5. Viva the “little hero.” My little hero I overheard at Lincoln HS said about his life:

    “I was ghetto…then I was ballin’…but then I became ever more ghetto. Fuck that shit.”

    I mean, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages.

  6. The mental defrost was cool (ha). Wish I could be free enough to see a butt crack as a beautiful cosmic message. Maybe, if I had an alias. Love Julio’s little hero, those are the moments that make life worth the joda.

  7. DQ,

    I’m with you, but why do I think it would be easier in a pueblito outide Medellin or Guayaquil? Just an idea. Too much concrete and lack of makes me dizzy in the big city. The words of Bierce, as usual, slaughter a lot of hogwash passed off as reality. I agree with you: knaves, fools and “rulers” (are those synonyms?) ain’t my kin.


    Kindness and a good ear can get us many things. For some reason, your comment reminds me that I once took a class at UNAM and the prof mentioned plantas sagradas and I raised my hand to describe my marijuana experiences. Dead silence. Damn, it was funny. She mentioned alucinogenos and I raised my hand to describe my experience with “magic mushrooms”and there was an even deader silence. It was a very “formal” aka scared group and I tried to loosen it up. After class, the prof, head properly bent and looking from above her despotic glasses, called me over and said my sharing was “interesting”. In the quad area, after class, I was bumrushed by the Japanese and Russian students, fascinated by my blatant disregard for class etiquette. Who knew honesty was so shocking and rebellious?


    RHS like LHS, as you can imagine, is flooded with young warriors. Born into similar circumstances but handed different missions: The kid happily breaking down Ellison’s Invisible Man to the kid breaking down cuz her father’s a sick sadist to the kid breaking code by holding hands with his boyfriend to the kid breaking his silence because a class reading of Yo Soy Joaquin woke his ass up. Glad to have met them all.

  8. City Tee—on your recommendation I watched the first series of Dexter. I am hooked too—thanks for the mental opium. I picked up year 2 today and now I am off to watch it. Thanks for the nudge—and, ummm we’ll have to talk about why you “can relate” to this guy–lol. –VD

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