Friday, September 29, 2006

Guest Post "Friends of McDougal"

I have the honor to present as this weeks guest post from "Friends of McDougal". I transcribed this post from 100% cotton rag acid free paper, with the seal of a seventh degree notary, so it must be true, even the parts that seem, not true. "Friends of McDougal" is also good friends with the author of the script for the movie "The Hanged Man"....So with this intro I will let her rip! Kind Regards and enjoy JW

How I met mule, a tale based on honest facts by "Friends of McDougal"
(JW took the liberty to title this post, pretty catchy eh?)

I first met "the mule" in Tehran in December of 1980. He was smuggling six pounds of Laotian hash into France via a circuitous route that he explained led him from Cambodia to Beijing to the Middle East before reaching his final destination. He was hopped up on mescaline and Iranian moonshine and was defecating on a stone fence outside of the Ayatollah's summer home.
I was there with my master the Honorable McDougal doing some freelance "diplomatic" work for the yet appointed Mr. Haig, and must admit I was very surprised to see another American in Tehran in the midst of the Hostage Crisis -- especially one so obviously drunk and disrespectful to Messr. Homeini.
McDougal and I were disguised as Liberian pool hustlers, regaled in black face and Dashiki with single shot .38 caliber "pool cues" and our wit and martial arts skills as our only weapons. It was a tense time, made even moreso by the fact that McDougal was on the 11th day of a violent meth jag, and had grown paranoid and prone to hallucinations and uncontrollable violent outbursts.
McDougal, I'm sure you're all aware, is a large bear of a man -- standing somewhere in the neighborhood of seven feet tall and weighing more than a Volkswagen Microbus, so we were anything but inconspicuous. Add McDougal's violent dyspepsia and fits of misguided rage, and we were fortunate to have averted a nuclear disaster or the death of the 66 American hostages.
While McDougal is currently organizing his 2008 Presidential Campaign, he has historically claimed no allegiance to any particular country. However, the CIA contract was rich and would fund McDougal's operations for the next ten years if he pulled this mission off. (While McDougal ultimately failed in his efforts, the Reagan contra kickbacks for his silence were far greater than the originally agreed upon wage. Unable to have McDougal killed, as the Cabinet had originally ordered, the administration was forced to shell out a high seven figure payout over six years to keep McDougal quiet about the arrangement.)
But I've gotten way off track. I came here to talk about "The Mule."
As noted previously, when we first encountered the mule, he'd dropped trow and was defecating outside of the Ayatollah's summer palace in Tehran. McDougal found this HILLARIOUS, and knew immediately that we must befriend this insolent lad (the mule couldn't have been more than seven years old at the time).
As we discussed the state of world affairs in our fake African dialect, we learned that the mule had been tricked into having the majority of his large intestines removed by an Italian doctor (the same Italian doctor, we later learned, who saved Andy Warhol's life after being shot by that Solanas chick). In their place, a burlap sack had been sewn and a six-inch silicone zipper installed in his pelvis.
The Mule said he had run away from home at the age of five to join a traveling freak show carnival, and lacking any freakish skills, had moved his way through the ranks from yak lady attendant to dung operator to his ultimate position as drug smuggling "mule." The Mule had been told what his contraband was, but was young and naive and had no idea how much poison he was transporting, or what its intended purpose was.
He knew his was an important mission, but was devoid of any ethical or personal safety concerns. The mule knew only that he'd been assigned a job by the freakshow cartel, who had become his surrogate parents, and he could not let them down. As for his public defecation, he knew only that he had to go (a frequent occurrence due to the fact that he was no longer in possession of most of his entrails).
McDougal thought the whole situation hillarious in a Paggliaci sort of way, and decided to make it his mission to save the mule's life. We took the lad to an underground Methodist Men's Lodge in Emamshar, where McDougal proceeded to feed him large quantities of ethyl alcohol until the boy was rendered unconscious. He then carefully unzipped the lad's pelvis and removed the heroin. McDougal then disposed of the drugs the only way he knew how -- he smoked all six pounds of it.
A few months later the hostages were released (in spite of our failed mission) and McDougal, the mule, and I wandered into the crowd and travelled back to D.C. with them. We were a bit conspicous (a giant, a wee lad with a surgically implanted zipper and a full beard, and myself a devlishly handsome Hollywood-type), but no one seemed to notice. While our names were never listed on any official hostage list, if you research the hostage release photos carefully, you count 69 souls exiting those buses.
The mule and I seldom speak of the incident these days, and McDougal claims no recollection whatsoever. But the mule and I have remained the closest of friends ever since.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

The Day After

Well I left home with a full day pack full of goodies to get me by for the few days Erin had full rein over my blog.
I came home sans the backpack, clothes and a little bit of dignity. I am unsure who these people are but if they are friends of Erin the must be nice.
The house was in shambles, my fridges was hanging on the hinges with an old box of baking soda and a few ketchup packets from Burger Chef sticking to the shelf. My Crock pot was covered with a green muck and the electrical cord had been cut off, their was a old bottle of Kaulua with the top broken off and a fork stuck in the dried syrup at the bottom, you could see fork tracks in the dried gook. My only utensil in the house! Short the strangers, just a different class than I am used to, the house was just as I left it! Thanks Erin for your time and recipe. Now I have to find my self a wrap, its cool this time of year. Kind Regards JWW

PS: Could I have my fish and whistle back?

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Erin O'Brien Be Gentle With My Blog

This Weeks Guest post is from a mega excellent writer Paris Review regular and Zucchini expert...Ladies and gentleman I give you Erin O’Brien! (Applause) Guest blogger Erin O'Brien.

Too Many Effing Zucchinis

Oh for chrissake take all the zucchinis you got and scrub em down like a mo fo. Cut off the ends and slice em longways then into like one inch chunks. No one's ever gonna see how you chopped these mothers so don't go effing around with this part like a goddamn sculptor or anything. And don't you dare skin those babies or do anything cute.

Peel some regular American yellow onions, about one pound to every three pounds of zucchini. Don't go and use any nancy-ass Vidalia or Spanish or white onion shit. Just use the regular cheap. Just quarter them or chop em. I don't care.

Peel a small potato or two and quarter it. Don't ask, just do it. Eff off.

Put all that shit in a heavy-ass pot with some chicken stock, which you oughtta make yourself (I'm too goddamn tired to tell you how to do that so go on and figure it yourself or go on google or some shit). If you're a candyass go on and use some shit you bought. Or if you're really effed up, use some of that granulated shit you reconstituted (I am an effing royal piece of perfect ass and never did any shit like that). You're looking at about 1 1/2 cups stock for every three pounds of zukes.

Slosh a couple/few tablespoons of olive oil in there.

Cover the whole goddamn thing and cook the living shit out of it on medium low heat. Go get a beer or something. After about twenty minutes (long enough to slide in a quickie with your sig oth), stir the pot for chrissake. Put the cover back on and keep cooking the whole mess into submission like a middle-aged businessman on his lunch hour at Mistress Delia's Dungeon of Delight. Stir it every once in a while.

When everything in there is good and soft and cooked (about 30 or 35 minutes total), get you a submersible blender like the one I'm holding in the picture. Don't have one? Buy one mother effer! These things are righteous. Plug that mother in, put it in the pot and puree that shit up until its smooth as velvet. If you don't have a righteous submersible blender, then you're on your own with a regular blender or food processor, doing the shit in batches, which sucks major dick, but whatever.

Blend in about a cup of milk. More if you like your soup thin, less if you like it thick. Make the mother effer skinny by using skim milk or make it rich by using half-n-half and a dollop of butter. Now make with the salt and pepper until it's down. You'll be putting more salt in there than your doctor ever needs to know about but who cares? And this is so effing shitty don't tell anyone but if you put a shake of MSG in there, I will so understand.

Don't try to freeze this soup cause it sucks.

I came up with this recipe all by myself and eff anyone who doesn't believe me. This is the best goddamn zucchini soup you're ever going to come across your whole life. It's good hot. It's good cold. All you need is a few chunks of bread to dunk in there and maybe a wedge of cheese and a hip-ass bottle of chilled chardonnay. Add some kick-ass mother effer to throw it all back with and you are all that.

Goddamn. You mothers owe me big time. That's all.



Thursday, September 21, 2006

Upland National Enduro 2006

The fellow in the photo below is my brother Charlie Williams ( He prefers to be called Chuckles). He was a strong at the time of this photo 256lb. Nearly 100lbs more than myself once I loose my final eight pounds, he smells like bacon and Pecan Sandies.
This is what I refer to as a test post to see if he reads my blog or is watching Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! and so on in addition to etc. He flew into Indy for a National Enduro;
the first one hosted by the Muddobbers and actually the first enduro we rode some 25 years ago, not a national but our first dyed in the wool enduro. The club was celebrating their 53rd anniversary and well it was a big deal for usins'. Chuckles had his Indy bike ready to go but at the last moment Allen Randt of Enduro Engineering showed up with a bike he sponsors, National #1 Michael Laffertys bike, Michael was injured so Allen let Chuckles ride be like Mikes bike. Nice bike, a handful, fast heavy long wheel base which is not in my judgement the best choice for tight woods but then again Michael has 7 National titles to his name so something is working. Well lets just say I scored much higher than my brother Chuckles and won a fourth place over all plaque for my class 250B. Chuckles garnered an 8th in the open
A class so he did not trophy until the club members felt sorry for him and gave him a made up trophy, I think it was safe rider award.
I was on my bike for 6 solid hours without a break other than for gas and when I fell down and smashed me fragile body into a not so fragile tree. I was like rubber I felt like a wishbone that had been soaked in vinegar for a week, I even smelled like a bone soaked in vinegar. Well that’s my story and its all based on fact, which means facts, are tweaked to make me look cool. Kind Regards JW
PS: Thats me on the right #110 if this thing works...

Monday, September 18, 2006

Monday Smonday

You know I guess I remember why I don't drink Whiskey. For Gods sake learn from my mistakes. JWW
Bonus link click it I think it may werk

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

I knew from an early age I had a big head

When your head has divorced its body it wants for oxygen. If it is denied it is very tired...all the time. Eldon Bunyan told me about this, but noooo I did not listen. I thought if I could live without my brain being burdened by a body it would relieve some stress. Not a bit of truth was to be found in this theory. I tried...and you know what? I'm still tired. I think I will hunt down my body, try to play like I was joking if I find it and hope I am able to reconnect. Kind Regards and dont let this happen to you...JWW

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Before my Big Break

Before I was a hugely successful tangential book reviewer, before I was given command of a wildly successful literary site "My Mule" before all this I was a successful model. (Below is a prime example of my work as a model/ artist).
My portfolio unfortunately is owned by corporate demons so I am unable to cash in from my past success in the hopes of generating income for my philanthropic passion. I survive solely on proceeds from My Mule and Amazon while still committing 50% (low estimate) of my income to my main passion, making the world a prettier place. I continue to push the boulder up the hill, with a dash of grit and a shit bucket full of self-absorbtion someday by god I will make the world a prettier place and when I do, I will promptly forget everyone who helped me along the way!
Kind Regards JW