It's Saturday night! Woo hoo! The smell of BBQ's and the heat of the air. Finally a day you don't have to worry about taking a shower or that rash that keeps growing on your ass. This is a day for fun! So let's do something neat here. Michele and I were brainstorming for an idea and she came up with a great one. We know alot of you are coming to us for the punk record poll, but we did that this morning. Don't get me wrong. The poll is still open and it will be open till tomorrow. Monday we will post the winner and then move on to the 90's. We know alot of you have already moved on and were disgusted with our sexual depiction of cartoon characters, but we really don't care.

So what was her idea? Well this idea has two parts. The first part ours, the second part yours. She threw an idea in of going to Wiki and finding the most famous person from our hometown. Well not the most famous. More like the most recognizable. Who would know that person if they heard their name. I have an advantage because I've had alot of hometowns but for this post we decided to go with the beginning. The first place where we watched cartoons and ate Wonderbread.

This is the first part.

The second part is that you, if you really care or are just really bored, go to Wiki and find the most recognizable person who came from where you live and post it.

Wanna do it?

Cher - T

Actually on this one I got really lucky. It was either her or K-Fed so I have a bounty of fun to be had. But, since I've never seen K-Fed (What is his real name anyways?) I'll go with Cher. Cher is cool I think. She did some songs, had a TV show, and was married to that dead guy mayor who used to wear furry vests. And furry vests are cool. And she was in Mask. That movie made me cry. It had "Tinker" in it from "Roadhouse". And "Roadhouse" had Patrick Swyaze in it. The most underated actor of all time.

/You see how I did that? Snuck in a Patrick Swayze reference there!

Anyways. I think there was a story here. Oh yeah.

Phone call from pops. Something about a show and Cher and mom's brithday and mom and his not being able to handle crowds so he can't go and him only trusting me to take her and how he is so sorry to throw this on me but she is crying cause he told her couldn't take it........

It went on. One thing that some people have figured out, is that if you want me to do anything, wake me up and ask me. In a deep sleep. Hell, I'll say "yes" to a Russian Anal Rape if you just shut up and let me go back to sleep. I have no idea what that means but I'm on a roll. So the bottom line is, I was taking my mom to see Cher.

I met my mom at some Italian joint outside the arena. I wasn't alone. I had a ride drive me there cause I knew damn well I wasn't gonna see straight be the end of the night. I sat at the restaurant eating with her and my friend. Me slamming back some kind of food while asking for another drink. The waiter asking why were are having so much fun. The question was answered. "My son is taking me to see Cher for my birthday." Followed by me saying "I need a vodka here, please. Make it a double."

My friend left and I got in my mom's car. I was barely focusing and just going on thoughts of hairspray and hotdogs. I was still hungry. Park the car and go in. Stumbling. Shaking my head and wondering where the seats were. Why wasn't this general admission. Fuck. Knowing dad, he got the cheapest seats possible. He did. Nose bleeds. Well fuck this. Follow me mom. We are going down there. To the middle. To the floor. We will get in. "Turtle, these tickets are for here." So what. Follow me. "No." Hm. As you can kinda tell, mom is kinda a coward. But, it's mom. So what can I say? Ok. You stay here. I'm going to get drunk. Show starts and Cher does like three different costume changes in one song. The floor is dancing with costumed drag queens and middle aged old ladies. Ok, what the hell. I need a cigarette. Told mom I'll be right back and I hit the bar.

Walked outside for a smoke, not being able to walk. Sailors. Why are all the sailors around. Sailor caps everywhere. Sailor uniforms and denim. Just like Happy Tom in Turbonegro!!! Maybe they are Turbo friends!! Turbo fans!!! This might not be so bad after all.

I walk up to one of the guys and I asked him if he liked Turbonegro too. He looked at me with a quizzacle stare on his face. Asked me what I said. I told him again. He looked at all of his friends. Looked back at me. Then slowly asked if that was a new sex postion or was that a new type of piercing.

Learn something new everyday. Alot of Cher fans like to wear sailor suits.

Don't ask me why.

So who is the biggest star from your home town? Cause I still have K-Fed. In my back pocket. So don't mess with me. - T

Joel Rifkin - M

Someone famous from my hometown, eh? This was my idea? Great. I screwed myself on this one. Turtle got Cher. Sure, he’s gonna come off a little gay writing about her, but at least she’s some kind of American icon. What do I have? I have two magicians, one of which is a Seigfried and Roy protégé, a has been baseball player, some dude that was in Velvet Underground, some golfer dude and....hey, a serial killer!

So yea, I’m gonna write about the serial killer. Because it will make Cher look kinda gay in comparison. He always gets the better deal in these posts. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes everything work to his advantage. So somehow, I’m going to make a serial killer work to mine. Somehow. Some way.

I don’t even know how famous Joel Rifkin is as far as serial killers go. Sure, he’s no John Wayne Gacy or Ted Bundy, but he killed 17 people, so that’s gotta put him right up there.

My town isn’t famous for much. It’s a small town, compared to Turtle, who has lived in places like Fresno. What do we have here? We have the county jail. Which, in a bit of bad community planning (or good, depending on your take) is situated right across the street from the high school. What else? Well they filmed part of a movie here once. The Hot Rock. Ever hear of it? Thought not. What else? Oh yea, there was this movie on tv with Robby Benson about a drug addict kid named Richie. Richie was from my town. What else? Joel Rifkin. A serial killer. Who killed hookers.

I guess I have to say something about Joel Rifkin then. Look, it’s pretty creepy to realize that a guy capable of something like this lived near you. Even creepier is realizing that you know him. That all those years you worked in your uncle’s deli, he came in almost every day and you took dollars from him and handed him change and put his sandwich in a bag and said “have a good day” and smiled at him. I mean, I didn’t know him personally. He was one of those people that you kind of look at, but they don’t keep your attention. Just another customer. No time for chit chat. Take your change and move on, I don’t have the spare seconds to talk about the weather with you. So when he was arrested and it was all over the news I didn’t recognize the name at first. But then I saw the pictures. I knew that face. I knew that posture. I knew that guy. Yea, that will give you the creeps. And it’s not like I’m thinking “oh my god, I came so close to being murdered by him!” like some people do in situations like that, because I wasn’t a hooker and hookers seemed to be the only thing on his menu. That and turkey sandwiches with mustard and tomato. And sometimes a Slim Jim. That’s how you know people when you work at a deli for so long. You see them on the street and you say “hey, there’s pack of Marlboro, coffee two sugars!” When we saw Rifkin on tv, it was “hey, there’s turkey sandwich and a Slim Jim!”

So he made our little town famous for a few days. News vans everywhere, microphones shoved in faces asking people if they knew him, and there always had to be that one chick who would say “Oh yea, I knew he was a creep. He gave me the chills. I hated the way he looked at me.” And the neighbor who said “He seemed like such a nice boy.” Yea, except for that part about bringing bodies into the yard, I guess. And the other neighbor who would look at the camera and say “Well, he did seem rather quiet. Kept to himself. He was a loner, Dottie. A rebel.” It’s the same thing that’s played out every night somewhere in America where a person has gone horribly, terribly wrong and everyone armchair quarterbacks the whole thing, and the whole town has a story about knowing him or running into him or being afraid of him. It’s like when people tell you that they were at the very first Nirvana show or something. Yea, there were only 20 people there, yet 100 people claim to have been there. It’s that way with something like this, too. I don’t claim to know the guy. I don’t want to have known him. I sold him sandwiches. Told him to have a nice day. And this was years and years before he started his killing machine phase. But there were at least 500 people clamoring in front of that Eyewitness news van waiting to tell people how they knew Joel Rifkin. Or knew of him. Or once saw him look evil.

He looked like a normal kind of guy to me, which is pretty scary when you think about it. You can’t tell the crazies from the normal people by just a glance. You don’t know if that smooth talking guy down the block is gonna pick up a chick one night and club her over the head when he gets her home or make her dinner and buy her flowers. You don’t know if your next door neighbor is supplementing the mulch for his plants with body parts. You don’t know if that guy you just gave change to is going to end up on the national news one night in handcuffs. I mean, this guy was a little kid once. Playing with toy cars and watching cartoons. Someone's kid. Makes you think, doesn't it?

Maybe I should have written about the “illusionist” instead. I made some bad posting choices today, didn’t I? Comic book sex and dead hookers. I’ll say that Turtle wins this round. But next time. Next time I’m going to suggest we write about what it’s like to have tits. I’m sure to have the upper hand there. I hope. - M

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