February 22, 2001
11/7/91: I enter a dorm lobby at my old college and sit on a bench near the back wall. Madonna, clad in blouse and jeans, walks over and perms my hair. Afterwards, still on the bench, I show her a full-page comic I've drawn about our just-transpired meeting. I've drawn her with a bloated Family Circus-style head, a huge nose, and a tiny body.
11/9/91: As I walk downstairs to my basement, I see that a certain family member has just axed a young white guy to death. The victim's body lies on the floor, one arm and both legs chopped off, eyes and mouth open. I also see that the killer has sewn parts from his previous victims into doglike creatures. One creature with another white guy's head, a brown dog's torso, four white male feet (no legs), and a stubby tale attacks a similar creature behind the killer. No sign of the ax, though, nor of the chopped-off limbs.
1/29/94: A big black guy holds before him in his right hand the severed head of a white male convict. The head faces out at a right upward diagonal. The body sits before the big black guy's left, arms folded and neckhole geysering blood. "He slit his throat from ear to ear," the big black guy says with a smile. "A real fazoovial booby box."
9/8/96: A white guy on a sepia TV broadcast removes the sticklike prosthetic legs from a thin Korean guy and replaces them with large ballpoint pen caps. A male narrator says of the Korean guy "He can't talk and he can't walk, but he likes to be fucked in the ass." The white guy, now naked and seen from the waist up, fucks the (offscreen) Korean guy in the ass. As I watch this broadcast, I think "I didn't know you could say the word 'fuck' on TV or see a white guy fuck a Korean guy in the ass--a Korean amputee." Then I find myself back at college, in a tiered auditorium, in a class taught by the Butthole Surfers. I ask them "Have you ever felt that you've been wasting your life here?" They don't respond.
2/14/98: A policeman arrests me near a Rochester, PA, shopping center because I've illegally posted my personal ad flyers around the area. At the police station, the police bend me over a beige photocopier and stick a gray metal vibrating vibrator up my ass. I feel annoyed over the whole situation (no pun intended). The police soon lose interest in me and go back to work. The vibrating vibrator slips out of me, and I fool the police by holding it between by buttocks instead of inserting it back into my, you know.
8/2/98: I have another one of my running-around-college-as-a-student-during-the-Eighties-and-shirking-my-academic-duties dreams, but with a twist. I walk into an academic building's downstairs rest room, and the room's only other occupant, a swishy gay guy, asks me "Do you want to suck my rooty-toot?" I walk briskly out of there without saying a word.
5/6/99: A very pregnant woman proudly tells her boyfriend "I'm going to have five babies, two of them yours."
9/5/99: I sit in a colege class about World War II. The instructor, a middle-aged white guy, projects a slide showing several pieces of medical equipment, mostly scissors. He explains that the Nazis once used this equipment to fill a hammock with human eyes. He cries. The class cries. I don't cry. Instead, I think that today, the Nazis would use the eyes to fill Beanie Babies.
10/27/99: I sit in the front row of the audience for a performance art presentation at Pittsburgh's Heinz Hall. All the performers wear black unitards. On stage, several performers play tug-of-war with glowing rope while in the foreground, a male performer turns his back to the audience and urinates into a curb grate. During the finale, the performers begin chanting "len-ta." One performer leads the audience in the chant. "Come on, everybody!" he says. One guy in the audience keeps chanting "len-til." "No, len-ta," the leader corrects. Finally, I've had enough. I begin chanting "Preten-tious crap! Preten-tious crap!"
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I submitted a slightly different version of the above article in December 1999 to a local weekly paper named In Pittsburgh, for that paper's year-end top-ten lists issue. The paper never printed my list--too few ass-fucking references?
I had a very faint hope my oneiric hijinks would appear among that allegedly cutting-edge paper's futon reviews and why-hicks-suck essays. Hah, optimism.
In my latest dream, Ann Coulter eats a banana while...eeeeeeuuugh. Never mind....The DVMpire, Home.
� 2001, 2005 David V. Matthews