Saturday, March 11, 2017

Jeff Death- Dr. Jeff and the Women

Jeff was a man who loved sex, talked a lot about it, but got very little. An inverse ratio, typical of many such people. He apparently possessed a massive member, and could muster a great thrusting pressure from his penis. He once described to Brian and myself, a time when masturbating in bed, managed to arc the stream of sperm over his head and onto the wall behind him. Yet despite these attributes he was largely unsuccessful in attracting a potential paramour to his abode.
We often found that Jeff would freeze up at a crucial moment and not close the deal, or would make some memorable, but unbelievably obscene remark that put the girl off. While Brian and I often did this by design, Jeff reacted this way because he didn’t know what else to do.
Apart from Paula, “the stanky stalker“, there were few women that we could say went with Jeff. He had had at one time a fiancĂ©e. This was before we knew him, and it was safe to say that she was large and multiple chinned. Apparently she was one of those fat women who compensate for their culturally themed “ugliness,” by developing a personality of a raving bitch. I’m sure we all know a person like that. Loud mouthed, yelling, being pushy and mean to make their way. Seeing that being nice wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she found being mean worked even better, and took advantage of what she could. One of them was Jeff. Him being rather socially backwards and getting regular sex, gave in to everyone of her bitchy commands and put up with her bullshit insults to him, in order to please her, and to make a happy life for himself. The problem was that at the end of the day she was never going to be happy, because she was still going to be her, and that’s what she really hated the most. Jeff tried hard, but the more he gave the more she took, until he could give no more. He then regretfully and tearfully broke it off, towards which she made some nasty remarks to poor Jeff and waddled out of his life.
The next girl that I’ve known Jeff to be with was Emily. She was a Rocky Horror regular and 17 years his junior. Not yet 20, she and Jeff hooked up on the rebound when she broke it off with her boyfriend Sal. She was round, but not Jeff’s usual prey of a female with unbelievable amounts of excess tissue. She had a light purple birthmark on her right cheek, which in dim light looked vaguely with the Ghostbusters logo. I regularly pissed her off by asking if she’d like a washcloth to “get that crap off her face.”
          Most people saw that this was going nowhere. She broke up with a douchebag and bounced into the arms of the first guy to grin at her. A romance of forgetting. To Jeff though, this was a significant point in his life. It had been years since he had had a girlfriend and he took it with a mature aspect of building a life. She took it as 19 year old girl, who had plenty of time to look around and find someone else.
Little occurred in the relationship, he drove her around, paid for things, didn’t have sex, and then she moved on. Jeff was crushed, heartbroken, and upset. But those Germans take out their anger in the oddest ways. She broke up with him at Rocky, at the gathering afterwards, he walked outside and put his fist through the windshield. There was a huge hole in the driver’s side, and no damage to his fist.
A further story of Jeff’s attempt at love, was when he hit on The Beast. She was one of Craik’s crowd of lower intelligence individuals. She was a hideous contortion of flesh and bone. A large face that sort of dribbled down her neck, which was almost as large as her head, making it difficult to know where they joined. Her face was pockmarked with all sorts of odd growths and lesions. Needless to say I never ate while I was around her.
There was a large group of us at Denny’s. The square tables were snapped together. Brain and I were on one end, Jeff was courting the Beast on the other. Jeff sat next to her, nervous and tense. You could always tell when Jeff got nervous, because he would grab the arms of his chair tightly, as he were about to fall off. Brain and I watched in horrid fascination, muttering things like, “Don’t do it Jeff.” The situation engrossed us. Jeff glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes while engaged in conversation. He grinned in a schoolboy manner. The Beast surprisingly acted aloof and disinterested, which I was shocked at. Maybe she had never seen herself in a mirror? Coffee poured. Jeff leaned over trying to talk to her. She said a few words and turned away, a snotty expression across her face. Did she think she was too good for him? 
The night wore on, and Jeff kept talking, but making little headway. The Beast was not interested. She and the Craik crowd left soon afterwards. Jeff moved down to our end. “What the fuck were you thinking Jeff.” Was our first question. “Well just seeing what I can get.” And what can you get when you’re rejected by a retard.

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Jeff Death- Bad First Impressions

For some reason Jeff tended to scare the shit out of most people. Maybe it was that barely checked look of rage in his eyes. The I-could-kill-you-in-fifteen-ways-and-enjoy-doing-it grin on his face. Maybe it the fact that he was perfectly content to sit and stare at nothing for hours. Maybe it was his detailed technical knowledge on exactly how to take apart a human body.
Or that he never passed up an opportunity to make an unbelievably obscene remark. For example, we watched on the Oprah show once a pair of female Siamese twins, who were simply two heads on one body (a very rare thing). Jeff’s insight into their medical condition? “Imagine the kind of blow jobs they could give in porno films.”
Now there were many first impressions with Jeff. One friends comment was, “His biceps are as big as my head.” Everyone else seemed to steer clear of him. Certainly no one made comments to me.
In my mind though, the best first meeting was my friend Rob’s. I was dating a young lady at the time. She, Rob, and several others were renting a house on the bad side of Bailey Avenue. Jeff and I were hanging out until the late hours, and he drove me over to Mary’s place. Both of us were feeling kind of tired, but I invited Jeff in to meet everyone. However there was no one home, so we waited around for a bit. The place was easy to break into and we entered. Jeff yawned mightily. He asked if there was a place he could catch a few hours sleep before driving back to Oakfield.
“Oh sure,” I said, always magnanimous with someone else’s material goods, and flung open Rob’s room, “Help yourself.”
To understand the powerful sleep that Jeff was under, I must state that Rob’s personal hygiene was horrific. It wasn’t a bed or smell that invited a person. Jeff curled up on Rob’s scratchy sheets and passed out. I entered my girlfriend’s room and waited for her to show up.
Eventually she did. She came into the room delighted and surprised to see me. We embraced and talked about what each of us had been up to. Then Rob burst in, fear playing across his leonine features.
“There’s a large bald guy sleeping in my bed!” He squawked.
My friend had curly hair at the time and I found this reverse Goldilocks incident hilarious. I explained the situation to Rob and, as he tended to take things in their stride, didn’t get really upset. Rob did have one question though.
“Why did you say he could sleep in my bed?”
“I don’t know. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
“Can I wake him up?”
“Ohhh, I wouldn’t do that,” I said, grinning internally, “He gets kind of violent when startled.”
Rob diligently, internally thinking “Not in the face,” waited on the living room couch until 4 in the morning, when Jeff finally stirred, and with a brief nod to Rob on the way out, went home.


Saturday, February 18, 2017

Jeff Death- A Trip to the Farm

After getting to know Jeff for awhile it came time to see where he lived and meet his people. A generous soul, he invited us all out to the farm on Halloween night to partake in film watching and a bonfire “out at the gravel pit.” This was the first farm party and destined to become a tradition.
There were several of us on that trip: Dr. I, Big Brian, myself, Nurse Pam, Chuck, and Ensign Raiff- the last of which was angry with us. We had told him that it was a costume party, and he and shown up in a Captain Condom outfit,  a skin tight super hero suit, a rubber condom hat that stretched down to the nose, several penis shaped eyeholes, and a fruity shimmering cape was half-a-back long. Naturally we had all worn regular clothes, so he looked even more ridiculous than usual.
The directions were simple, get off the I-90 at the Darien lake exit. Take a left, and then go on until you hit “the light.” A rare and joyous beacon of navigation in those barren wastes. Hang a right, then go on until we reach “the stop sign.” Another monolithic marker, like Stonehenge. It was a little ways on then, on the left. Actually the road cut a swath through the property, so when we arrived we were surrounded by Jeff Death’s prowling grounds.
On the way we speculated as to what the denizens of the farm would be like. We imagined perhaps that Jeff’s family had died years ago and he stuffed them, like Norman Bate’s mother, and we would be treated to a Texas Chainsaw Tea Party, with Jeff arraigning his deceased family around an antiquated living room, passing hor d’ourves around and pretending they were speaking…
Or perhaps he would come out in different costumes pretending to be them. “I’ll go get my Ma.” He would say, then reemerge in a dress. And in the same voice say, “Hi, I’m Jeff’s Ma. I’ll go get his Pa now.” Then come back in overalls and a cotton ball beard. “Hi, I’m Jeff’s Pa…”
Or the place would be filled with cripples and inbred deformities, slithering around and drooling. A misshapen chicken wing hand running through Brian’s mass of locks and, through a toothless mouth, saying “I like this here girlie Jeff.” While Jeff goes over to his overweight and near comatose mother, takes her shirt off and bellows, “I like knockers!” Then begins to breast feed off of her…
Yes indeed it would be a fun time up on the farm, and while his family turned out to be disappointingly normal, other events soon took some strange turns.
We arrived and disembarked, while Raiff skipped about in his Captain Condom outfit. Jeff emerged in his home made Leatherface outfit. He greeted us and glowered at Raiff. Jeff had a fancy for Nurse Pam, a girl of generous proportions, and often openly fantasized  about bumping Raiff off, or arraigning an accident that he could be involved in, so that he could fill the breech in Pam’s life. Which is exactly why we brought him along.
After a pizza and a long overdue viewing of “The Love Butcher” (Which became another farm party tradition.) Jeff took us on a tour of the property.
He lived on his parent’s property and made a living helping around the farm. They grew hay mostly, but sometimes went in for cattle, “Beefers” as Jeff called them. There were several houses on the property, bleak things sticking out along a lonely road. One his parents lived in, another for his sister and her family, and Jeff’s double wide. A rotting barn was pushed back into the property, next to the phallic silo.
“Yeah,” Jeff remarked, “If I ever want to dump a body I know exactly where to put it. Drop it in the bottom of the silo, and pour a ton of grains on it. Acid would eat right through the sucker.”
We ventured into the barn and gazed upon a group of new born calves, lazily mewing about in Autumn’s darkness. Cute tender creatures they wandered up to us in absolute innocence. Their thick eyes belying absolute stupidity.
“They’re still looking for their mother, so if you stick your finger out they will suck on it. It won’t hurt, cows have only a bottom set of teeth.”
We investigated and found this to be true. The sensation was unique, like having a tight wet vacuum cleaner pull on your digit. Not great, but not really unpleasant. The obvious joke about what else Jeff had been sticking out for the calves to suck on was made. Still we were all wrapped up in this new experience.
           Jeff walked away. “Yep, in a year from now, I get to blow their brains out.”
Which rather killed the mood for me. I turned around to witness Jeff lurching up behind Mark, a chainsaw raised over his head, and the peculiar wild-eyed Jeff leer over his face. The catch phrase for a recent film rattled through my brain, “THE SAW IS FAIMLY!” He spotted me and dropped the saw rather sheepishly, but gave me a look that said, “Hey, would you really blame me?
The party drifted on. We clambered into the back of large battered pick up, and sat down for the bumpy ride into the backwoods of Jeff’s estate. Then Jeff decided to tell us that they had used the vehicle to haul manure the week before. Standing on the trip was a rough ride. Brian managed to scam the passenger seat, while the rest of us were knocked back and forth as the damn truck lurched up and down like a whack-a-mole. Raiff fell out of the truck and Jeff refused to stop for him. He ran after us, huffing and puffing, his Captain Condom cape flapping behind up, looking like the opening of that old SNL skit “Middle Aged Man.”  The rest of us stood in the back and laughed. He grabbed the side of the truck and swung a flabby leg over. Out of breath after the 30 feet dash, he sputtered obscenities and raised his fist in anger, but didn’t brace himself while in his rage, and next bump he fell over again. This time he didn’t catch up with us, and had to hoof it the rest of the way to our destination. The Ol’ Gravel Pit. 
A barren place filled with… well gravel. It was actually a depression, surrounded on the South and East by a long 25 foot high hill, that managed to keep the wind away. A perfect place for a bonfire. Jeff had hauled some old wooden pallets out the day the day before, along with some other sundry burnables. We were ready to rock! Beer and liquor was unloaded, and we dug in. The fire was lit, doused liberally with gasoline, and roared toward the sky. Brian plucked at his guitar for a few minutes, then, disturbed, put it down and pointed North.
          “What the Hell is that Jeff?”
All eyes followed Brian’s finger. A little ways away was an abandoned school bus. Not for the first time I had Texas Chainsaw flashbacks. Oh God. He really was crazy! I’m a dead man. He’s going to drown me in wet cement and make a statue out of my body.
The real reason why it was there was rather mundane, so on the spot we came up with The Official Reason. Jeff, after watching Dirty Harry one time too many, had pulled a Scorpio and high jacked a school bus. With Clint Eastwood being the mayor of Carmel at the time, there was no one to stop Jeff’s violent rampage.
Jeff went along with it. “Yep. I killed the boys straight off.” He said in his cool killer voice. “I had no use for them.”
We all gave a toast to Jeff’s unstoppable psychopathic nature, and partied on. We drank deep and Jeff rambled on…
“Why is it when a man kills in war, he’s a hero, but when he kills in the heat of passion, it’s called murder?”
The night faded and I did too, passing out on a string of connected metal chairs, placed out in the pit from God knows where. When I woke up in the morning, my shoes were gone and so was everyone else.
             This is part three of a six part series on this remarkable man.

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Jeff Death- Odd Habits

Jeff was an avid weight lifter and constantly worked out. For him it was a savage exercise and went nuts while doing it, so much so that he often broke the standard lifting equipment, and had his specially built by a welding shop in his town. It was sturdier and cost less than most commercial equipment.

While Jeff was lacking most formal social graces, he often made up for it with vulgar ones. What added to it was that he often seemed blissfully unaware that he was committing a social faux-pas. He would burp at the drop of a hat. Big loud ones that rang out across the room. He mouth would drop open and, like a frog, his cheeks puffed out and the great noise would erupt forth. Then he would settled back content like a great baby.

When he dressed and came to town, he dressed as was sensible for a farm. During winter he would show up in a large blue snowsuit, the whole body kind, and when he entered a building he undid the top part, letting it dangle behind him, like the train on a wedding dress. It was a sight to see, him walking around a bar full of uppity know-it-all college kids, with his blue train sloshing behind him. No one said a word.

And of course there was his penchant for poetry and large women. Plump, fat, rotund; whatever your pleasure, they were his. “I don’t like to hit bone.” He often said. I figured more power to him. Fat broads need lovin’ too. No that he shied away from skinny women, but just felt that they needed an adjustment. As he stated about one female friend, “Yep if she were mine I had have to keep her fully stuffed on both ends, mouth and pussy.” So when I say Jeff had a large porn collection, understand it was a large collection of fat women porn. His favorite star was an unbelievably huge female specimen right out of the Guinness Book of World Records, named Eartha Quakes. A bloated female with so much excess blubber that one part of her seemed to melt into another. The overall effect was a being who looked like an ancient monolithic stone representation of the Earth goddess, everything overblown and exaggerated. A twisted Pinocchio dream made manifest. Her skin was so pushed out that it was ruptured in many places, with purple bruise marks and stress lines crisscrossing haphazardly across her rolling frame. Jeff couldn’t get enough of her (unlike the rest of us), and she wasn’t alone in female porn stars. There is more fat chick porn than you would ever believe, and Jeff seemed to score every tape out there.

As those who’ve met him know, Jeff scared the hell out of people. He had an aura that they just found unsettling. I call it “pure country.” A stillness and acceptance of just letting things pass, that we “city folk”, who are always on the go, always working at things and having reasons for doing things, are completely unused to. Maybe it’s an animal nature that those who are used to waiting in the country have retained, and that we in the cities, used to getting everything instantly, have discarded. A hunting instinct. So just sitting back, saying nothing, and letting time pass was as natural to Jeff as a bullfrog catching flies. He was in no hurry.

This is part two of a six part series on this remarkable man.


Saturday, January 28, 2017

Jeff Death: First Meeting

Show where Jeff first recited Ode to Knockers
This entry is dedicated to a particular great friend, on the fifth anniversary of his death. Jeff Death. Mr. Scary, with biceps as big as a man’s head, blue piercing eyes, and a leering grinning mouth, that said, “I could make your body into a really great sideboard.” He was strong enough to punch a hole into a windshield and not hurt himself. A good old farm boy with a lecherous mind, and a tongue for filthy slogans. Many were scared of him, but trust me, Jeff’ was a really great guy.
                        First Meeting
It was when I first started college. I still stayed in touch with people from High School, and my pal Tony House came up to me, telling me about this “cool” show, Rocky Horror, and said we had to go. Now I should have known about it, as it was literally around the corner from my house, but I had lain in ignorance for several years until Mr. House came a-knocking at my door. My curiosity was pricked, I went and became an instant addict. I’ll go into my experiences in a latter entry, but suffice it to say I met many strange characters. One of them was Jeff Death.
He used to shave his head, paint it white and run around, dressed in a cowl, with a roaring chainsaw. He was Death personified, come to gut us. We’d all go out to Denny’s afterwards, get the room in the back, and talk and talk until the wee hours of the morning. Those not having a car would hitch rides home, and one night I rode with Jeff alone. Until then I had never really spoken to him before, never thought anything really. He was just a guy, you know?
My first conversation was very odd. It was dark, and we were driving down one of those under lit Buffalo side streets. The radio was on, and suddenly Jeff leaned over and snapped it off. He glanced at me, leering and licking his lips.
“Hey,” he said, “Do you know how to shrink a human head?”
I had to admit my knowledge of this anatomical feat was sorely lacking.
“Well first you have to cut the head off, not that hard really….”
He went on about removing the skull, ditching the eyes, sewing up the orifices, curing the skin, what herbs and minerals to pack the head with, and on and on. Such detailed knowledge. If you can skin a deer, you can shrink a human head.
And all the while he was going on about this, I thought, “Wow, this is a guy I have to get to know better.”
I saw in him, as well as others at Rocky, a kindred spirit.
    This is the first of six entries on this remarkable man. Stay tuned.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

The Nasty Poetry of Catullus

          Born in Verona, Italy around 84 BCE, Gaius Valerius Catullus was an influential poet during the days of the Roman Republic. He shunned the traditional poetic style of time which dealt mainly with heroic topics such as war, conquest, and the defeat of mythical creatures by unconquerable men, as was popularized by the writings of Homer. Dwelling on his personal life, his poems invoke intense, and often conflicting, emotions. Odi et amo, he wrote: “I hate and love.”
Much has been written about his work, but little is known about him him. He doesn’t seem to have been married. His poems, while influential, did not generate much revenue, probably causing him to live off of his aristocratic equestrian family’s holdings. He was apolitical, caring nothing for the machinations of politicians, he targeted both Julius Cesar and Cicero for his mockery.  He seems to have had an intense love affair (or several) which inspired his “Lesbia” poems.
Traditionally, Lesbia has been identified with Clodia Metella, a wealthy, educated woman, whom Cicero cast as a sexual predator, a husband killer, and an alcoholic. But we have no contemporary evidence for the identification. The name Lesbia is allusion to the Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos, from whose writing the term lesbian was derived. She too wrote about the conflicting pains and pleasures of love rejoiced and denied.
Much of his work has been derided as well as praised. Because of the shocking nature and subject of several of his poems, he has never been a part of the standard school curriculum. In fact an honest translation of poem 16 was never put into print until the late 20th century.

Carmen 11
Furius and Aurelius, who will be Catullus's fellow-travellers, 
whether he makes his way even to distant India, 
where the shore is beaten by the far-resounding
eastern wave, 
or to Hyrcania and soft Arabia, 
or to the Sacae and archer Parthians, 
or those plains which the sevenfold Nile
dyes with his flood,
                               or whether he will tramp across the high Alps, 
to visit the memorials of great Caesar, 
the Gaulish Rhine, the formidable Britons,
remotest of men , 
Oh, my friends, ready as you are to encounter all these risks with me
whatever the will of the gods above shall bring,
take a message, not a kind message
to my mistress"
let her live and be happy with her paramours, 
three hundred of whom she holds at once in her embrace,
loving none of them really, but again and again
rupturing every man's thighs.
And let her not look to find my love as before; 
my love which by her fault has dropped
like a flower on the meadow's edge when if has been touched 
by the plough passing by.

Carmen 16

I will sodomize you and face-fuck you,

queer Aurelius and faggot Furius,

you who think, because my poems

are sensitive, that I have no shame.

For it's proper for a devoted poet to be moral

himself, [but] in no way is it necessary for his poems.

In point of fact, these have wit and charm,

if they are sensitive and a little shameless,

and can arouse an itch,

and I don't mean in boys, but in those hairy old men

who can't get it up.

Because you've read my countless kisses,

you think less of me as a man?

I will sodomize you and face-fuck you.


Carmen 29

Who can look upon this, who can suffer this, 

 nisi except he be lost to all shame and voracious and a gambler, 

 that Mamurra should have what Gallia Comata  

 and farthest Britain had once?  

Faggot Romulus, will you see and endure this?  

 You are shameless and voracious and a gambler. 

  And shall he now, and full to overflowing,  

 Shit through through the beds of all,  

 like a white cock-pigeon or an Adonis? 

 Faggot Romulus, will you see and endure this? 

 You are shameless and voracious and a gambler. 

 Was it this then, you one and only general,  

 that took you to the farthest island of the West?  

 was it that that worn-out shiteater of yours, Mentula,  

 should devour twenty or thirty millions?  

 What else, then, is perverted liberality, if this be not?  

 Has he not spent enough on lust and gluttony?  

 His ancestral property was first torn to shreds;  

 then came his prize-money from Pontus, then in the third place 

 that from the Hiberus, of which the gold-bearing Tagus can tell.  

 And him do the Gauls and Britons fear?  

Why do you both support this crook? or what can he do  

 but devour rich patrimonies. 

 Was it for this that you, o most dutiful father-in-law 

and son-in-law, have ruined everything? 


Saturday, January 14, 2017

Attack!- A War Film Way Ahead of Its Time

          Often out image of the 1950s is one of fervent patriotism and home cooked peachy keenness, then we run across a film like Attack! and realize that it wasn’t. This is an incredible cynical film about corruption of the officer class in the United States Army during World War II. Not that the setting matters, the basic plot could be transported to any war and still ring true. It stars Eddie Albert, Jack Palance, Lee Marvin, and Richard Jaeckel.
          Eddie Albert is the standout character here. A living representative of the Peter Principle where a man can be promoted three or four rungs above their competence level. He is the son of a rich senator who gained his position through his family’s contacts. Planning to go into politics himself, the character needed some wartime credentials to seal the deal, but found he couldn’t handle the stress.
         His men suffer and die for it, as the cowardly captain refuses to go into dangerous situations to back up his own men. The captain is allowed to get away with it, because his commanding officer, played by Lee Marvin, who hopes to use the family’s connections to further his own career after the war. Sick of seeing his men die, Jack Palance is the only one who will stand up to him. This results in many arguments, an ultimate showdown that is both haunting and grim.
The Defense Department (as it had been recently renamed from the Department of War) refused to cooperate in any measure with the production of the film, hampering it immeasurably. Their objection, as will come to no surprise, was to Eddie Albert’s character, claiming in a letter that the personage “is a very distasteful story and derogatory of Army leadership during combat including weak leadership, cowardice, and finally, the murder of the Company Commander.” The director pointed out that there were many other fine examples of noble officers, but the government still rejected it. This meant no equipment, no uniforms, no vehicles, or even Army stock footage. The production had to make due with a pair of old ones on the Fox backlots and use creative editing to make there appear to be more.
This action by the military however turned out to be a boon for the film. Congressman Melvin Price openly criticized the military for their non-involvement in the film, calling it a "shameful attempt at censorship". The distributors, United Artists, exploited this with teaser posters asking "Is this the most controversial picture of the year?" Leading to a much higher profit margin than had been estimated.
The director, in his biography The Films and Career of Robert Aldrich, said of this film, “My main anti-war argument was not the usual 'war is hell,' but the terribly corrupting influence that war can have on the most normal, average human beings, and the terrible things it makes them capable of that they wouldn't be capable of otherwise.”
As you will see, he did an excellent job in this. The entire film is below. Enjoy and Caveat Emptor.