Mykel Board's Maximumrocknroll Column YOU'RE WRONG - from Maximumrocknroll Issue 110 Part 2 An Irregular Column by Mykel Board Wait! I'll pull my chair back so you can be comfortable. That's right, kneel down. Open my top pants button. Now, pull it taught so the zipper doesn't catch. I'll push my hands against the seat to raise off the chair. Slip my pants to my knees. That's right. Underwear? No, not in summer-- unless I get a rash. Never boxers, though. They're too dorky. Wearing boxer shorts is like voting for Reagan. Here, I'll pull my knees apart. You can get a better look. Not very impressive? Well, you're not there to be impressed. I want to show you something. Touch it. Hold the head between your thumb and middle finger. Turn it over. Trace it on the bottom. From the stem to the slit. It looks like the curved Y on a Mets cap. Lick your finger. Move it back and forth in the crotch of that Y. I'll get hard for you. Now look for the brown line that goes around it. That's a circumcision scar. Know that? Run your finger between that brown line and the crotch of the Y underneath the little head. Feel that rough spot? Yeah, right there. You can see a hard piece of skin. It's red and a little smaller than a dime. You wouldn't notice it unless I showed you. No, it's not AIDS. It's not a syphilis chancre. It's a sore that comes from jerking off. All boys get 'em. If you rub the same spot every day, you're gonna get a chafe mark. If you rub where there's already a chafe mark, it's gonna get worse. It'll go away in a week. It'd go away quicker if I had more self-control. I started when I was eleven. Occasionally, a day would pass where I wouldn't do it. Most days I'd do it twice-- sometimes three times. Lets be conservative. Let's say ten times a week. Thirty-one years at ten times a week. That's 16120 self induced orgasms. Think that's enough to cause a sore? Sometimes I'm in a hurry. More often, I'm drunk enough to make it last a long time. But let's be conservative again. Let's say five minutes on average. That's 80600 minutes or 1343 hours or about 56 days. So I've spent almost two solid months of my life stroking my penis to orgasm. What have you done that's so productive? OK, let's talk about the Elvis stamp. The post office lets folks vote on an Elvis stamp. Should it be the hip swinging skinny country guy or the chubby Las Vegas return tripper? The overwhelming answer: The Young One. Without a thought, people my own age-- older, chose the young one. They're locked into youth worship, without realizing it. They pick someone who had done nothing except appear on Ed Sullivan. Barely a hit, solved no problems. Hardly lived at all. Probably still suffering his first jerk-off sore. The "old" stamp showed someone who had worked, suffered, succeeded, fell and came back. Someone who had lived a good portion of his life and changed the world. That's who they rejected. They thought his cheeks were too fat. That's the age trap, and it's hard to understand. While I was in Japan, I wrote about getting older. I'll include it again for the folks who might've missed it: Tim, Larry, and I agree on as much as GG Allin and Ian McKaye. Although we're friends; our politics, views on life, and values, conflict. Other than that we're associated with MRR, we have almost nothing in common. Despite this, critics lump us together and then fault that lump. This faulty lump, they claim, is our age. We're all over forty. This kind of retard school thinking makes The Moonies look bright by comparison. In fact, "being old" as a criticism seemed so strange to me, that it took me a good hour on the john to figure it out. Now, I understand it. Some folks view getting older like tearing down a house. You've got only so many bricks. As you get older, you begin to loose them. Every heartbeat is one less time your heart will beat. Every breath is one less time your lungs will breathe. Gradually, the house falls apart until at the end, there's nothing left. The longer you're alive, the worse off you are, because you're that much closer to death. By thinking this way, it makes perfect sense to Darby Crash yourself into an early grave. Who wants to live in a house with holes in the ceiling? It makes sense-- but it's wrong Getting old is building a house, not tearing one down. Every time you do something, learn something, something happens to you, you add on another room. After that you can use it whenever you need it. A sixteen year old Mykel Board didn't know what it was like to take LSD in the middle of a police riot. A twenty year old Mykel Board did. A twenty year old Mykel Board had no idea what to do in bed with a bunch of horny naked people. A twenty-five year old Mykel Board did. A twenty-five year old Mykel Board would be at a loss to know how to sleep on an 18 inch strip of concrete under a guardrail in Italy with a superhighway on one side and a twenty foot drop to railroad tracks on the other. A thirty year old Mykel Board had done it. A thirty year old Mykel Board had never played at a Polish punkrock "festiwal" in a little town that was, up until then, known only for its festivals of soldiers songs. A thirty-five year old Mykel Board had. A thirty-five year old Mykel Board never had to deal with a hernia operation in a country where they expect you to bring your own chopsticks to the hospital. A forty year old Mykel Board knew step by step what it was like. A forty year old Mykel Board has never seen the capital of Mongolia, nor been to a sex club in Thailand. A fifty year old Mykel Board will have. If your life is worthless, if every day is the same and you just live in your old house, never adding to it, then you might as well tear it down. I guess that's the case with those critics. Their metaphysical dwellings are so empty that they have no use for extra rooms, let alone a new wing with servant's quarters. I enjoyed making some additions more than others, but now they're built. I'm as happy as a fly on shit that I can use them when I want to. Now, I'd like to get back to my penis. It's grown soft while we were on metaphysics. So if you wouldn't mind, could you stroke it a bit? Ah, that's better. My pal, Mark, once told me that he thought the two signs of becoming a man were "killing a person" and "taking a wife." I disagree. I think they're "owing at least $1000 on your credit cards" and "prostate pain." Growing older has its advantages. (It sure beats any other choice available.) But it has it's liabilities. As with rape, child "molestation," cripple-itude-- it's the social attitude, more than the condition that's most painful. Folks ask, "Why are you in a rock'n'roll band at your age?" "How can you still write for a punk zine?" "Why do you dress like a kid?" I've been chronically absentminded since I was old enough to forget how old I was. Yet, now, when I forget something, I hear "Getting old, huh?" Newly-turned thirty, forty and fifty year olds try "to keep in shape." They fill their local gyms. They pump, press, jog and sweat. They think they've become bubble bellied or slack thighed because of their age, rather than their lifestyles. Me, I've always been old. Except for a short time in High School, my pals have been younger than me. Most folks, when they get to an age with a zero at the end, think they have to change their behavior. They do. They get married. Have "responsible" jobs. Start watching VH1. Seven years ago I wrote a song called When You're My Age You'll Be Selling Insurance. Tghe punks who laughed then, sell insurance now. Hair transplants, facelifts, wrinkle removers, skin conditioners, sheep ovum injections, these are symptoms of a culture with its ass facing forward. Sure, I get trapped too. I think back at how many times my parents "embarrassed" me by doing the frug. I think of the old folks who seem so useless, because they're old. It ain't cause they're old, buckaroos. It's cause we label them as OLD and make 'em eat that label. Even you and I aren't free from social pressure. No matter how hard we try. Look who gets laid? It's the youngsters. Maybe part of the reason for the kid-sex taboo is to narrow the nookie pool. That way oldsters can get more of their fair share. The idea of jiggling jowls is not a turn on. Why? As much as I hate to admit it, I'm a victim of TV stereotypes too. Keep stroking there. Look at that hard-on. Yeah, it's only an 80 degrees angle and not 45 like it used to be. But I know how to use it. I know what to do when I can't use it. If I dribble rather than explode, it still feels as good as it did during the first day of my two month jerk off fest. You can stop rubbing now. I'll finish myself. Just kneel there with your mouth open so I have some place to put it. That's right. When you get to be my age, you'll be in my position. OK? ENDNOTES: --> I can't go through this column without mentioning the Rodney King riots. They're breaking out, now, as I'm writing this. It's weird that everybody I know thinks the verdict is bad. The cops should be retried until they're found guilty. If I were a Negro, that verdict would piss me off. I might even be out there trying to pick up some free loot to make up for it. But, I'm not a Negro. I'm looking at it as someone who's been minorly fucked over by the press and has seen the results. (I still have people coming up to me and asking about my "arrest." Many say they've heard it from someone who talked to me directly.) I've seen the power of the press, even so small a press as MRR. I've written before about the abuse of that power. I've written how the press tries and convicts people. When juries refuse to go along with that conviction, the mob is outraged. In earlier times, it happened to Negroes. When a jury found them innocent, they were lynched by the people to insure "justice was served." Now folks want a lynching for the cops. Why have a trial? We know they're guilty from the start. The press said so. It must be true. Just take 'em out and hang 'em by the balls. I too believe the cops were guilty. I saw the videotape. I read the news accounts. They fed me the same information they fed you. BUT I also believe in the right to a fair trial. That right includes a provision against "double jeopardy." That means they can't try you twice for the same crime. Tommy Jefferson and his pals put it in the constitution. They wanted to prevent the government from making you repeatedly stand trial until you're convicted. The right to one and only one jury trial belongs to even the lowest and sleaziest members of society-- even the police. Anger over the way justice was administered (change of venue, white jury, etc) is valid. Anger over the verdict is not valid. Besides, you cannot give the papers and TV that much power over your life. They lie. And they lie about what you agree with as much as what you disagree with. On the other hand, there's a point to the rioting. What SURROUNDED the case was wrong: the position of colored people in America, the jury selection process, the make-up of the LA police force. THAT'S the stuff worth breaking windows about. It's weird, in a way, the riots might help the situation-- at least for awhile. People talk about this stuff now. On TV. They wouldn't have without the burning, pillaging and murder. The reason for the riots was stupid, but the riots themselves might be worthwhile. -->See if you can still get a copy of the underground sex zine PANTY LINE FEVER, (c/o Rick Hall, 234 E. 7 St. (1FE), New York NY 10009). There's a fine editorial about how feminism has changed from being opposed to "woman as only sex object" to complaining about "woman as sex object at all." Great attitude, this zine. -->Speaking of feminism, Fur Bearing Trout (23 Nelson St #3, Kingston ON K7L 3WG Canada) is a zine that calls itself feminist and doesn't hate sex. What a switch! The back page has a brilliant quote from Stella Browne, written in 1912. Here it is: Let us admit our joy and gratitude for the beauty and pleasure of sex. It will be an unspeakable catastrophe if our richly complex feminist movement with its possibilities of power and joy, falls under the domination of sexually deficient or disappointed women, impervious to facts and logic and deeply ignorant about life. Yeah Stella! --> Happy News: I got a letter from the pro-CIA Center for Intelligence Studies: it says "Right now, the C.I.S. is facing the worst crisis in its entire history. And without your immediate assistance, the Center will not survive it." Ho, ho, they need money. $19,580. Now, let's give it to 'em. Write to them at 301 S. Columbus St. Alexandria VA 22314. Ask 'em for information. DON'T enclose a stamped envelope. Make 'em pay to send it to you. THEN when you get their business reply envelope, fill it with something really heavy and drop it in the mail box. Make 'em pay the return postage. Dirty tricks??? We'll show 'em dirty tricks!! --> Also on the zine front, don't forget to send Greta Shred a buck for her bike/sex/scamzine Mud Flap, (666 Illinois St, SF CA 94107). That's a weird address. You're not allowed to move into that house unless your last name is Shred. If you get married and change it, you have to move out. --> Awhile ago, I wrote about the NEW PRODUCT. I said it was a product without an existence. Since then, it's developed. Now, it's a full-fledged hustle. I got a letter from them today asking me to pay money so they'd print my works. Whatta concept! Prey off folks so egotistical that they'll pay to get published! I wonder if they also take advertising. What a money maker!! I just hope Uncle Timmy doesn't get any ideas..... --> I just got a press Release from WARNER BROTHERS. The Sex Pistols album is a certified platinum seller; a million copies. Remember those guys? Remember how they scored big by ripping off EMI and signing to the upstart label, VIRGIN? Where's the last guffaw? With the corporation! VIRGIN just sold it's record division to EMI. --> Bobby Steel called me to complain that what I wrote about him playing solo as THE UNDEAD was misleading. He's right. He's still punk rock. There's no lip-syncing or tapes, just digital hardcore, with him on real guitar. Sorry if I left the wrong impression. We also talked about cripple discrimination. (Bobby's got a limp.) He's right there too. Cripples, like fat people, are one group it's still ok to make fun of in PC circles. Queer? Sure. Old people, that too! But, don't hold your breath waiting for the handicapped the issue. Gimp power! Yea! --> Special thanks to fine writer, famous person, and really smart guy, John Wilcox. He wrote a letter supporting me during my "arrest." Ben's prank has taught me a lot. I've gotten a lot of backing. I expected only condemnation. Sure I got a that too. What do you want from a sex-hating Christian culture? It was the good guys, like John, who surprised me. Some were on my side through loyalty, they did it 'cause they like me. Others back me through principles, because they believe sex is good and should be a right for everyone. They all deserve my thanks. If you guys ever need my support, just ask. -->Here's a good organization: Called, HALT they're anti-lawyer. They believe that folks should be able to take care of their own legal affairs without the butting in of a high priced double-speaker. Their attack is two pronged. One, educating people on how to take care of their legal problems themselves. And two, lobbying for legal reform to get lawyers needed less. You can contact them at 1319 F Street NW, Suite 300, Washington DC 20004. --> Whoa, I got this from a 12-stepper. Here are some of the "16 Warning Signs of Alcoholism." In case you wondered: 3: Do you find yourself "sneaking" extra drinks at a party or gulping drinks while others are drinking slowly? Oh sure, here you are with all this free booze. A chance to get sloshed without spending a cent, and you should stand and sip like Barbara Bush. Otherwise you're an alchey! 9. Do you look for occasions to drink or excuses to celebrate? That's a good one. You should love to be miserable. Always look for occasions to feel like a piece of shit and hate the world. If you want to celebrate, you're an alchey. 15. Do you crave a drink at a particular time of day? Oh no. The normal person will drink at any time, just name it. If you only like to drink at night, or before bed, you're an alchey! 16. Do you deny your drinking? That's my favorite. Because if you deny your drinking, then you're an alcoholic. If you don't deny your drinking, that means you admit that you're an alcoholic. If you're interested in the other dozen moronic questions, write me at (PO Box 137, Prince Street Station, NYC 10012) and I'll send 'em to ya. -END-