Interview with Steffan Scrogan By: David McGhee

Interview with Steffan Scrogan

By: David McGhee

Last Friday I experienced what can only be described as Avenue Q. I was amazed by how they worked their puppets, and how they made love as puppets. I wonder if they had puppet spooge out of a puppet penis? Man... Wouldn't that be like felt or something?

Anyways... I was so awesomed by the show that I decided to stalk one of the cast members. I asked him twenty questions and he delivered on all counts.

You gotta see this guy's feet!

1: How and why did you started acting? Are you the attention grabbing type?
I made my theatrical debut when I was 5 years old. I played a cactus in a Missoula Children's Theatre production of Tales of Hans Christian Anderson. I was adorable as ever.. I'm fairly certain it was because my parents wanted to occupy me and my siblings during the summer so they could relax a bit, but my siblings stopped soon after; I kept performing. I'm an extroverted introvert; I will be quiet until you get to know me then can get a little crazy.

2: You are the second tallest person in the cast. How tall are you?
Third tallest! Eric Fry and Patrick Brownson are both taller than me, but we only all share the stage once in the show, so I won't be too harsh. I'm 5'11.5", though my license may say 6'...

3: Great... Another tall person thinking he's the shit! Boo! What kind of salad do you like to eat?

Blue cheese is usually top choice for me. I used to hate the stuff, but my tastes change it seems.

4: I'm gay. Are you gay? You seemed pretty gay to me.

I am of the homosexual persuasion. Not nearly as gay as my puppet, Rod, however. He gets pretty flaming at the end of the show when he starts to accept his queer tendencies. It's fun to get to play a gay character and find the humor in it; I'm always playing straight characters.

5: Are you seeing anyone special? Anyone who makes your stomach churn and your eyes water?

I am! I have a boyfriend that I adore. Though stomach-churning and eye-watering sounds like a reaction to a violently awful stench; if that's your response to someone, you should be concerned.

6: Everyone's a little bit racist. Are you?

I'd like to think that I see everyone as equally terrible. I'm racist towards all of humanity.

7: What made you audition for the role of Rod?

My fellow cast mates are all returning to this show; they performed it 2 years ago as the award-winning first Denver Cast. I knew that the show was being remounted (rawr!), but didn't find out until the night before auditions that the part of Rod had become available. I sent a frantic email to the producer hoping I could score an audition the next morning, because I've been dying to do this since 2005 when I saw the original Broadway show.

8: You sing well. Any formal training?

Thanks! I've been in musical theatre since I was 5, choir in high school and college. Three choirs per semester, because I'm crazy. I'm an avid car belter.

9: SHOW US YOUR FEET STEFFAN!!!

Okay, you can leave the site now.

That's right! They're tattooed. I'm fairly tattooed and pierced actually. During the day, I'm a professional piercer in Fort Collins. I've been doing it for over 7 years. I cover tattoos with makeup or clothes and take out piercings for my shows. Some folks would never recognize me outside of one environment.

10: Other than porn, what else is the internet good for?

Video Games! Lok'tar Ogar! YouTube and Netflix have become a daily routine and replacement for TV in my life. I'm also a nerd and listen to podcasts while I commute in my car. You can't disregard porn though.

11: Anna High hurt her footsie during the show I was at. Any chance she got some good pain medication for it?

As the resident first aid responder in the cast, I can tell you she was well taken care of that night, and not given any medication from me, as that would have violated first responder ethics.... but she did get relief. She checked in with the hospital later that night and confirmed it was only a sprain and got a small prescription the next day.

12: Everyone in the cast was so talented! Was it hard learning to puppet your puppet and perform at first? I noticed that the other actors would sing towards the lights instead of each other.

It was very tricky at first. When they had me audition they handed me a puppet first and told me to sing with it. It's little things, like looking the same way your puppet is, making him bounce while he "walks", and opening his mouth with your thumb and not your fingers so he doesn't flop his head back when he talks. My puppet has two hand-rods and controlling both his hands with my left hand is tricky. You noticed one of the quirks of this show, as an homage to Sesame Street style we address the audience a lot, especially during songs. We talk to each other too, but it's a fun balance.

13: What kind of kid were you? If you ever were one...

I was a quiet kid when younger. Great imagination, but not one of those kids that you want to tie down from hyperactivity. The stage is a great outlet for my energy and creativity.

14: Do you manscape or are you naturally hairy / hairless?

I've got a hairless chest. I will shave my arms for when I've got a drag performance. That's right, I'll show you some pictures of me as Anya Neyes (get it? Ba-dum-tish).

15: Would you ever considering growing a biker beard?

I would probably never get that far into the beard process. My hair and facial hair all depend upon what show I'm doing next, so they change a lot. The most bearded I've been was when I was in a production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. I can send you a picture. Some people loved it, but not me. If I ever needed a bigger beard for a show, I'd just make a fake one with crepe hair and liquid latex.

Complete with beard lasers!

16: Give a shout out to your favorite frozen yogurt here! (or if you aren't that kind of guy, BBQ)

Can I just answer that with a yes please? Everything. Though I usually prefer ice cream over froyo. Just nothing coffee flavored!

17: Do you smoke or do anything cool like that?

No smoking for me. I'm asthmatic and don't want to mess up my singing voice either.

18: If you could be a puppy... What breed would you be?

Have you heard the idea that the breeds of dog a person has reflects upon them? I've always had boxers. Playful and nice dogs. Though I also enjoy pugs because they always look so concerned and I think it's hilarious. So draw your own conclusions.

PUPPY!!! :-D

19: Have you ever kicked an animal out of frustration after losing a big bet on a football game?

How dare you? I would never do either of those things. Kick an animal or watch this football you speak of.

20: You guys were all so great! What's next for Steffan? Where can we lavish you with lovesies next?

Well Avenue Q runs through the first week of November and is selling fast, so jump on it! December through the first week of February I will be performing in Young Frankenstein, then in April I will be in Spamalot. I like to keep busy. I perform as Anya Neyes quite often, just add her on Facebook to keep up with her. Finally, Ipierce up in Fort Collins.

Let me poke you already!

Thanks for the interview!

Interview with Two Tone Wolf Pack (The singer at least.)

When I saw Two Tone Wolf Pack play the other week at the Hi Dive (Denver) I knew immediately that they were hot. Not just hot, but they could sing well too! What with the singer's low manly grumble to the bass player's "fuck me" falsetto. And don't get me started on their accordion player! HOLY HELL!

When I'm not dreaming of being gang banged by these guys, I also find the time to appreciate their dark and haunting atmosphere of their amazing music.

And here's a pretty picture of the awesome dudes *via my friend Lisa Cooke's Truly Rejected magazine*

And now for the inappropriate (and sometimes racist) questions!

Enjoy! :-D

1: Well... So here we are... Any last requests before I swing you from a dead tree?

Look! Over there! It's a diversion!....

2: I just saved you. What kind of pants would you buy me for saving your life?

Easy. Filson Double Tin Cloth Pants... Wind,Water,&Fire Resistant, and Guaranteed for life as long as you don't put them in the washing machine.

3: Let's talk about your bass player. Does he get a lot of groupies? I'm sure you all do, but what about him?

To help keep his anonymity, we'll call him Danathan Evanderfield Garzan. He's more or less knee deep in groupies, and can't hardly do anything but beat them off with a stick.

4: Let's just get this out of the way... Show me your feet!

He misread my request. No one should have to look at shoes covering wonderfully wonderful bare feet! GRRR!!!

5: By the way, who are you and what do you do in the band? For anonymity's sake I'll go by Johnald, and I play Vocals and Sing Guitar.

6: Why Americana / Folk instead of hardcore metal or pop punk or hardcore pop punk? Americana/Folk is the people's music, and has been for way longer than any of those others..... also it's cheaper gear.

7: If I'm talking to the right person, show me your beard!

Ladies, he has manliness to spare! Seriously, this doesn't make you wet?

8: How did you guys meet up and make such wonderful music?

it's called dating. you mean when&how did we start going steady? Mainly online dating websites is how we met.

9: What brand of guitar do you have? (or bass, drums, accordion, whomever may be answering this)

I try and play my '51 Stella Harmony when ever I can.

10: What is your take on Obamacare? Shouldn't we all be denied healthcare just because it makes Republicans upset? Or if you are a Republican then, why?

Well if we're gonna be taxes to a Government, and a government is supposed to ensure our well being why wouldn't that include being allocated heavily towards health? I'd rather spend that money on health than on some vauge terms like "the fight against terrorism" or "the war on drugs."

11: What sort of influences influenced you guys? I mean musically, not your sexy pants.

I would point you towards reading the Introduction to Alan Lomax's Prison Songs Volume 1 "Murderous Home" Also a lot of Pop Music.

12: While we're on the subject, what kind of pants do you prefer?

I prefer pants that fit well. You know 30"x34" is Slim Fit.

13: If you could only save two people in the world and transport them to safety on a NASA rocket thingy, what kind of ice cream would you eat?

Little Man's Salted Oreo Ice Cream. Easiest question yet.

14: I'm sitting here drinking a diet soda. Entertain me!

Look! Over there! It's that Diversion again!

15: What is your name? And why should I capitalize it? Are you really that primpy and such that you can't stand to have your name un-capitalized?

You're not my real Dad!

16: If you could eat any fish, which one would most likely get blood thrown on you from PETA

Orca's? I think that's a mammal? Baby Dolphin? no, that's a mammal too... This one's too hard. Can we skip?.... Nope, I've got it! Fish sticks! But more because of the industries they're made by that what kind of fish it is.

17: What is your take on cows? Should we eat them? They are pretty stupid creatures. One time I punched a cow and it just sort of looked at me. I mean... What the fuck man!?

Hey man Cows and Dads are Cops too ya know.

18: Do you guys have a website or something you'd like me to post?

www.twotonewolfpack.com (of course!)

Plus you can get their facebook stuff here!

And listen to their darkly sweet take on... You know what? They are sort of a punk Munly.

Anyways: Here's their music!

19: When you sweat on stage, are you thinking of mass genocide?

not regularly.

20: Why the name “Two Tone Wolf Pack?” I mean, does it have significant attachment or did it just sort of came about as a way to book shows? Personally I think you guys should be called “Those sexy guys in that band that does the music and such!”

Two Tone Wolf Pack was originally a gang name. A gang for kids who only want to wear Wolf T-shirts. I think we just admired that audacity.

Also, Thanks. You're pretty cute yourself.

And now for a picture of a pug being all pug and shit. :-D

How to Rule at Free Art Museum Day

How to Rule at Free Art Museum Day

By: David McGhee

I woke up at around six this morning and immediately checked my Facebook and Twitter. Because that's just what I do before getting out of bed. Every day. Same thing. It's because I swear when ever I get a response to something I completely flip my shit and say “Holy cock of Christ! People are interacting with me!” But most times than not it will be some shitty invite. I don't mind it when people do them. In fact I do them myself when the mood strikes me. But nothing is a bigger letdown than seeing that you have five new alerts and all of them are inviting me to some shitty party or show. I don't go out anymore people! Respect that or... Actually you can still send me invites. I don't want to be a jerk. But it does suck to see that no one responded to my witty post about a military man's penis. Ugh! What do you people want from me!?

Shh... Don't be like that. Daddy didn't mean it. Here. Come to my sweaty arm pit and I will wrap my arm around you and tell you that it's all going to be fine. It will. It just takes some time. Unless you have diarrhea, in which case things will never be fine again. And it's all your fault!

Frank was kind enough to leave me a cigarette on my book case this morning. You know. It's a case that holds books. And it's full! I need a new one. I wonder if I had two book shelves, would that mean two cigarettes in the morning? A girl can dream I suppose.

I recently got H Pylori from food poisoning. And it's all Chobani's fault! You see, a while ago they recalled some amazingly delicious vanilla yogurt that I ate before the recall went into effect. Ergo, intestinal bacteria swimming inside my uterus. Or wherever I hold that stuff. I was so sick for so long that I was starting to get used to the sickness like I did with my Hep C. With that shit you're tired all the time and you're sick all the time. It's like having a minor to medium cold every day for the rest of your life.

You see, I was a very bad heroin addict at one time. Like “Holy shit, let's hide the jewelery!” addict. Yes I stole from people and companies. I never really robbed anyone but my folks. Even then my father wouldn't press charges. If only they had gotten my Aspergers diagnosis along with the Suboxone in the first place. Man I did some stupid shit.

I remember being two bucks short and coming up to the little Honduran dealer. I rolled up the money in a ball so that he would just jam it in his pockets and not count it. I was hoping on that. But that day was destined to be a real dick slap to the face. And not the good kind of dick slap either. No, this is either a three inch penis or a five foot schlong just pounding away at my cheeks. What bullshit!

Anyways, he counted the money and he and his dealer buddies started laughing and calling me a “punto.” I'm sure that they were saying that my hair was amazing, but instinct told me that it had to be a curse word. I begged the man for just on ten dollar piece of heroin. I was in so much pain from withdrawal that I was literally crying in front of him and his compatriots. I saw them laughing and then the one that had the shit stopped smiling. He pulled a black balloon from his mouth and held it over his head. He started laughing again and he said “Bark punto!”

I felt a shot of freon course through my veins. I had never been so humiliated. But truth be told, I do it pretty often and really should just sort of shrug it off as another day at the beach. If Denver Colorado had beaches? It is literally a desert that was gentrified into a livable city. All those beautiful trees downtown? All transplants.

I did as I was told. Then he made me beg. I swear he would of asked me to hump his leg if it he had drawn it out further. He spit in my general direction and threw the black balloon far over my head and almost into the gutter.

“Adios punta!” They cackled as I was on the side of the sidewalk looking for the piece amidst all the crap that seems to accumulate near the storm drains. After a few minutes I was about to give up and just go turn myself in or something. I was in so much physical and emotional pain that I was sure I would kill myself soon. And I'd do it while in withdrawal. I swear I don't with opiate withdrawal on anyone. No matter how tall and beautiful they may be.

I went into the Arbys and smoked half of it on a piece of tin foil (because I hadn't yet discovered the joys of shooting the stuff up) and kept the other half for later. I don't know why I always did that. I would just be smoking / shooting it again as soon as I got home anyways... It's more the ritual I think. The ritual of using drugs is more times than not, the biggest thing you need to get over. The prepping of whatever you're doing brings just as much pleasure and security as actually doing the stuff.

Having no money and recently high, I decided to go pan handle downtown Denver and maybe get some money for a Jamba Juice. If you don't know who they are well it's this smoothie place that uses fresh everything for their stuff. It's sooooooooooooooooooooooo good! Even though they took it off the menu, you can still order an Orange Berry Blitz. Trust me on this. That's citrus up your ass son!

I had made two dollars when I walked up to a nice looking lady in a black baseball cap and a brown jacket. I asked her if she would have any change so that I may partake in Jamba Juice's Jamba goodness.

So instead of giving me a dollar or whatknot, she fucking slaps some cuffs on me and tells me that I'm under arrest for “aggressive panhandling.” What the fuck? I mean, I said “please” every time. It didn't have to escalate to this you know. But she was proud of her kill and I walked silently and deeply crushed. She brought me to a gaggle of plainclothes officers. They sure did look like officers too. What homeless person works out enough to have guns the size of Texas (I only use this metaphor because, as you may know, everything is bigger in Texas) I was more than intimidated by these people.

When one of them asked me if I had anything in my pockets I just up and said. “I got heroin in this pocket.” and I pointed to my left pants pocket. They first patted me down and then they went into my pockets. They found the piece of tin foil with the little piece of stuff stuck to it like molasses on a hard winter's day.

Yadda yadda yadda

So anyways, we went to the Denver Museum of Modern Art. It was their free day and we tend to like free things, so we went. In the car I read silently to myself. A little big book that goes by the title of “Stephen King's 'IT.'” Not that it's little at all. It's fucking one thousand and one hundred pages. It's a beast! And I love it! It's by far one of his better books. I was told that there will be a scene with children gang banging each other so I will keep a lookout for that. Only in my mind they'll age to post eighteen years of age and they'd all have man hair. Mmm... Man hair. More men need to show it off, because man hair is super sexy fellas!

Did you know that a man's sweat will turn on a straight girl / gay guy with his arm pit pheromones. It's true. Looking at a sweaty sexy man in a book is one thing. But to be right in front of this tall awesomely awesome dude and smell his musk up close? Fuck yeah!

I hope this doesn't make me into more of a freak. That's the last thing I need is to be demoted lower on the corporate ladder of life. I bet that that game plays more like chutes and ladders. One roll you're on your way to the top and then you slide back to the bottom. Usually with no money, no phone, and a sore bum.

From now on I'm going have to charge for my services. I'm asking two fiddy and a bag of skittles. Oh baby. Oh baby. Oh baby. Are you turned on yet? Hrmm... Neither am I. So let's look at a redheaded macho man!

Now that I've gotten your attention, we stopped at a doggy event over by the Platte River just before going to the museum. It was called “Pugs in the Park” and I was immediately drawn to their pudgy stupid gazes. Pugs should be mandatory house pets for anyone who is allergic to cats. I like to think that their pudgy pugness was one of God's many slip ups. Seriously, they look like Siamese cats only with Downs syndrome. You can sort of see it? Right?

I had a pug to my left and a pug to my right and one other pug bouncing against his / her caged fence. I had so much pug that I will be shitting black and white for a week now. Not that I ate them. That would have been just flat out rude. I'm sure you have to buy it first before you can eat'em.

It was all really just a blur after that. We wound up in the art museum and I will swear to you that I totally spaced between the puggity puggy pug pugs thing and arriving at the museum. I was totally like “What the heck?” Because I was told not to curse in the museum. There's kids in there you know...

I took out my phone and took these pictures just for you.

And then not even a fifth through with the museum... My phone died. Which is really a shame because I eventually found some nude paintings that I would of liked to have shown you. But I suppose you could just do that on Google images. I know I use that feature to look up naked male celebrities without paying to get into whatever site the picture is located on. That's the cool thing about Google. It will show you the pictures of any website for free! You just got to know how to look.

Normally I try the actor's name and then add “nude.” If that doesn't work then I also try “naked, penis, dick, covered in jams and jellies, and just all that sort of bullshit you'd expect from a juvenile.

I never felt like I grew up really. I still have this small kid's body and it pisses me off. Why couldn't I have been normal? Living with Aspergers sucks at times like these because I can't help but over think everything in the smallest details. Some hot dude looked at me at King Soopers (Kroger for you eastern folk) and I smiled back. He looked disgusted and probably went to have tall skinny person sex with some hot chick he just met because, well, straight men be sexin it up with anything that has a hole. Sadly though, this doesn't ever seem to be the case for my ass. Apparently normal men have “standards” and “set sexuality.” Fucking A! I say take your boxers off and let me take photos. Am I perverted? I don't think I am...

You see, my fascination with tall skinny men is that I wish I could be them. Darwin's evolutionary survival of the fittest thing has got me wondering many times if I would have been dead in any other era. What with all the suicide attempts and such? Back then they thought mental health issues were best dealt with in a locked institution. Geesh! And here all this time I bet you were hoping that I want to have intercourse with said men.

Nope. I am barely sexual. I swear I like never jerk off anymore. I did it tons back in my early twenties (I wouldn't touch myself in high school because I hated my body that much. It used to be that just taking my shirt off would ensue a thunderstorm of tears) but to be honest, it's really not that big of a deal anymore. So if I'm not getting sexual gratification from such things, then why do I do it? Because I like to imagine said hot men living a slutty life and using their good bodies to make more babies. Men be all slutty like that. I just wish I could be a normal 5'10”-6' 150 pound brown eyed football watching, bitch fucking, beer drinking good old boy. Even if just for a second.

I use humor a lot to deflect my hurt. So if you ever see me in a clown suit down at the mall and I'm screaming obscenities at the passing young children, you can bet your social security check that I'm just working through some problems. By being a clown that shouts mean things to children. See? Funny huh? Oh you're such a bore...

Achey Breaky Heart – A Psychoanalysis

Achey Breaky Heart – A Psychoanalysis

By: David McGhee

 

“You can tell the world

You never was my girl”

 

            These here are lyrics of a most complex nature, showing off the linguistic capabilities of a one, Mr. Billy Ray Cyrus. First off, there is the underlying aggression for his former lover. Second, he is accepting the fact that she has broken off the relationship and he understands if she was to sink to the childish level of denying her relationship to the subject. He has come to terms it seems but he also hints at the fact that he still wishes her well. Perhaps he hasn't gotten over her completely? Oh thine bard, whilst your secrets unravel as this musical sonnet unfolds?

 

“You can burn my clothes when I'm gone”

 

            If given his rustic country boy flavor to the idea that he may have grown up having great responsibilities. One milestone in life that people sometimes forget once they accrue age is that taking on the responsibility to handle fire on your own is a big thing to most kids. The first time you light something on fire, a primal self comes about via our collective unconscious, which comes to say as to why Mr. Cyrus has a preoccupation with fire. He is indeed the very specimen of a man. Tall with broad shoulders. Has a deep baritone vocal range and without the mullet, he isn't that bad looking. The kind of man who could pick up any woman he wanted at his local musical venue / bar establishment, or “Honky Tonk.” It is no surprise that he shows interest in his girlfriend setting his clothes aflame. He is the very primordial Neanderthal in all us males. This, I believe, is why he suggested her to do such an action. A small minority of fetishists do however “get off” on seeing things burn. Perhaps he finds sexual gratification in it?

 

“Or you can tell you friends

Just what a fool I've been

And laugh and joke about me on the phone”

 

            Subject shows signs of paranoia. Perhaps paranoid schizophrenic? This along with the previous interest in burning his possessions strongly suggests that this may be an avenue worth pursuing. He appears to believe that the woman (or man) in question has enough interest in defacing his name that he just out right lets it be known that if she (or he) is going to do it then she (or he) has his blessing.

            I'm sure many people have laughed and joked about Mr. Cyrus on the phone but as to whether or not the woman in question has ever done it is not certain to this author. Upon research he has yet to become violent to a woman when looking up his personal statuses on Google, Wikipedia and other reliable world wide web search engines.

            There is also a bit of sarcasm to these lyrics. Which may indicate intelligence on Mr. Rays part. Fascinating.

            My final analysis on these lines proves to me that Mr. Cyrus has histrionic personality disorder, seeing as he assumes that the goings on of his former mate concern him in an all encompassing manner.

 

“You can tell my arms go back to the farm

You can tell my feet to hit the floor”

 

            Apparently he suffers from a suggestible psychosis where all one has to do to obtain something from the multiplatinum country artist is just to ask. His mind is weak and has no conscious control to override such demands as telling his arms to go back to the farm. From where his arms surely must have come from. Sort of a black market with limbs. Has Mr. Cyrus discovered the secret to limb extraction and reattachment? There is no evidence that he has been educated on such matters. So we are safe to assume that he has found an outside source for such surgical mastery.

 

“Or you can tell my lips to tell my finger tips

They won't be reaching out for you no more”

 

            This is an example of the mental illness apperceptive visual agnosia. Where inanimate objects are sometimes given more credence to motion and intelligence than one would normally give. He has to tell his fingers not to engage in the outreach of the his love interest. He believes he only has the power to do so if he actually vocalizes his request. To him, his fingertips have ears in which to hear and obey commands. This is a sign derealization, where the real world is filtered through a psychosis where many thing such as inanimate body parts have a consciousness and can act upon command.

 

“But don't tell my heart

My achey breaky heart

I just don't think he'd understand”

 

            As many men personify their penises, Mr. Ray Cyrus has apparently personified his heart. As to what such a name could be is anybodies guess. The fact that he embodied it with a male gender suggests a misogynistic view on women. Or it could be that he being a male, assumes that other parts of his body have gender running more toward the “Y” chromosome. But surely from previous evidence it is in this author's opinion that he sees women as proprietors of the fall of masculinity.

 

“And if you tell my heart

My achey breaky heart

He might blow up and kill this man”

 

            Finally we get to the heart of the matter, to borrow a phrase from the popular lexicon of modern clichés. He has identified another male in which to suffer the brunt of his angst of being dumped. This is what us psychologists call “Transference.” Transference is where rage and or affectionate feelings are transferred from the one whom is the instigator of such feelings and puts it onto another human or inanimate object. He transfers his aggression out on an unsuspecting man and proves that his condition is one in which is of the more worrisome variety.

            Many unmedicated Paranoid Schizophrenics have the capability to take a man's entrails and wrap them around his waist. Not that many do this however. It is supposed that many normal men have this capability. But I'd like to digress and say that Mr. Cyrus can be a frightening creature when he wants to be. We all have this inner aggression as males that cannot be satisfied with mental processing strategies. It is in this professionals opinion that he take up knitting.

 

“You can tell your ma

I moved to Arkansas”

 

            Is this a command or is he conceding again? Let's prepare for both scenarios shall we?

·        If he was telling her to relay this information then he would in fact be demonstrating histrionic personality disorder. A disease where the subject is infatuated with one's self and cannot bear the sting of rejection. Which brings me to the second point.

·        If he was indeed giving her the okay to do what she was already going to do then that further enforces the histrionic personality type. He feels that he has ultimate say in other people's actions, here demonstrated is him commanding his former lover to relay false information to her mother. Perhaps he owes her money and she is doing her a favor at not telling her his whereabouts?

 

“You can tell your dog to bite my leg”

 

            By allowing her dog to bite to his leg by her dog probably is him filling the role of the apologetic boyfriend. By being bitten, he hopes, presumably, that he is showing retribution to her. But under normal circumstances and with typical personality types, he is only showing his ability to feed into his masochistic tendencies, normally found in fifteen year old female cutters.

 

“Or you can tell your brother Cliff

Who's fist can can tell my lip

He never really liked me anyway”

 

            Subject seems to have quite an imagination. It is not known at this current time whether or not said brother “Cliff” indeed wants to let his fist do the talking. Of course we went over the reasons for him to feel as if such an inanimate object is capable of conversing with Mr. Cyrus.

 

“Or you can tell your Aunt Louise

Tell anything you please”

 

            With this he gives his permission to her to completely fabricate a story as to why they have separated. One could only assume it involves Jedi knights and Playdough.

 

“Myself already knows I'm not okay”

 

            He is talking both in first person and third person at the same time here. That to me indicates a strong likelihood of a disassociative disorder, in which a man or woman is disassociated from him or herself to the degree where they see themselves not as an autonomous thinking creature, but a far off object or animal in which they have no control over.

            See “fingertips.”

 

“Or you can tell my eyes

To watch out for my mind

It might be walking out on me today”

 

            Again, he personifies a body part to the point where he does not recognize them as his own. Whereas typical human beings feel as a whole it appears that Mr. Cyrus sees each individual part of his body as having a consciousness of its own. Again we see signs of Visual Agnosia of the  apperceptive variety. In where the subject does not recognize the body part as one of his own, in this sense, so he assumes that it has a will and consciousness. Some sufferers even hear said article vocalize a response. Does the subject hear his eyes agreeing with him? Such is mental illness...

 

“Don't tell my heart

My achey breaky heart

Don't tell my heart

My achey breaky heart

Don't tell my heart

My achey breaky heart”

 

            This repetition shows signs of either a slight autism on his part or an undiagnosed case of mild obessive compulsive disorder. Subject feels the need to repeat himself ad nauseum to the point of irritating listeners. While this researcher can personally admit to the catchiness of the lines, it is more likely designed in nature to appeal to listeners of a certain capacity. It is certain that the twenty million plus human beings who had purchased this album are of the atypical typical type. Modestly intelligent people who have no impulse control, hence my theory on as to why this album was so successful.

            Upon many listens, the novelty of the lyrics wear off, as does the melody. It is that rare diddy that can eat at your brain like a carnivorous ear wig*. But as most things of this caliber do, has gone from the public consciousness off to greener pastures of one hit wonderdome. Forever frozen in a list on a VH1 countdown show.

 

*Carnivorous ear wigs in actuality, do not consume the brain matter of humans. There are too many fail safes keeping outside articles of mass from getting inside the cranial cavity.

Limp Bizkit: Nookie - A Psychoanalysis

Nookie - A psychoanalysis

By: David McGhee

“I came into this world as a reject”

Apparently mocking the fact that Fred Durst himself grew up an awkward skating kid of minimal means. He had yet to find a confidence that certain wellness level of self esteem that would not come until after the third album. Selling ten million albums and having a girl scream night after night “Fred, you're the best!” in an unironic tone and faculties will do that to a man.

"Look into these eyes
Then you'll see the size of these flames
Dwellin on the past
Its burnin' up my brain
Everyone that burns has to learn from the pain"

Fred Durst has a hesitation to let go of his past. Both himself and others probably had a lot of shit going on back then during his formative years. It seems to me that Mr. Durst suffers from a form of rage disorder. If I am not correct, I believe it would be Narcissistic Personality Disorder due to his inability to let go certain instances where his masculinity was called into question - “Hey fag!” or a girlfriend left him or / and spread awful rumors about his penis, of which he appears to be very emotionally attached to are fine theoretical examples. To him he cared enough for the girl (maybe, but in this researcher's opinion I believe that his lyrics demonstrate a fondness of the female sex organs. It is this understanding on how Fred Durst views woman, that I believe he did in fact, do it all for the nookie) He yearns for for his three minutes and resents the person of objection and he is caught in a self repeating cycle of reliving that May-December romance of his and its bitter resolution.

"Hey I think about the day
My girlie ran away with my pay
When fellas come to play
No she stuck with my homeez that she fucked"

A victim of even a petty crime may develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when lacking the proper skills and sometimes medication that may prevent the event to become it's own pathway by process of Neurogenesis, where the brain grows new neurons and brain tissue to accommodate anything new that the brain has acquired through habit consisting of thirty days or more.

If you mind my saying, adding insult to injury had to be the aforementioned “homeez that she fucked” conundrum. He had good, loyal friends. But despite his sense of loyalty and partaking in the occasional orgy or game of limp biscuit, where a circle jerk ejaculates onto a biscuit, the last one to “cum” had to eat the said biscuit.

• Side note: Their name, as Durst put it, was designed by its very nature to offend people and prevent those without an open mind from listening to their music. In a sense he was demonstrating his loyalty to the punk movement. He had been a skater punk who also enjoyed hip hop. But the fact that he himself was knowledgable on the practice makes one wonder whether there is some pent up homosexual tendencies from not experimenting during his younger years or just does not feel comfortable with tackling even such a dramatic shift of character and / or just does not have the capacity to process such stimuli.

Continued – It is to be assumed that after the bitter disinvestment in each other as lovers she routinely engaged in intercourse with said “homeez”. Rendering future involvement with the comrades who part took in that sweet sweet tang of Durst's hot spring of warm nether regions practically intolerable.

"And I'm just a sucker with a lump in my throat
Hey, like a chump
Should I be feelin' bad? No
Should I be feelin good? No
Its kinda sad I'm the laughin' stock of the neighborhood
You would think that I'd be movin' on
But I'm a sucker like I said
Fucked up in the head, not!"

It appears that the particular area of residence that Fred Durst had sheltered during the time of said relationship had been very concerned with the concept of retaining archaic lines of thought process and belittling anybody who fell out of the role of their gender when it came to extra relational affairs. It is my rudimentary understanding of such beasts that has me to think that by being called gay, thems fighting words.

Again this comes to his pre-fame financial deficit that forced him to live in low rent areas where it is known that many people with extensive criminal records and dalliances with illegal narcotics were tolerated on the level that you cause no commotion, you stay in motion. This also puts a higher chance of interacting with people of low IQ and / or of limited means.

He then goes on to depreciate himself with the lyrics “But I'm a sucker like I said.” Only to rescind his remark in the most juvenile of expressions.

"Maybe she just made a mistake
I should give her a break
My heart will ache either way
Hey, what the hell
Watcha want me to say
I wont lie that I cant deny"

Although he has used her for sexual alliances in the past, he feels that just thinking of her in any way, shape, or form seems to trigger a mild case of Post Traumatic Disorder, as previously explained.

[Chorus]

"I did it all for the nookie
C'mon
The nookie
C'mon
So you can take that cookie
And stick it up your, ass!!
Stick it up your, ass!!
Stick it up your, ass!!"

This in the we psychology professionals and students call emotional transference. You see, he has been so traumatized by the repeated deflowering of his mate at the hands (citation needed) of his fellow testosterone fueled misogynists, he embarks on the thought process that by making her the passive one in the relationship, he has effectively recaptured his sense of physical and mental well being. He has recaptured his sense of manhood by making her into an object to be thrown away after use, despite his obviously ill advised attachment to a woman who is no longer receptive to his romantic advances. He has regained his sense of dominance as a male. And in doing so, has penned lyrics that often contradict himself and show his underlying lack in proper social skills.

His mantra to stick cookie up the anal orafice of his former lover also demonstrates Durst's deeply repressed fascination with homosexual intercourse. Which is also evident in the the homosexual reference in the name of his musical combo. The fact that it is a cookie present some deeply troubling revelations about the extent of his sexual repression. Perhaps conventional genitalia is deemed as too traditional and pursues other avenues of filling an anal cavity.

"Why did it take so long?
Why did I wait so long, huh
To figure it out? but I did it
And I'm the only one underneath the sun who didn't get it
I cant believe that I can be deceived"

Many people have a hard time accepting failure in a relationship. It was very likely that the signs of deception were eminent, but Durst, by the understanding of his previous lyrics, was in denial because the truth would make him question his manhood and ability as a lover. This is a common concern with any healthy young heterosexual male. What isn't healthy though is not accepting his place in the relationship. He has faults like the rest of us do, but his pride is that of a father who's son's Harvard education is keeping him in financial decadence during the later years of his life. He is a smart man, he thinks, as we all do, but we generally can't see our intelligence in the proper perspective then that of an outsider. People have a tendency to overestimate their abilities most of the time.

"By my so called girl, but in reality
Had hidden agenda"

This is post break up paranoia at its most evident. By his understanding he has been plotted against. Presumably along with his former “homeez.” This shows major signs of Paranoid Schizophrenia in the sufferer. A disease where irrational thought and nameless blame are the order of the day. Not somebody you would trust with your coke.

"She put my tender heart in a blender
And still I surrendered
Hey, like a chump"

She emasculated him to a distressing degree, yet he still shoulders the blame for the relationship's misgivings. He simply can not believe that something as beautiful as a tender courtship with his ex, with all the love and emotionally fulfilling effort on his part, was in all reality, a forced facade Durst put himself through despite the warning signs around him.

[chorus]

"I'm only human
Its so easy for your friends to give you their advice
They tell you to let it go
But its easier said then done"

He has here acknowledged that a: he has other trustworthy friends in which he can confide. And b: he is frustrated that his understanding of his relationship cannot be empathized with by his fellow colleagues, who, as with the rest of us over the age of eighteen, cannot understand why someone would pretend everything was on the up when in fact his girlfriend, if one was to assume, was possibly getting sugary confections shoved up her rectum by his “homeez.”

"I appreciate it
I do, but just leave me alone
Leave me alone
Just leave me alone!
Just leave me alone!"

These pronouncements of self alienation have deep psychological scars associated with growing up an outsider of the mainstream. Being a skater punk, a persona not well favored by the hierarchy of popularity the late eighties and / or mid nineties when he was an adolecent, has only cemented his feelings on personal autonomy in what can be said has proved the most absurd role reversal imaginable. From punk to jock he most likely is taking on the persona of the oppressors of his youth, giving him emotional strength in the way an African man will call his fellow African American man a *explicative removed*. However over the course of his illustrious career he has grown un-ironically into the role of the supreme misogynist, with his music being a monument to the Y chromosome.

"Aint nothin' gonna change
If you can go away
Im just gonna stay here and always be the same
Aint nothin' gonna change"

It is always hard to contemplate the finality of life and your place in the world. Perhaps things are beyond your control. Many people in this situation feel hopeless as to whether or not their predicament will ever get better. It has been proven that with proper psychiatric care and medication it is possible to overcome the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But such treatments only work if the rehabilitating party agrees to work on the things that trouble him rationally and with great consciousness.

"If you can go away"

Without said proper therapy and work on the behalf of the bereaved, self esteem can plummet to worrisome lows when in the face of a traumatic experience. Especially when the parting of his ex has raised so many existential conundrums such as a clearly repressed fascination with the anus. Durst, whom at the time of the song being wrote, could not see an agreeable solution to his dilemma, has chosen to deal with it through the very public forum of FM radio stations and MTV (During their period of actively airing music videos circa 1981 to 2008) through the use of musical arrangement.

This line best represents the underlying fact that he presumably still wants for her affection, but cannot except her absence as a reality. Surely the subject is suffering from delusion that he is a serviceable lover.

"Im just gonna stay here and always be the same
Aint nothin' gonna change
If you can go away
Im just gonna stay here and always be the same"

It appears that Mr. Durst has come to accept his mental illness related shortcomings and is fine with the way he is. But does Mr. Durst truly believe this? Has he accepted her resignation and moved on? Apparently not. Because exactly a track later he goes on to “Break Stuff.” But the impact of ode reckless property damage is best left for another article.

It has been a long running irony when such a serious problem is set to a catchy hook and adored merely on its pop value with many of the song's fan base unaware of its deeply tragic sub-contexts within the layers of bitter confessional poetry that was born out of the pain one acquires from a deeply affecting loss.

It's also an allegory for saying “Bitch! You ain't nothing but a hole to me!”

As to which explanation is true, the only man who knows for sure will perhaps never elaborate on the more personal aspects of his life. Except when he's talking about titty fucking a groupie. That stuff is pertinent information.