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| 5/10/02: My name is Ben. I live in a corner at Rascal's. I write these ads now. The man who used to write them got fired. He drank too much and had a bad brain. His bad brain made him write things that were kooky and not nice. The newspaper won't print things that are kooky and not nice when the things that are kooky and not nice are written by people who don't work for the newspaper. I won't write things that are kooky and not nice. I want the paper to print what I write. I don't want to get fired |
| TONIGHT is Friday Night. Rascal's has a band. The band is called BARFLIES. BARFLIES is different. They play their own music. Their music is called gonzo jazz. The bass player is Beitzel. Beitzel plays a lot of notes. Beitzel plays the acoustic stand-up bass. It is very big. The drummer is Clint. Clint plays drums with sticks. Clint plays drums with beer bottles. Clint is confused. The keyboard player is Gary. Gary makes weird notes with his keyboard. Gary drives a silver van with a dove on it. Watch out for Gary. Dave plays guitar with people who have won Grammys. Dave is very good. Dave is smooth. Really watch out for Dave. No one sings in this band. They have a remote-controlled fart machine and a bullhorn. |
| Come here tonight. We have food. We have drinks. We have Barflies. My name is Ben. I live in the corner at Rascal's. I write these ads now. I don't want to get fired. My name is Ben... |
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| 5/17/02: My name is Ben. I live in a corner of Rascal's. I write these ads. I am the Employee of the Month. An Employee of the Month is someone who is very good and who follows the rules. I do not want to get fired. DeAnne does not live in a corner at Rascal's. I do not know where DeAnne lives. DeAnne wants Sandra to make her the Employee of the Month. DeAnne is a brown-noser. Pottsy gives people drinks. Pottsy yells at people who have too much alcohol in their brain and who do not act right. Pottsy shows them the door. Pottsy does not pick the Employee of the Month. Sandra picks the Employee of the Month. Sandra is the boss. I am very nice to Sandra. I will be the Employee of the Month again next month. DeAnne will not. I know how to schmooze. |
| TONIGHT is Friday night. We have a band. A band is made up of musicians. Some musicians show up late for gigs and still want to get paid. Some musicians show up for gigs with too much alcohol in their brains and do not act right. Musicians who do this get fired. The band tonight is THE RUBBER BAND. They are not like that. They are good people. They are young. They are hip. They have cool hair. They write and play their own music - the music is good. THE RUBBER BAND played here before. Many people came to hear them. Many people will come to hear them tonight. Everyone will have fun. I will stare at the pretty girls. Pretty girls like me. I know how to schmooze. |
| Come here tonight. We have food. We have alcohol. We have Pottsy. We have THE RUBBER BAND. My name is Ben. I live in a corner at Rascal's. I write this ad. I am the Employee of the Month. DeAnne is not. My name is Ben.. |
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| 5/24/02: My name is Ben. I live in a corner at Rascal's. I write this ad. I am the Employee of the Month. DeAnne is a bartender. DeAnne does not write this ad, DeAnne signs her name with an "X". DeAnne wants to be the next Employee of the Month. This will not happen. Pottsy told me to bribe Sandra to win. Sandra is the boss. Sandra will decide who the next Employee of the Month will be. A bribe is when you give people who make decisions money to "make sure they do the right thing". The "right thing" is to decide that Ben, not DeAnne, is the next Employee of the Month. I think there is a problem. Today I asked Sandra if Pottsy has been giving her my money to do "the right thing". Sandra said "No". I smell a rat. The rat has a long gray beard. The rat has my money! |
| On Friday night Rascal's has a band. Tonight is Friday night. Rascal's has a good band. The STEVE CIPRIANO BAND is a blues band. The Steve Cipriano Band is very good. Steve plays cool guitar. I do not know why Steve does not wear gloves to keep his hands warm when he plays the cool guitar. I do not know why Steve wears dark glasses when he plays the cool guitar. I think Steve may be in the Witness Protection Program. Friday is Pottsy's Birthday Party. Help Pottsy celebrate his birthday. Pottsy will be eating his birthday cake through a straw if he does not give me my money back |
| Come here tonight. We have food. We have drinks. We have Pottsy's birthday party. We have Steve Cipriano. My Name is Ben. I Live in the corner at Rascal's. I got new clothes. I write this ad. My name is Ben.... |
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| 5/31/02: In the spirit of fairness, we feel obligated to permit the following candidates equal space in which to present their respective view on the hotly contested race for Employee of the Month at Rascal's. The winner will be announced innext week's ad. - The Fair Selection Committee of Rascals: Steve Pratt, Chairman |
| My name is Ben. I am a long-time resident of a corner of Rascal's. I write ads that people like. I want to be Employee of the Month! I have style. I have charisma. I have a campaign manager who rips me off. I am willing to give lots of bribes. I am a mannequin of the people! DeAnne wants to be Employee of the Month. DeAnne is just a bartender. DeAnne is not worthy. Send DeAnne packing. Tell Sandra to "do the right thing" and select Ben. (See Pottsy if you want a bribe. He has my money!) |
| My name is DeAnne and I'm a bartender and so what! This whole Employee of the Month thing has gotten way out of hand! I don't care whether I am selected or not, okay? Ben's the one. He's Looney Tunes! In fact, you know what? Ben isn't even real! That's right. Ben's a mannequin - a self-promoting, egotistical, sniping dung heap of fiberglass! And you know why he lives in a corner of Rascal's? Because he can't move, that's why. He has no life - literally. Oh, and this is what a sharpie Ben is. Last week Ben gave Pottsy a wad of money to bribe Sandra with. Instead, Pottsy used the money to buy drinks for all of his buddies. Yeah, and they gave me huge tips, too with your money, Benny Boy! Print that on a tee shirt and wear it, you store front freak! |
| My name is Ben. Come to Rascal's this week. We have drinks. We have great food. We have Pottsy. where is Pottsy? Where is my money? My name is Mud! |
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| 6/07/02: The decision has been made. The hard fought campaign for Employee of the Month is over. But before I announce Rascal's Employee of the Month for June, I want to extend my appreciation to the Fair Selection Committee of Rascal's and single out the efforts of its chairman, Steve Pratt. Steve kept a cool head and helped guide me through the decision-making process, which was complicated by the highly aggressive promotion efforts of one particular candidate. During this stress-filled period, Steve took it upon himself to wash my car twice a week, play with my cats, do my grocery shopping and run errands to give me time to ponder this decision. The fresh-cut flowers every morning had a nice, calming effect, too. And this is why I know I am doing the right thing in selecting our bartender and a prince among men and mannequins, Steve Pratt, to be Employee of the Month for June. Congratulations Steve! And now, this week's ad.. |
| My name is Ben. I seethe in a corner at Rascal's. I write this ad. I wanted to be Employee of the Month. I am not. I lost. Pottsy took my money. DeAnne said bad things about me and Steve is a weasel with a pony tail! I will never run again. I hope everyone is satisfied now. They won't have Ben to kick around any more! I need a stiff drink. TONIGHT is Friday night. Rascal's has a band. Come here tonight. We have food. We have drinks. My name is Ben. I seethe in a corner at Rascal's. I write this ad and Steve should start paying kids a quarter to start his car. I am very angry. My name is Ben... |
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| 6/14/02: My name is Ben. I write this ad. I do not live in a corner at Rascal's. I left because Steve is the Employee of the Month. I should be the Employee of the Month. Steve should be scrubbing cages at the zoo. I will be working for the National Institute for Automobile Safety. They have been looking for a mannequin like me. I will not have to stand in a corner anymore. I will get to sit in shiny new cars. I will not have to wear silly clothes any more. I will get to wear snazzy orange jump suits. I will not have to work with Steve anymore. I will work with engineers and scientists. I will be on the fast track. I will make an impact. I have no experience, but the institute says it will give me a crash course. I will be Employee of the Month there in no time. I will show Steve, Ben is no dummy |
| Come here tonight. We have food. We have drinks. I have a new job. Pottsy still owes me money. I know people who break bones. Pottsy should look over his shoulder often. My name is Ben. I write this ad...Editor's note: At press time we learned that Ben is doing well on his new job and participated in a series of high speed, high impact safety tests. Letters of congratulations from readers can be sent to Ben in care of Rocco's auto Salvage and Scrap Emporium. |
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| 6/21/02: My name is Ben I write this ad. I used to live in a corner at Rascal's. then Steve robbed me of being Employee of the Month, so I quit. Then I got a job with the National Institute for Automobile Safety. They put me in cars and slammed me into a wall. It hurt, so I quit. I have another new job. I will be working at our local gun club. My new boss is a fat man with mirrored sun glasses. He carries a big rifle and lots of bullets. He is a quiet man. I asked him what I will be doing. He told me my job will be out on the range. I like working outdoors. He said he will be keeping his sights on me. I like the personal touch. I asked if I had a shot at being Employee of the Month. He said I was on target. I am excited about my new job. Steve will be sorry he does not have a job like this. This job is going to be a blast!!//On Friday Rascal's has a band. Tonight the band is THE PATRICK SWEANY BAND. Sweany plays the blues. Sweany sings. Sweany plays the guitar. Sweany jumps around. I think he may have a nervous disorder. Sweany is irish. Sweany is a lunatic. I don't know what a lunatic is, but Sweany is one.//come here tonight. We have food. We have drinks. We have the Patrick Sweany Band. I have another new job. I have been going to the post office every day looking for my check that Pottsy told me was in the mail. I wonder where it is. My name is Ben. I write this ad... |
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| 6/28/02: My name is Ben. I write this ad. This week, I am writing in a body cast. I am in worse shape then The English Patient I have had two jobs since I quit Rascal's. On the first, I got scrunched like a rat in a trash compactor. On the second, chubby men with beer breath and automatic weapons shot me to pieces. I have been living on pain killers and Bondo ever since. But things are looking up! I have another new job. Pottsy got it for me. He's not such a bad guy after all. It is with Ocean World Amusement Park. I will be entertaining hundreds of people. I wil lbe performing underwater. I will be feeding fish in a giant glass tank. I cannot remember what the fish are called - great white-something-or-others. My new boss, Quint, likes me. He calls me his chum. The big fish must be very shy. Quint says they have to cover me in blood and fish parts to attract them. That's show biz. This job bette rnot bite like the other two. I am sick of treading water. If this job does not pan out, Ben will be dead in the water. This time it's sink or swim! I am beginning to miss Rascal's - even jerk-boy Steve and DeAnne the whiner . My name is Ben. I write this ad and if Pottsy has steered me wrong on this job he will sleep with the fishes. My name is Ben... |
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| 7/05/02: Note: Ben was not able to submit our ad this week - we have not heard from him since he left to go swimming with the fishes. We had to enlist the aid of one of local trained chimps to do the honors |
| Ben - crash-test dummy, fiberglass bulls-eye, shark-bait, first class chump. A mannequin barely alive. Readers: Pottsy can rebuild him. He has the technology (and plenty of beer). He has the capability to build the world's first bionic mannequin. Ben will be that mannequin. Better than he was before. Better, and for the love of Pete, a lot smarter. But, in the meantime, while our bionic surgeon-to-be Pottsy, awaits the arrival of high-tech polymers and slightly stable radioactive elements from a shadowy source deep inside the former Soviet Union, here's the ad for this week.//TONIGHT we feature the jazz funk tintinnabulaltions of BARFLIES, complete with bullhorn and nether region sound machine. While most jazz musicians flat their fifths, BARFIES drink theirs. It's not a pretty sight! Don't leave loose change on the bar,. Unlike that ball team on the lake, the lineup of Barflies remains stable (from a personnel standpoint, that is): Beitzel, that dedicated follower of fashion, on bass; Dave Marchione on guitar; Clint, a guy who hangs around with musicians, and Gary Lewis as "The Beaver". Stop by tonight, or any night for that matter - we're open 7 days a week. We have drinks, great food (a colossal new cold sub and salad menu) great music and once Pottsy gets to work and kinder and gentler Ben. |
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| 7/12/02: My name is Steve. I'm a bartender. I'm writing this ad because I lost 3 out of 4 rock, scissors and paper to DeAnne, and because after being slammed into walls, riddled with bullets and ripped to shreds by man-eating fish, our manic mannequin and regular writer, Boondoggle Ben, is undergoing a synthetic make over at the hands of Dr. Pottsy-stein. As I hear tell, things aren't going well. Pottsy was asked to make Ben anatomically correct, so he gave him gray hair and a scraggy beard. All the while, Ben was screaming, "I'm not an animal!" What's next, a stolen brain from Abby Normal? Don't ask. You don't want to know.//We've got a band making their debut here TONIGHT - a high-energy blues band called HOT SOUSE. According to the bio on this bar napkin, HOT SOUSE is fronted by vocalist Laura Henderson and her husband Sam. It says here that Laura discovered her dynamic vocal range after backing too close to a barbecue pit at a luau in Hoboken, New Jersey A quick acting Sam was there to douse the flames and apply the appropriate ointments. Wedding bells and the desire to form a blues band soon followed. After the proper paperwork was submitted, Bob Corlett and drummer Craig Wise were released from protective custody and joined the band. Guitarist Phil Margolis and bassist Mike Covert, who worked together in the 70's as stunt doubles in infectious disease films, were brought on board and the line-up for Hot Souse was complete. Stop in tonight. Check out Hot Souse. Check out Pottsy with his belt sander and surgical mask. Check out our new menu. Say "Hi" to Sandra and Kyle in the kitchen (yeah, Kyle still works here) and bring plenty of cash for tips for yours truly. My name is Steve. I wrote the ad this week. |
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| 7/19/02: Editor's note: A hair's breath before press time, the following was delivered to us for a murky, dark-eyed stranger in a natty macintosh, low-slung fedora and orthopedic moccasins.. |
| /I am the kidnapper. i write this ransom note. Let the word go forth from this time and place. Ben has been kidnapped by a bad man. You know Ben. You love Ben. Ben is a genius. Ben knows things. Ben was somebody before he was demannequinized by the lynch mob of little minds at Rascal's, inept counselors at the job placement center and Pottsy, the bearded butcher. Readers of this ad arise! Save Ben! If you do not want very bad harm to Ben, send much money to Ben's Kidnapper, c/o Box 10-20. Do not try to contact Pottsy or the police or very bad harm will come to Ben. I am the kidnapper. I write this ransom note.// TONIGHT, BLUES MAN DAN and his band are back. Blues Man Dan is a Rascal's favorite with a storied past. In the 50's, Dan worked as an itinerant salesman for colonel Bunion's Footwear Factory of Chattanooga, Tenn...where he was known as Shoes Man Dan. Dan established a clientele among blues musicians, which also included the future king of rock and roll. Due to the exclusive demand for shoes of the blue suede variety, Shoes Man Dan became Blue Shoes Man Dan. When Dan became a blues musician himself, the name was shortened to Blues Man Dan, which just goes to show that it helps to get off on the right foot.//Stop in for great food, great blues and beverages of every persuasion, not to mention the usual cast of characters - Pottsy, Steve, DeAnne and the kitchen rats, Sandra and Kyle. |
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| 7/26/02: Last week, a ransom note demanding money in exchange for the safe release of Ben the mannequin sparked an immediate response from the shocked and angry patrons of Rascal's. To date, thousands of dollars have been raised to fund the citizen militia that has been formed to hunt Ben down like the mangy pig-dog that he is for the lame and obvious attempt to fake his own kidnapping. Pottsy threw in the first dollar, while Ben's trigger-happy pals at Dead Eye Dick Gun Club made a run of local gun and ammo stores. Ben recently was spotted in the display window of a thrift shop in Ogden, Utah. A welcoming committee is on its way |
| TONIGHT - the man, the legend, the stooge who's getting married next month, bluesman PATRICK SWEANY and his band are back! The musician's life and matrimony being what they are, you would be best to catch Sweany's act before dishpan hands and multiple blows to the head with an iron skillet cut short a promising career. Perhaps the ultimate testimonial to Sweany's burgeoning talents as a singer, writer and guitarist in the finest blues tradition is the fact that his bride-to-be booked a DJ for their wedding reception! Make the pilgrimage to our bombastic barrrelhouse on Broad Street tonight. Food, drinks, blues and an amalgam of characters await you. |
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| 8/02/02: Like a pack of hyenas, the armada of dusty pickups with Tuscarawas County plates descended upon the unassuming little thrift shop on the outskirts of Ogden, Utah. In a matter of seconds it was over. The sound of shattering glass pierced the crisp night air as a terrified Ben was ripped from the display window and slammed with undeniable malice into the bed of an all-too-familiar red and weathered Chevy Custom Deluxe. The tufts of long gray hair and whiskers protruding from beneath the stale indigo ski mask betrayed the identity of the driver as the speeding truck, it's doomed cargo and a triumphant troupe of "Valley" vigilantes vanished into the craggy recesses of the purple mountain's majesty faster than free Guinness at an Irish rugby match. Rocky mountain die, rest in pieces, Ben |
| Let's get down to the short hairs. Cool blues guitarist STEVE CIPRIANO and his band are strutting their stuff here tonight. Reared by ambidextrous Cajun money-changers in the mossy backwaters of Leachbed, Louisiana, Cip became obsessed with the guitar and the blues at a very early age. After a brief apprenticeship was a herring swallower in a traveling circus, Cip succumbed to the siren's song of the blues and the rest, as they say, is history. So check 'em out. We've got food, beer, booze, The Steve Cipriano Band and Pottsy in the kitchen trying to wash the blood from his hands. Be here. It does matter. |
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| 8/09/02: The pungent aroma of jelly doughnuts and convenience store coffee filled the room as two strangers entered the front door of Rascal's. Pottsy, perched at the end of the bar with a fresh Genesee in hand had seen their kind before. Ivy League. Cropped hair. Dark suits. Polyester ties. Wing tips. G-Men! "You know this mannequin?", snapped the blonde-haired Fed thrusting his badge and a Polaroid of Ben in Pottsy's face. "Yeah, what's it to ya, gum shoe?" Pottsy shot back. "Listen here Grizzly Adams", the other chimed in. "We're sure you were involved in Ben's disappearance last week in Utah. The speeding getaway vehicle matches the description of that red shad mobile of yours in the parking lot." "Speeding, huh? How fast was this getaway vehicle going?" inquired Pottsy innocently. "Seventy miles an hour easy" was the response. Rascal's erupted in laughter. "What's so funny?" the blonde agent asked. "Everyone knows Pottsy's truck couldn't hit thirty in a hurricane, Einstein" shouted Kyle from the kitchen. "Don't leave town, okay?" the hardboiled Fed snarled as the bureau boys stormed out of the bar.//BARFLIES, the band that only a mother could love, is back tonight. Frequently cited for funk and disorderly conduct, BARFLIES brings you original, improvisational funk, jazz and R&B influenced instrumental music - a rarity in this Karaoke-drenched, pierced navel depression boy band, yo-yo-yo, Mustang Sally, West Nile Virus swamp of been-there-done-that. If you're looking for something different, check out Barflies. They're worth the price of admission which, of course, is nothing. (Parental discretion advised. Contains adult situations, Bullhorn induced language and disturbing scenes of fashion voilence |
| We'd like to introduce you to Esther, the newest member of Rascal's cult. We're proud to announce that Esther passed our orientation ritual of alligator neutering and suggestive pumpkin carving with flying colors. Esther joins Kyle and Sandra in the kitchen.//Stop in for great food, Barflies, aggressive beverages, Steve, DeAnne, Kyle, Esther, Sandra and Pottsy, who's busy destroying evidence before the feds return. |
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| 8/16/02: "I'm sick of playing Mr. Fix-It-Upper around here" Pottsy muttered as he labored up the basement stairs of Rascal's, a bucket of rotted soil, mortar and crushed brick in each hand. "It's Pottsy fix this, Pottsy fix that. I oughta,,,what's that smell? Holy J. Edgar Hoover! Jelly doughnuts!" The two feds appeared at the top of the stairs. "Told ya we'd be back." the one agent boasted. "What's in the buckets, pops? The remains of a missing mannequin maybe?" More like your brains, you government issue imbecile," Pottsy shot back. "Whatcha doing down there?" the other agent questioned. "Patching up a big hole in an old cellar wall, as if it's any of your business," Pottsy replied. "Big hole, huh?" the first agent mused. "Big enough to stash a body in? Ben's body perhaps? Out of our way, Billy Goat Gruff, we're having a look-see". The agents pushed past Pottsy and disappeared into the basement. Placing the buckets on the landing and grabbing a ball peen hammer, Pottsy turned and slowly followed the two men into the bowels of Rascal's |
| TONIGHT we have a special treat for you - BLUESMAN PATRICK SWEANY by his lonesome. Catch Sweany at his acoustic best - flying solo - a must see! Speaking of flying solo, Patrick has about two more weeks of bachelorhood left before he enters the imprisoning world of matrimony, so we're approaching tonight's performance as a bachelo rparty of sorts. Finding a girl to pop out of a cake was too difficult, so Steve's gotta do it, assuming he can fit into the French Maid's uniform.//Stop in. We have great food, assorted beverages, the risible Rascal's staff, the acoustic solo Patrick Sweany and Pottsy lugging bags of lime to the basement. |
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| 8/23/02: The scruffy patrons at the end of the bar were growing rowdier by the minute. Theyds been at it since Rascal's opened. It had been their routine every day now for the past week. "Simmer down", bellowed Pottsy. "Don't make me break out the ball bat." Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the Feds were on Pottsy like a bum on a bologna sandwich. Five of 'em. DC brass, with promotions and the cover of Time magazine in their eyes. "R F Potts, you're wanted in connection with the disappearance of two federal agents." Pottsy smiled, took a long tug on his Genesee, and motioned toward the revelers at the end of the bar. The head G-man gasped "Agents Mulroney and Hollingsworth, is that you?" "Yeah, boss, it's us." "Where've you two been?" "Right here. We quit the Bureau. Pottsy's showing us the ropes". Bewildered and disillusioned, the five agents plopped down at the bar. "You guys are way too serious," Pottsy said. "Relax. Have a drink on me. Let me show you what Rascal's is all about.".. |
| TONIGHT, the blues band SLOW FUSE from Cleveland is making its first appearance at Rascal's. This group is made up of well-seasoned professionals spanning four decades of various musical experience, including Dean "the machine" Roach, Lightnin' Joe King, Denny Phillips and Johnny K. They began playing classical dirge music together in a unit known as Slow G\Fugue while studying post depression art in Paris. The name was altered slightly to Slow Fuse, when the boys were deported to the United States and took up the blues in earnest.//Come on in - we've got great food, beverages, Slow Fuse and the whole Rascal's crew including a handful of out-of-control gumshoes. |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. |
| This is on the Inter-net. I wanted to do something for my country besides being a genius, writing on the Inter-net and standing in a corner at Rascal's so I joined something called the Citizens Corps. The Citizens Corp is part of something called Homeland Security. Homeland Security is part of something called the U.S. Government. Homeland Security was invented by the U.S. Government after a bunch of foreign fellows with bad brains flew planes into two buildings in New York City. This scared the people of America because the people of America believed that other bunches of foreign fellows with other bad brains were going to do something bad in places where they lived even though many of these people of America lived in places in American where other people of America had never heard of and could not find in a million years. |
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| My part in Homeland Security is to protect Rascal's from foreign fellows with bad brains who plan to do something bad - drunken people from Cleveland who do not tip, for example. I have secured the perimeter. I have mined the parking lot. I have booby trapped the cooler. I have fortified Sandra's office. I have taken a hand full of Go Pills. I have the look. I have an automatic weapon. I will blast anyone who does not give me the password. Yesterday, I blasted Pottsy. Pottsy did not give me the password. Afterwards, Pottsy reminded me that I never gave him the password. Oh well. Pottsy is a fast healer. Pottsy is no longer speaking to me. |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. I protect Rascal's. I am doing my part for Homeland Security. If you do not give me the password, I will blast you. My name is Ben - hooahh! |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. This is on the Inter-net. I am in charge of Homeland Security at Rascal's. Being in charge of Homeland Security at Rascal's means that I must protect Rascal's at all costs. I must protect Rascal's from people with bad brains who want to do bad things to Rascal's. I have a gun that shoots many bullets in a short amount of time. It can turn people with bad brains into ham salad. I have put land mines in the parking lot. I have booby trapped the beer cooler. I will blast anyone who does not know the secret password with my gun that shoots many bullets in a short amount of time. |
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| Sometimes people who do not have bad brains and do not want to do bad things to Rascal's get blasted or blown to Smithereens. I do not know where Smithereens is but that is where their ass gets blown to. When people who do not have bad brains and do not want to do bad things to Rascal's accidentally get blasted or blown to Smithereens, it is called collateral damage. Normally, blasting or blowing the wrong people to Smithereens will get you in big trouble. In the Homeland Security business, blasting or blowing the wrong people to Smithereens is okay. In the Homeland Security business, it is the wrong people's fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This week, there was much collateral damage. It was not my fault. It was not my fault that a police cruiser hit a land mine in the parking lot. It was not my fault that the Budweiser guy lost three fingers opening the beer cooler. I didn't think it was my fault when Sandra forgot the secret password and I blasted her but Sandra said it was. Sandra is the boss. It was my fault. Sandra said that she does not want any more collateral damage. Sandra said that the only collateral damage there might be from now on would be a Louisville Slugger to my skull. Sandra said she does not want anyone else to get blasted because they do not know the secret password. I told Sandra what would happen if everyone knew the secret password. Sandra told me what would happen when her Louisville Slugger hits my skull. The secret password is, Dung Beetle. |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. I am in charge of Homeland Security at Rascal's. There will be no more collateral damage. The secret password is, Dung Beetle, I repeat it again all over - Dung Beetle! (Most people believe that what happened to the police cruiser is not collateral damage. They call it justice.) My name is Ben. |
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| Being in charge of Homeland Security at Rascal's sucks. I am supposed to protect Rascal's from people with bad brains who want to do bad things to Rascal's but Sandra will not allow me to blast people to Smithereens anymore unless they go into the kitchen. Nobody goes into the kitchen. That is because Sandra and Kyle usually are in the kitchen. I do not care how bad the brains of the baddest brained people are. Even the worst baddest brain would rather be blasted by me than to be blasted by Sandra or Kyle. Sandra is the boss. Kyle is the Bar Nazi. If go into the kitchen when they are in there, you are on your own and I hope you are right with your God. Sandra will not allow me to mine the parking lot anymore. Sandra will not allow me to booby trap the beer cooler anymore. My hand is tied! |
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| I had other very good ideas on how to stop people with bad brains from doing bad things to Rascal's but I am not getting any cooperation there either. I asked for surveillance equipment. Alex gave me plastic binoculars. I asked for a metal detector. Irma gave me a refrigerator magnet. I pulled people from barstools to see if their brains were bad and if they were planning to bad things to Rascal's. I took them to the basement and asked them very many probing questions while shining a bright light in their eyes. When the electrodes I was putting on their private parts blew a circuit, Pottsy made me stop - what a kill-joy. When I tried to strip search Corrie, she kicked me in the groin. |
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| All of this makes me very much angry. I am going to make my own deck of playing cards of Ben's Most Wanted. Sandra, Pottsy, Kyle, Alex, Irma, Corrie and a hundred other people that make me angry will be on them. I do not care how many people I have to maim, torture and threaten to make Rascal's a secure place. I am conscientious about my work. |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. I am angry. Look out. My name is Ben. |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Internet. This is on the Internet. I am supposed to be in charge of Homeland Security at Rascal's. I am in charge of nothing. I am powerless. |
| I am reviled. I am heckled. I get no respect. I am treated like a village idiot! I am not allowed to do my job. I cannot blast people to smithereens. I cannot blow up police cars. I cannot booby trap beer coolers. I cannot attach electrodes to the private parts of suspicious and almost suspicious persons. Sandra, Pottsy, the Bar Nazi, Alex, Erma and groin pummeling Corrie are control freaks. They will not let me do anything! They are jealous of the power vested in Ben by Tom Ridge and the United States of America. |
| The only one at Rascal's who understands me and the pressures of protecting Rascal's from people with bad brains who want to do bad things to Rascal's is Katie. Katie is nice to me. Katie moves me from spot to spot in Rascal's when she cleans. Katie is the only one who understands that sometimes, innocent people and people who have done nothing wrong have to be blasted, maimed and violated in the name of security. Katie says not to worry about that. Everybody is guilty of something even if you don't know what it is. Blasting, maiming and wronging means never having to say you're sorry. Katie has the hots for me. I can tell. Women love a manikin in uniform. When no one is looking, Katie sticks her tongue in my ear, gives me a wedgie and calls me Bubbles. Nobody else around here does that. Nobody else calls me Bubbles. I rest my case. I think I'm in love. |
| I am tired of my Homeland Security job. I am tired of the abuse. Everybody at Rascal's can kiss my pre-cast, fiberglass butt (While you're back there, please remove my undies from my crack.)! I am going to hot wire Pottsy's truck, buy a bottle of Breitenbach wine and take Katie to a motel in Uhrichsville where they charge by the minute and have free HBO. I am going to show her that Ben is a red hot lover - a real Costra Nostra. |
| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. I hate my job. I am in love. I wonder what movies are showing on HBO this month. I wonder if flea bag motels in Uhrichsville take Discover Card. My name is Ben. |
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| My name is Ben. I write on the Internet. This is on the Internet. I used to be head of Homeland Security for Rascal's. I am not the head of Homeland Security any more. I quit! |
| I quit before I got fired. You know you are getting fired when you say "Hi" to your boss and your boss gives you the finger. Getting the finger means that the person giving you the finger is telling you to go have sex with yourself. I said "Hi" to Sandra. Sandra gave me the finger. Sandra is the boss. Sandra was telling me to go have sex with myself. I am not sure whether Sandra was telling me to go have sex with myself before or after she fired me. I did not ask. She was in the kitchen at the time. |
| I need an easier job. Being the head of Homeland Security at Rascal's is too stressful. It made me not able to sleep at night and gave me a strange rash the size of a '59 Rambler on my scrotum. That is what Pottsy said it looked like when I showed it to him. Other people said it looked like Karl Marx when I showed it to them. Other people gave me the finger when I showed it to them. |
| I am an observatative person. I made an observation. The observation that I observatated is that the people who have the easiest job at Rascal's are the musicians who play there. Being a musician is an excuse for not having a real job. Being a musician means it is okay to drink heavily on the job. Being a musician means it is okay to show up for work (called a gig) hours late or not at all. Being a musician means that being irresponsible is cool. Being a musician means that chicks dig you even if you are ugly and perform with a sausage taped to your leg. Being a musician means that you can wear clothing that does not match and sport a hair cut that would get people who are not musicians beat up. Being a musician is the only profession where the people who are the best at what they do get paid the least. If you own an instrument, you can say you are a musician. I own a harmonica. I am a musician. |
| My name is Ben. I write on the Internet. I used to be head of Homeland Security at Rascal's. I quit. I have an easier job now. I am a musician. I am off to get a tattoo and a Prince Albert. My name is Ben. |
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| 5/23/03: My name is Ben. I write on the Internet. This is the Internet. |
| I am a professional musician. I have been a professional musician for seven days going on one week. Being a professional musician means that you make money playing an instrument - sometimes. |
| As a professional musician you must be careful not to run up big bar tabs, develop a habit or slip over to titty-bars between sets or you will be broke. Being broke does not sound that bad. |
| It is easy to become a professional musician. You do not have to pass a test. You do not have to be certified. You do not even have to be good. To become a professional musician all you have to do is say that you are one. I am a professional musician because I say that I am one. |
| I play the harmonica. I think that I am a great harmonica player. Some people think that I am not a great harmonica player. Some people think that I stink. Those people who think that I stink have the musical taste of a dung beetle. A dung beetle is what a person who says he is a professional musician calls |
| a person who is not a professional musician when the person who is not a professional musician thinks that the person who says he is a professional musician stinks even when the person who says he is a professional musician truly does stink. |
| I do not think Pottsy knows much about the harmonica. After I finished playing Cat Scratch Fever at Open Mic Night, Pottsy yelled out, Ben, you suck on the harmonica. I had to explain to him that to play the harmonica, you not only have to suck, you have to blow as well. |
| Friday, I am going to sit-in with George Tsantis. I bet George knows how to play Cat Scratch Fever. Sunday, I am going to sit-in with Patrick Sweany. I bet Patrick knows how to play Cat Scratch Fever but will never admit it. For those of you who are not professional musicians, sitting-in means that you do not have a gig of your own so you go to where a musician who |
| has a gig of his own is playing and you get very drunk and you muscle your way onto the bandstand and you play real loud and shitty and then you call the musician who had the gig of his own the next day to say how much you dug jamming with him and to call you if he ever needs a fill-in. He will never call you. He will cut his nuts off first. |
| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. I am professional musician. I play the harmonica. I will be sitting-in. George and Sweany will be cutting their nuts off. My name is Ben. |
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| 5/30: My name is Ben. I write on the Internet. This is on the Internet. I am a professional musician because I say I am and because there are no laws against impersonating a musician. |
| I play the harmonica. I suck and blow. I sit-in. I suck and blow along with many people in this town. I don`t practice. I don`t have to. I only have to look good. I look good. I have the whole thing down. I worship the Grateful Dead. I call all individuals of a male gender, dude or bro. I rock! I have soul. I have swallowed the black pill. Gimme any shit and I will bust the brakes on your monkey-ass, bitch. Know what I`m sayin? |
| You will not read from me next week. I will not write on the Inter-net. This is on the Inter-net. I will be gone, dude. I will be on tour with the Patrick Sweany Band. Being on tour means that you are playing at least two gigs in a row outside of Tuscarawas County or have talked your way on to the same bill as a has-been rock act at a rib burn-off and tractor pull. |
| This is my big break. Going on tour with The Patrick Sweany Band means that I will eat bad food, introduce many foreign substances into my body, get two hours of sleep a night and ride around the country in a big bus with dark windows driven by a man named Lars. I will sit-in in front of thousands of people in big sports arenas. I will be looking good, bro. I will suck and blow on my harmonica. I will play Cat Scratch Fever. Women in black tee-shirts will show me their tattooed tits. I will perform the Korean Death Fuck with many crack-sluts in my hotel room after every show. This is what being a professional musician on tour is about. I saw it on Behind The Music. I am applying WD-40 to my Prince Albert now. |
| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. This is on the Inter-net. I am a professional musician. I play the harmonica. I am sitting-in on tour with The Patrick Sweany Band. When I come back, Sandra will have to give me a gig at Rascal`s. She will pay me very much money. I will be a star. I will make Pottsy my stooge roadie. If I drop my harmonica in the middle of Cat Scratch Fever, his skinny Billy Goat Gruff ass will have to scamper on stage and pick it up. I have reached the big time. A book about my rise from the Director of Homeland Security at Rascals to Professional Musician already has been written. My name is Bendude! |
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| 6/13/03: My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. This is on the Inter-net. I used to be a professional musician. I quit. |
| Last week, I went on tour with the Patrick Sweany Band. Being a professional musician on tour with The Patrick Sweany Band is worse than being gang raped in the eye socket by well-endowed sheep herders in a Botswana gay bar in front of your friends. It is not good. |
| The promise of stardom was all a big lie. We did not ride in a big bus with dark windows driven by a man named Lars. We rode in a white van crammed with band equipment, porno magazines and empty bottles of Port. They made me drive. The only foreign substances that I ingested were Immodium, Red Bull and Ho-Ho's. I got two hours of sleep each night because the drummer snored and cut farts that smelled like rotten eggs. We did not play in big sports arenas. We played in hostile little sports bars. I played "Cat Scratch Fever" on my harmonica. I was hit in the face by a flying plate of Chili Fries. The only tits I saw on the whole trip were Sweany's when he was getting out of the shower. It caused bile to rise in my throat. There were no crack-sluts in my hotel room, just the hotel manager in a gravy-stained wife-beater screaming at the top of his lungs because we paid him for a single but there were four of us staying there. He did not appreciate the smwell of rotten eggs either. In Arkansas, three very drunk hillbilly men ripped out my Prince Albert and used it as a hood ornament on their truck. |
| The whole think was a big, false lie that was not true. I do not want to be a professional musician any more. I want to be something else. I want to be something different. I want to be something special. I want to be Jeff Beitzel. |
| My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-net. This is on the Inter-net. My name is Ben. |
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| 6/20/03: My name is Ben. I write on the Inter-Net. This is on the Inter-Net. I do not want to be Ben. I want to be Jeff Beitzel. I want to wear plaid shorts with striped shirts and not care. I want to get away with saying things to people that would get anyone else tarred and feathered. I want to spend my evenings on the telephone with idiots who want estimates on jobs that require enough materials and manpower to reconstruct the Magginot Line. "Can you do it for under a grand?" I want to pour concrete in the blazing sun until I can fill the radiator in my van with the rancid sweat from my navel cavity. I want to be Jeff Beitzel. I want to play the bass. I want to play faster than god. I want to view people who don't "get it" but think they do with utter disgust. I want to piss Sandra off and have her ignore me. I want to record music in my living room while neighbor kids are ringing the door bell and my wife is running the dishwasher. I want to stop at Rascal's for a beer and be hounded by two cretins who composed a song called, "I want to be Jeff Beitzel" and insist on singing it at the top of their lungs. I want to be Jeff Beitzel. I want to be accosted on the band stand by a drunk women who stares at my stomach and slobbers, "Hey, hey, hey, Fat Albert," in my ear. I want to play original music while bar patrons are hurling insults at me and plotting my death. I want to be sexually assaulted by Pottsy at the end of the night while I'm trying to break-down my equipment. I . . . . I . . . . . I want to be anybody but Jeff Beitzel! |
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| 6/13/04: My name is Ben....I live in a corner at Rascal's. You know me...I am a celebrity. A celebrity is a person well known for being well known. I am a celebrity who has been abused. Abuse is when people hurt you and no one will help you. I did not want to have to admit this, but since it happened in Rascal's in front of a lot of people, I have to come forward and tell you. One night a couple of weeks ago these strange people came in, stripped my shirt from my body and made me wear one of their shirts. It was black with white letters. I think these are their gang colors. They must be the "black and white gang". They even took pictures of them abusing me. Someone out there has pictures of Ben in gang colors. I am not a member of a gang. I just hang out at Rascal's and wear funny clothes sometimes.. If Sweany had taken me on the road like I asked him this would not have happened to me. |
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| 6/20/04: My name is Ben. I live in a corner at Rascal's. I am a celebrity mannequin. I am the only celebrity mannequin in Tuscarawas County. I think I am the only ceklebrity mannequin in the whole State of Ohio. Recently I was abused by the black and white gang. Korinne did not protect me or call the police when she saw me being abused. I told Sandra she should fire Korinne for not protecting me from this gang. Korinne has two good hands to protect me. I only have a hook. I can do my job with only a hook. Korinne could not do her job if she only had a hook. Korinne is jealous of Ben. Korinne wants a job where she can just stand in a corner, wear funny clothes and look good. Sandra and I reported the abuse to a member of the local constabulary and he has promised to protect me. He told Korinne she did not do a good job protecting me. My name is BenI am a disabled celebrity mannequin..Korinne will never be a celebrity (but she may become disabled!) |
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| 6/27/04: My name is Ben. I live in a corner at Rascal`s. I am a celebrity mannequin. I am a mad celebrity mannequin. Last week someone with a bad brain needed to show me his butt! I did not want to see his butt. Pottsy said he and his butt have to stay away for 6 months. Sandra said he and his butt have to stay away forever. Pottsy and Sandra protected me. Korinne does not protect me. I think Korinne paid him to do that so I would give up my job and let her stand in the corner, wear funny clothes and look good. She cannot have my corner. I am on to her tricks. She thinks I am a dummy. I am not a dummy..I am a mannequin. I am a celebrity mannequin. My name is Ben |
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| 7/4/04" My name is Ben. I live in a corner of Rascal`s. I am a celebrity mannequin. Pottsy is a rat. Pottsy went on vacation and left me alone with the women! It was just Ben with Sandra, Sharon, Korinne (who does not protect me), Amanda, Katie, and Kyle. Some people think I have an easy job. My job is not easy. If my job was easy there would be many celebrity mannequins standing in corners. I do not get a vacation - I do not even get one day a week off. I only get out of my corner when Katie moves me to clean. I used to get vacations... I went on the road with Sweany last year. Pottsy got two vacations. Sandra said we all get a vacation when Pottsy is gone, but I want my own vacation. I need a union. I need a union for celebrity mannequins who get no days off and no protection from some bartenders. If you are a celebrity mannequin who gets no days off and no protection from some bartenders, contact me and we will organize our union. |
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