Casethanks.

Bucketude.

Narcopus.

Nutrianbien.

Skoonsetter.

Constantinipple.

Flurbus.

Zogogoink.

Clipperstien.

Detervent.

Salsapei.

Comouth.

Blowfuck.

Skinfish.

Smoothsome.

Spamvertible.

Mochiprick.

Lapstool.

Hubrilious.

Slavdust.

Efidrill.

Jerksey.

Roomball.

Taaaaa Daaaaaa. Yes, to answer your question, it is difficult sometimes being an unrealised genius. It's that torment that turns brilliant deviants like me into mad maniacal scientists with dreams of global conquest. So you better start treating me better assholes.

YEAR TWENTY SIX: I was remiss in not describing the golden age of Manhattan access cable shows. From Ninety-Two to Ninety-Seven, the five access cable stations were actually entertaining to watch and a viable viewing option. Especially when directly rising from chambers of bong.

Channel J, which is now Channel 35, is the free flowing stream of escort and phone sex ads. The running house favorite was for golden showered 976-PEEE, "The extra E, is for extra pee". The boot fucking ad was also sublime, "break out the boot!". Robin Byrd's show was on Channel J. Her show was difficult to watch as half the strippers she had perform on the show were hair waxed party boys. Also, she was obviously brain addled from all the monster cock and nose candy she plowed through in her early Eighties pornstar career. Al Goldstien's show Midnight Blue is an excrutiating pile of a wretched old man's thoughts now. Few years previous it was hilarious partaking in his "fuck you" segments, in which he would chew into whatever current vendor wouldn't sell him products at wholesale.

The other four channels were for the remaining public not interested in promoting the use of tit implants. Fairly amazing the dedication and quality of work these unpaid amatuers were dishing out.

Hedda Lettuce was a towering Fifties iconic drag queen. It was wonderful seeing the reaction of hip hop hoodrats, over juiced Wallstreet suits, and jocktards she would halt on the street and assail with naughty questions. Mrs. Mouth was another fantastic drag show. He had the entire TV frame filled with a close up of his upside down face that he painted eyes and nose on the chin, wore lipstick, a sparkly dress covering his nose, and had a mini diva wig, discussing falsetto whatever zany exploits he had went through that week. The best part of every show was the finale where his cameraman would unrelentously feed him a combination of two foods. One week it was giant spoonfuls fresh blueberries and blueberry jam, the next peanut brittle with mustard. The best was huge clumps of cotton candy with refined cane sugar poured on top.

Some of the cooking shows were fun. Cookin With Da Hook, were these two tie-dyed longhairs cooking a huge party meal for their drunk and stoned pals, all cheering them on from whatever livingroom connected to the kitchen they visited that week. Biker Billy Cooks With Fire was "the hottest cook on a Harley". He'd excitably rattle off mouth burning ingredients always trying to get the attention of his cameraman "Freeze", who would grunt from behind the microphones.

Toolz Of The New School was a decent comedy skit show. Mostly, they ran around NYC in a proto Tom Green/Jackass manner. They did amusingly interrupt a Madonna promotional press conference outside Tower Records, to loudly proclaim that she had hurt their feelings when they were MTV interns. What's Up TV, was a shill for an indie band with a penchant towards the funny. Captain Overreactor was a favorite segment, VO "Captain Overreactor looks at pigeons", frame pans to Captain Overreactor, "Bah! Damn pigeons always walking around with feathers!". They also had the Hairlip Family. The most sublime exploit of the Hairlip Family was when they went to human beatbox school.

One cable access event was so pure and glorious that it melts my coal black heart to think of it. Can't even recall what the title of the show was. A fortunate person had their videocamera rolling during a frat party. Typical hooting and hollering, funneling in the keg. Still shot of a tin trough positioned on the snack table. Cut to a green gilled young man with his baseball cap turned backwards bent over the metal bucket. Unleashes hurling fury. While his face is still hovering over the puke recepticle, another frat brother furiously rushes over, and uncontrollably pukes right on the back of his hanging head. This drunk accident spawns a vomit orgy. Meathead idiots forcing liquor down their throat. Chasing each other around the place trying to launch chunder on each other with unabandoned glee.

Sigh. Absolute perfection.

I will most likely be compelled to do another CONTINUATED AND SHEEIT thing for real life events of the twenty sixth year. Just had to spread the gospel of unbridled street level television of New York City in days of yore. Can I get a witness!?!? Can I get an amen!?!? I say goddamn brotherman.