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Talk about luck. I just happened to have a copy of Darksider's ingenious, inspirational, prototype-of-literary-perfection rant laying around the house. In order to keep this site at its maximum level of grooviness, I will repost said rant right here, right now. No, I don't have the permission of Darksider, but who cares; he doesn't seem to visit Crankyland anymore anyway:
10/01/98: IM SHARING (a rare moment of sillyness)
Posted by: darksider@hotmail.com (Darksider)
If you're looking for some bloody, headless chickens to eat, then your best bet would be to check out the railroad tracks going through Las Vegas. You can stroll down the tracks like the four kids in Stand By Me, and you're bound to find a dead chicken every ten feet or so. Why so many chickens? Where do the come from? Las Vegas isn't exactly famous for it's wild chicken population, although we do have wild desert tortoses that you're not allowed to breathe on unless you want the local sherriff to publicly hang you in Town Square. If you get within 100 ft. of a desert tortoise, the cops are seriously allowed to beat you to death with their nightsticks. This has caused everybody in Las Vegas to become afraid of desert tortoises. If you see one, run like a bat out of hell, unless you want to get the beating of your life. A few years ago, Rodney King ran over a desert tortoise while he was driving home drunk and stoned off crack cocaine. The cops didn't care that he was drunk and stoned...they were pissed that he ran over a desert tortoise. And, look what happened to him. This started the L.A. riots. And remember Reginald Denny, the pathetic white fellow in the L.A. riots who got dragged from his big rig by four African-Americans and was subsequently beaten into a coma with bricks, 2x4s, baseball bats, TVs, crowbars, and dogs? Yes...I swear, they threw a dog at him. It looked like a beagle. Don't argue with me. It was small, but I guess it would still probably hurt to get hit in the head with a beagle. If you don't believe me, rent When The L.A. Riots Attack from your local video store and see for yourself. It hurts to get hit in the head with a beagle. Snoopy is a beagle. I remember a Peanuts comic in which Snoopy fell off his doghouse on to Charlie Brown's head. Charlie Brown was knocked down and saw stars. "Good grief," he said. And, you know damn well Reginald Denny was seeing stars when those four black gentlemen were teaching him a lesson. I bet Reginald was thinking "Good grief" to himself while he bled out of his ears. Anyways, the reason Reginald Denny was beaten into a bloody pulp, is because Reginald Denny, being the disrespectful bastard that he is, was hauling desert tortoises in his truck. The four dark-skinned men who beat him like a Mexican pinata were undercover cops. That's what he gets. Moral: Don't mess with desert tortoises! Anyways, desert tortoises are nowhere to be seen on the Las Vegas railroad tracks, so do't worry about them. But, chickens everywhere! They've all been hit by the awesome locomotives. And when I say "awesome", I mean "large" not "radical". Maybe the chickens fall out of the bottom of the trains. Maybe they fly out the top. If you or anybody you know has any information about how chickens end up headless on Las Vegas railroad tracks, feel free to tell me. Or write a book about it, and I'll be sure to buy it, as long as the book has pictures, because I have better things to do than read a long-ass sotry about dead chickens on train tracks. My theory about how the chickens get on to the tracks is that the trains have a magic trap door in the bottom of them that drop the chickens down on to the track. River Phoenix went through a magic trap door in a train in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. River Phoenix was also in Stand By Me. He sure must've liked trains. I bet trains were his favorite thing next to snorting coke and popping pills. Stand By Me was about four kids looking for the dead body of Ray Brower in Castle Rock, Oregon. Stand By Darksider is about me finding the dead bodies of chickens in Las Vegas, Nevada. The other thing about these dead chickens, by the way, is that they're rumored to be the meals of the scary, hermit-bums who live by the tracks. These freaky kooks have no homes, so they decided it'd be fun to build wobbly shacks down by the railroad tracks. Here is a list of actual things they use to make homes out of: a. old shoes b. cardboard boxes c. grass d. rusty nails e. dead dogs f. dead pigeons g. dead bums h. used tampons i. rotting fruit j. plywood k. urine Yes, these homeless masterminds don't realize that with the amount of rusty nails, plywood, and 2x4s down there that they if they all worked together they could build a fairly large, sturdy house, like an Amish barnraising. Instead, they choose to build these smelly, unsturdy lean-tos made out of trash. They build them down by the railroad tracks, so cops won't find them. So, these dirty, crazy bastards have to deal with the constant noise of locomotives waking them up and the constant splattering of chicken blood on their homemade homes. I don't even know what holds most of the bum shacks up. I've seen better constructed shacks in National Geographic. People in other countries live in huts made out of dung.....and even those are sturdier than these shoddy bum shacks. So maybe these uncleanly homeless men do eat the heads off chickens that have been creamed by a few tons of fast-moving steel. And when I say "fast-moving steel", I mean "trains"....not "cannonballs." The only cannonballs around here are down by Trasure Island, and those are probably made out of rubber, just like Siegfried and Roy's white tigers. It doesn't seem very smart to me to eat the heads of chickens....It never occurs to these dumb bum-bastards to try eating the thighs or the breasts. No, they just go for the part with the beak and the eyeballs. But, then again, these are the same dumb bastards who decide to live under piles of cardboard by the railroad track, instead of hitching a ride on one of the trains and exploring this great country of ours. Bums in the early 1900s had class.....they were called hobos. They hopped on trains and stole food from children and pillaged villages and generally went on fun adventures. They were constantly moving....never staying in one place for too long...just like The Incredible Hulk. Bums nowadays are lazy...........too lazy to get a job........too lazy to explore their world. They rely on the kindness of strangers to survive, and they eat whatever they can find laying around.......In this way, they're not much different than the desert tortoises that people are afraid to get near. If you're a bum, you don't have taxes or bills to pay......no responsibilities.......so why not hitch a ride on a train? If you get killed out there, who cares? Nobody will miss you. It's better than eating chicken heads and making your house out of Cap'N Crunch boxes and old maxi-pads. Moral: if you're a bum, explore the USA, don't sit on the corner with a sign. I don't care if you lost your leg in 'Nam.....it doesn't mean I feel like giving you the money that I was going to buy a Big Gulp with. Just because you "have children to feed, praise Lord" doesn't mean I'm willing to sacrifice my stick of beef jerky to feed you. Man, hobos in the early 1900s could kick present-day bums' asses.......they didn't beg and whine. They travelled. Hell, I bet that early 1900s hobos messed with desert tortoises all the time, whether anybody liked it or not. They didn't care if the desert tortoises were endangered.....they didn't care if they might get hanged by the local sheriff.......they didn't think of the consequences......they were tough....they were ruthless......And, I know damn well that early 1900s hobos were at least smart enough to eat the breasts and thighs of dead chickens and ignore the damn heads. I respect those long-gone early 1900s hobos.......I wish I had been one of them. And you should too.
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