Garbage Memo – October 12, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

Firstly, we must; that is, it is IMPERATIVE that I do a review of this fine beverage sitting before me. RICHARD'S TRIPLE PEACH WINE. It comes all the way from Canandaigua, NEW YORK, and consists primarily or mainly you see of an alcohol (21%) which renders the consumer senseless. Words become totally JUMBLED in the MIND—and nothing really seems to matter anymore... A great liquid for functioning on certain abstract levels; although it does take great concentration, but who gives a shit about a few badly spelled words? ELIZABETH dash space JANE – HERMAN likes this. Good taste, no doubt. She and her friend have been in here spending their money and being real nice and getting off on the GARBAGE INC. MEMOS and just adding to the atmosphere... ORGANIC COOKIES w/no sugar. But Becky don't care... wine is better than milk, cuz wine don't cause KIDNEY STONES. I'M so drunk I can't believe it...

So here we go on about putting up FLYERS at the art building at the university. Saw Mike, drummer from JUICE, who had just dropped his head, broke it, and was now quite bummed out... Went upstairs to tape up the flyers for the store and ran into some very ART laying all about the floor. Get this... Someone had put together some COW-PIES in the form of lumps of cement, with objects of refuse stuck haphazardly about same. Several of these lay about, all in a neat row; could not figure if they were on display or out to dry... did it make a difference? No. So I dug about in my pockets and found something I'd found on the street about an hour before and saved. It was a keychain/medallion-type thing which I'd planned to use for a collage. Instead, I placed it on one of the cow-pies, figuring that non of the ART-LOVERS would disturb it. The Artist himself would know that it was not his own doing, unless he was really THICK; but it would fall off when he picked it up, and that would be OK too... ART FOR THE CLEANING WOMAN... AAA medallion... But who knows, he might see it and realize that a totally unknown figure felt the urge to contribute to his art, indeed possibly even UNDERSTOOD it; not like Mom & Dad, who would look at it and wonder why they were investing their HARD-EARNED DINERO, Ja? And so we left, gurgling and jive-ing about the stupid Snakefinger posters that would do more to convey an sense of stupidity than any anti-hype artist could possibly dream up...

Garbage Memo – Sunday Morning, October 11, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

My God... Made many very large mistakes already this morning. #1 – Got up. (to the sounds of screwing upstairs and Delila puke-ing away in the kitchen) #2 – let dog outside because she's sick and clawing at me to let her out. (BIG mistake, 'cuz no-one EVER lets her out and it's a nice day, and so OFF she goes—and it's really too early to chase after a sick dog, but...) #3 drank warm Yacht Club. #4 – went to McDonald's for ALL THE HOTCAKES YOU CAN POSSIBLY STOMACH, and actually tried to get my moneys worth. Lines all the way back to the door; I got in the line that of course did not move, and stood there like a fool for 20 minutes while the other four lines dwindeled/dwindled. “I'd like all the hotcakes in the world, please.” And a large coffee. They are OUT of coffee, can I wait? “Of course I can wait, I've been practicing for 20 minutes.”

So I got my coffee and hot cakes and found a seat. Butter won't melt, hotcakes are cold. Biker with fucked hat and HAIR sits down at my table with his young son, a pathetic little tyke who asks a million questions of his old man, who can't answer a one... Then his WIFE comes over and sits down with the food. She is of course incredibly huge and has no brain. “Honey, would you ask the girl for some ketchup?” she bloats, “and tell her to bring some more pancakes, these are COLD.” Now, let me tell you, this place is BUSY, and this poor little girl is wearing a path in the floor walking back and forth, trying to supply some asshole jocks with hotcakes, who throw them away when her back is turned and then yell at her bring them more...

So the biker starts demanding all this personal service from this waitress, when the ketchup and forks and sugar and damn near everything else he wants is about six steps away from him. Then his kid asks for a spoon. “A SPOON? A SPOON?” his old man asks, holding up one of those little paddles, “THIS AS CLOSE AS YOU'LL GET TO A SPOON IN THIS PLACE!” I mean, he was yelling, “THIS IS AS CLOSE AS YOU'LL GET TO A SPOON IN THIS PLACE!” So the girl comes with more hotcakes, and the things are all sticking together. “Go ahead and use your fingers,” I tell her. “They look clean.” “I don't understand,” she says, “They're sticking together.” “Your fingers are sticking together?” “No, the hotcakes.”

So, then I made my fifth and biggest mistake of the day. I ATE THE HOTCAKES. At least I found out why the hotcakes had been sticking together... They were raw inside. I mean, I can understand it and everything; they were real busy and had to crank out these damn HOTCAKES for all these asshole customers who were all pissed off for waiting around for COLDCAKES, and so the employees just decided to drive everyone away so they could get a break. And so they used every trick in the book to clear the place out, the best of them was putting cement in the pancake batter. This was the origin of that famous phrase: “YOU DESERVE A BRICK TODAY.”

Garbage Memo – October 10, 1981 – Anonymous, Miscellaneous

Well well here it is. Another fine Saturday morning. Wait, sirens and noise, there's a fucking parade outside the window. My God it's the fucking Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. They're smiling and waving to me as I hang out the fucking window. I just ignore the because I am a suave debonair like guy, really, no kidding. I had Randall's sunglasses on so I looked like Peter Fonda from Easy Rider. Now about last night. The fuckers (check yesterday's memo to find out who) all fell asleep in like a hippie commune. I was just there in the main store sitting by myself drinking Yacht Club, and listening to Metal Machine Music, it be real good. Then all of a sudden Tommy comes back from drinking coffee with two people from New Philly. The two people leave, then Tommy puts in Elvis Costello's first album and we sing along, “Oh the angels wanna wear my red shoes.” Then Randall comes out from the hippie commune and starts typing shit and saying weird things, he had streaks of black ink on his face (refer to quotes from the previous night). Oops, wrong order. Before that Heidi and some Mary girl came over. I told them there was a hippy commune in the back room. She didn't believe me, so she opened the door, which Jerry just happened to be passed out against. He fell out just like a corpse. The girls left. Later, Toad and Spot arrived. Then we ran out of beer. Everybody passed out, except Randy, who had been attacking Tom with the vice grip pliers, so I drank all the beers they had opened before they had passed out. After I finished it I went to sleep. And now it's today (refer to beginning).

SO DO THE SEDAT! Yes, October 10. Hi I'm Randy and may be, too, a person that types the Garbage Memo. How do you like it so far? IT'S NOT WRITING IT'S TYPING. Well, I'm getting drunk again. Keith and Randall just went down to the fucking drinkfest to get some food. They left this fucking asshole in charge of the fucking store. Fuck typing, let's drink.

Hi, I'm Randy and I'm writing a review of the corndog I just ate. I got the last damn corndog at the Octoberfest today and it was for a reduced price. Well, let me say I had a corndog earlier and it was good, but this one like it was lame. It was completely soaked with greeeese, like horrible. I couldn't eat the whole thing and had to give some to Keith. You know, grease. Well I am drinking a lot of Yacht Club now and soon may be able to write about last night. FUCK.

Garbage Memo – October 9, 1981 – Dag Nabbit, Jimmy Ego, Randy

LICK GROIN! I'LL BELCH IN YER FACE, YOU ASSHOLE CLIT-SNIFF! HOY HOY HOLY! I be gotten almost 6 dollars so far to-day! Ah Ha. Now is time to be eating and chewing up the licorice root. It's almost 3:00 and we're not even drunk yet! Get on the horn! We must print up flyers and put up same. NOTE: Find better place for the store sign... no-one looks at bicycles. Perhaps we should tie it to the foot of a LOON? Mayhaps the Octoberfest will get people drunk enough to stumble up and BUY something? Animal-part soup? YES YES be active, now... shit. No customer, they be wanting tattoo. Brad, get the shit-hell IN here.

I am here you stupid fucker! Bombs are falling from dive bomber mallards, WATCH OUT! OH SHIT, I'M HIT! I NEED BEER. I NEED BEER. I NEED BEER. I NEED BEER. Keith and Randall went out to put up Garbage fliers. I, Ego, be left in charge of the store, and I can't even type worth a shit. There be some weird fucker in here now, two girls just left. They looked like Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders (heavy breathing by your humble narrator, sigh). The weird fucker just left. Nobody be buying anything from me yet. I took the last #6 home brew out of the refrigerator, henceforth I shall consume it. Yum yum. It's real good! I be quit this typing and be drinking. WOWEE ZOWEE hearth throb it's Arion.

Hi, this is Randell and I am now much better. I didn't eat all day and felt like shit. Drank Jerry's coffee and speeded like a bitch, hoo and chewed licorice root and extreme elation ahh elation and painted the new sign and Keith mad the new flyer and we ran around two hours talking to people puttin' em up And we got back and felt like SHIT, uuuhhh so we went to Jerry's and drank chamomile tea whoooo now I can drink and maybe had enough energy for tonight. Hope I remember it.

Garbage Memo – October 8, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

WELL, FUSK, I MEAN FUCK; HERE'S ANOTHER PAGE..... TAKE IT. Shit, I be typing. Two number 7's does the trick on an empty stomach. We be doin dem SHELVES and what not... waiten for the man from Columbo and see the immortal HOLY ERASER HEAD, no doubt...? Whoop! Buy my records, Mister Person, for I am wretched and poor and hungry and am in great need of BEER. NO, NO, DON'T look at the magazines, I get nothing from them whatsoever! Shit, at least it was a Boredom rag and a NME, fuck... no taste. SHIT YEAH GO SEE FUCKIN SNAKEFINGER! Shit he be trippin'..... $4.00 at the door and and all the shit you can possibly swallow. YOU MUST HAVE AN AWARENESS OF WHAT AND WHO IS GOING ON; YOU KNOW. If I was there, I would definitely be out of my mind. Yoo? Ahss-hoe! Too much open space in the store. How can you expect to DRAW with all this space... makes it look like a goddamn orphanage! SO here's Frank from BOW WOW or Nakefingle or some damn thang. Got nothin happening, jus checkin' the place out... woof woof... Johnnie CHRIST just showed up. Brought some clothes over that I wouldn't nail to a DOG.... Yes, Smile, Johnni.... TELEVISION on the damn rockabilly tape machine... Phone rings and Randy's pounding NAILS! Tom wants to talk to Columbo person TACK TACK TACK TACK.... OK fuck, Tom we see you at the fucking FILMWORKS. BEER! BEER! BEER! BEER! BEER! Shit, Christ? What danse Hall Girl you talkin' aboot? Shit. Use her for cooking grease. Johnny Phlegm interview would be good.... here goes---- J.C. - Tell us Johnnie, how do you feel about your treatment at The Bank? J.P. - XXXXXXXXX XXX XXXXX XXXXXXXXX!!! J.C. - Of course. Now, what do you think is the real cause of the problem? J.P. - XZXZXZXZXZXZXZ XZXZXZXZXZQ XZ$Z%X%Q%%Z$#$%Z%Z!!! J.C. - Uh, yes John, that will about do it.... J.P. - &$&#%$XX!! J.C. - Thank you Johnnie Phlegm. I FUCKING HATE DEVO!! DO YOU UNNERSTAN'? Yes, well, but you know, YOU MUST PLAY WHAT THE people WANT TO HEAR!! AAAAAAAH AAAAAAAHHHH!!! LIVE AT CBGB's IT'S TUFF DARTS! OH MY LIVING GOD. WHAT KIND OF TAPE IS THIS? Sounds pretty much like the album... real shame. Fuck; give me a Beer! YACHT CLUB! YACHT! ACH! CLUB! YACHT CLUB! YACHT CLUB! AAAIIIEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! EREASURHEAD! JUST GOT BACK! FUCK! HELL REAL GOOD! CHICK NEXT TO ME SAYS, “ESXUSEMUAH?” (French, from PARIS, FRANCE!) and I say, “Eat me,” “I am OBNOXIOUS.” That's OK and she gives me a beer. A Busch, no doubt. “I need both armrests, Damn it!” That's OK too... Good chick, where is she now? Who cares? Am I not a fucck-ed person and drunk as well? Give me some more COLONEL LEE BOURBON! I must be drunken, do doubt. FUCK. JUST GOT BACK FROM J.B.s and I'm real drunk; Rolling Stone was takin' pictures, big DEAL... lost half my glasses.... Eat me! Kenny and the KASUALS rippin' up the speakers... I'm so drunk I can't believe it, SHIT, I be TRIPPIN'... let's eat some potatoe soup and shit on the floor... I DO NOT CARE ABOUT ANY DAMN THING! All day and all of the night! Bounce! Bounce! Fuck. Tom, are you full of the SHIT or what? I be DRUNK! 8 BALLS are OK, but HELL; we be doin' the SEDAT; all fucked and falling all over the floor with some shit says he's from ROLLING STONE taking pictures trying to get laid by some male or female, who knows? I'm bored. Tom, you mother fucker, why do you fuck with me so when I'm drunk? SHIT! I'm only trying to do my fucking JOB!

Garbage Memo – October 7, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

[Editor's Note: There may be one or two people out there (as opposed to the three or four who are reading this) who are interested in reading the entire, un-edited Garbage Memo, but I'm not even sure if I am, at this point, much less deciphering and typing it. I just have to accept that at this point in time (1981) the first half of the year I had NO surviving journal material, and this second half, too much.

So what I'm going to do, so as not to get hopelessly bogged down, is read through and reproduce here that which I find most interesting. I'm also going to try to find some writing from my earliest zine (Fuct magazine) and possibly reproduce some of that, when relevant.]

Last night was the F-Models farewell appearance, for awhile anyway. Aw, Hell, we be drunk, but there ain't no three cases, only one and hidden secret six-pack that Ego won't break out, bastard son of a bitch! I WANT TO DRINK! UNDERSTAND??? Wait till Iggy hears what we did to the fucking F-Models single... Shit, we put the turntable in neutral and fucked with the speed manually... Nobody Loves Me was OK, but Russian Socks was totally out of it; speeded it up so that it sounded almost normal. Like when they play it live. But on the record it's soooo fuckin sloooow.... sounded good when Randy fucked with it; Iggy's going to kill us when he hears the tape. Maybe not, but after all, it IS his song. Bill won't care at all, shit; they mixed him all the way off the single anyway.

OH GOOD! Brad just broke out the Molson's Ale (Red Label) and it looks like the weekend of of to a good start …. And it's only Wednesday.... GOD! Dare I say it? Let us go downtown? Now that we are properly lubricated. Well, shit; who's playing? OTIS TROTTER AND THE BEE GEE's? Whoop shit. HA HA AH HO! Let us be of and become FATALITIES! Yes, of course let us ROT in the streets and become annoyance/hassle for the sanitation dept. Anoyance? Anoiance? Shit hell, where's the DICTIONARY? My diction is failing GREATLY. Tom? Tom? How did your speech on drunkenness go? Did you prevail? Dud yo fuck up MASSIVELY like a LOON? I desperately wait/await your reply. Woofa Woofa Woofa Woofa... Drunkenness does even exist in GREAT QUANTITIES. I quit, can maintain no longer... HELP! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! eat me...

Garbage Memo – October 5, 1981 – Randy

THE LONGEST NIGHT IN THE WORLD

We start with drinking all day. Don't drink your first beer until after 12 because that means you're an alcoholic. Al Capone movie is on, lot of people are over, sitting on the floor. I'm drunk as hell already, cooking potatoes and eggs, not one paying customer, this is supposed to be a fucking store? It is 7, we be closed, who cares? We practice (or do we)? More people over... everything is lost in a drunken haze. New folks and old folks... Spot, Toad, Johnny, Tom, Brad, Keith, everyone, you know, Al and Heidi, and the Tormentor's sound man. It starts getting out of hand, people are wrestling, I want to get out so I start insisting we leave. We take beer. We go to, no wait...

Three things really set the mood for the evening: 1) Burger Chef and Jeff flipped out taped record, perplexing pickle, for the other team, fortheotherteam. 2) Licorice root, a powerfully subtle organic root drug done by Spot, Keith, and I. 3) Clove oil, a powerful organic drug that you can smell forever, including right now as I type, makes you drool uncontrollably, gums numb.

Let's get the fuck out of here now to Big Wow party at 804 Depeyster. And we are going the wrong way down Depeyster, I know this, other people know this, but don't argue with a wild, viciously malicious vandal mob regressed to a primitive state from horrible alcohol consumption. We eventually have to turn back, of course, and go south on Depeyster, but again some of us know that the goddamn party is not even at the house we are trying to find, but again you cannot argue with a stupidly drunk mob, so you instead dive into the shrubs, slur words like, “not that tight.” You know. All the while drinking more. Some of the more sane people in our staggering gang disappear and no one realizes what or why. Why? And we finally are freezing cold, so use our heads and head for the F Model's house to ask where we are going. They tell us and we are on our way again and soon totally lost again, but we then stumble onto our destination. And why not? It is a really cool party place like in this split-level basement garage, and to my despair there is a KEG of beer that we MUST drink. We were looking forward to hearing some innovative music but everyone is done playing and moving upstairs (possibly because of us) SO we MUST do our OWN MUSIC, so it's Burger Chef & Jeff. SCORED THREE TOUCHDOWNS for the other team for the other team for the other team. And we do an industrial noise song where I assign each person in our circle a noise and we do it all together and then I play drums and do I feel some swastikas or is it my imagination? Extreme tempo changes and then we are really flippin' like doing Burger Chef & Jeff backwards like ks kjdjs dgejskls djdjdjs ksksjdjkwurisis. We get out of that damn place before it kills us and are really fucking up trying to get back, police bother us, we bother the folks at Dominos, someone gets a free piece, someone buys a pizza, I get a mushroom off the floor and eat it and ask for empty pizza boxes and THEY GIVE ME SOME. Get rid of those drunks. On the way back I stab my knife in the boxes and then notice it is GONE. I retrace my steps and cannot find it so I give up and head back. I say, fuck, a twenty dollar knife gone, and kick a pile of leaves, and then... the knife is sliding across the sidewalk. Believe this it be true. When I reach the rest of the comrades back at the Models' house I tell them this whole story about finding my knife. Tom is fucking with me though, saying, “You go through the whole story.” So then they say I almost stabbed him, but I say noooo, anyway, Tom cuts himself with safety pins on his arms. Then to torture them I go through the whole damn story again and DRAG IT OUT. Then everyone is acting like brainless monkeys again and Spot burns up a whole pan of eggs. I've got to get out before someone comes out with a gun. So I leave and Brad does too and we both come back to the store to pass out and there is a note on the door from Sherry that says 2 cases of beer at a party and her phone number so I call and talk for a long time, I'm sure quite incoherently, and then I do not realize that I absolutely don't need anymore beer. But she says she will come over in a while so I say alright, I'll stay up. But of course doze off while listening to music, and Brad falls asleep. I must only fall asleep for about a half hour and then Sherry comes in the door. I am awake and not real hostile because I don't have a low intellect. We sit around for a while and then she says let's go in that back room and I say no I don't think you'd want to, it is a mess. She sys that don't bother me and then she goes back there and comes back out and says, UM, it is a mess isn't it, and by now it is getting light outside so I say let's go over to Jerry's and get some coffee so I can stay awake. We do this and I am very wasted. I say what is this zucchini bread, and the waitress says, It's the last piece, so I say, I must have it. It is good. The coffee makes my eyesight very clear. We then have to pay and I have only about 11 cents so she pays for me. I am still drunk and now speeding and very scurvy and feel like a real sleaze. We drive to her apt in Cuyahoga Falls and start drinking beer and... this is the MORNING. But it still seems like the previous night. We go out to this park and this gorge and waterfalls. I have to pee but am careful to watch where because I don't want to piss on the leg of a forest ranger as they blend in with the trees. We go back to her apt and drink more and now time is very weird indeed and I drift in and out of consciousness, though I really am not very drunk, it is the overall fatigue. I am saying weird things for sure, though I do not remember too well. When Sherry's roommate Carol goes out and gets us food from Burger Chef I start saying things like You're incrediburgable Burger Chef and perplexing pickle. Also, the cat is crazy and flipped out, it being all black and having eyes that are ROUND and not like cats eyes. Almost too much for me. I am still drinking quite a bit and doing clove oil. The bottle is almost gone. We go to sleep fairly early and then I have weird almost visions of like things in the air in the room and I have a dream of being in a war. It is much too realistic. In the morning I take a shower and am not so scurvy anymore. I am very very tired today and I'm sure it shows in my typing. I am now going to go to bed... fuck this typing... I'm going to church next Sunday.

Garbage Memo – October 4, 1981 – Toad

Ah yes Burger Chef and Jeff and Jeff once again... Tommy screams no, but majority rules, so Tommy can go fuck himself. Krakus beer and cloveoil, the night has just begun. LAST WEEK HE SCORED THREE TOUCHDOWNS FOR THE OTHER TEAM, OTHER TEAM, OTHER TEAM, OTHER TEAM. THERE ARE many many people here. Hey isn't Big Wow having a party? Yes, Depeyster, right? Yeah. 804 Depeyster. I was there the other night. What the fuck let's go to the party at Big Wow's. We are off, about seventy-five of us real mean motherfuckers, and one or two real terds. Ah 400 Depeyster, 500 Depeyster, can't be far now... Wholy street signs Batman it's a dead end. No problem we just go around... he where's Heidi? Man we are fucking walking around in circles... Perplexing Pickles... Fuck shit piss tits and dicks lets go to the Models house... they know... yeah they know... hey where's Al? Look it's Bill Farrell, but heez different (microdot perhaps?) Heez like like a dying Hyeena in heat. Man... people are running all over the Model mansion... Good man that Ferrett for he says the Big Wow shindig's near University Plaza... What the fuck, we are off wham. It seems like about eight years but, yes shit I see cars, I hear music, and I smell beer, this is it, fuck I feel like Amerigo Vespuchie, damn we made it. Hey looks like quite a few people here... hmmmm. Gimmie some of that beer. Thanks. Oh no we forgot the Burger Chef and Jeff tape, but titties and cunts we don't need it 'cause like we know it I mean we “know” it. NOOOOOOOOOO NOT THAT TIGHT. Stick around hey where are you going? I'm okay because Randy just assigned me an industrial noise... chuga-chugga—Hey where you going Mr. Longhair, more drugs okay... Look over there, free concert... why it's Randy on the drums, seems Keith and J.Ego have guitars, I can't see them, but somehow I can hear them, well fuck, we're the only ones here now, tough crackers I guess, man cause I'm gonna dance. Well we'll just keep this going... Now somebody just announced we won this fucking war, and the hungry bones are starting to act up... hmm I feel like pizza (funny I don't look like pizza). On the road once again destination DOMINOES... where people are harassed by the meanest cops in the county... where you can get a free piece of pizza if you beg gude enough... where mushrooms grow from the floor. Ego and Strange eat pizza stave... only those of us with TRUE GRIT are around now... Holy shit man the Models house (AKA EGG HEAVEN)... gude place to sleep yes sleep... but you just can't sleep when people are running about the house with pans full of eggs... ah things are beginning to slow... nono no... Randy has arrived with many empty pizza boxes in hand... he says that he lost his $20 knife, but then he found it in a pile of leaves, well fuck good for him... I'm sleeping now, there is a cat named spot on top of me, but that's another story entirely.

Garbage Memo – October 4, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

Hanging out the window with a beer in my hand; yelling “OH NO, OH NO, OH NO!” Somebody's gotta do it so here goes--- DEPEYSTER! DA PIE STIR! UP DIS WAY! NO NO NO, THIS WAY! WE BEEN THAT WAY ALREADY! FUCK! DEAD END! SHIT, THEY SURE BURY THESE STREET MARKERS DEEP, DON'T THEY? WELL, WE GOT IT LOOSE ANYWAY. WHAT'S IT SAY, ANYHOW? DEPEYSTER. OF COURSE. WELL, LET'S GO DOWN THIS WAY, MAYBE THE ROAD STARTS AGAIN ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DEAD END. No way, man; the party ain't even at the Big Wow house, it's like, somewhere else. Let's take a head count, I think we lost somebody. Two dropped out? Shit, we only got 10 people left, but that's enough to start a small riot. NOTE: DO NOT DO BACK FLIPS THROUGH TALL HEDGES. THEY ARE MADE OF WOOD. Listen, I know. We must go all the fucking way out by the Plaza. I heard one of the guys say that the party was out that way. CAN WE LOOK FOR DEPEYSTER WHILE WE'RE THERE? It ain't on Depeyster! But, but, but..... OK we will search for Depeyster, but I think somebody else dropped out. That's OK they hadn't memorized the Burger Chef & Jeff record yet. WELL, HERE'S THE FUCKING PLAZA, WHERE'S THE PARTY? Where's Depeyster? FUCK DEPEYSTER! I know. Let's go to the Models' house. THEY KNOW WHERE THE PARTY IS. Off to the Models. Whoopie. NOTE: DO NOT DO LEAPING SOMERSAULTS INTO INTERSECTIONS. IT SCARES THE ONCOMING TRAFFIC. IT ALSO WILL TEAR OFF ALL THE SKIN ON YOUR KNEES AND ELBOWS.

At the Models' house. Shit, they be trippin & flippin. All of a sudden they got a room full of drunks walking in circles and chanting PERPLEXING PICKLES & TICKETS? YOU'VE GOT TICKETS? Whoa. Got the info, we be off; we've only been on the street for 3 hours looking for this fucking party. WE GET THERE JUST AS IT'S GEARING DOWN. Bunch of tripping hippies. Jamming has stopped. Too late. Keg of beer that still has beer in it but most of the ice has melted. Basement was full of people, but they started sneaking upstairs shortly after our arrival. Trading snide remarks with loons. Start making our own unique music, with no instruments or nothing; just scat and shit and doing RHYTHMS and ZOOT. Flipping everybody out real GOOD, even surprised ourselves even. Randy starts playing drums and we all do weird air guitars and noises, start doing like licks from the Burger Chef record, which REALLY flipped them out cuz we all knew it and did these fucking routines and shit; kept drinking all this BEER and fuck, we never thought we'd find the place so we made the most of the time we were there; drove everybody out of the basement except for one WOW, who urged us to drink heavily. WELL, WE LEFT AFTER A WHILE. Half the fun was getting there. Shit, lottsa stuff happened, like fucking with the cats at Domino's, doing a fake fight in the parking lot. SEARCHLIGHT! FUCK, THE COPS BE LOOKING US DOWN, MAN! Good evening officer, what's the problem? HE HAD BEEN WATCHING US AT OUR HEIGHT OF ASSHOLE-ISM. Cop says, that's what I want to know. NO PROBLEM. Good night. Do you know that was the meanest fucking cop on the Kent police force? Yeah, I SURE HOPE HE DON'T FIND OUT ABOUT SPOT BURNING UP ALL THE EGGS AT THE MODELS HOUSE. Hoo ha.

Garbage Memo – October 3, 1981 – Randy

HI, I am Randy and I am going to attempt to relate the events of last night for you, in our daily log, yes. WELL WELL WELL. I didn't drink that much so I can remember real good. Most of us had to pay $2.50 to get into JB's but so ahh... I don't care because it is always worth it and anyway we can get in free much and get pitchers cheap.

So the Tormentor's drummer was late in arriving and they started out with “Club Nowhere” then “Funtime” (that being my favorite Tormentor song, even tho it is slo, you kno) then “Chop Off My Head” a Johnny Phlegm song. I could tell you all their songs, but then guitar was playing lame leads on the last song (“Club Nowhere” again), Doug, you know, and the next thing I guess his guitar hit Keith in the head, and then Keith hits this guy in the ass with his foot and then Doug is smashing his guitar and I was yelling goooood. This was what I was waiting for, you know. Tension, conflict. Why I like this band, plus Keith plays neat guitar, Ron is a good singer, and especially J. Christ is the Jesus of COOL. I really miss Jimi imiJ though.

WELL Doug's guitar be fucked. Keith cut his hand. Drums kicked over. They're done and we anxiously await the next band and it was four little kids and they were pretty good and the little black kid with glasses guitar player sounds real neat.

So then there's this rockabilly band... no education tonight, sorry, money to make, you know, money to make. I heard the dB's lost money on the whole deal Thursday... great, wonderful. I did not hear the Sodbusters but I did see them, but you have to hear them. High point for me: Me and Jimmy went walking around with our hands up our sleeves, saying HI, we're the Band Without Hands... we even asked bartender-man for a beer because we were in the Bandwithouthands. He did not cooperate.

A thought: Hey, if every night at JB's or etc. you know, with people, be getting drunk, is getting better than the last one, like I mean... If every night gets better than the last one then when does it stop, I mean how far can we go, I mean, somebody's going to get hurt and no one FUCKING CARES. I mean like how long can this go on?!

Garbage Memo – October 2, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

MUST COLLECT THOUGHTS. Kind of hard when it's forty degrees outside and pissing down cold damn rain and THOSE ASSHOLE BANKERS ARE TORMENTING A POOR HORSE NOT TO MENTION THE WAGON. (no pity for the bankers and the glamor-girl tellers who usually drive around in BLUCAMEROS but today are riding around in an antique buggy pulled by a horse with ICE forming on his/her wings)

Now, last night. Yes. Another one of those magical nights at jb's when energy destroyed boredom for a few hours, despite high admission prices and obnoxious bar-help and a FAMOUS band that no-one really seemed to care for. F-MODELS opened up for the db's with Iggy drunk and Bill running around worrying about this and that but mostly probably that Johnny Phlegm was there and would draw more attention than the band.

“No, Johnny, please don't dance. We must take great care that YOU DON'T SPOIL OUR IMAGE!” But Iggy don't care, he's up there doing OK and we're all having FUN and Klingon Kinkus comes up to Phlegm (who so far has not really been standing out in the crowd, but just slamming a bit with everyone else) and it looks for a minute that Johnny might get booted out, but no, it's only a warning.

In retrospect, the Model's set was the strongest of the night, despite a few drunken clinkers, but fuck-hell, we was getting warmed up for the db's and the BUNNY CONTEST! Hoo Ha! Well, anyway the set was over and this DJ Jim Gibbs (related to Andy, maybe?) gets up and was not as big of a jerk as I was afraid he might be. (I strongly dislike MC's at concerts, and after all, this was just a Thursday night at JB's, db's or no db's.) But this cat was really fun and OK and got the bunny contest off to a good start.

The whole thing was rigged, by the way. We needed more beer, and had agreed with some girls we knew to split the two-pitcher prize with them. Actually, the name for the bunny was their idea and it wasn't bad. See, the bunny had a real deformed face with eyes and nose spread out all over its head, and it looked like it had been in a plane wreck, and they named it BUNNY HOLLY. Real good. So Randy and Brad and me are up there DRUNK as all hell, trying to make the contest look real.

“See, we were going to have you all write your choices on slips of paper, but that's FUCKED, so instead, just yell it out at the top of your lungs, and we'll figure it out.”

So everybody starts yelling, and I actually did hear “Bunny Holly” and Randy jumps down and says, “What's that? Bunny Holly? Bunny Holly? Great.” So we all quickly agreed on this, and went to the bar to collect the prize. The bartender tried to give me a hard time, asked me who had given the OK for the prize. “The QUEEN OF PARIS FRANCE” I told him and collected the pitchers. What a scam. The beer flowed freely that night. All became real plastered and friendly, but I don't remember too much of the db's set. They tell me it was OK, but if they were a local band, they wouldn't have knocked anyone over. It might have been a bad night for them, or maybe they OD'd on Vegetarian Lasagna or something. I don't know, nor do I care. A fun night is a fun night, and it don't matter who's playing or why, it's the fucking PEOPLE and their attitudes that can't be weighed down by any amount of bullshit. You just laugh in the face of Assholeism.

Garbage Memo – October 1, 1981 – Phlegm

The dbs suck.... sound like the action on downs. Their singles were fucking gud psycho rockabilly psychedelia but live they had absolutely no edge.... I mean.... they were fucked nodoubt you know.... (you do if you were there) I WENT TO PERKINS AND OVERDOSED ON LIQUID SPEED cuz I'm smart.

Garbage Memo – October 1, 1981 – Dag Nabbit

Memo: NO, I don't really give a flying WANG if I eat Pot Luck Supper with the dB's. Shit, I don't even know the fuckers. It might be different if I'd at least heard the damn vine-all, but well, I was waiting for a free one, and anyway, shit hell—I'm not hungry I had DAMN BEINGS for lunch and I don't care for Vegetarian Lasagna and well.... Besides, I'd rather be drunk than in a house full of fucking strangers that/who play Godknows what kinda crap gimmie another Wiedemann's!

Tom will like this ALOT it's GOOD GOOB GOO go damn fuck hell shit clit

NOW YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO LEAVE ME IN CONTROL OF A FUCKING BUSINESS

I'VE TAKEN ALL THE MONEY AND BOUGHT BEER AND HAVE DRUNKEN IT NO DOUBT.

Yes and even home-made vegitarius lasignu. BEENS BEENS BEANS???????

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I wish I was drunker than this. Home-Brew #7 & 6 really kick ass but I drink not for I have the integrit of EEEEE. You know of course becourse because here sit I doing creative Fuck-all and EVEN hitting shit I mean SHIFT button at proper time and sequence even and trying like fuck to spel words right but fuck I'm gitten DRUNK ann I gotta work the door for the fuckin db's 2nite an shit they better fuckin pay me more than shit ass 5 dollars HELL, because did I not forfeit entire db's POT LUCK dinero? I will need at least 10 or twelve bucks for gas, not that I have a car or even be mowing lawn, but I may wish to Molotav a few cocktails out this window at a few of the several Assholes which inhabit these very streets of Kent.

Johnny Phlegm seems to have applied for a job at fucking PERKINS today. Might as well, he practically lives there now. Kant understand it, coffee sucks, bad food, lousy prices, must be THE ATMOSPHERE.... Good luck, shithead, you'll never make it. Where be all my goob buddy and pal? Out sipping Perrier with LIME and snorfing coocain and playing KAZOOS w/the db's no doubt. WHOOPIEE! CAN I SEE YOUR I.D? WHAT? NO I.D? WELL, SHIT HELL FUCK OFF AND BRIBE MEE. You think I can't take a bribe? Fuck I be only human.... kind of.... Biker jus came in with his lady an kid and wanted a fucking TATTOO make note: Obtain Tattoo needles and ink of all hues. Will show these fuckers what BIG MISTAKE they be making! HOO HA!! Think of it... writing V-NERVZ and other shit, all about their arms and CHESTS, never to be removed for the rest of their LIVES. Great fun. What flipps me out is that he thought I looked like a Tattoo Artist., which is strange indeed... is there something wrong with me or is he just a mindless fuck on angeldust? I will opt for the latter.

EAT FUCK DAMN SHIT GANG OF FOUR SHIT LES GO TA JB'S & SEE THE FUCKIN DB'S SET UP THEIR FUCKING EQUIPMENT AND SHIT IN THE BATHROOMS WITH NO TOILET PAPER EVER EVEN. You know it. (Brett don't like viky frosh) If we can talk to one guy that's alright, then fuck, we might get a db's interview yet; but fuck, (Butt Fuck?) who in this armpit of a town could give a flying shit except possible the few but many on the guest list? YACHT CLUB! YACHT CLUB! Hoo ha shit damn (!) woof. Could I be feeling the alcohol? Perhumps I should stop before things get too out of halb.

Garbage Memo – Introduction – September, 1981

In late 1980, I dropped out of college, tried and failed to “walk across America,” spent the autumn addicted to David Letterman's daytime show (until it was cancelled). That winter I moved into a downtown Sandusky storefront with my friend Scott Suter and worked at Gray Drug Store. That spring I moved into an apartment across from the library and worked at Trophy World. I have been unable to find any notebooks or journals documenting this time.

In September I rode my bike to Kent, Ohio and stayed at the F-Model's house until Tommy Strange and I were able to rent the old record store space (previously run by members of The Human Switchboard) above Kline's Market in downtown Kent. We called the store Garbage Inc. For the next few years it became a hangout, band practice spot, and after-hours party location, as well as a barely operating record store. Starting on opening day, instigated by the late Keith Busch (Dag Nabbit), we began to document the day to day activities (which included a lot of heavy drinking) by typing the “Garbage Memo” on a huge, old, Royal office typewriter behind the sales counter. What I'm recording here is a somewhat abridged and slightly cleaned up version of much of that document. Each entry includes the best estimate of the date and author of the document. As an introduction, the following is our press release for the store.

PRESS RELEASE

In October, Tom Seiler and I, Randy Russell, are opening Garbage Inc. in downtown Kent. Garbage Inc. is essentially a record store dealing mainly in hardcore punk, experimental, and music we feel is important but ignored my most record stores. We will mostly be carrying records from independent labels, and will also be selling a wide variety of used albums and any other records we think are good. We will also offer such things as local art, second hand and punk clothing, buttons, used books, local and national fanzines, and any other related items we have room for. We are planning our opening for October first. We may have some trouble getting stock we would like by then, but the store should continue to grow and improve as we get things in. One we get going we will continue searching for new and interesting music by small and struggling bands and record labels, because that is what the store is all about.

Garbage Inc. - 146 S. Water St. #2 - Kent, Ohio 44240

11-19-80

Last Sunday we went to Sally and David's wedding. John Erich lit the eight candles up front while everyone watched. He had a long, weird, metal thing with a flame at the end to light the high up candles. He lit them all and turned around, but one was not fully lit and went out, though he didn't see it and had started walking back down the aisle. A guy stopped him and whispered to him that the one candle needed to be relit. But when J.E. turned around, the candle magically relit by itself! Was it God? Does J.E. have special powers? Is he the Antichrist? Everyone laughed—it was funny.

Later...

Last night I had a weird dream: I was in a different environment and house and I woke up to find Nazis had taken over the country—there were some stationed in our house. They had become so powerful without anyone realizing it and took over. To have people in your house—with weapons—and they would sit down and play my drums and stuff—it was terrible. I thought: “I don't want to live a life in a place like this—I would rather die violently and take as many Nazis as I could with me.”

But then I started to think: “What good would it do to die? I could survive and be an artist or something and try to live as normally as possible.” Besides, I heard that Hahn had been arrested for murder at a drive-in theatre—and he would be sent to prison. What good would it do for me to end up like that? The prisons would probably be overcrowded and terrible. And after all, things seemed to be going along pretty normally—I saw pot smokers still going on with dope deals—just being a little more careful. And actually, the Nazis seemed like they were going to change things for the better in many ways. I still had freedom to walk on the streets, and they were going to find jobs for everyone.

But then, finally, I had a terrible thought. We, as a country, would be vulnerable to other countries—while we're in a revolution. The country would need strong military strength, and I could just see it: Everyone in the country would be drafted—marching in the Nazi uniforms—maybe even starting wars. What would I do? Maybe try to escape the country?

11-15-80

Two days ago—on Thursday the 13th—we went up to Cleveland to play at Fitzpatrick's—that is our band, the Bursting Brains—being Tommy Destructo-Strango, Dr.? Bass, Massive Dickhead, and myself, Svenn Diagram. (Unfortunately, James Ego couldn't attend—being down to Columbus at OSU.)

Coming two weeks after our inspirational concert at the Perkins High Halloween Dance—this, our first performance in Cleveland, came as a surprise to us. Billy Corigan from Cleveland called and said could we do a benefit concert for a film student to raise money. We said “sure” and drove up there Thursday evening in the big Mercury, carrying our equipment. Bechtel also drove himself, manager Suter, Tommy, and their respective girlfriends, and a wild, heavy-drinking girl from Port Clinton. On the way: Svenn: How do the lyrics in “Something Else” go? Massive: Here comes that girl again, she's the cutest since I don't know when... Everybody: The car's out front and it's all mine—it's a '41 job, not a '59... Hey, where's Bechtel? Yes, Bechtel had been following us, and now his car was not to be seen now— We soon arrived at the bar—we had to pee bad—in the parking lot—

We enter the bar—a strange young man meets us—he is dressed as a Punk Rocker. Us: Hi—we're the band—The BURSTING BRAINS. We unload our equipment thru the back door—and The Basics show up with equipment. Finally Bechtel's car makes it there. A band called Headkeeper plays first. The bass player for The Impalers (record recording artists) comes in. Mike: (lead singer for The Basics—aka: Hap Hazard, Johnny Knothead) See that guy that just came in with the beret? Watch him—he's real negative—he radiates swastikas.

Next they show a film about contraception—and Massive narrates: “We will call them... Adam and Eve...” Then we start—“Zod Squad”—and cook thru a half hour of music—finishing with “Batman”—to which people were DANCING! We fucked up very little—but Massive did throw his mic stand into the audience—nailing a fellow in the leg (barely missing his head—a terrible injury, and an inevitable lawsuit). Then the girls with the injured fellow threw chairs at us—but they settled down later—after all it was just an accident. Massive also crashed through a wooden railing at the front of the stage, rendering it broken—not an accident.

Then The Basics played and they showed an excellent short movie called Chimpmates—about chimps playing musical instruments. By the time we played again it was 12:30 and everybody had left. A Basics keyboard player played synthesizer with us... so loud that was all we could hear—so our music was fucked up.

We finally left and headed home. Tom and the girl from Port Clinton, Mary Ann, with us this time. But she lost her purse so we had to go back and find it—laying among empty beer cans in the parking lot. We didn't get home 'til 3:30 and Jeff didn't go to school the next day.

3/1/80 – Dreams

I was working in a small recording studio in my home. We had a TEAC machine (4-track). I was singing background vocals. We already had the music down, and a girl singer was adding the lead vocals. There was a producer there, sitting in a chair listening and working on a sound board. We were going to do 17 songs. The first one was a disco song, but it was good!

I heard all the guys in Chicago died. First from a plane crash—then they were all shot. Jeff bought one of their albums.

I was in New Orleans. I was filming a movie. I was the camera—and I was an actor in the movie, and I was watching this movie, all at once. I was a black kid riding my bicycle through the streets real fast trying to cross to the other side—the traffic was heavy—then I got on this vacant street and I started riding a wheelie all around, over curbs, and through turns, etc. Then I went past these yellow walls and a black kid was standing there staring at a giant metal screw in the wall painted yellow—and he started singing a song about yellow stuff. I was still riding a wheelie—not to the music—and I came to the end of the street and I saw a lock and a closed gas station and I realized this was Disney World—I saw the Haunted Mansion across the water—I turned around, still doing a wheelie, and started going faster down a straight street and then downhill—I was going really fast and I wiped out and went skidding and tumbling and rolling for a long time. We tried to smash the windows to the houses but it was break-proof glass—it was part of the amusement park.

2/19/80 – Dreams

I was at a store that sold Night Train wine. I saw it was $4.25 by the price tag and then realized it was $4.25 for four bottles.

I was in my house and I tried to use the phone but it went dead. I was very worried and knew there was a psycho outside that was going to come in and kill me. I tried to put my snow boots on to leave, but I was panicking and kept messing up when I was tying them.

6/16/79 – Dreams

There were a whole bunch of college age boys in our back yard and we decided to play baseball. I didn't know most of them. The other team was up first and we were in the field. Two guys and me were standing on third base talking but then we spread out. I had the only mitt that was left, a left-hander's first baseman's mitt. If I was able to catch the ball I couldn't throw it. After we had a couple of outs on them and they had a couple of guys on base, we had a questionable play. We got in a big argument and gathered together in the field. Some people were saying, “The hell with this, I'm leaving.” I was about to leave, too. Then about three or four guys came up. They were all tall and thin and wearing grey suits. They all had on those winter hats that cover their whole head except for eye and mouth holes. They also had on wrap-around, very thin, sunglasses. The one said: “We don't want you to argue, we want you to play baseball.” “The other team will be up now and you will play.” And he said some other things I can't remember, but he seemed powerful and dangerous. I, however, didn't want to play, so I snuck in the house. I was worried they might catch me, but I guess no one noticed. I watched them play from the kitchen window.

3/13/79 – Dreams

(even more dreams the same night!)

I was with some friends and we where exploring old houses. We went in this one that was the most beat up house I ever saw. We walked through it and our legs kept falling through the floor. At the other side they got out the door but I said I was staying there. Then I found these huge white styrofoam balls and threw them around. They would roll across the floor and make dents in it where they rolled.