Thursday, March 12, 2009

Punching In

The Highly Somewhat Anticipated Return of Goat Puncher

Tuesday, 2:36pm CST, Dubuque, Iowa. The office of George Pendleton, owner and proprietor of Pendleton’s Auto Repair & Billiards and Total Deathcrush Management.

The phone rings.


Randy from Goat Puncher on line one, Mr. Pendleton.

Oh, great. Thanks, Gladys. Put him through, I guess.

[A beat]

Randy! How are you, you old cock? Are you in Pomona yet?

It’s El Gonkulator, George, and yeah, we’re in Pomona. Lester has the shits and Bobby picked up some annoying skank in Tucson, but that’s not why I’m calling.


Shut up and listen to me, George. What’s this shit about Corpse Hammer headlining over us at Cunt Fest?

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

That’s not what Kevin said. We were slamming beers and watching Persekutor videos at some slut’s house last night and Kevin starts running his mouth about how Corpse Hammer got that tour and then he said they’re going on after us at Cunt Fest.

You and Kevin are speaking again? That’s fantastic…

Don’t change the subject, George. Just fucking fix it. Oh, and I need you to put Zander Schloss on the list for the L.A. show tomorrow—plus three.

Zander Schloss? The guy from Repo Man?

Yeah—and the Circle Jerks. Apparently he’s a big fan.

Of who? You guys?

Yes, George. What’s so hard to believe about that? You’re supposed to be our manager, for fuck’s sake. Don’t you even watch TV?

You know I don’t watch TV, Randy. It makes my facial tics flare up.

Look, George, are you gonna call up those Corpse Hammer assholes or what? I’m sick of them getting all the sweet festival slots. Plus, they ate all the Funyuns backstage at the Palladium last month. Just thinking about those d-bags makes my fuckin’ head spin.

Yeah, didn’t you post something on your blog about that? But your mom made you take it down?

Stepmom. And fuck you, George. Just make the fucking call, or I swear to Christ I’ll come down there and stab you in the neck with a number-two pencil.


And don’t forget: Zander Schloss, plus three.


This bullshit originally appeared in the September 2008 issue of Decibel magazine.