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Sorry for the lack of reporting, been busy or distracted. Busy looking for a new job, distracted by the weather. Sure, it'll go gray and cold again any minute but I've already got that initial throb of hormones that comes when the sun has started rising in the right place at the right time, the air has that certain smell or humidity or temperature or whatever it is that awakens the caveman instincts within me and I no longer want to work or sleep because spring is coming. I won't say exactly what I DO want to do in this publication, but it ain't work or sleep. Add to that the huge full moon we've had the last couple of nights and the werewolf within me doesn't want to sit at the keyboard for the mid-week report! So here it is, better late than never.

Thursday we headed over to Dottie's to get the scoop. From one of our favorite Dottie's regulars we got this string of drunken rumor, not a reputable source by any means but we're not a reputable news outlet so if you don't like it ask for your money back. As you may recall, Dottie herself passed away a couple of weeks back. Apparently she held the lease on the place from Manuel Maloof's sister. Not long after, it was time to renew the liquor license. So Dottie's son, Ronnie, went down and did just that. But when Manuel heard that the place was still open he called his well-connected buddies and asked why the place was still open. Hence the visit by the cops to check on the licensing, which you read about here first, followed by the Loafing. With all the licenses in order, they couldn't do anything but when the show onstage involved an exposed breast they could issue a citation for "operating an adult establishment." They didn't issue a ticket, but did kick everyone out. Since then, there have been some small renovations on the place and the video poker games have been removed. Rumor his Manuel wants to take over the establishment. Another rumor is that the neighborhood planning committee is meeting later in the month to discuss what should happen with the place. If we get more on that we'll let you know 'cause we'd like a horde of upstanding (by appearances) degenerates to show up and voice their support for the place. Rumor is Ronnie is trying to keep the place going as is. On the other hand, Rick Dang and Pink Torpedo Productions won't return my calls so I can't get their side of the story, but I heard that they were told the place was no longer in business, thus the flurry of rumors I heard last week. Of course, this wouldn't be the first booking agent Dottie's had let go under strange circumstances. Meanwhile, the place IS open. I don't know what entertainment will be offered beyond cheap drinks and free or cheap pool, but as soon as we know, you'll know. Stay tuned.

Monday we hit Echo for free movie night and enjoyed one of my top 5 favorite b movies of all time, Death Race 2000. It had been a while since I'd seen it so I'd forgotten just how well they'd predicted the evolution of violence in sports, and the announcing style that would follow. Lots of fun. A bunch of dirty apes followed, trying to get the DVD to show Planet of the Apes, but they failed and had to show it on VHS. We weren't up for watching the president of the NRA get the crap beaten out of him by a bunch of monkeys, no matter how funny it is, so we headed home. But this event is recommended - free movies, free popcorn, cheap PBR!

Apparently the Pope is considering naming a patron saint for the internet, Saint Isidore of Seville:
Isadore has her work cut out for her. She'll the the saint of something birthed by the defense department and raised by the porn industry.
In other technological news, we're getting closer and closer to 1984, and I don't mean the year: An ounce of prevention...
I'm having a tough time pointing to exactly what perturbs me about this. On the other end of the techno spectrum, and something closer to a William Gibson concept, is this story:
I can't decide if I'm perturbed about that or not...

Saturday we did something we don't do much these days - went shopping at a mall. After cruising our usual haunts in search of the perfect getup, we gave up and hit Lenox. It seems that men's pajamas are a strictly Consumass gift item and in February they're few and far between so if you want something specific, such as black silk or satin to match your lovely vintage smoking jacket, you'll have a tough time. 7 hours later we found them on the post-post-Consumass sale rack at literally the last stop in the mall before I was going to give up and head out the door, and at a bargain price. So when we got to the Crowne Plaza hotel later that night I was stylin'. Degenerate SW went for hyper-cute in her Power Puff Girls PJ's and we fit in well with the Fantasm staff and friends, a bunch of freaks from all over. I was worried when I first walked in the door due to the lack of familiar faces but within the hour the old con whores trickled in and I'd met a few of the newbies so it was like a room full of half-naked old friends. The evening went as expected, knowing this crowd - people licking whipped cream off eachother in one room, bondage experiments in another, animated Japanese porn on the TV in the back room, a drink in every hand and a smile on every face - sort of a preview of the party to come that is Fantasm. I handed out a few Degenerate Press fun packs and party invites (hope everyone got one!) and had a swell time before beating a retreat sometime after 2 AM. The resulting hangover has prevented me from doing any of the things I intended to do this weekend - web updates, house cleaning, invite mailing, etc. but such is to be expected from any event involving the Fantasm staff, con whores, Degenerate Press staff, and excess amounts of vodka... (By the way, the term "con whore" is not in any way derogatory. It is merely a label indicating someone who's day to day life in the "real" world is unsatisfactory enough to inspire them to attend sci-fi/b-movie/fantasy/horror/goth/fetish/whatever conventions several times a year for more years than they're willing to admit so that they can wear what they want, drink what they want, and get autographs of celebrities they want to screw but couldn't normally approach without being charged with stalking. We at Degenerate Press use the term affectionately for some of our oldest and strangest friends.)

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