Shortly after Halloween, I had a visit from my nephew Paul, who brought along a new friend of his, a lad named Rubinio. “You’ve just got to meet this guy, Uncle Hose,” Paul had pleaded over the telephone some weeks earlier. “He’s so much like you it’s creepy. Except he’s not, you know, old. I mean, he’s my age… turns 21 in a few months.”
Paul has always been remarkable for his plain-spokenness. His mother calls it brutal honesty; I used to call it a refreshing, no-b.s. attitude. I’ll never forget how he startled me on his seventh birthday, telling me privately that my girlfriend had “come on” to him earlier that day and that I should “keep an eye on the slut.” I have little doubt that his ingratiating honesty has, over the years, saved me (and many others) from a lot of grief.
So now, Paul wanted to visit and have me meet Rubinio who, he warned me, was a major fan of the group KISS.
“Paul, how can he be so much like me if he’s into KISS? You know they never did anything for me… ‘Klowns in Satan’s Service’ and all that crap…”
“It’s a matter of degree, Uncle Hose. I mean, he’s into KISS like you’re into the Beatles. You know, an incredible, jaw-dropping freak… a frenzied, slathering, psychotic idiot. No offense, Uncle Hose.”
“Oh of course not, Paul. Is he a musician? A singer?”
“Well, that’s the only big difference. It’s like he’s tone deaf or something. But like you’ve always said, you know, ‘those who can play, play. Those who can sing, sing. Those who can’t do either become rap artists and DJs.’ So he’s a DJ. He’s known as DJ Pimpface. He’s totally into backward masking — uncovering the secrets, you know? A lost art, for sure.”
I felt the rush of sudden annoyance and complained, “Do you mean hidden messages, when something’s played backwards? Tell DJ Pimpleface that I said if he believes in that stuff, he’s nuts.”
“Yeah, Uncle Hose, like I said: he’s so much like you, it’s creepy. And It’s “Pimpface”, not “Pimpleface”. And he wants you to hear something he got from a KISS song when a certain part is played backward. I mean, he’s put it on a CD and I’ve heard it myself. You hear it and you may end up wanting to move to somewhere else in San Diego. It clearly says, ‘North Park is the devil’s playground/continue slaughter sacrifice blood time eternal.’ Like, haven’t you always said that there’s something creepy about your neighborhood?”
“Well, I’ll believe it when I hear it. And whatever he’s recorded backwards I’ll want to hear forwards too,” I warned, knowing that that would probably be the hardest part — hearing KISS normally.
I won’t say that meeting Rubinio/DJ Pimpface ended up changing my life. Not in any big way, at any rate. But I find myself looking back over my shoulder a lot recently when I take those 4am walks through the neighborhood. I wear clothes every time now, too. Lessens the risk factor.
But I’ve been noticing signs. They’ve been there all the time, or at least a fairly long time, haven’t they? Actually, I’ve always noticed them, pretty much. It’s just recently that I’ve begun to see them.
There’s that short block with the water tower and the raised tennis courts. On the west side of that block are some big metal doors on the sidewalk that, when I walk over them, always echo loudly through some kind of huge basement below. Or is it a dungeon or (more likely) the dwelling of demons? And on rare occasions, I’ve heard human voices — or inhuman voices that sound human coming from down below. Perhaps if I jump up and down loudly on those metal doors next time I hear them, they’ll have to somehow come up in order to get me to stop, and I’ll have run to the corner and hidden behind some bushes where I’ll snap some pictures of the… the… the beings from down there! And I’ll have them published in the Troubadour and the world will know!
A few blocks southeast, on a 30th Street corner, is what appears to be a charitable government-sponsored food/family resource. The signs outside identify it as California WIC, which is supposed to stand for something like Women, Infants, and Children but is to me the fairly transparent WIC CA and if you drop the space between the C’s you’ll get a pretty good idea of the clientele and you may be in some real hot water…bubble, bubble, toil and trouble…
Oh, did I just hear someone say, “What an idiot”? Was that a “Paranoid freak!” from the back row? Oh, please, don’t be shy. Do tell me how you truly feel, especially after I tell you that the eatery/drinking spot right next to WIC CA is called The Ritual! Perhaps you should be less concerned with my state of mind and more concerned with the innocent babies that just might be known as “dinner” around here! Ever seen “Long Piglet” on a menu? Well, neither have I… at least not YET!
I’ve noticed an increase in animal sacrifices around here recently, as well. Some secretive cult somewhere has been killing cats, possums, dogs, and skunks to appease their unholy devil-master. Then, as a sign to the general public, they place the dead animal carcasses randomly around the neighborhood, usually out in the middle of our residential streets!
What about our children? How do we protect them? Do they even need protecting? As Sarah Palin would say (were she not currently a zombie), “You betcha!”
Walk north on 30th to Meade and take a left. There’s a nice-looking two-story building belonging to the YMCA (oh, the irony!) that provides “activities” for children after school and during the summertime. I’ve never been inside but I can only imagine the twisted things our children are encountering within those walls from the drawings and paintings they’ve taped up to the windows along the sidewalk. Animals of all types are depicted; not just skunks, dogs, cats, even elephants(!), but human beings too, sometimes actually labeled “mommy” or “daddy,” and they’re all dead, every last dead one of ’em!
Yup, you have to stare at the drawings up close and really pay attention, but none of them are moving or breathing or making any sounds at all. Just dead. The children, the artists of these public abominations, have been turned into monsters.
Who woulda thunk it? The Hose learning something from a kid who calls himself DJ Pimpface? Being cautioned indirectly by a group of Klowns?
All just a part of surviving another year.
I hope you enjoy a happy new one and some joyous holidays. Keep an eye and ear out for me who, through the Grace of God, may still be out and about, pounding the pavements around our town. If I’m not, be assured that overall, I feel I’ve had a good walk.