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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #511
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "My Beef with Phil Collins"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Ashtray Heart
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 3/16/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Well, after an exhaustive manhunt lasting several months and
entailing a squadron of several hundred highly trained dogs, I have been
enticed out of hiding once more. Where have I been? Mostly I've been
writing poetry, from which I will spare you because, well, isn't there
enough pain in this world already? I've been lured out of my ineffective
retirement by two factors:
1. The offer, by an anonymous patron of the arts, of an unlimited
quantity of S&M soft porn.
2. The opportunity to participate in and document for posterity the
ritual murder of Phil Collins.
After running this latter opportunity by our hot 'n juicy lawyers,
it was downgraded to the opportunity for a feral wrestling match with Phil
Collins. For those of you who have missed out on this groundbreaking
piece of news (an exclusive, BTW, to whichever the hell zine I'm writing
this for), here are some of the interesting details on the match:
* My battle royal with Phil Collins will be a shaving match.
Originally Collins had proposed a head-shaving match, but after
I was astute enough to point out, through my lawyers, of course,
that Collins was bald as a fucking cueball (mind you, I don't
exactly have a world-beating hairline myself, but it's miles
ahead of that jive honky Collins'), the match was amended to a
crotch shaving match. The winner will get to shave the loser's
crotch. The razor to be used for this has yet to be determined;
we're still interviewing potential corporate sponsors.
Personally, though, I hope whatever we choose is really fucking
painful. I'm rooting for a straight razor, myself. We have
determined a sponsor for aftershave, and I'm proud to announce
that after our match Phil Collins is going to be an Aqua Velva
man... down THERE.
* We have yet to find a venue for the match, due to some pesky laws
about public nudity. We're considering filing papers for this
event as an "artistic event", which might not only allow the
nudity required but could possibly get us some arts grant funding.
I'm optimistic that we can make this happen, even if we have to
go all the way to fucking Berkeley.
* The match WILL be a weapons match. I had originally proposed a
livestock match wherein the ring would be peppered with farm
animals which could be used in any offensive way possible, but
humane society protests coupled with the possibility of some of
the fans going hog-wild a little too literally and attempting to
sodomize the animals have put this out of the question, as I'm
told you can't get away with fucking barnyard animals even if it
IS the most significant artistic event of the century. We are
currently working out a compromise. Either the weapons will
consist of an army of robot chickens of my own design, or a huge
barrel filled with anything available from the Archie McPhee
catalog. As always, we will keep you posted.
* Recommendations for referee will be gladly accepted. Collins of
course wants that fucking wanker Tony Banks to referee, but
there's no way in hell I'm going to let that happen, even if I
have to have him arrested on false pretenses of child pornography
to keep him from getting to ringside. It probably won't come to
that, though. I've submitted a memo to Ken Starr obliquely
hinting that Tony Banks and Bill Clinton might once have slept in
the same bed. You can expect every overdue library book Banks
has had out to be leaked to the media by next Thursday.
Collins, I just want to let you know, even if you get Banks to ref,
you're going down. You may have had arms of steel once upon a time from
thrashing the shit out of those drums, but you've gone soft. You've been
pussyfooting around with those wimpy drum machines too long. You don't
know me. You don't know how hard I'm working to make this happen,
Collins. You get there in the ring with me, you're going to see all of
your life flash before your eyes. I'll get you stuttering so bad that the
next time you try and sing "Sussudio", it'll take you 5,473 repetitions
of the first syllable before you finally get that accursed spell out. Oh,
yes. Don't think I'm not on to you and the source of your continued
power. Don't think I don't know about your dabblings with black magic.
I've got my own voodoo sorcerer, believe you me, and I'm getting trained
by nothing but the best.
Let me tell you about my training room, Collins. I've got an 8X8
room set up, and the decor is filled with nothing but pictures of your
face, from your noxious fucking album covers. I've got a stereo in there
that plays your hits 24 hours a day, from "In the Air Tonight" to that
wretched piece of shit cover of "True Colors". Collins, your music has
taught me the true meaning of pain, and when we get in the ring I'll teach
you every bit of what I've learned. I'm going to do to you what I did to
"Loco in Acapulco", Collins.
And then you know what? I'm going to shave you. I'm going to make
your crotch as soft and smooth as your wife's pussy. Before a crowd of
thousands out there in the arena, I'm going to take away the last pretense
to manhood you have. I know you've been growin' it, too. How long's it
been since you shaved down there? Two years? Five? Twenty? Never?
Well, you just keep growin' that public hair, Collins. I want your bush
nice and full for me.
* * *
Phil, I want to tell you. After your work with Genesis, after your
horrible solo career, after having to put up with your wretched occult
presence all through the '80s, I thought I knew the meaning of hate. I
hated you more than I'd ever hated anyone in my life. But Phil, that was
nothing next to what I feel for you now. Phil Collins, I'm here to tell
you, now it's personal.
You can't possibly guess how grueling this training regimen has
been for me. I've studied every inch, every side of your face from more
angles than I thought were possible. I've heard your sniveling voice in
every permutation known, from your cover of "Tomorrow Never Knows" through
"We Can't Dance". It's hurt. Oh, has it hurt. But it hasn't been for
nothing. I know where your every weak spot is, Phil. I know exactly the
nerves to strike on your face to freeze you up in spastic fits. I know
exactly what to say to make you weak. I know exactly who to hurt to get
to you, Phil, and I'm going to do it. It's not enough to just shave your
crotch anymore, Phil. I'm going to make your life more miserable than
I've made mine. The weeks before this match will be just as much torture
for you as they are for me. I realize this will make you lean and hungry,
and this will make my match harder, but I'm still confident that I'm the
better man than you. Knowing you've given it your all for this match
instead of sitting back getting fat off your royalty checks will just make
my final victory all the sweeter for me.
You know what did it for me? You know what was the straw that
broke the camel's back? It was the porn, Phil. Remember? The unlimited
quantities of S&M softporn from your own collection that you set me up
with? I've been seeing YOUR FACE on them, Phil. YOUR FACE on every one
of those goddamned models. YOUR FACE on those perfect sets of tits, on
every one of those bound and helpless women. YOUR FACE squirming
fetchingly in an infinite number of variations. Oh, you'll squirm, Phil.
You'll squirm. But it won't be all nicey-nice SOFT-PORN squirming.
There'll be nothing sexy about the way your eyes beg for mercy THEN. Oh,
no. It'll be pure pain, Phil. Pain and blood. You like to play around
with pain, but you're about to get yourself a heaping helping of the real
thing.
I bet you're sweating right now, because already the world knows
one of your little secrets. The whole world knows exactly what you like
in the bedroom. But that's not really why you're sweating, is it? You
don't even really mind that they know about it that much. You must have
figured I'd spill the beans on that eventually. No, what you're sweating
about is that you know it's only the beginning. And you're wondering how
much of it I know. Well, trust me on this one, Phil. If you've done it,
I know about it. I know it all. And I've dedicated the rest of my career
to your downfall. It'll be the thrill of my life to watch you go down, to
take that rusty old razor to your crotch, Phil. Knowing that I'm going to
do that to you will make it all worthwhile.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #511 - WRITTEN BY: ASHTRAY HEART - 3/16/99 ]