Ladies and Gentlemen and Lalo Schifrin impersonators:
The Rubber Bomb welcomes you to the year 2000. As you forge definitively and yet tentatively into this shining new year, let us offer you a path that you may not have considered walking before, and with good reason. This path is no easy path, for it winds maddeningly through the darkest forest of your mind. It snakes mysteriously through the deepest valley of your soul. It hops on a plane bound for Pamplona with Strom Thurmond and gets drunk at the bullfight egging the nonagenarian Dixiecrat to "Have a go at it, [expletive deleted]!" It sits in front of the refrigerator wondering why the "friggin'" reception is so bad and chanting, "I want me 'Gunsmoke'!" over and over again until the neighbors call the authorities who have to knock down a wall and forklift the thing out as it has crazy-glued itself to the 18th century armoire which was the only thing it had left to remind it of its dear mama. It takes brisk walks through the zoo and feeds the monkeys in direct disregard of the posted signs figuring "What are a couple of [expletive deleted] monkeys gonna do if they have slab of port wine cheeseball? Friggin' croak 'er something? [Expletive deleted]!" Come to think of it, forget what we said about taking that path. We know a shortcut.
The Rubber Bomb is steeped in tradition and boiling water that produces a scent faintly reminiscent of orange rind, sweet spice and a history of artistic and literary excellense (sp?). Throughout these hallowed halls, you will find doorways to the very finest that the human race has to offer in the way of the humanities, arts and sciences. The Rubber Bomb panel is a collection of well-schooled, highly-trained, impeccably mannered intelligentsia who have collaborated to rekindle the fire of sophistication, elegance and grace that has dwindled in the increasingly overbearing and foul wind that has whipped through the most of the 20th century. We are committed to combat the primordial mentality that has been smeared upon the arts like jam on toast. We shall smite the simian villains who vilify the very essence of enlightenment. We shall beat the brigands who bastardize that which was meant to refine the mind and refresh the spirit. We shall hamstring the Huns who rip from the ground, roots and all, the delicate flower of creativity and cram it into their crusty-gummed gashes, grinding the precious petals with their Pearl Drops-deprived, denture-bound choppers, chewing the very fruit of beauty into a bilious lather and letting it drool from their faces like a fetid effluvium. And we will have a good laugh doing it.
So welcome all (except Lalo Schifrin impersonators... frankly, we've talked it over and we're just not comfortable with it. So get lost. GO ON! Beat it! Sure, you're the "real" Lalo Schifrin... Right! So what are you doing here? Really? You mean, in the amount of time since we mentioned your name in the first paragraph, you found out about us and checked us out? Well that's swell! Hey, Lalo... I want you to meet some people, come on over here. Now, just hang on a second - man, they won't [expletive deleted] believe it! - Hey, uh... guess who I got hanging out over here? I'll give you 3 guesses... that, that... well [expletive deleted]. That's right. How did you know? What do you mean you "read" me talking to him? [Expletive deleted]! Of course, it's really him. Hey, Lalo! Come over here. Nah, they knew it was you. What a kick in the head. What? Oh [expletive deleted]! I totally forgot about the intro. Dude, I boned it! Just hang out for a sec.) to the Rubber Bomb. We trust that we shall be your one source for poetry, art, literature, paintings and stuff, surf reports, sports news, like... drawings and people writing stuff and, uh... Listen, we're gonna go have a couple cold ones with Lalo, so just... I don't know click on shit (oops, I mean [expletive deleted]) and come back for more newer things and (yeah, I'm coming! Just wait up!) y'know. Right? Cool. (Wait up...!)
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