"Under Cleavage" and the "Underbelly Blues."

I was watching Sacred Cow's documentary "How weed won the West" (available at http://www.sacredcow.com). I had not seen the final cut since Fearless Phil Messerer (Director of "Underbelly Blues" go to http://www.underbellyblues.com) employed his skills as an editor. Messerer edits like Eddie Scissorhands sculpts bushes and ice. If you listen carefully, his fingers moving like lightening, you can hear the singing of metal.

Watching the interview with female wrestler with Shelly Martinez, I realize Shelly is a fighting ball of Shakti when engaged in her art. You "could plant two young trees in the holes she'd leave". Shelly suffered a back injury from her wrestling days that rendered her on pain meds. The pills she was popping, sedated her and triggered memories of childhood trauma - She switched to medicating herself with cannibis because, A. it's not addictive, B. weed doesn't shrink your mind into a shadow vice grip holding you hostage between ghosts of the past and imaginary fiends (.Speaking for myself and Shelly,that is...And then there are ghosts that no amount of drugs will kill.. my heart goes out to vets who served in Fallujah). Trae and Kevin Booth - The brains behind Sacred Cow Productions - feature Shelly walking down a spiral stair case with a cut off top exposing what I now term as "uncercleavage" - a brazen show of Shelly's ' cannons' from the underside -When I got the call. "Giffords was shot in the head. Someone went 'Baghdad' in Tucsan. Turn on the news."

"Turn on the news" hits me like someone shooting the breeze with an elephant gun. Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords shot in the head. A Federal Judge dead. A nine year old girl dead. All because a looney tuned killer was rejected by the army and still able to get his Fu-manchu - rian-candidate hands on a glok. Shock jock horror at it's finest. "Rally round the family with a pocket full of shells." Glen Beck's jargon spewing from their mouths like frogs and snakes coming out of the mouth of a cursed princess. Hoist the flag. Wrap ye trigger happy body in lady liberty's toga as ye shoot machine gun rounds into the sky. People wonder at the mass bird deaths - winged whistler's falling from the sky - No doubt the victims of bullet happy teabaggers rallying in the name of freedom fries armed with "magic bullets"(the very same that hit JFK)... Mel Gibson's father must be so proud..."sugarnuts". Gabrielle Giffords is a sickening loss. The Federal Judge also tragic. That nine year old girl though - dead before she even learned the names of our executive branches - enrages my sense of compassion and makes me question my decision to walk unarmed on this Earth. For all the rights and laws allowing Arizonians to carry arms - where was the vigilante sureshot - The old prospecter/farmer with his lightening quick reflexes made certain from shooting cactus on his acre lot? If Hunter S. were alive in Tucson I am certain he would take his gun to grocery shop. And if any adult can by a gun - Let's arm children too - If we all kill ourselves, chalk it up to a chapter in Darwinian lesson books. I support the right to bare arms. I do not support the right for yanky fucking doodle rallies that climax with machine gun rounds. I also do not support the journalist who continue to highlight Loughner's occasional pot smoking. Apparently he did not smoke enough. Hey - Rather than tell us he smoked pot, tell us where he got the gun. Some think he got the idea from Sarah Palin's bullseye list. Sarah listed Gabrielle Giffords as a "target" for her campaign complete with a crosshair over her state.

And here I am, staring at the six pack of Flying Dog Porter stored over my work desk. I am fasting. My head and neck injury have slowed down my intention to whip myself into shape for my potrayal as Madame X in Phil Messerer and Seamus Reed's "Underbelly Blues" - A Jewish mother dominatrix. I am inventing a whole history for her - Complete with Flamenco dancing and a passion for Carmen Miranda musical numbers. She used to bring her son Norman to the dungeon with her - he loved it when the ladies would dress him in frilly petticoats. He would sing Carmen Miranda til one day the ladies sewed his mouth shut. That was the end of his trips to the dungeon. Madame X bought him tango lessons which he was never very good at, and before her husband died, they attended every Vegas junior league poker game that Norman ever played. It was tragic, losing her husband Norman. He was a nationally recognized swordsman. How he fell on his own sword is a mystery. Madame X thinks it was murder. She has not been the same since. It is murder staring at my Flying Dog Beer Porter since I began my fast - Murder, but motivation. I would have a whole case sent to Congresswoman Giffords room if it would help her recover speedily. The underbelly of Arizona is filled blues. Clearly there is a great cry for Flying Dog Beer in Arizona - f ck their tea.

Titillating Cuisine

The Breast of networking begins with really good food - Exquisite - to be truthful. The kind of food that makes your mouth water like a babe suckling - awakening taste buds, opening senses, feeding you vitamins sustanance - It's heathful impact immediate - Like a good orgasm.

A posse of big breasted babes has invaded tinsel town repping Washington D.C. - All founders of the Guerilla Poet Insurgency - A group of Hip Hop artists, gangsta poets, and mad inspired artivists born in protest of our.. Shall we say... "Little scuffle in Iraq" - rallied me with a text I found around 9:19 this morning. I awoke at seven am with the overzealous awareness of an executive late for the million dollar meeting and the crux of the deal lay on them as though Atlas needed a day at the spa putting them in charge of holding up the world. Boulderdash And sticky wickets. Tempted to grab a Flying Dog from the six pack Philly gave me. Zane Helberg, the comic actor playing my son, is appearing in Russ Gutin and Noel Elgraby's Belly Room Show tucked on the second floor of The World Famous Comedy Store on Sunset Blvd. How would I handle the entire day before me to catch his 9 pm show and join his comic line-up at the T-bar - A hookah lounge on Sunset strip open til the wee hours - The gonzoidal blokes rippin the jokes in Helberg's circles are brimming and swimming in hip hop harmonious humor - Lucas Dick, Max Silverstein, King Anye, Paul Palmeri, Kevin Rudy, And as of late reppin "The fairer sex" - Amy Hawethorne, Amy Cheapo, Christine Medrano, and ever the picture of Noir pinache mixed with Phili fighting style - Eleanor Kerrigan. ... Not enough name dropping in journalism these days - ... Not enough Beer drinking early in the morning - I miss Berlin.

Brunch. Operatic cuisine. I boast not. Prayers and hours spent at my desk, in my home, longing for the sort of group meals that washingtonians relish and excell manifesting - Leila and Faddi's home. Leila and Faddi have moved here from my DC circles. "Pheonix" and "Wonder Bra" visiting Washingtonians, fed me copious amounts of medicinal marijuana as we parlayed Coachella, Cashing in on the natural born talents of Guinea Pigs, LA Guerilla Poet Insurgency, and "Wonder Bra's" new Invention - "The Boob Helmet". White Wine and orange Juice with the Lebanese bread and Egg/zesty salad and Flying Dog Beer with the sausage. I let the ladies sample them all and gave another six pack to the chef - Faddi - A handsome manhunk - tall , steamy, spicy, calm - married to Leila whose fashion glands set trends. Lucky, lucky, Leila - A man who cooks will see up to 10 times the amount of breasts a fella without those skills will - Must have been hellish to cook for wild amply endowed women discussing and demonstrating "The Boob Helmet" I would tell you what that is, but then "Wonder Bra" would have to kill me.

When I told the ladies Flying Dog Beer was behind our movie - We all got a little wet between the legs - "Pheonix" preaches "omni-sexuality" . The right piece of furniture or business deal can make you wet - And there is nothing more relaxing, arousing, and down righteously Tittilating than discussing international business, Gonzo politics while pouring a porter down your throat driving the zing of cilantro with feta further into the taste canals. Praise "BYOB"

The brainy big breasted p*ssy posse went to aquire film equipment, and attend the sunset on venice. My days living there were often spent toasting my neighbors as we applauded many sunsets over the ocean - You just can't craft moving pictures like that. You can only capture them. You can craft stories like you brew craft beer, however. Reluctantly - I took leave to attend to the movie Business of Messerer's Movie "Underbelly Blues", Dress for Helberg's event, and find my focus for the stand up set am doing tonight.

The Breast of Times.

It was the breast of times. It was the worst of times. Haggard, overworked, underpaid, and underlay'd, I wrestled while parking my car in Producer/Director Phil Messerer's gated lot, dressed in a cervical collar - My left arm numb and ripping with pain. An imbalanced buffoon had moved me into position while wrecklessly out of control video -taping for his show on Halloween (Samhein to Celts and Neo-pagan-hippie-Shaman-Americans who are generally in search of meaning deeper than the Catholicism and holier than football), and managing the pain successfully at first, it had degenerated into a gimpy state that made me feel a bit Quasimodo in stature. Put a pencil in my left hand and call me Bob Dole. Praise "Bob". I had just rehabilitated myself to the point where I could wear heels again. That took me two years. Boys rarely know how to handle their toys, and when confronted with a woman with Capital Hills, something inside them screams "BARBIE DOLL" and they - like a bull in a China shop - feel they may handle you like a peice of plastic - indestructible, built for rough housing, always reacting to abuse with the same editorial blue eyed stare and Mona Lisa smile of approval that Barbie always sports - Even when a four year old gives her a haircut -

"You looked wrecked," said Madman Messerer as he observed the bumbling tact with which I moved resulting from limited arm and neck torque. "Here - Have a 'Flying Dog'." My eyes popped with delight and like a Pavlovian Dog my mouth watered - Good ole Philly coming through unaware he had just offered me my favorite beer as remedy for a lack of slack. As I heard the air escape from the popped top, and watch the craft brew pour into my designated frosted production stein, I suddenly heard the ripping licks of all the Maryland musicians I have the privelidge of running and jamming with when I am in Maryland - Home to Flying Dog Brewery, my folks, and some of the best unsung Blues and Beyond musicains every to learn a single lick of bluegrass - Amen. Awomen. A couple beers too, because I believe as the ancient Chinese and Druids held true - Alcohol is a gateway to the spirit world - Hence the term "spirits" for liquor in our language. Yea, verily, even the great Padmesambavha, who conquered the demons of India and brought Buddhism to Tibet stopped in the mountains for a three day drinking binge that the late great Hunter S. would be proud of - And I - "Gone with the Gonzo" am no exception. I too, a prophet for a profit, believe in the healing powers of a gooood craft brew. "Did Seamus tell you this be my favorite beer?" I asked Messerer.

"Flying Dog is number one on all our lists now," said Messerer. "They just bankrolled our movie."

I had just finished reading George Strahnahan's book "Phlogs", founder of Flying Dog Brewery. Ralph Steadman, the illustrator for Hunter himself, does the art for Flying Dog. There is Guiness and the is Flying Dog. There is not much in between except maybe some good 12 year old single malt scotch or something better -

The news Messerer dropped on me like a New Year's ball - I must confess - Wetted me a bit - "A touch, a touch, I do confess" - Between the legs. We were set to make our movie after all.

"I need you to concentrate on your character," Phil told me. "Start wearing whips on your hips and learning Yiddish. Bone up on Son/lover myths as it applies to those tales in Hebrew traditions and beyond. You are a great talent, Liz. We don't want to lose you to some bumble stumped injury. We are gonna cut back on your stress load. Drink up," he ordered clanking his stein into mine. "We are going to be infamous."