YOU'RE WRONG 

An Irregular Column

by Mykel Board

I was more frightened than a gerbil on "animal appreciation night" in the local homo bar. I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't heard it from such trustworthy sources. I'm not even sure I want to tell you about it. It might give you ideas.

Anne Marie, famous co-editor of SHOE POLISH MONTHLY told me how she saved my life-- and I didn't know it.

Like me, Annie M went to the Toronto @@-fest. The crowd was a bit friendlier to her than they were to me. Shortly after that political excuse for Woodstock II, a girl from Toronto stayed with Ms. Anne. This girl wanted to kill me.

No, I don't mean she was mad and metaphorically wanted to show her anger. I mean kill. Cause to die. Kaput. Bye bye. Say Yiskor. Knife through the heart. Bullet through the head. Kill.

The girl's violent hostility sprung from my revelation of the illegal way MDC entered Canada during the @@-fest. She was also angry at my general anti-feminist, anti-anarchist, anti-vegginess. As to the first point, Dave-- MDC's singer wanted me to write about the illegal immigration. As to the second point, what can I say? Is asshole-ism a capital crime?

In any case, this girl came to New York to rid the world of a nasty worm. . . er. . . rock-- I guess, since she didn't believe in killing animals. Somehow, the valiant Anne Marie saved me, by talking sense into the fanatical young lady. If she hadn't, this column might be coming to you from Hell.

This isn't the first time I've avoided a veggie related-death. Once, while I super market shopping for steak, ham and chicken, I saw a tall skinny guy with a torn leather jacket dripping off his arms like the flesh rotting off a horror movie monster.

"You're Mykel Board, aren't you?" asks this punk.

Usually that's a question that brings joy to my heart. But his slight squint and subtle raising of one nostril suggested something sinister. Still, I admitted my identity.

"You know I almost killed you." said the guy.

I didn't say anything.

"Remember a while ago," he continued,"you were arguing on the street with this girl. She said she didn't eat meat, and you asked her if she let cockroaches run free in her apartment?"

I nodded, vaguely remembering the incident.

"Well, that was my girlfriend. After that argument, she was in tears. She couldn't talk or eat. It was horrible. You almost wrecked her. . . "

He paused awkwardly as if waiting for me to say something. I let him go on.

"I vowed to kill you for hurting her like that," he said. "I followed you for awhile, found out where you lived and planned to stick a knife through your chest as you left your building. I had it timed perfectly so I'd never be caught."

I could feel my skin whiten. I managed to stutter, "W. . . What happened?"

"Me and my girlfriend had a fight before I did anything," he said. "I don't see her anymore."

I breathed, deeply savoring the feel of air rushing into and out of my lungs through my nose and throat, rather than through holes punched in my chest from the outside.

There's more, though this part doesn't involve me. I heard on the radio today that a bombing plot was foiled by the cops. Nope, it wasn't Anti-Abortionists, the Puerto Rican freedom fighters or the IRA-- it was the Animal Liberation Front. And they weren't planning to bomb an empty building. They were planning to kill someone-- a scientist involved in animal experimentation. They wanted to blow him up. KERPOW! Lots of little human pieces. Blood, rolling heads, spilling brains, human viscera, shattered blobs of flesh. A mess.

Ernie Hemingway wrote that animal lovers show "a profound distaste for the human race." he didn't go far enough. Fanatical animal lovers hate humankind. They'd be happy in a world of cockroaches and rabbits. They feel closer to the lower animals than to other humans. They are closer. Now, on to other things.

The elections turned out like I said they would. At least my vote did some good. It contributed to the five percent necessary to keep the Libertarian Party on the ballot for next year. I do have sympathy for those who didn't vote at all. Until they have a lever for "None of The Above," that might be the best move.

Most hilarious were the idiot leftists (is that redundant?) who voted for Mike the Duke and defense factory owner Bentson out of lesser evilism. These laboratory mouse brains of the left are pushing the Democratic party further to the right.

The Dems obviously think like this: Well, those Jackson lovers and the rest of the lefty pinko colored homo coalitions are gonna vote for us no matter what schmuck we put up. We got 'em in our pocket. They're mostly Jews and liberal college students who vote as vehemently as they don't smoke. They sure as shit are not gonna vote Republican. So, since we got them, we now gotta move to the right and try to pick up some of the Republican buckaroos who aren't too happy with their party's extreme rightism. We can pretend we're Republicans too-- only "better administrators" and "more moderate."

So the Dems, realizing that their left hand is gonna vote for them no matter what they do, move to the right to strengthen the other hand. They act like Republicans. The Duke's quote of the year was, "This election is not about ideology-- it's about competence." Hmmmm, which do you want, a competent Republican or an incompetent one?

Now, if the lefty pinko colored homo coalition said they were going to vote third party-- or better yet-- not going to vote at all. The Dems would then have to move leftward to get them to change their minds. Minds? Whoops, sorry I forgot.

Now we've got two years of Bush, then two more of President Quayle. Girls-- I suggest you hurry out and get your abortion now-- even if you don't need it. Get a spare. It won't be long before you'll have to dump your entire wardrobe on the floor, so you can use the hangers.

Another fine example of lefty dumbitude was last week's "anti-Klan" rally. Included in the anti-Klanist's promo literature was the sentence, "No freedom of speech for racists!" They also complain about how the government and the news media is racist-- and so is the FBI. There is a set of instructions on what to do when the FBI comes to your door.

If you get a chance, you should read some Klan literature. They say "No freedom of speech for leftists." They say that the government is leftist and so is the news media and the FBI. There are exactly the same set of instructions on what to do when the FBI comes to their door.

Of course, both sides have their heads too far up their ideologies to realize that the government is annoyed by any extremes, right or left. They infiltrate both sides and do all kinds of provocative things to destroy them. So now we have the lefties doing the government's work for it. We've got the extremes fighting each other while Reagonbushdukakisbentsonquale sits back and enjoys the show. Who needs the FBI when you can just let the idiots get together and kill each other off?

There's one more thing I wanna write about this month. That's the COLLEGE MEDIA JOURNAL conference here in New York right after Halloween. CMJ is a magazine that takes advertising from record companies, reviews the records they advertise, tells radio stations to play these records, then keeps lists of the stations who play them. At their conference, a lot of companies come and give people records to play on the radio. Then they have "panel" discussions about things important to (mostly college) radio people. There was an artists' panel, one about fanzines, a couple about various aspects of Heavy Metal (Is it bad? Is it anti- female? How do you produce it? Can it sell your product? etc.)

I was invited to participate on one of the many panels. I have so many affiliations: my band ARTLESS, my fanzine NOTHING BUT RECORD REVIEWS, my writing for lots of different zines, my Master's Degree in Linguistics, my expertise in child psychology, etc. I wasn't exactly sure which of these caused the CMJ folks to invite me. I found out when I got there. The following was printed on my identification badge: MYKEL BOARD, MAXIMUM ROCK'N'ROLL.

"Oy vey," I thought. "Of all the things I do-- this gets me invited to a meeting of the industry?"

Anyway, it meant lots of free records. And I did get to see Debbie, one of my favorite San Francisco girls. Up until recently she was the day-to-day brains behind the ALTERNATIVE TENTACLES record empire. I've known her for a long time. She's a great pal and a greater drinker. Give the two of us a couple of hours and we could dry up most any bar in the city. I saw her briefly in the main convention room before I had to go in and sit on the panel. It was only 11 in the morning, so we both were nearly sober.

On the panel with me were Jim Testa from GROT and JERSEY BEAT, the editor of THE BUTT RAG, the art director of PUNCTURE, a girl from ROCKPOOL magazine-- itself a sponsor of one of these industry type meetings, Kramer the ovum to the uterus of SHIMMYDISK records, and Tom Paine from the band LIVE SKULL. I looked out over the puddle of acned faces and honked a toot of relief when I saw my pal Debbie in the crowd. A fleck of friendliness in the midst of rabid vacuity.

The panel was a bore. Kramer tried to liven it up by throwing chocolate and Shimmydisk records. The chocolate quickly disappeared. I tried to liven it up by getting people mad.

"Major labels should not be allowed to advertise in fanzines." I said, knowing that all the biggies were out there.

"The difference between a fanzine and a commercial 'zine," I continued, "is that a fanzine doesn't exist to make a profit. It's put out by fans who care about the music. It's not really "in business," so losing money is no reason to go out of business. Fanzines don't need to sell themselves."

I could see the folks from Island and CBS start to seethe as I continued, "Some publications whore themselves to the record companies. These slimerags do all indies-- both printed and vinyl-- a disservice. The major labels have enough exposure. They don't need us. Any fanzine that allows majors to advertise has no business calling itself a fanzine."

The rest of the panel didn't do much else besides shut up. The girl from ROCKPOOL said I was unfair to say that just because somebody made money, that meant they weren't a fan. I explained to her that just because a whore likes her work doesn't make her less of a whore.

Some of people got up to leave. I was having fun, still blasting away at the major labels and their running dog lackeys. Then this guy at the back of the room-- a very official looking guy at the back of the room-- made a sign with his finger like a throat-slitting knife. The panel was over.

On walking out of the place, I met Debbie. "I really gave it to those major label geeks, didn't I?" I asked her.

For some reason, she seemed a bit disturbed.

"I mean that stuff really helps ALTERNATIVE TENTACLES and the other record companies, doesn't it?"

"I don't work for A.T. anymore." said Debbie, "I work for Warner Brothers."

Those within a dozen feet in any direction could smell my skin turn red.

"So you don't like major labels. . . " Debbie said, "well, I'll show you major labels. . . "

I thought she was going to hit me. As I already told you, she wouldn't be the first to try to hurt me. As are most people, Debbie is bigger and stronger than I am. Instead of violence, the wonderwoman used another tactic to persuade me of the benefits of major labels.

She used a weapon so potent, I was crushed under its power: THE EXPENSE ACCOUNT. Yep, Debbie took me out for a surf and turf lunch at a double digit businessman's hideaway. Then we went out drinking. Barely able to stand up, we made our way from a Warner's paid restaurant to a Warner's paid bar to other Warner's paid bars always travelling by Warner's paid taxicabs.

After the bars closed, there was a party for some Warner Brothers' group, Jane's Addiction. You could only get in if you had an invitation. Debbie gave me one. I went to KINKOS and xeroxed it, handing it out to the scummiest people I could find. I passed out before I could make it to the party myself, so I don't know what happened.

"They complain if you don't spend enough money," said Debbie, the next morning. "They think you're not entertaining enough." To be more entertaining, we ate breakfast at one of those places where the tables have white cloths on them and the waiters are more dressed up than the customers. Debbie had something made from eggs with ham and this white sauce all over it. In celebration of the then upcoming elections, I ate quail covered in something gooey. We both gulped multiple glasses of some unpronounceable drink made from Champagne, orange juice and some bright red liquid that never quite mixed with the rest of the stuff.

After Warner's paid for the breakfast, they bought us each a bottle of 100 Aspirin pills, then paid for our cab back to the conference.

I was just in time for the "Music And Social Responsibility Panel." I wanted to go to this one, because, on the panel, was my former idol, Lou Reed. As a writer of songs advocating, among other things, heroin use, thrill killing, and sado- masochism, I knew Lou would be perfect for the panel. Speaking of perfection, being socially responsible, up there with Lou was Bob Guccioni Jr., publisher of SPIN magazine and heir to the Guccioni Sr. PENTHOUSE fortune.

All the panelist thought that AIDS and apartheid were bad things and equality and freedom were good things. They also had the perfect solution on how to achieve the good things and avoid the bad: vote for Mike Dukakis.

Of course this suggestion was greeted with wild applause. The only person with any balls was a lone Republican who proudly said he was going to vote for Bush.

Someone else asked Lou about corporate sponsorship of things like Amnesty International or Save the Hungry. Lou, himself, has lately been doing commercials for Honda and American Express.

"Would you rather have these multinationals put their money into bad things?" asked Lou. "Corporate sponsorship makes a lot of good stuff happen."

In NY, Coors beer sponsored a benefit for AIDS patients. They won't hire homos, but they sponsor AIDS benefits. That company also is noted for hiring almost all white people-- especially in management. I'm sure it would be all right with Lou, however, if they handed out buttons saying "Hug a colored person, today."

I didn't get a chance to say any of this stuff though. Questions from the audience were not taken in the order people asked them. Instead, they sent around this hippie who only picked girls and. . . er. . . ethnic minorities. Of course, they salivated over themselves with butt-licking approval for even the lamest ideas from the panelists. Feeling suddenly nauseous, I left the room. I found Debbie outside and let Warner Brothers buy us more drinks. GG Allin was playing the next day and I wanted to be in shape, but I'll tell you about that one next month-- if I remember.

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Oh yeah, I've been trying to contact the bands: DEATH BY DREAMING, THE CRIME, and AKUTT INLEGGELSE (from Norway). Please send any addresses for these bands to me: c/o PO Box 137, Prince Street Station, New York NY 10012. I'm not going to give you my street address. There's folks out there who want to kill me!