An Unholy Alliance?
Shitty McFuck-Fuck and Little Bobby Doublecocks Return to Center Stage, Despite Controversy
Elvis Mitchell, NY Times
April 21, 2004. The ineluctable, quintessential postmodern audience seems tottering these days between a market-oriented, anti-ironic earnestness and a neo-nihilist realism. From the sado-masochistic hyperrealism of The Apprentice to the protean lumpen-glitz of American Idol, the attention of the blippy entertainment consumer is more fortified Tropicana and ephedra-free supplements than double espresso and Rasberry Absolut. Given this landscape, its hard to imagine a more inopportune moment for the reunion of a foul-mouthed Scot and a curiously endowed midget, who last week blasted back onto the tenuous Manhattan cabaret circuit with a heart-pounding performance in the Little Italy mainstay Da Nicos Bathroom on Mulberry Street. And yet, to sold-out (albeit in diminutive venues) crowds, Shitty McFuck-Fuck and Little Bobby Doublecocks are knocking audiences dead.
The raucous performance art duo which disbanded eight years ago after rumored squabbles over royalties, romance, and unpaid urologist bills, was never known for towing the mainstream entertainment line. Mr. McFuck-Fuck, 40, who emigrated from the hilly Glengarry region of Scotland, is known for his wild temper, violent, brooding demeanor, and prowess with a Jews Harp. Mr. Doublecocks, 41, who, as his name implies, has what his name implies, is only 3 foot 7 and is still considered the most accomplished soft shoe tap dancer in the United States. Their shows, which are equal parts GG Allen, Albelour Whiskey, Werner Herzog and Zippy the Pinhead, never fail to rouse at least some audience members to renounce their American citizenship.
What makes their reunion a source of controversy is the gaping chasm between the two performers ideological foundations. Mr. Fuck-Fuck represents a uniquely Scottish brand of radicalism that is perhaps best described as Leonid Trotsky meets Noam Chomsky. In contrast, Mr. Doublecocks, a native Idahoan, is an avowed white supremacist who makes no apologies for his hatred for people of color, non-Christians, and those with mental retardation. Yet, the normally politically correct New York audiences see it as all part of the act.
An attendee at the Da Nicos was impressed. Ive never seen anything like it, man, said Vitto Antonio, the restaurants janitor. He continued, Tutto bene!
Mr. Doublecocks declined to be interviewed for this story. Mr. Fuck-Fuck, when asked whether the duo plans to take their stage show outside of the city, replied, Aye, weel bee takin it to thladdies in, aye!
===================
This above was actually written by my friend Dave based on two characters we created in a drunken/high haze while I was visiting him in NYC. Each year we eat at the same restaurant in Little Italy- Da Nico's. We made up the idea of an underground performance happening in the restroom of the restaurant. It's truly quite banal, but what I love about the humor I share with my pal Dave is that we'll go to great length s and effort to explore a banal idea that only we would think is funny.
Some other ideas Dave and I have created (which I'm sure you'll find rather unfunny, but it's more for posterity):
-The CoffeeCone(tm), in which a regular sugar cone is filled with scalding hot coffee and sealed. It is sold at Starbucks everywhere and burns every single person who tries to eat/drink it. So you have all these business suit types with burn scars on their mouths walking around still buying CoffeeCones.
-The stoopie pooch corral. For a couple of years Dave and I were obsessed with dachsunds, which we called "stoopie pooches". A dachsund is a stoopie pooch but a stoopie pooch isn't necessarily a dachsund. You get the idea. Anyway, we wanted to approach the Bloomington City Council about having Kirkwood Avenue turned into a giant stoopie pooch corral, where the pooches could run free where the streets used to be. The sidewalks of Kirkwood would still be there, but where the street is would be the corral. You couldn't actually go into the corral because it is enclosed. You could only see the pooches through a window. And oh, there would be rubber gloves built into the wall where you could pet a stoopie but never actually come into contact with them.
-Chief Stoobie Bubbie. Chief Stoobie Bubbie is an Indian Chief that is made entirely out of magnetic powder surrounding a hockey puck.
-MTA. MTA is our dummy company set-up to bring us slack. MTA (Mouth-to-Anus) Incorporated would end every commercial they air with a quick voice saying "offer not valid".
-Shanky's- our restaurant. The motto- "Why go anywhere when you can go to Shanky's".
If these seem frustratingly unfunny to you or seem so completely pointless and obvious as to contain no humor, believe me when I say...you are not alone. But these jokes (along with literally about 100 more) has given Dave and I our own fucking mythology. It's one part SubGenius, one part corporate hucksterism, one part Monty Python, one part Surrealism, and two parts childishness. I particularly enjoyed his mention of soft-shoe dancing in the article, which is, no doubt, a reference to a short film (of which I have the only copy) in which I am asked by a crazy man in a covered trash can to do a soft-shoe. I comply and am subsequently strangled to death as I approach the man's trash can (me approaching his can thinking that, since I did a soft-shoe for him that we were indeed friends of a sort).
-s6
Shitty McFuck-Fuck and Little Bobby Doublecocks Return to Center Stage, Despite Controversy
Elvis Mitchell, NY Times
April 21, 2004. The ineluctable, quintessential postmodern audience seems tottering these days between a market-oriented, anti-ironic earnestness and a neo-nihilist realism. From the sado-masochistic hyperrealism of The Apprentice to the protean lumpen-glitz of American Idol, the attention of the blippy entertainment consumer is more fortified Tropicana and ephedra-free supplements than double espresso and Rasberry Absolut. Given this landscape, its hard to imagine a more inopportune moment for the reunion of a foul-mouthed Scot and a curiously endowed midget, who last week blasted back onto the tenuous Manhattan cabaret circuit with a heart-pounding performance in the Little Italy mainstay Da Nicos Bathroom on Mulberry Street. And yet, to sold-out (albeit in diminutive venues) crowds, Shitty McFuck-Fuck and Little Bobby Doublecocks are knocking audiences dead.
The raucous performance art duo which disbanded eight years ago after rumored squabbles over royalties, romance, and unpaid urologist bills, was never known for towing the mainstream entertainment line. Mr. McFuck-Fuck, 40, who emigrated from the hilly Glengarry region of Scotland, is known for his wild temper, violent, brooding demeanor, and prowess with a Jews Harp. Mr. Doublecocks, 41, who, as his name implies, has what his name implies, is only 3 foot 7 and is still considered the most accomplished soft shoe tap dancer in the United States. Their shows, which are equal parts GG Allen, Albelour Whiskey, Werner Herzog and Zippy the Pinhead, never fail to rouse at least some audience members to renounce their American citizenship.
What makes their reunion a source of controversy is the gaping chasm between the two performers ideological foundations. Mr. Fuck-Fuck represents a uniquely Scottish brand of radicalism that is perhaps best described as Leonid Trotsky meets Noam Chomsky. In contrast, Mr. Doublecocks, a native Idahoan, is an avowed white supremacist who makes no apologies for his hatred for people of color, non-Christians, and those with mental retardation. Yet, the normally politically correct New York audiences see it as all part of the act.
An attendee at the Da Nicos was impressed. Ive never seen anything like it, man, said Vitto Antonio, the restaurants janitor. He continued, Tutto bene!
Mr. Doublecocks declined to be interviewed for this story. Mr. Fuck-Fuck, when asked whether the duo plans to take their stage show outside of the city, replied, Aye, weel bee takin it to thladdies in, aye!
===================
This above was actually written by my friend Dave based on two characters we created in a drunken/high haze while I was visiting him in NYC. Each year we eat at the same restaurant in Little Italy- Da Nico's. We made up the idea of an underground performance happening in the restroom of the restaurant. It's truly quite banal, but what I love about the humor I share with my pal Dave is that we'll go to great length s and effort to explore a banal idea that only we would think is funny.
Some other ideas Dave and I have created (which I'm sure you'll find rather unfunny, but it's more for posterity):
-The CoffeeCone(tm), in which a regular sugar cone is filled with scalding hot coffee and sealed. It is sold at Starbucks everywhere and burns every single person who tries to eat/drink it. So you have all these business suit types with burn scars on their mouths walking around still buying CoffeeCones.
-The stoopie pooch corral. For a couple of years Dave and I were obsessed with dachsunds, which we called "stoopie pooches". A dachsund is a stoopie pooch but a stoopie pooch isn't necessarily a dachsund. You get the idea. Anyway, we wanted to approach the Bloomington City Council about having Kirkwood Avenue turned into a giant stoopie pooch corral, where the pooches could run free where the streets used to be. The sidewalks of Kirkwood would still be there, but where the street is would be the corral. You couldn't actually go into the corral because it is enclosed. You could only see the pooches through a window. And oh, there would be rubber gloves built into the wall where you could pet a stoopie but never actually come into contact with them.
-Chief Stoobie Bubbie. Chief Stoobie Bubbie is an Indian Chief that is made entirely out of magnetic powder surrounding a hockey puck.
-MTA. MTA is our dummy company set-up to bring us slack. MTA (Mouth-to-Anus) Incorporated would end every commercial they air with a quick voice saying "offer not valid".
-Shanky's- our restaurant. The motto- "Why go anywhere when you can go to Shanky's".
If these seem frustratingly unfunny to you or seem so completely pointless and obvious as to contain no humor, believe me when I say...you are not alone. But these jokes (along with literally about 100 more) has given Dave and I our own fucking mythology. It's one part SubGenius, one part corporate hucksterism, one part Monty Python, one part Surrealism, and two parts childishness. I particularly enjoyed his mention of soft-shoe dancing in the article, which is, no doubt, a reference to a short film (of which I have the only copy) in which I am asked by a crazy man in a covered trash can to do a soft-shoe. I comply and am subsequently strangled to death as I approach the man's trash can (me approaching his can thinking that, since I did a soft-shoe for him that we were indeed friends of a sort).
-s6
instarsia:
darling. i miss you terribly 
i need someone to take my next set. does your offer still stand?
i need someone to take my next set. does your offer still stand?