| ||||||||||||||
|
| | |||||||||||||
|
WATCH OUT! HERE COMES SEMI-CORRECT CAPITALIZATION!!!! The Rebirth of Ruckus: the Rhythm Chicken story It all began on July 1st, 1999, when he was pulling his 3-piece drum set out of his dinghole. This religious, yet dutiful, habit of fitting larger and larger and more elaborate items into his dinghole had become almost mundane. This act alone was obviously going nowhere. Where was the joy? Where was the rock & roll satisfaction? Where was the national acclaim? Where was Gary Coleman? The answer came clear in that split second of farmyard revelation. The BEAT! The CHICKENHEAD! The PUBLIC! Social absurdity became his majestic salvation. When dinghole stretching has lost its charm, follow your roots . . . back to the farm! This is, after all, the dairy state! Wisconsin, the secret envy of the other 49! Green Bay became a modern-day Bethlehem as he pulled on the chickenhead. The drumset, still glistening in a fresh coat of dingjuice, sent tremors throughout the dairyland. As drumsticks met chickenskin, professionals gawked in awe, ladies turned to rubber, men held tight to their Gary Coleman action figures, and dingholes began to itch and swell. This world surely had been waiting for something. World-wide relief, born of this fateful dinghole, had finally hatched right on Main Street. Those brave new rhythms opened the eyes of some 300 rock cretins. They stood in line, clutching their tickets to see the hip human rock band which suddenly seemed as exciting as cold toast. Soon the headliner and opening act filtered outside to bare witness to the rebirth of ruckus. Traffic stopped. Happy-hour drunks screamed. Camera flashes filled the air. Clueless peasants yelled the "R-word", as the brighter bulbs in attendance acknowledged sheer lunacy and embraced "the new R-word," . . . RUCKUS! Ruckus in the form of riotous rhythm and occasional free-form wrastlin.' Born that day was a potent gladiator in the war against conformity in today's corpse of a music scene. Born that day was a new Pabst-fueled Lombardi, hell-bent on all things absurd and out-of-control. It's a big wobbly mis-shapen ball of crotch-rot, but he's dedicated to keep it rolling. Put your wings together for the Pope of Poultry and Percussion, the Rhythm Chicken!!!!!!! Name: Rhythm Chicken. CAERRATS! | ||||||||||||||
| ©2001 Razorcake |
| Columns | Interviews
| News, Gossip | Reviews
| Contributors | Family
Trees | | |||||||||||||