Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Guest Blogger: The Dangers of Being the Dangerman

ed. note: The below diatribe/semi-incomprehensible rant was written by All Things Kevyn foreign-esque correspondent, Rufus Dangerman.  The guy may very well be a madman (in fact he most certainly is a madman) but his writing is fun (I'll come up with a better word later) so I thought I would share it with all my faithful readers and true believers out there in cyberland.  So here it is, the first of what I hope will be a regular gig for the man known as Rufus Dangerman.  So be it.
 
*******
 
It ain't easy being the Dangerman.  But be that as it may, I am indeed the man known as Dangerman, Rufus Dangerman.  And baby, it ain't easy --- but it sure is a whole lotta fun.  Ya see, I am kinda known as an enigma in these parts -- and other parts as well -- and that's just smooth as silk with me.  What did Churchill say about mama Russia?  An enigma wrapped in a riddle, hidden inside a mystery, or sumthin' like that?  Well baby, that's the Dangerman --- inside and fuckin' out.  Ya see, I am the phantom of cyberspace.  I am the ghost in the machine.  I am the King of Rock City.  I am performance art incarnate.  I am a figment of everyone's imagination.  I am the Muffin Man.  I am the wind.  I am whomever I want to be.  I am Rufus T. Dangerman.   At least that's what it says over on my Google profile, and if it's on the internet it must be true.  Right?  Riiiight.  But enough of this introductory shee-ite, and all that Salinger-hated David Copperfield crapola --- let's, as they say, get on with the fucking show.  You're here to find out all things Dangerman, and I aim to please ya with the exploits of such things.  Well, at least with the things I'm a-willing to tell ya'll.  So here goes nuthin'.

Okay, here's some of that Copperfield crapola to start off with anyway.  It was a cold late wintry day in 1977, in a small town in Western Pennsylvania, and a baby boy came into this harsh and harrowing world.  There!  Enough of my childhood.  Now let's move on to my so-called adult life.  Like I said before, it hasn't been easy being the Dangerman, but what a fuckin' ride.  I remember a time hitchhiking the highways and biways of Arizona and New Mexico.  It was just me and my best friend at the time.  For secrecy purposes, let's call him Dean.  Mainly because he actually thought he was Dean Fucking Moriarty.  Ya know, from Kerouac's Road book.  Anyway, me and Dean -- I guess I should call myself Sal in this scenario -- we was doin' some hitching 'cross this great fucking nation of ours.  Somewhere on the wilds of route 380, just outside of Roswell -- yeah, fucking Roswell, but this ain't got nuthin' to do with aliens -- we met a girl named Cherry Bomb.  Seriously, her real life, birth certificate name was Cherry Bomb.  First name Cherry, middle name Bomb.  I fucking kid you not.  Somethin' about her parents being punkers who hung with Joan Jett and the gals when she was conceived.  Anyways, as I was sayin', we met this Cherry Bomb chick while hitchin' our way to sunny Southern Cal-eee-forn-eye-A, and damn, if Dean didn't nab her up for hisself, and make his way south with the girl in tow.  The thing is, Dean was nineteen and she was fourteen.  Yeah, that's right.   Dean ended up livin' the New Mexicali Blues, with a bottle and a girl who's just fourteen.  Okay, maybe some of that story was made up.  Maybe it wasn't.  I ain't a-tellin'.  Let's just say that Dean spent a few years in jail after that.  But hey, I'm rambling off into wild tangents, so I should watch myself.  I don't wanna become like a certain guy who runs this joint.  Not that I'm a-sayin' Kevyn rambles, but hey...

Alright now!  Let's talk less about the exploits of the fake Dean Moriarty and little Miss Cherry Bomb, and more about the Dangerman, and what he/I plans on doing in the "pages" of All Things Kevyn.  The blogmeister has pretty much given his old pal free reign to write about any damn thing that pleases him/I.  So this is it.  Writing about nuthin' really.  Nuthin' at all.  But also, anything.  Anything at all.  I gots me a forum, and a captive audience.  Well, not so much captive, but there is that old lady I got tied up in the basem...er, I mean, let's move on with the story, eh.  So, I now have free reign to write about anything my black ole heart desires.  So with that juicy-juice in mind, let's talk about some secret shit.  My days as a counter-culture revolutionary.  At the time, I was in my early twenties, and I was living in Bakersfield, California.  My job was to stealthily put up signs and stickers and what have you, all attacking then Presidential hopeful George W. Bush.  I would put these signs and stickers in some of the best places.  In malls and stores, restaurants and bars.  I would put them in restroom stalls and above urinals.  I would sneak them into offices -- disguised as a delivery guy -- and put them all over cubicles and lunch room fridges.  I even got some into the Bakersfield Republican Committee's head office.  I take a large amount of pride in how many nooks and crannies I got these anti-Bush slogans into. I'm sure none of this did anything, even though, technically, Bush did lose that election...so maybe...maybe.  Okay, so maybe that story doesn't exactly reek of counter-culture espionage.  And maybe I wasn't exactly the SDS or the Yippies making their way in the Vietnam era, but hey, I got food and board for my actions, so that's good enough for this cat.  I never did get into the whole bloody revolutionary thing.  I was mainly just a talker and a squawker.  Still am really.   But that's neither here nor there.

But hey, I'm a-supposed to be telling ya'll of the dangers of being the Dangerman, and so far all I've talked of are bullshit stories about a slutty teenage runaway and some silly political stickering.  Where the fuck is the danger, man!?  Where the fuck is it!!?  Well, it probably all started the day I turned thirty.  By this time in life, the towers had already fallen and we were livin' in a brave new world.  I had the rep of being a rather muckrakery kinda guy at the time, and so I was hired by some nefarious dudes to help track down this backstabbing bitch by the name of *BEEEEEP*.  Yeah, that's right.  Apparently this bitch had killed one of their friends and was now comin' after them.  So, needing the moola, I took the job and went after *BEEEEEP*, and...wait a minute.  No, that's the plot to Kill Bill.  That wasn't me.  What the hell was I doing on my thirtieth b-day?  Um...oh yeah, I was getting wasted in an ash-ram in Modesto California, with Billy-Dee Williams.  Yep.  I was.  Actually, that may be the only truthful statement I've made so far.  But enough of all these bullshit stories -- and enough of this introductory article.  Kevyn can have it just like it is, and publish it or not -- makes no hither or tither with me.  Though, if ya do publish it oh blog-O-burgermeister, ya might wanna include a pic or two.  Maybe one with a Cherry Bomb reference or one with Billy-Dee.  Seriously, that part of the whole story is real and true and all that.  Other things may be made up, or at least partially made up.  Cherry may have been sixteen, and her birth name may have really been Esther Rosenblatt, and she may have been a runaway from a rather affluent New York Jewish family on the Upper East Side.  As for Dean, aka Henry Kuplinski (yeah, that's right), he spent two years in jail for statutory rape.  Kept wanderin' around after he got out.  About seven years later Henry was killed by a motorcycle gang outside of Tallahasse, but we had drifted apart long before that.  I ran into Esther a few years back.  It was in Manhattan, and she was dragging a somewhat reluctant date into see The Sorrow and the Pity at Film Forum.  Okay, that may have been a lie as well.  Any Annie Hall fan can tell ya that.  But I really did smoke weed with Billy-Dee in an ash-ram in Modesto.  Hand to G-O-D.

So, I guess this is the part of the day where I say that I'll be back next time with some sort of rant or another.  I don't know what it'll be on yet, or even if I'll be allowed back after my dissing of the fella who runs the shop around here, but somebody has to keep the old man on his toes.  That old guy is my elder though, by nearly a decade, so I should show 'im some respect, but like I said, someone's gotta keep 'im on his toes, so why the fuck not me.  Anyways, I'm sure my next article will be something of great interest and even greater bullshit.  Who knows, maybe I'll tell the tale of when I ran with the bulls.  It wasn't the running in Pamplona or anything like that.  It was in  a field in Montana somewhere, and me and my buds were pretty high and tryin' to impress these girls we picked up and...well, let's just say Tommy was never the same again.  Oh poor poor Tommy.   I still have trouble looking him in the face.  Anyways, I'll see ya on what they call, the good ole flipside.

*******

The man known as Rufus Dangerman can be found elsewhere on the world wide web as well, such as at his website, The Dangerman Blog; his Tumblr site, It Ain't What it Used to Be; and, of course, just like every other mo-fo on the planet, on Facebook as well.  That's it for now.  Be back for more next time...if you dare (insert maniacal laughter here, please).

13 comments:

  1. Welly well well and looky loo at that. The words of The Dangerman are up for all to see. All hail The Dangerman.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I don't know the meaning of danger, man! Me, I was born on a cold & gray Chicago morn. The Bulls beat the Knicks that night. I mean, we were all more ingenious before flooding in the Midwest became common. Like the reason we have never gone back to the moon, a rain storm surprises me, surprises you. It’s like, it's like, say, a jungle out there. Soggy. Dangerous.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh you know the meaning "MaryK," you know. Did yr mama cry, cause if there's one thing that she don't need It's another little hungry mouth to feed? I am only surprised by snow showers myself. The Dangerman's gonna be around here on the regular. About every two weeks or so, he'll be poppin' up his rabblerousing head.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Bring on all takers!!! I'll show ya who's soggy!!!

    ReplyDelete
  5. It's funny how you remember things Rufus. Henry went to jail for stealing cars. His and I's relationship had nothing to do with the arrest and jail time. Sure, my parents, being the controlling creatures they are, tried to get Henry put in jail for raping me, but I was 16 and he was barely 19, so it never stuck. Plus, I kinda talked them down. But hey, I'm sure the Billy Dee thing is true though. Huh?

    ReplyDelete
  6. Ha! That's telling him Cherry!! I mean, Esther.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Hey, I'm just tellin' some tales. If I embellish, so fuckin' be it. I never said any of this post was true, except for Billy Dee and me. And baby, that's as real as it gets. It's not my fault certain people were sluts when they was younger...or maybe still are today.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Embellish all you want Rufus. It's no skin off my teeth. I may have been playing the Lolita part back then, but whichever story you spin, either yours or the truth, I come out as the innocent victim in it all. And you? You come off as the jackass as usual. I've moved on with life. Maybe you should now too.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Aahhh... Gotta love troubled bee-atches. They usually look damn good, but are ALWAYS Ka-Razeee!!!

    ReplyDelete
  10. Ooh ooh, he thinks I'm cute. I feel just like Rudolph. Seriously Roofy? I haven't seen you in over eight fucking years, and still you harbor a grudge. Grow the fuck up and move the fuck on. I know you like playing this beat poet part, a guy with attitude toward everything in life, and maybe that's what this is. Who the fuck knows. But it looks as if you've finally drank your own fucking Kool Aid. Get a grip muchacho. Life's too fucking short to worry about every little haunt from the past.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Now c'mon people, let's calm down. Now, no matter how much I love a girl who talks like a fucking sailor, there is no need to bring a girl to such language heights, R.D.. Then again, who the hell am I kidding? I love drama when I need not be involved. Keep up the great work kids. I'll be watching.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Hey girl...ya know I'm just bein' an ass fer bein' an ass's sake. Yes, I am still upset over some past things that were all of our's faults (you, me, Henry), but I just like fuckin' around in public. So we good, girl. We good. But ya know, since I gotsa rep to keep goin', I probs will be bein' a douche again in the future. So fuck the drama. Keep it real Cherry Bomb.

    And hey girl...I even added ur new blog to my blog roll. Yep, that's how I roll, girl.

    Seriously though...playing the actual articulate mofo that I am, You and I are cool as cool can be. You were a good friend when I needed one, and I think I was a good friend when you needed one. I'm just playing the fool. I promise my next guest post won't have any mention of you in any way whatsoever. Okay, I can't really promise that, but hey, I am the Dangerman after all. Love ya Cherry!

    ReplyDelete
  13. Hey girl? You are no Ryan Gosling, buddy. But hey boy, it's all good. You keep up with the asshole bit, and I'll keep going with the bitch thing, and all will be right in the world.

    ReplyDelete