KISS

KISS
by B. Thomas Hunter

Peter Criss has traveled through time seeking the cure for the disease that has ravished his band mates. The pox on the band KISS was due to a run in with a voodoo priest on their tour of South America, and the cure was hidden far away at the dawn of time. As the cat-man traveled through time he pondered his own existence, and what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, his life after KISS.

“I could become a scientist,” he said aloud in the vortex that surrounded him, his face distorted by the wave of time that overcame his body. “Gene is always telling me that I’m really creative and I loved science as a kid... I bet I’d be a good scientist.” As Peter rambled on, he did not noticed that he had left the vortex. His feet were now firmly planted some where in the ancient past. But where?

 “Computer -- run an analysis on this time period,” Peter said firmly into his wrist computer that also served as a virtual tour guide to the slipstream of time. This wasn’t a KISS invention; it actually had belonged to Blue Oyster Cult.

“Sir, the time period is…”
“Repeat that computer”
“Sir, the time is…”
“Computer, what time am I in?”
“Sir, the time analysis is incomplete. I don’t show you being in any recognizable time period.”
“Dammit,” Peter snapped back.

If he could not trace his whereabouts, then he didn’t know where to go to find the cure. He looked at the ground, there had to be a clue somewhere. In the distance he saw what he thought resembled a city.

IRAG WAR MAKES WORLD MORE DANGEROUS

IRAG WAR MAKES WORLD MORE DANGEROUS
by B. Thomas Hunter

never make me go to rehab.
that would sux.

I'M PUTTING OUT A HIT ON YOU

"Sometimes some fucked up fate shit aligns and the planets are fucked in some beautiful way and that's how people meet and hang out, etc."

"You'd think for all the cool shit, people & drugs the Stones did, they'd have made way more really good music. But they only had that one album*."

"This is like the Wii of folk-y crust punk."


*Their Satanic Majesties Request

THE FUTURE or PERVERT'S DISPOSITION or THE COKE MINES OF FRANCE

1.
 "Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Man's Ruin. Please check your bad vibes with the clerk, have a drink, and don't forget to tip your server."

The doorman took our coats, leaving us in the anteroom with a man named Little Jelly. The club was warm, 80 or 90 degrees, befitting the red felt of the walls. We bowed to Little Jelly as he placed moodstones around our necks. Ezra, Peter, Micha & Ernesto's stones immediately turned deep green or a pale turquoise. As it often happens, mine turned deep red. Ernesto reached into his satchel and produced a blue gel to fit over the stone.

 "Jesus Christ, Franco -- cover your stone before someone sees you. You know, you'll be lucky if someone doesn't check it during the night anyway."

 The doorman returned and ran his fingertips across the edge of my lapel & pinched the fabric.

2.
 "Oh shit," she said, "her show is on." I looked to the ceiling tile I imagined her mother was just above. Marcia was down to just her bra and skirt when her the pounding began. She shut off the boombox, gathered up her clothes, and I'd have "Paul Revere" and "Brass Monkey" stuck in my head all day. "We should get out of here."

 My year was three articles of clothing away from being made.

3.
A $100 dollar bill peppered with cocaine arrived in the mail. The note: "I stood in the green-gray haze of the mold light & it was everywhere...!" It meant the harvest was good but we were over. When my boss heard, he tried to pimp me on any babe that came in. It was only when I burned the mood ring that I got off.