Murk's New Year's Rockin' Eve- A Tale of the WoW

I was determined not to spend this past New Year’s Eve the way I had the previous year, staring through a drunken haze at stroke-afflicted Dick Clark mumbling and slurring his way through a backwards ten-count as the ball dropped over Times Square. I jumped in my Hyundai Accent, popped some Real McKenzies in the tape deck and weaved my way over to the palatial estate of Dr. Robert J. Murk, where, I knew, I was certain to find a Great Gatsby-esque party in full swing.
Or so I thought.
Instead I was met at the gate by my bug-headed acquaintance, Dr. Mantodea, who had just opened the door to his metallic green Cooper-S. I stumbled out of my car clutching a handle of Beefeater and staggered toward him.
“Mantis!” I yelled. “Happy New Year, you old son-of-a-bitch!”
Dr. Mantodea regarded me with inscrutable, insectoid eyes. “There have not been a sufficient number of ‘Fuck Yous’ uttered since the dawn of time to properly greet you, Piper. I hope you die.” He got in his car and drove away before I could say anything else.
I made my way to the door, where I was greeted by Murk’s stodgy English butler. Rumor has it Murk has his own Academy of Servitude somewhere in Europe, from which only the most disingenuous, wheedling, sycophantic and servile are chosen to be his servants. This one betrayed none of these qualities, to me at least. His lip curled in a sneer as he beheld my kilt.
“You,” he said.
“Me,” I agreed.
“The doctor is in the conservatory. At his organ.”
I snickered. He glared.
“This is a dry house, sir. Your…beverage…must remain outside.”
I thrust the bottle into his hands, gin sloshed over his cufflinks. “I’ll find my own way, Jeeves.”
I wandered around the first floor for what seemed like hours, following the crashing, thunderous notes of a somehow familiar tune. At last I found Murk in an expansive marble hall, seated before a towering medieval pipe organ. He pounded at the keys in a frenzy, causing the organ to moan, wail and scream in agony. I listened for a while, fascinated, until at last Murk collapsed across the keys, spent.
“Wow,” I said.
Murk lifted his head beneath his bowler hat and blinked a few times. “Ah, Piper. Forgive me if I do not rise. I was just playing my favorite composition. It always leaves me emotionally and physically drained.”
“What was it?”
“The most beautiful piece of music I have ever heard.” A solitary tear rolled down Dr.Murk’s face. “It’s called The Curly Shuffle. Anyway, what brings you here?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Murk. I thought I’d spread some cheer.”
“How trite. I suppose you have a New Year’s resolution as well.””Not yet.”
“Well, you should resolve to change your kilt. It smells of stale gin and balls.”
Murk was clearly not in the holiday spirit. Did I mention I was carrying my bagipes? Well, I was. I lifted the pipes to my shoulder and fitted the bag under my arm. I blew into the blowpipe and inflated the bag. The drones began to hum in harmony. My fingers moved along the chanter, picking out the melody of Auld Lang Syne.
Murk stared, enraptured. Slowly, he rose from his bench. It was working! Thus encouraged, I continued to play as he walked slowly over to me, a spellbound look upon his face. I realized then hat Murk had never really heard me play. He must be so impressed.
At last he stood before me. He balled up his fist and punched me as hard as he could. In the groin.
My pipes abruptly stopped with a shrill squeak. I doubled over. “Ow! My groin!”
Dr. Murk stared at me coldly. “Do not ever—ever—play that hideous thing in my presence again.”
I felt nauseous. My gin was threatening to make a return appearance all over Murk’s marble floor. “I need your bathroom,” I gasped. “Now.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “You know the way.”
I didn’t; Murk’s house seemed to have an ever-changing and endless number of rooms and passages, different each time I visited. I stumbled out into the corridor and leaned against the wall to catch my breath. When I could breathe again I wandered up a circular flight of stairs upholstered in a Persian pattern. At the top I opened the first door I saw, hoping it was a bathroom.
It was not.
The scent of jasmine and lotus blossoms assailed my prodigious nostrils. I pushed my way through hanging silken sheets. From somewhere deep within this ethereal seraglio, a dusky voice purred. “Oh, Robert,” it said, every syllable drenched in promise and longing, “you came at last.”
Most men would have felt an immediate rush of lust at that succubus’s voice. But I am not most men. I knew better. I knew how much danger I was in, for I knew who it was that spoke.
I had unwittingly blundered into the bedchamber of the smokin’ hot Asian wife of Dr. Murk!
I moved aside another silken curtain, hoping against hope to find the exit before she noticed me. Instead, the veil parted to reveal that same beautiful and deadly woman I sought to elude. She lay upon a luxurious bed, faced away from me, her body draped in a gossamer sheet, one shoulder exposed and bare, revealing a tattoo. Despite my fervent desire to escape unnoticed, I was irresistibly drawn forward to peer at the tattoo. I squinted. I could just make it out.
It was a bowler hat.
Cold sweat broke out on my back. I inched backwards as stealthily as possible, but at that moment I stepped on a large bullfrog that had somehow found its way into Murk’s bedroom.
“RIBBIT,” said the bullfrog. Then it died.
Mrs. Dr. Murk’s head swiveled around, causing the sheet that draped her body to shift a little. Through sheer willpower I forced myself to stare only at her face. Our eyes locked, and in that moment, I was certain of one thing: I was going to die. I turned and ran as fast as I could, tearing silk sheets down in my headlong rush to the door.
She was after me in a flash, one hand clutching the sheet around her naked body, the other reaching for something lethal. Two ornate—and very sharp—hairpins embedded themselves in the wall a fraction of an inch from where my head was moments before. By some miracle I found the door and tore it open. I plunged into the corridor as something big and heavy shattered against the door.
I bolted down the stairs, feet barely touching the surface of each step, kilt billowing behind me. Half a dozen throwing stars thunked into the wall in my wake. Finally I reached the bottom and ran for the conservatory door.
It was locked.
I had little time to panic before Mrs. Dr. Murk landed behind me, her bare feet making not a whisper of sound. One hand still clutched the sheet, the other now held a very long and very sharp sword. She smiled. I felt my bladder let go.
I ran, expecting at any minute to feel the blade plunge into my back. I reached the end of the corridor and risked a look back. She was walking slowly forward, as if she had all the time in the world. I tore open the nearest door and ducked inside.
I was in a library. “Ah, Piper,” Dr. Murk said. “It seems you found me.”
He sat in a leather chair, a chessboard resting on his lap. He had changed into a velvet smoking jacket complete with ascot, and cradled a Meerschaum pipe in one hand. His ever-present bowler hat sat upon his head. From somewhere in the room came subdued music; Rachmaninoff, I thought.
I looked for a lock, but the door didn’t appear to have one. I tipped over the nearest bookcase, barricading the door behind me with a terrific crash. Dr. Murk raised an eyebrow.
Just then, a full three feet of steel—Mrs. Dr. Murk’s sword— was thrust through the door.
“You seem to have upset my wife, Piper” Dr. Murk said. “Perhaps you’d better explain yourself.”
I fell to my knees and sobbed out the whole sad tale. Dr. Murk listened in silence while his wife’s efforts to gain entry to the library intensified. The door was rapidly becoming a splintered ruin. When I finished, Murk sighed and stood, placing the chessboard on a nearby table and returning his still-smoldering pipe to the rack.
“So let me get this straight, Piper,” he said. “You came to my home uninvited, offended my ears with your horrid instrument, entered the private chambers of my wife, ogled her while she was in a state of undress, murdered her pet bullfrog, urinated on my carpet, toppled a Louis XIV mahogany bookcase and have now been instrumental in causing the destruction of my library door. I’m afraid there’s no hope for you, Piper. I’m going to have to shoot you now.” He leveled an antique flintlock pistol at my head and pulled the trigger.
It clicked on an empty chamber.
“Confound it. I forgot I already shot someone today. Be a good fellow and wait while I reload, will you?”
I don’t know how I made it outside, but I even managed to snag my gin bottle on the way out. One thing is certain: next year, if he’s still alive, I’ll be watching Dick Clark.

Movie Review: Carnie Wilson's War

Carnie Wilson's War
By Dr. Murk




Carnie Wilson: Fat

So, I went to Vinnie's Video to rent a movie. I was looking for that new one about how Carnie Wilson ate the Russian Army in Afghanistan. I asked Vinnie, because I could not find it. I looked in the drama, heavy chicks, and porno sections ( seeing Angry Piper in the drama section, crying while he looked at the cover of The Cider House Rules).

So, Vinnie says, "It ain't in yet."

I says, "When's it coming in?"

He says, "You gotta hold on for one more day."

"But I got this movie review to do," I says.

"Hold on, indeed, chums!" The Angry Piper burst in between us. "I know about this movie which you speak. I have... seen it." We gaped in agony. No. Surprise? Yes. That's it.

"Well, old friend," I said, "It seems that we have crossed paths after a long time at just this moment for a reason."

"You mean since we crossed paths in the drama section a few minutes ago?" he asked.

"Indeed," I said. "Say, why were you crying anyways?"

"Oh," he said with a wistful smile, "I was caught by a sad memory of when I once knew a young girl such as seen in that movie. Beautiful. Striking Asian features. She smashed all of my bottles of Cider and made me walk on the glass."

"Sounds like my wife," I said.

"It was," he said. "Anywho, no. No I cannot help you write this review. My affection for Carnie would taint... taint... mmmmmm... Carlie taint... ahem. Um, it would bring the full love and devotion for Carlie into the light of day. Plus, I hav this whole date with destiny tonight."

"No problem," I said.

"FATHER!!!!" he shouted, "THE SLEEPER HAS AWOKEN!!!!!" He ran headlong through the display window, into route six traffic, took a few bumps from the cars and trucks and rolled into an open sewer pipe.

So, I'm going to review the movie without his help and without the movie.

First off, this movie is heavy. It's full of delicious fun. The camera work is a feast for the eyes. Get the large popcorn because it's a big big movie. You have to see it wide screen. I give it two tons up.

The End.

Fairies (Murk's Meme)

People do fairies. A fairy is anything intentionally taken into or put into another body by any means necessary. Fairies can be simple, complex, large, small, or fruity.

Many people abuse fairies for many reasons. Young people should not do fairies because they have a long life to live and they can't make bad choices too early. Some people are affected by people they know who are doing fairies. Fairies hurt everyone, not the person who does them.

I will decide not to do fairies in my life for my family and friends and so that I can live the best way possible. Peer pressure is also a reason why people do fairies.

Fairies have been a problem in America since they were invented. The government spends hard earned money fighting fairies. Sometimes people do them to escape their lives.

Some fairies actually help people, like softcore and wine parties or other light style sex parties. Hospitals sometimes get stolen from for fairies, and so do pharmacies. Wake up, America!

If you are doing fairies, there are a few places that can help. Tell a friend or adult, maybe a police man or your doctor and get help now before it's too late. You can live a healthy life if you stay the fuck away from fairies.

A little something for Dr. Murk

I am Malach, your Rocket Queen

Merry CHRISTmas from Murk and Malach

That's right.
The Murk and Malach CHRISTmas Podcast is up, and this year, before Xmas. Check it out.

Show 18: CHRISTmas Without the Piper! It is the third annual Murk and Malach Show CHRISTmas Podcast, out in time for the Holidays (for once)! Unfortunately the Angry Piper could not join us this year but we carried on without him. We of course discuss the holidays, have some festive music, talk a bit of Boston Sports, answer fan mail, a special CHRISTmas Pageant, and in our annual tradition, give out presents and lots of them. There is a CONTEST TOO! So get your egg nog, and sit around the fire and listen to the annual yuletide tradtion. Your holidays won't be complete without it!

Man, I feel like I am tooting my own horn here, but this one is funny. I have listened to it three times already. Presents galore for all the WoWees! Click here to link directly to the mp3. It is about an hour and half long, and ok for work, but does contain some profanity. Enjoy it and Happy Holidays!

I am Malach and I am festive

The Murk and Malach Show CRAM podcast part 1

Yes, WoWees, it is up.
Another classic podcast from Murk and Malach. Show 15 is up and we call it the CRAM podcast, why CRAM? C.Rag and Angryman of course, talk to us live via sattelite. And this one is funny. Very mature with sexual references, profanity, and racism abounds. Hear Dr. Murk go off on fellow WoWee Mike, hear C.Rag call out the Sub Saharan Continent, hear Angryman talking about killing all Vietnamese People, hear Malach, well just be Malach. Listen to this one, but not safe for work, children, or church. Also, enjoy CRAM theme song, specially picked by Malach from you Animefreaks! You can link directly to the mp3 here, and with the beauty of snapshots, you can play it from the popup.

What you say? CRAM podcast 1? Why yes, there is a part two . . . worse than this one coming soon.

I am Malach and I am just Malach

Help Keep Malach Busy

Design your own Tee contest.

Here's my entry:

I'm Worried About Tom Brady

I think he may have snakes. See for yourself:

Art

C'est vrais?

I'm Loving It!

After a hard day of armed robbery, I prefer Mc Donald's to any other fast food place (even Arby's). Let's face it: fast food has to be FAST. I gotta get away from the Po-Po, you know!

Mmmmmmmm, mmmmm. Nothing like a f*cking BIC MAC for the mac dad of stealing sh*t. I get a 20 piece chicken Mc Nugget, a few cheeseburgers and a soda. They have Coke. Not just the Coke you drink from a glass, but the kind you smoke... FROM A GLASS PIPE! Gimme dat f*cking clown burger! Mmmmmmmm mmmmmmm. Sure beats Arby's.

Say, I got an idea. I could ROB a Mc Donald's and then an Arby's, abandon a few kids in my car and go on a killing spree that would make the Angry Veteran blush.

Man, I'm loving it!

This Is Awful

Christopher Morris Just emailed this to me. What an terrible prick he is! Please don't shoot the messenger, but apparently, this is how Christopher deals with his Catholic Guilt. What an awful awful man! Let's all yell at him for emailing this to me:

Terror

I've hacked back into The Hill.

Hill TV

Tales of the WoW: Escape from the Brown Bowler

by Christopher Morris:

Where have I been? Where have I been?

I awoke in a dimly lit, smokey chamber with the smell of ether still clinging to the hairs of my nostrils. Fuck. Never sleep! Never SLEEP! I had slipped up again. When you sleep, he sends his hatchlings for you.

My head swam in the sickening afterglow of the crude anesthetic, no doubt administered by the "Good Doctor" himself. Jumble vision flipped itself rightways, then askew, then aright and blurred edges gave way to ultra sharp, psycho-delic vision. Of course. Two drugs. One to keep me sleeping, one to cloud the depth of my mind. I saw him. I saw The Piper standing behind him. He'd promised me revenge.

I'd accidentally ordered a few men to beat him to death. Such a thing is possible. The Piper, louse that he is, had removed the body and... well, no one was sure. There were rumors. Someone had started a new blog, but come on, now! He was dead. I saw him dead on his own floor.

Mistakes. I've made a few. Living in his house after killing him was one. I should have reasoned that on the off chance he did survive, the last place I'd want to be when he was ambulatory was in his lair. Fucking den of sin and surprise that it is. Now he had me and he had The Piper. One part of the story was solid. This was Murk. I could smell him. Even through the dual action of ether and LSD I could smell him. This was no phantom, no charade, no trick.

Why the hell are you wearing that turban?

"Simple," Dr. Murk replied. "A safe place is necessary. Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs. Food, Safety and Shelter are the base of the pyramid. So, I found someplace safe and I took you there. Well, actually, I can't walk very well... yet, so Piper brought you here."

Where is here? Araby?

His laghter was like the sound of large icicles falling in staccato.

"No, you ass," he laughed again. He nudged The Piper and The Piper laughed too, but not nearly as heartily. Something always creeped me out about The Piper. Something about that hollow baritone and those dead, souless fish eyes made me wary. "I'll give you a hint..."

"... after I torture you a bit."

Mistakes. Like forgetting to eliminate his seat of power, the Queen of the Widow Spiders: Mrs. Dr. Murk. She appeared from her usual nowhere, bearing an elegant woman's shoe in one hand and a scorpion in the other. The shoe was rather large for her but, oh... oh no... Scorpion goes in shoe, shoe goes on my foot, blah blah blah.

Next thing I know, I'm wearing a Spiderman mask and eight fists are pummeling me at once.

"This is the coolest thing I've ever seen," I heard The Piper mumble.

"Silence," Murk hissed, "Let my colleague concentrate on my dear brother's face. DR. OCTOPUS! CONTINUE TO OPERATE!"

I black out after five minutes.

Mistakes. I should have blacked out quicker.

"Brother?" I hear his voice. "Oh brooottthhhhhherrrrrrrr?"

Correction: I should have not blacked out at all. Maybe old Doc Oc would have pummelled me to death. Wait! That was it! We drugged him, beat him to death and then...

"Well, it's been fun," Murk said. I could only see him as a squiggle between the slits of my broken eye sockets. "Piper, chase him to the door."

"Wait! You said you'd tell me where we are!" I needed to warn everyone. I needed to round up a posse and take him down. "Hey," I said, "Isn't every Supervillain supposed to reveal his secret plan when you ask him? That's like Supervillain 101."

Murk stopped The Piper before he leapt from his 'Crouching Ninja' stance (complete aside here, but The Piper does it so that you see his gonads. I know he does this on purpose. He has to. What certified Ninja would Sharon Stone you by accident every time he attacked?).

"Villain?" Murk gasped. He could fake being hurt like that. Jerk-off. "Piper, Piper Piper?"

"Yes, m'Lawd?" Piper boomed.

"Have I killed anyone?" Murk asked plaintively.

"Naught in weeks, m"lawd." Piper ansered.

"Villian. I abhor this. Fine, I'll tell you if you take that villain crap back." Murk said.

"No," I said defiantly.

"He took it back, m'Lawd." Piper pronounced proudly.

"No I didn't!" I yelled.

"In denial again, m'Lawd." Piper grinned.

"In denial indeed," Murk matched him grin for grin. "The answer is: I'm wearing a turban because my Bowler can't be in two places at once. Now, get out." Piper sprang, and this time with no warning. I ran like hell through mazes the likes of which even King Minas would have nightmares about. The whole while Piper was trying to urinate on me while running after me, heedless of his own backsplash.

I finally found my way out and was on the brim of an enourmous Brown Bowler Hat. "Oh my God!" I screamed as I looked down. They'd burried him upright. Before I could wonder about all of this, one of the gigantic eyes opened and looked directly at me. I stopped still, afright.

The smell of ether and Piper's rotten, stale ale breath.

I awoke in the basement of the Palatial Murk Estates. Alone.

Beware!

Beware!

BEWARE!!!!!

New Drink Recipe

Fuck Poetry. Let's DRINK!!!

The Murky Mon Cherri Sunday Float:

For those of you into decadent drinks, here's one for ya.

Large (I mean LARGE)glass half filled with ice
2 tablespoons of marachino cherry juice
2 tablespoons of chocolate syrup
Fill almost to the top with milk.
Top with one scoop of ice cream (vanilla works well, as does coffee)
Garnish with marachino cherries.

Enjoy. Note: The drink will change consistency and flavour, adding mystery to your cool summertime secret treat. Never make one for anyone else but yourself.

Oh, and has anyone tried my ginger chicken recipe?

Murk

How to Bury a Post

Let's bury the Angry Veteran's post (and his stopwatch) with a recipe for Ginger Chicken, requested by Hojo. Okay, it's not a drink recipe, but it was a request. I see only one spot where someone can mistakenly get all flamed up and bust my nuts about being a whiny recovering bitch and deserving every sarcastic jab I get even though I'm the one who's suffering while they sit back and manipulate people and lie and play fake doctor... um... nevermind.

By the way, get that Erotic Clown Guy on here. Not that I really have a vote being voted off the blog and everything.

Anywho, recipe for Murk's Ginger Chicken:

SERVES 2-4
INGREDIENTS:

2-3 boneless chicken breasts, or 4-6 chicken thighs, chopped into bite-size pieces

handful of fresh shiitake mushrooms, or dried (if dried, be sure to soak in hot water for 2 or more hours until soft)

1 package snow peas, OR approximately 2 cups bok choy, su choy, or other Asian cabbage

1 red bell pepper, de-seeded and sliced

1 small cooking onion, sliced

3 cloves garlic, minced

4 thumb-size roots of ginger, 2 sliced into matchstick-like pieces, and 2 grated

1-2 red chillies, minced

1 tsp. cornstarch dissolved in 4 Tbsp. soy sauce or tamari

SAUCE:
1 Tbsp. soy sauce or tamari
1 Tbsp. fish sauce
1 Tbsp. brandy (don't worry, alcohol evaporates out)
1 tsp. brown sugar
1 Tbsp. rice vinegar (or other type of vinegar)
1 tsp. cornstarch dissolved in 2 Tbsp. water

OTHER:
2-3 Tbsp. oil for stir-frying
about 1 cup fresh basil for topping

PREPARATION:
Place chopped chicken in a mixing bowl together with the cornstarch dissolved in soy sauce. Stir well, so that chicken is covered in this quick marinade. Set aside while you prepare the other ingredients.

Make the sauce by mixing all the sauce ingredients together in a cup.

Have all other ingredients ready to stir-fry. Begin by warming 2-3 Tbsp. oil in a wok or large frying pan over medium-high heat.

When oil is hot, add the onion, garlic, chillies, mushrooms, chicken (together with the soy sauce/cornstarch), and the ginger matchsticks. Stir-fry for 5-10 minutes, or until chicken is cooked. Add a little water when wok or pan becomes dry (1 Tbsp. at a time).

Add the snow peas, bell pepper, and the grated ginger. Stir-fry for another 3 minutes, or until snow peas have softened. Again, add a little water as needed to keep ingredients frying nicely.

Add the sauce, stirring well to incorporate.

Finally, add the cornstarch dissolved in water, stirring quickly to dissolve in the sauce. When the sauce in the wok becomes thick, remove from the heat.
Do a taste test for salt, adding more fish sauce if not salty enough. (If too salty, add a squeeze of lime juice.)

Slide onto a serving platter, top with the fresh basil sprinkled over, and serve with plenty of Thai jasmine rice. This dish goes especially well with a cold Light Murk Perk.

Goodbye

I now see what several others have said about this blog.

Have fun.

I'm not posting here anymore, except for drink recipes.

Yes, I'm taking my ball and going home. Yes, whah whah whah. Yes, I'm being immature. I forgive Malach, Chris and Piper for trying to kill me. I forgive all of you for the character assassination. And I thnak those of you that supported me no matter what.

My blog remains http://drmurksworld.blogspot.com. You want a little sip of Murk, come on along.

If not, do me the favor and don't bother to call or write.

Let's go out on an up note. Everyone raise your middle fingers and shout "FUCK YOU!"

Good enough.

Murk Out

A Recovery Primer

Just because I want you all to understand a few things. Some of us on here are in recovery. That can be from drugs, alcohol, food, any addiction.

The Basics: Recovery is the middle state between being sick and being well. For addicts, recovery never becomes being well again. We can get sick again, but we can never be cured of our addiction. We can keep getteing better, but never cured.

People become addicted to stuff for all sorts of reasons, from genetics, to abuse, to depression, even from too much partying. People who habitually abuse anything are addicts. The longer the addiction, the more hard wired it becomes.

Recovery is not a simple matter of quitting something. If you can just up and quit something cold turkey (as they say) and not feel any ill effects, you never were addicted and therefore are not in recovery.

A Description: Recovery is a moment by moment choice to not return to your addiction. It is moment by moment because the desire is that strong and the temptations are everywhere. Plus, life is filled with stress.

It is not easy. Every recovery is different, bu none are easy. It does not get easier with time. They say the first year is the roughest, until you've gotten through the first year and they tell you that the second year now becomes the first year again. No moment is easy. Some moments are better than others.

Paul Simon put it best when he said "A good day ain't got no rain. A bad day is when I sit in bed and think about what might have been." He was talking about marriage, but heck it works for this too.

A Warning: Anyone here who thinks it can't happen to you, you're wrong. Sometimes one small choice leads to a life of bad situations. And willpower does not overcome addiction once you have it. That's a myth. So, don't assume you know anything about addiction and recovery unless you're in recovery or you're a Doctor who specializes in it. And don't you ever look down on an addict or a recovering addict. You just don't know. You don't want to know. If you ever look down on an addict I actually HOPE and PRAY you become one yourself so you can understand what a judgemental ass you are.

Addiction is an Illness: A MEDICALLY DEFINED ILLNESS just like the flu or cancer. Doctors across the world accept it as an illness. AND those of us in recovery or various stages of addiction never chose to get sick. You can't hate or blame the person, you can hate and blame the disease. It is a medical fact. Ask any doctor.

Everyone makes bad choices, especially when you're young and invincible. I made some bad choices. Did I ask to be an alcoholic? Hell no. Would I make better decisions if I could go back? I have no idea. I was a teenager when I started.

Let's put it this way: If someone had come up to me and showed me all the fun I woul have drinking and then just shown me the pain of the last three years of addiction and the first year of recovery and offered me a way out, a different choice that would alter nothing accept my alcoholism and recovery, would I take the clean way? Hell... Fuck... Yes...

But I never had this information. Commercials told my how great it was. Friends and relatives had fun doing it. It was socially acceptable and even expected, like a wedding toast.

So, one last time. Judge me for who I m today if you must, but don't pretend you are any better, any smarter or worth more than me. I've Paid My Dues.

Have you?

Murk

Drinks Anyone?

It's been nine months (this upcoming Friday) since I've had any alcohol. I had a ten year binge drinking problem. It got seriously bad the last three years.

Funny enough, I don't have cravings. But I miss certain things. I miss the first hour of relief and forgetfulness. I've found that meditation helps with that. Also I'm on Zoloft (100 milligrams). It's a wonder drug. Sure, it's not a cure all and who knows, maybe ten years down the line, they'll find some sort of horrible consequences from long term use. Who cares? It helps me to manage the hamster running the wheel of worry in my head. I'll take my chances and sue the pharmacutical companies in that case.

But the one thing I miss most is mixing drinks. So, I've been mixing my own cool non alcoholic drinks. One of my favorites is loosely based on a Mohito. I call it a Light Murk Perk.

Take fresh mint leaves and crush them in a well chilled glass.
Add ice.
Add one half of flavored seltzer water (whatever flavor interest you have).
Add one half Green Tea.
Stir...

And BAM! Delicious and has some EGCG, which is a powerful anti-oxidant. I make it in a giant one liter glass. Light Murk Perk (awesome).

or

Try a Dark Murk Perk:
One Half EXTRA STRONG coffee
Granulated sugar to taste
A hint of dark brown sugar
Mix with one half cream or milk
Pour over ice

Another triumph! Costs about 1/3 the price of the canned cold coffee drinks or those specialty coffee shoppe iced coffees and tastes a hell of a lot better!

I have many others. Most interestingly, you can make flavored water or flavored seltzer. Get some good healthy juice you like. Add a lot of ice and water and/or setzer. Add juice to your tsste. Why pay twice as much for Sobe Life Water, Gatorade Propel, or any of those other flavored waters that have become so popular?

Advantages: much cheaper, fun to make, completely customizable, and saves you from having to recycle plastic bottles.

Disadvantages: Is a tiny bit time consuming, takes experimentation to find what you like, not portable unless you wash and reuse plastic bottles or have a good travel mug (I hate travel mugs, but that's another rant altogether).

So, try a Light Murk Perk or Dark Murk Perk TODAY! Okay, it's a bit late at the writing of this, so I'll give you until tomorrow might.

This has been a Murk Health Moment. Enjoy life and be well.

Murk

I Will Not Kill

Just to clarify. I have no intention of killing anyone, cursing anyone or 'taking' anyone. Several WoWees have expressed concern over this matter.

They will be getting a Bene Gesserit punishment meant to teach a lesson. They will all be left standing, intact and still sane... but wiser.

Murk

What Really Happened: A Tale of the WoW

Last week I was in a local Starbuck’s, waiting in line for a ridiculously overpriced coffee. I really hate Starbuck’s, partially because their coffee tastes like three hundred year-old skunk taint, partially because they charge you an arm and a leg for their shitty coffee, and partially because pretentious Bohemian fucks like to sit in there all day drinking said coffee while reading Nietszche, chatting on their cell phones and writing plays that will never get produced. Plus, they all stare at me in my kilt.
Anyway, I was standing in line, admiring the badonkadonk ass of the size 18 “Vampira” goth chick in front of me, when all of a sudden, I heard a voice from beyond the grave:
“How difficult is it to get a godforsaken cup of coffee the way I ordered it, you ignorant cow?!! I said two—TWO—sugars. That means two teaspoons of sugar, not two bags of sugar. Do it again!” There followed the unmistakable sound of a cup of coffee being violently hurled, followed by a shriek from the counter girl.
I craned my neck around the woman in front of me, straining to see who could be the source of such a venomous diatribe. A man stood at the counter, all but hidden behind the several other patrons of the coffee shop that had arrived before me. I could only see the back of his head, but upon that head sat a very familiar bowler hat.
Surely, it couldn’t be!
I watched him for several minutes, watched as the hapless Starbuck’s counter girl was forced to make and re-make his coffee while enduring insults to her intelligence, body type, gender and breeding, until she could take it no longer. She fled, crying, with discarded coffee flowing from her apron and hair like rain. A new member of the counter staff fearfully made the customer a new cup to his specifications. At long last the customer took a sip of his coffee and did not return it as a projectile.
“Better,” he said. Then he turned around, and our eyes met.
“Ah, Piper,” said Dr. Murk, for it was unmistakably he, “How’s it hangin’, brother?”
“Murk!” I exclaimed.
“Keep it down, you insufferable poltroon. Can’t you see I’m trying to maintain a low profile?”
Murk wore a white T-shirt with the words “HERE'S THE BEEF” printed upon it in block letters. A large arrow pointed downward, indicating “The Beef” was located in his shorts, which were festooned with a garish Hawaiian print. A pair of orange crocs and argyle knee socks completed his outfit.
“But…you’re dead!” I said.
Murk didn’t bother to dignify my statement with a response. He brought his coffee cup to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Fresh-brewed java. It arouses me like nothing else, save the jasmine scent of my wife’s hair.”
“Is she here?” I looked around fearfully.
“Thankfully, no," Murk replied. "Christ, but that bitch gets on my nerves sometimes. Now, come, let’s sit down before you embarrass yourself further. Over here should suffice.”
We moved go to a nearby high table, where moments before a skinny, bespectacled über-geek sat typing on a small laptop. The laptop was still there, but its owner had stepped outside, where he was loudly chatting on a cell phone, hoping others would notice how important he was. Murk reached out and gave the laptop a shove. It shattered on the floor with a resounding crash. He sat down and watched me awkwardly mount the tall chair in my kilt, an expression of wry amusement on his face.
“You have to tell me what happened,” I whispered harshly. “Everyone thinks you’re dead!”
“Stop whispering harshly,” said Murk. “We’re in a Starbuck’s. Everyone in here is busy trying desperately to be more tragically hip than everyone else. There’s enough Emo angst floating around in this pathetic commercial shitpile to cover whatever we say, even if our conversation were audible above this horrendous Norah Jones CD.”
“Fine. What happened?”
Dr. Murk tore open a packet of “Sugar in the Raw” and poured it into his mouth. He sucked the sugar for several seconds before answering me.
“All right, Piper, it was like this: after the ambush at the WoW, I realized the bullet that was meant for me hit Cyrus instead. When he went down, I knew I was going to be blamed for it, so I fled and went underground. I knew I would be safe if I could just make it back to Coney.”
My eyes narrowed. Murk continued: “It was rough going for a while, even with Swan as War Chief after Cleon got aced; first Ajax got pinched, then The Lizzies almost took my nuts off, then I had to hide from the Turnbull ACs—and all the while, the lights of the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island were like a beacon promising salvation, if only I could get there—“
“For fuck’s sake!” I blurted. “That’s The Warriors, Murk!”
“The what, now?”
“The Warriors. You know, ‘Warriors, come out to playeee’. The fucking Warriors, Murk— a classic gang film from 1979!”
“Never heard of it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I decided to lay low for a while. Closed up the palatial estate, signed the S. S. Murk-errific over to that costumed fool the Angry Veteran, dismissed the Barrys; gave up all the trappings of wealth.”
“What about Mrs. Dr. Murk?” I asked.“You mean you abandoned her, too?
“Hell, no. Her I kept. I mean, the things she does to me in bed are absolutely incredible.”
“That’s great, Murk,” I said, hoping not to hear more.
“Her carnal skills and sexual appetites are legendary.”
“Swell,” I said.
“She does this thing with some rubber tubing and a yak pelt that’s just—“
“Yeah, ok. I get it.”
“And when she puts on the SCUBA gear—“
“Christ, Murk! I said I get it! Spare me the sordid tales of your sexcapades!”
Murk poured more sugar into his mouth, sucking noisily. He stared at me in silence.
“My dick is bigger than yours, you know,” he said at last.
I sighed. “So, how long is this “laying low” bullshit going to go on?”
“Until I’m ready to return. Speaking of which, here comes our table’s previous occupant.”
Our ponytailed predecessor came over to the table, took one look at his destroyed computer and screamed. “My laptop!” he wailed. “What the hell did you do to it?”
“It fell,” replied Murk. “Sorry about that.”
“You assholes! All my work is ruined! My novel is destroyed!”
“Let me guess,” said Murk, “you come here to this public venue to toil away on your “novel”, because there are too many distractions in your parents’ basement, where you live.”
“How did you—“
“It’s a work-in-progress of “erotic horror”, in which vampire women, bondage and nuns feature prominently; no doubt the same puerile fantasies that fuel the frantic masturbatory urgings of your flaccid member while you sit upon your toilet, dreading the inevitable jiggle of the doorknob that heralds your mother’s untimely entrance into the bathroom.”
“You can’t know—“
“Oh, please,” Murk continued. “I can see your pathetic life laid out like a road map. You’ve seen Star Wars more than thirty times. Your favorite “author” is Anne Rice. You bought prosthetic fangs, but stopped wearing them because you once bit through your lip by accident. You own at least one replica sword and at least one pair of leather pants. And I would say it’s been no more than six hours since your last foray into the World of Warcraft, where your online girlfriend (at least you hope it’s a girl) meets you every night for awkward and frequently-misspelled cybersex.”
The man’s lip quivered. He burst into loud, wracking sobs and ran out of the store, leaving the remnants of his laptop behind.
Murk smiled. “Looks like it’s turning out to be a good day after all. As for me, don’t worry, Piper. I’ll be around. I am forever the gadfly, the mosquito in your tent that you just can’t kill. I am Prometheus; I brought fire to the losers over at the WoW, and now my liver is torn out daily by vultures, only to regenerate before the next dawn.”
“I don’t think that last analogy really works well," I said.
“Silence!” said Murk. “Where would the WoW be without me? I provoke responses; I urge people to action. Like so.”
Murk reached over the table and emptied his still-very-hot coffee into my lap. I screamed in pain and leapt up from the table. “What the fuck?!!”
“See? I wanted you gone, and now you have vacated your chair.”
“Jesus, this hurts!”
“Yes, I imagine so. Well, I must be running along. Don’t tell anyone I’m alive, now. It’d ruin the surprise.”
I told him I wouldn’t.

I Have Insiders

And a new blog!

Hmmmm sure looks like me.

Who is Dr. Romurc?

A man claiming to be my dead brother attacked Malach verbally on his guiliani post. I am reposting those comments here (malach was too busy). I need your opinions. You've all read his stuff... is this possible?

The copy past thingy didn't leave line breaks so, if this is too tough to read, just go to the original post.

Okay, smart ass. Pick a candidate. You never have and never will because all you do is bitch about social services being cut.Fine. The government is NOT being responsible with our social security, our tax and our medicare money.You blame and blame and blame, but you only go after high profile, conservative tardets with this. The ENTIRE government cares very little about people in difficult situations...Democrats, Republicans. Look that the cars they drive, their houses, their paid vacations, their salaries.Why do you think they constantly go at each other like rabid dogs with these slander stories (both parties guilty)?They are distracting you. Both parties agree to fight in public so we will blame the leaders and not notice the lobbyists, senators, representatives, judges, cabinet members, campaign managers ALL spending OUR tax money on themselves.The leaders get paid the big bucks to be hated distracto-bots so that no one wonders where billion dollar budget money actually goes to:The jerks on both sides of the aisle line their pockets and laugh at us.

Dr. Romurc further states:And I laugh at you too. Come get me. I hear you now know where to look?Come get me and I'll fucking beat you and your new bitch boy pal senseless, you fucking weak minded, self promoting dork!In fact, you put everyone down. Why have so many people stopped posting here? You.Your posts are ling, self congratulatory puke and you think you know everything about everything and tell everyone what to do!When I was here, that was my job and people came in DROVES to read me bitch slap fuckos like you and SpaceFarmer/Flakpant and Idiot Veteran. I always did like hojo, though and had a secret crush on Toyi, just me, Tainted Love and every other female that had the balls to stand up to me.Am I dead? Fuck you and fuck no. You had access to all my sites and blogs, tried desperately to kill me with your fake martial arts during that hoaxed podcast you set up (which I have and am going to release to PROVE you were behind this whole thing Malach). You even turned my little brother Chris against me and dragged his innocent soul into your sordid games.But I'm still alive bitch, and I serve up revenge very cold and play my hand very slowly...You'll pay and you know it. I just want you to live in fear of my vengeance for a year or so. When I come back, you'll see.YOU'LL ALL FUCKING SEE!!!In fact, repost this comment as a warning to all under the heading "Who is Dr. Romurc?"

I need to know. If he's alive, Malach and I are in trouble. They guy had Chewbacca in the picture we got!!! I didn't buy it at first, but...

Is Dr. Murk truly dead?

There has been speculation . .

Not since the infamous Paul is Dead fiasco, has there been such a furious investigation into whether or not Dr. Murk is actually dead. Some believe he faked his death, to start a new life. I never believed it.

Today, while taking a lunch break, I went home to find a sealed manilla envelope, only addressed to "Malach the Merciless" with no return address. Even stranger the envelope was postmarked from the Barcelona, Spain. There was a letter and a photo inside. The letter read as follows.

Dear exhaulted Malach the Merciless,

My name is unimportant, only know, that I was once the Grand Minister of Finance for the Country of Nigeria. After a coup attempt, I was ousted, but not after embezzling trillions of dollars and moving to someother place, and scamming dumb Americans of even more money.

Dr. Robert J. Murk was a hero of mine, and I too mourned his loss, until one day, while on vacation in the market of Instanbul, I saw a man . . . there he was right in front of me, I was sure of it, Dr. Murk himself, sans moustache. I immediately pulled out my camera, and snapped a picture, he ran off, as his hairy bodygaurd tried to get me and my camera. I managed to lose them among the bodies of the market place.

I give this to you, you can expose this lie.

So, here is that picture, you decide, and maybe do your own research.

I am Malach and I break the news

Truth, the Ultimate Conspiracy...

....yes, Hobbs here, back from the field for this one quick note.

I hear some Rat Bastard named Christopher killed my good friend and compatriot, Dr. Robert J Murk (Awesome!)!!!

Now, I've long suspected that dick Murk of some pretty shady operations. Homemade hooch laced with poodle piss, Solar Panels that begin playing Bette Midler songs at inhuman volumes one week after installation, a giant metal plate to block out the sun. These are just a few examples of the evil that is Robert Murk.

But the worst thing that scumbag has done was kept so well under wraps, that only the 'coincidence' of his death, so perfectly timed with another, has brought it to life.

I, the ultimate paraniod kook, bring you the real truth, and one of the many secret faces of Dr. Robert J Murk:

Please tell me it is not true!

Ring my friend I said you'd call Dr. Robert,

Day or night he'll be there anytime at all Dr. Robert.

Dr. Robert, your a new and better man,

He helps you to understand,

He does everything he can, Dr. Robert.

If your down he'll pick you up Dr. Robert,

Take a drink from his special cup Dr. Robert

Dr. Robert, he's a man you must believe,

Helping everyone in need,

No one can succeed like Dr. Robert

Well, well, well your feeling fine,

Well, well, well, he'll make you, Dr. Robert

My friend works for the national health Dr. Robert,

Don't take money to see yourself with Dr. Robert

Dr. Robert, your a new and better man,

He helps you to understand,

He does everything he can Dr. Robert

Well, well, well, your feeling fine,

Well, well, well, he'll make you, Dr. Robert

Ring my friend I said you'd call Dr. Robert

Dr. Robert!

I am Malach and he cannot be gone!

No story yet.

For now, here's a plug to explain a bit.

Also, Dr. Murks blog is gone for now, but keep the link. I have some of his notes that I will compile for your amusement in the near future.

Also, Hill TV is making a comeback soon as your one stop resource for finding out about every possible belief system, faith and philosophy on the planet. Yeah. That will be a work in progress. For now, just go enjoy the message that Dr. M is dead.

The old Hill TV stuff is being tranfered to Malach for republishing on this Blog and elswhere in the Rubbersuit Studios Web Conglomerate.

Don't forget to read ll of the stuff from my favorite web comic, Sunshine.

Some of you might also like to see some of this site. Or, this one. Or even this one.

Peace

Chris

Syphilis

Dr. Murk's got it.

Have you?