October 11th, 2009 § 0 comments
LANSING -It was opening day of bear hunting season and Baldwin, MI resident Tim Dusterwinkle was looking forward to hunting in the Baraga Plains with his five dogs including Cowboy, a 3 1/2-year-old treeing walker.
“We had found some good tracks so I let the dogs go and they took off. After an hour, they treed a bear and I began to walk towards where they were barking,” Dusterwinkle said.
The dogs had treed the bear in a difficult, hilly area of the western Upper Peninsula and it took a while for Dusterwinkle to get to them.
“I was about a quarter mile away from where the dogs were when they stopped barking. I thought maybe the bear had gotten down and ran away. It happens sometimes, and the dogs will then take off and try to tree it again.
“I didn’t know what had happened and came across a few of the dogs who had taken off. I noticed that Cowboy wasn’t there which was unusual — he was a good dog.”
Dusterwinkle walked towards the tree where the dogs had been and made a gruesome discovery.
“I found Cowboy in the woods dead. It wasn’t pretty — his hide had been torn off and it looked like he had been skinned,” he said.
A horse was responsible. » Read the rest of this entry «
September 19th, 2009 § 0 comments
Despite pleas from the Roman Catholic Church and the U.S.D.A. to reconsider the project, the sit-com Brush Your Fangs! was put into production in early 1964. After only one episode, the program was canceled. Weeks later, following the funeral of Brush Your Fangs! co-star, Adam Young, who played Wilbur Toast, an eccentric and enormously klutzy dentist, executives at CBS admitted the premise was “probably off-target.”
September 18th, 2009 § 0 comments
June 17, 1983
Boy was I busy today. I got up at 6:00am with my father, as is customary in our house. My father says that the early bird gets the worm, which is why I was born 3 months prematurely (this also might explain my dog’s worms). I don’t understand the reference to the birds however, something must have gotten lost in translation.
Anyways, when I awoke from my slumber, I climbed down from the top bunk and into the my father’s bed below, here we ate breakfast in bed (turkey sandwiches and oatmeal) while we read the morning paper (Garfield hates Mondays!). After breakfast we were already several hours behind in our usual workout schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Fridays we work our upper body, Tuesdays, and Thursdays we work (each others) lower bodies. My father is much stronger than I am, and he will point this out any chance he gets. But he says that if I work out hard enough and long enough, that one day I could potentially become 1/3rd as strong as he is. Which is twice as strong as anyone else I know. You could cobble your sneakers on his abs I’m telling you (I’ve seen it happen!).
After we pumped just enough iron, we thought we would head off to work. My father is the blacksmith in our town and I am his apprentice. My father is one of the most respected men in our small village (he’s also the only one who can dunk). As we walked to work, we could tell the residents in our community were concerned. Just last week a gaggle of Fangershorse had raped and killed an entire school bus full of children, and things had yet to go back to normal. For example, the children’s dead bodies had not yet un-raped themselves nor had they come back to life. People were weary of leaving their houses, fearing that the Fangershorse would return, and since they had tasted our children’s notoriously sweet blood, no one could really blame them. I hadn’t seen our town in this much distress since we hosted the NBA All Star Weekend four years ago .
When we arrived to work, my dad and I began doing our usual blacksmith tasks such as melting down different types of metal, pounding them into useful tools, and then trying on funny costumes during our downtime to boost each other’s spirits. It was at this time when our town’s mortician walked into our shop. He looked concerned, and not just because my father was dressed as Queen Elizabeth in blackface. His concern went much deeper. “How can I help you today Mr. Cornsberry?” my dad asked. “Do you want the usual, a pair of horseshoes and a dozen spoons?”
“No, not today,” Mr. Cornsberry replied, “Although it is tempting, today I was actually wondering if I could get you’re expert opinion on something.”
It turns out Mr. Cornsberry had found one of the fangershorse’ shoes that was left inside one of the children’s chest cavity. This was a rare find because Fangershorse are usually super anal about their possessions, also, they hate sharing. My father and I studied the creature’s strange shoe, but gained very little solid information. Mostly because my father and I got distracted by a bouncy ball and some chewing gum (Great Idea#217: A bouncy Gum Ball!).
Before we knew it, it was six o’clock, and it was time to return home. It was Taco Tuesday so I was really excited for dinner, only to be disappointed when I realized we were having bread and water again (I wanted tacos!). After dinner my father and I lit some candles and drew a nice warm bath, we also drew some kittens and puppy dogs. My dad’s a really good drawer. After that it was bed time. All in all it had been a pretty good day. Sure, I still really miss my little sister and wish she was still alive, but tomorrow my Dad promised we would go to the batting cages. I’m so excited I can hardly sleep, that and my father’s sleep apnea educed snoring is extra loud tonight. Oh well. I love you Diary.
Peter T. Whitesmith
September 10th, 2009 § 1 comment
In the Key of F is a new periodic column on Fanghorse.com that highlights the influence of life and war with the fanghorse on music and its culture in the United States and the rest of the world. Each new entry will focus on a different song, artist, album, movement, genre, trend, or style. This debut text features the song “The Funeral” by the South Carolina indie rock group, Band of Fangershorse.
One of the rock anthems of this harsh decade, the uplifting, yet heartbreaking “The Funeral” is an instant classic off the debut album, Everything All the Time, from Band of Fangershorse. Like many fanghorse-related songs, it is a slow-burner at first, with a reverb-soaked, delay-heavy, and Ebow-blessed intro of dual guitar tracks welcoming singer Ben Bridwell’s crooning and affected vocals in the first verse.
Almost two minutes in, an onslaught of drums and power chords stomp in to roll out a red carpet covered in flames; a carpet that quickly turns an even-hotter blue when it explodes all over the place into the climactic, unbelievably epic chorus.
“At every occasion, I’ll be ready for the funeral.” The message of the chorus is obvious, of course, but that is why the song works and yanks at your heartstrings without mercy. “The Funeral” is about being a true man in the suburban and rural areas of the US, where our young human existence with fangershorse is most dangerous.
It is about accepting both the love for and the death of friends, family, and especially lovers in this dangerous world. It is about living every moment to the fullest with the people you cherish, while accepting that they could be gored, trampled, disemboweled, dejugulared, or decapitated at any moment…at any occasion.
More specifically, “The Funeral” isn’t just about this constant acceptance that nothing can last; it is about one of the hardest things to do in life as a man: communicating the death of a mother, sister, brother, son, or daughter to the rest of your loved ones. To me, what hurts the most about this song is that I think the real meaning isn’t about communicating the death of another. It is really about accepting your own death and teaching your family to accept the inevitably of life without you, no matter how hard it is.
Yes, “The Funeral” is about teaching your family to love your ghost after your sternum is inevitably crushed by the front hoof of a fanghorse, who then slowly drinks your pooling blood out of your chest cavity while your sobbing, hysterical family watches from whatever shelter they were able to find while you distracted the beast with fire.