What's Old Becomes New and What's New Becomes Classic

Strolling around through the glorious Tingy Wingy archives which are located in the French Alps I came across a post promising the return of the Tingy Wingy band member spoken in hushed tones as "Connor the Insane Guitar". We were never able to publish a link to the music due to a ferocious disagreement between Connor and Apollo, the greek God of music. Apollo thought the EP should be restricted to the pleasure of the Gods ears in Olympus, Connor wanted it to reach the masses. Nor were we able interview the notoriously reclusive Guitar. However, we've rediscovered the Myspace link in which Connor produced 3 songs that may or may not have reached the EP, we can just never be absolutely sure. Keep in mind that these were produced a year ago and would almost certainly have shattered the collective worlds mind if they had been released/discovered then. They still give you an all natural high that feels like nothing you've ever felt before.

Connor The Guitar Old-But-New-But-Now-Classic Music

A Short Story *+*

"Looks like its gonna storm," yelled Stacie, a 65 year old with a face like an armadillo's asshole. It was fucking dark as shit outside, and in the state of nebraska when it rain it pours. "Here in nebraska when it rains it pours," replied Doug, who being Stacie's neighbor was outside building a bird house. After a bit of silence Doug glanced at Stacie and screamed, "its for the birds." Stacie was all about the birds, she loved the shit out of birds--its a flying animal for christ sake. Humans locomotion is not as fun as a lot of other animals, but that goes without saying. Where are we? Oh ya in the middle of a story. If my writing so far has conveyed the almost undetectable subtle subtext to the plot thus far you already know that Stacie and Doug are neighbors and they get along pretty good over all. What Stacie didn't know about Doug would later come to shock her, but not quite in the way she was suddenly shocked by a 11,000 volt blast of lightening. "Fuckin crazy.... bitch ass lightening, what the fuck, aaahh for christ's sake you alright Stacie" shouted a panicked Doug.

Stacie, shook her head, winced in pain, grimaced - a little bitch grimace, and was for a second transported back into her mind... deep into the recessions of her past... she recalled an event, a traumatic event, one that had shaken her, and rattled her, like the rattle of a rattle snake except this event had no serpent, no it was nothing like a rattle snake. Although she did have a fear of snakes. That could be foreshadow or irrelevant. But our story is so far: A woman, Stacy, recently struck by lightening, thrown back into a menacing memoir or her morbid memory, menacing in pain in front of Doug, her neighbor, who may be the first to realize the true power and fright of Stacie's non snake induced scare that caused a split: A split in her that could never be repaired. "What are you fucking deaf Stacie?" cried Doug. Waiting for a response he squinted his eyes into the darkness trying to make out the steaming silhouette of Stacie. "Jesus, smells like someone burnt a beaver out here," mumbled Doug as he waded through the darkness in the general direction of where he could last make out Stacie. Meanwhile Stacy was being confronted by the demons of her dark past: an R-rated horror movie she saw when she was only 13-years-old, that time she almost went into the mens bathroom, the one time she'd accidentally used a racial slur, and something involving demonic possession. Doug was holding his 12-gauge shotgun that he liked to keep at hand during the fierce lightning storms of the Nebraska summer. You see, at that moment Doug too was struggling with the emotions that his memory evokes during weather like this. Doug was subject to something as well in his younger years: something involving his son, his farm animals, and bestiality. Let's just say he never wanted to use that shotgun again but let's also just say he never wanted to be caught again without it, and have to go and get it, and use it... on his own loved ones. Not that he loved them all that much....he killed them all with a gunshot in the head after all.

These neighbor's knew not of each others problems. They had problems enough of their own, and they lived in a world of separation. Their ancestor's lived differently--for most of human history had lived in tight nit tribes and would vary rarely encounter any other person who they did not know like family. Yet here these two people just feet from each other and knew hardly anything of one another. Did this disconnect in the world they were living in lead to the mistrust and tension that brought two minds to possession and murder. How much of modern psychiatrically defined mental illness was present in our predecessors and how much of it only results for the strange world that the forces of human culture have brought about.

Doug went back into his house. He opened a bag of oreos and turned on the game. The next time he looked at the back he had eatin 18 oreos. "Holy balls that is 22,000 calories and 65% fat," said Doug in a soft lisp. And he was right it was 22,00 calories and 65% fat. He suddenly had a vision of his wife giving him a pedantic glance as she put the bag back in the cabinets. It was times like this that he thought most about the murder he had committed. It was a hot summer day, the air was moist and somehow heavy. The family was cooling down inside when little Jimmy had the fucking dank idea of playing monopoly. "You son of a bitch Jimmy," yelled Doug happily "you read my mind, set that shit up." The family was stoked as fuck. They were about to enter a world of dice rolling, purchase, transaction, and chance. In other words they were entering a world of intense pleasure, where emotions are formless, timeless, and transcendental. This was not Doug's day with the dice. He had only the light blue property and electric company. It was a fucked up situation. Doug did not like to lose and could feel the anger rising inside them. That is when he snapped. "Dieeeeee!!!!!," he screamed. He shoved the fake money down his wife's throat as his son looked on in horror. "How would you like to be next Mr. Boardwalk you capatalist fuck," yelled Doug to his son. "You think you can monopolize the real estate system, I got make a living you prick." He beat his head into the ground with a nine iron. He cried for 3 minutes afterward, and turned on espn to see what was happening in the world of sports.

Doug had watched 4 episodes of the same ESPNNEWS now. You know it's a god awful day when you've heard John Clayton weasel about groin strains for 2 hours. Doug stirred, he had feint recollections of some noise, some bullshit, and an unhappy ending in his head. "God damn ESPN shows," he mumbled, stepping over some bloodied masses on the living room floor. But there were more pressing issues at hand. He'd been thinking about Stacy a lot lately and that maybe it was time for a new family. This is what humans did, they constantly created new relationships and broke off their old ones because their old ones sucked worse than the ones that had come before that. They also killed a lot of people they didn't like. So it's easy to understand Doug and his fragile being given that it had been warped and contorted from years occupying this planet like silly putty under the weight of a giant ass. Doug had been crushed by it all but he still pushed on admirably. And so Doug picked up his phone but then put it down and went and looked at porn. Doug picked up his phone later but he realized he didn't have Stacey's number. "Ah cunt.." he thought "what am I going to do now?" But then Doug thought of a most wonderful idea. Stacy had recently been hit by lightening, and was completely without memory, immobile, and in a serious condition at the local emergency room. "I'll have her eating out of the palm of my hand," thought Doug, with some degree of literalness given her current state.

Classic Shit

"It's easy to earn respect. Once you learn how to kick someone's face in."

3 Ninjas

The Last Man Standing

Do you know what it feels like?

To be the last man standing-

the last man standing.

-The Last Man Standing (2011)

Come rest, my ridiculed fantasy finder. Take a seat upon the stories of yesteryear. I've come to tell you a great tale, a fable of old, that for the attentive listener will bear fruits to hold. Once upon a time, a springtime perchance, we happen upon a Leary fellow, a non start, no chance. And in his heart, a hole. For in his heart there lied a burning melody, a song through time worn and old, and this man you see out of chance is merely just of average mold, it's told.

But deep in the seats of restless fixation there grew a monster bold. That told him to shake, told him to rumble, told him to disrupt his labors to the point of dysfunction. It was a beast that tore him into two, one that grew and grew and grew and grew. One day he could no longer control himself, and this became the wolf Michael himself.

Stolen from his childhood, his parents withdrew, out of cause unbeknown to me and to you. Listen closely, do as your told, for here, the story of Michael is about to unfold:

Scene One: An orgy, in the den of Sin.

Tingy Wingy Manifesto

Us here at the Tingy Wingy brain collective have been closely following the recent movements and changes sweeping the globe. We've witnessed and watched, with great interest, the collective effort of the Occupy movements across our daunting country. We've viewed and heard of the ideas sweeping the East regarding a more representative and democratic government. And we ourselves have been debating, rhetorizing, and searching the deepest recessions of our own souls for answers. As a leading, nay, trail blazing publication of national interest we here at the Tingy Wingy's factory of civil justiceness have concluded that it is time to make our interests known.

Creed #1: The '98 Vikings won the Super Bowl. We did. It's rule #1.

Creed #2: Thou shalt not own slaves. This is just as important as #1 and traditionally overlooked by all other religious doctrines.

Creed #3: Thou shalt not listen to Creed. They suckst.

Creed #4: Dragons are real. If we should promote one idea of myth it should be dragon lore. Woe unto thee who does respect the dragon.

Creed #5: Make it legal. Respect the foundations of the creed.

Creed #6: Follow your own creed, but respect the Tingy Wingys before all others.

an uprising or a rising up?

how do you pose an important question when all questions are questions of the past? are we in the future or are we living in the realm of what i like to call the jigglevault? the laws of physics tell us that jigglypuff could not exist without collapsing in upon itself and yet i play video games in which i see the jigglyflesh with mine own eyes? explain the discrepensy. answer the call physics theorists across this lonely blue dot of ours. what equations have you for the jiggly flesh of the one and only jiggly puff. it is time to get out the pens and papers and calculators and other supplies and get to work

what do you do

decide what u r going to do everyday. make decisions. always consider the pudding. there is almost always a pudding box to be made in the closet and yet when does anybody say fuck its time for puddy. to me that only points to the fact that we r not living in a very reflective time period. we r on the go and we r putting on a show. in an age in which we had the mindset of being careful then surely we would be baking a lot more putting. this i do not doubt