Friday, May 01, 2026

COOTIEPHOBIA or Mykel's May 2026 Blog Post

 

COOTIEPHOBIA or Mykel's May 2026 Blog/Column

 


You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

MAY 2026 Blog/Column
by Mykel Board

COOTIEPHOBIA



The only time I wash my hands is when I shit on them.
                    --George Carlin

I've heard of many tragic cases of walking, talking normal children who wound up with profound mental disorders after vaccines.

                        --Rand Paul

We have completely eradicated smallpox; we have almost eradicated polio. That's the miracle of vaccines, which is even greater than that of antibiotics
-- Bill Gates

There is no vaccine against stupidity.
                --Albert Einstein


Okay buckaroos… from the quotes, you're guessing I'm going to write about vaccines. YOU'RE WRONG! At least not only about vaccines. I want to write about something I've seen more of in the US than in any other of the 72 countries I've visited. And that’s more that just vaccines.

FLASH TO THE PECULIER PUB ON BLEECKER ST: Eks and I sit in the back. I drink some exotic beer from the Czech Republic. She has a Michelob Lite. She puts a hand on my thigh.

“Mykel,” she says, “I’ve got to get rid of that last beer. It went right through me.”

I smile as she stands up, and walks to the ladies room. In a couple minutes she returns. “Everything come out okay?” I ask… with a smile.

“Mykel,” she says, “that room is filthy. It’s lucky I don’t have to sit down to take care of things.”

“You don’t sit?” I ask. “How do you do it?”

“I hover,” she says.

“What?” I reply. “Why don’t you just sit down?”

“Ewww,” she answers. “Cooties!”

FLASH TO THE SUBWAY… BLEECKER STREET STOP: It's unusually crowed today. Not rush hour… It's a Sunday! But the long steep steps from the street to the platform are packed. People going up have to push through the massive downward wave of tourists, students and locals. I'm surprised no one falls, although one guy slips on a step and catches himself with some fancy last-minute footwork.

Then I notice it. Despite the crowd, NO ONE is holding the rails. The two long metal tubes… there for  safety… are unused. I remember my mother telling me: "Mickey (my childhood nickname), always hold the railing when you go down the stairs.”  And these days, I use the railing to help me UP the stairs… pulling myself along. I grab the railing now. Lowering myself one step at a time. No one else is touching that railing…. Oh… oh… I get it: COOTIEPHOBIA. 

FLASH TO THE GYM: I'm not fat. I don't really care about attracting folks who'll come up to me and say. Wow! I love the way your arms bulge and your chest presses against that WO HOP t-shirt. I don't even like being here… especially since cootiephobia has scared guys from using the showers… and most of the people here who do get naked… shouldn't.

I walk out of the locker-room and head for the ab/adductor machine You know, the one where you sit with these black pads between your legs. You then either squeeze your knees together raising weights inside the machine, or you put the pads on the outside of your knees and spread your legs against the weights. There's something sexy about that machine.

I check my notepad for how much weight I did on my last visit… 75 pounds. So I set the weights on 80 and sit down… the black pads between my legs. Then I feel it… the soft soak of some liquid from the seat through the bottom of my sweat pants.

I know what it is. Some cootiephobe… usually a Gen Z girl… has cleansed the seat of all her girly liquids… sweat, maxipad leaks… imaginary germs. She has wiped the seat and probably the handbars and maybe the weights… using the gym-supplied liquid from some PUSH BUTTON FOR SANITIZER machine near the entrance.

Yes, COVID has put these machines everywhere and too many people still use the slime they dispense both before and after they use the gym machines. Not only has COVID limited my joy in at seeing attractive naked bodies, but it has wet my pants… and not the way I’d like.

A long time ago, I asked Eks if she wipes the gym machines before and after she uses them. "Mykel," she answered. "I don't want to exercise in someone else's sweat."

“Why not?” I think, but don’t say. I know the answer: COOTIEPHOBIA.

Do bar pick-ups these days, stop in the middle of a fuck because they don't want to screw in someone else's sweat?  Do wrestlers avoid wrestling in someone else's sweat? Do parents hugging their kids not want to hug in someone else's sweat? It’s a crazy legacy from COVID.

But COVID is only the latest and perhaps worst symptom of American cootiephobia. Cashiers in the deli still wear surgical masks. The butcher still wears rubber gloves to cut the meat. Grown men bump fists rather than shake hands.

And now… CVS tells me I can register and get 15 different vaccines all paid for by my AARP anti-cootie insurance. 

FLASH TO VACCINE DISCUSSION: Normal people have one of two divergent views of vaccines. Either 100% for them (Bill Gates above) or 100% against them (Rand Paul above). I am not a normal person.

In the past, vaccines have worked. Polio and Small Pox are the best examples. But if we look at the logic of vaccines, we see mostly a medical cure for something caused by medicine in the first place.

In pre-vaccine times, you'd get a virus, your body would fight off the virus by creating antibodies that matched the virus and counteracted it. The antibodies stayed in your system after they beat the virus… so when the same virus hit again… your body was prepared for the fight.

When vaccines were new, the bad guys (viruses) weren't prepared for the onslaught. The vaccine anti-bodies, modified into injectables from natural antibodies, fought off the unsuspecting viral invaders.

Now, the viruses have learned to change their structures, adjusting themselves enough so that last year's body defense won't work against this year's virus. So guess what? You need another shot. And yet another one every year.

And what happens? Instead of the body learning on its own to fight the invaders, we have to teach it to do it… or worse… do it from the outside... chemically. Again and again.

My only sport in Junior and Senior high school was judo. My father wanted me to do some “normal” sports, but I was spazzy and the last one to get chosen for any normal gym team. I wanted to do a sport that was only me on one side and ONE ENEMY on the other side. Judo was it. Besides, the general idea of the sport is little guys using the strength and weight of the big guys against those self-same big guys. Kind of like viruses making anti-bodies to match themselves.

My theory is that kids are closer to nature than adults. Kids have an instinct that adults spend years on destroying. Kids’ bodies would be exposed to thousands of viruses... building up an immune system that allowed early European immigrants to America to avoid the same diseases they passed on to the American Indians… Those bugs from Europe the immigrants had but defeated through their own anti-bodies. The Indians were never exposed and had no anti-bodies to fight with.

Kids are naturally attracted to dirt. If a little kid sees a mud puddle, she'll jump in. Parents will shout “NO, DIRTY!” Scaring the kid from the source of so many powerful immunostimulants.

When I was a child, we had a "30-second rule." If my sister or I dropped some food on the floor, as long as we quickly picked it up, we could eat it. This was mainly for fruit, nuts, and other stuff that doesn’t change shape when dropped. I don't remember eating ice cream or spaghetti that had been in contact with the floor. But there’s plenty more than that I don’t remember.

I googled “30-second rule" to check if that's still the case for most American families. Google told me that the rule had been shortened to a "5-second rule" … but wait… that's not enough. Several health-related websites said ALL such rules were bogus. Like this one. They said even a little touch of food to the floor or… heavens to Betsy… a picnic apple falls on the ground… you shouldn't eat it at all.   EWWWWW COOTIES!!!

One of the greatest evils of the modern world is DELIVERY. Door-dash, InstaCart, you know what I mean. Not only do those services increase isolation (have the joy of a restaurant without the “annoyance” of OTHER PEOPLE.) but they weaken immune systems.

Eating and drinking with other people exposes your body to all those things that build immunity. The people at the next table. The waiter who just picked up the dirty dishes from the people at the next table. The menus handled by who know who? Some restaurants these days have QR codes instead of menus. Just point your phone and click. Saving all those… those… COOTIES!

My apartment building is 2 minutes away (walking) from a deli, 3 minutes away from a Chipotle, 5 minutes away from two different poke bowl restaurants and ten minutes away from Chinatown. Yet every day I see delivery guys coming into the building with bags of food for the tenants. What the fuck?

I used to think that it came from laziness. Oh, it's so much work taking that elevator to the first floor and actually walking out of the building. But now I think it's COOTIEPHOBIA. People are happier in isolation… or with "one special person to share with" It's safer that way… NO COOTIES. 

And then there's us. I'm talkin'about us old punk rockers. I'm talkin'about 20 years with a guitar player like the guy in Spinal Tap. You know, the one who turns up to ELEVEN. The wheelchair-bound get curb cuts to make it easier to roll across the street.  Blind people get sidewalk bumps to tell them where the curb-cuts are. But we hearing-damaged don't get shit. Well, there are captions on the news programs if you have the right kind of TV… but they don’t work right. They're always behind the speaker… never catching up to his speed… even with a break for commercials.

So what the fuck do you think it's like for us to listen to someone talking through a mask? Alstabibble stapsudi sap minglaku? I get it, you're scared of some bug flying on the magic carpet of someone’s saliva flakes. But you think those masks will keep you bug free? The only people they actually help are street criminals, who now feel free to be masked without anyone looking twice.

You're too young to remember the Lone Ranger. He was a masked cowboy, who was A GOOD GUY. He wore a mask… OVER HIS EYES!!!! (Yes, there were slits cut out so he could see where he was riding the horse… named Silver.)

I look out my window onto lower Broadway. I see old factory buildings, now housing rich people, artists and… on the ground floor level, Nike and Adidas… face to face across the street. The Nike store just opened. There is a line of people waiting to get in and spend their money.

[NOTE: I don't know about other cities. But, here in THE city, for the last decade, it has become fashionable to wait in line to buy something. Clothes, ice cream, sneakers… any kind of shit… there are scores of people (mostly those 20-something females) forming a line from the door around the block.]

At first it seems like this is a rebellion against cootiephobia… a taunting to prove to people I am not afraid. A closer look, however, will show you that's wrong. The people on line (that's what we say in New York… not in line) don’t talk to each other… don't move up so Patty's front touches Brittney's back. They space. People who know each other make little circles in the line, using their bodies to fence off their group from the pry of a stranger. As the line moves up, the groups move together… keeping their distance from the next person or group that might breathe on them.

No, few of the waiting people wear masks… and I'm happy to see that. But they don't talk to strangers.  And they never touch. As strolling people walk past the lines, the line standers squeeze themselves against the store windows to get away as best they can.

And what about porn? The ones where the naked extras don't want their parents to recognize them. Do they digitally block the mouths of the guys and gals? You bet your hard-on they don't. They block the eyes! A rectangle just under the forehead. If they blocked the mouth you wouldn't be able to see them moan.

But porn sites themselves are bitten by the cootiephobia bug. How many scat videos do you find on xnxx? How much ass-licking do you see on REAL turd-flecked asses rather than baby-wiped every-sphincter-visible brown holes?

As you read this, do you stop to pick your nose? Do you transfer the errant snot-hardened booger to your mouth… like any kid would naturally do? Of course not. Ewwww cooties!

See you in hell,
Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. Through the post office: send those... er...  DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Political Contest of the Year Dept: Ok, you got a contest that makes the world smile. Two politicians fighting to be mayor of an obscure French village. One is Charles Hittler. The other is Antoine Renault-Zielenskii. You CAN make this stuff up… but I didn’t. Check out the details here.

→ Cootiephobia on TV Dept: I guess MONK was the TV show that was most concerned with cootiephobia. Before becoming commonplace, it was considered a kind of Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder.  I found an on-line meme that casts doubt on that disease as being useful for a detective:
    I'm OCD about cleaning up. There's never any dirty dishes in the sink, the floors are spotless, all the surfaces are wiped down. I even do this if I'm visiting somewhere. If I see a fingerprint or a footprint I just have to take care of it. It makes me a GREAT roommate... but a TERRIBLE crime scene investigator. What bugs me is that it's not a disorder anymore, but a way of life. At least in the US.

→ The Cost of Cootiephobia Dept: Besides the isolation caused by coodiephobia… there is real harm done… especially to kids. Here you can read about the epidemic of children suffering eye-burns from hand-sanitizer use. You know, spread it on… get itchy eyes… rub those eyes.

→ FactCheck Checks Facts: Dept The fact-checking site called Fact Check, has published a report that says basically. Yes, vaccines can give you nasty side effects, but they’re still okay.
    Among their notes are findings on ADEM — “the autoimmune neurological condition linked to first doses of the Moderna and AstraZeneca vaccines.” 
    ADEM involves inflammation of the brain and spinal cord, arising most often in children following an infectious illness. It has a sudden onset, with a full recovery in many, although not all, cases.
    After the first dose of the Moderna vaccine, researchers observed seven ADEM cases when they expected two. It primarily affects children and can lead to symptoms such as headache, confusion, weakness, and vision problems. You can read all their findings here.

→ Still Scary Dept: On an unrelated topic. The magazine JACOBIN has a great article on the rise of the American Right Wing… without Jesus. I’s well-written, seems authentic, but scary as hell. You can read it here.

See you in hell (redux)
MB


LINKS:

A few new ones this time. [Note: a ton of computer problems. If you sent me a link and I didn’t use it, that’s why. Try again and be brutal with me]

My pal Matt Shehan says: You can link to my website - www.matthewsheahan.com or my Substack - https://politenewyorker.substack.com/ . Matt is a great musician and very funny guy.

My Kenyan pal, Albert Melody shares a facebook adventure in one of those great Kenyan national parks. Guess who he shared the adventure with!!! You can read about it here. Albert also has a blog at: Albertomelody.blogspot.com

Teddy Labato has a “lo-fi noise” link to his band Check it out.

It’s About Time dept: Finally, a book about Hungarian Punk  put out by Puke and Vomit records.   Great scene there and I was glad to have contact with bands like Der Trottel and Tizedesz. Glad to have been a (very small) part of that scene. 


Here are some other contacts to make:

Teddy Lobato’s band can be found at 
https://www.facebook.com/THEBASSMANsPSYCHEDELICNOISE

Karl De Winton sent me a link to his bandcamp DJ stuff. https://share.google/5sTnXjgMkFbiWQvzA

NSFW… but that depends on your job. 

Dan Hetrick asked me “How 'bout us punk rawk programmers?”
And offers http://merk.chat

Free chat for the people!

I’ve talked about Bob Cutler before. But he has more to offer than DYSTOPEKA
https://chrometuna.com/ https://theklusterfux.com

Riot Division makes its musical offering at: https://www.facebook.com/riotdivision

Barstool Revolution Zine is on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/people/Barstool-Revolution-Zine/61557909822199/

Rina Borei shows off her inflatable Octopus on 
Instagram: @oona.frost

Jim Testa, a long-time friend, journalist, editor, musician and wordsmith, has an interesting substack about music and more. You can find it here.

Sid Yiddish sent me this link to all his videos. It’s a great place to start, especially if you don’t know him. 

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one. 

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners, best band name of the year. 

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth and possibly the next vice-president of the US

Sid Yiddish has posted a video of a show done for WZRD in Chicago. Great live performances, and if you catch the video around the 20+ minute point you might see a familiar face doing the lyrics to his songs (some unrecorded) as poetry. You’ll find it here.  

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover. 

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you. 

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA. 

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their online version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys.  Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher! 

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart. I’m glad they didn’t call it “anti-defense.”

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here. 

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com

Wednesday, April 01, 2026

TRUSTAFARTI or Mykel's APRIL Blog/Column

 


You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

APRIL 2026 Blog/Column
by Mykel Board

TRUSTAFARTI



April is a dreary month that leads to a spring opening… a reawakening… the joy of nature. Fools are quick to judge a rainstorm or two… a sudden chill after a day or two of warmth. In my 76+ years on the planet, I’ve learned never to trust the calendar… or the weather. But what else have I learned? That’s what I want to write about this month. And it starts with a phone call.

People who know me know I HATE the telephone. I almost never answer it and prefer leisurely texting over the evil busting in of a ringtone and flashing phone screen.

But this month starts with a phone call that I answer… Home alone... nothing special to do for once. The phone flashes with a 646 number… probably meaning the caller is a NY cellphone user.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Is this Mykel?” She pronounces it “my-KELL”, so I figure she’s reading it from somewhere. She’s got a late-adolescent voice.

“This is MY-cull,” I respond. “What can I do for you?”

“I got your number from Dale Ashmun,” answers the voice, referring to a former friend and guitar player (after Crackers) for my first band, ART, THE ONLY BAND IN THE WORLD. Dale died early last year.

“Dale Ashmun is dead,” I reply.

“I know,” answers the voice, “I talked to him a couple years ago and since lost the reference. I just found it in an old NYU notebook. I meant to call you a very long time ago.”

“Okay,” I say, “what can I do for you?”

“Dale told me you were a smart old guy,” says the voice.

“Well,” I say, “I’m at least one of those things. How can I help you?”

“My name is Zorigtoi Teneg. I’m writing a book called Sagely Advice For The 21st Century. And from what Dale said, you seem like a sagely advice kind of guy.”

A laugh snorts through my nose… along with a little mucus.

“What I want to know,” continues the voice, “is: What is the most important thing you’ve learned during your 78 years...”

“Seventy-Six,” I correct her.

“Seventy-Six years here on earth. If you could distill it down to one sentence, what would that sentence be?”

The request gives me pause… but I’ve been asked the question… in various forms… several times before. I have one set answer that usually keeps the conversation short.

“Never trust a fart,” I say.

There is a moment of silence… then one of those fake coughs people give when they’re stalling for time.

“Your whole life?” she says, “and that’s the only lesson?”

“No,” I answer, “there are lots of lessons. But that’s the one that’s most important. It’s saved me embarrassment in 72 countries.”

“I know you’ve traveled a lot… you lived in Mongolia, right?”

I nod, then realize a nod doesn’t count for much over the phone. “Yep, Mongolia was great. They often greet each other by saying ‘Amdrar jama bein’ which means You should have a good body. But even that works. Your body will function better if you don’t trust your farts.”

Zori sounds disappointed, “That’s it for 78 years?”

“Seventy-six,” I say and hang up.

Around a week later, I’m at the post office collecting my mail. There is a plain white envelope with the return address of Zorigtoi Teneg… and a Brooklyn address. The envelope is thick... as if several sheets of paper were inside… or maybe a small zine.

When I get home, I open the envelope and pull out what, in fact, looks like a small zine. In large type on the front page is the word BELIEVE. Under that, in small type, is the phrase: Monthly Magazine of The Trustafartians. Then there is graphic... type in a picture format. It says Pffffffftttt.

With the zine is a small hand-scribbled note. I knew what you were going to say. That’s the REAL reason I called and THIS is what I wanted you to see. Join us… love, Zori.

When I get home, I take the zine, lay down on the couch, grab a tissue box in case there’s some good porn in it… and open it up. On the first page is

THE PRINCIPLES OF THE TRUSTAFARTIS

1. Your body is a temple of God. If it says FART, God wants you to believe it and fart.

2. A fart is a fart is a fart. It may be quiet. It may blast. It may be solo. It may be accompanied by something browner or more loose. But it’s still a fart.

3. Respond to farts… your own and others… Respond with a smile, applause, congratulations… Most importantly with TRUST.

4. Know that, except for a few minutes immediately after, dead people don’t fart. Realize that your farts show that you’re alive.

5. In America, people are yelling NO KINGS… but we know that’s wrong. Like Jesus for the Christians, we have a king who has not died, but still lives, for our sins.

I skip to another page. There is a picture of a guy in what looks like a military uniform. His face, looks… I donno… Bozo-ish…. Pasty white complexion… fat pink lips… a bulbous nose. He’s wearing brown pants and a brown military-collar jacket with a number of patches on it. Underneath the picture is the caption The Divine Haile Unlikeli, King of the Trustafarti.

On another page, I see a picture of a jar filled with what look like tiny white shrimps (prawns, not short people)… packed together tightly. The jar seems to be about the size of one of those plastic water bottles that top (or used to top) office water coolers. Underneath the picture is the caption: Omnes reliqui sumus. I’ll look that one up later. I’m guessing it’s Latin and means “Everyone (or everything) is released.” It’s only in Possum Grape that I find out I’m wrong.

And speaking of Possum Grape, the back cover has nothing but a name and address:

Trustafarti
POB 0001
Possum Grape AR 72020

I look it up. It turns out to be a real place… in Arkansas



I have a goal! My life has meaning. I have to meet, socialize, eat with these guys. Trustafarti!


So here’s what happens:

I look for transportation. Find none. But I know I can take Amtrak to Little Rock. It should be a hop skip and ride hitch from there.




FLASH TO MIDNIGHT AT THE END OF MARCH 31, 2023


I’ve just arrived at the only hotel in Possum Grape... after a long Amtrak trip from New York to Little Rock. Then a two-hour uber ($145!!!!) to Possum Grape, where the stunned driver asks “Why the hell would you want to go there?”

When I arrive at the TRUST Hotel, where I made an Internet reservation, the night-clerk, a chubby young man with a hillbilly beard, gives me a I know why you’re here smile as he hands me the key to my $30-a-night room.

In the morning, I plan to ask the hopefully different, more attractive, hotel desk clerk how to get a cab or an uber or SOMETHING to the Trustifartian temple.

The next morning, I see that the clerk is indeed more attractive than the one from the night before.

“Mr. Board,” he says when he sees me, (How does he know?), “your car is waiting.”

“I didn’t order a car,” I tell him.

“We know why you’re here,” says the young man, gesturing to the front door.

I walk out and there… parked on the street… is a bright pink Tesla. Standing outside the car… holding the door open… is a skinny middle-aged woman with shoulder length blond hair. She sees me and says, “Right this way, Mr. Board.”

I get in the back seat of the car and the blonde takes the driver’s seat. As she walks around the car to get in, I notice she seems like she has a slight limp… a weakness in her right leg, I guess. I guess wrong.

As soon as the car-door closes, we’re off!

“I hear you’re interested in us,” says the driver… once we’re on a very back-road-looking back road.

“Are you a Trustifartian?” I ask.

“We prefer to say Trustifart-eye,” she replies. “And yes, of course I am. We’re delighted to have someone from New York join us. Today, you will be lucky enough to meet Haile Unlikeli, king of the Trustifari survivors.”

There is something familiar about her voice… I've heard it before…

"Survivors of what?" I ask. Then I recognize the voice. It's Zori!! And she sounds a lot younger than she looks.

"Zori!" I say. "I recognize your voice. What kind of survivor are you and the rest of the Trustifarti?"

“Survivors of birth,” she answers. “You know point five percent of all US born babies die within the first year… most at birth. That’s not even counting abortion. If you’ve made it past year one, you’re a survivor.”

There follows one of those uncomfortable silences… I break it. “Are we going far out of town?” I ask, looking at the bare stretch of scenery on either side of the road.

“We’re almost there,” she answers.

In a few minutes, we turn on to a dirt road and then drive up to a building that looks like a barn. Standing at the sliding door is a tall heavily-tanned man wearing Western clothes and a cowboy hat... as if he planned to ride a bronco in a rodeo.

He walks over toward me as I get out of the car. I see he limps slightly favoring the left foot.

“Howdy brother,” he says. “I heard you was coming to visit our lord god Haili Unlikeli. I wish you welcome in your quest to take pride in farting…”

And it’s right here he lets out a massive one. Not a pfffft… but a big burbling sonic anal growl… the likes of which I’ve never heard before. Then, of course, he smiles… motions for me to approach the building and enter through the sliding door. A dozen or so people inside turn as I enter.

Just to the right of the door is a large jar. Probably the same one in the picture I saw in the zine. I stop to take a better look. One of the older men in the inside group watches me staring at the jar. He walks over. I see a slight limp on the right side.

Then It hits me…. Not physically, but psychologically. Those things I saw in the jar are not prawns. They are the little toes of scores of people. Dozens of little toes, cut from dozens of feet.

He puts his hand on my shoulder… I involuntarily jerk.

“Purdy amazin', ain’t it?” he asks. “All them people givin’ a piece of theyselves… to thank the livin’ God that they survived.”

“You mean,” I ask, “that in order to be a trustafarti I have to cut off a toe?”

“You don’t HAVE to do nothin’,” he says. “You WANT to do it, see? That toe makes you a survivor… well, you’re a survivor anyway, just ‘cause you’re livin’… but that toe makes it your will... your strength... like forcin’ out a fart shows you can VIOLATE the rules, you can trust your body to do the right thing… no matter what the hell you do to it.”

I guess he can tell that I’m not quite ready to join the voluntary limpful.

“Why doncha come in and meet the Godman. We got the sharpest knife in the neighborhood… you be out in a couple hours.”

Well, now it’s up to you, dear readers. Do I step inside? Do I step inside then out with a limp? What’s your guess?

See you in hell,
Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]


→ I Don’t Expect The Goyim To Know dept; Passover starts on the first of the month this year. And I’m shocked to find a Slivovitz shortage. For those who don’t know. During the 9 days of Passover, we don’t eat or drink anything with leavening or yeast in it. To be sure of that, we don’t eat anything with wheat or any other grain... except matzos… as we’re sure matzos are yeast-free. Slivovitz is a Czech plum wine that is a traditional beer/whiskey substitute during Passover. But it’s gone! Every liquor store I try is either sold out of it… or what’s that? Never heard of it. I wonder if it has anything to do with the war in Iran. Another tragedy?

→ They Found It Dept: For decades, I’ve been reading about the search for the foreskin of Jesus. I didn’t exactly know what they planned to do with it when it was found. But I guess you’ve read about that finding and am as surprised as you are at the plans. I’ve got a pretty strong stomach, but writing about it here could get me banned from the blog. Yuck! It’s disgusting.

See you in hell, redux,
MB


LINKS:

It’s About Time dept: Finally, a book about Hungarian Punk put out by Puke and Vomit records. Great scene there and I was glad to have contact with bands like Der Trottel and Tizedesz. Glad to have been a (very small) part of that scene. 


Albert aka Alberto Melody is the reason I went to Kenya. We met on facebook a couple years ago. He has a blog you should take a look at:
Albertomelody.blogspot.com. Tell him Mykel sent ya. Oh yeah… He’s looking for friends his own age. So if you’re a 20-something and interested in Africa… or just meeting new people. Contact him at: albertletowon42@gmail.com

Here are some other contacts to make:

Teddy Lobato’s band can be found at

https://www.facebook.com/THEBASSMANsPSYCHEDELICNOISE

Karl De Winton sent me a link to his bandcamp DJ stuff. https://share.google/5sTnXjgMkFbiWQvzA

NSFW… but that depends on your job.

Dan Hetrick asked me “How 'bout us punk rawk programmers?”

And offers http://merk.chat

Free chat for the people!

I’ve talked about Bob Cutler before. But he has more to offer than DYSTOPEKA https://chrometuna.com/ https://theklusterfux.com

Riot Division makes its musical offering at: https://www.facebook.com/riotdivision


Barstool Revolution Zine is on facebook at 
https://www.facebook.com/people/Barstool-Revolution-Zine/61557909822199/


Rina Borei shows off her inflatable Octopus on Instagram: @oona.frost


Jim Testa, a long-time friend, journalist, editor, musician and wordsmith, has an interesting substack about music and more. You can find it here.

Sid Yiddish sent me this link to all his videos. It’s a great place to start, especially if you don’t know him.

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners, best band name of the year.

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth and possibly the next vice-president of the US

Sid Yiddish has posted a video of a show done for WZRD in Chicago. Great live performances, and if you catch the video around the 20+ minute point you might see a familiar face doing the lyrics to his songs (some unrecorded) as poetry. You’ll find it here.

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover.

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you.

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA.

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their online version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys. Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher!

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart. I’m glad they didn’t call it “anti-defense.”


Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com

BOOZE or Mykel's Blog for November 2026

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