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Colby & Perdida Archives

April 30, 2008

Back in L.A.

Getting back wasn’t too bad. To our surprise, we got most of the deposit back for the van, despite driving it through several cornfields and streams during our unfortunate mushroom tripping in Kansas. The flight was only 15 minutes late leaving Cincinnati, but it got into LAX early.

After touring the snowy, then rainy Midwest, I was happy to get back to the sun-dappled majesty of Southern California.

Click image for a larger view

Huh.

May 13, 2008

New Intern

We weren’t going to do this again, because the last guy was a disaster, but because Colby’s been such a flake lately, Margo decided we needed to bring someone else in to help us out with the website and blog.

So we’d like to introduce Marty Rabinowicz, this summer’s intern. He’ll be making things hum behind the scenes, in more ways than one.

Written by Girth McDürchstein on May 13, 2008 7:19 PM
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May 8, 2008

Colby’s Blog

He mentioned it, so I finally got around to checking out Colby’s blog. It’s fucking terrifying. After this, I hope I don’t hear from him.

Written by Girth McDürchstein on May 8, 2008 2:36 PM
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May 17, 2008

The Obsession

Margo and I were in the middle of a pretty typical Saturday afternoon. We decided to go coffin-shopping because, now that the hectic pace has slowed down a little, I got the opportunity to relive Abysmal’s recent greatness by checking back over old blog posts. It reminded me that we never bothered to buy matching coffins for sleeping. Optimally, we’d find a nice old casket-maker whose eyes would bulge to the size and brilliance of agates at the mere thought of a customized king-size coffin, a creation of such opulence and comfort we really could spend eternity lying on it. With our recent advance and sale providing financial freedom we haven’t experienced since I swindled those Nigerians, we could afford to live in style.

Unfortunately, we found ourselves confront with aghast stares rather than sinister grins. Nobody liked our customization plans; they especially disliked it when I informed them the coffin was for living occupants, and what’s worse, we couldn’t find any single-occupant coffins that suited our comfort.

While trying to think of how to take matters into our own hands, I got a phone call.

“This is Girth,” I announced into the phone.

“It’s Colby,” a ragged, panic-stricken voice replied. “I need you.”

May 23, 2008

Finishing Crocodemon

Today, I had to go back to Perdida Cheyenne’s apartment. Last time, she mistook me for Vance Sloane’s enforcer and promised she’d finish her latest script (Dinocroc 3: Crocodemon) by today. According to Colby, who has monitored her like crazy since I implanted that bug, Perdida hasn’t worked on the script at all since I left her apartment.

I didn’t want to do it, but Colby’s my biggest fan. I’d give that up, but my second-biggest fan, at the moment, is a Seattle-based actuary who reads this blog and mails lengthy letters each month, describing what my actions have cost various insurance companies over the years. His writings have tempted me to insurance myself for a high amount, then fake my death, but I couldn’t even get away with the prison scam.

So anyway, I went up to NoHo, to her apartment, and beat down the door.

Read More of "Finishing Crocodemon" »

Written by Girth McDürchstein on May 23, 2008 10:09 PM
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May 29, 2008

The Poz Gala

Yesterday afternoon, Colby called me up and told me to get on my least-stained tuxedo t-shirt and track down an invitation to the biennial Poz Gala in West Hollywood. For those not in the know, the Poz Gala is a $2000-per-plate charity dinner “designed to raise money for research into virginal curative properties associated with AIDS” (quoted from their literature). More to the point, there’s a long-standing theory (possibly untrue) that the AIDS virus can be destroyed if a person has sex with a virgin, and the Poz Organization wants to back this up using science. Good luck!

Why did Colby have such a desperate desire to go? Big shock: his love muffin, Perdida Cheyenne, is a scheduled keynote speaker. Considering his obsession with her supposed imminent death, he wants to keep an eye on things. He also seems to believe, if it’s a murder, it’ll most likely happen in a public place. I always felt like the best way would be very private—no witnesses, nobody around to chase you down. But what do I know?

June 6, 2008

Chance Meeting

Last night, I got trashed. For some reason, I felt like total shit this morning. I guess after what happened at Mildew, I couldn’t help feeling like the end was near. Nobody will book us thanks to our last tour, we can’t get a new album off the ground… How can I survive if nobody wants to hear me express myself through music? For so long, I’ve identified myself as the musician/poet/novelist/actor/laxative pitchman—how can I change gears now?

I wanted to turn to Margo for help and guidance, but as soon as we finished the pitch, she packed her bags for a modeling session in Vancouver. I can’t help feeling we may be drifting apart. With her gone, I helped myself in the only way I knew how. This morning, after spending a few hours in Vendome replenishing the liquor supply, I made a stop at the Peet’s Coffee on Ventura for a nice americano pick-me-up.

As I waited in the line contemplating adding a snickerdoodle cookie or two to my order, a familiar voice called, “Girth?”

June 14, 2008

Under My Skin

Perdida Cheyenne breezed into town last night after spending a week in Capetown for preproduction meetings on Crocodemon. She gave me a call, knowing full well that I pitched her Fuck Machines idea to the assholes at Mildew. She wanted to know how it went, but she happened to catch me at a bad time. I had to clean the whole Paint Shaker before the cats from Mildew came around. Riffs, Mikey, and Carl have been living there for months, and it’s turned into quite a sty as a result.

I shut off the vacuum and asked to call her back in half an hour. She told me she wouldn’t be around and told me, instead, to drop by her apartment and hang out when she got back. I couldn’t say no to that.

June 21, 2008

It’s Chinatown

Things got a little hairy this afternoon, in more ways than one. Perdida Cheyenne called me up and invited me to celebrate the Summer Solstice with her at the annual Chinese Food Festival in Chinatown. At first, I was reluctant, but then I remembered how hot she looked at the Poz Gala, so I agreed to meet her.

A few minutes after that, Colby called: “I have a fix on Harmonica.”

“Who?” I asked.

“That’s my code name for Perdida,” he explained.

“What?”

“She’s going to the Chinese Food Festival,” Colby said. “She’s meeting someone there, and I think it may be her murderer. We need to do some recon.”

“Today’s not a good day,” I said. “I’m really busy—”

“Fine,” Colby snapped. “I’ll go by myself.”

“No!” I yelped. “I’ll… What time should I meet you?”

June 24, 2008

So Perdida

Still smarting from Mildew’s rejection and my frustrating conversation with Margo, I decided to blow off some steam by showing up at Perdida’s apartment unannounced. I suspected from her blog and Twitter that she mostly sat around her apartment, lying about having an active and exciting social life. This turned out to be true, so when I knocked on the door, she popped it right open.

“Girth.” She sounded surprised.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Can I come in?”

She pulled the door wide open, nodding her head toward the lip-shaped couch. I took a seat, and she flopped down next to me, gently putting a hand on my knee.

“So listen,” I said, “things went real bad with Mildew yesterday. They think the album needs more feminine perspective, so I figured maybe you could help with it.”

“What about your wife?” Perdida inquired.

“Forget about her,” I grumbled. “I just thought… You said you wanted to work on a script, and I thought since we made such a good team for Crocodemon, maybe we could team up again on a Fuck Machines screenplay, and I can use that as a template for the album’s storyline.”

Perdida looked pensive for a moment before exclaiming, “Yeah, that’s a great idea!”

We had some Chinese food delivered, then spent the next two hours doing little more than hashing out the details of the future dystopia in which the story takes place. Before we got into the nitty gritty of the story itself, Perdida excused herself to shower.

While she was in there, I snuck into the bedroom, climbed on the touch-sensitive rotating bed, and removed the bug Colby made me plant. I thought it’d take a lot of effort, but I managed to yank out the bug pretty quickly and smash it on the polished hardwood floor of her bedroom long before Perdida had shut the water off.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, I was back on the couch, jotting down notes for the storyline. I noticed her standing on the doorway, motionless for far too long. I glanced up and got a double-eyeful of her glistening, hard body. She wore nothing but a push-up bra and granny panties. Despite this, she still looked totally hot.

“Holy shit,” I gasped as all my blood rushed downstairs.

“Listen,” Perdida said, “I’m a little tired. You can keep working if you want, and it’s cool if you crash here, but I’m just gonna go in the bedroom and lie down. Alone.”

“Y…” I trailed off, uncertain of how to finish the word.

She crossed the room to the bedroom and shut the door—but not quite all the way. Through the crack came tantalyzing dots of spinning light from the overhead mirrorball. I stared at the pages of notes we compiled, trying in vain to continue working.

All I did was stare.

Written by Girth McDürchstein on June 24, 2008 3:54 PM
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