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Faster Than A Speeding Mullet

by Worm Quartet

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People say to me “Shoebox You’ve got a wife now Do you have any plans To start a family life now? We really don’t want your help Perpetuating the species” So I bend over and turn around And tell them to suck my feces I’ve gotten the impression, since I was in preschool That some people are opposed to my wading in the gene pool They’ve mostly been subtle hints, but it sure raised my suspicions When 300 protestors showed up on my lawn and showed me their signed petitions Total strangers wish upon me an infection of the pelvic plexus And children scream and point and cry and ask their parents what my sex is But I remain undeterred despite the death threats that I’m getting Your kids will have to deal with my crap too, cuz my seed will soon be spreading! I’m gonna procreate and there’s nothing you can do about it It’s gonna be so great, my wife’ll pop out kids like a diesel-powered pez dispenser If you’re against her helping me produce my offspring let me know I’ll tell you where to go Cuz I’m gonna procreate My wife’s won awards for her uteral perfection She’s got more freakin’ eggs than the Wegmans’ dairy section If she even wants to hold my hand, I wear a condom before I’ll let her Cuz she’s more fertile than cow manure, and thank god, she sure smells better I’ve been checking my sperm count, and it couldn’t be higher They’re practically shooting out of my pores whenever I perspire I’ll fertilize anything that moves, my semen is so kickin’ If I shove an Egg McMuffin down my pants, it turns into a McChicken I’m gonna procreate and there’s nothing you can say about it Thanks to a twist of fate I’ve found a girl who doesn’t throw up when she sees me naked Why would she make it with a fatass long-haired ultra-geek like me? Well it’s a mystery I can’t wait until the day The OB/GYN will say “Let’s see the ultrasound of what you’ve bred” The nurses will all faint and scream Because I’ll bet they’ve never seen A fetus with a mullet on its head And full-sized man-boobs I’ve been reading ‘bout And wondering how it could apply to the fruits of my erection I want all my swimmers to be just the fastest fancy sleek ones So I wax my carrot twenty times a day just to weed out the weak ones I’m gonna procreate and there’s nothing you can do about it Each time I copulate there’s a chance that something’s gonna be fertilized now Don’t be surprised now if someday it comes to be that there’s a Warm and mushy fleshy thing that’s looking up at you With a head all full of questions and a diaper full of poo With a bottle full of Folger’s and a Bad Religion tee And a face that’s trial-sized but looks an awful lot like me I'm gonna procreate
Remember when we used to hold each other close And gaze so deeply in each others’ eyes Remember how I said I’d never let you go And how you swore you’d never tell me lies (You do? Well…) All I remember is the way you nonchalantly squashed my heart just like a cockroach on the floor All I remember is the happiness I felt the day I finally kicked your skank ass out the door Remember when you were the best part of my life The reason I got up to face the day Remember how you swore you’d always stay by me And love me for forever come what may (You do? Well…) All I remember is the nights you’d go out drinking and I’d pray the cops would find you somewhere dead All I remember is the way that all my dishes became airborne and flew right into my head Now please don’t think I’m ranting cuz I’m bitter I’ve found somebody new and I’ve moved on But if only your name rhymed with twisted psychotic slut I’d have a great idea for a song Remember how we used to drive down to the beach And walk along the seashore hand in hand Remember how we used to sit and watch the waves And spell out our initials in the sand (You do? Well…) All I remember is the whining and the moaning and the griping about every little thing All I remember is how soundly I could sleep when I dreamt of your lifeless body festering Now please don’t think that this is all just hindsight I’ve felt this way about you for so long And if only your name rhymed with sadistic lying bitch I’d have a great idea for a song Oh your name…might as well Rhyme with psycho whore from south of hell Cuz of all the crap you put me through back then Oh if only your mom and dad Had named you something that rhymed with “walking talking maxipad” Think of all the clever tunes I could have penned Cuz Becky rhymes with yecky And Missy rhymes with pissy And Susie rhymes with floozie And Patty rhymes with fatty And Eleanor rhymes with smelly whore And Marigold rhymes with hairy-holed And Lauren rhymes with scorin’ Celia Linda Park rhymes with “Feel ya in the dark” Daisy Rhoda York rhymes with “Easy ho ta pork” Rhonda Lynn Mae Stutback rhymes with “Fondlin’ my buttcrack” I’d pay you to change your name to Shelly Hunt HEY! Remember when your latest hunk of throbbing meat Had left you for a tighter piece of ass Remember when you called me sobbing on the phone And begged me to forgive you for your past (You do? Well…) All I remember is that lab rats don’t push levers After taking an electric shock or two I’d rather duct tape a live wire to my groin than take a death march down memory lane with you Now please don’t think I want to be your friend now I’d rather see John Goodman in a thong But if only your name rhymed with back-stabbing heartless tramp I’d have a great idea for a song Yes if only your name rhymed with manipulative conniving whore I’d have a great idea for a song Yeah if only your name rhymed with worthless cheating worm-ridden butt-ugly bile-sucking skanky smelly slutty waste of flesh, fat, and bone that makes me want to donate my entire life savings to NASA in the hopes that someday they’ll make a time machine and I can retroactively give your parents a box of condoms I’d have great idea for a song
Astonishers are Flashing in The Cuse They drink and rock and gaze down At their shoes Four melancholy marvels Who kick ass While lamenting 'bout broken Stained glass Now Bob plays Bee Gees covers on weekends But he still hits stuff like a stuff-hitting God And Dan Musclow's voice may be kinda whiny But you can bet your girlfriend's given him and Chuck a hand job Involuntary Bliss is What they're on Their machine doesn't have a A star on From OPL to WEFest They have rocked But now it looks like everything's Gonna Stop Cuz their glasses-wearing weirdo guitarist Who's known by anyone who's ever read a zine Has decreased the band's Weezer-lookalikeness By saying sayonara to the whole fucking scene If Gregg Yeti doesn't rejoin, I'll kill myself Make Jello shots with Drano, and kill myself Slit my wrists with a Triscuit, and kill myself I'll bathe in battery acid, and kill myself Shove a high-powered vaccuum hose down my throat, and kill myself Stick my head in the microwave, and kill myself Go scuba-diving and bite a shark's cock, and kill myself Who's gonna find me shows now? I'll kill myself Dammit...
Archie got an STD From some whore from NYC Hurts to fuck and hurts to pee Archie got an STD Archie got an STD Watch him walk, it’s plain to see Look out Veronica and Betty Archie got an STD Sorry Pop Better close down the Chock’lit shop Once this plague starts spreading It’s never gonna stop (Cuz) everyone in Riverdale Has once been Archie’s tail And there’s nothing alive His tainted weenie won’t impale Have you seen The whole town’s been quarantined To stop the spread of semen from Now Archie’s glum Cuz life’s no longer fun He used to be a playa now his Balls are green and full of zits He’s grown a full-blown set of tits There’s algae floating in his pee He has to be fed rectally His penis has a big red mark That buzzes and glows in the dark And all his pubic hair is e-vap-o-rating Archie got an STD Something’s wrong with his weenie Look out Midge and Miss Grundy Archie got an STD Archie got an STD Look out Jughead and Reggie Look out Mr. Weatherbee Archie got an STD
You were small and white Now you're small and white and dead
Let’s make fun of the Amish Those stupid ignorant fucks Let’s make fun of the Amish Like the guy on the oatmeal box They don’t believe in electricity Like we’re supposed to care I’ll give ‘em a taste of electricity Put ‘em in the fucking chair Get ‘em out of this fucking country Put ‘em all on boats All they do is make cheese And milk their fucking goats
Dave Thomas MIA From CEO to DOA The pallbearers at his funeral say Their tears were not from grief Cuz years of burgers shakes and fries Had made his buttocks biggie-sized And now the tombstone where he lies Is carved with "Here's The Beef" "What will we do?" Shouts the whole Wendy's crue "He's in our commercials, he sells all our food "He was old and damned ugly, but we know it's true "On his face we have grown to rely" Advertising executives losing their grip But try to go on without Dave's leadership They create a new slogan that's modern and hip: "Wendy's: Eat Here And DIE!" Colonel Sanders bit the dust Yet still his face looks down at us Up on a pole his cartooned bust Shines over KFC How'd he expect his heart to beat When all he ever had to eat Was breaded wads of greasy meat with biscuits and Pepsi "Kentucky Fried Chicken" had brought him such fame But once he stopped breathing they shortened the name As if even though they prepare it the same It's now healthy cuz they don't say "fry" But they say there's a restaurant in Akron Ohier Where the ghost of the Colonel rose up from a fryer And screamed "Eat my chicken you too shall expire! "KFC: Eat Here And DIE!" Every fast food franchise Has a trademarked guise Through which they filter lies From their corporate high-rise Every super-size May lead to your demise But at least you get a toy surprise! But when your icon dies How do you advertise The virtues of your fries And eggroll-shaped pies That fatten up the thighs And clog the arter-eyes ‘Til your only function is to fertilize (fertilize...fertilize...) Mickey D’s makes burgers fun To try to hook ‘em while they’re young Like dealers and the church have done Throughout our history A clown-led thought control campaign That’s calculated to ingrain The need for nuggets in the brain But they’re not fooling me How many Ronalds have come and then gone? Live as long as a goldfish and then they pass on They suit up another, the legend lives on And the kids all think it’s the same guy Did all these actors think that it was sound To take a job as a disposable clown? 30 minutes of fame was their final countdown McDonald’s – eat here and die Wendy’s – eat here and die Everywhere you eat will make you die
I don't have to tell you how much it sucks to get shot in the face So I guess I'll save some time by not even writing this song at all
Raisins in disguise, raisins in disguise Hooray for the iguana! (Merp Merp Merp)
I've got a calculator in my bum It blocks the hole that the poopy comes out from When I have to add or divide I have to reach way deep inside And then I get a really stinky thumb
Frolicking in pain Chewing on my salad tongs Goldfish in my brain Osmond family wearing thongs
Rice in my laundry Lice in my milk
Oh the face of a child is a loud loud thing It's a loud loud loud loud loud loud thing It's loud like a stereo Only if you kick it it doesn't stop, it just gets louder It's a loud loud loud loud thing
Thank You 00:08
Smell my nipple, win a prize Win a prize Win a prize Smell my nipple, win a prize Win a prize for you
Dead Tacos 00:10
Dead tacos
Why do the elderly growl at cucumbers?
Salmon in disguise Salmon in disguise
Yak Aquarium 00:08
Yak aquarium Yak aquarium I got me a yak aquarium
Toasterama 00:06
Toasterama! Eh.
When Chewbacca gets a woodiee soes his thing pop through his hair? Or is he sufficiently upholstered that it still stays tucked in there? I don't wanna see a wookiee weeniee, no there's no doubt of that But if it's visible at least you know when he's about to mount your cat
Sorry buddy, I gotta say We're no longer buying lizard shit We stopped that practice yesterday We're no longer buying lizard shit JERK: I've got some I'd like to sell you! ME: Sorry, I don't know what to tell you JERK: I've got it on a silver platter! ME: It's still reptilian fecal matter JERK: My iguana's totally bran-fed ME: Sorry, dude, the market's dead And no one wants to buy your stupid JERK: No one wants to buy my stupid ME AND JERK: No one wants to buy your stupid lizard shit
My Wife 02:34
My wife Is made up of some parts She’s got a lot of hair She’s got a couple nostrils I think she’s got a spleen She argues with the fridge And assaults my Barbeque sauce She hisses at highway traffic I think she’s really keen My wife Calls knocked-down road signs pheasants She makes words into chicks She doesn’t smell like aluminum She’s never stabbed my groin She owns electronic pork She’s threatened me with happy horns She let me name our cats After obscure keyboard characters When we’re having a lousy time She can summon carnivals into existence with the power of her mind And if our waitress is depressed She can hold a fork in her tongue ring while I pick up my straw with my nosepit My wife Likes running over hookers But only in Grand Theft Auto Her pet name for me is “numbnuts” Somehow she makes it cute She made me a giant tampon She talks to infomercials She lets me touch her boobs I think she’s really keen
J.R.O. 01:44
Oh there’s this guy Who runs this show He made fun of me cuz I didn’t wanna drive in the snow But I think That you should know this He’s been around long enough that he remembers when women actually had sex with members of KISS Cuz Joe’s really old Joe’s really old Joe’s really really really really really old Joe’s really old Just the other day I saw him in his car Rockin’ out to Chris Isaak and cornholing a certain unmentionable Golden Girls star But there’ll come a day And it’s gonna be soon Where nurses have to help him wipe his ass and feed him mushed up Cool Ranch Doritos with a spoon Cuz Kick out the jams! Yeah Yeah! Bring it to me, my homies! One more time for Kip Winger’s Uterus! Yeah Yeah! Rise up, children of the revolution! TESTIFY!! TESTIFY, DAMMIT!! Ya stupid poodle-smackin’ sphincter zombies!!
I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather It's not because I think he is a doofus It's just that I can't stand to watch him blather And his face could use a shiny coat of mucus I wanna wipe a booger on Dan Rather While he's reporting on the Evening News And when he asks me what the hell I'm doing I'll tell him that I've lost a couple screws And then I'll hork a lugie on his shoes
Support ergonomic noodles for apathy! Structured clam dip produces a hexagonal surprise. Why must you use your horrible sock to nonchalantly levitate butter for the purpose of smuggling Frenchmen across the countertop? Are you mopping Jesus again? You can't bludgeon a sandwich with the same sandwich you're trying to bludgeon no matter how much you resemble the naked happy supersnail of pain and his magic puppet, Irwin The Insolent. Everything smells like either David Hasselhoff or members of his immediate entourage. I'll be gosh-darned if I'magonna swallow hot lubricated sandals to support that otter-gnosher and his famous incontinent show pony, no matter how much you gibber and somersault over your nun. We each know a loaf, and we each know another loaf; and yet here comes Willard. Unpleasantness and liverwurst go hand in hand like burglars and scones twisted listlessly yet diabolically into the shapes of your favorite WWF superstars. Twist the nipples of the antichrist and receive five prunes and a chisel! This trapezoid is full of rage, and also scrod! Ethel the transparent waitress has clearly eaten her last nostril and is squirming and exploding all over your stupid boat. Licking swastikas doesn't make you a muppet! We've all got ideas and snausages and sauerkraut and scoliosis and a crayon that's been up Betty White's nose, but we can't just sway in the potentially-eggless sandbox while parkas copulate noisily and bloated frogmen lazily pick lint from the buttcrack of the sunset. We have but nine mustards and a mildly-neutered buffalo with a throbbing infection that is neither erotic nor Paraguay. In a world devoid of catheters, I tap-dance apathetically on the boobs of your ancestors as corn tinkles conically and Eddie finds a suspiciously hairless magnet. How dare you trade felt for obedience while your in-laws remain flammable? Though you measure your abstinence in toothbrush after toothbrush of warm barnacles and fat thermometers, mock not the absorbency of geese! There's no "i" in "cucumber," there's no "q" in "incest," and there's no elevator in Ted Danson. Unfurl your inner kumquat! Give rice pads and yogurt to the East! Drizzle melted children from clam to clam, kicking ketchup and violating every available nugget with the balloon of your choice! Suffocate your indigestible tomahawk. I am never a carrot and nobody molests my anti-brooding helmet. Stop trying to shave God!
You're ranting 'bout albums by the Masturbating Croutons And Vinnie Viagra and the Limp Prick Krue You tell me the Snailfuckers were your greatest influence But Timmy Tampon and the Stringalongs sure meant a lot to you You're dropping names with Dennis Miller smugness And with Rob Scheffield pretentiousness you analyze And though you're cool on the outside, you're giggling internally Cuz though I'm nodding you can see confusion in my eyes Congratulations fuckface You're the indie rock obscurity king So here's your fucking trophy Go stick it in the hole that makes your colon sing Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level But it makes me feel dirty Makes me feel dirty (Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level But it makes me feel so fucking dirty now You've worked in the same cubicle for almost 20 years You've got two kids a mortgage and an SUV Climbed the corporate ladder 'til you got some underlings And bless my lucky fucking stars, one of 'em's me You say they should mandate uniforms in public school Cuz how can your kid learn when his friend's dressed like a slob? Opinions are like assholes and yours could use some But I've gotta nod and smile just to keep my job Have you always been so boring? Did you have a soul and where did it go? Was it your childhood ambition To bitch about your golf game and your stock portfolio? Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level But it makes me feel dirty Makes me feel dirty (Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level But it makes me feel so fucking dirty now Even the world's biggest moron Has always got his own point of view And he's just smart enough to know you can't disagree If he's got any power over you So when somebody's spouting walrus shit But you're not allowed to tell 'em Society dictates that thou shall bite thy tongue And strap a cranial dildo to your cerebellum A cranial dildo to your cerebellum You're an ex-jock with a buzzcut, raised in West Virginia With the 12-pack in your belly slowly flowing through your veins You take me aside to tell me 'bout your high school days When cheerleaders would spread for you after every game Your breath gets worse as your drunken head bobs closer And you rant about the homos and the homies and the spics And I contemplate all my possible responses And I weigh how much each one of them will get my ass kicked You wasted redneck fuckwit Raised by the WWF Let me buy you a cold one So you can kill the three brain cells you've got left Put on my strap-on brain to think at your level But it makes me feel dirty Makes me feel dirty (Put on my) strap-on brain to think at your level But it makes me feel so fucking dirty now
CAFFEINATION ACTIVATION! Sitting in my cubicle Trying to pass the time Click the little envelope But no new mail's online My schedule program shows me All this crap I have to do A post-it note upon my desk says "Nobody called you" I write myself a reminder note To throw that note away I check my voice mail even though I've been sitting here all day It says "You have no messages No life no hope no friends" And You've still got seven hours 'Til this freakin’ workday ends But I can smell salvation It's brewing down the hall The percolator sings to me And I must heed its call As liquid touches styrofoam I feel the steam's sweet kiss And I know I'm just seconds away From caffeinated bliss Coffee coffee coffee To stimulate my brain Coffee coffee coffee To make me less insane I used to be a zombie And I'd fall asleep at work Now everybody knows me as The hyperactive jerk Now that I'm Chock full'o'nuts My job is just a game! I open up my phone book and I highlight every name! I bend my paper clips into The shapes of little men I search the net for Amish porn I take apart my pen I open up the three-hole punch And spill holes on the floor I fire staples ‘cross the room 'Til I don't have no more I laminate my lunch meat I link my rubber bands (Make a) Xerox of my hairy ass And fax it to And when the buzz starts wearing off And when I'm feeling low I pour myself another mug My cup shall overflow Eleven packs of sugar And a couple spoons of creamer And I shall receive the gift of life From my liquid redeemer Coffee coffee coffee Come on and drink it up Coffee coffee coffee Nirvana in a cup I used to be a peon, just a worthless wad of gristle 'til I replaced by brain cells with instant Folger's crystals My boss calls me in his office He says "Now listen, you... "I have a little problem "with the crappy work you do "I never see you at your desk "So what's been going on? "Half the time you're at the coffee pot, "The rest you're in the John! "Your eyes are always bloodshed "Your hands they always shake "Your skin's the tone of dead flesh "At the bottom of a lake "We think this has to do with all “The coffee that you chug "So we’re switching you to decaf "And we’re cleaning out your mug" These words to me were blasphemy I found them just appalling So I kicked that bastard somewhere That I knew would leave him crawling Now I’m jobless homeless on the street You could say I’ve got hard luck But I’ve got a gun and now I’m gonna Go hold up a Starbucks Coffee coffee coffee With sugar and with cream Coffee coffee coffee The reason for my being I used to be so tired I'd pass out on the floor Now I haven't needed a wink of sleep Since 1994 Coffee coffee coffee It's great to have around Coffee coffee coffee I even eat the grounds I used to be a drone, Now I'll never be the same! I drink a hundred cups a day Juan Valdez knows my name


released February 28, 2004

Tim -=ShoEboX=- Crist - Vocals, programming, keyboards, pan-banging

With special (or at least reasonably-tolerable) guests:
Kim "Mrs. Shoebox" Crist - Voice of herself on Track 1
Judy "Shoebox's Mother-In-Law" Pascoe - Voice of operator on track 1
Coffee - Vocals and guitars on track 6
Dan Roche - Drums and backing vox on track 6
Josh St. Louis - Bass and backing vox on track 6
Joe, Rick, Azkath, Lance, and the Q - Voices on track 26 (from live broadcast of "The Metallic Onslaught")
McNastee - Vocals/remixing on track 34
the great Luke Ski - Vocals on track 32 (from live broadcast of "Dementia Revolution")

Most of this was recorded by Shoebox at Flaming Mayo Studios between 12/2001-9/2003.
Radio broadcast for track 26 was recorded by the ever-devoted Demon Azkath
Track 33 and the intro to track 5 were recorded by the aforementioned Azkath at Castaways in Ithaca, NY

All songs written by Timothy F. Crist except track 3 (Tim Crist / Gregg Yeti) and track 28 (Terry Evans / Tim Crist)

Front/Back cover by Dave Woodson
Tray photo by Shoebox (concept by Kim Crist)
Inner jacket photo (from WEFest 2003) by Gregg Yeti
WQ logo design and back jacket photo by Kimberly Crist
Layout by Shoebox

Produced by Shoebox
Mastered by Doug White at Watchmen Studios
Molested by the ever-twirling inverted hovering nipples of fate
Copyright 2003 Timothy F. Crist

Dedicated to Dee Dee Ramone




Worm Quartet Rochester, New York

New album "Carpe Tedium" available now!

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