December 06, 2009: Commercial Christmas

LOLSCHACH's Journal: December 06, 2009:

According to children at the park, Christmas time is here. Happiness and cheers.
Lies.

Looked everywhere for meaning of Christmas. Macy's, Kohl's, Veidt-Mart. Nothing. Nothing except angry shoppers arguing over the last Tickle Me Knight Fowl. Purple Basketballs endorsed by Dr. Harlem were recently named by Sports Illustrated as the "it" gift for sports fans everywhere. All Veidt's doing. Bastard. Only comfort is in seeing his movie sitting on shelves, fully stocked and unwanted.

People can't even look LOLSCHACH in the face and wish a Merry Christmas! Instead, hear "Happy Holidays!" What holiday? Who has the power to intimidate people to wish a happy nondescript holiday? Have made list of possible suspects:

Jewish Ninjas?
Islamic Jihadists?
*Islam is a great and true religion revealed in the Holy Koran which was dictated by the angel Gabriel to the final prophet Mohammed, Blessing and Peace be upon him.*
The Meanest Man in Town?

Hurm. Must remember to investigate further.

Remember Christmas the way it used to be, the way it's supposed to be.

Sitting in front of television, watching Animated Christmas special. Green creature (Frankenstein?) attempted to steal Christmas from... can't remember who. Remember it being first case that inspired LOLSCHACH to become crime fighter. Looked forward to solving case and dishing out punishment. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Then MILFSCHACH threw a bottle of Christmas Juice at LOLSCHACH's head. Missed, broke television.

Curtains.

June 7, 2009: Video Games

May 23, 2009: Mother

LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 23, 2009:

Sentimentality. Dumb, foolish. Yes sometimes can't help but think about my life, my past, my mother, MILFSCHACH. Great woman. Well established.

Raised me alone after Father's demise. Courageous. Great cook. Remember her reaction to news of LOLSCHACH appearing as super hero.



Can't imagine what she would think of LOLSCHACH today. Continuing to be hero even after fellow adventurers are retired, fat, rich, or worse. Sure she would love it.

May 15, 2009: Childhood Nostalgia

LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 15, 2009

Lolschach is many things. "Nostalgic" is not one of them.

However, mind tends to wander from time to time, occasionally back to the days of my youth. Decent childhood. Efficient. No bells or whistles. Was fed, cleaned, clothed and given necessary provisions for survival. No child should ask for more. Those that do, the screaming spoiled wretches at the toy stores and the bawling sacks of excrement at Chuck E. Cheese's, they deserve a good paddling.

LOLSCHACH was not bad very often. Occasionally acted up. Hurm. Stupid brat. Failed. Failures I will never live down. Father put me in place. Taught me valuable lesson: unacceptable behavior requires extreme retaliation. Never made same mistakes twice. Shaped me into ideal, well-balanced adult male.

Father was patient as a saint. Never spanked LOLSCHACH. Did this, instead:


Father was a great man.

My mother, MILFSCHACH, cared for him deeply. She eventually stabbed him in the neck with a broken whiskey bottle, killing him. Still have not managed to rectify the first sentence with the second. Though I do recall photo father had framed on the mantle, taken during their honeymoon:


LOLSCHACH knows very little about love, though am pretty sure that mother and father embodied it completely.

April 09, 2009: 10th Birthday Party

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 09, 2009

Going through old journals. Reread them every so often. Perhaps find statement which meant nothing at time, but will strike me as clue now. Also bored. Simpsons not on until 7.

Find notebook labeled "LOLSCHACH: Year 10". Open it. Floodgates of nostalgia open wide. Swept away in riptide of memories like drunken teen going for midnight swim...

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LOLSCHACH's Journal: July 24, 1979

Turn 10 today. Big day. Very excited. Only two more years and will be same age as Jonny Quest. One year closer to amazing globe-trotting adventures with small dog and turbin-wearing brown person. Future looks promising.

Take bath. Dislike it. Feel water invading crevices and entryways of body. Cannot stop the invading fluid. Surrounding me. Drowning me. If not for rubber ducky, bathtime would be no fun at all.

Go downstairs. Tell mother "Good morning". Mother hurls half empty bottle of scotch at me. Pick up bottle. Drink breakfast. Mother's cooking is incomparable.
Tell Mother it is 10th birthday. She recalls day of my birth. Says large scar on forehead was caused by clothes-hanger in failed abortion. Also says reason LOLSCHACH is so ugly is due to fetus only being half-scrambled by doctor.

Funny. Mother tells best stories.

Go out. Hot summer day. Been saving pennies since January. Will use copper currency to procure ice cream from mobile frozen treat vendor. Walk to street corner and await Good Humor Man. Not here. Will be by sooner or later. Must wait.

Six hours pass. Sun beats down. Must be vigilant. Children ride bicycles past me. One sticks out tongue and razzes in my direction. No. Not on birthday. Not ever.

Leave post at street corner and dash toward child. Sees me coming. Attempts to peddle faster. Can't. Going uphill. Might as well be at stand still. Reach child and shove him off bicycle. Boy is crying. Threatening to tell older brother on me. Coward. Sissy. Stupid head.

Smash face against large nut on side of hydrant. Tell him to stick out tongue. Stuck tongue out at me before. Tongue must be punished. Boy refuses. Continue smashing face against hydrant. No teeth left. Nothing to protect tongue from vengeance of LOLSCHACH, now.

That sound.

Good Humor Man. Passing by street corner. No. Stupid. Preoccupation with insignifigant punk distracted me from initial purpose. Drop sobbing boy in pool of own blood, teeth and tears. Chase after ice cream truck with emptied Miller Lite can full of pennies held high.

Truck does not stop. Disappears over horizon. Ice cream is lost. For today.

Return home, defeated but not disheartened. Only Mother's cooking could salvage this birthday. Mother hurls bottle of schnapps at me. Pick up bottle. Drink dinner.



Despite setback, still enjoyed birthday. No presents. Presents are for greedy, fat, spoiled children. Why be rewarded simply for surviving another year? No. LOLSCHACH needs no presents. Needs no cake. Needs no party hats or streamers.

Knowledge that bully has been met with tooth-smashing justice only gift LOLSCHACH needs.

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LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 9, 2009

Recall 10th birthday well. Last pleasant memory.

Followed childhood dream of becoming Jonny Quest. Eventually became crimefighter and indulged in globe-trotting adventures with fat man, scantilly clad hooker, nude Herculean demigod and possible homosexual.

Not as exciting or fulfilling as in childhood fantasies. Lifetime of disappointment followed. Hurm. Time for Simpsons.

July 24, 1989: Atlanta, Georgia

From the Black Book of LUVSCHACH, July 24, 1989:


15 miles out, the pink VW van passes a faded sign at the side of the road. Three young blondes flash their ivory smiles. Looking for fun. Might get trouble instead.

Rev up my Chrysler. She's as big as a whale, big enough to seat about twenty. Midgets.

She and I, about to set sail down the Atlanta Highway, a concrete canal harboring hot-rod sirens calling vehicles to their impending doom. And all their jukebox money can't buy back what these harpies will take from them: can barely pay for the State to scrape their smashed carcasses from their twisted metal tombs.

Sign outside my hideout is clear: "Stay Away". Fools. The young blondes have heard the local rumors, try anyway. "Funky" old shack in the middle of a field, supposedly a secret hideaway for indulging in libidinous pleasures and acquainting licentious persons.

Park the Chrysler around the back and sneak behind my dumpster to take a look. The blondes look around my abode, intrigued with what they see. They are not the first. The trail of their lust stretches far and wide, miles of perfume and estrogen and pheromones and glitter. Glitter on the highway. Glitter on the front porch. Glitter in the hallway. Glitter on the mattress.

Go down into the basement, flip the levers in the power box to "off." Lights out. The screams of teenage girls fills the night sky, like a shack full of retarded children. Quickly I fly up the stairs, to the front door.

Bang the door. Keep banging. The whole shack shimmies. Wails of terror saturate the air and the thrill of the hunt sends shivers up my spine. I bang a little louder and the rusted tin roof accompanies the high pitched squeals within. The shabby tenement responds as if rattled by the blast of a bomb from a B-52.

"HEY! Cut that out, LUVSCHACH!" says one of my regulars, Dr. Miami. Infamous swinger known for his flower-patterned thong. Only thing he wears.

They form a small line outside, waiting to get in. "Disco" Dreiberg is there as well. So is "Swinger" Sally. They're all lining up outside, just to get down.

My home. My place of solitude. This is the place they all come to get together. It is a hot summer's day and this place is the hottest of all. Hot like an oven. There will be hugging and kissing and dancing and loving, dirty people wearing next to nothing. Everyone moving. Everyone grooving. Generosity cannot be compromised: in face of such immorality, the vomit rising up my throat is held back, the facade of a forced smile and "come in, dudes!" masks my displeasure.

"Vinyl" Veidt approaches, slaps me on the butt, winks. Hate him. Charge him $2 extra admission.

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LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 2, 2009

Interest in family genealogy led LOLSCHACH to chronicles of my ancestors. From the journal of my uncle, LUVSCHACH. Possibly had indecent relationship with my mother, MILFSCHACH. Embarrassing stain on family heritage. Do not wish to investigate further.