April 20, 1955: The Ballad of Wild Willy Warschach

"The Ballad of Wild Willy Warschach" by Davey 'the Dude' Dreiberg. Released on Columbia Records, April 20, 1955.


It was the dead of night and beneath moonlight, Warschach was cuttin' loose.
This feller, he never compromised, cuz only cowards make a truce.

Off he rode in the bitter cold, over hills 'n 'cross the plains.
Been ridin' straight two days 'n' nights, grippin' hard down on the reigns.

Just why he did, well it's been said, Warschach had a score to settle.
'Gainst some cuss named Nikola Veidt, who'd dared to test his mettle.

Now it's a fact, that feller Warschach, never backed down from a fight.
He'd hunt that polecat Veidt on down 'n teach him wrong from right.

'N teach him wrong from right.

Warschach! The name's Warschach!
Don't know it? Well then, son, you'd better learn!
Cuz Warschach! Yes, Warschach!
He can tear you down with nothin' but a "Hurm"!

Well it's the truth, says my aunt Ruth, so you listen well 'n good.
Warschach's persistence, it paid off, when he caught up to that hood.

Veidt was a man who had a plan to save the Wild West,
By blowin' up the towns 'n farms 'n make a heapin' mess!

The dude was nuts, but had some guts to threaten Wild Willy Warshach.
He figured himself the best there was 'n proclaimed it matter-of-fact.

But Warschach was no fool 'n kept his cool in the face of certain death.
He'd fight that ornery Veidt all night, even to his dyin' breath.

Even to his dyin' breath.

Warschach! The name's Warschach!
A tougher man the West had never seen!
Warschach! That's Warschach!
As ugly as his attitude was mean!

With his quarry met 'n of little threat, Warschach clenched both his fists.
When he was done, there'd be nothin' left, but a haze of bloody mist.

Now Veidt tweren't scared 'n came prepared, cuz he had a jaw made outta wicker.
He'd teamed up with some kinda freak; a glowin' blue city slicker!

This big blue man with the glowin' tan was naked as the day he was born,
'N with nothin' but the wave of his hand, he left Warschach ripped 'n torn!

Just like I said, Warschach was dead, in the blink of a heifer's eye,
But dyin' didn't bug him none, 'n let me tell you why.

'N let me tell you why.

Cuz Warschach! Yes, Warschach!
Looked the Reaper square between the eyes!
'N Warschach! That Warschach!
He still refused to ever compromise!

YEE-HAW!
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LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 22, 2009

Attempts to suppress existence of ancestor, Wild Willy Warschach, may prove to be impossible. Chart-topping ballad from 1955 has ensured his place in country music history.

Will never forgive Dreiberg bloodline for this. Never.

April 29, 2009: Day Off

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 29, 2009

Busy few weeks. Need some time off. Recuperate back to peak crime-fighting condition. Acquire nachos.

Head to grocery store. Wednesday morning. Snivelling brats are in school. Soulless corporate zombies are at work. Only the elderly stand between LOLSCHACH and free reign of the super market.

Sight liver-spotted codger hobbling slowly-but-surely toward the store's single motorized shopping cart. Must get there before he does. Motorized shopping carts are entertaining to operate. Sprint. Shove senile old man to the ground. Pile into cart and hit ignition switch. Old man is screaming at me from the floor, "Dang-blast it you damn punk!" Tell him to go crawl in a coffin and die. Grab his cane and drive off with it. He'll never catch me, now.

First stop: Cereal Aisle. No store seems to carry Quisp anymore. Disappointing. Continue browsing. Stumble across unanticipated horror nestled between Honeycomb and Cocoa Krispies.

Damn Veidt. Selling LOLSCHACH's likeness. Hate him. Lose appetite for sugary, nutritionless corn-puffed styrafoam. Decide to just fill bowl with Betty Crocker fruit snacks and receive 700% of daily vitamin C requirement. Perhaps top it off with a bottle or two of Flintstones chewable vitamins.

Remainder of shopping experience uneventful. Make it home in time for banjo practice. No one must ever know.

April 02, 2009: Veidt's Music

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 02, 2009:

Returned from Chocovania. Battle with monsters. Fun stuff. Wears one out. Normal person would rest, eat Cheetos in front of television blaring Abercrombie models attempting to sing, pleasure self, call it a night. LOLSCHACH not a normal person.

The wind howled through the empty streets begging me to join it. Could not resist. Make rounds. Happy Harry's deserted. Rumor that I'm back in town perhaps? Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly -- no, must stop. Sounding like sadistic pederast. Hurm.

Then recall last visit to Veidt's. Pissed him off. Liked that. I will go to the world's smartest man's apartment and confirm once and for all his homosexuality.

See Veidt has replaced all windows since last visit. If I ever smiled, I would now. Smash through one, satisfied by the crash of glass. Sounds like symphony to ears.

Adjust to surroundings. Veidt rearranged. No doubt did interior decorating himself. Look through new bookshelf. See CD collection. Start investigating. Ricky Martin. Melissa Etheridge. k.d. lang. George Michael. NSYNC. Then something horrible.


Queen?

Queen. Ehhh. Odd. Other CDs would confirm suspicions of Veidt. But Queen?

Remember old days. Riding in Owl Ship with Dreiberg. "We Will Rock You" blaring through speakers. Knocking around Moloch. Good times. Dreiberg always played "We Are The Champions" on return flight. Sometimes Dreiberg played "Fat Bottomed Girls". Hated that. Ironic Dreiberg would like song with "fat" in title.

Should not be surprised. Remember time when Veidt tagged along. Played "Flash Gordon" theme song at high volume. Sang along. Dreiberg had to restrain me from dropping him from altitude of 15,000 feet.

This new development brings doubt into Veidt theory. Anyone who likes Queen cannot possibly be homosexual.

Fire grapple gun through new skylight. Glass shatters down onto carpet. Like soft rain on the city's rooftops. Exit Veidt's. Go home. Put on Greatest Hits. Will rock me.