| As many of our readers and guests know, Carl Hopper was the official H2KP lighting technician. He was also generous enough to provide objective reviews of every H2KP show. On October 15th, 2005, Carl passed away. He was 78 years old. That day we lost a great, if cantankerous lighting technician, and we also lost a friend. That friend's name was Lenny Roofman, who also died on October 15th. Lenny was pretty fat so it's not terribly surprising that he died. As for Carl , he was killed by wolves, we think. Not sure. His obit was pretty vague, and Peg was never much of a straight-shooter with regards to information. In his absence, and in the interest of brevity, we'll just summarize each H2KP show with an elegant haiku and some pictures. Enjoy. April 25th, 2007: "World Records" March 28th, 2007 February 28th, 2007: "I Coulda Been Someone" January 20-somethingth, 2007: "Happy Cruelty Day" Book Release Party November 26th, 2006: "Writers from Late Night with Conan O'Brien October 25th, 2006: "Scare City!" September 27th, 2006: "H2KP Lives Dangerously
Above Its Means" July 26th, 2006: "H2KP Stays up Late" June 28th, 2006: "H2KP Hopes You Get Sick" May 30th, 2006: "Heroes vs. Villains" April 26th, 2006: "Total Annihilation" March 30th, 2006: "Hawaiian Shirt Day" January 30th, 2006: "Dancetopia Supermixx" October26th, 2005: "H2KP Sleeps with the Lights
On" September 30th, 2005: "The First Day of the
Rest of My Life" Course it was downhill from there. Where do I begin? Well, first we got some wino and masturbation chatter from a tall drink of water, name of Roger McHale. If I were keeping score on this show, I'd say it was masturbation 250; information zip. Next up, the mumbly one with a story about living in a skid row hotel that I pray wasn't true, though if it were I suppose that would explain quite a bit about the author – for one, the smell of syphilitic rot every time he's around. When he got offstage, and the audience was revived with smelling salts, up comes Don Kenneally, who makes Mumbles sound like Dutch Reagan. I hope his chest found his story amusing, because he delivered the whole G-darn thing directly into it. He's followed by Leo Agnew who decided to up the masturbation ante once again, and had the nerve to thank The Korean Conflict. I had half a mind to step down from my booth and throttle that young man. Lucky for him, my good leg had already fallen asleep by then, and the rest of me was soon to follow because – guess what? – one more dose of Stupid from the Bearded one. Here he was, pretending he was a good working stiff, talking about his job as a carny, when you could tell just by looking at him that he ain't seen an honest day's work since he stopped giving his scoutmaster free back rubs for merit badges. I do apologize if my tone is getting a little blue. Meg's got
the dropsy and she just ain't been the same since. As a result,
my hands are pretty full, and I'm at my wit's end. Now if you'll
excuse me, I've got a mustard plaster to prepare so if it's all
the same to you, I'll leave you to your own devices. G'night. August 31st, 2005: "Missed Connections" I'll make this quick since I still gotta scrub myself with a
wire brush before hitting the hay. The show starts off with some
poor schlub talking about how he ordered some girl up from the
internets and how he's gonna sit on stage waiting for her to show
up. Riveting! Right after that, Bob and Todd come out to show
everybody pictures of man parts. July 27th, 2005: "To the Max!!" Naturally, the boys made everyone feel right at home by making an awkward hello, then scampering away to the dressing room to fuel up on goofballs and screaming meanies while the audience got themself subjected to all kinds of home-made video tortures. I didn't know what to make of it, but I did recognize a clip from one of Peg's favorite films, GYMKATA. Man, that youngster can work a pummel horse. The audience took to that film like it was home movie footage from the Dresden bombings. Then the mumbly one came out and read three stories, one after the other. There was one about a girl what could fly while making the love act and two others that put me down faster than a truncheon coming down hard between the shoulder blades. Once that mess went away, miss Allison Consuego got up and boy if she wasn't a real firecracker. Just five feet of piss and vinegar. If I can speak my mind for a moment as a decorated veteran, I will say I wasn't keen on all of her British-baiting. Not my style to leave a dump on the doorstep of the coalition of the willing, is all. Save that kind of negative chatter for the French. Up next was Dusty Ward, who was just a real delight. His can-do spirit – training for a triathaon – reminded me of a younger version of myself. Not for nothing, but I ran in the 1942 Kissimee Sand-athalon. Hauled a sack of sand 2 and a half miles uphill. Now I'm getting sentimental... Dusty was replaced by Mary Maiden, another charmer but a bit
of a scaredy cat for my taste. That said, she looked like G. Gordon
Liddy on a rathunt compared to the prissified tales of Mr. Levine.
I have shown a certain amount of restraint on this site, mostly
out of respect to the women readers, but G-darnit I have to say
it: that Jewish kid is 80% fag and 30% queer. YES I KNOW IT EQUALS
110% but I'm making a point here. And that point is, I'm submitting
a request for double-pay next month.
June 29th, 2005: "Stay Gold, Ponyboy" "A pre-emptive strike from the critics!" I shouted. They didn't laugh, but I sure did. Tonight's show was called "Stay Gold, Ponyboy." I made the mistake of asking them what it meant. It's always a mistake to ask these boys for anything but cash up front. "Youth," they told me. "Innocence." Drugs, I thought. Drugs and free rides was what I was planning on hearing all about. What are a couple of overgrown babies born soft doing writing about youth? Work a day or two maybe, then you can earn some nostalgia rights. Up top, our world-weary and poorly washed hosts started in with a film strip teaching kids how to go and collect their dead. I teared up a bit. Almost to the letter, it was just like the pamphlets they handed out when I was in grade school. For the first time, these punks had reached me. And then they lost me. The Jewish one first showed us a bunch of movie posters, then he read what he claimed was his commencement speech for a special school. Dream on, I thought. They might let you sell lemonade, Corky. But don't buy the frame for that honorary doctorate any time soon. Next up came the shortest little tramp I ever did see. Called herself Amanda Nelson. She basically just listed the 80 or so fellas she'd gone around the block with. If I had me a stone I would'a thrown it. After her was a tall fella name of Tom Shoes. Minute I laid eyes on him I wanted to applaud. "This here's the way a man is supposed to present himself," I thought. Then he started in with the same kind of potty mouth as the rest of them and I said a prayer for the whole generation. Right after that came a longhair named Jon Corncob. They must've named him at the commune. Corncob talked about how he still wets the bed. Now I'll admit that lately I've been having a few more accidents than usual, but I'm not gonna say that into a microphone for Pete's sake. Shitmouth was up next. Read a story about how he can't talk to girls. Girls are pretty lucky in that regard I guess. Finally, another longhair name of Walter Solo Humidor came out
and sang some songs about going nowhere in life. I hope everyone
in the show chipped in to get this guy to write them a theme song,
cause he'd hit it right on the money with this crowd. May 25th, 2005: "2049 A.D." I can’t even try to understand what variety of calamity was happening at the top of the show. They assured us they were interviewing a man from the future, but he looked more like the one-eyed rooster boy that we used to pay a nickel to see every summer at the traveling sideshow. And, just like that rooster boy, I wanted to chuck gravel at this fella. Then all of a sudden it’s Mumbles up there, talking about using a time machine to pleasure himself at the sight of him pleasuring himself. What I understood of it I didn’t very much like, so it’s a fine thing I didn’t understand much at all. He’s followed by his own kid, Nick Krome (?), who makes about half as much sense as Mumbles and then has the nerve to toss a photo likeness of Tom Selleck to the floor. Good thing I don’t hit ladies. And if that wasn’t enough, out comes Don Cromin, who “entertains” the kids by playing a song by the name of “Space Pussy.” Anders Derbyshire was next and, apart from being drunk near-retarded,
finally made a bit of sense in all of this mess. But what little
order he restored was desecrated by The Jewish One confessing
to G-knows-what, whilst trying to convince the audience he’d
been stuck inside one of them bleepy Atari contraption boxes.
That night I dreamed about a gas leak in my home, and it’s
the best I’ve slept in months. So there’s that, I
guess.
They said they were kidding when I called to tell them no way in hell would I be climbing up into that booth. Coming from these two, "worst show we've ever done" can only mean "you're gonna wanna sear your eyeballs black after this one." But they cried like sissies, "No! No! It's just a funny show title." Just to be safe, I made them triple my pay. $2,250 wasn't worth this kind of pain. They hooked me in early when they showed a video of the filthy one with a gun pointed at his head. My heart leapt with the thought, "Is it a live feed?" No dice. It wasn't long before the Jewish one came on screen prancing around in his sister's aerobics uniform pretending to be a kitty. I was glad I took the precaution of not eating beforehand, especially when in the last scene I saw the both of these lady-boys standing there in their underpants and screaming so loud you'd have thought they were the ones being forced to watch this nightmare. Since then I've done some screaming myself. Usually around 3 AM, I just sit bolt upright and start wailing like I was being ripped apart. After the videos it was business as usual. The Jewish one talked about how much he wanted to watch his buddy get naked. Save it for the parade Maryann. After him came a pretty lady I saw before name of Colleen. She told a funny story about going up on stage with no reason to be there. Everyone could tell she was talking about the Todd and Bob, but no one said nothing. And those two laughed so hard they probably had no idea. Next came another fella I saw before. Chris Reagan. The hair on this kid! These days, the kids are killing each other for their sneakers, but in my day this kid wouldn't have gotten ten blocks before someone tried to scalp him for that top. He talked about touching himself in front of his school. Next came Shitmouth. He talked about a night when everyone in the audience got up and spit in his face. I couldn't believe it had only happened the once. Finally a little guy named Todd Barry got up there and tried
to get everyone to laugh at some poor lady's dead daughter.
March 30th, 2005: "Best Friends Forever" That said, I have only flashes of memory on this one. There was one young girl – I think her name was Blurry Dunleavy – and she played funeral music then talked about naked girls jumping on a bed or some such. She was followed by Mark Alba and his condescending flip-flap fiction. Next up, I vomited into my vest pocket. Then Citrus Williams read a denouncement of the sacred institution of marriage. Where do they find these guests? Are they trawling Communist pubs and dissident internment camps? Thank goodness my sweet Peg wasn't here for this. I don't think she has the constitution for it, frankly. And if that weren't enough, here's what The Short and Curlies
did to us: the mumbly one tells a story about removing the feeding
tube of your best friend so you can fiddle around with his best
gal, and the Jewish one spends a good half-hour jawing about making
water in a dirty beer bottle with a pack of his buddies. Well,
at least there was something I could relate to tonight.
As for the rest of it – I wouldn't wish it on the guiltiest
Korean Warlord.
February 23rd, 2005: "Funny Pages" I was mistaken. The girls started off promising, showing some strips that I'd enjoyed before, including a typically on-target Mallard Fillmore. Then the Goldberg read from a book report that he wrote when he was ten. No better and no worse than what I usually have to hear from that one. After him came a lady with a Kermit voice who drew herself a whole bunch of comics about a monster named Myrrh. The crowd sure enjoyed what she was showing them, but I couldn't make head or tail of the whole thing. Right after her a little pipsqueak who made us all look at 3D photos of his Bar Mitzvah, which by how old he looked probably took place about a week ago. I couldn't watch for too long before those 3D glasses started to aggravate the shrapnel in my head something awful. 3D glasses and Sitar music, the two things that make me feel like I'm gonna bleed out my eye-sockets. The mumbling one got up after that and showed drawings about a working girl who goes cannibal. It's been a year now that I've had to listen to the filth that this son of a bitch has to offer and that's one year too long. One day I'm gonna smack that mouth of his clean off his skull. Finally, a twitchy fella by the name of Everett Dork showed a comic strip he drew about when the stuff in his fridge came to life and started attacking people. It's drugs. All of them, their minds are rot. So it's been a year and I'm still in that G-Damn tech booth.
If after that first show you had told me I'd still be working
for these two nitwits a year later I would have walked outside
and jumped in front of the nearest city bus. But until those fools
at the V.A. hospital get my bills sent to the right desk jockey,
I can't be turning down any extra cash. Might not be till the
very end, but I gotta have me some dignity coming my way. I gotta,
right?
And what an idea of class they had. First up they showed a slide show about a bunch of immigrant Nancy Boys who were looking for dates. Then the one with the lisp starts in with the hard sell trying to get folks to have relations with his wife while he watched. My Peg and I have been around for a few decades longer than this little spit has, and from experience, if he thinks that's gonna be "classy," by eureka is he in for a rude awakening. Around the time he finished up his infomercial for filth was when I knew I couldn't feel nothing below the knees. Following him, some angry kid named Leon from Holland starts shouting about trying to get a ladyfriend to hand over her goods in a crowded barracks after lights out. I fought alongside some boys from Holland in the war, and this kid made me just as nervous. Next up was an anatomy teacher talking for ten minutes about what the John Thomas of a frog looks like. Pretty classy. I'm wondering why they don't just read straight outta Hustler. It was around then when the cold had slowed the blood to my head and I started going in and out of consciousness. I had to bite my tongue to stay awake for my cues. Next up is the Rosenstein, and he's got a story about trying
to make friends with a bum who likes to cave in people's heads
with a brick. I waited with bated breath (which I could see) to
hear how this kid ended up with a slab of concrete in his skull,
but there would be no dessert for me that night. Finally, we wall
watch some girl named Simba talk to herself while she played the
guitar. Classy, boys. Classy. When she was done the numbness in
my extremities tricked my balance and I fell plum off the stool.
It's been a long convalescence, but I felt my toes this morning.– and
I've got my Peg to thank for that. November 17th, 2004: "I Am Not A Mistake" I just don't see the point in parading out a bunch of actors – I seen better acting on "Monster Garage" if you gotta know – in matching t-shirts and then making them cuss and slap each other around a Thanksgiving table, while the Jewish One and the Mumbly One sit back and laugh. If that weren't enough, then the Jewish kid tells a story about his mom hanging out with gang-bangers or hosting a gang-bang or some such thing. I wasn't listening, partly because I was busy flipping through the new Cabela's hunting catalog for some Scrape Juice refills, and partly because I just hate that kid. Things improved slightly –the way dry leprosy would be an improvement over wet leprosy, I suppose –when Mark Daffodil told everyone he was nearly a bastard. More fun and games came when Lara Buckles accused her parents of being lying, cheating trash-pickers, and Rebessica Woods copped to her mother being a naturalist and a racist. That's a fine thank-you-very-much these parents get for cleaning up your hot craps until you were five years old. (eleven years old if you were my sister, Janice, bless her simple heart) But what can you expect from a pair of hosts who think "Suck my balls!" is an appetizer for a night of readings. Oh yeah, let's not forget the Pasty One and his made-up story
about a young airborne ranger who gets his heart broken and has
to ride a train all by himself. Is this what passes for struggle
today? I remember getting a kneecap shot off by Koreans and I
still had to share a Medi-Truck with fifteen other wounded vets.
We didn't complain a bit. In fact, I never used to complain about
a g-darn thing until I started working on this show. Fifteen more
payments until that Airstream camper is mine, and then it's quitsville
for me. Give me strength, Peg. October 27th, 2004: "Oh My God It's Dracula!" As best as I could tell, the show began with the Jewish One and the Mumbly One engaged in some kinda monster story reading contest, but the only thing I found scary was that chalky-colored fella officiating things with all his hip-hop talking. Keep the foul language for the barracks, where it belongs. So, next up Mumbles starts screeching about leafy monsters, murder-crazed teenagers, and deadbeat dads. His parents – sitting right in the front row! – must be proud. And judging by their expressions throughout the show, I think they must also be dead. Then Marbles introduces Rick Dunstrut, who giggles and screeches his way through some kinda tribute to serial killers. Save it for death row! Next up is Sarah Tire and, by Odin's sores, did she stir up a mess of nasty. By the time she got to "piss-starched pubic hair," I was daydreaming about the relative calm of Hamhung, North Korea. When she was done – and we were all done at this point – she brings up a guy covered in human blood who also sings showtunes. Finally, something I can get behind. But G-damn if the show ended there, maybe we coulda preserved
some dignity. But the Jewish one decides to ruin it by talking
about "Zombie Christmas" and covering the stage in Barbasol.
I've seen hurricanes with more respect for private property. Way
to go, boys!
September 29th, 2004: "Faith-Based Initiatives" First the little jew one waddles out there in his nightie, stuffing
his Then, after the mumbly one inspires him with some stories about a crybaby who had to cut his own arm off to get home in time for dinner, the Jew gets cleaned up and starts praying to God not to give him a retarded baby. I’m not the most religious guy but I figure prayers like that the Man Upstairs kind of mad. Why has smiting fallen so far out of fashion? I thought things would get cleaner when the next guy got onstage and said he was a Christian. But when he opened up his mouth only filth fell out. All this stuff about turning tricks in cabs and giving men oral pleasure for rent money. It was at that point I put my head down and tried to will myself to die. Then a sweet looking girl named Nelson Amandela came out. She looked pretty innocent ‘till she started going on about how erotic Jesus camp was. Brrr. She was followed by a funny feller named Cletus McChapman comes out talking about learning in school how scary women’s genitals are. Well, it don’t take a guidance counselor to figure out that boy’s problem. Then the tall one came back out and read more trash about how whenever he would mouth pleasure his lady he’d see a home movie in her cunny. That’s not so special. I ain’t onstage bragging about it, but every time I satisfy my sweet Peg, I close my eyes and see the last scene from the Poseidon Adventure.
August 25th, 2004: "Summer Girl" I shut my eyes but I could still hear the tall mumbly one reading more filth about people taking off their clothes. I was about to walk out like the time Peg got us tickets to see Hair to celebrate my graduation from barber school. We saw some hair alright, and not only the upstairs variety. When I opened my eyes, there was some shifty, convict-looking fellow named Johnny Corncob reading how he stalked a waitress. Real sick stuff. Next, a sweet little girl in glasses named Miriam Abromotwitz came out and told us how she used to go door to door selling girl scout cookies for Jesus or some such. Right on the heels of that Hosannah talk, two full grown men came out and sang some nonsense about mice testicles. Made me wish they’d bring back the draft. Finally, the Jewish one came out and read a bunch of made up nonsense about a sort of reverse polio that keeps the ladies away from your male member. I think I've heard of this affliction; it's called "queeritis." After the show, I tried to play that shiny record they gave
everyone on my RCA set but I put then needle down and only a hideous
scratching sound came out. Now I know what lunatics listen to.
July 28th, 2004: "How to Kick People Goes to Hawaii"
June 30th, 2004: "The Valedictory Show" First they bring up a mess of high school valedictorians and ask them a buncha questions that my 5 year old grandson could’ve answered. I didn’t see any limos dropping those geniuses off so I guess being a valedictorian don’t amount to much in the real world. The one with the hair went first and told some real sick-o story about having a crush on a serial killer girl, the whole time clutching the mike and swaying around like he had some sort of palsy. Then out trots Missy Klein who starts bragging about being valedictorian of kindergarten. Her parents must be proud. She's followed by one Reagan’s sons and, frankly, I get a little misty because I think this was gonna be some sort of tribute, but instead he whines out some sob story about being a nerd in high school who never got girls. Color me surprised. Then Teddy Kennedy went on and on with some G-damn foolishness about a badger in love with an eagle. It was about then that I went numb, knees-down, and the audience went numb, neck-up. Finally the Jewish one flits out there and spent upwards of 10 minutes talking about his keyster. Says he's scared of a woman grabbing his ass. All I’m gonna say about that is: I rest my case. At the end of the show they handed out these jokeshop diplomas. Shame on them for trying to a trick an old man. That settles it: I’m gonna go out and get my GED this year. Then we’ll see who’s so smart.
Finally, the bigger one of the nimrod twins came back out and read something about being a gondola rider holdin’ two people captive. Luckily I was drunk enough to not hear most of it. Brought up the music once again andd the two retards twitched around like they were havin' a seizure all the way off the stage.
April 28th, 2004: "Kittens!" March 31st, 2004: "Dead People I Know" So here's what I remember. The two kids with the hair told a story about a dead guy, and I didn't really follow. The pale one talked forever, while the Jew kinda nodded as if this was the first time he'd heard the yarn. Whoopee. Then blackout – me, not the lights. When I came to, the Jewish kid was making everyone watch an episode of The Price is Right. Is this what passes as art these days? When I was a kid you had to do something original, like paint a picture of a mermaid or such. Then he introduces this girl, couldn't have been more than eight years old, judging by her height. She talked about her therapist up and dying on her. It's a lousy shame when a tiny girl like that needs therapy. I remember when a firm threat and a hickory switch was all therapying a child would need. After she reads, there's a blackout – the lights, not me. I spent the break vomiting. Next up the kids with the hair made a goddamn funeral urn tell a story, but that might have been a psychotic episode brought on by the Pimm's/Doans cocktail. Dunno. Then Colleen(?) read a story, and made all kinds of crazy voices during it. I liked that, but I thought she was filled with ghosts. She introduced the pale kid with the foul mouth and, after another blackout – the lights, and me – he told a story while the Jewish one worked a slide machine. The story was a little too artsy but the pictures on the slides were drawn by a retarded kid, I think, so that balanced out the presentation. After that there were jellybeans.
February
25th, 2004: "Out of the Womb"
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