getting the band back together is proving difficult

Come on in, kids. It's your old friend, The Haiku Master, but I'm feeling a little glum... 'cause I'm having very little luck getting firm commitments to future adventures from formerly staunch Haiku International agents and associates!

I know, I can hardly believe it myself! The nerve of those bums -- now I know how Jesus felt in the garden of Gethsemane! At any rate, here's a run-down of what some of the more notable ones say they're too busy doing to help me out if I find myself in a pinch:

• Paulo: Running a cockfighting academy in Pescados Muertos, Mexico. Think Han's island in Enter the Dragon, only replace "Han" with "Paulo," "island" with "bombed-out Mexican village," and "kung fu" with "cockfighting," and you'll get the idea.

• Professor de la Groove: Doing tantric research aboard the International Space Station, along with some call girls and his assistants Ralphus and Malphus. Not scheduled to return to Earth until mid-2007.


Ralphus







Malphus







• Texas Kelly: Managing an up-and-coming "boy band" down in Austin, TX, with the help of his longtime sidekick/Bizarro Bush clone, Dubya. He says the band, Young Taint, has superstardom in their grasp, and he can't leave them alone at this juncture without fear of some other manager stealing them away.

Dubya







• Angelina Jolie: Bitch shacked up with Brad Pitt, in case you hadn't heard. Pitt can have my sloppy seconds for all I care -- I've got my eye on Scarlett Johansson these days, anyway. Besides, I've never viewed a houseful of adopted street urchins as desireable.

So there you have it. Good thing the Haiku-Bot and new H.I. operative Brother Ko are onhand to get my back if things get hairy. Ooh, not to mention the Haiku Street Irregulars. I wonder what those scamps are up to, anyway? Guess I'll leave a bottle of hooch out by the trash cans and see how many show up. Those kids sure love their liquor.

Best,

fistful of robotic fist

What's happening, folks? It's me, The Haiku Master, and I'm pleased to report that my Mirror Universe counterpart has been run out of town... and it's all thanks to my robotic man-servant, the Haiku-Bot!!

The Haiku-Bot

That's right! See, after wrapping up last night's post, I called H.B. into Castle Haiku's stately library and laid out the situation for him: my evil opposite, Chuck E. Cheese, the arm-wrestling challenge, etc.

"Bzzt," it said. "I see Mr., The Haiku Master sir your. Problem is a lack, of wrist-grappling ability combined, with questionable forearm. Strength. Correct?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "What you said. I think."

"Bzzt. Here watch, this," it said, handing me a dusty VHS tape.

"This being..?"

"Over the, Top a 19, 87 Sylvester Stallone film focusing, on arm-wrestling."

Over The Top: It's No Rocky

"Oh. Well, what are you going to do while I'm watching this?"

"Bzzt. I am going to, construct an arm-length exo, skeleton made, from titanium but indistinguishable, from your real arm which, will ensure you victory in, tonight's. Contest."

H.B. was as good as his word, and by the time I'd finished watching the saga of struggling trucker Lincoln Hawk and his foray into the dangerous world of professional arm-wrestling, the exoskeleton was ready.

Now that I think about it, though, I'm going to wait 'til tomorrow to tell you how things went down at Chuck E. Cheese. Mostly because Santo and Blue Demon just showed up with a car-full of tequila and senoritas. Catch you later, non-rhyming poetry fanatics!

Best,

the goose is getting fat

Howdy, 'ku believers! It's me, The Haiku Master, with a friendly reminder that December 23 is right around the proverbial corner -- meaning there's just 16 shopping days left 'til the happiest day of the year, Festivus!!!

Castle Haiku's Festivus Pole

Feats of Strength! Airing of Grievances! The Festivus Pole! And best of all, more presents than you can shake a stick at! Speaking of which, I'm sure a number of you have rightfully included me on your gift lists -- for which you have the Sultan of Syllables' eternal gratitude! To help you make what shall surely be one of your toughest present-buying decisions (after all, what does one get for the high-profile celebrity crimefighter who has everything?), I present the following list of items that are always welcome at Castle Haiku:

1) Whiskey
2) Snack Cakes (preferably Hostess)
3) Whiskey
4) Sausage Pizza
5) Whiskey
6) Fine Cuban Tobacco
7) Whiskey
8) Expensive Prostitutes
9) Whiskey
10) Hai Karate Aftershave

There you have it folks; a surefire way to ensure a nice thank-you card from yours truly at some point after the holidays, but probably not before March 13th! And if you'd like to learn more about the Festivus for the Rest of Us, be sure to visit http://www.seinfeld-fan.net/festivus.php. Tell 'em The Haiku Master sent you!

Best,

road to victory #1: broncos at dolphins

Get ready to celebrate, adventure-lovers! It's me, The Haiku Master, pleased to introduce the newest fangle to the one, true Haiku International "blog": live coverage of the world's greatest football team, The Miami Dolphins, on their march to a well-deserved berth in this year's Super Bowl XL!*

The Haiku Master's Ready For Some Football, Dolphins-Style

The 'Phins' offense is on the field right now, so I have to glue myself to Castle Haiku's high-tech bank of Sony Trinitrons. Fear not, I'll keep you updated on all the action!

* That's "Forty," for those of you who don't speak binary.
------------------------
1:25 p.m.

A 61-yard run! Made by wideout Chris Chambers! Why the hell is the wideout playing running back? Either way, good job!

------------------------
1:32 p.m.

There's NO HONOR in field goals!! True enough, my beloved 'Phins have drawn first blood, but too many field goals is one of many reasons why former coach Dave "Fraud" Wannstedt was run out of town on a rail. The current administration would do well to keep that in mind.

Dave Wannstedt: The Only Football Coach Endorsed By Chumps And Fools

------------------------
1:37 p.m.

Current Score: Dolphins 3, Broncos 0. Zip. Nada! Zilch! The Big Kumquat!

Just making sure we're all on the same page.

------------------------
1:42 p.m.

Another Dolphin penalty? This is a football team, not a goddamned dude ranch; Saban better crack the whip if this keeps up! Of course, wideout Marty Booker just pulled in a 10-yard reception, so all is forgiven... this time.

Ah, and here comes a powerful first down off the increasingly productive Frerotte/Chambers connection -- the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 is beginning to like what he sees!

But then, just as I go to hit the "publish" button, the 'Phins stumble to their third pre-snap penalty! Tighten it up, you yahoos!!

Okay, first quarter's up; still Dolphins 3, Broncos 0. Eat it, Shanahan!

------------------------
1:48 p.m.

Looking good, Gus: 10-13 for 92 yards and no interceptions. Fiedler's not fit to carry your cleats!

Gus Frerotte: The First "R" Is Silent, And Therefore Useless

And we're inside the 20. Why does this Champ Bailey ruffian keep giving us so much grief? Mayhaps a John Kreese-style "sweep the leg" commandment is in order... no no, stay calm. Must avoid the penalty. Keep it tight in there, Saban: tight, and at the same time loose. This is no time for mistakes. Not now that we're in the Red Zone.

It's the shotgun for Frerotte... only to be foiled by a fourth pre-snap penalty! I've had enough of that; if Saban can't put a lid on it, I may be forced to fly the Haiku Plane down to Miami to set things straight!

Gah! Even as I make my threat, a fifth penalty! Unfathomable! Feeling faint... sound of calliope music filling the air. Six penalties altogether! Six!

Now, Frerotte incomplete to Chambers -- nearly intercepted! No, the quarterback can't be frazzled already. Not this early in the game!

So we come to a second field goal. It's up off Olindo Mare's experienced foot... and it's good! Dolphins 6, Broncos a pathetic 0.

Still, that's a slim margin for error. There's no room for excuses in the red zone. Get it together you monkeys!

------------------------
1:56 p.m.

Ha ha, Denver "QB" Jake Plummer hasn't netted a passing yard all game. What a mook!

------------------------
1:58 p.m.

Very strange. A commercial just featured noted football expert John Madden stating that the Patriots play their home games in "Bean Town." No wonder they tell people they're from the more generic New England.

------------------------
2:00 p.m.

And the Broncos go three-and-out once more, without creating so much as an iota of excitement. It's like they've hired Wannstedt to tell Shanny what to do.

------------------------
2:03 p.m.

Dolphins at their 45... Frerotte with the fake, and deep to Chambers! But no, incomplete.

Frerotte...pressured...no! No! Interception! It's Bailey again! Sweep Bailey's leg! For god's sake sweep Bailey's leg!

And as for you, Frerotte: tighten it up!

------------------------
2:13 p.m.

Just when it looked as if the defense was starting to bend, with the Broncos deep in our territory: KRAKA-DOOM!!! A massive, bone-rattling blow from linebacker Zach Thomas! Thomas was run over by a truck when he was but 6, a tragic event that turned him into one of the most feared linebackers on this or any planet.

Zach Thomas Does Not Rest Until His Enemies Are Crushed, Driven Before Him, And He Hears The Lamentations Of Their Women

And... yes! A monstrous goal line stance by the 'Phins, driving back the foolhardy Broncos who decided to go for it on fourth down. Not in the house that Joe Robbie built, suckers! Dolphins still 6, Broncos still 0.

------------------------
2:17 p.m.

Alas, the offense did not capitalize on this turn-around, going a cowardly three and out. I need more cowbell, Saban! More cowbell!

------------------------
2:21 p.m.

Broncos appear to be moving again... hopefully it will once more come to naught. Speaking of which, that word always reminds me of Jethro Bodine. You know, "naught, naught, carry the naught?" No? Sounds like your cultural studies are seriously lacking.

------------------------
2:24 p.m.

Broncos at the nine yard line... Plummer passes... incomplete! Keep it going, defense, keep it going. Argh, satellite interference! Okay, back online. Broncos still haven't gone anywhere... they go for the field goal! Good: dammit! Dolphins 6, Broncos 3.

But what's this... the announcers are speaking with my close, personal friend, legendary NFL Hall of Fame Coach Don Shula! Always good to hear from an ally.

------------------------
2:30 p.m.

Sweet -- Dolphin offense re-taking the field. My god, don't they look like a pack of trained killers! Let's see what they can do... whoa, tight end Randy McMichael to the 45! Big hit, though... c'mon McMichael, get up! Gah! Satellite fritz again! Don't tell me McMichael's dead? No, no -- good.

In Addition To Having The NFL's Only Undefeated Season, The Miami Dolphins Have Unbelievably Hot Cheerleaders Like This Minx At Their Disposal

Okay, Dolphins moving again. Quick pass from Frerotte brings them into Bronco territory... 42? 45? Either way, it's a gain. Keep an eye on the mistakes, you yahoos! And damn this satellite! What's this, is it a first down? Time out? What in the hell?

Fourth and one? Well... this is really where we seperate the men from the boys, isn't it? 'Phins regrouping, going over their options. Play it safe and punt, or go for the honor with a stacatto run from #2 overall draft pick, running back Ronnie Brown? Go for the honor, Saban...

Yes, they're going for it! Chambers in motion... what the? Brown catches it for a loss? What kind of amateur bullshit was that? Who called that play?!

Oh well, at least there's only nine seconds left in the half. Miami still 6, Denver 3.

------------------------
2:33 p.m.

Aaaaand that's the first half: Dolphins 6, Broncos 3. Suck it, Shanahan!

------------------------
2:48 p.m.

Okay, well, that's going to have to do it for this game. Old Man Winter just got back into town to start setting up for his end-of-year local operations, and he's coming over with a satchel of hoagies, a box of fine Cuban tobacco, and five cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon: The Official Beer of The Haiku Master! In return, I'm going to let him watch the rest of the game over here, but hosting won't leave me much time for "blogging" and such. Still and all, I'll try to give a recap when I sober up later today. Until then, Dolphins rule, Broncos drool!

And look at this: Champ Bailey just got helped off the field, injured! By Ronnie Brown, no less! Sounds like a "sweep the leg" order was sent out after all!

------------------------
3:31 p.m.

I know I said I wouldn't be back, but... can you believe it? CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! That's right, baby: as of two minutes ago, the score is now Miami 20, Denver a far-from-manly 3, thanks in large part to second-half passing and rushing TDs! WAY TO GO, MIAMI!!!

Then again, all this Pabst Blue Ribbon is pretty damn good, too!

------------------------
3:56 p.m.

Sweet Jesus! I'm out of my mind with joy!!! 27-10 with less than six minutes to play! The Dolphins are giving the Broncos such a stern whipping that the local CBS affiliate just switched to Miami after the lackluster affair in Pittsburgh! 24 of 36 for 275 yards and 2 TDs for Frerotte, more than making up for his earlier interception. Ronnie Brown only pulled in 57 yards on 22 carries, but I'm willing to cut him some slack: he's a rookie, and the Broncos were telling anyone who'd listen that they were going to stuff the 'Phins' running game... never counting on the masterful bombardment from the air! Serendipity!

As for Haiku International's Player of the Game? That honor goes to Marty Booker. I always liked that kid when he played for Chicago -- he was a master of the "wide receiver passes for a touchdown" trick play in those days -- and today he's pulled in five catches for 104 yards and a TD: sa-lute!

Alright, this is probably really the last update this time. Unless something crazy happens, like Marino suddenly taking the field for one snap under center. God bless Dan Marino, god bless Nick Saban, and god bless the Miami Dolphins!

Oh, and as for Old Man Winter, he already passed out -- a man his age should know better than to funnel his beer. Good luck to that fool if he thinks his wallet will still be around when he wakes up!

------------------------
4:15 p.m.

Final Score: World's Greatest Football Team The Miami Dolphins 34, Nothings Without John Elway The Denver Broncos 10!!! The capper? The final touchdown was defensive, thanks to the fast hands and quick wits of defensive end Jason Taylor! Way to go, team! VICTORY IS OURS!!!

Legendary NFL Hall Of Fame Quarterback Dan "The Man" Marino Is Sure To Give His Seal Of Approval To Today's Big Win

And so the Saban Era gets off on the right foot. I leave you all with a rousing rendition of the one-and-only Miami Dolphins Fight Song! Hit it, gang!

Miami has the Dolphins/The Greatest Football Team
We move the ball from goal to goal/like no one's ever seen
In the air or on the ground/We're always in control
And when you're talking Miami/You're talking Super Bowl

'Cause we're the: Miami Dolphins!
Miami Dolphins!
Miami Dolphins, Number One!
Yes we're the: Miami Dolphins!
Miami Dolphins!
Miami Dolphins, Number One!

Best,

wheelin' and dealin', pt. III

***
CHAPTER III

The deal went down without a hitch -- much to my surprise, might I add! Shortly after the two showed up, Minderbinder was on his way with an attaché case full of cash, leaving Old Man Winter and myself in possession of stock certificates good for 95% of the entire world market for Egyptian cotton.

"Can you believe it, Haiku Master?!" Winter screeched, gleefully tossing two fistfuls of certificates above his head. "Hey, Haiku Master! Can you believe it?! What'd I tell you, huh? We're gonna be rich, baby! Filthy, stinking, dirty-drawers rich!"

"It certainly does appear to be the case," I said. "I wonder what all this is worth?"

"Millions! Billions! Gazillions!" mused Winter. "I mean, look at it all! Plus, we got ninety-five percent of the market! That's practically a monopoly!"

"True... but it's pronounced 'mah-no-paul-eee.' But why quibble over semantics? Let's celebrate!"

And celebrate we did! After directing the Motel 6's concierge to send up a cooler chockfull of beer and ice, we headed to one of Cairo's many fine beaches, and soon made the acquaintance of these local bunnies:

The Haiku Master (Left) And Old Man Winter Always Have Time For The Ladies

Our group partied long into the night, and parting proved to be as unsweetly sorrowful as ever when O.M.W. and I bid our farewells to those middle-aged vixens the next morn. After checking out of the Motel 6, Winter and I shared a taxi to Cairo International, where we went our separate ways -- he to the North Pole, and me to Castle Haiku.

"Haiku Master! Hey, Haiku Master! I'll see you later, okay?!" Winter shouted, just as the airport's security screeners found the live grenades I'd planted on his luggage earlier that day. A platoon of hired goons descended upon him with boots and clubs, providing me with a good chuckle as I whizzed through the V.I.P. gate to the waiting Haiku Plane.

Make no mistake, though -- Winter will get his share once Haiku International's Minister of Operations, Oswald "Oz" Carver, finds a suitable buyer for the Egyptian cotton. After all, I may be petty, but the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 always honors his debts! So sayeth I... The Haiku Master!

yeah, i don't really know where that camp x-ray thing was going

Err... hi there, friends. It's a rather sheepish The Haiku Master who stands before you tonight, because, well, I have a little confession to make.

Remember how I told you I didn't write to you for a month because I'd been incarcerated at Camp X-Ray? Um, that was kind of a lie. This photo from a couple weeks ago, that allegedly shows yours truly being escorted through Gitmo's fabled gates? Yeah. It's doctored.

Despite Looking Shockingly Real, This Photo Is In Fact A Fake

Truth is, I spent the time playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. I didn't mean to spend more than a month away from the ol' "blog," but man, that game is addictive! So, sorry about blowing off you loyal readers, and even more sorry about the lying. But if it makes any difference, I did in fact beat the game, meting out harsh justice to Big Smoke, Tenpenny, Ryder and all the other scoundrels who had a hand in the untimely demise of Moms and Brian Johnson! Grove 4 Life! Grove 4 Life!!

GROVE 4 LIFE!!!

Oh, and there is one small nugget of truth for you to savor. Old Man Winter and I really did partner on a deal to purchase Egyptian cotton from a man named Milo Minderbinder, as detailed in Chapters I & II of the falsely titled "Summer at Camp X-Ray." The deal went through without a hitch, then me and O.M.W. partied on the beach with some middle-aged housewives. Here's photographic proof:

The Haiku Master (Left) And Old Man Winter Make Time With Some Local Vixens At One Of Cairo's Many Fine Beaches

Well, I'm glad I got that off my chest. Okay for now, fan club members! Until next time, keep your ear to the ground and keep reaching for the stars!

Best,


----------------------
P.S. For the really slow amongst you, this means there will be no further chapters of "Summer at Camp X-Ray."

P.P.S. No, the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 did not sample San Andreas' notorious "Hot Coffee mod." Not that he didn't try, but one apparently needs a degree in advanced rocket science to pull off that trick.

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. IX

***
CHAPTER IX

I was in dire straits. Lying in a pool of my own blood (and Brotherhood urine--Ed.) at the feet of Austin's famous Lenin statue -- body broken, wallet gone -- I felt my qi slipping free of its earthly bounds... when a familiar voice called out!

"Wart," the voice said. "Wart!"

The air before me began to shimmer, coalescing into a ghostly version of my former sensei, the late Haiku Master Charles Bukowski -- just like Ben Kenobi did in Empire Strikes Back!!

The Ghost Of Charles Bukowski Pulled A Ben Kenobi On The Haiku Master

"Sensei Bukowski?!" I gasped, weakly. "I thought you were dead?"

"I am," he said, hiccupping. "And still drunk, too, if you can believe that. Who knew they'd have booze in heaven?"

"Well, Dean Martin must be happy!"

Sensei Bukowski's eyes flew open, a mixture of disgust and hatred raging across his face. "#$@% Dean Martin!" he shouted. "Why'd ya have to bring him up?!"

"S-sorry, Sensei. I, uh, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Alright, forget it. Just forget it. That ain't why I'm here anyway -- I'm here to tell you it ain't your time to die. Not yet, at any rate." He waved his hand, and my wounds were magically healed! "There, that oughta do the trick."

"Thank you, Master!" I cried, rising from the ground in disbelief.

"No problem," he said, just as his etheral form began to dissipate. "Oh, and be sure to check out the TXRD while you're in town...it's all-girl roller derby...not to be missed..!"

My sensei faded completely... only to reveal Texas Kelly and his henchman, Dubya, quickly approaching!

"H.M.!" Kelly shouted. "Gawdammit, boy! We been looking all over town for your ass! Where the hell you been?!"

"You can run," Dubya assured me, "but you can't hide."

"Oh, here and there," I replied. "You know, 'TCBing,' as they say. What's it to you and that pack of traitors in Masters of Mariachi, anyhow?"

"Aw, hell!" Kelly spat. "Look, I didn't have nothin' to do with them kicking you out! Shit, if'n it were up to me you'd still be their lead singer, but you ain't, and getting all pissy about it ain't gonna change nothing. Word?"

I stood silently, arms folded across my chest, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Word??" he repeated, tilting his head menacingly.

"Word," I finally conceded, rolling my eyes.

"Good," he said approvingly. "I'm glad that's behind us. Okay then -- who's hungry?"

"Ooh! Ooh! Me!" Dubya shouted, jumping up and down frantically.

"Yeah, I guess I could go for a bite," I said. "But you have to take me to something called the 'TXRD' after that! It comes highly recommended."

"Roller derby, huh? No problem," T.K. grinned. "Matter of fact, the Hellcats are taking on the Holy Rollers later tonight. Now, c'mon -- tacos are on me!"

So they were. At Kelly's suggestion, I ordered the Barbacoa de Cabeza tacos. Turns out that means "head barbecue tacos," which would've been handy to know before I'd started eating. As it was, I found out halfway through my second helping.

The Haiku Master Doesn't Recommend Barbecued Head Meat

The Pharaoh of 5-7-5 vomited long and hard at that point -- much to the amusement of Texas Kelly and Dubya. Who laughed and laughed, and oh, how they laughed...

***
EPILOGUE

Sunday afternoon was a blur, having spent the remainder of our petty cash on a bottle of liquor each and three tickets to that night's roller derby festivities. When the booze was gone, we headed out, Dubya behind the wheel of Kelly's Mercedes.

The Haiku Master, Dubya, And Texas Kelly Spent Sunday Afternoon Downing A Bottle Of Sam Houston, Jim Beam, And Dalmore, Respectively

Is it dangerous to ride in a vehicle driven by a drunken 7'-tall freak who may or may not be some kind of imperfect duplicate of America's president? Of course! But one doesn't become a Haiku Master by playing it safe, kids.

As for the roller derby itself... well, let's just say I've come to realize there are greater sports in this world than cockfighting. What do you get when two gangs of hot girls on old-school skates beat the crap out of each other for a good hour or so while music blares, and a couple of punk bands perform beforehand and during intermission?

One satisfied Haiku Master.

The Haiku Master Does Recommend Austin's TXRD, Home Of The Holy Rollers

I don't know when I went to sleep that night, but I do know the morning came too fast and too ugly for the third straight day -- though much of Monday's ugliness was likely caused by Dubya's less than tender method of waking me up.

"Get up!" he bellowed, smacking me in the face with his open, hair-matted palm. "Get up! Check out time in 10 minutes -- Master Kelly tell Dubya to take Haiku Master to airport!"

"Okay, okay..." I muttered. "Give me a sec..."

"No time!" he shouted, smacking me again. "Up! Now! Or me put you on no-fly list!"

We were soon on our way, Dubya weaving in and out of traffic at a fantastic rate of speed, just as he had done on my arrival. As we pulled up to the terminal closest to my waiting Haiku Plane, I turned to shake his hand... only to receive a long blast of mace in the face!

"Gahhrg!" I shrieked. "Mufferfuggerwhathfugchewdothafer!!"

"Ha ha! That for messing with Texas!" he laughed, shoving me out of the car. "Don't mess with Texas!!"

Dubya drove off with a squeal of rubber, leaving me writhing on the sidewalk outside Austin-Bergstrom International. Adding insult to injury, my violent arrival attracted plenty of attention from airport security, requiring me to answer questions for some 32 hours before finally being allowed to return to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

And that, gentle readers, is the true story of how I had mariachi stardom in the palm of my hands, only to have it snatched away by a guy from Mexico. That's right! Me! The Sultan of Syllables -- outsourced! Now I know how all those textile workers feel!

Oh well. Life goes on, as they say. They, and me...The Haiku Master!

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. VII

***
CHAPTER VII

I awoke with a start on Saturday, finding myself on a lawn chair by the Stuart Beach Inn's pool. My head was sore, pounding like a Keith Moon drum solo as it had the previous morning.

The Pool Area At The Stuart Beach Inn

"Swear to god someone's been kicking it!" I groaned.

"Ha ha, señor!" came Paulo's voice, startling me. I whirled around, and saw that my bandmates had also slept poolside. Texas Kelly was nowhere in sight. "You drink too much again last night, Hombre muy Extraño! Too much, too much!"

"Heh heh," added Rudy. "Sí, you made a real burro out of yourself, Señor Amo del Haiku! You should be more careful!"

"Yes, I suppose I should," I conceded. Still, I'd begun to suspect Paulo wasn't being entirely forthcoming on this matter.

But there was no time for that now -- not with a gig to be played at Hyde Park's Fresh-Plus in just a few hours! I headed up to the room with the other Masters of Mariachi behind me, curious as to what had become of our manager.

Throwing the door open, I bore witness to something that made me pray for blindness: Texas Kelly, sleeping in the room's sole bed with two of the mentally challenged groupies who had attacked our bus the day before! And, of course, a giant bag of Lay's potato chips.

Texas Kelly (Center) And His Friday Night Conquests

"Heavens to Hefner!" I gasped, waking Kelly up. "Talk about giving comfort to the enemy -- what the hell do you think you're doing, T.K.?"

"Aww, shucks," said Kelly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "This? Just educating these little fillies in the ways of cheap physical love, Texas-style."

"But they tried to kill us yesterday!"

"Kill us? Hell, they were just overly excited." Kelly climbed out of the bed, and started to pull on his clothes. "Don't worry, though. I wore these two plum out. They won't be no more trouble."

"But they're underage, man!" I continued. Paulo and the boys swarmed the bed, apparently wanting to verify Kelly's claims of the girls' exhaustion.

"Oh yeah, that," Kelly said, pulling his boots on. "Well, that's why I told 'em my name's the Muffin Man. It'll serve that #%@$er right to get hit with some statutory rape charges, after all the times he's tried to #%@$ my up-and-coming bands!"

The issue settled, Kelly woke the girls and put them on a bus back to their academy, handing them the Muffin Man's phone number as they left. Then, we were ready to mari-rock the Fresh-Plus... and though I didn't realize it at the time, it was a show that would mark the Pharaoh of 5-7-5's last-ever appearance with Masters of Mariachi!!!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. VIII---

drunk in the heart of texas, pt. VI

***
CHAPTER VI

Upon our return to the Stuart Beach Inn, Rudy, Sanchez, Jesus, and myself decided to bust into a high stakes card game.

"¿Eh...usted tiene dos?" said Jesus, speaking to me.

"What did he say?" I asked Rudy. "What did he say?!"

"He asked if you have any twos, señor," Rudy answered.

"Whew," I said, wiping my brow in relief. "In that case, you can tell him to 'Go Fish.'"

"Usted va a pescar, Jesús," said Rudy.

"Mierda," Jesus sighed, adding more cards to his already sizeable hand. "No otra vez."

Suddenly, the door burst open, whacking Jesus on the back and causing cards to fly everywhere! I jumped up in a Haikung Fu fighting stance, but there would be no need for violence -- for walking into the room were Texas Kelly, Paulo, and Dubya, looking no worse for the wear after their Muffin Man hunting expedition!

As it turned out, they'd been unable to track down M.M., and had instead relieved their frustration by shooting up an old boat and a plastic nativity scene Baby Jesus, the latter of which can be seen here:

Texas Kelly, Paulo, And Dubya Didn't Find The Muffin Man, But They Did Shoot Up This Plastic Baby Jesus

"Ha ha, Jesús," said Paulo to MoM's Jesus, while pointing at the plastic Baby Jesus. "We shot you up beuno, hombre!"

"Well, I suppose that's for the best," I offered. "I mean the part about you not killing the Muffin Man, not the whole Baby Jesus thing. After all, we don't need murder charges interfering with Masters of Mariachi's Sixsew domination now, do we?"

"Gawdammit!" T.K. hollered. "I already told you, man -- it's 'South by Southwest!' Not 'Sixsew!' Now stop #%@$ing around!!"

"Oh, right," I said, cowed. "Sorry."

"Judas Priest!" he said. "You guys get me so worked up I almost forgot the good news: I got you another gig, right here in Hyde Park tomorrow morning."

"Really?"

"Damn right. Over at the Fresh-Plus -- something to do with some kind of Latino advertising promotion or such shit. Still, should be good exposure."

"Well allllllllllllll riiiiiight!!!" I shouted, giving a cool Fonzie-esque double thumbs-up. "Let's celebrate; dinner's on me! I could go for some local fare..."

That said, we climbed aboard the official MoM tour bus, speed demon Dubya once again at the wheel. As we pulled out of the hotel parking lot, though, tragedy struck -- we were swarmed by a mob of groupies from an all-girl academy for the mentally challenged! Whipped into a lust-feuled frenzy, they howled in frustration as they tore at our ride, shaking it back and forth savagely!

Finally, Texas Kelly could take no more, and leaned out a window with his trusty Taser in hand! After three long blasts, the crowd began to disperse.

This Overzealous Fan And Her Companions Nearly Tore The Official MoM Tour Bus Asunder

"We're clear, Dubya!" Kelly shouted. "Floor it!"

Floor it Dubya did, scattering the remaining girls as we barreled out of the lot.

"Whew, that was close," said Kelly, holstering the Taser. "You guys are heating up like a match on an oil slick! Hot damn!"

Indeed we were... and as subsequent chapters will reveal, it was that selfsame wildfire popularity that would eventually tear our merry band apart!!!

---CLICK HERE FOR 'DRUNK IN THE HEART OF TEXAS' PT. VII---

whiskey, blood, meat, groupies

AUSTIN, TX -- Courage, 'ku believers. I think it's me, The Haiku Master, though I can't be sure due to the extreme levels of pounding currently taking place in the rubberized, George Dickel-soaked lump of human waste that's passing itself off as my brain this morning.

No time nor ability to give complete details as to mine and Masters of Mariachi's SXSW success so far, but here's a few highlights:

• Broken whiskey bottles and McDonald's sandwich wrappers littering the floor of our hotel room;

• Groupies from an all-girl academy for the mentally challenged tearing our van asunder in a lust-fueled frenzy;

• Texas Kelly's extreme alcohol poisoning, causing him to vomit geysers of Lay's potato chips on a passing police cruiser;

• Meat -- tons and tons and tons of red meat;

• The Muffin Man's violent ways.

Hopefully I'll be able to make better sense of these notes when I get back to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs. In the meantime, once more into the breach!

Best,

world of the dogs, pt. I

Click For Larger Image

***
CHAPTER I

Greetings, 'ku believers. It's me, The Haiku Master...but I'm not sure where I am or if this message will even reach you!

Last night, after helping local police take down a west-Baltimore clown smuggling operation, I decided to celebrate at my favorite tavern, The Ritz Cabaret, with a nice, stiff glass of George Dickel: The Official Whisky of The Haiku Master.

George Dickel No's. 8 & 12: The Only Whisky Endorsed By The Haiku Master

As fate would have it, Old Man Winter was also at the Ritz, and rushed over after I took my usual spot at the bar.

"Haiku Master!" he shouted, waving his Manhattan glass wildly. "Hey Haiku Master! It's me, Old Man Winter!"

As longtime fans will recall, O.M.W. is somewhat of a reformed criminal, having recently gone back on his "meds" after months of threatening the good people of Baltimore with his bipolar behavior. Luckily, it appeared he was still beating his disability instead of letting it beat him.

"Hey," he said, "lemme buy you a drink. C'mon, I wanna buy you a drink. C'mon, huh? Drinky-poo? C'mon, whaddya say?"

Naturally, I said "yes," and we proceeded to have a swell time. Mass quantities of sweet, sweet liquor were consumed, my friends, without a drop being wasted. My dearly departed sensei, former Haiku Master Charles Bukowski, would have been proud.

Front Row, From Left: Old Man Winter And The Haiku Master Had A Great Time At Baltimore's Ritz Cabaret

Unfortunately, the carousing caused me to enter my infamous Drunken Haiku Master state of being, and reality became a blur. When I finally came to, I was stumbling back to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

I unlocked the front door, and heard the distinct sound of voices coming from my parlor.

"All right, Schmitty," one of them said. "I'll see your bones and raise you two more."

"That's five to you, Rover," said another.

"I know, I know," said a third. "Grrrr...forget it. I'm out."

"Cat," sneered a fourth.

What in the hell? What kind of strange action was taking place in the Pharaoh of 5-7-5's sanctum sanctorum without his consent? Lunging forward, I burst into the parlor...only to walk right into the mind of master painter C.M. Coolidge! For there, sitting 'round my poker table, were seven dogs -- and with Dickel as my witness, they were playing cards, drinking whiskey, and smoking cigars!

A Motley Scene Similar To This One Awaited The Haiku Master At What He Thought Was His Top Secret Base Of Operations

"What in the catland?" one of them barked in surprise. "How'd that hairless ape get in here? And why does it have cabbage for hair?"

"For that matter," said another, "what's with the strange fur it's got on?"

"Bad ape!" shouted a third, rising from the table. "Get!"

Needless to say, someone had a lot of explaining to do.

---CLICK HERE FOR 'WORLD OF THE DOGS' PT. II---

journey into mexico, pt. VI

***
CHAPTER VI

Santo and I gave chase to the treacherous Haikunestro and his robot chicken, El Diablo -- and in no time at all, we were on them!

"Well well well, Haikunestro," I said. "Looks like the table's firmly on the other foot now, hmm? Hmmmmm? Hmmmmmmmm?"

"¡Sí!," said Santo, punching his own chest and pointing furiously at our enemy. "¡Vamos a perforar su boleto, Haikunestro!"

Without missing a beat, Haikunestro hoisted El Diablo like a bowling ball and hurled it at Santo's head!

"Suck my robot cock*, you freak!" he shrieked. El Diablo tore into Santo's face with an equally piercing squawk, rending silver mask and flesh alike with his weird metal claws.

El Diablo Attacks!

"Sweet Jesus!" I cried, rushing toward my friend. "Santo!"

Haikunestro took full advantage of my momentary distraction, shoving past me as he hoofed it down the hallway.

"Never mind me, Haiku Master!" Santo shouted, wrapping his thick mitts around El Diablo's scrawny throat. "I can fend for myself! You must stop Haikunestro!"

He was right -- but how? My arch foe already had a good lead on me, and to be quite honest, I was winded; three weeks of living it up on the championship cockfighting circuit really takes it out of a guy.

As it turned out, no further action was necessary on my part. I heard twin gunshots, and Haikunestro collapsed on the dirty linoleum floor. Beside me, sparks flew from El Diablo's convulsing body as Santo's sturdy hands tore its neck in twain.

But who fired the shots? Paulo? Blue Demon? Who?!?

I peered down the hallway, and could just make out a large form draped in fine blue silk. This person wore an equally blue sombrero, and held a large, blue, smoking revolver in each hand.

"That," he said in a smooth Mexican accent, "is for sleeping with my wife. Adios, híbrido!"

Just as quickly as he appeared, the mysterious gunfighter in blue was gone.

"My god," I said. "Was that..."

"Sí," Santo said gravely. "The Blue Sombrero."

"The Mexico City Madman! I always thought he was a myth!"

The Mysterious Blue Sombrero, A.K.A. The Mexico City Madman

"Yes, well I would love to discuss his existence with you at length, but I'm afraid I must be off to the hospital."

"That's right, your face! Yeah, um, sorry about that..."

I nearly lost my lunch as I looked at Santo's wounds for the first time. El Diablo had left dozens of deep gashes on my friend's face -- it was a wonder his mask was still attached!

"Eh, it's no big deal," he shrugged. "My face was already horribly scarred -- which is exactly why I never remove my mask, as you well know. This will just be a new batch to add to the collection."

Just then, we were rejoined by Paulo and Blue Demon, who were inexplicably accompanied by four youngish-to-middle-aged, garishly attractive women!

"Hey Santo, Haiku Master!" Blue Demon said. "Look what me and Paulo found! Fun for all and all for fun, eh?"

"Blue Demon, you shouldn't have!" said Santo. "I need immediate medical attention, but you bring me senóritas instead. And when have I ever been known to refuse a lovely senórita? Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"

Oh, how Santo laughed! And when Santo laughs, everyone laughs.

---------------------------------------------------------
* Sí, is cock, no chicken.--Paulo

***
EPILOGUE

So that, faithful readers, was that. As it turned out, Haikunestro wasn't dead, just badly wounded, and he and his incapacitated henchmen were soon collected by the local police.

As for that night, let's just say what happens in Mexico City stays in Mexico City. And that Santo is extremely ungenerous when it comes to sharing senóritas.

The next morning, I said my farewells to Santo and Blue Demon, but felt no sorrow -- I had no doubt our paths would cross again at some point. Then, Paulo and I were off to the bus station; he to return to his village, and me to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

"Well, I guess this is it, Paulo," I said as my bus pulled up to the station. "I really couldn't have asked for a better guide for my time here in Mexico. Put her there, pal."

"Usted es un hombre muy extraño," Paulo said as we shook. "Muy, muy, hombre muy extraño."

"Thank you, Paulo. I'll be in touch."

I must admit a twinge of remorse as I boarded the old grey dog for home. I would miss this country and its wonderful people, tacos, tequila, fajitas, cockfighting, burritos and fireworks. And donkeys.

After A Successful Adventure, The Haiku Master Is Homeward Bound

But whatever sorrow I felt was tempered by the knowledge that Mexico had gained a fervent new fan -- and powerful ally -- in me: The Haiku Master!