Liquor Store Lit (LSL)
is a Jim Lopez Creation & Trademark

All Rights Reseved
© Jim Lopez 2010

 



Liquor Store Lit
(LSL Booklets)

is a collection of MADD BOOKLETS,
written by Jim Lopez.

Booklets to be sold in selected liquor stores soon.

 



$5.00
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Vinnie Bang Bang & the Chemical Monkey (PART 1/2)

by Jim Lopez

Published by LSL Booklets
ISBN 9780692278970
(Perfect Bound - Matt Cover - 5x8" - 30 pages)

(copyright © Jim Lopez 2011)

A vigorous fuck with a stiff upper lip in a sprawling mess, bubbling at a critical temperature in a pot of jig-a-boo soup, was the day Old One Eye went to the Musky Optometrist and saw the world for the first time with two eyes. Mutants understood that the Nightmare of Recrimination was the mere unfolding of a story about a mutant who dreamt of uniting with a life partner.

The days of naught, of nil, the center of nothing, without quantity, without quality, deficient in value, a world devoid of genius characterizing the disfigurement of form, and the lack of imagination and inspiration infected Vinnie Bang Bang and the Chemical Punk Monkey’s Generation Pb82. The signifying of the mythical magnitude of the Zenithal, the Zeitgeist of Zero, the supreme deity, Mr. Zig-Zag, brother to Zeus, in The Years of Zilch, where friends had the decency to be alienated, resembling broken eggs devoid of any yolk: signifiers that the Wild Life was the ever so rare Exotic Life. 
  
To live in the world, which adorned its lapels with the emblematic avatar “SCR” (Social Construction of Reality), one learned to reduplicate behavior, things, that which was best in a person in order to succeed. Getting a cock in the ass was nothing more than a cotton swab wound that helped a mutant see the world through the eyes of the projectionist, who spent his evenings pulling his mudskipping pud-stump in the back of the theater; that is to say, God had become a fanatical masturbator.

Vinnie Bang Bang and the Chemical Punk Monkey refused to reduplicate behaviors that the broken down, defunct SCR programmed for success; however, they did develop a daily routine of dumpster diving, and it was this unattractive form of habitual treasure seeking that would paradoxically lead to an invite to the stankiest love fest in town. Luck had smiled upon these two garbage goblins, mutants of Generation Pb82. Vinnie Bang Bang and Chemical Punk Monkey had found a ham radio, a moldy eggplant and a fresh head of lettuce: three valuable objects worthy of exchange for admittance to the blow and go show.

 
 

 

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Hocking Gobs of Phlegm
by Jim Lopez

Published by LSL Booklets
ISBN 9780692278963
(Perfect Bound - Matt Cover - 5x8" - 28 pages)

(copyright © Jim Lopez 2010)

With a Queen of Heart embedded up a symbolic sleeve of the poorly written pages of thematic arts, uttered in the black hills of controversial words, echoing the need for a home and spiritual eyes, Mikey lost his way and walked the streets of Hollywood. He spat in the milk of growing children and pulled his pud in front of nursing mothers, who sat out front of Starbucks sipping non-fat lattes.

Mikey had one ambition and one ambition only, he was writing a book titled, “The Adventures In The Unleashing of Conventional Modes of Perception & Behavior,” only he had no intention of ever putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboards. No, Mikey was the living pages of the title of his book, and it all started with a commercial and a bowl of cereal called LIFE that he was manipulated into peddling onto the rest of the world. When Mikey was old enough to develop some awareness of himself he discovered that his life began with him being the cute and cuddly kid who hated everything and wouldn’t try anything, yet he had to drink endless amounts of milk and shovel corn crisp day in and day out, while sub-mental kids spurred him on, saying, “Let’s get Mikey to try it, he hates everything,” after which they cheered, “He likes it!  He likes it!”  But Mikey didn’t hate everything, he just hated everyone, and now he had matured into a cynical masturbator and a phlegmatic.

As a child Mikey was forced to drink so much milk that he embodied a never ending factory of phlegm, and he hated milk, as well as LIFE cereal, neither of which were delicious nor nutritious.  He was constantly hocking loogies.  And when he felt the urge, which was more often than not, it was no big deal for him to whip out his wang and blast a wad of jizz on some unsuspecting passerby or on some mannequin displayed out in front of the GAP, J. Crew, Ann Taylor or any other business establishment. I mean, he just gooed his spooge anywhere and anytime.



 
 

 

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Mongrel Gun Slingers
by Jim Lopez

Published by LSL Booklets
ISBN 9780692278958
(Perfect Bound - Matt Cover - 5x8" - 26 pages)

(copyright © Jim Lopez 2010)

The last time Georgia (a Yankee Doodle, donkey milking skag dragger) escorted a college girl (who had been featured in an episode of Girls Gone Wild and had trouble pronouncing her vowels) to an abortion he drove her to a Methodist Church, walked her up to the pulpit, made her say her prayers and then pushed her down a flight of stairs. That was a week ago, but now he and I were sitting in a cantina, listening to romantic songs in Cuernavaca, Mexico. 

Rumors were circulating that the Mongrel Gun Slingers had crossed the border and were now themselves in Cuernavaca. It was said that they had massacred a patrol of Border Control Officers and a number of cartel members in Ciudad Juarez. The Mongrel Gun Slingers were the Darkness in the heart of Light. They were the arm of justice, ruled by one law: the prayers that cried out for vengeance loosed the Mongrel Gun Slingers into this world. I didn’t think much about the rumors but Georgia couldn’t stop talking about the Mongrel Gun Slingers. He had some deep, disgusting desire to go out with a bang and get tag-teamed by them and, well, Georgia was getting closer to his dream.

I shook my dick, zipped up my fly and walked back into the cantina to order another Havana tres aῆos rum when I saw the Mongrel Gun Slingers for the first time. I didn’t know exactly who they were, but I felt an eerie crawl down my spine as I stood next to a large women sitting next to a large man at the bar. No one had ever lived to tell what the Mongrel Gun Slingers looked like for certain, but a few who lied dying on gurneys whispered that the Mongrel Gun Slingers were hermaphrodites, that they were the Fifth and Sixth Horsemen left out of the Ultimate Apocalypse and forced to be the hand of tragedy in all the ‘Penultimate’ Apocalypses throughout the ages, and no ancient scribes had dared to write about them in public scrolls; however,...