In true Liquid Slit fashion, the band emerged from the studio twelve hours after entering with a completely finished album. And what an album! Entitled, strangely enough, "The Demond Wilson Guide to Good Lovin'" it was the success the band was hoping for -- and more. "Demond Wilson" was a true landmark recording, as startling as "Rubber Soul," as spirited as "Exile on Main St.," as dangerous as "The Clash." The Liquid Slit master plan was in full swing. 

What the band hadn't allowed for however was the Valley Bell master plan. Upon hearing the tapes for the new album, the milkmeisters dropped the bomb. They had transferred all musical interests to their sister company, Nu-Sash, makers of tilt-in storm windows. In addition, "Demond Wilson" was to be marketed with an Archies-like strategy. That is, it would only be available on the side of storm window cartons.

The band quickly deflated. They were beaten. Storm windows!? Why it all but eliminated the youth market! Under the strain of overwhelming disappointment, depression, and embarrassment, Liquid Slit broke up.

Six months later Bobby King, on break at Wendy's, got a phone call. It was Ric Ocasek. He said he just happened to be driving through West Virginia when he got the urge to buy storm windows. He stopped off at Nu-Sash and purchased several. When he got home he played "Demond Wilson" and was blown away. He asked Bobby if his band would like a five or seven album deal with Elektra. Bobby held out for eight, and the rest is history.

"Sometimes it's as if life takes place on a giant windshield and you're a raindrop. Yes, that's it! You're a raindrop trying desperately to reach the top of the windshield, only you can't because of the wiper.

"Sometimes you actually make it halfway but that wiper always gets you. Beating you down again and again. But you keep trying, believing this will be the time I make it.

"You hear stories about other drops that have made it, escaping the transparent existence of the windshield. And you constantly dream of the world on the other side.

"You make plans, plot your strategy, some even go to school to learn how to avoid the relentless wiper. But few make it. Most just settle for life in one of the two "water mounds," convincing themselves that this is what they really want.

"I just can't do that, though. I've gotta keep trying. And when that Sun inevitably decides my time is up, I want to be on the top. Up where I am somebody, where I've got some color," he said.

"But life isn't a windshield, is it Jeff?" said Dr. Clarke.

Probably because her mother spent most of the 60's wandering around inside her birthstone, Cynthia was born with a defect. Oh nothing drastic like a "sister" sticking out of her back. No it was something easily hidden, something not even her closest friends knew about. Over the years doctors had helped Cynthia cope with the fact that everything on her body worked voluntarily. Everything. She was a standard.

From the very young age of five, much of Cynthia's life consisted of coaching sessions. Specialists stressed again and again the importance of "flexing" her heart, blinking, sweating, scabbing, salivating, etc. By the time she reached the age of sixteen, she had mastered her body. She could operate it flawlessly without even thinking about it.

At that age doctors would even make the argument that Cynthia had it easier than normal people. She had the ability, for instance, to "store up" certain bodily functions and just get it all over with at once. She was able to do a whole week's worth of sweating in one afternoon, thus avoiding various embarrassing "valley" stains. Cynthia would simply set aside a certain day each week and sweat. However she would tell that this could be a mixed blessing. Due to what doctors described as teenage irresponsibility, Cynthia would sometimes forget to sweat for several weeks in a row, opting instead to run the mall or watch TV. When the day to sweat would finally arrive, Cynthia would transform into a human sprinkler head, soaking everything within a five foot radius. Inside the family's storage building was a giant Tub O' Tussy.

Due to a combination of events, mastering her body, reaching "Sweet 16," and reading Mary Lou Retton's Tiger Beat article "The Olympics Are Over -- Now Give Me Pole!" Cynthia became interested in boys.

While taking her learner's permit exam, she met somebody she thought she'd like but he turned out to be a goon. She met Andy at the pool, but Andy's teeth were so bucked that, while riding in his parent's pickup truck, he was required by local ordnance to hang a red flag from his teeth. This turned Cynthia off.

Just when she thought she'd be forced to go through life alone, "he" came into her life. "He" was an exchange student from Antarctica and it was "love" at first sight. He was broad shouldered, had a nice smile, and the complexion of her favorite rock star, Pete Shelley. And she was female.

Imagine music playing. Scenes of "he" and Cynthia are showing (playing putt-putt, walking the beach, at the carnival). Fast-forward two months. "He" has just asked her to accompany him to a gala at the 1776 Room honoring his parents. She excitedly accepts.

When she floats into her mother's kitchen to give her the good news her mother, in true parental fashion, shoots Cynthia down in a burning heap of metal and flesh. "What are you going to wear? You don't have anything nice enough for the 1776 Room, and you know we don't have the money...you'll just have to cancel..." Cynthia, enraged, pushes six months of earwax out of each ear. Resembling gold, glistening cigars, they plopped to the floor. She began crying and ran upstairs.

Cynthia's mother, flashing back to 1966, felt bad about hurting her daughter's feelings for she had gone through the same thing with Fuzz, her boyfriend at the time. Fuzz had invited her to a Mesc Trough party, and although she wanted to go, all of her clothes were clean. She could relate, entirely to Cynthia's predicament, but couldn't come up with a solution.

Cynthia was busy rifling through her mother's clothes, trying desperately to find something suitable. She came across a black dress that was a possibility, but it was ripped under the left arm. Besides, she had no jewelry to match it.

What would she do? "He" was counting on her. Cynthia began crying, and then it hit her. She frantically began checking the charts the doctors had given her and yes, it could work!

Cynthia went to the 1776 Room, and she was stunning. She wore her mother's black dress and pearl earrings. She had a great time and so did "he."

When she got home she began picking at the large scab under her left arm, and then put some Clearasil on her "pearls."

a. Walter had a terrible nightmare. He was supping with Shirley Booth when a huge reptilian version of a band director ripped out his vein network.

nah, too mainstream.

b. Walter just had to exorcise the whole bologna sandwich thang.

not bad, but -- I don't know.

c. Walter opened fire on the goat, succeeding in killing his only milk source.

loosen up, dammit!

d. Walter was accustomed to special favors, but carpeting discounts?

you're losing it.

e. Walter's cheesecloth pants were catching on at the University but

forget it. take a lunch.

"Don't Take It For Granted" read the church bulletin board. "Yeah, don't take it for granted you'll see me around here anymore," muttered Richard Liptz as he hopped aboard the shuttle bus to his car. Richard fished the slip of paper out of his jacket pocket on which he'd scribbled the section of parking lot where he'd left his car. Philippians 6.

A tinny voice came on the loudspeaker: "Please do not exit until we've come to a complete stop. We hope you've enjoyed your visit to the First Baptist and remember today's sermon, 'Don't take it for granted.' Thank you."

When Richard finally reached Philippians 6, he encountered a young man attaching a wire-winged bumper sticker to his car. It read "I am one of the beautiful people." Richard, without missing a beat, sank the tip of his shoe into the church-man's pillar of salt.

Richard was giggling to himself as he pulled from the parking space. He made a quick swing past the entrance gate, where the Old Testament Hobo Marching Band was performing, out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

He ripped his necktie from his collar and began searching for his now-necessary cassette of Plastic Surgery Disasters. He pushed it in, expecting an earful of Jello, but getting instead Lou Rawls' Unmistakably Lou. "What the hell?" he said as he ejected the tape into his hand. It was the right one all right, but it sure wasn't the Dead Kennedys. He put it back in and out came Lou again, so he threw it out the window.

Richard decided to stop off at the gas station for a Mountain Dew. He pulled up, got out, and pushed on the door. To his surprise, the hinges were on the top. Straining under the considerable weight of metal and glass he pushed it open. When he was all the way in, with his back arched dangerously, he let it go, sending it swinging with a loud sucking noise. "Damn," he whispered.

Richard fed the appropriate coins into the Pepsi machine. He pressed the Mountain Dew button and a can clunked out at the bottom. He grabbed at it with his left hand and went for the change with his right. Whe he placed his fingers in the coin return his face suddenly knotted in pain, for his nickel was the temperature of new-born lava. In a panic, he was violently shaking his right hand trying to end the surprise nerve assault. The nickel finally let loose and ended up under a gray desk, along with two of his fingerprints. Richard sounded like an auctioneer gone bad as he dealt with the pain, smoke a-rising.

Richard's mother looking at him sideways, wrapped gauze around his fingers and anti-drug patter around his head. When he repeated the story she began naming drugs, heroin, angel dust, LSD -- all she wanted was a yes or no. Richard answered yes to them all and then tried to borrow money. She fled his room.

He laughed and got up to check himself in the mirror. He searched, and found a pimple to play with. He squeezed on it and got nothing. He did it again from a different angle and two doves trailing white streamers came out.

Richard steadied himself as the birds fluttered around his room. "Mom, hey Mom!" he yelled. He squeezed again and wind started blowing out of it. Mom appeared in the doorway. "What is it?" He turned with terror in his eyes, as a strong gale rushed out of his face. She stepped back a couple of steps and ran.

Richard attempted to stop the air flow with his finger, but the pressure was too great, forcing it to either side of the blemish. "No!!" he screamed in a panic.

The Boy with the 5000 BTU Acne hurled himself through a sliding glass door into the path of a speeding church bus. Richard's mother arrived just in time to glimpse the bumper sticker of the runaway God buggy. "I am one of the beautiful people."

Later that day the phone rang. It was IBM, they wanted to hire Richard as owner.

Howdy! Welcome to Page Four. As you can see I have succumbed to public pressure and expanded one page to three sheets of paper. Does Time give you that? Does the Atlantic? How about Swank? No! Only The West Virginia Surf Report -- the greatest thing to happen to serious journalism since Audra Lee. A major development since last installment: the purchase of SlawHouse, the Surf Report mansion. SlawHouse is located somewhere in Greensboro, NC. It is forty-five magnificent rooms -- all underground. The exact location of it is being kept secret to create false ambiguity and mystery, which is always cool as hell. Stay tuned for more SlawHouse tidbits to pique your imagination. But let me tell you right now, you'll never really know anything about it. Now on to the regular stuff. First off let's check in and see WHAT'S HAPPENIN' WITH OTTO. On a whim Otto decided to swim upstream with the salmon. At first he found it to be an intellectually uplifting experience, but he soon grew disenchanted. It seems that about three-fourths of the way into the journey, Otto received a nasty head wound trying to flop up a waterfall. The other fish did not come to Otto's aid and he felt betrayed by his "brothers." We're here for you Otto. Now it's time for THE QUIZ FOR PAGE FOUR. Female drug smugglers often sneak cocaine into this country in condoms inserted in their vaginas. How are American blue jeans smuggled into Russia? The answer is on Page Five, please no cheating! SINGLES SURVIVAL: Need to feed hundreds but only have 85 cents? Try this dollar stretcher. Run a tub of very hot water, toss in two bouillon cubes. Get a ladle! And now THE GUIDED TOUR will continue. “This car was once driven by you-know-who. If you don’t then take a look at them floor-mats. Hahaha!” In the PSYCHIC NOOZ the seven presumably lost astronauts of the space shuttle Challenger are all living on an uncharted desert isle. They have managed to construct four huts out of bamboo, along with several pieces of furniture. One member of the crew has even managed to make a bamboo stethoscope. And for reason I cannot quite understand, two crew members packed bedspreads. All are in good health but the chance of their rescue is lessened by the zany antics of that Ron McNair. But you just can’t help liking that crazy guy! In the BIZNESS NOOZ a Seattle man is suing Chicken of the Sea. He claims that a demo tape he submitted to a local disc jockey in 1959 contained the lyrics “You are afraid / You are chicken / See?” He believes the similarities are more than coincidental and is demanding twenty-five million dollars in damages and that the tuna company change its name to Feathered Farm Animal of the Deep. We will keep you posted.

See ya at the beach, Jeff

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