GARY BALZAC’S SUNDAY WEEKEND ROUND-UP JAMBOREE: 

If you, good reader, are of refined literary tastes, then the Weekend Jamboree may be a bitter sauce to the palate. If you are squeamish about such issues as OJ the murderer, dominatrix fun, or circumcision, then please read the Sunday comics instead, perhaps Marmaduke, if that old bastard is still barking.

I needed to get the Sunday Jamboree out on Saturday because I and my wonderful wife Velda, who of course has no need to self-stimulate, are taking a small vacation to Des Moines, Iowa. So please forgive me for the early release.

At the end of my time, a very special guest will be joining the Jamboree, my fake twelve-year-old son, Gavin Balzac will share his thoughts and a song that he wrote.

Here are some thoughts that I had this week. When I think things, I write them down in a little notebook and that seems to help my decrepit, old mind.

-If I was on death row for a heinous crime of depravity, and I was getting a public death via execution. I'd swig a whole bunch of Dulcolax about thirty minutes before my demise. That's what I'd call a shit-show.

-I was about to order one of those Mike Lindell "My Pillows," when I came up with a much better idea for a restful night's sleep. "The Mai-Tai Pillow." Besides the watery goosh and a poke in the eye once in a while from the straw, I haven't slept this well in years.

-We know that the apocalypse is an evident truth. Will it be solar flares, nuclear holocaust, disease, Biblical Armageddon? One can never tell. If it's me though, I'd prefer to be smooched to death. May the Apocolips be blistered upon me.

-If I was head of the DNR, I'd stop tagging dear with those stupid little ear number thingies, and I'd start tagging them with bicycle reflectors.

-As I was being battered into submission by the local dominatrix, I realized I had a terrible safe word; a safe word is how the dominatrix knows when to cool it for a bit. Turns out, "harder whore!" was a little confusing to the whole experience. Next time I may go with something like, "stop, please."

-If an alien passes gas during an interview with NBC's Lester Holt, does he lose credibility just on earth, or is it galactic embarrassment?

-Recently at the doctor's I asked for a second opinion after the rectal exam, so the doctor gloved up and used his other hand.

-If I was a deer, I'd lure hunters in with a beer lick.

-I think it would be fun to hear from Bob Gatsby, Jay's brother, about what really went on in West Egg.

-OJ Simpson, who some of you may have heard of, savagely killed his ex-wife Nicole Brown-Simpson and waiter Ron Goldman. The Juice was found not guilty by a jury of one's peers but was then found liable for their wrongful deaths in a civil suit. He has been recently active on Twitter with his signature down-to-earth social commentary and folksy wisdom. Fans have implored the ex-NFL star to quit Twitter and join its social media rival, Slitter.

-They say the camera adds ten pounds. If I'm ever interviewed by Lester Holt, I hope all ten go straight to my forehead.

-I'm glad Micheal J. Fox does not own a circumcision clinic.

-I wonder if grown-up Baby Jessica is afraid of the adverb, "well?"

-I think it'd be neat to help out the less fortunate and underprivileged Amish youth. The Make-Amish program could make the dream of shitting in a flushable toilet and reading Pa's barn-building directions by lightbulb a reality, at least for a day.

And lastly on the Gary Balzac's Sunday Weekend Round-Up Jamboree are the thoughts of my twelve-year-old son, Gavin Balzac. He wants to talk to you about kitten milking and dragon milk. He also has written a very special song for all of you. Maybe someone who plays the Casio Electric Piano or the Keytar can put it to music someday.

Hi, Gavin Balzac here. And my dad owns the Department Store in town. I even work there sometimes, but it's more volunteer. I wanted to drive the forklift, but Pops says I'm not old enough. Anyway, I was thinking one day in my room about stuff, as I like to do. You see, we don't have Nintendos or X-boxes or PlayStations or a GameCube. So my dad says I should use my imagination. So I like to sit and think about things, and I like to read and sometimes I like to write stories and songs and poems. I like Science Fiction and Fantasy. I think I'd like to be a writer someday. By the way, I'm twelve.

Okay, so it's time to get onto my thoughts. Last week, I was out at my Uncle Bobbie's hobby farm and I was helping him milk the lady cows. He has three Holsteins. The lady cow's names are Karen, Beth, and Ruth. Then later when I was in the hayloft, I saw Vera, the mommy cat with her new kittens. And then I wondered if lady cats could be milked like lady cows.

I sat down next to Vera and pet her for a little bit to calm her. She was purring like a new John Deere. Then I got a little bucket that my aunt uses for knick-knacks, and I took the little gnomes out and placed the little bucket under her. I tried milking her by placing my thumb and finger around the kitty-titty, but nothing happened. She didn't seem to mind. I thought maybe if I made a tugging noise, that might help. So I tried again and with each tug, I repeated "beep, beep, beep, beep…" Nothing happened. So in case you are like me out there and think that you can milk a cat, you probably can't. I thought about getting the vacuum cleaner out and attaching a makeshift milking hose (my uncle had some left-over tubing from his catheter) but then I thought, naw, I've put Vera through enough already.

My other thought is about dragons. I'm a little disappointed that Fantasy writers who use dragons as good characters or villains - well they are not using them as the triple threat as they should be. We all know from stories that dragons can swoop down out of the sky and chew and claw warriors to their deaths. We also all know that dragons can breathe fire and flames and destroy whole villages and burn the villagers to little crispy treats.

But what about the lady dragons? So, don't the ladies have dragon boobies too? Udders that can spray a foul gush of dragon's milk? Now that's a triple threat. Imagine yourself as a villager and the lady dragons are swooping down out of the sky. You see your chum, Charley, get gnashed to death by the jaws of one, then you see your other pal, Peter, get burned to a crisp and chomped. Then you are running from another lady dragon and when she tugs and squeezes on her udder, the dragon's milk comes spurting out and you go sliding through the streets with your fellow screaming villagers into the town cistern where you all drown in the milky slime. Imagine that! I think when I write my next Fantasy story, I'm going to use the dragon udders as a weapon of mass destruction.

Okay. Now I am going to share with you a song that I wrote, a special song just for you. Maybe, if there is someone out there who has a Casio Electric Piano and can play well, he or she can put it to music. I only took piano for a about six months, but I never got the hang of it; I'll tell you about that after my song.

My song is called "The Lady Dragon's Revenge." I imagine during the chorus that there would be a special sound effect, like the gushing of spraying milk. In my head, I imagine that it starts with a thundering bass that rhythmically repeats throughout the song, maybe a little bit like Dio's "Holy Diver." Too bad Ronnie James Dio died a while ago. I could him see making a song about dragon's milk. So now, here we go…

"The Lady Dragon's Revenge."

(Stanza 1)

Lady Dragon, queen of the skies,

With fearful jaws and red-glowing eyes,

Fire from breath, hear the villagers' cries,

And now for another udderly dreadful surprise –

Yes! Yes! It's milk from on high,

Gushing milk, loosing down from on high.

(Chorus)

Oh, Dragon Lady. Spray your milk on your foes,

Drown your enemies from their heads to their toes. (spray sound like a fire hose)

Oh, Dragon Lady. Give a tug on those teats,

Send those invaders slipping right through the streets. (spray sound like a fire hose)

(Stanza 2)

I see her approaching from the black of night,

The village burns below in orange flaming light,

And the scales glimmer off the full moony night,

With a scream and a cry, and the fury to smite,

She unleashes her thick gush of cascading white.

Another gush of cascading white.

(Chorus)

Oh, Dragon Lady. Spray your milk on your foes,

Drown your enemies from their heads to their toes. (spray sound like a fire hose)

Oh, Dragon Lady. Pull tough on them teats,

Send those invaders slipping right through the streets. (spray sound like a fire hose)

(I think this would be a sweet place for a Piano Solo, like from one of those Keytars)

(Stanza 3)

With the rebels burned, chewed up, or drowned,

Oh Dragon Queen, sweep back to your throne,

Fly to the stars, and as you gaze down,

Take pride in the carnage you've wrought in this town.

Oh, Dragon Queen!

The fires that fill,

The jaws that drill,

The udders that spill,

Fly to your mountain, hide yourself in that hill.

Until the next time you swoop down and kill.

(Chorus)

Oh, Dragon Lady. Spray your milk on your foes,

Drown your enemies from their heads to their toes. (spray sound like a fire hose)

Oh, Dragon Lady. Give a jerk on them teats,

Send those invaders slipping through the streets. (spray sound like a fire hose)

Oh, Dragon Lady, with your jaws, milk, and heat.

Send those invaders to die right in the street! (final spray sound)

Well. How did you like my song? My Pops made me take piano when I was six years old, and I hated it because Mrs. Hinkle farted during our practice sessions. She had old lady farts that are by far ranker and deadlier than young people farts. I think it's because her intestines are really old and so much has been digested in there that we are getting decomposing wind from like the sixties and seventies and eighties and nineties and so forth. But young people's farts have only had a few years to decompose food, so I don't think they're so bad. Well, that's the end of my stuff. I hope you enjoyed it. Take care out there and be safe. And wear a mask for God's sake.