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By Steve Kostecke
In mid-March of 2001, KGB--a chic NYC bar of upper echelon
literary entertainment--hosted Use Me authoress Elissa
Schappell. A gang of us underground types attended this
reading. Before the reading, we drank at The International
on the Lower East side and none of us mentioned a thing
about what we were planning to do. We jammed Iggy Pop's Raw
Power on the jukebox and got psyched. We stumbled into
KGB--overcharged--and Karl went round the bar handing out
fliers for our upcoming ULA event, The Underground Invasion,
occuring at the Amato Opera House the following week. Karl
strutted boldly up to each table and blurted: "So what are
you: literati types, or press?"--then foisted the fliers.
The audience went silent as Ms. Schappell took the podium.
She was aware of Karl's presence and stated good-naturedly
that King Wenclas would later read a poem. She had no idea
that the King's "poem" was going to take place far sooner
than that. Two minutes into her doomed reading, Karl pulled
a balloon out of his pocket and slowly blew it till it
burst. The bar patrons gasped. Ms. Schappell took it in
stride and carried on. Karl took a second balloon out and
did the same. Ms. Schappell gazed at the crowd and asked:
"Should I stop?" "YES!" many yelped. A guy standing next to
me slammed his fist on the bar in very intense inner rage;
his girlfriend next to him patted his arm: "Relax. Just
relax."
Emotions were stirred. Karl ranted out loud: "Literature has
become something stuck on a dusty shelf in a library!" The
literary reading attendees groaned. An older gent in an
urban cowboy hat strongly suggested that Karl shut up. "Why
don't you make me?" challenged the King. The old man arose.
Karl led him toward the door, where the older man then
balked and failed to cross the line into the danger zone
where King was poised. The man traipsed back to his seat
while a bouncer prevented Karl from re-entering. The King
shouted into KGB: "PUSSY! YOU'RE ALL A BUNCHA PUSSIES!"
This ouster led directly to Michael Jackman stepping into
the center of the bar arena and, in unconscious imitation of
the image of Lenin on the wall beside him, sticking forth
his arm to declare: "THIS IS THE SOVIET UNION! ARE YOUR
PAPERS IN ORDER? HAVE THEY BEEN STAMPED BY A SMALL COLLEGE
IN IOWA SO YOUR WRITING CAN BE DEEMED WORTHY?!"
Soon, we were all back on the sidewalk, following it back
towards The International to drink even further and jam
again Iggy's Raw Power from the jukebox machine...