SMS Ed. Note: El Doug & Andy have gone missing after this piece was supplied to us via an anonymous email that contained the message, they think he’s out for himself- the fools who drink from the rockford well do not drink from the well of knowledge. Their whereabouts are unknown as of February 17th, 2011. We’ve included photos of the suspects mentioned in Andy’s last entry supplied to us. No one has seen them for days and there are no photo records of Andy or El Doug’s profiles to include as Andy’s agreement with SMS did not allow a photo of him. Please contact us via email or phone with any details of our missing friend & writer, his friend, or the suspects mentioned. Regards, SMS
The Death of El Doug
By Andy Whorehall
I was talkin to so & so in the pisser and they said you’re only drinking with me to tell my stories, to your advantage. You know, like, my special BBQ sauce recipe, and how you may want to sell my recipe to Heinz or KFC?! What a joke. Life’s so much easier at the BBQ plant, Andy. This is why I love my life, stirring the sauce- I don’t have to deal with minions if I don’t want to- just you. I don’t have to worry ’bout people in El Rockford, IL with their battered spirits, conservative worries and unattended-to ambition. Say what you will about the El Doug, but I make the BBQ sauce for everyone to enjoy!
– Douglass Arthur Arbisi-Grobnik
Man, that felt good. El Doug returns from the urinals with imaginary estimates on his mind, right where we last left this story. You know, Andy, I was gonna tell you more secrets using this menu as a metaphor. But look at where we live. Look at the people. Listen to them talk. Listen to the garbage they tell other people about other people, rather than about themselves. Look at them, listen. Ok, Doug, where is this going? There’s 55,000 more words I have to edit about your life- what are you really saying now?
I was in the bathroom takin a piss next to some guy who says to me, ‘you friends with that Warhole guy out there?’ So I says to him, ‘Yeah man, wong time. What’s it to you?’ So I’m finishing my thing, shakin off the juice, and he says- Doug pauses for a second. You know what, Andy? What, Doug, what?
Forget it. He just doesn’t know you- Wait, what did he look like? I don’t know…short, asian, black tuxedo, fu man chu facial hair. I think. I couldn’t really tell but it appeared he had a pet monkey with him. Strange, man. A monkey?! Yeah, he looked like Mr. Fuji, you know- the old 80s wrestler- that guy! Weird. Yeah, he thinks you’re an asshole because of the things you say with your pens & pencils about everything; bands, city serpents & other stuff people are afraid to talk about. He thinks artists are vindictive or need therapy, specifically you. Like I said, forget it, let’s drink. No, wait, what else did he say, El Doug?
Thinks you’re out for yourself, that what you write is just a self-serving platform for yourself and that- Yeah, cause I enjoy whorehalling myself ? Doubt it.
Right? Like you have extra free time for extra free work- Exactly, Doug. At least professional whores get something out of bending over a few times. Then he tried buying my special BBQ sauce recipe off of me! Told me he heard about it at an after hours party. What’s Rokefort doin talkin bout my sauce after hours?! That’s my BBQ sauce! He say anything else?
Who cares, forget it. We’re all in the same, sunk, boat. But come on! Some asian mob boss, bully with a pet monkey he called Francis wants to corner El Doggie in the shitter to tell me my business about my friends?! F him. F him and his monkey. F him for talkin shit instead of taking a shit. What, El Doug? This makes no sense. Asian mob bosses, monkeys, agendas, bbq recipes. We were on pace here, Doug… to tell your story, your family’s story, about growing up in Rockford, IL, and how you became the happiest part-time, anti-arts, anti-music, pro-science, BBQ stirrer of all time to ever claim El Forest Citay as your birth city. This is a sad day, El Doug.
A gentleman 4 feet away on the corner seat, white hair peeking out from under his black White Sox hat, spruces up and leans in for a moment. He with the gray speckles of a beard growin in bright and prickly and eyes wide open and glazed must’ve been eavesdropping the whole time; Here, here boys! Ahahahaha- ‘Fuck him for talkin shit instead of taking a shit…now that’s some Grade A Macaque Meat! Whuh? Made ‘specially for both yawl livin the low life in and out of Rockford, IL’s Rumor Mill & Grind Shop- what was it I heard one of you sissie boys say earlier? ‘Eat or be eaten? Fuck or be fucked?’ Hail yeah, I’ll put some special Rokefort flavored BBQ sauce on that, Mr. Dog- and to you too,Warhole!
El Doug, Aw man I love the BBQ! You were listenin’ weren’t you old man?! Man I got lots of secrets but you keep that recipe to yourself, put it on your fish, ok? By the way, It’s El Doug, sir, not Mr. Doug. And I call him, Andy, he likes to create with his time because he can. That man talkin shit in the shitter? How ironic right? That’s just good ol’ Rockford, IL, rumor talk, Sir. Now don’t you go sharin’ my recipe with the local minions- ‘specially that asian man with the pet monkey- OH! What’s that smell you say ol’ man?! Thas right, ROKEFORT BBQ! More for me and you- ‘specially if you keep your f*cking mouth shut.
El Doug laughs at his own whatever and stares at the old man. The mood has shifted slightly. I’m in disbelief still, the asian man cornering El Doggie in the urinal thing, though demographically it all makes ironic sense- especially the part about the pet monkey.
The old man nods and tips two fingers to his hat towards us, the index slightly misaligned with the middle one, while his other hand reaches inside his coat and behind his back to smilingly conclude, I’ll drink to that too, boys- but take your Bibles and your BBQ back to where yous came from and put those drink chips out where I can see them. Now. Uh, what? I am God H. Christ and I’ve been sent to Rokefort, IL, to take back what I have mistakenly created, YOU, EL DOUG, YOU. Whoa, whuh? I am 1 in 3 iDammit! Do you wants me to mess with the power of 3 at once?! No? HAIL NO! DRINK CHIPS! ON THE BAR! NOW! Wait, what? NOW iDAMMIT NOW!
I never pictured God’s wrath this way; an old, angry, drunk white guy with a subtle twang in a White Sox hat eavesdropping on us in a bar and then iDamming us- while trying to steal our drink chips. Karen Carpenter sings from the bar jukebox overhead, we’ve only just begun, and technically we have.
There’s 55,000 more words I need to share with you somehow but there’s some confusion about the existence of El Doug, his purpose and overall cultural significance. I was trying to get there but the asian man and God H. Christ are pretty powerful literary figures deserving of their own storys too. Big Bird, Mickey Mouse, Tony Soprano, Hank Hill and whatever fictional character you pretend to be playing video games aren’t real either; nor are they culturally & realisitically significant. Yes, you are right, Doug. We’ve only scratched at the surface of my friend, El Doug, aka Douglass Arthur Arbisi-Grobnik, but this story is over.
Here, keep your bibles and your drink chips, I don’t want them.
Douglass Arthur Arbisi-Grobnik vs. The Local Elite,