Showing posts with label White Trash Peg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label White Trash Peg. Show all posts

1/06/2012

NEUSTERN OFFERS WHITE TRASH ART TO MOURNING NORTH KOREANS

(Above) PORTRAIT OF KIM JONG IL(2011), National Museum of Art, Pyongyang, North Korea.

The government of Neustern has presented the people of North Korea with a portrait of their recently deceased leader Kim Jong Il(1941-2011). The Neustern department of foreign affairs commissioned artist White Trash Peg(aka Peggy Clydesdale) to render a 'sympathetic likeness of the dictator'. White Trash Peg herself travelled to Pyongyang as part of an official Neustern funeral delegation and personally presented her artwork to Kim Jong Il's son and successor Kim Jong Un. Clydesdale became a citizen of Neustern in 2010 after emigrating from her native USA. Since arriving in the autonomous coastal city state White Trash Peg has proved herself an impressive and passionate nationalist prompting the authorities to send her to North Korea in an official gift giving capacity. Kim Jong Un is said to be delighted and sincerely grateful for the portrait and has ordered it hung in the National Art Museum in Pyongyang.

Gary Farrelly, Neustern.

11/06/2011

10/29/2011

A WHITE TRASH GHOST STORY


North of New Orleans in the bayou country parish of Calcasieu is Lake Charles. It's your average run of the mill, small southern city in most ways. If you need a new funeral suit, they will set you up at the Penney's over at Prien Lake Mall. If you want to bitch about The Saint's head coach or maybe do a little karaoke, the Sports Pit is the perfect venue for it. If you find you are a bit peckish, you can travel to the Isle of Capri Casino, an architectural vision in peach and hot pink stucco, and take in the Calypso Lounge breakfast buffet for the low price of $6.99.
Like most places in the swampy and mysterious state of Louisiana, people tell a few ghost stories here. Teenagers like to scare each other with tales of a phantom pickup truck that will tailgate an unsuspecting victim, chasing them at high speeds until it vanishes into thin air. A little murdered girl is rumored to re-appear in the streets and alleyways, still wearing her Halloween ghost costume. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a house that people say has a resident ghost. And of course, there's the legend of Toni Jo Henry.
Toni Jo Henry had that look about her that would prove to scare away any "decent" guy: pretty, but in a way that often looked rode hard and put up wet. She looked like she would lift your wallet as she breathed bourbon-scented, erotic promises in your ear. She had a rough life. Her mother died of consumption when she was just a girl of six, and her dad must not have known what to do with her, because she was blowing guys for dope in a whorehouse in Shreveport by the time she should've been having her debut.
When a squinty eyed boxer and part time petty criminal from Texas called "Cowboy" swept Toni Jo off of her feet, it was true love. Cowboy helped her get off the blow. She didn't have to turn on the red light anymore, either. Cowboy and Toni Jo got married, and all was right in the world.
The honeymoon didn't last long. "Cowboy" Claude Henry was up on charges for killing a cop in a bar fight in San Antonio. Just weeks after her fairy tale wedding at the justice of the peace, Toni Jo was promising to break her new husband out of Huntsville Prison. She wasted no time teaming up with Finnian "Arkie" Burks (just released from Huntsville) and the two set off hitchhiking to break Cowboy out. It was a cold and rainy Valentine's Day evening. A businessman from Houston in a brand new Ford coupe liked the looks of Toni, and offered them a ride. They forced him to drive by gunpoint to a rice field and stripped him naked. (Toni Jo thought his outfit would look good on Cowboy.) They tortured him, and told him to say his prayers. Toni Jo pressed the barrel between his eyes as he prayed, and coldly blew his brains out.
They hadn't even made it to the Texas line when the two career criminals pulled over to party in the roadhouses along the way and brag loudly about the "successful" theft of the car and their upcoming jailbreak scheme. Toni showed up unannounced at her aunt's house in Shreveport and confessed that she had killed a man. They lingered in the area long enough for word to get out about their bragging, and for a manhunt to ensue. No one had any idea what had happened to the salesman until the two talked about it all over town. Cocaine is a hell of a drug.
Toni Jo was taken to the jail at Lake Charles to await trial, and Arkie was taken to a seperate facility. She would spend two years unsuccesfully trying to pin the crime on Arkie. During that time she charmed the jailers, who even allowed her a pet, and she made national press in her quest to be free. The papers called her "Tiger Girl".
After three trials, she ran out of appeals and was sentenced to death. The only regret she vocalized was that they were going to shave her head. She donned a brightly colored scarf as she made her way, in front of snapping cameras, to the back of an 18 wheeler that was heavily loaded with generators and a portable electric chair. They placed the hood on her and barbecued her right there in the parking lot. I'm sure they offered her a minute to say her prayers. Just days before, just across the state line, Cowboy had managed to escape prison. He planned to hold Toni Jo's sentencing judge hostage until they freed her. He made it as far as Beaumont, TX before he was caught in a fleabag hotel and thrown back in the slammer.
The courthouse at Lake Charles is haunted by the only woman to die in Louisiana's electric chair. Clerks who work there can smell burning hair once in awhile. A huge records room that mechanically shifts giant metal file holders has inexplicably turned itself on and rotated after it was shut off for the evening, on more than one occasion. Many have heard a woman shriek in the stairwells and in the parking lots. The doors, which lock with a key, will suddenly lock themselves in the middle of a regular work day. Men especially seem to hear talking in the empty building as they clean at night.
Toni Jo admitted the day of her execution that she was solely responsibile for the murder in the rice field. The state executed Arkie a year later anyway. On her last phone call to Cowboy she asked him to "Go straight and try to make something of your life" so that his mother would be proud of him. Two years later, he was paroled early (he was prematurely dying of heart failure). He was gunned down in the street in Dallas three months after his parole.
On her way to the chair, Toni Jo smiled coyly at reporters and said "Have you any idea how much talent is being wasted here today?"

White Trash Peg, Wynona.

10/04/2011

RENO STAR FUCKER REMINISCING (PART 1) - White Trash Peg




I used to live in Reno, Nevada. It was America's Sin City while Vegas was still a mule turd of a mining town in an otherwise useless wasteland. Long past it's prime, Reno is an armpit at the foot of Mount Rose: the top of which rims a volcanic lake so deep that they have to estimate just how perilously close to hell it actually comes. Clustered around that golden rim lives titans of industry and the privately educated, ski-sweater wearing offspring they support. They gather in the standard Tahoe haunts in little packs. The women swill wine with cachexic fingers, laden with massive diamonds. The men ignore their wives, genetically blessed faces that are kept emotionally divoid through the careful use of various pharmeceuticals. The husbands' eyes dart around the room for anything to keep their predatory nature in check through one more obligatory family dinner. The children are oblivious to their creators. Little plastic entertainment devices seem to be the only thing that keeps them from going all Menedez on Mom and Dad. 

People who have enough money to satiate every tiny desire seem to find out that the price to be paid toward that particular blessing is that there is nothing left to have to fight the good fight against, excluding the cremation room. The rich love to rub elbows with famous people. In Tahoe they throw ridiculously excessive golf events to keep themselves occupied in their charmed but boring lives. They hire athletes and actors to populate their events. The famous but not-as-rich are paid to pretend to enjoy the company of rich-but-not-famous, of whom most of the latter would be considered shallow, trite, and boring by any thinking man's estimation. Why else would anyone need to pay interesting people to come to their party?

I found myself amidst these charity golf events on several occasions. This series documents my brushes with fame and glamour between the years of 1999 1nd 2006.

Star Fucker Reminiscing #1: Patrick Swayze

Patrick Swayze was amazingly buff for a dude in his late 50's. He was the crown jewel of that year's charity golf event. He was also really small in stature compared to what one would expect out of the skull cracker from "Roadhouse". All of the old ladies were creaming in their hundred dollar panties to get a spot in the golf cart next to old Johnny Castle. 

I met him in the VIP lounge of the best casino in town. (There is a room in every nice casino in which high rollers can drink for free, get shit scheduled for them by the most subservient of the professional ass-kissers on staff, and feel like they don't have to hang out with the sheep who are shoveling grubby coins into the 25 cent slots beyong the big gilded doors.) He was already half tanked, and was hoisting a comically large tumbler of bourbon and ice. My overly-fawning ex husband (who was, in fact, one of the high-ranking professional ass-kissers himself) weasled his way over by a less than inviting looking Patrick. No one puts Baby in a corner, but there he was, cornered by two rubes from Illinois.

He was very cordial, and discussed his love for flying. We found out we both had the same breed of dog and bantered uncomfortably about that for about the length of time it took to pound a drink. He was a nice guy, I think.

That was the first night of the event. Patrick Swayze proceeded to get shitty drunk all weekend instead of schmoozing and golfing with random boring rich bastards. The wives were pissed. Their panties dried up faster than spit on a Vegas sidewalk. My fat ass loved it. It was the highlight of my trip.

White Trash Peg, Wynona IL.

8/08/2011

DECLASSIFIED


New Obsessive is obliged to make the below image public under the Neustern Public Information Act 1994 - . The image was taken at the signing of The Treaty of Dallas between new obsessive's Gary Farrelly(right) and Peggy Clydesdale(left). The contents of the treaty remain classified. The exact location of the signing also remains classified.

WHITE TRASH PEG'S WHITE TRASH COOKING CONTEST



I proposed a cooking competition to my fellow New Obsessives and a few noteable others, and was not disappointed with the response! Celebutante chef Gordon Ramsey was slated to judge, but he texted me that he was indisposed."Gordo" means "fat ass" in Spanish. Elsewhere: Sherry DiscgolfGeek, founder of The White Trash Recipe Exchange, answered a few questions about her cooking repertoire and also shared a delicious recipe:

WTP:What is your favorite junk food product?
SD:Pork Skins with Chili and Limon, I can't live with out them.

WTP:Do you prefer salty or sugary snacks? SD:Salty

WTP:If you had to choose between a box of fruit leather or a crate of Twinkies to sustain you during a month long period of forced isolation with only one food source, what would you choose and why? SD:Twinkies, The perfect comfort food when alone, surgery, sponge cake, whip creamy, And a awesome way to get out of a murder sentence if your Dan White, the Guy who killed San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and County Supervisor Harvey Milk!

Contest Entry No. 1: Sheri's sublime recipe for trailer park goodness: Spam Frittata 1/2 can of Spam diced 1/2 medium sweet onion diced salt pepper dry or fresh oregano dry or fresh thyme dry or fresh basil 4 eggs (beaten) 3-4 slices provolone Preheat oven to 350˚F Lightly grease a 9-inch pie tin or skillet. Mix together spam, onion, oregano, thyme, basil and egg. Season with a tiny pinch of salt and pepper. Pour the mixture into a skillet or pie tin. Bake for 40 min. 5 min before taking it out, place the provolone slices on top.


Contest Entry No. 2: Gary Farrelly and Donna Marie O'Donovan crafted this exquisite Banana Pineapple Ice Cream Claw. (see below)
Contest Entry No.3: The lovely Sophie Iremonger created a masterpiece of carnage: Foot Loaf (see below)
Contest Entry No.4: In honor of the Fuhrer's wedding to the lovely Tara Tonini last month, I contributed this Moon Pie Tower with Grandma's pills and spent shell vases.(See below image)



I leave it up to the readership of The New Obsessive to choose the favorite, via the comment section of the page, with the winning contribution to be awarded via United States Postal Service, if they do not go out of business prior to end of voting which is SEPTEMBER 1st, 2011.