The year was 1996. A dark cloud hung over the whole country following the Sandalwood Syphilis Outbreak in Michigan City. Meanwhile, hunkered in the bomb shelter at La Porte High School in Romanesqe LaPorte, IN, a unique bond was formed, one that would shape our little corner of the world forever. Chunk and the Goonies was formed to alleviate the stress experienced from having to run from ravenous packs of syphilis cells. We original members were just young little pups then (hell, Sam was still wearing diapers) but we knew music. Our orginal lineup rotated due to constant attacks of bubonic diarrhea, but was pretty constant. "It's nice out so open the door" was the motto of Chunk and the Goonies. Sam Cook, the guitar player, was tagged to be a member when it was found that he harbored twelve pounds of heroin in a hollowed out thigh. Jeff Shew was the original bassist because he was the only one with a car and he's constant whining regarding his sinuses was about 34% amusing. Derek Darby joined as drummer a mere 5 minutes after the band's inception because his middle name is Bonham (no, it seriously is Bonham) and because he was (and is) a really buff Italian. Nick Henning was the other guitarist merely because we felt a fledgling funk band needed two guitarist and he bears a passing resemblance to Bootsy Collins. Also, he is the tallest woman in the world. Seth Birchfield used his impressive porno-movie training to provided reliable and shaky audio-visual recordings of the bar mitvahs, funerals, and Nazi Quaker meetings at which Chunk and the Goonies played. Jeremy Noel forced himself into the band, at first wanting only to be in the Official Goonie Harem, but later was dubbed Pr Man because he wore an extremely smelly shirt with the band's name on it for two months and was prone to codeine binges which made him a fucking riot to be around. But alas, permenance was not in the stars for this hunky band of long-dicked balladers. Due to mounting cocaine use and Nick and Seth going to college, the original line-up was scraped for a much cleaner and more christian group to emerge. Seth Bules, a hairy ass gumba and ministers son from the putrid swamps of Methodist doctrine, was enlisted as secondary drummer and backup vocalist. He actually made us bring him into our flock (haha, that's minister talk y'all) when he attacked Pr man and resident poster boy Jeremy Noel with a World War One German Infantry helmet. Av man was stripped of his cameras following a nasty incident involving a microphone and Jeff's late dog, and was given a day-glo trombone instead. Nick (when he was around and not stinking drunk) would use his long, sexy (almost penis-like really) fingers to play (kind of) the trumpet. Linden Lantz was added as a baritone saxophonist because everyone thought he was Louie Prima. That bastard tricked us, so we took an ax to his car, shot him in the belly (and what a belly it was) and buried him, along with his godforsaken saxophone, in a shallow grave near Phish Lake. Adam Boardman was brought in as the official band pedophile and occasional trombonist a la Kurtis Blow. Yeah, Adam's into the young'uns. I remember one time when the elementary schools were letting out and we had just snorted about a gallon of paint thinner, oh man, i can still remember how constricting those fishnets he made me wear were. But I digress. Two former members who have since gone on to greener pastures were Bill Gates and Kevin Loeffler. Bill was forced to leave the band following a sexual liason with Derek which left Derek limping for a month. Kevin is still around sometimes except if you invite him over make sure he doesn't get into the goddamn ventaliation system cause he'll be in there for a week looking through the vents as you're trying to shower, watch Ally McBeal, or have sex with your trailer park manager. Due to legal hassles with a harpy who shall remain unnamed (LW) the band distentagrated in 1999. Our legal team (headed by local buttman Lew Kyes, who also happens to be our "hook-up, yo") found a loophole that allowed the band to stay together just so long as we changed the name to Pansy Pastrie's Weekend in the Dog Pound. We fired him and hired Johnnie Cochran. Johnnie Cochran being the rasta that he is suggested we rename the band Jah Resination. We laughed. He cried. We told him "don't worry johnny, we still love you, we're just not IN love with you" and out of sympathy for his broken wittle heart, we named the band Jah Resination. Since being renamed Jah Resination, the band has appeared on Dick Clark's "World's Most Hunted Pederasts" six times! (what's a pederast Jeff?). (Fuck you Walter), had a cameo as themselves on Suddenly Susan, consumed more drugs than a major league baseball team (you know, that one team with Daryl Strawberry on it. Yeah, we smoke more shit than Daryl Strawberry. We fucking rock.) Citing influences such as Syphillis and not dying from it, Steven Spielberg and his amazing jewish cock, Dr. Pepper's illegal prescription activities, Cloud Canis, Toni Braxton's ass, mark's interpretative tent dance, Webster's dictionary, Phillip Morris, Larry Flynt, that smelly Chinese dude who makes kickass eggrolls at Wah Mei, Bob Dylan's throat (cause he swallows), and my big black ass, Jah Resination has not had any impact whatsoever on the world. Please hire us for something. We're at the end of our ropes. I want to die. Sam's gotten into guns and is scaring the shit out of everyone. Derek wears furs and has sex with models in his limo. Jeff keeps having surgery just so he can say "don't hit me, i'm recovering". Gumba has lost seven fingers and can't play video game hockey anymore (and NO! it's not a fucking cheap shot going around the net. Patrick Roy just sucks sometimes. But only when he's digital. He fucking rocks in the flesh- I know, he's rocked my flesh several times). Adam is disappearing into huge mounds of thick black hair- the natives have begun calling him "Half-Fro, the king of Gay Bar Waiters". Seth is drunk right now. Yup. He's a drunk ass. Seriously, he can't even walk straight anymore. See, I'm not afraid of calling him an alcoholic cause he's too drunk to read most of the time. So Seth, Fuck YOu. I never liked you much anyways. (Hey, what has 30,000 feet and still can't walk? hehe, i'll tell ya later.) Linden enlisted with the Marines and has been happily killing babies ever since. We recieved a postcard from Linden last week. He's in Detroit (where most of the baby killing is done) and he'll be back in a few weeks bearing presents of bloody diapers, Cadillacs, and corn flakes. Shortly following Nick's departure from the band, Nick journeyed to Southeast Asia where, he had heard, "the opium is as good as a vanilla flavored asshole". Unfortunately, Hla Mu Kayla San, who's ass tastes like vanilla, beat Nick's stupid cracker ass to death following a misunderstanding which would have been comical if Nick hadn't died a disgusting horrible death. It took the mortician nine hours of overtime to remove the shit-eating grin on Nick's face. Nick's widow Evan was thought to be heir to Nick's position as guitarist, but Evan went to the zoo where retards get in for half price (cause they're fed to the bears.) (Jerry's Kids!!!!) Isn't that funny! Conclusion: We cured the local strain of syphillis. Dale Earnhardht is dead. I buried Patsy. Jeremy stopped getting painkillers. The Greek Mafia runs the local eating establishments with their Mexican busboy henchmen. Rebel forces have destroyed the death star. Tossed salads are rampant. Sarah Dunlap is a slut. Tiffany Collings is a horse-faced cock-gobbler. Chad's cult has overrun Pole-town. I miss Prezmik. Goodbye Blue Monday.
