Author Archive

Don’t Call ‘em Midgets: The Little Kingz Want to Tear This World Apart.

Written by George Tabb on December 19, 2000. Posted in Posts

The Little Kingz So when, on a recent Saturday morning, the offices of New York Press were visited by three of the four Little Kingz (drummer Joseph James was ill, exploded, or whatever it is drummers do), that was the first question on my mind. With me was my editor and pal, John Strausbaugh. The
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P.J. the Yorkie’s Shaggy Dog Story

Written by George Tabb on November 28, 2000. Posted in Posts

Shagged Suddenly I hear the sound again, and I start to make some noise. I’m scared. It’s only my second time ever in the woods. Wendy opens her eyes, tells me everything will be okay, and rolls over and begins to snore again. More rustling sounds. But this time it’s closer to the window of
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The L.E.S. Stitches Bang Their Heads on the Punk Rock

Written by George Tabb on October 24, 2000. Posted in Posts

Way back in 1994, when most of the current crop of punk panhandlers on St. Marks Pl. were still into the Power Rangers, L.E.S. Stitches started playing and releasing records in the punk rock circuit. Since that time, they have released three albums, their newest one titled, strangely enough, Lower East Side (Ng/Artemis). Still composed
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Does George’s Jimmy Have Herpes?

Written by George Tabb on September 12, 2000. Posted in Posts

Jimmy Lube How I Learned I Had Herpes But I know it will. It does every time he does it. Every time he puts on that rubber glove, lubes himself up with K-Y and sticks his forefinger up my butt. I try to relax, but the thought of a finger up my butt makes me
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George Grows Sideburns, Checks Out Nashville Pussy, Listens to Records

Written by George Tabb on August 29, 2000. Posted in Posts

New Burns "What the fuck are you doing, Tabb?" asks the drunk guy with the reddish-blond hair whose name I can never remember, but I pretend to know so he doesn’t get mad. "Calling my ship," I explain to the guy, who had earlier asked me to tell him his name as proof that I
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I Was A Despised Jew Benchwarmer for the Parkway Pirates

Written by George Tabb on August 1, 2000. Posted in Breaking News, Posts

The sound of sprinklers and smell of freshly cut grass greeted my senses that summer, every Saturday morning, as I made my way out onto the baseball diamond that was exclusively for my Little League team, the Parkway Pirates. Well, not Little League, actually. More like Mini-League or Bush League. I was in the fifth
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Rock Hard: George & Wendy Do Viagra

Written by George Tabb on August 1, 2000. Posted in Posts

Rock Hard "You want a treat?" I ask P.J., my Yorkshire Terrier, as I search through the orange-floral tray on top of the kitchen counter. P.J. just tilts his head and stares at me. "Okay," I say to my little pal, "just let me find one." Stuff like wheat germ oil pills with Vitamin E,
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Interview: Coming Soon Director Colette Burson and the Search For the Female Orgasm

Written by George Tabb on May 16, 2000. Posted in Arts & Film, Posts

Colette Burson Q: How do you make a woman have an orgasm?A: Who cares?Obviously Colette Burson does. She cowrote and directed a whole movie dedicated to the subject. Coming Soon, which opens May 12 at Village East Cinemas, stars Mia Farrow, Ryan O’Neal, Spalding Gray, Peter Bogdanovich, Gaby Hoffmann and newcomers Bonnie Root, Ryan Reynolds,
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Talking Dirty with The Virgin Suicides’ Way-Hot Kirsten Dunst

Written by George Tabb on April 25, 2000. Posted in Arts & Film, Posts

Kirsten Dunst Kirsten Dunst is in the new The Virgin Suicides, directed by Sofia Coppola. The film also stars James Woods, Kathleen Turner and Danny DeVito. Mini-Me, my bassist in Furious George who looks just like me, who’s real name is Stevie, thinks she’s way hot. "I’ll tell her her pants look good–on my floor!"
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Arizona Desert Warfare for Pussies (and Some Record Reviews)

Written by George Tabb on April 13, 2000. Posted in Posts

Desert Storm "How ya doin’, Green?" asked my cell captain, as I stood in the Arizona desert wearing a green ski mask, an army jacket, protective headgear with goggles, black ladies’ stretch jeans and an old pair of sneakers now entirely covered with sharp thorns. No one had told me that there were things called
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