Three Seizures: A Column by MP Johson

Apr 08, 2006

Three Seizures

Seizure #1: In college, I had a sociology class called Courtship and Marital Relationships. It was taught by a bland, lumpy Southern man who took great pride in showing a video clip of an interview he did on the Today show in which he bored the shit out of a live television audience. Like that interview, which I got to watch three times because I had three classes with him, his lectures were yawn-inducing. Usually, I would zone out during class and think about zombies and whatnot.

One day, I was pulled out of that zone when the head of the guy sitting next to me landed on my lap. Of course, I did what any guy would do when another man’s head lands directly above his junk. I shoved it to the floor. The guy hit the tile hard and started shaking. As I stared at the puddle of his drool that had glopped onto my jeans, a girl sitting behind me yelled, “Hold his tongue!” Needless to say, I did no such thing. Before Southern man was able to round up the campus nurse patrol, the guy’s quivering subsided. He looked up at me from the floor. I avoided his gaze. While all the people around me asked the guy if he was okay, I made a firm decision not to sit by the dude anymore.

Seizure #2: My girlfriend, some other friends, and I went to try out for Wheel of Fortune. Actually, it was more of a lottery than a try out. I signed up and hoped that the Sajak substitute who spent a lot of time literally jumping up and down on stage would call my name. He never did. However, he did call the name of a girl who had been sitting a couple rows in front of me. Unfortunately, she was no longer there.

A half hour earlier, she must have gotten a bit too exited by the hyper antics of the host, because her head flipped back and she started shaking and geysering spit. A woman next to her casually yelled out, “She’s having a seizure!” At that point, everyone around the girl helped to shove her gently to the floor and stand in a tight circle around her, watching as she flopped about like a squirrel that just got hit in the brain with a bb gun. The ambulance was surprisingly fast. Our host gave us a few minutes to regroup and informed us that the try out would be extended because of the delay so we still had plenty of chances.

Later, when he called the name of the woman who had been hauled away, my girlfriend abruptly yelled, “She had a seizure! Pick someone else!”

Seizure #3: This one occurred when I listened to…

Mudhoney – Under a Billion Suns (Sub-Pop)

At first, it sounded like a normal Mudhoney record. Then the horn section kicked in. Grunge with horns? What? My brain couldn’t take it. The big bang recreated itself inside my skull as my limbs twitched like seaweed at the end of a fishing line.

Burns Out Bright – Save Yourself A Lifetime (Deep Elm Records)

I would love to tell you that I pissed on this CD because I truly thought it would grow in liquid like those little aliens you buy in the off-brand toy section of your local dollar store. If I told you that, I would be lying. I’m not a liar. I’m a guy who pisses on bad CDs that don’t grow at all. However, I was surprised that, upon contact with my steaming stream of urine, this CD dissolved and created a shiny silver gunk that burned through my bathroom floor. As the stuff fizzled deeper into the ground, I made the mistake of sticking the tip of my finger in it. My finger jumped off my hand and morphed into a boring emo band called Burns Out Bright. Luckily, I still had more pee left in me.

Live Freaky, Die Freaky (Hellcat DVD)

This flick does for stop-motion animation what Peter Jackson’s Meet the Feebles did for puppets. It turns an art form that’s typically associated with children’s entertainment into sick, perverted insanity. In this work of diabolical zaniness, Charles Manson has a lot of extremely graphic stop-motion sex. He gives a lot of wacko rants and his crew kills a lot of people. The only weakness of this flick is the long stretches of talking heads. These scenes feature really perverted discussions about sex with weirdos and whatnot, but are not visually compelling at all. They slow the hell out of the movie. I’d rather just see more stop motion murder.

Bigwig – Reclamation (Fearless Records)

My scheme to gain eternal life has finally fallen into place. I will play this album at my funeral. As the handful of people who give a shit about me mourn my passing, one of my brothers will whip out a boom box and blast this disc. The intensely calculated, boring, and heartless hardcore music will seep into the afterworld and pierce my ears. My fury at hearing such pointless garbage-core will pull me back into this world. I’ll smash through the lid of my cheap-ass coffin. Screaming back to life, my zombified fists will crush the fuck out of the boom box polluting my earzones. My crew will nod their heads and go their separate ways as I creep off into the sunset to eat brains, preferably those belonging to Bigwig.

You be a good zombie and go to to read all sorts of crazy stuff.

Remember, seizures are just your body’s way of shaking out the demons.