nice peter news

Good Luck, Chicago

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 02:57:00 +0000

so,
tomorrow you're having
a huge party in Grant Park.

and I won't be able to be there.

good luck, Chicago,
I hope you have something
to celebrate.

-p

dear America

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 02:43:00 +0000

Dear America,

I'm sorry if I was a little hard on you the other day.

Was I?

I don't even know,
but I think I may have
said something about
everything going better for me
over here in England.

I didn't mean it,
their showers pretty
much suck ass.

And I miss you.

America,
I miss you,
and I'm looking
forward to coming
back and playing
for you again.

I think I'm going to add
one show in Chicago in November
before I hit the road, indefinitely.

what do you think?

and,
I have a present for you,
just so you can see what
it's like for me over here.

I have a recording of the first
half of a concert in Bideford, England.

It's a small town on the southwest coast.

The recording is one big file,
43 Megs, it might take a second to download.

but you can find it here:
http://www.nicepeter.com/nicepeter_liveinbideford.mp3

much love,

-p

Nice Peter in London, 22 Oct

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 15:52:00 +0000

Nice Peter in London on Wed, 22 Oct

I don't know why I'm writing a blog to post this,

but Ed says it's a good idea. He's my manager,

maybe I'll tell you more about him and touring

in general, to make this a more legitimate blog,

and not just a post about a gig in London.

But let's get that out of the way first.

I'm playing a gig in London.

On Wednesday, the 22 of October.

It's at 229, aka Club Fandango.

229 Great Portland Street, London W1W 5PN

(very close to Euston Station)

admission is 6 pounds, steep, but hey, it's London.

Music starts at 8 pm, I go onstage at 10 pm.

If you're in London, or feel like making a trip,

I'd love to see you there.

In other news,

I am halfway through the calendar dates

of this UK tour,

but I have 21 shows left to go.

This weekend, I play two double headers,

on Friday and Saturday.

Luckily, our friend Liam,

from Sheffield, is driving us around.

He drives fast.

This will help me in several ways,

first, and perhaps most important,

allowing me to drink during shows.

Beer, pints, shots, and bottles

have become an integral

part of the Nice Peter show,

especially here in England.

I don't know if that's sad,

or awesome, right now,

it feels pretty awesome.

It gives me just a little

more confidence onstage,

false confidence, perhaps,

but it allows me to take the risks

and say the things that usually

end up being the most memorable

part of the show.

What can I say?

It's fun.

the shows in the UK,

on a whole, have been fantastic.

Weston Super Mare is the strangest

place I have ever been in my life.

We got weed from a crack head,

I'm sorry, a former crack head,

and, well... that's really weird.

The gig was a circus,

any comedy in any of

my songs was completely outshined

by the characters and the comedy

of the audience itself.

This was one show,

especially, where what

I had written before

was essentially thrown

out the window.

All I had to do was strum

a few chords and point

out the simple ridiculousness

of the people in the room.

It works, sometimes.

I made a return trip to

West Kirby, which is outside

of Liverpool.

It ended up being even

better than the first,

but again, due to the

enhancing effects of

San Miguel Lager

and one shot of Vodka,

I ended up picking on the one

guy in the room who had absolutely

no sense of humor.

I found out later that his

wife had also left him...

that day.

Oops.

well,

it wasn't my fault.

I'm more than willing

to work with any member

of the audience,

I can feel when they are pissed off,

and I can feel when they have had enough.

but,

for fuck's sake,

it is a comedy show.

You knew that when you walked in,

and it's not going to stop for another hour,

so if its really bothering you,

there's the door.

everyone else is laughing,

except for you,

grumpy sweater guy

who's wife had just left him.

I'm sorry your wife left you,

maybe it was because you

have no sense of humor.

I didn't even ever say anything

mean to the guy.

I was just busting his chops about his

sweater, and I think I said something

about the "lady standing next to him

maybe being his girlfriend,

or maybe that other guys girlfriend,

or maybe both... "

In retrospect, that might be what

set him off. Some young punk

suggesting that the cute woman

standing next to him was his girlfriend,

when he was in fact newly single,

and then going on to point out

that he was wearing a funny jumper.

Anyhow,

he stood there at the very front,

fuming at me.

I'm talking fuming,

like a Puerto Rican guy

moving his lips furiously

before he punches you in the face.

I tried to ignore it,

but how the hell could I?

You don't not notice

a guy standing three feet

in front of your face,

ready to punch it.

Hell, he could have reached

me with a step.

So I tried to diffuse,

while still keeping some humor,

it had no effect.

Have you ever tried

to reason with a Volcano?

It doesn't work,

if it starts to grumble,

it will go off, no matter

how funny you are.

He left.

finally,

to get more fucking

money to come back

and drink at the bar!

you're kidding me.

fine, whatever,

I left him alone,

he minded his own,

and stopped paying attention

business, at a very fun show,

which seems stupid to me,

but, whatever.

I apologized to him,

very sincerely, during a break.

I really did.

No jokes,

I said,

"I'm really sorry,

things got carried away,

I didn't realize you were actually

getting so upset, and I've tried

to leave you alone from then on."

He kinda just stood there.

So I figured,

problem solved,

Volcano, diverted.

But as he left,

during a pause between songs,

he came up to me onstage and said...

"I'll give you a tip...."

okay!

here it comes,

some funny one liner

from an edgy British guy...

he'll wrap it all up,

get a huge laugh,

and every will love everyone

again.

I expected something about the sweater.

what he actually said was,

"stay in your own fucking country"

wow.

what a dick.

-p

Good morning

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 13:08:00 +0000

Good morning,
I'm in Plymouth, England,
on the ocean, overlooking
the coast, and the sun is shining,
which is weird for this country.

I got up last night in front
of approximately 300 English
people who have never heard of me,
at 1:30 in the morning.

I was playing at the White Rabbit,
and the guy who runs it is named Dan,
and he wants me to tell you more stories
about it.

so here's some stories.

I got up,
and there were two girls dancing
to the song that the very serious DJ
was playing before I went on.

I say very serious,
because she had a table
and everything.

DJs crack me up,
they get really into it.

A laptop plugged into
a stereo system is just
a guy playing music,

but a laptop on a stage,
on a big table, is a DJ, baby.

But the music was good,
I'll give her that,
and the girls were dancing,
they were the only ones
near the stage.

Everyone else was spread out
into this huge club, and drinking,
heavily, and cheaply.

It was "pound a pint" night.

Which means,
essentially,
two dollar drafts.

Not bad for a Friday.

The special started at midnight,
and ran until two am,
and the bar was open...

until 5.

I stayed until six.

I played at one thirty,
to the two girls in the front,
and I started singing about
"pound a pint" night.

I put it on the loop pedal,
"a pound a pint, a pound for jager,
it's a fucking cheap night for drinking"

It had a catchy little tune,
I looped it over and over,
and the girls kept dancing,
and started singing,
and seven lonely guys on the wall
took notice, and one smiled,
and some cool guys in the back
noticed that something interesting
was going on, and a guy named Ricky
jumped onstage with the tambourine,
and next thing you know,
I'm playing to a big crowd
right at the front of the stage,
laughing and dancing along.

It was that easy,
and it was awesome.

that might be my favorite
thing to do, convince a big,
fun group of people that I'm
worth listening to.

It doesn't work everytime,
especially in America.

I'm sorry, America,
it just doesn't.

I'm afraid I might rag on
the American's a lot.

But you know what I mean,
you must have felt it.

Like the Matrix,
there is something
you can tell isn't right
about the way we go out,
and the way we appreciate things,
and you are smart,
but that guy next to you
sure is a fucking dumbass.

Maybe I'm crazy,
but I just seem to go over
differently over here.

I had the bulk of the crowd
interested and listening by the end.

I'm not bragging,
I'm just proud and happy about it.

It feels good.

Ricky, on the tambourine,
he stayed up for most of the set.

He just did a good job,
just kept the beat going
and gave me something to play off.

He said to me afterwards,
"man... that was a rush"

yeah, it really is.

..
So then,
I smoked a joint with
a cool English guy
and talked philosophically.

then I smoked another joint
with a girl named Cat,
and her friend who's name
I didn't catch.

They were an interesting pair,
I'm pretty sure by the end of the night,
I told them, "look, I'd love to have sex with
both of you, but I can't have sex with either of you"

I had quite a bit to drink, and smoked two joints,
and I'm pretty certain that's exactly what I said.

I was completely unprompted,
and in retrospect,
pretty hilarious.

So now,
I'm awake,
surprisingly
unhungover...
and I'm on the coast,
and I get to do it all again tonight.

-p

UK Tour Diary Again

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 16:01:00 +0000

It's been fun.

I played last night
in Blackburn.

a small town in the northwest of England.

I took a walk,
to a shop,
to buy some
cigarettes for Ed.

I needed a walk.

Five blocks from the venue,
I saw two heroin addicts,
one prostitute,
and one guy in a phone booth,
who wasn't using the phone.

I don't know what,
in the hell,
he was doing.

But it was a weird place.

The gig went well,
really well.

I played with the
Whiskey Bastards.

A four piece
pirate punk band.

They were outside
drinking a bottle of
vodka and doing poppers
with their relatively hot
entourage of suicide girls.

Lot's of poppers.

Poppers,
if you don't know,
are amyl nitrate,
kind of like sniffing glue.

It's a small bottle
of liquid that smells
like paint thinner.

You open it,
hold it to your nose,
and inhale the toxic fumes.

It makes you giggle
your head off,
like a bong hit
of nitrous.

In the States,
they are used mostly
by gay men.

Apparently it eases
the moment of anal
penetration,
and makes orgasms
feel like you're getting
a blowjob on a roller coaster.

Over here,
they're used
by pirate punk bands
and their ladies,
out on the dance floor,
during my set.

Blackburn was hilarious.

I think I mentioned something
about the Giant's Causeway.

It's in Ireland,
and it's a big,
completely unexplainable,
collection of stacked up
hexagonal rocks.

There's no way to
get it across without
seeing it.

you should google
Giant's Causeway,
when you have a second.

Ireland is solid,
but I was glad to get back
to England.

I played a gig in Preston,
kind of my home town over here.

It was awesome,
you should have seen
the girl on the tambourine,
she played in Porn Star,
and no one in the audience
was watching me a bit.

My battery is dying,
and I'm coming down
off the joint I smoked
this morning before
I went to watch the BMX races.

Tonight is another gig,
this makes eight so far
since last Sunday,
with twenty six more to go.

Then it's back home,
two days off,
and off to Buffalo,
and down the East Coast
to Florida.

Ah.......

-p

UK Tour Journal Part I

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 16:59:00 +0000

Dear Diary,

I'm in Ireland.

Southern, Ireland.

I am at a hostel in Galway,
waiting to see if the gig that
got cancelled will get moved to
a different bar.

I'm clean shaven, showered,
full, sober... and I'm wearing
clean underwear.

Those are all a first
for this tour so far.

I landed on Sunday,
but first my plane got held
up in Chicago, with a stopover
in New York City.

Upon landing,
I had to sprint,
literally sprint,
from one terminal,
about a mile to the next,
to make my plane,
the last of the night,
as they were closing the gate.

phew.

I landed in Manchester, England, on time,
only to find that my work permit had not
gone through, the permit office was closed,
and UK immigration didn't think they could
let me into the country....
until Wednesday.

It was Sunday morning,
and I had a gig that night.

Eventually, they decided
to let me in on a temporary Visa,
but not until they held my passport,
held me waiting for two hours,
took my picture,
and finger printed me.

"we just have to run your prints
through Interpol"

wow.
I felt like Jason Bourne.

"it will only take ten minutes
to run the prints,
you can wait on that bench in the hallway"

Almost exactly ten minutes later,
two heavily armed policemen
rounded the corner and started walking
purposefully towards my bench.

Oh...
shit.

My mind quickly
riffled through any and
all experiences that may
have landed my fingerprints
on some database somewhere.

The only thing I could think of,
was three years ago,
I was in Amsterdam with Pauly and Donehoo,
and I was so high on mushrooms that I
flipped out, tried to walk to the hotel,
got lost, found myself, talked to god,
got back to the hotel, and folded my underwear
for two hours while I talked to myself in
a British accent.

What if I did something stupid along the way?
There is a good chunk of a time I don't remember at all.

I was getting ready to explain myself,
and call Ed to tell him I was going to jail,
when the policemen very purposefully...
walked right past me.

Phew.

So they let me in,
but with no passport,
and I had to be back in Manchester
airport by Wednesday, with my permit,
or they would deport me.

Also,
with no passport,
I could not rent a car.

The gig that night got cancelled.

phew.

I took a train to Preston,
met Ed,
and we picked up where
we left off last tour.

In a pub.

I sat and drank with
strange locals, some guy
shared his joint, I played
my harmonica for some drunks,
and I was happy at my home
away from home.

Still..
there was tomorrow's gig,
Monday night,
three hours across England,
with no way to rent a car.

We called our faithful driver,
a four foot gentleman named Adam.

He is my personal hero.

Adam drives as fast as anyone
I've ever seen,
and we were off.

105 mph down the motorway,
to our first gig, in Sunderland.

Sunderland used to be one of
my favorite gigs in England.

It's still cool,
and I got to see Westy,
who took all my new promo pictures,
but it hasn't been the same
without Big Irish Hobo,
aka,
Scotty.

Scotty moved to Limavady,
in Northern Ireland.

That was our home for gig number 4.

I'll tell you more stories later,
about the private VIP booth at the movie theater,
the trip to the cliff in Ireland,
the Giant's Causeway,
the wrestling fans,
the tiniest rental car in the world,
and the dirtiest hotel, I have ever fucking seen.

This marks day seven,
with thirty five more days,
and 27 more gigs,
to go.

-p

Ode to Sarah Palin, the song

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 19:19:00 +0000

To all of you lovers and
haters out there, I recorded
my Sarah Palin song,
and I made a little youtube
video, and you can watch it
and hear it here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2v4bdAd841I

Now if you'll excuse me,
I'm packing my entire
life into a Subaru and leaving
the country for a while and then
coming back and traveling with
no home and not enough set up
tour dates and then I might live
in California for a while, and I found
a nice temporary home for my cat
with my wonderful booking agent
Mr. Bryan Adamick, and I'm sick
as a dog, and tired, but excited because
I have a pretty awesome new drummer
and a generally positive outlook on life,
and I'm off to chase weird dreams that
are more like waking fantasies that
aren't that hard to realize.

Like.... dreaming of a slurpy,
and then just walking to 7-11
to buy one. It doesn't seem that hard,
but then, I'm not really aiming that high,
but then, maybe I am and just walking
too slowly towards it,
but then, maybe it's my own
happiness and satisfaction with
the way things are already that
keeps me from being some sort
of mad, driven, depressed artist
that channels his sadness into
unbridled creativity.

I don't have that,
I've been feeling pretty good lately.

I think I'm kind of disappearing into
the night, without really telling people,
I've talked about it for years, it's time
for me to just go.

I'm gonna miss that cat,
I'll get you a picture soon.

He's taken to sitting in
my bathroom sink,
it's adorable.

God bless the USA,
God save the Queen,
God... I could go for a slurpy.

Wish me luck...
I'm leaving town
for a while.

much love,

-p

I cut off his balls today

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 00:48:00 +0000

I got my cat neutered this morning.

He's sitting in my lap now,
purring and cuddling as if
nothing is wrong.

It's hard to imagine,
cuddling up to the guy
who paid for your castration.

But he is a sweetheart.

I had a big week,
shows across the midwest,
I had a lot of fun,
and a lot of driving,
and I've got some new jokes,
and a new song,
which I won't talk about,
because people keep
getting all personal on me.

I also signed a one year
contract with a college booking agent.

His name is Devon,
he's very cool,
and he books at
campuses across the country.

So...
I might be coming to a theater near you.

I'll be adding his contact info
to my contact page,
if you happen to be
on a campus activities board.

That should prove cool,
if it works out.

He's submitting me for these
big showcase thingies,
if I get one, I get up in front
of thousands of students for fifteen
minutes, and sell myself.

and hopefully, get a lot of gigs.

It's very exciting,
slowly, but steadily,
I've gathered a little
professional team.

A UK agent,
and US clubs agent,
and now, a college agent.

Plus all the people I owe
money too, they're a crucial
part of the team, too.

oh, and my cat,
he keeps my lap warm.

-p

Palin Song

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 21:36:00 +0000

you knew I would, right?

It's halfway done,
a song about the
lovely ice queen
of ball squeezing.

I wrote it on the drive to Madison,
now I'll try to write the second half
on the way to Appleton,
and then I'll escape to play it
in England where I won't get
booed off by halfwits.

-p

Pain + L = Palin - P,A,L = Pin + head = Palin

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 07:47:00 +0000

Oops,
I did it again.

I let days,
what... weeks?
go by without writing
anything to you.

It's been a busy
couple of days,
what... weeks?

I went to California.
I went to Utah,
I started practicing
with a new drummer,
I made a rap beat out
of the "Greatest American Hero" theme song,
and I started booking a tour
from Buffalo to Seattle, via Texas.

I also have been racking
my brain trying to come up
with some sort of song I can
write about Sarah Palin.

I hate her,
I actually have feelings
of rage and lustful malice.

Lustful malice?

well, yeah...
she's kind of hot,
in a...
punch her in the face
after you cum on it kind of way.

Sorry,
that was completely uncalled for.

No, it wasn't,
it was hilarious,
I went back and read it.

I have a dear friend,
a close and wonderful friend
in California, with whom
I spent a lot of my time there.

He almost drowned,
and got saved by a female
lifeguard.

then we almost got him
a pot prescription,
you can do that in California.

All you need is a state ID,
and... I qoute:
"headaches, or restlessness, or... whatever"

you just go in to the weed store,
have a 75 minute consultation
with the "doctor", tell him about...
"whatever".... and then he writes
you a prescription, for marijuana.

Then, with that prescription card,
you can smoke it anywhere,
on the street, in your house,
just not while driving.

hilarious.

even better,
as we were jogging back
to his car to get his state ID,
we crossed a street, with no traffic,
but with a Do Not Cross sign,
that big, red, hand.

We crossed anyway,
and we got pulled over.

no shit.

we got pulled over by a cop,
for crossing the street,
on our way to buy legal weed.

We could have gotten a ticket for crossing the street,
and we could have been standing there
smoking a giant bong, which they also sell
at the "doctor's office", and that would have been fine.

I love California.

So then,
I played another gig at the
Catholic University.

I loved it,
they seemed to,
they payed me a lot of money,
I was happy, and I went on my way.

The way turned out to be
a cool little improv theater,
and when I stepped outside
to smoke pot with another friend,
who has a prescription......

He asked me if I wanted to see the Google office.

I said....
uh,
yeah!

So,
high as a kite,
I went into the office
that designed the email
program that I am writing
this email on.

Kind of like eating Ice Cream
while riding a cow.

Google was awesome,
that's all I can say.

Unreal,
probably the coolest
place to work I have ever seen.

Have you ever seen
a break room in an office
with a full Rock Band setup,
an atari with 100 games,
and free gatorade?

I have.

So...
that brings me around
to the point of this story,
sort of.

Me and my dear friend,
after a long night of drinking
and smoking pot, decided
to start talking politics.

Always a good idea.

He started saying
that Sarah Palin was
a better candidate than Obama,
and then he said something about
her being better than Bill Clinton,
and I lost it.

I ran out of the apartment we were crashing at,
into the hallway,
high as hell,
mad,
and suddenly,
totally lost.

I didn't remember what apartment we were in.

They all looked exactly the same.

I stayed out in that hallway for twenty minutes,
fuming, pacing, and lost.

It made me scared,
I love this friend of mine,
he is not stupid, not at all.

But he loves this Palin bitch.

I know,
you probably don't want to hear anymore
about her,
I just had to get this off my chest:

Sarah Palin is threatening to be
the next Dick Cheney,
except this time, instead of having
an asshole for our vice president,
it would be a huge, stretched out vagina.

-p

Greatest Hits

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 17:54:00 +0000

Now this makes me laugh.

I got my own blog post forwarded

to me because the person thought

I would think it was funny.

I think it's damn funny,

I wrote it in the first place.

The following is a repost

of what I consider to be my

most important and pressing

blog ever.

and hilarious.

------------------------------

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

RE: BCC: FW:

Dudes.

This is urgent.

This is important.

This is an urgent and important
lesson in how to be sure that
you are not acting like an idiot.

There are you among us,
who are behaving in a completely
inappropriate manner and I am
here today to call you out.

Communication between humans
has reached an all time high,
in regards to speed and availability,
and an all time low,

in regards to basic fucking decency.

If you must send out an email,
and you must contact several people
at once with said email,
do not put us all in your To:
address line.

That is a stupid thing to do.

Put yourself in the To: line,
and put the rest of us in the BCC: line.

BCC stands for Blind Carbon Copy,
it also stands for Basic Cfucking Cdecency.

When you put the addresses in the To:
line, they are all there for us all to see,
which is annoying, and thoughtless,
and it makes the email header 7 inches tall.

That is the smallest offense,
but it must be taken as seriously,
because it is directly related to the following crime,
punishable by death, in Iran.

Reply All.

How dare you imagine,
for even one moment,
that all 75 of us on this mass
email give two fucks if you're
going to come to the party or not?

"I'll be there!"

Replied to all,
means that 75 other people
have their emails clogged
with your three word, idiotic response.

There are two options when you reply,
"Reply" or "Reply to All"

Unless your response is,

"anyone who wants $100 send me your address"

just choose "Reply" and
send it to the one person who cares.

You are out there in droves,
you offenders of decency,
because how many of us
have come to our emails
to find seventeen responses
to one idiotic invitation?

"cool!"

"can't make it, pregnant..."

"sounds like fun, count me in!"

"what should I bring?"

then replied to all with,

"I'm bringing some girls!!!!"

then again replied to all with,

"well, then I'm bringing boys!!!!!!!"

Just stop it.

right now,
don't ever do it again.

When you send out a mass email,
use the BCC.

If you must reply to a mass email,
reply to the one person who sent it,
by choosing "Reply",
because the rest of us probably
didn't care about the first email
in the first place.

And we certainly don't care
that you're bringing a vegan chocolate cake.

-p

The Tomato Fest and the Apple Cider Vinegar

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 08:45:00 +0000

St Louis
has to be
the best city
in the world.

in a way.

there's just something about it.

I got some Habanero spiked
Apple Cider Vinegar at the
Tomato Festival I played
at the Iron Barley
that was raising money
for Lift for Life that is
a free gym for inner
city kids to work out at.

There were lots of kids there,
it was five in the afternoon,
so I didn't use any swear words.

I've always wanted to do kids shows.

I'm serious.

So,
I had a small black child
named Devon up onstage
playing percussion.

He was a natural.

I had woken up that morning
on a rug,
at Aaron's awesome house
in Springfield.

I had to haul ass
to St Louis, because
I thought I was on at three.

But I did have just enough
time to stop into Toys R Us
and buy some instruments.

It's been a long time since
I went into Toys R Us for
a cool specific purpose
and a designated wad of cash.

Do you remember anything like that?

Going into Toys R Us or
Kay Bee Toys or Kiddie City?

I did it.. probably twice,
with a certain amount
of money I had saved
or gotten for eating
some Catholic Bread.

First Communion,
it was solid,
my first paid gig.

So,

I gave Devon a bongo I had bought,
and then these two girls had blocks and sticks,
and this cool three year old dude was
on the occasional tambourine.

We sang the hits.
some Queen, a little Snufulupugus,
no swearing,
although I did play
White Trash Woman
with a small black child
on percussion,
and that's kind of awesome like swearing,
but maybe even better.

He took a solo,
it was awesome.

So,
I'm thinking I might swear a little
less on a few songs on my next album.

Don't worry,
I won't wimp out on you,
but I'm going to try to
mess with the language a little.

Clean it up,
make it a little more subtle,
tasteful, family friendly.

And that way,
I can meet more family friendly ladies,
and I can put my shitcock
in their asspussies.

-p0-

PS: my cat just wrote that "0-" after my little "-p"
he jumped on my keyboard. he's not even
supposed to be up here... bad kitty.

The Irish

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 19:21:00 +0000

From my management in the UK:

-------------------------------------------------

Hey heres a reply I got from one Irish venue...

"For fear of being kicked out of my local church (which i dont attend) disowned by my family,

and closed down by the local witch hunters and the 'not down with this kinda stuff' people.

Clits and balls wont roll in our venue, so I will have to pass on this gig."

-----------------------------------------

All I can see in my head

is a bunch of clits and balls

rolling around in an Irish Pub.

Can you see it, too?

-p

contest

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 05:57:00 +0000

so,

at least two dudes
have said they want
a contest for the Nice Peter
Marijuana Music Award.

that's enough for me.

I'll think of something,

unless you can think of
an awesome contest,
just post it here
as a comment,

I have two to give away,
maybe I'll give one
to whoever can think
of the contest for the other one.

actually...

I think I've got an idea.

this might be awful,
but it might be awesome.

what if I hold a contest
in which you have to cover
a Nice Peter song...
either just audio or a video.

it can be as shitty
as you want,
the shittier the better...

in fact,
the funniest,
could be shittiest,
but could also be the best cover,
would win.

that might be a dumb
idea, I had some Absynth.

I'm not sure exactly what
Absynth does..
but it's possible
that it makes you
think of dumb contests.

share your feelings....

-p

gross

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 19:49:00 +0000

I was at a garage sale near Taito's house.

who's Taito...?

oh, he's awesome,
don't worry, you'll meet him someday.

So,
I woke up on Taito's couch
with a playboy magazine and
the remnants of too much beer, popcorn, and pizza.

I wandered into my car,
and drove past a garage sale.

I love garage sales..
love.

This one had a shirt I was eyeing...
but then...
on a table.

they were selling
two boxes of Preparation H ointment,
and a turkey baster.

I'm not kidding.

a used, weird,
gross looking turkey baster,
next to two packages of anus cream.

who...
the fuck...
buys anus cream
at a garage sale?

I got all three for a dollar.

-p

a contest in context

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 21:14:00 +0000

so.

I have these trophies
from the Marijuana music awards I won,
and they're fucking hilariously awesome.

and,
I want to give one of them
away to someone who will
thinks it's cool.

because I have three,
and a tiny apartment,
and two of them aren't
even out on display.

and I figure there might
be someone out there,
who would love to have one,
signed to them, if that's
not too egotistical of me,
and proudly display it,
and say,

"dude... this is one of my favorite bands,
I won this shit in a silly contest online."

so...
now...
what should the contest be?

that's where I'm stuck.

or maybe it's just a dumb idea.

but maybe not?

-p

it's coming....

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 07:38:00 +0000

Hello Peter,

Thank you for contacting us. Please send me the following release
details
and I will then issue you a license for the remaining 65% published
by us.

Song Title(s): Get Low
Writer(s): Jonathan Smith (Lil Jon)
Payment Percentage: 65%
Record Title:
Record No.:
Configuration(s):
Release Date:
Artist:
Timing:

the Anti-Christ

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 20:08:00 +0000

Have you seen
the videos out
there that say,
strongly....
that Barrack Obama
is the second coming of
the devil..........

oooooooooo.........

Now,
crazies are crazies,
and religious crazies are...
well.... really fucking crazy.

here's a video that suggests
Barack Obama grows horns:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mgcl1GwpZsU

notice all the links on the side,
there must be a hundred different
videos out there all trying to "prove"
that Barack Obama seems so good
and so popular because he is marked
by the beast and will lead us all into hellfire.

or something like that.

It's not even hilarious,
although it should be,
because these people
actually seem to believe,
and strongly, and they are not alone,
and it makes me sad.

And it makes me think we should
invent some kind of theme park for them,
where the devil comes, and jesus comes,
and then they all die.

I think they'd be happy,
and then we wouldn't have to
listen to them be crazy anymore.

I'm not suggesting murder,
I'm suggesting a big theme-park-fire-pit,
and some awesome devil and Jesus costumes,
and then... I don't know... maybe Jesus
offers them some special kool-aid to join
him in his magical kingdom.

They get to live out their
weird rapture fantasies,
everybody wins.

Back to the subject at hand,
and away from suggesting mass murder....

The Barack Obama / Anti-Christ videos
made by silly rednecks and self hating
homosexuals who bury their fury
under a cloak of loving Jesus...
are not a shock.

However!

A video put out by the John McCain campaign,
posted on his Youtube and his official website,
that plays off this lunacy and hysteria,
this simple-minded fear,
this backwoods, dark ages,
Inquisition type shiznit...

That's fucking ridiculous.

please watch the video below,
and let me know what you think?

Am I being silly,
or is this some of the lowest,
craziest, political pandering
religious nutball shit
you've ever seen?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mopkn0lPzM8

-p

still...

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 02:34:00 +0000

I still get these,

and they still crack me up,

because they are,

without fail,

always poorly written and hilarious.

This one is brief,

and it's from "Lil 'Cyp"

a 14 year old in Texas.

"50 cent will kick your ass and your music suck and eat a dick bitch"

nice.

-p

Kitty

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 16:32:00 +0000

Have I told you about my cat?

I think I told you that I got one,
he's very... um.... strange.

First of all,
he likes to come into
the shower with me.

My bathroom door doesn't lock,
and he knows how to get in,
and every once in a while,
he will come jump up on the shower
ledge, and meow.

He wants to be picked up,
and held under the water.

I think that's pretty unusual for a cat,
but it keeps him from smelling like poop.

I started when my roommate
decided he needed a bath,
so she held him under the shower
with her, and apparently he's hooked.

He also likes to kiss,
he'll actually put his little
kitty lips up to yours
and give you a little kiss.

It's adorable.

Now, I know what you might
be thinking,
showering and making out
with a cat, that's just weird.

But it's so cute,
you'd do it, too.

Right now he's
locked in the closet,
because otherwise
he'd be jumping on
my keyboard while I try
to type.

Let's see....

What else?

Well,
in other news,
I think i'm getting meaner.

In shows lately,
I've really been
making fun of
people pretty hard.

the audience seems to love it,
and I'm cracking myself right up,
but every once in a while I feel a little bad.

Last week at Durty Nellies,
I.... well....here's some highlights:

(to the girl in the way too short black dress)
"you look like you just came from a slutty funeral"

(to the guy in the pale, pastel, green shirt)
"I'm sorry, I can't take requests from anyone
dressed like a marshmallow from Lucky Charms"

(to the guy in the way too tight, way too
stone washed jeans)
"hey... dude on the cell phone,
my Russian exchange student
from high school wants his pants back"

(to the man at the Skydiving concert in the fanny pack)
"I know that dude smokes weed, how else can you
possibly explain a fanny pack? Unless, he just feels
safer with a pouch, maybe he keeps a tiny parachute
in there just in case he trips and falls"

It's been mostly just making fun
of the way people are dressed,
which is hilarious to me,
because I wear the same
clothes every day, probably
to almost every show.

But, sometimes that's
all I have to go on.

All in all,
things are going well,
shows have been fun,
and life has been good,
and I'm getting....
a lot of pussy.

get it?

pussy?

it's a cat.

-p

this has to be the best one I've ever gotten

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 00:50:00 +0000

I got this in an email today:

-------------------------

My name is Mrs Mora William I am a dying woman who had decided to
donate what I have to you.I am 49 years old and was diagnosed for
cancer about 2 years ago,

I have been touched by God to donate from what I have inherited from
my late husband to you for the good work of God, rather than allow my
relatives to use my husband's hard earned funds ungodly. I have asked
God to forgive me all my sins and i believe he has because He is a
merciful God.

I will be going in for an operation,and i pray that i survive the
operation.I have decided to WILL/donate the sum of $1,500,000(One
million
five hundred thousand dollars) to you for the good work of the lord, and
to help the motherless,less privileged and also for the assistance of
the widows.At the moment I cannot take any telephone calls, due to the
fact that my relatives are around me and i have been restricted by my
doctor from taking telephone calls because i deserve all the rest i
can get.Presently,I
have informed my Nurse about my decision in WILLING this funds to
you. and my nurse name is Mrs Mary Donald Kindly Contact my Nurse
through this email address ( mrsmarydonalddesk@gmail.com )if you
are interested in carrying out this task,so that he can arrange tell you
how the Funds will be release to you ($1,500,000.00) to you.
My Nurse name is Mrs Mary Donald.I know I have never met you but my
mind tells me to do this,

and i hope you act sincerely.

Love, Mrs Mora William

---------------------------------------

Now the only question is,
what do I say in my email
to Mrs Mary Donald?

-p

Just wanted to make sure you saw this:

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 23:38:00 +0000

I got this comment on my last story,

"Wow...wouldn't it be interesting if, after all your ho-in' around, on various continents...you actually had some kids who were eligible for "retard camp." Not wishing that on you...but cosmic retribution sorta works that way. Life balances out...years spent being so callously irreverent will lead to years of sensitivity...somehow. "

wow.

-p

Special Needs

noreply@blogger.com (nicepeter & friends) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 19:35:00 +0000

This story is hard to tell properly.

A lot are,
but most
you can get
the jist across
with some fancy
typing.

This one,
you really had to be there,
to appreciate the depth,
length, and scope
of the awkwardness,
and intensity.....
of the Retard Debacle.

I was playing my weekly gig
out in the suburbs at Durty Nellies.

I was staying at Pizzas' house,
I never call him Pizzas, but
lots of other people do,
so you can, too.

Pizzas lives right down
the street, so I could get my
drink on.

I play from 10:30 to 1 am,
or something like that.

It's always tough with
gigs like that, because
I feel the need to pace myself,
play slower songs, take more breaks,

et cetera.

This particular gig
had everything going for it,
good crowd, nice people,
sound was good,
everything was great,
except for me.

I just had a fog over my head,
and I couldn't get the train rolling.

Some people said I was being
hard on myself,
(yes, I just said hard on)
but I know when I'm
in the zone and when I'm not.

I needed something.

Enter,
the day camp counselors.

A dozen girls, and a few boys,
in matching bright yellow
tshirts that said something
about ants marching.

They came in just as I was taking a break,
I asked them, offstage, what their shirts
said and what was the occasion.

They were on a pub crawl,
all working together during the day.

Perfect,
this is exactly what I need,
some drunk, crazy, fun people
who know eachother, who can
have a good time, get some laughs,
give me some confidence,
and then leave to the next bar
and I'll continue my rocking
show for the loyal audience.

I told them I would sing them
a theme song, just stick around
till after the break.

I came back inside,
they had all gone outside.

No big deal,
you don't want a theme song?
no problem.

you don't want to check out the show
for five minutes?

no problem.

but don't come back
inside in groups of two going
to the bathroom and talking loudly
while you walk past the stage,
or I will make fun of you,
because your tshirts are stupid,
and so are you.

So that's kinda how it went down,
nothing major, just some jibes
as they came in and out.

Then....
then...
oh, then...

I was in the middle
of the Mystery of Clit,
By Request!
(which always makes me feel cool)
and it was at a dramatic pause,
and these bright yellow ant morons
came in and starting talking to the
big table that was here for the show.

hello.....
um... I can see you,
and hear you bothering people...
what do you want?

"we're on a pub crawl!"

yes... I know,
you told me that,
or one of you did,
I can't tell ants apart.

"so... if we sing one our songs,
we get, like... a ton of bonus points."

oh. okay, so now you want a theme song,
but not from me, you want to sing it....
okay.... fine, whatever, how does it go?

"no, like.... we'll just sing it"

no, like, you won't.
I know you might be confused,
because I'm sure that happens
to you all the time,
but this is a show,
and I was in the middle
of a song, and you are infecting
it with your stupidity,
and we're all getting dumber
while you're in the room.

...

It was just too many words for them,
sure enough, they came up to the front,
and started doing some song and dance
routine, a few even coming onstage,
one dickhead asking for my guitar,
one girl starting to play my keyboard.

I was a pretty good sport,
I was singing a song the whole time
on my looper pedal,
"go away now.. nobody likes you"
but it was all in good fun.

The audience seemed to be laughing,
and I always enjoy a chance to make
fun of a group of idiots and get away with it.

So!

after all that shit,
them taking over the stage,
me trying my best to cut
them to pieces, nicely enough,
and get the stage back,
they all sat down and seemed
ready to join the audience.

cool.

let's get on with it.

somehow, at some point,
one of the girls said something
out loud about wiping hairy butts all day.

As you can imagine,
I was confused.

I asked her to elaborate,
and she explained that they were
counselors at a special needs
day camp, and she had to wipe
poop from hairy butts all day.

I said,
"special needs kids have hairy butts?"

she said,
yes!

so, that was the next song,
obviously.

no problem.

all smiles and laughter.

then, a song or two later,
I made a reference to the counselors
in the middle of a lyric somewhere,
and said, "and the girls who work with retarded children..."

something like that,
I used the word retarded, for sure,
but definitely not in any malicious way.

All fucking hell broke loose.

The only way to describe it,
is to imagine eight pissed off
white girls, drunk off their asses,
doing a collective impression
of one, giant, pissed off black woman.

"oh, no you didn't!"

lots of finger waving,
swearing, cursing, how dare you-ing,
and general uproar went on
in thirty seconds.

I was shocked.

fucking shocked.

so let me just get this straight,
you come in here, act like
assholes during my performance,
sit down, and tell me outloud,
for no reason, that you wipe
disabled kids hairy, poopy butts all day.

but I let the word, retarded,
slip into a lyric, and now you're pissed off?

They stormed out,
in a line of drunk, dumb ants.

I used a line,
that I've used before,
its a sure fire room killer
after something like that.

"oh.... you guys are leaving? damn."

I was shaking with some sort of rage and confusion.

How uppity and...well...
retarded is that?
to get offended
by a word just because you
were told this year that its not correct?

I can't even use correct and politically
next to eachother without wanting to puke.

The best part,
oh... the best,
is when the queen bitch ant
came back in, up to the stage,
and said.... "what's your name?"

I thought she might be apologizing,
but the drool on her lip said otherwise.

First of all,
ant,
read that poster on the wall behind you,
second of all,
I'm not telling you shit.

"It's Nice Peter, isn't it?"

sometimes.

"Well........
........ ... ugh.....
I'm friends with the owner."

wow.
you got me.
I think I said something
to the effect of,
your words cut me
like boondoggle.

which I thought was hilarious,
because "boondoggle" is what
we called that stuff that you weave
into plastic bracelets.

not very sharp,
and I'm sure they're well
stocked with it at retard camp.

-p