I'm a Teenage Lobotomy!

[Excerpt]

"Ramon" was Paul McCartney's alias when booking reservations in hotels during the early waves of Beatlemania (RS #507 p.135). Ramon became Ramone, and in 1974 four high school hoodlums and/or dropouts assumed the last name and an image that would typify punk rock for years to come. Their wardrobe of ripped jeans, sneakers, and leather personified punk. Dressing in their day-to-day street clothes made glam obsolete, and brought rock back to the on the streets teenage element.

Teenage Lobotomy

Lobotomy! Lobotomy! Lobotomy! Lobotomy!
DDT did a job on me
Now I am a real sickie
Guess I'll have to break the news
That I got no mind to lose
All the girls are in love with me
I'm a teenage lobotomy!

Slugs and snails are after me
DDT keeps me happy
Now I guess I'll have to tell 'em
That I got no cerebellum
Gonna get my Ph.D.
I'm a teenage lobotomy



-- Rich (howe9@shentel.net), April 17, 2001

Answers

Surgical operation consisting in cutting nervous fibers in the prefrontal part of the brain. The brain is literally cut to pieces with an ice pick or a scalpel.

-- Rich (howe9@shentel.net), April 17, 2001.

Dr. Freeman demonstrates an 'ice pick' lobotomy. The operation could be performed under local anaesthetic.

-- Rich (howe9@shentel.net), April 17, 2001.

Brief History of the Lobotomy

[Excerpt]

That year [1948] Walter Freeman performed his most famous trans- orbital lobotomy when he hammered his ice pick into the head of the movie star and radical political activist Frances Farmer. She had rebelled all her life against every form of authority, and despite her success in Hollywood and Broadway, found herself incarcerated in the Western State Hospital in Fort Stellacoombe, Washington, aged only 34. The hospital, notorious for its dreadful conditions, had in desperation performed an increasing number of lobotomies on its inmates. Frances Farmer was a particularly sore point, because no treatment yet devised seemed to work on her; she would not be tamed. But her communist sympathies and her aggression towards officialdom had offended too many people for them to give up without "curing" her.

Hither rode Walter Freeman, knight to the rescue, ice pick in one hand, hammer in the other. On an October morning, in front of an eager audience of staff, curious visiting psychiatrists, and photographers, female patients in wheelchairs were ranged before the great showman of psychosurgery. After giving a brief lecture to the assembled crowd on the wonders of the ice-pick lobotomy -- no more complex then a shot of penicillin, no scar, and amazing potential for controlling society's misfits, schizophrenics, homosexuals, communists -- he went to work. Freeman was always quick to seize on new selling points for his art.

Patient number one was wheeled before him. He put the electrodes on her temples and shocked her into a faint, lifted her left eyelid, and plunged the ice pick into her head. He pulled it out. Another woman was brought before him. Again he shocked, and stabbed. And another, and then again another, and so on, and on, remorselessly, in a production line of controlled, casual violence until even the director of the hospital, near to passing out with nausea, left the room.

Afterwards, in a dark and silent ward, the patients lay supine on beds, or cried quietly; their faces were disfigured with a questioning blankness. The personality that was Frances Farmer had been effectively terminated earlier in the day, in a remote room to avoid publicity. She was reduced to a state of turgid, generalized mediocrity by the surgery. Society had won its battle with her; she would never again be a threat.

-- Rich (howe9@shentel.net), April 17, 2001.

Yeah it sounds fun, but I'd still rather have a bottle in front of me.

-- Uncle Deedah (unkeed@yahoo.com), April 17, 2001.

That's only because you have yet to undergo the procedure, Unk. Have an ice pick jammed into your white matter. Try it just once and you'll never go back.

Take me, for example. I never wanted to be completely conscious and aware of my surroundings and resulting emotions. I... I wanted to be...

A LUMBERJACK!

Leaping from tree to tree! As they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! With my best girl by my side!

-- Rich (howe9@shentel.net), April 17, 2001.

cue eve and a monty python link.....

-- (waiting@for.eve), April 17, 2001.

Lobotomies are tired. Trepanation is wired.

-- (@ .), April 17, 2001.

(sigh) what am I gonna DO with you guys...:)

PALIN (with his arm around his best girl):

I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay.

I sleep all night. I work all day.

MOUNTIES:

He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

PALIN:

I cut down trees. I eat my lunch.

I go to the lavatory.

On Wednesdays I go shoppin'

And have buttered scones for tea.

MOUNTIES:

He cuts down trees. He eats his lunch.

He goes to the lavatory.

On Wednesdays he goes shopping

And has buttered scones for tea.

He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

PALIN:

I cut down trees. I skip and jump.

I like to press wild flowers.

I put on women's clothing

And hang around in bars.

(his girl looks at him with dismay and starts to tear up)

MOUNTIES:

He cuts down trees. He skips and jumps.

He likes to press wild flowers.

He puts on women's clothing

And hangs around in bars?! (distressed looks)

(regrouping) He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.

He sleeps all night and he works all day.

PALIN:

I cut down trees. I wear high heels,

Suspendies, and a bra.

I wish I'd been a girlie,

Just like my dear Mama.

PALIN and MOUNTIES:

I (He) cut(s) down trees. I (He) wear(s) high heels,

Suspendies, and a bra?!

PALIN:

I wish I'd been a girlie,

Just like my dear Mama!

(the mounties and Palin's best girl walk off in disgust; Palin remains alone, still smiling, tobacky-chewin' and proud)

-- Eve (eve_rebekah@yahoo.com), April 17, 2001.

LOL! There are tears running down my face. Another great thread for the archives. You guys are great!

-- kb8 (kb8um8@yahoo.com), April 17, 2001.

I tried, for more than a decade, non-invasive lobotomization through drugs and alcohol - with some success. Time to get down to brass tacks (whatever the hell THAT means) and finish the job. The death of Joey Ramone is taking quite a toll on me emotionally. After much deliberation I've decided to undergo trans-orbital, prefrontal lobotomization as developed by Dr. Freeman (see photo above).

The question is, who is to perform this procedure? Dr. Freeman is no longer in practice, as he's pushing up daisies 24/7. Besides, my current health insurance plan will not cover lobotomy in my case, as they consider this elective surgery. So the clear course of action is to have a lay person do the deed.

I'm considering running some sort of lottery, as there are many people who would jump at the chance to drive an ice pick through my orbital bone and into my brain, and I wouldn't want friends to hold a grudge because I chose one over the other.

Feedback (not bio-) would be appreciated.

Cordially,

-- Rich (howe9@shentel.net), April 18, 2001.

Ask Dick Jackmeoff to do it. He'd probably jump at the chance.

-- Jack Booted Thug (governmentconspiracy@NWO.com), April 18, 2001.

Rich, you could go to the emergency room and tell them you fell on it. Yeah, that's it.

I once offered to give my wife a face lift out in the hospital parking lot and have her go in and get sewn up, but she thought I was kidding.

-- KoFE (your@town.USSA), April 18, 2001.