Darrell Vickers – Your World and You’re Welcome To It


Editor’s Note – We are blessed today with a new entry from the long-missing Darrell Vickers, who has been tied up with creating, writing, and shooting a new sitcom, moving from one palatial home to another, and finishing his latest quilt, which consists of removed mattress tags and faux velvet Crown Royal bags. Catch Darrell’s cameo in ‘LaLa Land’…he exits the 3rd silver Toyota on the left during the opening sequence, does a ball, heel, jazz hands, turn and tap, onto the hood of a blue Hyundai. (P.S – Mr. Vickers is hella smart and educated…keep a dictionary and a healthy knowledge of Pop Culture handy…you’re going to need them.)

Ladies and Gentlemen…Mr. Vickers.

Those are People Who Died, Died


It would be easy to look back upon the mystifyingly chaotic and dysfunctional dozen months of ought-sixteen and weep like Laura Dern in Blue Velvet. It was a giant runny shitcake that has irrevocably soiled the underpants of history. The Grim Reaper’s seemingly quotidian scything of musicians, actors, comedians and scribes (especially scribes!) turned our normally fairly grim veil of tears into a Diluvian downpour. Is there no end to this seemingly ceaseless celebrity slaughter? By December’s twilight, anyone with only the most inconsequential of talents, who has ever been loved by an rob_schneideradoring public, no matter how limited in number, was living in the ominous shadow of the bloodied sword of Damocles. Only Rob Schneider was safe. The wheels of this year’s tumbril verily creaked and moaned under the weight of our best and brightest. The birds do not sing as they once did and laughter has mostly been relegated to children.

They Put Hitler in the Driver’s Seat and Looked the Other Way


And this mourning for our cultural treasures forever lost is but a minor trifle compared to the abhorrent, fetid human sludge that oozed out of its ignorant, bigoted cesspool to drown the entire country in its mephitic stink.

easter-island-heads-1We need no longer perpend, in slack-jawed amazement, how the delusional inhabitants of Easter Island could blithely turn their native backs on imminent ecological and societal collapse in order to keep chiseling completely useless big-nosed goofy heads out of solidified volcanic ash because the American electorate just performed the very same feat.  With the flick of a voting-eddie-the-eagle-edwardsbooth switch, Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public turned humanity’s slow descent towards self-induced annihilation into an Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards ski jump. They just picked Shane MacGowan to be the free world’s designated driver.

A dark age of haughty anti-intellectualism is upon us. Mean-faced, shallow-brained men, when they aren’t lingually massaging Donald Trump’s presidential prostate, will kid-with-cow-facebe feverishly reshaping The Information Age in their own image. Global warming is utter nonsense but the charge that the Clintons are running a child sex ring out of a pizzeria needs to be seriously investigated.

My grandmother believed that a pregnant woman once stared at a cow in a field and later gave birth to a child with a bovine-shaped face. If she were alive today, they’d be considering her for a cabinet position.

People Turn to Poison Quick as Lager Turns to Piss

gwens-chinMost sensible people have been reaching for Prozac pills the size of Gwen Stefani’s chin, in a desperate attempt to stem the tsunami of the spine-crushing dolorousness brought on by such an epic confluence of bad tidings and misfortune. But not I.

Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right


For me, 2016 is akin to that last unconscionable act by a crazy girlfriend that is so unpardonable and heretic that you are at last set free. You were so sure she was about to turn that corner and then, one day, you move the frozen peas in your side-by-side Frigidaire and discover her collection of severed penises along with an empty baggie george_carlin2with your picture inside it.

George Carlin believed our society was pathetically purblind. That the most idealistic among us failed to grasp that the insatiable zombies of  industry and commerce had long since broken through the gates and will feast and feast until every last sinew and speck of marrow of our children’s future has been rapaciously sucked down their putrefied gullets and these dead-eyed Nazgulian ogres of unbridled capitalism will gnaw upon our bones and cackle at the end of the world.

George, a kindly soul, chose to play Scaramouche in this unchangeable farce. I shall play Nero and fiddle as Rome burns.

Take the L Out of Lover and It’s Over


Since the American people joyously heeded l’appel du vide and tossed the reins of power to Putin’s ludicrously coiffed bum-boy, I have not viewed a second of what passes for news coverage. The battered and bloodied remains of my team lie strewn upon the field of competition. Do I really want to hang around and watch them shoot the cheerleaders?


While I admire those among us who would still take arms against a sea of troubles, I have traveled too far down this oft-recreant road of life to indulge in the courageously quixotic. The Light Brigade has run off in terror. Fat Boy blew up on the plane. Parker Lewis has lost.

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall

june-taylor-dancersAnd 2016 is merely a thimble-sized bowl of consommé, preceding an all-you-can-eat buffet of misery and suffering. The darkest days of this annum past, upon reflection, will seem as glorious as nibbling a Hazelnut Whip off the taut tummy of a June Taylor Dancer. A pestilence is upon the land. A hot dry merciless wind is whistling through bleached-skullsthe cracked and bleached skulls of reason and decency. The desiccated corpse of what could have been will be ceremoniously dragged through the ugly streets of impotent and indiscriminate rage until only the rope remains. They will go after the weakest among us first (children with school lunches, the elderly with Social Security and Medicare, the disabled), and then they will come for you.

Goodbye, Cruel World

carrie-wearing-crownSo mucho gracious, 2016, from the bottom of my once-caring heart. The bounteous woes of this troubled orb will have to carry on without my notice. My giddy-headed hopes for a better planet have permanently passed. Now, as the iron-soled boot of thuddingly obtuse totalitarianism prepares to grind its heel into those brave souls who would dare question the sanity of its madness, I am packing my bags. You know the school dance is over, folks, when Carrie walks onto the stage wearing a crown. And some Mephistophelean tonsorial blaggard has already clearly dowsed Donald’s aurocephalous pate with a teeming poultice of unholy feculence. Time to get out before the doors start to slam shut!

So, while the noblest among you gather rocks and sticks to do battle against the towering cannons of this modern-day Nebuchadnezzar, the rest of my days will be spent staring at pictures of cute kittens and supping pints of hearty ale in coal-warmed pubs. So long and thanks for all the fish.

P.S. I Love You

If you’d like to take advantage of my suddenly coveted Canadian citizenship, I am willing to adopt desperate Americans at five-hundred thousand dollars a pop.  It may seem a lot now, but in six months, I’ll be charging seven-fifty.



Darrell Vickers appears here whenever he damn well feels like it

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.co

DBAWIS_ButtonDarrell Vickers started out as one half of Toronto area band, Nobby Clegg.  CFNY fans may remember the cheery song “Me Dad” which still gets airplay.  From there, he valiantly ventured to L.A. and eventually became head writer for The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.  Since then, he’s created numerous sitcoms and animation shows in Canada and the U.S.  He still writes music and has an internet band called Death of the Author Brigade (members in Croatia, Canada and the U.S.)   Mr. Vickers also had a private music mailing-list where he features new and pre-loved music.  Anyone who would like to be added to his daily mailing list, just write him at Radiovickers1@gmail.com .

3 Responses to “Darrell Vickers – Your World and You’re Welcome To It”

  1. VonRiesling Says:

    Uncle Darrell, thank you for leaving the gate open just wide enough for my escape up north.

  2. […] up on posting my work. You’re World and You’re Welcome To It was my impressions of 2016. Not a very good year but an absolute joyfest, compared to […]

  3. Hello Darrell, long time no see, ( maybe The Rivoli, or ‘Fleas’ palace, or The Edgewater Hotel… somewhere in a box is an unused ticket for a show at the “Edge” which sadly Ian Curtis never made it to)
    Love the writing and style, a reference to a walnut whip, a quote from Dr John Cooper Clarke. I should check an see if Shane McGowan’s still alive (maybe he doesn’t know either) I’m pushing 60 and it’s pushing back hard. Mixed emotions about you heading to Hollywood, mind you Carson probably paid better than ‘Guy Caballero’. Wonderful to find out today you are still alive and well.
    Best of wishes

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