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By Mrs. Chuck Torso

t's been a tough week for watchin' DVDs, my wonderful readers. Johnny Law has been after the Torso clan hard. I keep telling my husband, Chuck, that we oughta ditch the camper van and get some anonymous wheels. But then Cindy starts whining about all her "performing" costumes, and Wolf pleads with me, saying his 6'8" frame won't be comfortable in a regular car or even an SUV. Plus, his new boyfriend, Frank, is just like him: a gay, teenage criminal over six feet tall. And I know Wolf was real sad when his last boyfriend, Gunner, got pinched by the cops in that feed store shoot out we had. I liked the boy too, but in this life, you don't wait around for nobody! Get in the camper van toot sweet! Cindy, probably due to the, uh, close and personal contact she and her customers have, has never brought home a boyfriend.

"Mama," she tells me between puffs on her Virginia Slims 120s, "sometimes I gotta let my vagina rest. Even God took a day."

And I guess she's right.

Since I see so much of my kids Wolf and Cindy, and Wolf's boyfriend Frank, I get to see their music video DVDs. As much as I've been loving the work they've been showing me, I can't say I'm that mighty impressed with what passes as a music video these days. Maybe because I remember a time without music videos, I ain't too excited about these collections they bring into the van.

Cindy's been playing lots of Madonna, Jennifer Lopez, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey and Mary J. Blige. They're fine and all, but I think all this video watchin' is creating unrealistic financial goals for my daughter. I told her she has to find a rich man, marry him, then kill him for his money. At least that's sensible!

I like Wolf's music a bit more. He's into that rock 'n' roll, and God bless him for it. Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Gwar, Cannibal Corpse, and all the rest make great driving music. I remember hearing The Stooges' Funhouse Live DVD from the back of the camper van as I mowed down a group of slow-moving deer walkin' across a country road. Wolf had sang along to Iggy as his father and I gathered up freshly killed deer meat. Families don't often get any closer.

Maybe I'm yearnin' for music videos from when me and Chuck were first courtin'. You know, Blondie, the Ramones, the Germs, X, the B-52's, Television, the Slits, Wayne County. I guess the kids'll have to seek that stuff out for their old mama. I don't wanna be a fuddy-duddy and bitch if Cindy plays a Beyonce video or if Wolf puts on a Limp Bizkit DVD, but really, can you rob a bank and set fire to it with people trapped inside while listening to that? I remember the MC5 and the New York Dolls and tough women like Grace Jones, Annie Lennox and Siouxsie Sioux.

These kids of mine. Not only do I have to teach them the proper way to give a Columbian Necktie to a cop or effective ways to torture a kidnap victim, I have to teach them all about good music to be bad to. I don't wanna hear Taking Back Sunday while I'm loading up my semi-automatic! I don't want to bop to Britney Spears while I'm pumping a border patrolman full of lead!

My mama used to kill to Dean Martin and Tammy Wynette, and nobody had a steadier aim than her.

Kids keep you young, they say, but sometimes they remind you how much things have changed.

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