Mop Swingers: Recent Episodes
Adam Skorupskas
A horror podcast, that can terrify even the most brave soul to the bone. Each week, another sanity destroying story, about Peter and Adam, brothers from Detroit. They have big plans to write and direct movies out in Hollywood. But until then, they are just a couple of mop swingers, trying to survive working in a haunted car dealership. A scripted podcast about a few very important things. How can you survive your horrifying job, and keep showing up every day? How can you keep the dream of escaping the horrifying job alive? How can you handle the fear of never escaping? It is also about the comedy of all this. And it's about movies, lots of movies.
Excerpt:
Adam launched the double wrapped bag of diapers, fearing all the terrible things that could happen, but didn’t, at least that time. “I hope if I ever make it, I don’t sound like a total idiot like when every other writer gets interviewed.”
Excerpt:
"The familiar feeling of absolute dread welled up inside Adam. “I was thinking yesterday about, this weird thing about movies, like, what is the greatest thing that a movie has to offer a human being?"
Excerpt: Peter wiped fingerprints off telephones. “I liked how he kept falling. There hasn’t been such a drunk on screen since Nic Cage in Leaving Las Vegas.”
Excerpt: Then Peter saw the rest of the pigeons. The garage was full of them. They were all
dead. The heads, lopped off, as if by some insane farming tool.
Excerpt: "You were amazed to see the Zamboni hum back to life, happily cleaning the floor at full strength, once again. “Target has the cool novelty socks.”
This is an amazing letter from a 22 year old, Hunter. S Thompson, written to his friend, in an effort to show what is meaningful in life, so that his friend doesn't kill himself. At least not right now. I thought it fit perfectly with the mop swingers ethos. So I'm going to read it here. And hopefully, it motivates and inspires you like it did me.
Excerpt: A drunk, homeless man tripped, and fell in the dumpster sludge. His half pint of El Toro Tequila broke. Various kinds of muck covered what remained of his attire. He shook his fist and promised the end would soon be at hand. You hoped he was right, but doubted it.
You went back inside in higher spirits. “Scorsese would rip their work apart. Why the fuck would you put the camera there? Of all god damn places?”
Excerpt: You were losing your grip. You increased your rate of work to the speed, akin to that of a gold medal sprinter. Just to clear your mind for a few seconds. “What if the stories central conflict, is about how people doom themselves with their own obsessions?”
Excerpt: Peter dumped Ammonia on a hazard area. “I’m telling you. Opening frame: by the Nile river. Doors are smashed. Crypts are unsealed. Things get worse from there.”
You shielded your ears. “Do you ever want to go, “Five Easy Pieces?” Hop on a pickup truck with a piano and play off into oblivion.”
Excerpt: "Frederic Oglivay stepped out of the Rolls-Royce. His chauffeur closed the door behind him."
Excerpt: "Peter swerved to avoid, once again, the man in the black walking slowly across the road. “I was watching, “The Last Waltz,” the other night. I love the bleeding of tracks. Not used very much any more. But a very powerful tool.”
Excerpt, “You know who has a weird filmography? David Aire.”
You walked into a spiderweb. “One could say it is a spectacular display of mediocrity. He did U571. Then he did Fast and Furious. Then he did Sabotage. Then he did Deep Blue.”
Excerpt:
He hoped their wives smelled like Funions, and were shaped like whales. “I tried to watch Captain America Civil War. Couldn’t make it through ten minutes.”
Excerpt: "A green, steaming, liquid oozed out from beneath the bathroom door. Most people would have reeled back in terror. Peter hit it three times with a wet mop, temporarily vanquishing the beast. “Would have done great in the WW2.”
Excerpt: "Peter put a dollar in the vending machine. He asked for Skittles, but the damned machine gave him some candy corns. “I would like to do a, “Night Of The Demon.” remake. I mean, a movie about a demon, or demons, escaping Hell, and causing mayhem, up here.”
Excerpt: "A door closed by itself. Peter saw it, but ignored it. “And yet, perhaps, be disturbed, emotionally connected? And then you have these battles of more than 2000 tanks, mobilizing. And it would work as one movie. Not some damn HBO mini-series. This takes place during one battle. See, Apocalypse Now would not work as a mini-series. Because the audience, and the soldiers have to go insane because the brutality of the journey.”
Excerpt:"You made a confused face. “You never saw, “Das Boot?”
Peter had to restrain himself from strangling his brother. “Of course I have seen, “Das Boot.” And yes, it’s an all-time classic, but it’s not the only submarine story. What do you know about history?”
You and Peter continued on the deep and savage way in those dust filled hours of the night. The world has yet to show them any quarter.
You and Peter discuss the making of Clerks, dislike of Kevin Smith, and do battle with a Zamboni.
They encounter horrors like, S&M, Scarlet Sunrise, violent circles, christian, scientology, occult, cleaning, haunted, demons, mother, love, death, dreams, hard work, and so forth.
While mopping the place of shadows, you and Peter discuss the
Hitchcock Truffaut doc, and broken hoop dreams from many moons ago.
The Mop Swingers find out an escaped Nazi has been hiding out in their midst for years. They also mop the bathrooms, and discuss Francis Ford Coppola movies like, "The Conversation," "Rumble Fish," and, "Twixt."
Among subjects that are touched upon in this shocking episode: Richard Nixon, Billy Walsh from Entourage, and China's foreign policy, and geometric mopping techniques.
Valhalla Blues BY Adam J Skorupskas By Adam All Rights Reserved ©
Other / Humor
Blurb Good friends know they owe more to the dead than the living. No matter what they have to do. And on the day, it happened to be a lot. Chapter 1 Max, a fourteen-year-old black kid, rolled a blunt in the basement of his parent’s house. This took place during a warm summer morning. His second best friend Earl, a fourteen-year-old Mexican kid, sat down there with him. Right then, the folks weren’t home. Max expertly split the blunt with his fingernail. He dumped the tobacco into the garbage can. Then he took out his, “good sense” bag, filled with roughly a quarter ounce of weed. He grabbed a few nuggets. He groundd them up on the glass coffee table, until all that remained was a fine green powder. Then he dropped that into the empty cigar rap. Now the tricky part. The twist. Like a pro, Max rolled one side of the paper under the other, closing off the loop. Then he licked it, then he took out his lighter, lit it, then dried it. Now it was ready to smoke.
They were sitting on a worn out old green couch from the 1970’s, looking at a document. It seemed to have been written by a kid. The handwriting looked unrefined. Under the text there appeared to be what looked like a tugboat on fire. There was a caption that read, “Viking Funeral.” It seemed dated and signed in dried blood.
It was early, and morning light seeped in through the dirty windows. Max and Earl both wore wrinkled black suits and white shirts and black ties. They looked like they were about to go to a funeral. Except they also wore what looked like homemade Viking helmets.
Besides the couch, and an old chair, most of the basement was filled with music equipment: a drum set, a bass guitar, a acoustic guitar, an electric guitar, a keyboard play, a Moog player. They also had a laptop down there filled with all kind of illegally downloaded music editing software, and many gigs of music. They downloaded Fruity Loops, and Ableton, Reason, and Final Cut Pro. They even stole some sampling equipment and recording equipment. They had a mini-studio down there.
Max watched as Earl tapped drumsticks on the coffee table. Earl tapped his drumstick on things whenever he got a chance. It was very annoying. But Earl was the best drummer Max had ever seen in person so he couldn’t really argue with him. Drummers were all an eccentric lot in his opinion.
Earl tapped the table; “I know we signed the document of whatever you want to call it, in blood. But that was years ago. We were just kids. We can’t possibly go through with it.”
Max leaned forward. He folded the document and placed it in his pocket. He saw a mouse scurry for cover. They lived in squalor. “We have to do it. He would have done the same for us. You know he would have.”
Earl stopped tapping. “Yeah, but he wasn’t like us. And you know it. He wasn’t scared of anything. I don’t know how. But he wasn’t.”
“We pulled of as many dumb things as he did.”
Earl seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “But we were fucked up all those times.”
“Right. All we have to do is get more fucked up than we ever have in our short miserable lives, and we’ll have the guts to pull this off no problem.”
Earl closed his eyes and shook his head. “This isn’t one dumb thing we’re talking about here. This is a whole list of dumb things. And I’m not talking about dumb pranks. But like real life crimes. Worst of all there is no way to do it without getting Doris involved. Unless you know anyone else with a damn boat. If you think she is going to go along with this then you need to get your head checked.”
Max leaned back confidently. “No reason she’s got to know about it.”
“And anyway, the funeral is in a few hours. How the fuck are we going to get fucked up by then? I don’t see any booze around here. And it’s not like your parents keep a stocked liquor cabinet. They like, don’t even believe in booze.”
Max snapped into his native Jamaican accent. “We from Jamaica mon, we way cool. You Mexicans are way too uptight. That’s why you’re always fighting all the time.”
Max’s parents were former black panther/hippie/intellectuals. Stolen college textbooks on all subjects covered every loose bit of free table space in the house.
Earl stuck out his middle finger. “Fuck you, man.”
“I bet if we collect all of your parents empties, then we will have enough to pay a homeless guy to buy us a decent bottle of whiskey.”
Earl struck the “Thinker” pose. “I could really use a drink right now. I’m not saying I’ll go through with the rest of it. But I’ll help you out with this first part of the plan at least.”
Max took a small Good Sense bag of weed and pack of zigzags out of his Ninja Turtles backpack. “Before we do anything I’ve got to get my mind right. I’m starting to feel my emotions and I don’t like it.”
“Shit, you’ve had weed this whole time?”
“I was waiting for the right time to bust it out. As you can see I don’t have much. Put some music on.”
Max dropped the shake out on the coffee table. He began the process of rolling a joint. He was an expert so it did not take him long.
Earl flipped open the laptop and searched through the Itunes library for a fitting song to take their mind off thing. He found Thotland by Bulletproof Dolphin. That was one of his favorite bands.
Max lit the joint, took two hits then passed it to Earl. “You know booze isn’t going to be enough. We’re going to need the Xans.”
Earl seemed to get spooked. “Word? You think we need the Xans? If we were going to do this I’d hate to not remember any of it.”
“Bro, if we’re going to do this we’re going to have to be cool as ice. We’re going to need all the help we can get. I don’t think simple liquid courage is going to be enough for the Herculean tasks ahead of us.”
“Like I said, all I’m doing is getting a drink or two. In honor of our dearly departed friend.”
“And the best damn rock star there ever was.”
“If he only would have gotten a chance.”
“Okay, I’ll check if my mom re-upped when we go over there.”
“Cool, I figure we’re going to need a couple of bars each.”
“Damn. A couple of bars? I don’t want to go to sleep in the middle of the day either.”
“That’s why we’re going to mix the booze with some kind of energy drink.”
“Well it doesn’t matter. I’m not going through with it. I’m tagging along to have a few drinks with you. After all. We’re in a state of grief. If we were old enough we’d be getting drunk at a wake right now. Or at least later on today.”
Max smiled conspiratorially. “That’s right. We’re just going to have a few drinks. I was thinking on the top of the hill on Balduck Park. That should be a nice spot this time of day.”
Earl stood up and sat behind the drums. “Sure. That is if everything goes according to plan. When you know it won’t. Dealing with bums never goes as planned.”
They couldn’t find any quarters. But they found some nickels. They used a hammer to smash them into the circumference of a quarter. It was a way to trick the arcade game into letting you play for cheap. There was a downside of course. Sometimes it put the machine out of business for a few days because the fucked up coins would screw up the system. But to the boys it was worth it. Mostly because it was a scam Clint taught them. They did a lot of things in a attempt to keep his memory alive, as best as two fourteen year old kids in the ghetto could.
“I’ve got a good feeling about today. Clint will be watching over us every step of the way.”
Earl stopped passing the joint mid motion. “You really believe that?”
“Who knows?”
“Yeah. Would be nice though.”
“It would be kind of creepy to.”
They laughed a little. Then they got sad again. Max exhaled a large cloud of weed smoke. “But how are we going to do the other stuff man? We’re going to need a car. I don’t even know how to drive. Do you?”
Max nodded. “My brother showed my how before we went to jail.”
“Oh word? That’s tight. That’s fucked up that your bro is in jail. He’s way to wavy for that.”
“The waviest. He showed me all types of shit before they put him away.”
“How is he doing in there?”
“He’s good. About as good as could be expected anyway. Last time I talked to him he said he’d been hitting the weights and the books all the time so when he gets out of there he will be a new man.”
None of the kids mention that Max’s brother Jason was facing a fifty-year bid, for an armed robbery that went wrong. And he most likely will never see the outside of prison walls again, unless Max can bust him out, which he constantly dreams of doing. It seemed like a long shot to Earl, but what the hell, let the kid dream.
With a sense of melancholy, Earl smoked, “He got caught up in the game. It happens one way or another. No one gets away clean.” Then it was like Earl just remembered what Max said. “What kind of other stuff did he show you?”
Max got a mischievous smile on his face. “A whole bunch of shit.”
“If it’s about crime I don’t want to know about it. That’s why Clint always said, we have to stick to this music shit.”
“Yeah, but now Clint’s not around anymore.”
“Maybe he is. Maybe there is no then. Maybe it’s all an ever expanding now. I once heard MF Doom say that in an interview. Shit sounded deep.”
“All the more reason to keep on the mission.”
“Word.”
“Life comes at you fast.”
“What time is it right now?
Earl checked his Mickey Mouse watch. “Almost noon. The liquor store should be opening up about now.”
“Might as well get a role on then.”
Earl put his drumsticks in his pocket. He dug through the couch cushions looking for quarters or change that could be exchanged for quarters. “And we got to find at least fifty cent so I can whoop your ass at Street Fighter.”
Mr. C’s the local liquor store had a Street Fighter arcade game that all that was a hub of competition for the whole neighborhood. Max and Earl were about equal in skill level. Clint would easily beat them without even trying.
And Doris, the other member of the band, didn’t fuck with videogames.
Earl got up. “You’re lucky your parents let you smoke weed, inside even. My parents would kill if they ever caught me getting high.”
Max stood up. “But your parents get drunk like every night. That is some hypocritical shit bro.”
“I know. That’s because they are stupid Americans, not cool Jamaicans like your folks.”
“Yeah well they’re both broke as shit so who gives a fuck.”
To the sounds of Norman Greenbaum, the mop swingers tackle another shift, and discuss, "The Wild Bunch," and, "The Battle Of The Republic," and, "Friends Of Eddie Coyle," Cogan's Trade," and what is the saddest street in Detroit. They almost notice the impossible architecture of the haunted dealership in which they work.
On this episode, the mop swingers discover they are working on an ancient Chillicothe burial mound, discuss meeting the writer of, "Cool Hand Luke," and provide a guide for trapping polar rats.
You do battle with a vacuum bag, and betrayal and discover the existence of a terrible new form of evil. Not the worst night.
Adam and Peter discuss the use of black SUV's in 90's action movies, the friendship of Marlon Brando and Jack Nicholson, and deal with the perils of cursed occult architecture.
Peter and Adam discuss the unheralded Leonardo Dicaprio classic, "Don's Plum." (Seek out this movie!!!) ponder film editing, and battle a succubus in a vending machine. Among other horrific events...
Adam and Peter discuss the deeper meaning behind, "Seven," and "Payback," learn to ignore the ridicule of philistines, and notice the ancient origins of the dealership.
Adam and Peter talk about the Muscle Shoals Documentary, swing some mops, and avoid the gathering darkness.
You and Peter discuss forgotten movies, watch Animal Planet with Art The Mechanic, and encounter an old Indian chief.
You and Peter talk how to cast a heist movie, clean a bathroom, and do battle with death crazed rats!
Join the mop swingers in one of their past lives, as they talk about Hammer Film's Dracula, clean an important office, and take a talking Octopus to Denny's.
You and Peter discuss DSLR cameras, untangle mops, and avoid a creature which lives down below.
You and Peter drive to work, talk horror movies, run from the cops, and witness an atrocity.
Peter and Adam fight through another graveyard shift at the haunted car dealership, talk movies, and battle monsters.