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Big J
the Definitive Interview

by joseph
June 17, 2001

For this interview, the first in a series of "Where are they now?" interviews with the former members of Clark Schpiell and the Furry Cockroaches without Butts, we travel to Longview, a dry, dusty town in East Texas. On the surface Longview is a calm, peaceful town with nestled in the sun-blasted Texas desert, with a laid-back attitude and a God-fearing morality. Under its surface, though, lurks the "pleasure dungeon" of Big J, former bassist and self-professed "pussy hound" for Schpiell, who now runs the vast and powerful Bone o' J Gentlemen's Services, Inc. from his office deep in the heart of the underground complex.

I pulled up in front of the garage next to a seemingly-abandoned trailer house on Rockdale Road as per the e-mailed instructions I had received from Big J's assistant Earl "Shining Penis" Parcheesi (the origin of his nickname was and is unknown to me). I honked twice. The door rose and a tall man waved me forward into a garage with a lush purple carpet on every conceivable surface, floor, walls and ceiling. I got out of the car and was greeted by Earl Parcheesi, who said he would accompany me to Big J.

He pushed a button on the wall and a panel slid open to reveal an elevator. He stepped in and he pushed a button. The digital display on the panel demanded an access code for that particular floor. While I'd like to think that the code he pushed was not actually "696969," I'm rather sure it was. The doors closed and we slid noiselessly down into the earth. A few seconds later, I was in Big J's huge circular office/viewing room in the heart of the dungeon, nicknamed "Xanadu Also." Big J was relaxing in a plush robe and smoking a cigar. In the far corner, three blondes cavorted in a hot tub.

Big J bid that Earl leave us, and Earl went over to watch the blondes cavorting, and I admit a certain envy at his being able to watch three blondes cavort. I'm rarely a witness to cavorting and would have enjoyed the chance to watch a bit, but I quickly remembered my professional obligation and turned to Big J, whereupon I was struck by the second reason Big J is called Big J. The first, of course, is that he is the older brother of Little J, but the second was dangling over the cushions as J sat knees apart in his robe and, apparently, nothing else. I had seen his member before, of course‹during the writing of the biography he had insisted upon my writing a chapter on it. I inform him that he is exposed and he readjusts.

Sorry about that. Can I get you anything? A drink? Sirloin? Some nougat?

I'm good, thanks.

You mind if I have a snack?

Not at all.

Big J reaches out towards a miniature reproduction of Michelangelo's David and presses down on the figure's penis and speaks into the figure's head, ordering two avocados, a bucket of gravy and some kibbe.

Sorry, it has a tendency to get busy around here, and I haven't eaten for a while.

No problem.

Now, we should get down to business. The deal is, I just can't have any more of these dildos short out on my girls. You have any idea what that does to employee morale, plus she's doing a live feed at the time, I've got thousands of paying customers watching this little honey electrocute herself.

I explained to Big J that I was here to do an interview about the band, that he and I actually knew each other from when I had written the biography of the band some years ago.

Oh yes yes, the "where are they now?" series, yes, I heard from Boy-Nett that you were going around doing that. Must be loads of fun, checking out M in the loony bin, checking out my brother's trailer house. Have fun. Well, those days are pretty much behind me now. I mean, you can't dwell on the past, right, you've got to look ahead to the future, which in my case is ever so much better than those days.

But there must have been a sense of freedom, I mean, these days you've got a lot of obligations, meetings, and so forth.

Yeah, but back when I was with the band, we had concerts like . . . Jesus, three or four times a year some tours, and that's just a lot of pressure, I mean, you get done with one show and it's like, Holy shit, here we go, the next one is right there, staring you in the face. There was never any downtime. The only time I ever got a vacation the whole time I was with the band was when they all went in to rehab at the same time.

Let's talk about that. You were always the straight edge in the band -- you drank very little, never did drugs, never smoked, yet you were surrounded by some of the most notorious drug and booze fiends in the tri-state area. Did you ever feel alienated by the group because of your "purity"?

Alienated? By what? Those crap piles? I don't think so. They had their priorities, albeit short-sighted and inane, but priorities nonetheless, and I had mine. Fact is, they would be so wasted after a show that they almost never had any strength or coherence left for the groupie-groping, and that's what I was in it for, as I've made clear several times, the groupie-groping.

Was it that fascination with loose women that led you to your current career? Would you say in that sense your experiences with Schpiell led you to where you are?

Well, I've always, since I was a small child, had a fasc ination, a passion for . . . you call them loose women, I prefer the term "wet horny cock-crazed sluts." I've always liked wet, horny cock-crazed sluts, ever since I was a small boy and read about them in Penthouse and Oui. I knew that someday I wanted to spend my life around wet, horny cock-crazed sluts. At that time, I didn't know how I'd make that happen. I tried it with the band, but that wasn't enough. Sure, I interacted with wet, horny cock-crazed sluts on a one-on-one, sometimes two-on-one basis, but I realized that I wanted to bring my philosophy of wet, horny cock-crazed sluts to a wider community that I knew had to be out there. At the time, I was dismissed as a kook, a dreamer, but I had a vision, I knew deep down that I wasn't just some freak, that other men would want to interact with wet, horny cock-crazed sluts and that's what led, of course, to Wethornycockcrazedsluts.com, the culmination of my life's work. I've traded "rock on" for "rocks off" and I'm very happy with that progression.

So many of the Schpiell songs were, in various ways, about sex, often depicting sickeningly perverse sexual acts. Your pornographic empire seems to have taken this one step further by actually staging and filming and broadcasting many of these acts. Was the music an inspiration to you in any way?

I should be very clear here. I absolutely could not stand any of Clark Seal's --


Schpiell, any of Clark Schpiell's music. Every last facet of it, from the chord changes, the melody, the production, the performances, I loathed it all. I don't listen to that crap anymore. Hell, I never listened to it then. When we were onstage I would just go through the motions and try to overpower the band's noise with songs that I was singing in my own head.

What were you singing?

"Rhinestone Cowboy" was a big one, Neil Diamond's "America," Barry Manilow's "Mandy." Without those three songs, I would have ended up in the fucking fruit bin like Dr. M without a wet horny cock-crazed slut to my name.

Was the difference in musical taste part of your ongoing series of fights with your brother?

It started there, sure, I can't deny that. Thing is, I used to sit in my room and listen to him "play" his guitar when we were in high school. He'd be in there and it would sound like someone trying to vomit up a Rubik's cube. I would have rather listened to the intake chute at the slaughterhouse at a hundred decibels then whatever it was he was doing in there. Then all of a sudden he tells me he's forming a band with Dave and Gieser, and I was astounded. Here were the three least talented individuals I knew forming a band. I'd heard Dave sing, or "moan somewhere near the pitch" as I always described it, and I don't think John could have kept time if you shoved a metronome up his ass. So they were playing a few shows and parties around here and there, and I never went to hear them because as much as I despise him, Little J is my brother and I couldn't bear to watch all those people laughing at him like that. But then he tells me that this one little honey at this party they were playing in Powers Lake wanted to suck him off, but by the time he got it up after all the Mickelbrau Ice he'd drunk, she'd already passed out. But it got me thinking that there may be something to this "rock band" thing in terms of having access to wet horny cock-crazed sluts.

What's your relationship like now with the other members of the band? You are after all a successful businessman, most of the others have not enjoyed your success.

Well, Boy-Nett's doing okay since he took us for all we were worth. I told everyone that we should have read those goddamn contracts back when he started to represent us, but we were young and impetuous and he promised us the stars. Still, it would have been nice to have had the opportunity to raise my first-born myself, but Boy-Nett sends me regular updates. As for the other guys, they only come around when they need something, and it's generally them thinking they can score a little wet horny cock-crazed slut action from me. I generally oblige, let them splash in the hot tub with a couple of my girls, but beyond that they're paying for it. Little J never comes around, he sends an e-mail now and then, I give him some credit on the web shows, but he's only got one of those old 1200 baud modems, so it doesn't do much good.

Is your estrangement from your brother due to the violence on your last tour?

Well, the skillet of hot oil was a mistake, I realize that now, but his face has grown back, I don't see what the big deal was, and I sent him a year's supply of calamine lotion, you'd think he'd get over it. Besides, I think I was justifiably angry after being handcuffed to that city bus in Omaha, but I know that could have been him retaliating for shaving his cat and supergluing all her fur to his ass. It seemed like just brotherly horseplay, even the gunfire and the arson, but it had consequences. We were young. Anally intruding sixteen-year-old girls from Mandan and then pouring acid on my brother while he slept was just how we did things back then.

Big J's lunch comes, and he excuses himself. He gets up and takes his food over to the hot tub, disrobes and slides in, leaving Mr. Parcheesi to escort me up to my car. I leave and drive through a rainy Iowa evening to my hotel room. That night, I pay $7.99 for an adult feature and there, at the end, I see "Produced by Bone o' J Gentlemen's Services, Inc.," and I reflect on the oddities of life, in which an unsuccessful bassist in an unsuccessful band one day becomes a successful smut-peddler living in a secluded underground empire. I think to myself that this life is just a meandering river with many tributaries, and only the Fates know where we may float. Then I get up to towel myself off.

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