Beefcake Madness

Nhoj Morley (2016)

Beefcake Madness is a weirdly-vulgar misandric satire of misogynistic culture set to over-reaching symphonic prog-rock with comedic intent and heavy sarcasm. Info and lyrics appear below the track list.

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The title is a term I used in the late seventies to describe the culturally infused insanity of the average lad's understanding of females and our boyish society. The title was used elswhere for other purposes when the home VCR came along. This concept for a concept album festered in my mind for decades. This PRCA was first described to the lads back in the 80's as a satire of manliness in four side-sized movements each containing one normal song. The rest would be free-form prog instrumentals that were often interrupted by comedy skits. The lyrics would contain a minimum of 100 f-bombs, which would have been unusual back then. The record was to be pinkish and appear to be wrapped in butcher's paper with a bit of pink liquid trapped in the shrink wrap.

This modern version kicked off in 2015 consumed me for 18 months. In that stretch of time, Trump went from campaign freak-show to President-Elect. Some of the album's frequent skit segments are taken from the Republican debates. 

I started amassing skit material from the debates in the fall. Turned out to be a bonanza. I figured that I can't use too much of the malarkey-friendly Trump material because, by the time I'm done, no one will remember it. Har har. I had plans for two endings. Which one to do would depend on the outcome of the election. I had hoped to use the other one. 

The music is inspired by many Russian composers. Particularly Arabian Nights type of orchestra-intended stuff like Scherezade. Granted, those were Ruskies pretending to be Arabs pretending to be Supermen. So what? I will only add to the pretending. Keyboard-triggered synthesizers will pretend to be orchestra instruments. I'll pretend I'm a power trio and that I know what to do with Prokofiev's Scythian Suite. Many items are vulgar enough to warrant an explicit advisory. (Parental Advisory- Parents may not wish their children to catch them listening to this) 

Overture to Madness

Field recording courtesy of LadyJane.

All these synthetic sounds are intended to evoke real and familiar instruments. This was easy to envision as a stage production. The opening opens with the in-house theatre organ in the pit. Drums and guitars join the crescendo which is suddenly interrupted by a drop down screen with a short film with a twist on a iconic beach scene. The screen lifts and the power trio is joined by an accordion, an English horn and a soprano sax for a playful rendition of ‘Down in Baghdad’. Then, in the next section, a small marching band of horn players circle around while each in turn comes center to drill a stupid melody into your ears. They include trombones, four kinds of saxes and a tuba bass line. Not far into the proceedings, the first of the anima-tronic geese and ducks begin to wander the stage. A few at first, then many. When the thumpy part comes, their movements become synchronized as they march back and forth in formation. As the last section begins and the drums get all Ringo-like, they all take off at once and fly away. Shadows pass across the stage as if the fowl are flying around the lights. As things wind down, the keyboard player is free of Hammond duty and tries to strap on the accordion in time for the final chord. It comes just as a cascade of fowl droppings drop on the players’ heads. Blackout. 

Dance of the Playful Wankie Boys: Allegro

Music by Sergei Prokofiev

The original plan said this PRCA had to contain the F-bomb at least one hundred times. This is a section of The Scythian Suite done as a manly satire. 


I don’t give a f*ck,
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 
I just wanna f*ck 
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 

f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 

f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 

f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 

f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 

Come dance with the playful wankie boys 
They’re settin’ the house on fire 
Watch them breaking all the toys 
Very impressive these wankie boys 

I said dick 
Did you hear me? It is my testimony 
I said dick 

Come dance with the playful wankie boys 
They’re burnin’ down the house 
Underneath their smoky sky 
The wankie boys say it’s do or die 

F*ck wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna f*ck 
wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna f*ck 
wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna  f*ck wanna
wanna wanna f*ck wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna 
wanna wanna f*ck wanna wanna wanna f*ck 
wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna wanna f*ck wanna wanna wanna
wanna wanna f*ck wanna wanna f*ck wanna f*ck
wanna wanna f*ck wanna wanna f*ck wanna f*ck
f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck 
f*ck f*ck 
and… f*ck! 


Beefcake Madness

The title tune intends to evoke a sense of masculinity... of a posturing muscularity... that and premature ejaculation. With a sweaty repeat and fade. 


I’m a beefcake fantasy 
in a world that only a boy can see 
We know who knows who can save its day 
The wankie boys will show the way 

We are the fearsome supermen (or, sperm ‘n eu
and nothing can brake our stride 

Come and join our cheesecake revelry 
Find a place in the big machinery 
Come and reap the harvest of our shared belief
in the ever-righteous everlasting madness of beef

I am so beefy and roasted with fire 
that licks and tickles and makes me laugh
Got a head full of steam and blood full of wood 
it’s so sensational I gotta laugh
It burns and tickles and freezes and hurts 
so don’t make me laugh
I said stop laughing 

We are the fearless supermen 
and no dame can make us cry 

Madness is Sensational Sensational 
Telling us what to do Sperm ‘n eu 
Quiet those big-mouthed shirty dames then who can say 
Who look right past our view
Buddy we can help you bag a chick 
Cuz here there’s a place for every dick
come join with us in our shared belief 
in the ever-righteous everlasting madness of beef

Of course we are the supermen Sperm ‘n eu 
above and beyond the rest Nancy boys 
don’t put da rules to the test don’t f*ck with us 
cuz we have to live together 

Are you a nancy boy? 
No, I am the bestest boy 
Are you a girly-man? 
No, I am the bestest boy 
Is that a clanging sound? 
Yes, as they swing and sway
Does mommy hold them to the ground? 
No, I’m gonna do what the big boys say 
Some says those balls will have to die
No, I think my balls can touch the sky

The madness we will never face 
The mythos we will clutch in place 
Mysteries we will never know 
Where the blood will never go 

It burns and tickles and freezes and hurts. 
but we have to live together

It’s Sensational! 
I am the leg-man… 
I am the ass-man… 
And I think like a walrus 
Coo-coo for cleavage  


The madness we will never face 
The mythos we will hold in place 
Mysteries we will never know 
Where the blood will never go 
So the dames must never be 
more than what my eyes can see 

Did you say boobs? 
You said boobs. 
Count me in, lads 
Where’s my Zamboni girl? 

So who’s a prissy femmy wimpy girly little nancy boy? 
and who’s a wimpy prissy femmy faggy little girly-man? 
Who’s a prissy femmy wimpy girly little nancy boy? 

Who’s a wimpy prissy femmy faggy little girly-man? 
prissy femmy wimpy girly prissy femmy faggy-boy
foamy prickly ghoulish wipey foggy gnarly minivan
You may praise my trophy wife 

Those dames will explore the hidden frontier 
Out of the woods where they can see clear 
Nipping the shaft 
exposing the trick 
and The Prickly Science of The Dick 


The Legend of the Khandahar Prince

Overgrown baby music. And a man on a horse. 


The Khandahar Prince was just a boy 
when the wild men rose up to destroy 
He saved his face with everyone   
He saved his farce from oblivion 

Other little boys are only up to par 
But in everyone of ours is born a little Prince of Khandahar 
We must not tame the little prince in case the wild men rise again
no need to train him to behave just ask him if he can
Did mommy come to heel quickly when you wailed?
when your little bottom stung and your little patience failed
Was she the angel of Heaven who was larger than your life? 

were you the little prince of khandahar who played for her his pipe? 

Soon our prince must marry a selected bag o’ bride 
that hides a prize so tempting she could take him for ride
Mommy wouldn’t taunt you or grant you pity love 
or laugh behind your back like she is thinking of 
did your prize come to heel quickly when you wailed?
until her little bottom stung when your little patience failed
was she the devil from beyond who could end your afterlife? 
the prince of khandahar would insist she must be nothing but your wife 
What a silly man what a f*ck for brains 
I should thank my luck so far
To think I could ever be a match 
for the Prince of Khandahar 

Why this lament? 
why cast this hero and his 
tales that tell and toll from 
the bottom of your memory 
as a downer of a ditty 
with a sad little tune? 
Why does the story of your life 
deserve to be this lament? 
Because it is so lamentable



The Sea, Sinbad and the Shipwreck at Palmyra. 

This should be quickly recognizable to symphony music fans as the second section of Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade... also called The Legend of the Kalendar Prince... done as a satire. Or a parody. Yeah, that’s it. 

This parody is in four segments: 
An Ancient Carousel of Angry Horses 
A Token for Hell's Nickelodeon 
Rail Hobos of the New Seville 

Hannibal's Return 


Dance of the Playful Wankie Boys: Alboobro 

The Alboobro Movement evokes a boyish excitement with a throbbing that can’t be ignored. The name alone makes one want to peek. I mean listen.

Thanks, Mart! 


Dance of the Playful Wankie Boys: Albuttro

The complete Albuttro Movement with two skits.  


Alvin and Alonzo are altogether vicious 
While Albert and Alistair are asking Aloisius…

Who is Al Buttro? 
And who is a Joe Shmoe? 
You’re just a schmuck so 
you’re not Al Buttro 

Alfred and Aladdin are always in a schism 
While Alec and Alfredo are lacking altruism 
I am Al Buttro but not if you are Al Buttro if not then 
I am Al Buttro if not then we must know who is Al Buttro 

It’s always Alabaster who casts allegiance sparsely
While Alexander is alerting Alan albeit harshly
You’re not Al Buttro since I am Al Buttro don’t tell me 
you are Al Buttro if I said I am Al Buttro 
We must find him before we drop
Only Al Buttro 
Can ever make this stop.



The Calendar Princess  

He’s a testifier. With a teste fire. 


Pounding like thunder from behind the locker door 
She is up against the wall while sprawled across the floor
She hangs like dangling fruit and is always on my mind 
It’s a full frontal attack or I’m taken from behind  
She changes her form in an endless lunar cycle 
A full moon shines when the devil’s hands are idle 
All the days of June haunt clear through September 
Some months will always always be remembered
No, she’s a tack-hanging predator and no one’s toy 
only posing as docile and coy… but no 
Remember what you’ve been shown 
She’ll wait til you’re alone 
then she’ll turn your blood to bone! 

She’s got us lads surrounded popping out from every wall 
She is draped across the hood and sneaking in the stall 
Some keep her at their peril and face a holy dread
If she were found in the closet or hidden under the bed  
I like to keep her whereabouts always in plain sight 
If I have to hold a vigil all throughout the night 
Images of April linger all the way through May
maybe take on the whole year in a single day 
I shall have my way and she shall have my will 
Is it so she can chalk up one more kill? Cuz I’m beat… 

She’s the huntress of the wankie lads 
stalking all the bachelor pads 
Or anyone whose got the nads!

You can walk away 
turn your back and say
She is safely tucked away 
but she’s loose and you’re the prey 

Huntress of the wankie lads 
Stalking all the bachelor pads 
She will wait til you’re alone 
She will turn your blood to bone 

blood to bone! blood to bone!
Good to wood! Good to wood! 

You might think you’re the prize 
underneath your cozy sheet
In those unblinking eyes 
you’re just a piece of meat 
Piece of meat! Piece of meat! 

She will squeak softly and 
carry your stick in hand 
You’ll confess you’ve been good 
then she’ll turn your blood to wood 
Figures once you’ve been shown
You’ll be her helpless drone 
This is the crime that pays
We’ll give her thirty days 

I feel I’ve been robbed 
No authorities to turn to
I could call the boys in blue 
but they might say me too 
She’ll never face a redress 
Or challenge in the free press
Twelve aliases to hide in 
I may as well stop cryin’ 
Yet never will I confess
That I left a wee mess… 

yes we left a wee mess 
on the calendar princess
yes we left a wee mess 

on the calendar princess 


The Hunt for Meat, the Larder of Love 

Some days, these synthesized orchestra instruments sound pretty good. Other days they are just an electric buzzing sound. This buzz is identified as a Soprano Sax. It helps the illusion to read the names. 



The Festering of Baghdad 

The cast of buzz sounds in order of appearance: Accordion, English Horn, Clarinet, Strings, Bassoon, Harp, Honky Tonk Piano, Tuba, Theatre Organ, Trombones, and Piccolo. 

Lyrics to Down in Baghdad… 

The world is a mess down in Baghdad 
and we know why down in Baghdad 
Those wankie boys here in Baghdad 
follow the smoky sky to downtown Baghdad 

The world’s a mess and we know why 
those playful lads who smoke the sky 
They kissed the girls and made them cry 
No pity for those boys who’ll have to die down in Baghdad 
Right here in Baghdad 

We f*cked em ‘up down in Baghdad 
Then we bagged them up down in Baghdad 
We f*cked ‘em real good here in Baghdad 
pity the boys will have to die right here in Baghdad 
Down in Baghdad 
Right here in Baghdad 


Epilogue: Dickland Promotional Film 

It’s only the soundtrack.  


If you’re a dick then come and play
where madness is the only way
in Dickland

here we’re quenching every thirst
just as long as dicks come first
in Dickland 

Come and join our boyhood dream
some dames will liven up the scene
and damn us all
to Dickland

until the shit hits the fan
come and smoke em while you can
in Dickland 

Those maniacs who blew it up are back in town
so give it up for Dickland 

Bop bop sha-boom! 

Boys, we may think we are fantasizing about women all the time but we are fantasizing about ourselves first. There is no argument to be made that could be convincing enough. It is a hypnotic trance that must be jarred and broken through by humiliation and guilt. Ideology is not the issue of times. Tis but a smokescreen and façade. In a fully modern Type B society, normal and natural male primate behavior becomes beefcake madness.

What exactly is a 'playful wankie boy'? It is a very derisive term for a Type-A-aspiring male hominid who, when it comes to choosing sides between an advancing civilization and his dick, picks his dick every time. They are poor narrators who live within the chunk-limit and think that a society that promises orgasms as a birthright is worth defending to the bitter end. They are the social fodder of the clever boys who can manipulate the perceptions of each generation into building yet another Dickland where Dicks Come First. These playful wankie boys are scared of women who don't fear them. They ask, "If girls go to school, what am I supposed to do with my dick?" The answer is simple. Get yourself a privy and lock the door. Does that mean discarding every social norm, political or religious structure from our past? Undeniably. Until then, enjoy the world of the Trumps and the Putins and all the Strong, Powerful Leaders of Dickland. Enjoy the world where truth is established through strength and defended with explosives. There is genuine bravado to be felt in skull-fucking your truth into lesser boys and rewarding yourself with flattened calendar girls. We wank in darkness. 

Do we choose the sciencie way out? Than we know what we will need to be sciencie about first… 

I know there are some boys for whom this is an impossible task. I understand. Just make sure your offspring can handle it before you die. You're an example either way. 

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