Sunday, October 03, 2010

Running Scared: Mugshot Memories

This afternoon, we're heading over to the Make Out Room on 22nd Street for the latest installment of the San Francisco Mixtape Society.
The theme is Running Scared, and this is our submission: Mugshot Memories.
Here is the interior of our box.
Here is the "back story" for our tracks:
It all began when they sent Papa to Sing-Sing. We never knew for sure all of his crimes, but we were running scared from the start.
Mama ran off with the piano tuner and we resorted to selling shrapnel and stolen elephant tusks we snuck out of the natural history museum. It was a tough time, but we survived – all seven of us – in that little one-room cottage in the Berkeley Flats just before the floods came and they renamed it the Marina Extension.
Too bad what happened to Little Marcie who had been such a sweet kid with her cleft pallet and fondness for crab apples soaked in vodka. Who would have guessed such a pleasant little girl would end up on the bulletin boards of every post office along the Pacific Coast? Last we heard was that she was with the Lurk Larson gang in Spokane and disappeared into the wilds of Idaho. Some say she gave it all up and was running a little truck farm. Then we heard reports that she was running Boise Boyz, that notorious underground male brothel where errant Mormon lads padded their wallets with clandestine tomfoolery.
Brother Terrance did alright for himself posing as a priest and selling relics he smuggled out of the Vatican and sold to South Korean televangelical arms dealers. We heard that he ended up running a bingo joint and miniature golf course in Tel-Aviv and doing quite nicely.

And here is the back cover with the track listings.
Wish us luck!

UPDATE: Woot, woot! We took the prize for best art design.

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2 Comments:

At 2:59 PM, Blogger ArtSparker said...

That handsome container should win some attention for your entry - best of luck!

 
At 3:02 PM, Blogger Ladrón de Basura (a.k.a. Junk Thief) said...

Susan - Thanks. We'll see what happens.

 

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