Monday, December 29, 2008

Jay Debauchery's Top 10 Albums of 2008

There could have been a lot more shoegazer pop on this list (Magnetic Fields, Blood on the Wallz) as well as some discs I got in '07 that didn't come out til this year. I encourage you to at least LISTEN to all of these and maybe you'll find some new kind of kick. For everyone that said this was an off year in music I say, fuck off. There were a slew of great records that didn't make this list (it was so god damned hard not to put Gentlemen Jesse in this collection). And if you put Girl Talk in your list you need to slit your throat.
10. Wavves - S/T CS I just heard this band (actually one man named Nathan Williams) a few weeks ago and it seriously rocked my va-jay-jay. This dude probably kicked in his amp with a pair of steel toed boots before recording some of the most luscious California beach pop I've heard in a long time. The layers of noise washed over the hooks and melodies are absolutely essential to the beauty of the tunes. Plus, Mr. Williams has a righteous 80's era skater cut right out of Thrasher. And not in an ironic manner.
There is no YouTube video I can put here so just check out the tracks here.
9. The Night Marchers - See You in Magic John Reis can do no wrong. Except for breaking up the Hot Snakes and Sultans in the same year. And just after he put the only rock 'n' roll band EVER allowed to use horns (Rocket from the Crypt) to bed. He soothed my wounds with the Night Marchers which was a little more caustic ("I Wanna Deadbeat You", "Open Your Legs") than I was expecting. They kill live, also. It's not RFTC, but I'll take a John Reis band over 75% of music any day.
8. Lords of Altamont - The Altamont Sin So, they pick up the bassist from the MC5, sound more stoned than usual and take their sweet fucking time to deliver one hell of a record. I should punish them for that but how can I when they consistently kick out the jams this fierce? 1%er, fuzzed out, Farfisa drenched, down and dirty rock 'n' roll. I love everything Jake Calvaliere has ever been involved with but the Lords of Altamont easily take the cake. Sorry, Bomboras.
Lords of Altamont

7. Harlem - Free Drugs I despise 99% of bands from Austin for a multitude of reasons but these cats are brilliant. They pilfer from the Pixies, 13th Floor Elevators and Nuggets era garage rock for a truly excellent album that is impossible to resist putting on repeat. Just check out "South of France" and tell me you're not hooked. They got moved up on the list simply for titling a song "Psychedellic Titties."

6. MGMT - Oracular Spectacular The way I described it to a co-worker when it first got thrown into the rotation at work was what the Happy Mondays second album would've been if they binged on acid instead of crack. I stand by that. A great psychedellic electro-pop album that is in no way pretentious or hipster fodder. It's far to busy waving middle fingers to the subculture and stealing Madonna beats (seriously, "Electic Feel" owes its life to "Lucky Star") to be considering a brooding work of contemplative overload. These kids are just having a blast with infectious dance music.
MGMT-TimeToPretend

5. The Raveonettes - Lust, Lust, Lust Take the shoegazer cannon of the Jesus and Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine, strip out all of the distortion and swap out the Brian Wilson worship for Phil Spector girl groups and what you get is one of the more crucial European bands in recent memory. They just keep getting better.

4. The Baseball Project - Vol. 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails Scratching your head at that title aren't ya? Well, you're not a baseball nerd then! I love baseball with all my heart, believe it to be a parable for life and this album more than evokes my passion for the game. It is literally dripping with unabashed love and devotion to America's passtime. Steve Wynn (the mastermind behind the criminally ignored Dream Syndicate) along with friends including Peter Buck (of R.E.M. fame) deliver a sixties style pop album that ranks this high simply for the song "Ted Fucking Williams." Here is the backstory for the song's title:
In the bullpen tonight Jim Pagliaroni was telling us how Ted Williams, when he was still playing, would psyche himself up for a game during batting practice, usually early practice before the fans or reporters got there.
He'd go into the cage, wave his bat at the pitcher and start screaming at the top of his voice, "My name is Ted fucking Williams and I'm the greatest hitter in baseball."
He'd swing and hit a line drive.
"Jesus H. Christ Himself couldn't get me out."
And he'd hit another.
Then he'd say, "Here comes Jim Bunning. Jim fucking Bunning and that little shit slider of his."
Wham!
"He doesn't really think he's gonna get me out with that shit."
Blam!
"I'm Ted fucking Williams."
Sock!

3. Flogging Molly - Float This doesn't have the barroom rousers that Swagger and Drunken Lullabies had but Dave King's lamentations on returning to Ireland amidst peace for the first time in his life have served his songwriting greatly. Not that he needed any help. There are a few writers that liked their more raw, punk stylings and punish the band for scaling back for the sake of...well, better songwriting. Bollocks to them. This is by far their finest album to date. They have now earned the crown as the new Pogues.

2. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Dig! Lazarus! Dig! I'm on record (in print!) as saying that I would gladly grab ankles for Nick Cave. The man is a genius and this year the Bad Seeds new offering was easily my most anticipated record. They did not fail me in the least. In fact, this is the best record they've released since Murder Ballads and is just as snarky, fun and insane. Come on, the title track is a hillarious diatribe reimagining Lazarus' alternate experience on Earth as a bored, pissed off, resentfull junkie. Dig comes so close to topping the noisy, Stooges inspired and absolutely filthy Grinderman offshoot Cave and Ellis released last year. That really says a ton about the strength of this record.

1. Fucked Up - The Chemistry of Common Life Holy shit, I cannot believe the evolution of this band. For their first LP release (which was a collection of EP's and singles) they sounded like the second coming of Black Flag. Then Hidden World dropped and was incredibly challenging as the band grew to compose 5 minute hardcore epics layered with experimental instrumentation and layers and layers of guitar tracks. I never thought I would be so in love with a band this raw that lovingly embraced Pro Tools, with up to 70 tracks of instruments at a time!!!! but here we are. On The Chemistry of Common Life, Pink Eyes and crew (which includes Rachel Lee Cook's little brother) continue their fuck you to religion ("So what's the point of ever being born again?") and deconstruction of the state of modern man. Yes, a band named Fucked Up is that deep, that intelligent and still able to make you want to go off. I cannot believe how they have crossed over from hardcore heroes to indie snob delights. I understand it but it stills bugs me out. Shit, the mainstream music rags are fellating them at every chance and you know what...they deserve every bit of acclaim and praise they recieve. Fucked Up will go down as the greatest punk rock band of their generation. Mark my words.
Honorable Mentions: Henry Fiat's Open Sore - Mondo Blotto, Blood on the Wallz - Liferz, Okmoniks, Magnetic Fields - Distortion, Yuppie Pricks - Balls, Blacklisted - Heavier than Heaven, Lonlier than God, Gentlemen Jesse
THE BEST BAND I HEARD IN 2007 BUT DIDN'T FREAK OUT OVER TIL THIS YEAR GOES TO...
Clockcleaner. Babylon Rules is fucking phenomenal and they are the best thing out of Philadelphia right now. Totaly caustic and uncaring sounds of the Birthday Party meeting Big Black for drunken brawl.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Max Cargo Confirms the Cumshots Status as "Kings of Boner Rock"

Maybe it's the holidays, maybe it's the fact that I'm spending the holidays in retail hell with the dregs of humanity or maybe it's just that time in my lunar cycle that I've been jamming the Cumshots a lot lately. While I'm at work, I get "Praying for Cancer" stuck in my head pretty often. Well, the first line at least. I'm not that narcissistic to claim the whole song as a mantra.
Anyhoo, frontman Max Cargo (also named "Norway's Sexiest Man" by Elle a few years back) has unleashed a new debauched diatribe about his testicles on the Cumshots website. And, while I might not agree with him about ladies and my child bearers, it's still a pretty epic and prolific statement on the purity and importance of repsecting the sperm factories.* Here's a snippet:
This first, and probably most important, lesson is for all you girls out there. During sex (god forbid), don't grab my balls. Got that ? Stay the fuck away from my balls. I can't emphasise this enough. Before even licking my balls you need to have earned the respect of the balls. This takes time. Serious time. Probably months of intense fucking, and even then you have to ask the owner (me) to ask the balls if it's ok. The balls will then talk to my penis who'll surly deny the request, but at least it's now in the system, and in a few months you MAY be allowed a short visit to planet scrotum.
Truly, breathtaking and so poetic. With all of the shit this band talks it's actually kind of funny to see that their singer has such exclusive standards for fucking.

As Xmasy as We're Gonna Get

If you aren't familiar with the Yobs Christmas album you need to correct that shit pronto. The Yobs were the very filthy, very nasty and very awesome offshoot of the excellent British power-pop group the Boys ("First Time"). I tried to find a video for their rendition of "O Come All Ye Faithfull" which involves the heartwarming holiday tradition of tossing loads onto your gal's face but struck out. This will do just fine.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Veto! Motherfucking VETO!

I'll save you my usual bitching about bands from the 60's and 70's who haven't done fuck all aside from a swing of reunion tours deciding the time is right to pick up where the sonically left off and hit the studio. The New York Dolls and Stooges are the best (worst?) examples of what can transpire if you consider yourselves as anything more than a nostalgia act and try to recapture the insanity and nihilism of your youth.
Add one more group to the list who DIDN'T GET THE FUCKING MEMO! From punknews.org:
The legendary Sex Pistols are again hinting at a new studio album. Bassist Glen Matlock spoke to The Quietus about a 2009 album: The Sex Pistols? We've done our bit this year…we'll meet again in the new year and see what we want to do. We were not recording a new album - I think that journalists are making it up, but you can never say never. We all got ideas between us. It's a double-edged sword if you do it not good as the original, and if you don't do it people want to know why - but it's up to us. We are the masters of our own destiny.
I think we can all agree that this is a fucking horrible idea. Like, maybe worse than, say Facebook: The Movie!. Or being raped in the face. Yeah, I would prefer that than the Sex Pistols recording anything ever again. Oh, and Glen, you don't control SHIT in that band. Remember, you were the only one who could play until McClaren and Rotten decided to chuck your ass for walking calamity that was Sid Vicious. We all know Mr. Lydon is the puppet master now since you can't pull a Velvet Revolver and have people care. But, seriously, stay the fuck away from music. Thanks, humanity.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Maybe THIS President will Listen to Jello

Like most of the country, I too really dig Obama and the whole notion that radical change is still a viable possibility in this country. Especially after Colonel Clusterfuck's eight years of idiocy and criminality (and if you haven't been terrified enough about Cheney and Co.'s antics, pick up Jane Mayer's The Dark Side. It really gives you a frighteningly clear picture of the incompetence and corruption of the W. era) with the air of brutal doom lingering across America as we are seemingly about to sink into the abyss.
With things remaining stagnant in the worst way possible and with Col. still having another month to make one last, epic, fuck up, we ALL have a lot riding on Obama's success in the Oval Office. He also carries a great amount of expectations to follow through on the actualization of the change he eagerly promoted.
To keep him on point, Jello Biafra has written an open letter to the President Elect and it's pretty rockin'. Here's a quick excerpt:
National security means: • Everyone has a home. • Everyone has enough decent food to eat. • Everyone can drink the water without having to buy it in a bottle from Coke or Pepsi. • No one has to worry about getting their hand cut off at work or having their job outsourced overseas. • Everyone can be who they are without fear of being detained and tortured without trial. • Everyone can vote without fear, knowing their vote will be counted—accurately. • Every woman has the right to choose what to do with her own body. • Everyone has enough money for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. • Everyone, even if they don't have money, has the right to see a doctor if they're sick or hurt. In so many other countries this is a guaranteed human right by law.
Unlike a lot of other notable figures, (i.e. just about every fucking celebrity who campaigned for Obama and douche's like Fall Out Boy) Jello Biafra really knows his shit. A quick listen to your old Dead Kennedy's records and his spoken word performances will confirm this. And, like Jello, I really hope Obama takes this idea to heart: "Above all, be a leader, not a dealmaker. There are times when cutting a deal is the same as cutting and running. To put it mildly, we can't afford that anymore. There are no sails left to trim.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

I Must be Drunk...I'm Kinda Siding with Axl on this One

Now, don't think for a second that I enjoyed ANY bit of the decade-plus festering piece of shit that is called Chinese Democracy. Shit was weak and Axl needs to just give the fuck up. Or at least quit issuing utter garbage that would make Tay Zonday cringe under the name Guns 'N' Roses. It was way worse than Duff's cover of Johnny Thunders' "You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory" which is very impressive (remember the improv line, "Oh, Johnny. I wanna put MY arms around YOUR memory.")
From The Most God Awful Music Magazine in Existence:
According to Axl Rose’s lawyer, Alan S. Gutman, things went terribly wrong: Yesterday he sent a letter to Dr Pepper CEO Larry Young saying that the soda company’s Website crashed and that “the redemption scheme your company clumsily implemented for this offer was an unmitigated disaster which defrauded consumers and, in the eyes of vocal fans, ‘ruined’ the day of Chinese Democracy’s release”.
Really, dickhead? The worst part about that day was the fact that Axl finally released the fucking thing and confirmed that he is absolutely fucking daft. Really, the only bright point of the event was that we all could score a free Dr. Pepper and it sucks that the thirsty, cheap folks who got fucked by the website didn't get their soda. In reality, Axl should've given us all free hummers for making his fans wait 15 years for a dated, terrible and fucking boring album. I'd rather listen to the Jonas Brothers than suffer through Chinese Democracy one more time. And while we're on the subject of retribution, I hope somebody paid Chuck Klosterman a shitload of cash (or at least bought a gazillion copies of his novel) to write such a pussified, Rolling Stone-style review. How in the fuck do you even rate any of the songs on this aural abortion "astonishing?" I just don't see the logic in classifying a review of this very real item as akin to reviewing a "unicorn."
Oh, and hey, it gets better. This is how the letter concludes.
"Rest assured, this misappropriation will not be free.”
What? Are the labels trying to recoupt the loss on this fucking thing or does William need a few more hair-plug dread extensions and botox injections? Look, Dr. Pepper fucking up by not giving "everyone in America" a free can of soda is nothing to sue for damages over. Just make 'em pony up for all the bitching dipshits who can't spare 50 cents (I don't give a fuck what the economy is like now. If you can get online to bitch about a fucking freebie giveaway, you can afford your own damn can of pop) but leave the threatening bullshit out of it. Or at least, quit milking the incident to drum up publicity for an album 99% of the people who cared about have already heard and the rest of the world who just wanna jam Appetite for Destruction and nothing else.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Hell Motherfuckin' Yeah!

Rob Neyer can eat a bag of dicks. No make that a bag of baby dicks.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Protest Prop 8 Tomorrow Downtown

If you want a ban on gay marriage then fuck you. Seriously. Quit with this "sanctity of marriage" bullshit. If it can be nullified within a few days or because either party didn't put out in a specific amount of time or if you just feel like fucking someone else then it is not as sacred of an institution as many Americans would like to believe.
I'm not saying that all marriages end in disaster but if it were all so rosy and simple then family law wouldn't be a hell most people don't have the stomach or heart to deal with. There is a lot of ugly shit that happens in this realm of law that has many LSAT aces so unnerved by the whole scene as to vow never to go near it. That tells me a lot about how sacred Americans view their marriages. Sweet fucking Bog, just think about the fact that Carmen Electra married Dennis Rodman for like 2 hours and tell me that gay people shouldn't be afforded the same legal rights and benefits as those two nutsacks.
So, if you can, go out and protest the passage of Prop 8 and let the government and your fellow Americans know that the civil rights struggle did not end with the election of an African American president.
Since California passed prop 8 the country is having rallies this weekend to spread awareness on the issue.
Meet at City Hall 901 Bagby, Houston, TX Scheduled to begin at 12:30pm - Saturday, November 15. We will gather in Hermann Square which is right behind City Hall.
Maps and details at: .. Fight H8 Houston
We have secured all permits required for this event. Please bring signs and posters.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

I LIVE for Schadenfreude. At Least When it Concerns Chubby Goth Twihard Fans!

Oh man. I must have watched this video like 20 fucking times in a row. I'm not joking. And I found this while perusing Fangoria of all places? Look, Tony Timpone, I know your mag is really lagging in readership (Rue Morgue has been vastly superior to Fango since their first issue) and you have to cover whatever shit sandwich Lions Gate dumps out like its the second coming of Romero but...Twilight? Come the fuck on. The only reason I flip through your mag anymore on my lunch break is to see the spoiler gore shots and since you're gonna go ahead and jump on the tween gravy train I'm just gonna have to stop. That movie has about as much to do with the horror genre (I don't give a fuck if vampires are involved) as George W. does with Mensa.
Anyhoo, let's get back to matter at hand. Laughing at future Torrid shoppers who got fucked out of shooting their T.V. eye's on the star of what Film Drunk has dubbed Dawson's Crypt.

Wow, so your birthday is ruined because you didn't get to spend a nanosecond with some limey douche with stupid hair who is playing a FICTIONAL CHARACTER that gets your twat thumpin'? It's not like you were gonna hang out for half an hour whilst sipping latte's with the gent and discussing his craft and then he would whisk you away to recreate the "epic" (and by Bog, do I even feel sick typing that word despite the quotation marks) romance that has enthralled your pre-pubescent mind.
Oh, and what the fuck is up with the guy who punched his window out? They never really make it clear if he was there to get some shit signed, checking out underage gash or what. That probably made me laugh the hardest. Punching a fucking window out? It's not like Daniel-san just whooped up on the Cobra Kai you just missed out on some tween star scribbling on a t-shirt. Keep entertaining me like this Twihard fans and I'll keep the Hounds of Hell at bay a little longer.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

This is Just Brilliant

One of my favorite things to do when I need to put a smile on my face is checking out Rock N Roll Confidential's Hall of Douchebags. It's a collection of hillariously lame band photos with some brutal descriptions following the pictures.
Someone took a collection of high school Senior Portraits and posted them online and the selections are nothing short of epic. I just hope they add more than 16. Enjoy them for yourself HERE

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

My "Intelligent" Critique of Twilight...with Limited Cursing!

"I don't disagree with you that Twilight is written horribly, and that the author is below average but do you really need to use such strong language? You could say the same insulting things in an entirely more intelligent and mature manner..." - Anonymous commenter from this post.
First of all, you are reading a blog that was born from a Xeroxed fanzine called PLEASE KILL YOURSELF written by a guy calling himself JAY DEBAUCHERY and you expect a Foucault level of couth in my discourse? Are you fucking kidding me? Shit, the slogan for this whole thing is "Jihad for Rock 'N' Roll Motherfuckers!" If you wanna read something without the cursing and horrible vindictiveness that we can all easily prescribe to our inner dialogue then stick to USA Today.
I'm assuming you did a Google search for Twilight and stumbled upon my lonely home on the internet. Thanks, for checking us out and I'm sorry you felt that my lack of discretion when it comes to expletives made you cringe.
I believe that writing is at its best when it's done honestly. No barriers, no cleaning up of the raw emotion that urges the typer to punch out their view of the world or version of the truth. And I also believe that anyone trying to tackle any wordy endeavor be it blog, print media (of which I have been paid to do) or just photo copying and passing out for free should write like they speak to everyone they end up conversing with in everyday life. In my case, sailors blush when I speak and I do end up censoring myself in certain situations (mainly work). But when it comes to my art, all reservations are checked at the door. I really don't care if anyone is personally upset about me calling Stephanie Meyer a cunt (she is one). What offends me is calling my ranting un-intellectual because of the crude manner in which I choose to convey my message.
In my initial post I commented on a trio of literary geniuses (Celine, Kerouac, Bukowski) in comparison to some shitty writer (look back up there, kids. Anonymous admits Meyer is weak) and despite my name dropping for cool points, I thought I made some very clear points about why the whole Twilight scene is lame. I'm sorry Anonymous couldn't see that through the usage of the word "fuck" every other sentence.
So, to satiate that commenter, let me reiterate my points as expressed in a previous post:
I believe that the Twilight series is a radically anti-feminist bit of schlock pulp that is written so poorly it might actually hinder our rational inclination to evolve intellectually. It tells women that they are only made strong by their man. That they can act as idiotic as possible but it's okay because their man will be there to save them. It also boasts (yes, I use that word purposely) that all a woman needs in her life is a man to be slavishly devoted to her and she should reciprocate those emotions and constantly risk her life and cede herself to his will. Oh, and squirting out a kid is the end all of their corporeal existence and that will truly satisfy them.
I had a customer today tell me that the above is all true but it's sometimes fun to indulge in the fantasy of the story. "Fantasy" is the key word here folks. And remember that Meyer is writing this whole mess from a strict Mormon background. Yes, she has managed to tie vampires (an already lame, lazy and overdone subgenre) filled with religious zeal. I told the customer that it was rather frightening to me that there was an entire generation of women (I would use "girls" here but...no. There are some insane Twilight mom's out there. Jeebus, help their offspring) who believe Bella's arc to be a parable for their life. She admitted that might be the case and strolled off. Wow.
A generation of women weakened by the pen and prescribed to be slaves to men. Thanks Stephanie Meyer.
And to Anonymous, was that fucking intellectual enough for ya?

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

John McCain Will Play This for Sarah Palin ala Say Anything Tonight

If he picked Lieberman, it would've been a race. This dumb cunt tanked his campaign. Well, we should all thank him for that.

Monday, November 3, 2008

This is What 100 Years of Suffering Will Do to Somebody


Whoah. Talk about loyalty there, sport. That tattoo is the equivalent of a Red Sox fan turning to the Evil Empire in case your not up on your baseball rivalries. As much joy and laughter as I get from that picture the fan in me still says, "Fucking' pussy."

Friday, October 31, 2008

Happy Halloween from Please Kill Yourself

Stay sick out there ghouls and gals and some of us will probably see you at the Los Skarnales show at Fitz tonight.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Philadelphia Fans, Enjoy It

Congrats to the Phillies and a nice fat FUCK YOU to all twelve Rays fans who are upset about the loss of the 2008 World Series. A double FUCK YOU to the bandwagon crew. Seriously, you are some obnoxious people.
It was nice to see Lidge get a ring and find some redemption and how about Eric "Cro-Magnon Man" Bruntlett proving to be a solid bench player. Oh, Michael Bourne, I love you more every day. Seriously, any Astros fan who knows their shit should be happy for those guys and not blame this supposed curse that finds good ballplayers sucking in Houston and then rocking the game when they get shipped off to another team. Lidge needed a change of scenery and well...I'll let his numbers speak for themselves.
But now, for the Phillies fans. Jesus titty fucking christ people! I've been reading the fan accounts from Deadspin this morning (my favorite so far is the video of a guy on a traffic light while the crowd pelts him with bottles) and you folks are pretty fucking nuts. But, hey the last team to win anything in Philadelphia was the one owned by Jon Bon Jovi so I guess it was a celebration of awesome drunkedness and destruction that was well earned.
However, none of you have SHIT on this dude who is also pictured up top.
GREEN MAN!

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Dig, Brothers and Sisters, on the New Lords of Altamont Record

This thing smokes. It's not Lords Have Mercy but it is sure as hell close. Wonderous fuzzed out guitars, the speaker blowing bass of Mike Davis (worship the MC5, children) and some killer Farfisa organ. The Altamont Sin is probably the most down and dirty, kick ass rock 'n' roll album out right now. The perfect soundtrack for a chickee run or a back alley knife fight or just a righteous record to watch old biker movies and get fucking blitzed on hash to. Either way, it rules.
Lords of Altamont "Gods&Monsters"

E3

A funny thing happened on the way to the World Series for the unbeatable SAWX.  
BUCKNERED!
Oh heroics happened for sure(Nancy!) but to no avail.  The lowly and unheralded Rays of the city of Tampa defeated Debauchery's bffs, the Red Sox
Even though their all time record against the Rays entering the series was 119-68.
I may root for a perennial also ran. 
I got nothing.  Fuck you Jay!!
I hate you.
Good luck finding a new baseball team to root for, now that all your suffering with two world series in the last four years has ended.  
I wonder what Manny is doing.  He will look pretty good in pinstripes next year.  
Scott Boras in '08

You Can Now Confirm For Yourselves That Axl Pissed Away 13 Years

13 years...all that time, wasted. With men who wear KFC buckets and endless sessionists, production teams, scores of tracks thrown to the curb without care all funded by a fraction of what the bailout is costing the government (that stat might not be accurate, but you see the point I'm making here) and this...THIS, is what we are left with.
Chinese Democracy - Guns N Roses
And, by the way, in case you have the IQ of Sarah Palin and think this shit is decent enough to buy (to me, it's just unbearable. I'm gonna jam "Mr. Brownstone" 50 times in a row to cleanse my audio palete of this shit), you're gonna have to hit up a Best Buy. I guess Wal-Mart wasn't classy enough for genius of this caliber. Fuck you, Axl.

The Secret Life of Black Nathan

In case the below isn't obvious enough, Black Nathan is a die-hard Vikings fan. He was born into it and it is the source for much of the pain he endures in life. In fact, he loves telling people (when he is at the height of his giant dickheadedness) that he wants everyone to be as miserable as he is BECAUSE he is a Vikings fan. That is devotion to your team, friends.
But what is most fascinating about his fandom is that whenever he ingests some tasty lutefisk he magically transforms into a batshit insane Canadian superfan named 100% Cheese Free. This is his/their story. And by the way, that ain't face paint. It's sunscreen.

My favorite line is at the end, "I wish everyone could experience this." Man, Nathan, that is some cold shit.
*expect a nice retaliation re: the Red Sox from Nathan should he feel it needed.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Lights Out Again...

Sure he showed flashes of his old self, but there was no short porch in left and there was certainly no Pujols in the lineup to send him to the showers to be left crying in the fetal position.
He had to contend with a Dodgers team that had Manny on it though. A Manny that had revived a strugling west coast NL team that had aspirations of perhaps of making it to the fall classic that saw the dreams come true in the last few months of the season. The Dodgers came in hot.
The only problem is that the fighting Phils' came in even hotter. Hotter than McCain got in last night's debate hot. The pitching staff (hello Cole "new mancrush" Hamels,) single handidly shut down the late spark that Manny had given the team. Manny still put up Manny numbers, but it does not matter if it's Jesus H. Christ batting clean up if there is no one on base to "clean up" when you get a sacred dinger against that sold staff. When the Phils' are putting up five or six a game, his one or two longballs are moot.
So, congrats Brad. I never wanted to see you go. You were my guy. I defended your lapses in pitch placement. Your insistance in learning a new pitch to toss other than your searing fastball just so you could have something to throw them off with. I have been and always will be an Astros fan, Brad. That is my only fault. I will follow your entire career (even though you are a Fighting Irishman,) because I want you to succeed. I want you to succeed the same way I want that guy who used to be your set up man to succeed in Tampa. A Lidge / Wheeler World Series. Who'da thought that would ever happen?
See Brad, or Lights Out. Can I call you that, Lights Out? Ok.
See, you needed a change in scenery Lights. The reason why? Houston is a cronious franchise man. What have you done for us lately? Not even- more what did you do for me yesterday? We have an owner who's first concern is money. Making a profit and putting asses in the seats. The Roidket and AndyAndro did that. Roy does (or did,) that. Having you come out to your frat-ridden-rap-rock-agro-tune to put the nail in the coffins of many a batter put asses in the seats my friend. But see- to Dracula McClain- that was not enough. He wanted championchips by golly!
Pitching wins championships, yes. But- you have to have the bats to compliment the pitching. Any decent team in either league should be able to overcome what is considered a good outing by a starting pitcher. That's three runs. The Astros are notorious for leaving the population of Willis, Texas on base because they can not hit in the clutch. This starts the viscious cycle. Pitchers pitch, batters do not produce, pitchers get lit, bulpen gets used, pitchers wear down. Next thing you know... your closer is coming out in the middle of the seventh inning because the good ol' boy manager has run out of arms due to over pitching. (There is a reason Collins, Williams and Garner are not in the league anymore. Cecil should be soon to follow suit.)
You got out. Good for you, Brad. So you had an off season last year. It happens. God forbid we stick with someone for YEARS to see how they may or may not turn out. Oh wait- Assmas puts asses in the seats on personality alone. Fuck tallent! Well he is a career .220 hitter who USED to be able to block anything and throw a dude out in Denton. HE can't do that anymore. Well we can always just keep shipping fellas in their late 20's and early 30's back and forth between AAA and the club till they get it I guess. Meanwhile we can scour the league for tallent that was, and wring them dry of what little of it they may have left until they limp into retirement (or tell us they are so they can actually get out of town and go play for a contender.)
Congrats Brad. You are on a team of studs now. Howard, Utley, Rollins, Victorino... you got the bats. Eyre, Moyer, Hamels, YOU. They have the pitching. Good luck man. Maybe we'll seee you in a Houston uni again in 10-12 years when you are an aging starter who we feel might still have some ol' petrol left in the tank.
Go Phillies!!!
P.S. Don't get too pissed when you get back to Minute Maid next season and get boo'ed. Jonny Sixpack and Honkey Wife don't know no better. They are just jealous. You know if you get traded off against your will by the sheer ire of the assinine management or used as bait- it makes you the bad guy. Fuck 'em. They'll already be pissed there is a black president as it is...

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Cruising Jay Debauchery

After I closed the seasonal store tonight, I ask to grab a quick smoke and head outside the Galleria to sit on the benches outside the fancy steakhouse to ponder the stars (and lament the Red Sox loss to the Rays) when a man comes upon me. He appears to be in his late 40's/early 50's with short cropped grey hair, a flamboyant green flowered shirt with a bone white sport coat and brilliantly shined fancy loafers (hey, the Dead Kennedy has upped my knowledge on style). He stares at me for a few moments before saying, "I just saw a sillohuete here and low and behold there's a person!" His speech is slightly slurred and I let him know that I do, in fact exist (in some corporeal form, at least) and he starts his rap.
"I was just at Gigi's and I guess I must be some real V.I.P. cause I got my tab comped.EVERYTHING! Food, drinks...vodka, by the way. The whole enchilada!"
Immediately, I realise, this guy is smitten with me. Don't think I'm being egotistical here. I've been hit on by a bunch of guys but have never seen the sparkle and immense look of hopefull coital copulance that protruded from this man's glazzies. And hey, the story ain't over yet so I can still prove to you this guy wanted a piece of my pasty Mick ass.
I tell him how awesome it is that he gets to dine fancy and get loaded for free and compliment the cuisine at Gigi's (it's pretty meh, in truth). He continues to boast his meal and service and then begins to tell me he might be a little to drunk to drive home. Baiting.
I continue to pull long drags off my Camel Light, just wanting to get out of the situation. Like I said, I don't give a fuck who hits on me or what baggage their packing, I just wanted to build cancer in peace and clear my head. He didn't get the hint via my silence.
"It would be a shame if I got into a wreck and died," is how he laboriously continued our tepid verbal exchange. I nodded and peered at the valets. They know me, we're cool and I was hoping one of them would break up this sad, desperate courting.
"See, I own my own company and if I go it all goes!" He began to get more animated and I continued my sulk. Hoping just to be left alone.
"You must be an IT guy, huh?" was his next query.
"No," I replied, "I'm retail."
This didn't register. He continued on about his amazing freedom as the head honcho of a freewheeling furniture company off of Kirby and then handed me his card. The company was called Ligne Roset and his name is Bruce Wolfe.
I politely thanked him for the card and he went on about how he wanted people to buy new modern "shit" instead of old "shit" and wanted people to have fresh, contemporary and stylish looks for their homes instead of wallowing in old "shit" styled decoration. I nodded, took another drag and stared off into the night. He still didn't get the hint and went for his Hail Mary.
"Shit, I hope I can drive home. I mean, I only live in River Oaks and it's not too far but I don't wanna get pulled over. Just jump in my Roadster and head out down Westheimer and just get home to my bed. Wait...is Westheimer gonna have more cops now or is Richmond? I only have to get to Weslayen but, my company goes down if I get pulled over."
At this point Bruce asked if he could take a seat next to me and I obliged. He crossed his legs with his right pointed towards me and made sure his arm was behind my back on the bench. He continued to boast about all the free food and booze he got just for being an important furniture salesmen. It was almost like he was bragging about being the gay man's Matress Mac.
Another long silence came about and then my smoke burned furiously down to the tar. I thanked Bruce for the conversation and told him I had to get back to work. He started to inquire about my personal life but broke his sentence mid-way and just said, "Ciao. Use the card," as I got up to head back to the store.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

What the Fuck Ever: No One Cares, Axl

This is probably just another phantom release date, no doubt. Axl's never gonna release the fucking album and is anyone even anticipating it at this point? Music has moved beyond you, you ginger hair plug sportin' douche. But, for those who might feel a slight penile/clitoral twinge of excitement as positive G 'N' R news, here ya go. From Billboard.com:
More than a decade after its conception, Guns N’ Roses’ “Chinese Democracy” will finally see the light of day before year’s end, sources close to the situation confirms to Billboard. As first reported here, the set will be a Best Buy exclusive and will be available Sunday, Nov. 23, rather than the usual Tuesday.
Whoopdy fucking doo! A decade long clusterfuck might finally see the light of day right around Black Friday. People, let's give up the "Chinese Democracy" ghost. We've got a better chance of finding some lost Lennon demos than we do of hearing this hyped to death, futile and utterly meaningless record. Things have changed a bunch in music over the last decade and Axl Rose never screamed "timeless songwriter," especially when left to his own narcissistic desires. I love "Appetite for Destruction" but let's just admit it's a very dated album. It ain't "Pet Sounds" or "Astral Weeks." This is classic Phyrric Defeat via rock 'n' roll on display.
Oh, and why the fuck is this supposed release a Best Buy exclusive? Way to go, shit for brains. You jail people for leaking the disc, knowing some sad, Aqua Net loving motherfuckers are desperate to hear a 30 second iTunes snippet and eliminate a majority of the market? The Eagles pulled this shit last year and while they raked in cash, believe me, there were plenty of people who didn't feel like the trek to Wal-Mart was worth it (by the way, what happened to your whole Walden fetish, Henley? Fuck yourself).
Axl, I wrote this a few years ago and it pains me to have to write it again: go back to shooting heroin and punching supermodels or else just hang out with your emu's, bro.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Buy Fucked Up's New Album

Fucked Up is seriously one of the best bands on the planet and their new album, The Chemistry of Common Life, just cements their legacy of brilliance. Buy it now and thank me later. Actually, you should already be into them since I blogged about them a while back.
The international press seems to be taking notice too since Father Damian graces the cover of this month's NME. Yeah, that mag is weak but at least they are covering a Canadian band instead of sucking off some UK wank job (as is the norm). Get on the train, kids.
MTV Canada decided to invite them back again but chose the studio bathroom as the venue this time. I guess they figured Fucked Up and their fans wouldn't destroy anything if in a confined space. The band agreed and decided to wreck the bathroom anyway. Awesome. Why is it MTV Canada broadcasts bands like this and in the U.S. the channel awards Brittany Spears for being a hillbilly fucktard?

Cornbreadd: Making H-Town Shine on YouTube

Monday, October 6, 2008

Bye, Bye, Backe

The Astros, more often than not, tend to emphasize character over talent. Think I'm full of shit? Then give me one strategic reason why, say, Ausmus has been with the team this long. And no, pitcher comfort levels don't mean shit.
Even moreso, they love to bring in hometown players no matter how shitty the currently perform (see: Woody Williams).
Which brings us to Brandon Backe. The kid is from Galveston and threw the only solid outing in the Astros lone World Series appearance but has since become less reliable than Wandy (who is only in the big leagues because he is a lefty). Stop your internal dialogue with regards to Tommy John surgery, please. Let's remember Andy Pettitte (although, the roids might've had something to do with it) is still going strong and doing better than anyone could have expected. Backe is only on this team because of his ties to Houston. Drayton and Wade won't admit it, but it's true. Now, they come to a crossroads. Do they project their "good guys" image or show this bum the door after he brawled with cops at a wedding?
From WTAG.com
The incident started at the resort's swimming pool bar. A guest shoved a police officer after the officer told him he could not bring an open container of alcohol into the area, and the incident escalated into a riot after the man -- and others -- refused to comply with the officer's commands, police said.
At one point, police told Backe to back off but police said Backe struggled with officers instead -- exchange blows to the face with one officer.

Look, I know some people who went to high school with Backe and they told me he rode the short bus. After witnessing him talking to a bat that seems to be true. They said if it weren't for baseball, he'd be mopping the Texaco bathroom between Giddings and Austin. On the one hand, I dig the competitive fire and a pitcher who doesn't think (hey, it can only hurt the ballclub) but when you can't find the fucking strike zone...hey, the Astros could always go the Rick Ankiel route, but I doubt that would still make Backe a valuable major league commodity.
If Uncle Drayton is reading this, bro, this is your out. Take fucking advantage of it and send Backe packing.

Some Helpful Guidelines to the Galleria Shoppers

Kids and Leashes
If you don’t want me to treat little Timmy like the ravenous animal that he is then don’t put him on a fucking leash. I don’t give a shit if it doubles as a backpack for his blanky, juice box and mashed naners, it demeans both of you. So please don’t get offended when I come upon Timmy destroying the kids section in my store, roll up a newspaper, smack him on his cute little button nose and shout “NO!” It is still miles beyond your parenting skills. After all, you’re off in the corner flipping through Life and Style, French Women Don’t Get Fat and The Secret. The kid already has no shot.
And let’s be honest here, the only reason you have the leash in the first place is so you can publicly admit your failure to control and watch over your child. I put my dog on a leash in public so she can’t run up on people and play in traffic. Your kid is leashed so he doesn’t follow the old man with candy and get fondled in the food court bathroom while you’re deciding which kind of dipping sauce you want with your Wetzel Pretzel. Congratulations, mom and dad, you have successfully begun raising a pet that can talk back. And you wonder why the future is bleak? On the other hand, I do enjoy when the brat sprints off at top speed and gets yanked back, busts his ass and starts bawling while you stare in confusion.
Walkways
Yeah, this should be an obvious one. You know, ways you walk through. It’s right there in the fucking word! But, that is just too confusing for most people. It’s great that you and 20 of your friends decided to aimlessly wander about this monument to consumerism but could you at least show some fucking recognition of your fellow drones but keeping the walkways clear? It’s almost impossible to keep your group together but can you at least clear space for everyone trying to get by instead of blocking one side of the aisle like a defensive line of dumbasses? Or how about we trust that the rest of the group can safely exit the escalator without clumping around its end so it doesn’t turn into 610 traffic jam? The other day I was walking from the store to the seasonal business with a hammer and seriously considered using it just so it wouldn’t take me 30 minutes to walk 10 feet. Sure, it would’ve taken the same amount of time to beat sense into all of your thick skulls but at least I would’ve felt better.
Cell Phone Usage
If you have time to spend browsing shops and cruising the food court for apathetic ass you do not need to be wearing a fucking Bluetooth. For some reason, I get the feeling that if this is what you occupy your weekends with you’re not going to get an emergency buzz calling you in for surgery or that the board has called a crisis meeting due to the economic downfall. You are just some jackass who wants to look important but comes off as a total douche. The Ed Hardy shirt gave it away, bro.Oh and double fuck off to the people who wear TWO Bluetooth sets, looking like some fucking alien. Unless you are balancing a stripper and your 401K simultaneously (hey, in these times, it actually is understandable) see above.
And can we please stay out of the bookstore when you get that important call about your long distance service or your fantasy football status? The bookstore is a quiet place and we don’t need you bitching about drafting Brady in the first round at the top of your lungs or using the walkie talkie device to find out what your friends or relatives are buying for Susie down at the Disney Store. Just dial the fucking person and have a complete conversation without all those annoying chips and static laden responses. It’s simpler and really will make all of our lives a little more pleasant.
Oh, one more thing. Whoever invented the function that allows you to blare mp3’s and radio via phone needs to be disemboweled with a rusty hook. Seriously, fuck that guy. And fuck the people who gleefully embrace the technology even more. You are inconsiderate, moronic, mouth breathing shit stains who incorrectly assume we all wanna hear Lil Wayne as you lethargically browse the skin and tattoo mags. First of all, the sound quality is terrible. Guitar Wolf records sound like fucking Phil Spector productions by comparison. Second, I’m sure there is headphone jack on the device so why do you have to share with us your unique and discerning musical tastes by forcing “Lollipop” on my ears for the billionth time. No one thinks your cool for doing so and until a dance party breaks out, cut that shit out.

Friday, October 3, 2008

Curse My Ass

Hey Cubs fans! Newsflash: YOU ARE NOT CURSED. Let me say that again (Biden-esque,) YOU ARE NOT CURSED.
Your team cannot perform under pressure. That's all. You are not capable of positive production offensively, and apparently your infielders can't play fundamental hit, catch, and throw baseball when in a pinch and need to get out of an inning. Your two stud aces have a knack for walking runners in a time of needing to retire the side and the coaching staff cannot seem to rally and focus the team away from the inevitable ESPN 360 degree coverage of the potential choke that you will no doubt succumb to and blame on a cat, goat, or ill seated fan.
There is no curse. You just have a B+ squad in the A+ division of the National League. You got lucky this year. Best record? I'll hand you that. Congrats. But it does not mean anything when the second season starts up. As evident by the the Brewers, Angels and you guys.
You guys? You are the lovable losers for Christ's sake. Your postseason drought is only 20 years more than the Indians. Shit. Given life expectancy, you all are in the same boat. Get over yourself. The Red Sox were thought to be cursed too. Guess what? They just started going dollar for dollar with the Yanks and look what it got em. Now their fans are just as arrogant and obnoxious as Yankee fans (Ed note: I hope I'm excluded from that broad brushstroke). Except they act like they have ALWAYS been this good.
It was a good post season for you guys. While it lasted. At least you still have the Bears and Bulls...

Monday, September 29, 2008

Jermaine Dupre (In His Own Mind, "The Boss") FINALLY Earns Some Street Cred

Kudos to you brother. We can revisit 8Bit's rodeo drunken insanity and not even come close to the level of awesomeness you have achieved. Shit, I've done worse sober (that is not to denote that I was not imbibing alcohol at the time) and I sure as shit have experienced my share of sadly hillarious maladies mid-coitous post-boozing. But...damn. Dig on this.
From the NY Post:
JERMAINE Dupri had a little too much of a good time celebrating his 36th birthday. The other night, Dupri and his squeeze, Janet Jackson, went to Tenjune, where, spies say, they shared bottles of Jay-Z's Ace of Spades Champagne and PatrĂ³n tequila with Ne-Yo, Busta Rhymes and Ice-T - until Dupri "vomited in Janet's lap. Ms. Jackson bolted out of the scene and sped off in her chauffeured Maybach." A rep for Jackson and Dupri didn't return calls. A rep for Tenjune declined to comment. Meanwhile, we hear Dupri is under some stress at work. The head of urban music for Island/Def Jam put out his lady's last album, "Discipline," which flopped. Our insider said, "[IDJ head] L.A. Reid had wanted to make changes to the album, make it fresher with some newer artists added in, but Janet said no - and Jermaine backed her up. He looks silly right now."
Yeah, he looks "silly" because no one has given a fuck about Janet Jackson since Rhythm Nation when her tit wasn't making unexpected appearances during the Super Bowl. Not because he drank some shit champagne (bro, you should've stuck with Korbel if you didn't have to act like you were an expert on good taste) and some funky tequila then puked on the lap of Michael's sister.
Is this all just a little too absurd for anyone else?

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Monday, September 8, 2008

The Band That Made Me Declare Pro Tools a "Necessary Evil"

Well, at least when it comes to these knobs. Jesus titty fucking christ, what horrible parents to blindly encourage their children's attempt at creative expression without counseling them on the merits of talent. Fuck, the Kids of Whitney High have got their shit more together than these mouth breathers. The singer sounds like the bastard offspring of J Mascis sans shredding skills.
There is a bright side here, folks. When these twats enter high school they are guaranteed no girlfriends. They will never live this shit down. This means no potential for cursing the planet by spreading their seeds of sucktitude into a dupable chicks unsuspecting womb of complacency and low standards.

Sunday, September 7, 2008

Cinematic Proof That New Jersey is the Breeding Ground for Douchebags

Me and Black Nathan got into an argument about which state with the highest per capita douchebags. I said, NJ and he said Cali.
The Ginger's pick makes sense because they have been at the forefront of legislating healthy living (choke on your broccoli smoothie, cocksuckers), Sean Penn resides there and they elected the Terminator as Governor.
I'm sticking with good 'ol New Jersey for the sheer Guido factor. And if you think I don't like Italians, you're dead wrong. My former boss, who I love to fucking death, is straight from Tuscany and his son rules as well. We all agree that the Jersey Ital faction that has only grown in strength since the Sopranos is a very serious detriment to American society. The last few months I was at the deli, when some asshole would ask for "moozadell," (these were proud Jersey natives) I wouldn't even reach for the mozzarella and would just stare blankly. Way to garble and destroy your own linguistic heritage. Jag-offs.
So, to further cement my opinion as truth I present you with...GUIDO BEACH
See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Friday, September 5, 2008

This is Not a Joke: Thank You Twihard Fans!

Sometimes, we all win.
Stephanie Meyer, the tween Mormon vampire teen queen whose Twilight series is radically anti-feminist and illogical (check the archives for more full rant on this bitch), is already so tired of having to come up with new stories and characters that she decided to re-write Twilight from another character's point of view. Yawn.
What faith she must have in her skills as a storyteller after her lastest book was loathed by her fans and her grown up book was a best seller but didn't set anyones pants on fire and surely didn't convince any that she is anything but an attrocious writer. Like I've said in the past, popularity and sales don't equal quality. Hitler had almost an entire nation down with his prose and was a positive thing in the end? Didn't think so.
While working on this lazy re-tread it turns out the thing got leaked. Meh. But, oh wait...what is this?
I think it is important for everybody to understand that what happened was a huge violation of my rights as an author, not to mention me as a human being.
Okay, this whole violation as an author thing really is a bunch of bullshit. Everyone who would want to read your poorly written vamp-romance for 12 year old goth chicks already knows what the fuck is going to happen in the book. It's not a big deal to re-write it from another character's perspective because the exact same fucking events and results will occur once again.
Now, for this whole human rights violation? Fuck you, move to China and then cry to me. Oh and by the way, I really hope someone does truly violate you as a human being. That is lightest form of penance I can prescribe to you after encouraging a generation of girls to be slaves to their dreamboats and that despite certain risks (hey, you did touch on death as a real consequence in your books) it is all gonna be okay and it will all be worth it cause you got your hunk!
And how about another nugget of wisdom:
I'd rather my fans not read this version of Midnight Sun. It was only an incomplete draft; the writing is messy and flawed and full of mistakes. Honey, that describes your writing in its PUBLISHED and EDITED form. Don't think this is anything personal, okay? Even shittons of Twihard fans openly admit she is a lously writer.
And it is them I would like to thank today for making sure this cunt can't profit anymore off of this Suzy Homemaker with vampires bullshit. For that, I give you a days head start before I unleash the hounds.

Vomit, Feces, Assholes...So, How Was Your Labor Day?

So, Labor Day, the store was open for super short hours (10-7) due to the Galleria closing and all was going well until about 3 p.m. when the entire fucking world decided to go shopping. I just don't understand the psychology of people who get holiday's off and say to themselves, "Jeez, the weather sure is great but how 'bout instead of doing something productive or just, ya know, enjoying life, why don't we go to the mall for 4 hours and blow endless amounts of cash that most retail workers would kill for!" It just makes no sense. Is it really that awesome to spend your extra day off rocking the bedazzled Ed Hardy t-shirt, fresh tribal ink, and Diddy approved 80's shades?
Once the clusterfuck that is humanity swarms into the store a few problems arise. First, one of my female co-workers alerts us that she will be off the floor for a bit since while she was using the bathroom, she noticed someone in the stall next to hers was squirting shit out on the side of the rim and it was slowly oozing down to the ground. Shockingly, the lady...no wait, fuck that...person with pussy, decided to try to wipe up her mooky stinks but ended up smearing shit allover the floor. Look, I've had to clean up piles up shit NEXT to the toilet but that's the mensroom. It makes sense. It's totally stupid, but still, I can understand some mongoloid douche hanging his buttcheeks over the rim and dropping bombs on the floor. Sadly, I can understand that. But, a woman, in mid-shit, with waste running over the bowl, squirting through her cheeks is just baffling. First, why wouldn't you stop, reposition your asshole and then continue with your business?
After that mess, I got to join in the fun.
A little boy and his family come racing into the store, and the little butterball pukes allover the floor and the stairs. Not the tiled floor, mind you, but the carpet. This troupe of fucktards then marches junior to the bathroom and wouldn't ya know, momma is cleaning of this kids kicks after he cleans himself up. It would be such a shame if juniors Nike's had vomit stains on them, after all.
I am charged with the task of cleaning up the mess so I grab the sawdust, broom and brace myself for agony. While sweeping up this revolting pile of human waste the family walks by. I give them the stare of death. Mommy and Daddy aren't trying their best to avoid eye contact but junior is giving me a look of total remorse. He really seemed to want to say, "Sorry, mister" but of course Daddy looked over at him and said, "Don't look at him, son." I continue the stare of death and thank them for their patronage with as much sarcasm as I can muster and they skulk away with some pissed off looks on their faces.
Now, being able to get back onto the floor, I notice that the kind, lazy, dickwads who mistake the store for a library have left half the inventory in scattered piles like little landmines of utter contempt for the employees. And the kids section? Like an A-bomb went off. So, while trying to put the store back together (seriously, even during the Christmas season, I've never seen the store so thrashed) I am constantly interrupted with customers asking for college textbooks.
Here, I'm gonna give you a little insider information about this which should make my total hatred of such questions completely understandable. You can NEVER find college textbooks at ANY retailer. Why? Well, that's simple. Professors get a stipend at the end of each semester if all of the books they have the university order for their classes get sold. It's a scam, it's evil and it sucks but it's also something hard to believe 95% of collegiates don't know. Even something as simple as, say, War and Peace, the prof will track down an out of print, random ass edition just to make sure they get their bonus.
This confuses EVERY SINGLE motherfucker I explain this to. Then, I proceed with a more polite version of this: "Look, we don't carry Democracy in America Through the 70-74, 27th Edition, because we can't guarantee that a bunch of lazy, cheap ass motherfuckers will come in and buy it. Also, we buy shit directly from publishers and a $2,000 investment then marked up to $3,500 would probably not look too good if we sent them all back because you didn't get a cheap enough price on it. After all, textbooks do cost a shitload of money and if you're not willing to pay for the book, even if used, then why the fuck are you paying for the course?"
I've gotten so sick of these questions and phone calls (oh yes, lots of them) that I don't even bother looking up the book unless the customer presses for it. When they frustratingly ask, "Can you just check" and I tell them, "We don't have it but we might be able to order it and it is $125 and will be here in 7 days" they respond, "Oh, well, I need it tonight."
WHAT THE FUCK! You know where you can get the goddamned book RIGHT THE FUCK NOW and you chose to go to ass opposite end of town with nothing but hope in your hearts. You all suck and god help us if you breed.
Finally, some humor finds its way into my day.
A little fat kid, I notice, is hanging around the self help section. This is a cunts hair away from all the sex books, including the insanely popular to broswe but never bought Ultimate Big Penis Book. I let everyone know about the butterball because he sure as shit ain't fucked up and desperate enough to seek counsel from Dr. Phil. Five minutes later, he's inching closer to the titty and cock tomes and is cautiously looking around to make sure no one sees him. I just grab a stool, sit in front of the section and stare at him. Eventually, he walks away, with a very sad expression on his face and leaves the store. 20 minutes later he's back and I just stay in the sex section fucking around. He walks away with another frowny face. 15 minutes later, he returns but this time I'm taken away by a customer. When I return, he is reaching for the Ultimate Big Penis Book when I tell him to get lost. I think it was for the best. I mean, if he had looked at that book like it was an representation of average cocks I belive he would've grown up with quite the inferiority complex.
Then, everything goes to hell again. The phone rings and the woman on the other end wants to speak to a manager. I ask for her name and what this is regarding and she pauses and rather rudely says, "I'm someone who frequents your bathrooms." Right then, I want to drop the call.
You see, there are restrooms allover the mall but every other store tells customers that we have a bathroom. Technically, it is for customers only but a few people got upset when we told them that it is for customers only. So, a lot of horrible things occasionally happen in the stalls but we get way more complaints over bullshit. Like paper being on the floor. I'm serious. I can't tell you how many times a woman has come up to me and said, "I just wanted to let you know that your bathroom is disgusting. Just revolting. I couldn't even use it I was so sickened." And it's usually just a paper towel lying next to the waste basket. In fact, I want to wear a sign around my neck that reads: If your are going to tell me about the state of our bathrooms and they are not out of toilet paper or towels, have no fluids on the floor, wall or ceiling, everything is working properly, and your problem is a piece of paper on the floor then GO FUCK YOURSELF! Dictated, not read.
After a manager takes the call it turns out that one of our lovely homeless regulars has been coming out of the stalls and eating her shit in front of people and then casually washing her hands. Awesome.
At last, it's fifteen minutes til closing and I start making the announcements over the PA. Like roaches when the lights turn on the clusterfuck of humanity scatters in a mad dash to buy all they can the registers look like lines at the DMV. We struggle, but manage to put humpty dumpty back together and it looks like we're gonna skate outta the store 10 minutes after 7.
Closing time for the mall happens and I immediately run to the entrance and block it off with carts of books. This doesn't stop people from trying to come in. Usually, we stay open a couple hours after everything in the mall shuts down so people who can't think of anything more to do with their free time than shop like zombies waltz in, grab stacks of magazines and hang out til we kick them out.
A crowd of 20 deep starts their mongo trek towards me and I tell them we're closed, no, I can't just let YOU in to find a book, yes, we close when the mall does today, no, you can't use the bathroom, sorry, we're closed, no, I can't take two seconds to look that up for you because WE...ARE...CLOSED. GO THE FUCK HOME!
It turns out, the only thing separating the staff from freedom is some fat cunt looking for books on some obscure diet. She won't leave until we find at least one more book so she can finally see her feet again. It doesn't happen and she comes to check out and remarks, "Wow, you guys are really strict about your closing time, huh?"
"Well, right now we're not allowed overtime and there are a few things we have to take care that can happen only after everyone leaves. Plus, the Galleria is also very strict about closing on holidays. Oh, and by the way, did I mention it's a holiday and everyone working would love to go hang out with their friends and family instead of being here today?"
I hand her her change, she gives me a menacing look, obviously insulted because I don't give a fuck about her fat ass and slowly walks out.
Hope your Labor Day was as pleasant as mine!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

John McCain is a Bitch

Sorry for being so dormant, few readers. Trust me, there will be plenty of fun (for you at least) posts coming up here but let's start with something simple: roasting McCain for one of the dumbest fucking moves in political history. This is up there with Dukasis posing in that tank looking like a fucking turtle.
So, since the shitstorm that has reigned over the GOP since McCain named Sarah Palin as his VP nom, he's been on the vicious defensive. Fortunately, for him, he's got a bunch of shit grinned (I promised myself I wouldn't go partisan, here) yes-person (HA! I showed PC restraint!) pundits sipping the Kool Aid while he has given only tepid response to the torrent of controversies surrounding his suposed Golden Girl (this is not an age attack. Actually, it kinda fits. Oscar De La Hoya was the "Golden Boy" and then the whole cross dressing thing happened. FUCK! I just contributed something witty to pop-culture!).
He was primed to go on Larry King, I believe, tonight. I write this because I saw it on the CNN ticker last night but has pulled out (sanctity of life issue?) due to this bitch slap of an interview with a top aide. Enjoy.
Well, here is a direct link the article that made me just wretch. And the McCain campaign said it was, "over the line." WHAT THE FUCK? CNN is one of the pussiest news channels on the planet and all they did was press for some sort of solid info some sort of qualification to Mr. Maverick's arguments and lost. Big time. Great, dickheads. Go on over to Fox News where Hanity will say, "Y'know, Sarah, knowing you will provide for your unwed teenage daughter and her suposed husband, who, quote, is a Proud Fucking Redneck, and quote, doesn't want kids makes my party feel you will lead this country in the right direction. But, if you were a black woman, man I'd be hollering about welfare and government cheese 'til November! I at least hope, that when little Bristol is in a panic attack over all that has happened good ol' Rush will be there with some Oxycontin! GO AMERICA!"

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Rock Me Sexy Jesus

Let's start planning the drunken opening night screening of Hamlet 2 right now. Me and Black Nathan wasted. And you. Early August, people. Steve Coogan's crotch grab is inspired.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

On this Tween Mormon Vampire Bullshit Fad

I really hope Stephanie Meyers gets cancer. No, that is not a joke. There is no punchline there. I wish nothing but ill fate on the bitch and hope her and her shitty teen fiction lame ass writings (note: before I ever call another writer out, I at least graze their shit to see if there is any potential. I've been more than fair with this cunt and she is worse than James Frey) will go away forever.
But, that exposes the fallacy of hope. It's nothing more than a penny dropped in the mall fountain and will remain in that state until some bum scoops it up or nature takes its course.
When I first started slinging self help and bestseller novels about 9 months ago, I still had some bit of faith in the reading habits of America. I can't figure out why but I always thought that human beings would actually read, in general, for substance or understanding instead of just trash novel reads on vacation. Sure, those would obviously be included in the diet but I had naively believed that avid readers balanced out the bacon with spinach. I was so fucking wrong.
I could continue that tangent well into eternity (if you even ask me to look at The Last Lecture, fuck you. The inevitability of death is not a unique experience. Even when it is premature. There has to be some heavy narcissim dwelling deep inside you to feel the need to tell everyone else who doesn't know when they'll shove off how to live and what to prioritize. Fuck you for feeling like the only expert on the subject. And for profiting off of the damaged human beings clinging to the last thread of hope that their dreams will come true if they only pursue them. They probably won't and "living everyday to the fullest" and other such Hallmark dribble is only going to hinder their enjoyment of existence with blind faith in miracles) but instead will lend my current frustrations to the teen lit resurgance that has even adult authors like James Patterson and Nick Hornby (et tu, music nazi?) joining the frey. Fuck, even Dr. Frank from the Mr. T. Experience is horning in on the racket.
It's easy to say that Harry Potter was the first big bang in this universe. And it's probably right. College students at Ivy League universities fucking pretend to play Quidditch for christ's sakes. It's not like the genre had ever been without depth or merit (The Outsiders, The Wave, Roal Dahl, etc.), rather, it had just never been the sure shot it has now become. There will always be sales for Louise Sachar books but no one past 10 will be reading them. That is what J.K. Rowling accomplished. And now, the genre is pot-bellied with authors who generally work in adult realms (et tu, music nazi?) simply because it is a fucking goldmine. Enter Stephanie Meyers who is now being hailed as the next Rowling.
There are multiple problems with this assesment. First, Rowling was a struggling single mom who was living off the government before she got uber-rich. Meyers daddy was a fucking CFO. And, hey, I'm no Potter fan or anything, but there is actual depth and real life implications to the series of novels. Rowling wrote from personal, jubilliant and painful experiences whereas the Tween Mormon Vamp Queen had a dream and decided to type it all out. While she was a stay at home mom in a palacial estate. And while Rowling has a tendency to become very distracted at times, at least she can write. Meyer can barely punch out vacant teen dialogue into her iMac. Seriously, the bitch is that bad.
Now, I can excuse and ignore bad writers. Have you ever heard me rant about Clive Cussler or Danielle Steele? My problem is with PRETENTIOUS bad writers. Those who feel they have actually contributed something valuable to the world by doling out trash. Lisi Harrison's Clique series is pretty much Sex and the City for girls who just got their period but you never hear her talk about the struggle to create, the intense depth of her stories (probably, because she knows there is none) and the unique ability to type shit out and have it printed on paper. Meyer does all that and so much more. My favorite quote, "If you say, 'I"m gonna write a novel,' you never will. You just have to sit down and write it." Great insight, cunt. However, some of us can't stay at home all day and dream up high school fantasies out of boredom and have the time and financial resources to devote to finding some schmuck to publish the fucking thing. Celine was never offered that luxury, neither was Kerouac or Bukowski. They all had to balance art with meticulous, soul crushing brain dead work and while they may have pissed away their considerable talents on booze and excess, they were still able to write circles around your overprivelaged ass.
The video interviews we play on TV at work are so mind numbingly dull, self-infatuated bullshit, over explained horse shit it makes me wonder how people don't pick up on how lame her whole scene really is. After all, it is nothing but a Harlequin romance novel for 14 year old girls without the fucking. It just so happens to factor in vampires and werewolves to spice it up, and make seem not so bland, is my guess.
And the most frustrating thing about it all is Meyer's lack of respect for the mythology of the creatures she is writing about. Look, vamps are a sad, tired sub-genre on the horror scene (zombies are next) but if you're going to utilize the group at least follow the rules. In the Twilight universe, vampires can walk around in the sun and only glisten. What the fuck? Oh, and the good ones eat animals not people and blah blah blah. It's just too retarded to type out.
Pop culture fads come and go and this one might head into the realm of the forgotten as well, but something tells me that just ain't so. Aside from the undeserving celbrity, wealth and accolades handed to a talentless hack it serves another blow to people actually trying to make art or literature mean something. Or at least offer a little more insight into the human condition away from youthful lustings. I'm more angered and disgusted with the whole Twilight phenomenom that Miley Cyrus (oh yeah, that rant is coming) thing because tween music is an obvious sell. Getting kids to read for fun is a lot more difficult. Well, the whole teen lit shabang has changed that but just because a kid is reading is not enough to justify the trash they consume. We offer our kids McDonald's, they get addicted, become obese and die early. Introduce something like lobster or even fucking a quiche from La Maddeline and their tounge gets curious. It wants to experience more of the awesome flavors coating the receptors. It yearns for and experience like the first that awakened their dormant senses. The kid learns to try more, experience all it can in order to replicate that initial, awesome encounter. The brain, and moreover, literature have the same impact. All Meyer has done is force more health threatening, non-nutritional, grade-Z circus meat down our throats.
Will the next Joyce, Acker or Hemmingway be spawned from the Twilight series? Likely not. And we are all the worse off because of it.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

8Bit Knocked My Sister Up. REJOICE!

First off, I would've posted this info a few days ago but a power surger fucked my motherboard and I've been disconnected from the online world since Wednesday. I actually read a book and jerked off using only my imagination!
Anyhoo, I get off work and head to my locker to grab my backpack and clock out, check my phone and see a text message from my sister in my inbox and open it. It reads: "Be sure to tell the Dead Kennedy he can come on Saturday. Oh, and I'm pregnant!"
My instincts allow me to do one thing. Yell, "HOLY SHIT!" at the top of my lungs resulting in my fellow employees rushing to the break room to see if I am alright. Oh yes, I am.
I'm gonna be an uncle but more important, 8Bit is gonna be a dad. And A. Bitch (Chris, this was to be her pen name when she was gonna write for the zine so don't get raw) is gonna be a mom. Black Nathan has already said he will write a plea to 8Bit to not allow myself or my father to turn the kid into a Yanks or Sox fan. I could really care less right now since I'm so stoked to be an uncle. Even more stoked that my family will be welcoming another life into the clan.
This rules even more than A-Rod getting drilled in the wrist by the Red Sox today.
I wish the kid and the parents all the best and can only promise one thing for the still developing fetus:
1. You will not share my sister's musical taste. 8Bit will probably back me on this. The Indigo Girls fucking suck. We're gonna pump some Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys via headphone over my sis's gut!
Congratulations to two of the most important people in my life. Now when the grandparents start beefing on who gets to lavish attention on the kid the most, I'm stepping back. It's gonna be like the wedding trip and the near arm-wrestling challenge duels over who was picking up the bill except a child is involved this time. To quote Will Smith, "Shit just got real."

Monday, July 7, 2008

Oh, Lord, No! The Children Will Never Get to Experience the SUCK in Person!

There are times when you know Hollywood is really bankrupt for ideas. Don't look to latching onto the manga craze, graphic novel hype or even the horror remake train for signs of the creative apocalypse. Shit those two dushbags (see earlier Clemens post for clarification) who churn out the (Blank) Movie debacles every few months don't even begin to scratch the surface.
Nope, my friends, it's ABBA. Yes, that ABBA. And while I would like to blame Sweden as a whole for this one, my undying love for the Hellacopters precludes that. So, awhile back these Eurovision pop star contest winners (think 70's disco American Idol) penned a musical called "Mamma Mia!" and the coked up pre-Patrick Bateman's of the world ate it up. And then Robert Palmer happened and ABBA faded away only to (fuck, I'm just speculating here because I step back from this whole piece I realize the utter ridiculousness of it all) ride the nostalgia wave when Ace of Base taught a new generation that Swedish dance music sucked balls.
Now, we have a cinematic adaptation of the musical on the horizon and it looks like The Killers have finally gotten their wish: disco shall roar back. Wow.
You have to realize how fucking long and insane of a process it is to not just get a film made but to get off the ground at all, no matter what the existing fanbase or rights statuses are. Pitch meetings, director meetings, screenwriter meetings, script drafts, approvals, re-writes, casting, territorial pissings, more re-writes, casting shuffles, pre-marketing hype, and scores of other tasks before there is even a fucking start date for principal photography. Let's forget about post, and filming...a motherfucking ABBA musical got through all that bureaucratic bullshit with a massive budget over...fuck...I dunno, ANYTHING!
It's not like an error this egregious hasn't happened before. Remember Xanadu? If you didn't have an older sister obsessed with Olivia Newton John after Grease then I will refresh. OLJ as a Greek muse sent to inspire Swan from the Warriors at a roller disco, with Gene Kelly presumably making a pre-death cash grab for this estate set to some of the most horrendous 80's music known to man. Hey, if you're a sadist there's a deluxe DVD of the fucker out there now. Just knowing that haunts my dreams.
Still, we get a silver lining in this tomb filled with shit.
From the UK Telegraph:
In an interview with the Sunday Telegraph Bjorn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson, who wrote most of the group’s hits, said there was nothing that could entice them back on stage.
“We will never appear on stage again,” says Ulvaeus. “There is simply no motivation to re-group. Money is not a factor and we would like people to remember us as we were."
I'd like to remeber that Lester Bangs never wore an ABBA shirt. Oh, and "Waterloo."

Thursday, July 3, 2008

On the Eve Before July 4th, THIS Will Make You Proud to Be an American

Look, I've got nothing against middle-aged cross-dressing pop stars. I, for one, think Gary Glitter doing a tour with Hannah Montana would be nothing short of exhilirating. But, Boy George? Really, people? Has our nostalgia for the shitty pop anthemns of our youth led us to actually caring about experiencing "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" with similar, disaffected, mired in mid-life crisis, losers? Thankfully, good ol' Uncle Sam stepped in to save you all from blowing 100 bucks at the local mid-level venue.
From CNN.com
The Culture Club singer, whose given name is George O'Dowd, has canceled his summer plans after U.S. authorities denied him a visa to enter the country.
O'Dowd, 47, had planned to officially kick off his 25-city tour in Aspen, Colo., on July 10, and was to throw in a free concert at the New York City Department of Sanitation's Family Day in August. He worked for the department in 2006 while performing court-ordered community service in a drug case.
That didn't appear possible, though, when last week O'Dowd's managers issued a statement saying he had been refused a visa because he's awaiting trial in London on charges that he falsely imprisoned a man. The Sun newspaper reported in April that a 28-year-old man claimed he was chained and threatened at O'Dowd's London flat, where he had gone to work as a photo model.

America! FUCK YEAH! Wait, what the fuck was that? He chained some dude up in a (assumedly) S & M torture dungeon? Whoah! Maybe he and Gary need to hit the road together instead! The chronicles of that debauchery would be epic. And maybe, just for old times sake, Boy George could stop by to fuck Gavin Rossdale in front of Gwen Steffani while "Holla Back Girl" is playing in the background. Sweet titty fucking christ, I think I just wrote David Lynch's next movie! Shit. I just gotta figure out how to wedge in a midget and a Kyle MacLachlan ass shot in there.
Seriously, if there is anyone who was from the UK, came to prominence in the 80's and like crossing genders I could give two shits about if they toured again, it would be Genesis P. Orridge. That shit needs to happen.

Jay Debauchery Finally Has Career Ambitions

Yeah, I've delivered pizzas, booked shows, worked security, tended bar, ran a deli, served food to ungratefull fat fucks, schlepped beer up and down stairways, occasionally have been paid to write, sold snacks at a swim club, sold books and cd's to Euro-trash douchebags along with scores of other meaningless, menial jobs. I like to think if I had saved every piece of apparrel from my jobs I'd have a nice little bulletin board like Wanye Campbell.
But, now, I have realized what I truly want to commit my life to. Help me reach this dream, brothers and sisters!

Maybe It's Time for the Roidcket to Give Up the Ghost

Yeesh, what a clusterfuck this has become for Roger Clemens. He uses all his celebrity, professional respect and political connects to maintain his status as the greatest pitcher of his generation, sure fire first ballot hall of famer and a respectable family man and he ends up grasping nothing but air.
First there was the whole Grimsley debacle, then the Mitchell Report, and then his bro-mantic relationship with McNamee became forever tarnished. Then it all died down for a bit only to have the story about his prediliction for tween country singers fire it all up again. And now this.
From ESPN.com
Tests of syringes and other steroid paraphernalia that trainer Brian McNamee submitted to federal agents will test positive for Roger Clemens' DNA, according to a brief filed in court by McNamee's lawyers.
Do you think Rusty Hardin gives refunds? You have to believe that Clemens went to the old blow-hard with the utmost confidence that he could get him off the hook. However, the client calls the shots and I'm starting to wonder if Hardin hadn't tried to talk 22 off the ledge. Maybe if Clemens had listened to him or pulled a Pettitte this shit would've been glossed over real quick. I wonder if this is now the most dramatic thing Suzyn Waldman has EVAH seen?
This has gone from a "just fucking admit it and take your lickings you fucking dolt" to a hysterically absurd near farce of stupidity to watching a man's life crumble before your eyes.
If it were anyone else but Clemens, I might feel the slight twang of sympathy but, fuck him. What's really interesting is how sports stars can commit the most horrible acts and boucne back, more or less, unscathed. You think O.J. Simpsons has been sans pussy since he killed his ex-wife? Michael Vick is sure to play in the NFL again, Julio Lugo still has employment after beating his wife and odds are that Shawn Chacone will end up getting signed post All-Star break after choke-slamming his boss.
But, you let another guy stick something in your ass to save your rapidly waning career and you are instantly a pariah. It's funny how we want purity from our atheletes only on the field. Just think about how many racist motherfuckers are in the Hall of Fame to date (Jeff Kent probably won't make it, but let's not rule anything out, oh, and Bonds? That's a negatory, Ghost Writer) and ask yourself if Clemens really deserves the Pete Rose treatment.
Well, just like Rose, the Roidcket did it to himself. Tried to blame everyone else (even his fucking wife for christsakes!) but himself and figured his legendary stature in the game would carry him through the fire. Didn't work out that way, did it, sport? Maybe you should've listened to your momma and never "gotten in a pissing contest with a skunk."
Enjoy the Mark McGwire Sad Seclusion Lifestyle, dickhead.