He TOTALLY is

Gabe here was one of the hopefull's from Decline of Western Civilization II: The Metal Years who earnestly told Penelope Spheeris that he was gonna make it. Failure was something foreign to him.
Well, his dreams of superstardom never ammounted to more than a gaudy wardrobe and hairstyle he had sunk his life savings (from working the grill at Burger King) into. Still valiant, he soldiered on into a slightly less glamour filled profession.

We Welcome, the Dead Kennedy

Read this and then view the below video. Sing along if you know the words.

Et tu, Albini?

I really hope this is one of those Albini moves where he gouges the record companies for shitloads of money only to then throw it into producing bands no one is ever going to hear. Hey, I'm paraphrasing, but that's the man's M.O. and I'm cool with that. Oh and he also gave up a fortune for requesting to recieve only a "record by" credit on In Utero instead of the producer one. So, Steve knows where the quality is at and has a...sort of, limited ego. But, this, is just unforgivable. From Idolator:
According to The Pulse of Radio, STONE TEMPLE PILOTS and former VELVET REVOLVER frontman Scott Weiland told satellite shock jock Howard Stern on Wednesday morning (April 23) that he is currently working on his second solo album with producer Steve Albini for a November release. Weiland was joined on the call by NO DOUBT drummer Adrian Young, who is also playing on the record. A release date and title have yet to be revealed. Weiland's first solo effort, "12 Bar Blues", was issued in 1998.
Wow. I didn't even realize this nutsack had a solo album in existence. And to get kicked out of Velvet Revolver for being a jackass is pretty impressive. Those guys had to contend with the universe crushing ego of Axl Rose for nice stretch of time and he actually had talent. Not like some fucktard junkie who is only famous because his band was around when Nirvana ruled the roost and got scooped up like Candlebox and Collective Soul by lazy major labels. Dude, when Ricky Rachtman thinks you're lame, you know you're toast. Say it ain't so, Steve.
And for those of you who think that even Steve "Big Black" Albini can save this trainwreck of a human being's "music", I offer the following evidence.

Lamenting the Lamefecation of the Pixies

Don't get me wrong, I love the Pixies. I adore them. It's just unfortunate that once they finally got into the mainstream consciousness (presumably via Fight Club) that people didn't bother to figure out what the band was really about. Here's a quick summation: violent sex and UFO's. Yes, I realize that's a dramatic over generalization of a truly unique, epic and brilliant group but the following video makes me wish they stayed a cult band. Just re-read my Across the Universe rant to understand my point. I don't care if people dig on a band for whatever reason but when they don't respect their work and do shit like this, that's when I hang my head and run to the Jameson. Frank and Kim don't need the extra food dollars, anyway.

The Value of Jay Debauchery

I'm pretty 50/50 with my job right now. There are some days I absolutely fucking hate it and especially two of the managers but I also dig everyone I work with and they can somehow keep me strapping a bomb to my chest and screaming "Alah, Barnes and Noble!" in the middle of a Saturday rush.
Since December there had been rumblings of raises on the horizon and as they seemed to be nearing reality in the 08, us grunts stepped up our game to make sure that we got paid. This involved soul crushing feats like pimping the new Oprah fad, telling stupid jagoffs that Across the Universe was genius and even upselling dumbshits who can't even make toast on Rachel Ray. It sucked.
So, we get our yearly performance evaluations which include the revelation of the aforementioned raise. To my dismay, I only "met" company expectations. This was pretty fucking infuriating since I know how to do shit some of the managers don't know about, am aware of the exact placement of EVERYTHING in the multimedia section without having to check the inventory, have had customers request to speak to a manager numerous times to complement me on my service and knowledge of music, movies and books, and even once upsold some chick on EVERY season of the Sopranos in one transaction.
You may think that I'm just placating morons who get giddy over the new Ashlee Simpson disc (note: I did fuck with everyone who has bought the title asking them, "So, is she the one singing on this record?) but I truly dig turning people onto to good shit. We sold all but one copy of the new Bad Seeds record in its first week and I got some people who were looking for the latest Gnarls Barkley to roll the dice on the Black Keys "Attack and Release." They've all come back looking for me specifically to pick my brain.
While I may be a caustic employee at times (you deal with E.T. all day long and cunts in charge who femme out over pithy things and even put music everyone on staff hates specifically to piss you off and see how often you show your teeth in a pleasant manner), I get my shit done, I help the store meet sales and am even allowed to advise re-orders since I know the stock and what sells. This isn't my own assessment. It was brought up in my evaluation.
Oh, and if you're reading this and want to hire me and pay me more that retail wages, holla. And now...drumroll please...my raise was...three cents. Three motherfucking cents. That's really gonna inspire me to be more positive and upbeat when assholes who are salaried and make way more than I do get to hang out in the back office all day long while we drown in a sea of popped collars and bad cologne and "Habla, espanol?" on the floor. 8bit, I think that shotgun haircut is coming soon!

Hopefully Jay does not get a haircut with a shotgun...

Not that Ortiz has much merit to me in the written sense. Or even the spoken sense, due to the fact that his radio show is utter shit as well, but seeing as New York has deeper pockets than any team out there and they have 3 great prospects they could shell out as well... I could see Roy O go to New York. I don't like the idea. I don't like the idea of him leaving period. After his new contact and John Deere from Drayton, what kind of loyalty would it show to have our star ace bail on his transplanted "hometown" team? Here is Ortiz's drivel. We'll have to wait to see what comes of it.
Yankees need not apply for Oswalt, barring some crazy mad cash Just for the record, Roy Oswalt has never been asked by the Astros to consider a trade. He wasn't asked last year and he hasn't been asked this year. To steal a phrase from Mr. Barack Obama, though, this is "silly season" in between the mad trade speculation that will happen in July. I'm writing this to set the record straight about an interview Oswalt did with me last year. Somehow, Oswalt's comments from last year have been twisted a bit recently by some other media to somewhat portray that Oswalt said in frustration last year that he'd be willing to accept a trade. The fact is, Oswalt's comments last year were given as part of a story I was assigned to figure out what the Astros could trade to replenish the system and prepare for the future. In that story, I asked Oswalt, Carlos Lee and Lance Berkman if they'd be willing to accept a trade - and here's the important part - if the club approached them. Oswalt, Lee and Berkman didn't approach me. I approached them. Well, here's the deal, Oswalt would accept the trade, but only if asked. "Why would anybody want to stay if the team don't want you?" he said today. Asked about the rumors. "I don't know where that came from," he said. "I don't know where he got that from, left field somewhere." Is it a compliment? "I don't know if it's a compliment. I don't know if he just brought it up or he heard it from there. The whole thing last year was (to answer a question stating) if management came to you and asked you would you approve a trade. That (would) just go to show that a team don't want you. Why wouldn't you. If a team doesn't want you to play there, why wouldn't you approve a team." Oswalt makes clear the Astros haven't asked. "They haven't yet. No," he said. I know Oswalt better than any player on that club. That's not to say I know him tremendously because you never really, really know the players. But I'd put my working relationship with this guy against anybody in America. Believe what you want, but I'll tell you there are three teams he'll accept a trade to, and those teams aren't in New York. They aren't the Yankees. They aren't the Mets. They are the St. Louis Cardinals, Atlanta Braves and Boston Red Sox. Even then, though, the Astros would have to admit they're not going to contend and then ask him to leave before he takes a trade. Oh, and he also would demand to remake the contract and get the type of money Johan Santana got from the Mets. There's the truth for you.
I have yet to watch a game this year. With the season being as long as it is and with everything I have going on, I have found other things to occupy my time then watch a below average team struggle (I know they have won 5 in a row- I watch SC, but it is APRIL.) Once Drayton either dies or sells the team... then I will become fully vested again. Until then.
Fuck you and your franchise sir.

Horror Punk is Not Dead!

I thought the whole emo/psuedo-goth/douchebag/bullshit psychobilly (really, assholes, go and listen to a Cramps record and you will learn that you are NOT a psychobilly band. Oh, and if the reviewers at Rue Morgue could do the same, that'd be great. Thanks) might've killed the horror punk tradition started long ago but alas there are two bands keeping it going. American Werewolves and a Turbojugend Bayou City favorite, the Creeping Cruds.
A few months back these boys put out a video and dig on it, brothers and sisters, since it is way better (albeit, a little lazy) than all the AFI via stand up bass bands with shitty haircuts (hi, Tiger Army!).

Proud to be an American?

This is not an attack. This is a look back at my life and my personal opinions of when I was proud to be an American. We will start with my birth year 1980. I was not cognizant of the plight of the gas prices, or the Iranian hostages. My first real step into politics was "Saturday Night Live" and the show that followed it "Spitting Image". These shows took a satirical view on politics that I was just beginning to understand. But did the Iran-Contra affair make me any less proud. I still stood up at baseball games during the national anthem and said the pledge of allegiance in class well into the 90's. But was this the ignorance of youth or was it true pride. I doubt I can say either way. The first day I can safely say I was proud to be an American was November 9, 1989. This day was the celebration of the end of the Cold War. The day the Berlin Wall fell. It felt like we as Americans had won. What we had done to bring this moment to our eyes is still up for debate. Surely, those who lived under the communist countries were as integral to the this shiny moment. Americans saw this as a crowning, an ascension to becoming the lone superpower in the world. I attended a very conservative private middle school in Houston during the election in '92. I was proud to walk into the Houston Grand Plaza Hotel for Clinton's victory party here. I was proud the next day in class as the children were consoled by our teacher. Was I proud for the country or was I proud for the process or was I proud for my party? Maybe I was proud that my classmates couldn't throw this shit back in my face. I was disgusted with the way the mid to late 90's. From the way the left took my youth and anger to the world's injustice in Rwanda and did nothing, to the way the right shut down the government and made everyone discuss blow jobs and stains on dresses. The 2000 election was the low point for me and many others. The idea that are votes can be discarded by the Supreme Court, disillusioned several from voting. The morning of the 11th I spent in horror as I watched the second plane hit. I remember sitting on a futon as me and my friends stayed glued to the screens wanting to gain more information. In the weeks to come I sat there proud as stories of people from New York and Washington were picking other people off the ground. As friends from New York called and told their specific stories that put the face on the tragedy, I remember where I was. All that put the hanging chads in the rear view and we as a nation went forward. Alas this would be the highlight of the decade so far. The events of Katrina and the quagmire of Iraq would bring the confidence of our nation down. The 2004 election seemed to divide us further. Living here I knew my vote mattered very little but to me it was a referendum on the War. I was proud of other things and disappointed in more. Some that come to mind our inaction in Darfur, or the people's response to Katrina. Today I asked a bunch of people what their greatest disappointment and proudest moments of being an American. They were all pretty close the 2000 election, the wall, the Challenger explosion, tragedies on both sides. Some happy moments some pretty sad ones. One stood out a friend said his happiest moments were at ball games when someone sings the anthem. And his saddest moment is when Barrack and Hillary and John McCain pander to the cameras on shows like Colbert and Letterman. That brings me joy when you hear that. I guess after all this I probably been happier to be here, but I also felt worse about this crazy land we live in. It is too bad I will never get to know which way I feel any day till I see what happens in our name as citizens. I need to go back to DC and figure out how I really feel. And thank you Katy for bringing my thoughts to the forefront. Keep up the good work, I like that you deserve response. P.S. This could have been longer but it is getting late and I want to get drunk.

The Coolest Old People Around

There's been kind of a media blitz about a singing group who go by the name Young@Heart. It's partly, due to the documentary about the gang of senior citizens who belt out alt-rock anthems with real zeal and enthusiasm. You know, kinda the opposite of some of the group's they cover. What I love about this is that it flies right in the face of convential wisdom that once you hit a certain age you stop caring about new music. Record companies and suits assume that the old foggies just want to listen to the Andrews Sisters they jammed in WWII and would never THINK of listening to the Ramones, Lou Reed or Sonic Youth. And here they are, claiming what used to be Sonic Youth's honor with a cover of "Schizophrenia."

Well, Looks I Won't Be Voting in November

This is just pathetic. You have all three candidates going on WWE Raw the other night to pimp their platforms. Well, Obama was the only to make anything resembling a political statement. Kudos to him for that. But, Hilldog and McCain, who so lovingly embraced the opportunity to call Obama an "elitist", seem to be doing something much worse than a guy shooting from the hip. THEY are the ones who are talking down to the percieved lower-class (yeah, I let you wrasslin' fans skate by this time) by assuming the only language they can understand is the shit Vince McMahon busts out on his Blackberry.
I don't mind all the rally's, the baby kissing and that whole jive cause, hey, that's the game that is politics. But to be so absolutely fucking desperate to try to swing wrestling fans (and I'm assuming they did this after assuming they were the representation of the working class and for that lunacy I say, fuck you) not on the street but in their realm of sports-entertainment is just beyond loathsome. When was the last time you saw any politician do a tour of ballparks sporting the local teams gear, and the during the 7th inning stretch preface a butchering of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with a 2 minute stump? It would never happen.
But hey, I can't blame them for thinking WWE fans are dumb enough to fall for their tough guy politico talk couched in classic lines from Dwayne Johnson and Triple H. You know, the Juggalos and their ilk. But I sure as shit can be ashamed that our yearning leaders in the waiting have as much contempt for the people they claim to defend as they showed us last night.

Have I told you lately....

that I'm a Libertarian? But, that's of little consequence, what I'm here to discuss is the political circus we've all been witnessing lately. And I've been wondering to myself - Who would I vote for if I were voting for one of the "traditional" parties? So, here are some of my thoughts on... Hilary Clinton - I'm not going to lie and try and act cool , I would LOVE for a woman to be in the White House (as president that is). However, I do have enough cool to know that this is not the right reason to vote for someone. So, being objective these are the problems I have with her: (1) She had a whole committee and plenty of time to solve the health care crises the first time around - what makes it different this time? (2) She's lost her fire and has become too politically predictable and in my heart I can never forgive her for serving on the board of Wal-Mart AND she seems to think trade (free and otherwise) is a subject that we don't really need to focus on now! We're only loosing our spot as being the worlds super power, but whatever right! (3) My last straw with Mrs. Clinton came when that ridiculous commercial was produced about her answering the phone early in the morning. This made me mad because I felt that she was resorting to fear mongering - which as we know the current administration has survived off of. * On a personal note I could not believe that this commercial actually boosted her ratings - It made me want to kill myself! (pun intended) Barack Obama - Well, I just don't know as much about him and I can't say that I entirely dislike him - he strives to have an MLK quality about him which I admire. That being said there's just a couple of things about him that don't rub me the right way... (1) He really isn't prepared to do the job - we don't need a bright eyed optimist in office - we need someone who is brutal - absolutely brutal (2) I don't like what his wife said about this being the first time in her life she was proud to be an American. Now, I vehemently dislike Tipper Gore, but still adore Al. So, maybe that shouldn't matter, but I have a sneaky suspicion that this is how Barack feels himself. Well, and this is what I have to say about that: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FOR THINKING THAT YOU CAN ONLY BE AN AMERICAN WHEN IT'S DREAMY AND CONVENIENT! If you cut me (it's happened once or twice - I WILL BLEED RED, WHITE AND BLUE!) In the heart of every true American lies the promise of FREEDOM - there is FREEDOM even in the face of our current administration. To look to your current leaders and/or administration on how to feel as an American makes you an imbecile and a follower and not really someone I care to have around. As Thomas Jefferson said "A free people [claim] their rights as derived from the laws of nature, and not as the gift of their chief magistrate." John McCain - This man eluded me for some time, not because he wasn't in the news - he just took awhile to get on my radar, but once he did WOW. Now, let it be known I'm more surprised by this than anyone - If I were to vote for a republican or a democrat John McCain may have to be my pick. And let me tell you why... (1) He has NO APOLOGIES - During the whole silly battle of whether or not suspected terrorist, etc... (and in case you actually don't know McCain was a POW) should be "water logged" McCain said that while he felt the military should not be allowed to perform this sort of torture (because lets face it ....the majority of our military is broke ass ghetto boys lookin' for a free ride - OMIGOD - Did I just say that out loud?) Not to disregard the GREAT ones in our military whom I hold in the highest regard. Well, that being said, McCain said that the CIA should be able to use whatever means necessary to get information - including "water logging"! THANK YOU! Thank you John McCain for having the guts and the integrity to do and say what you really feel would be best for this country rather than worrying about popular vote. John McCain's aim is not to make us feel all safe, secure and distracted it's to do his job in the best possible way, that will benefit us all- whether we choose to see it or not. So, if I were voting non-libertarian I would vote John McCain. Damn shame he has to be a white man. Now, I know that this doesn't even begin to scratch the surface....but it's a starting point. If you're interested in learning more about the libertarian party please visit the official website at.... http://www.lp.org/

THESE GUYS JUST RAWK...

I saw these guys on The View ( ya i was watching the View - I'm not happy about it either). They say they're not a vigilante group, but I secretly think that they are.; they stand outside of pet shops that buy puppies from puppy mills and protest until the stores change their evil ways - I LOVE

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! IT MIGHT HAPPEN!

I have no other words for you aside from what I've cribbed from an interview with Paul Westerberg. Bunker and Nathan are gonne be stoked. Also, I would like to add, I will gladly get tanked for the 'Mats so they don't have to cary the burden if this happens. Paul, you're man enough to do this. Quit fucking around.
Stinson: We actually talked about it again this year, and I think there was a consensus that, you know, maybe it wasn’t the right time (to reunite), or maybe it is the right time. Paul and I were kind of in cahoots talking to them, talking to (his manager) Darren (Hill). There were some things thrown out, and there were other festivals that wanted it too, if we were going to do it. At the last minute, it just didn’t seem like the right thing to do, so we didn’t do it. But I think Paul and I have something to offer each other still. I think that’s pretty obvious when we get together. Westerberg: I’m very hesitant about dragging the name out there and what damage we could do to the legend. Whatever we did, someone would want something else. If I went up there straight, they’d want us wasted. If we were f—ked up, they’d want us to be this or that. But, I don’t know. The records hold the key to the whole thing. So if I was ever going to play, I’d like to play once the whole shooting match is out, because I don’t think I could physically get up there and bellow these 18 songs (from) that first record. That’s just sheer youth there. I can’t find that in a bottle or a pill. I’m just too creaky for that.

Say it With Me Now, Astros Fans

FUCK YOU, JOSE VALVERDE! STICK THAT FIST UP YOUR FUCKING ASS, SHITHEAD! COOP GIVES YOU THE NIGHT OFF (EVEN THOUGH HE SAID HE WOULD PUT YOU IN WITH A SAVE SITUATION NO MATTER WHAT) AND YOU COME BACK THE NEXT AFTERNOON WITH AN 8 RUN MOTHERFUCKING DEFECIT...NO PRESSURE...AND YOU STILL BLOW THE FUCK UP! CAN COOP AND WADE PULL A PLAY FROM THE INDIANS BOOK AND PUT THIS SAD BASTARD ON THE DL?

Patiently Waiting for the Next Troma Masterpiece

Yeah, I know this screened at the Drafthouse in town a few months back but it's not like I'm in college anymore and have free nights. Hence, I missed seeing a film I've been dying to check out since I saw the first trailer.
Troma movies rule. They're nuts, offensive, vile, gory, and pretty much the anti-thesis of traditional movie making. This, is a good thing. Political undertones have always casually made its way into scenes from the mad mind of Lloyd Kaufman (the whole Terror Firmer Jerry Springer bit, anyone?) but Poultrygeist seems to be the most ferocious film the father of Toxie has ever birthed. I wonder if PeTA is gonna get behind this flick? Oh, wait, zombie chickens are gonna get killed. That's a no go, huh, Ingrid?
Oh, and dig the gratiutous fart and gore gags, too. Hey, it's a Troma staple.

IN PARKING LOT HELL

For those of you who don't know, my significant other works on oil rigs and sometimes has a weird way of making it home - especially since he rarely takes his own vehicle.so, one morning to meet my boyfriend on his half-way mark home I'm asked to meet him in Sealy, TX. I pick the Wal -Mart parking lot because that's where I will be the least noticed. Well, and I did have my Pit-bull and German Shepperd with me and I was afraid of being too noticed waiting around, because well I was a little high on cocaine and had been drinking whiskey and was well lets face it..just being me in general. Now, imagine this....there is a Wal-Mart behind me and a Wal-Mart gas station in front of me; anyone who has met me for a second knows how I feel about Wal - Mart and corporate America in general... I am in the grips of the devil-and not in the good way I had always imagined. I happened to look to my left and then behind me to my right and what do I see! SHUTTLE BUSSES! SHUTTLE BUSSES! That are dropping people off at Wal-Mart! At this point I am so horrified I can hardly speak - me Katy Lusk can hardly speak!I have officially descended into my own personal hell where only stupid, fat, war supporting, SSI receiving, ignorant people exist. I called Jody to tell him of this horror and he suggested I start slashing tires.And while I was contemplating this idea...all while watching the shuttle buses of people on vacation in Sealy being dropped off at Wal-Mart....who vacations in Sealy? I became focused and I became enraged. Enraged at what America has become and enraged that I have to share my country and my air with these people. And I am so focused...so focused..For the most beautiful 30 seconds of my entire life I was one with them....I was one with the man who walked into Luby's...I was one with the man who got on the tower at UT... and with absolute clarity I know why they did it. Posted by Katy Lusk at 10:59 PM 0 comments Subscribe to: Posts (Atom) Blog Archive ▼ 2008 (1) ▼ April (1) IN WAL-MART SUBURBIA HELL About Me Katy Lusk View my complete profile

The Greatest Cramps Video Ever

Can you imagine being some 12 or 13 year old fuck up, strolling into your local park late at night to burn a spliff or maybe get some fingerbang/handjob action on with your equally as newbie punk chick and stumbling on Lux Interior rocking the Speedo's with a shiny vinyl (yeah, I don't buy it's leather, no matter what the song is called. That shit is a gazillion shades shinier than Guitar Wolf's)jacket? It's nice to remember a time when Ivy didn't have wicked vericose veins pulsating from her over made-up skin. Do you remember that? Peperidge Farms does.

Erykah Badu's Style Guide for Young Aspiring Music "Artists"

If you think she's serious, you're a moron. This is fucking brilliant...yet, depresingly true. You know somewhere in California there is some executive or agent with the next Lohan/Spears/Simpson clone watching this on repeat while furiously scribbling notes into his PalmPilot. Ho shit...check....Chips Ahoy...gotta get on that...ass implants, make apointment with Dr. 90210 tomorrow...no Angela Davis "GODDAMN!" fro...totally.
There is still hillarity in truth, brothers and sisters.

Houston, Do We Have a Scouting Probelm?

WHAT. THE. FUCK?!?! So, Valverde blew another save last night to hand the Astros a loss. Even though this cat had the most saves in the NL last season it's always suspect when a team with a hard on for pitching like the Diamondbacks send him swiftly your way. Remember the Jennings trade? He came off a strong season in a brutal hitter's park and that was a giant fucking trainwreck. Obviously, those two franchises knew something about their players the Astros couldn't figure out and that is what has lead us into the muck. Of course, it couldn't be a staff issue but instead, an owner (I'm casting my vote for that candidate), who can be so dominating that it creates an environment of yes men, essentially trying to appease a spoiled brat.
I'm not saying that Valverde will go down as the goat this season but it's not looking too pretty. Cooper didn't win any points with me by pulling his starter who was on the brink of a shut out. Of course, with a three run lead, it is understandable to go to your struggling closer (well, if you were brought up by Garner at least) to get him a confidence boost. Still, you keep the bullpen active and when the potential to tie arises you go to someone solid.
Holy shit, I just realised I'm writing about a blown save like it was a set-up or middle relief situation. This is the kind of fucked logic that Astros fans have learned to adapt to since Lidge was Pujolsed back in 2005 (hopefully, Coop has now learned you don't pitch to that bastard when you don't have to).
And while I'm so goddamned ecstatic with how the other four in the starting rotation have been performing (a combined 2.59 ERA)and with the offense starting to pop a little, when the two factors of the overall equation that are supposed to be rock fucking solid (ace and closer) are posting ERA's of 9.00 and 11.37 it starts to get scary.
We'll see how it shakes tonight. Oswalt is taking the mound tonight, still searching for that first win. Keep your fingers crossed and the rally caps handy.

Myspace+Potential Ass Rape+Dickhead Older Brother= Comedy Gold

Man, I never pulled any sort of shit like this on my sister but I sure can admire this dude's sheer comittment in the art of riling their parents up even more. This kid earns bonus points at the end for laughing and bragging to his friend (who has silently witnessed this bizzare ordeal) that he will be uploading it to YouTube!

Debauchery Has Returned

I'll do a huge fucking write up on the amazing trip I just took but for now, this should suffice.

Later Bitches

Tomorrow at the ball crack of dawn, I head out to see Lindsay and her husband, drown myself in Jameson and clam chowdah and belt "Sweet Caroline" out with all my might in the 8th. 8Bit is in charge until I get back.

My Favorite Yankees Fan

Sorry, dad, but you have been replaced. Maybe if you did something as awesome as this guy, you'd still be top dog.

Those Crazy Canadians and their Funny Comercials...

See... nice guys finish in the shower, and assholes like this get to partake in unwanted anal and a good smoke and sandwich. Them the breaks I suppose. Just kidding.
This is an actual PSA in Canada. I seriously doubt you would see anything of this caliber in the states. We like to juxtapose a drug problem with a waif-ish hottie decimating a kitchen, and have cartoon characters sing alongside people in an anti-smoking ad campaigns that look like they were conceived by a group of execs that did not take heed of the waif-ish hottie in her "This is your brain on drugs" commercials.
Of course, who knows- maybe the best domestic abuse ad campaign was this:

Or not...

NEW NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS ALBUM OUT TODAY! BUY IT IF YOU DIG GOOD MUSIC!

I got the new record, Dig!Lazarus!Dig! when it got released over in the UK in March and it is easily the best record I have heard all year. Shit, man, to follow up Grinderman with this is like Nick Cave having a Roger Clemens like comeback (sans steroids, of course) for his career. Don't get me wrong, I cannot think of anything Cave has done that I don't adore, but goddamnit the brilliant Aussie motherfucker might have topped Murder Ballads, here. That is quite hefty praise, brothers and a sisters.
Unfortunately, we won't have it at my job tomorrow (the corporate and shipping people have been fucking us for weeks) so buy it wherever you can find it.
Lumped in with the new Flogging Molly, Gnarls Barkley, and Black Keys records (the new Breeders is kinda weak) this is turning out to be a good start to the rock 'n' roll year for me. Dig on the video which I have posted already. If you needed a reason to buy this disc (and Black Nathan concurs with me so expect a verbal lashing if you disagree) here it is.

One of the Greatest Things on the Internet

If that made you laugh, there are PLENTY more over at Rock and Roll Confidential that line the walls of their Hall of Douchebags. There are even some fucking hillarious comments below each photograph (brick walls and railroad tracks are no-no's, kids) that are sure to make you damn near piss your pants. And if you're brave enough a few of 'em even got links to mp3s. None are pleasant. Oh, and local douchebags, Faceplant, are on there as well. A certain writer for this blog, however, is not in the picture even though he used to be in the band. ZING!*

*He does not qualify as a douchebag, however. Just the tools that now comprise the band, specifically for having their manager bitch out Robbie Cool (yeah, this was ages ago) for denying them a show saying he missed out on booking, "the next Sublime."

8Bit's Night of Glory at the Rodeo

What follows is simply my account of what happened one night during the BBQ cookoff out the rodeo. 8Bit Chris may have a different account but I doubt he remembers anything.
The second (I believe) night of the BBQ Cookoff at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo was going along smoothly and once it got dark my sis and her husband, whom you all know as the 8Bit Chris, arrived and then things slowly got interesting.
8Bit hits the bar and asks for a beer, I say something like, "Don't be a pussy. Drink some whiskey with me." This was after we had a done a shot of the tasty brown devil. He acquiesced and kept on truckin' until my sis came up to the bar and said, "8Bit is talking really close to people, so maybe you should lighten the pour or just don't serve him. Get him to drink some water." I did as told but by this point, after a slew of wicked strong jello shots, more whiskey and some food, my boy was three sheets to the wind.
The bar was super fucking busy so I didn't pay much attention to what my beloved family members were up until one of the other bartenders pointed to a corner and said, "Dude, I don't think your brother in law is looking so hot."
I turned my head and see 8Bit slouched in a chair, looking like he was taking a power nap. Someone gets the bright idea to make him drink some water seeing as how he was fucking tanked and passing out. I said, "No. You give him water and he drinks it up, it's going to overload his stomach and push all of the food back up and that ain't gonna be pretty." I am ignored, and as cook team members and other patrons look on my sis begins having him sip some Dasani. It was actually kinda sweet and cute to behold. However, as I had feared, he started convulsing a little and I dashed to grab a trashcan. 8Bit unloads his fajitas, ribs and sausage which looked like some demonic black sludge. Really, it was a shade shy of bubblin' crude.
Being the professional alcoholic I am, I grab my bag and take out some ginger pills (these things ease digestion and settle your stomach. For me, these are lifesavers. After drinking myself into the hospital which resulted with unpleasant gallbladder problems, ginger seems to be the difference between living a happy life or puking up neon yellow bile for extended periods of time) and a couple of asprin and force the fuckers down his throat.
He's starting to fade at this point and it really wouldn't be good to have somebody shitfaced in the tent in case a cop came by so I decided we needed to get 8Bit and my sis to their car as quickly as possible. He's pretty much dead weight and with my knee being fucked (which I'd dislocated by doing a David Johansen impression at Griff's to "Looking for a Kiss"), I knew I couldn't move him on my own.
I head over to the pit and grab one of the super cool meatcutters we bring in named Ed to help me out since he is a huge motherfucker. Ed and I each grab and arm and realise this ain't gonna happen. Then, genius strikes.
"How 'bout we just throw him on the dolly and wheel him out," is Ed's suggestion. And, sadly, it was the only option.
8Bit is schlepped onto the dolly, his body flailing in whatever position we prop him to ala Weekend at Bernie's, and we head out to the parking lot.
If you've never been to the cookoff it's important to know how this thing is set up. There is a HUGE parking lot at Reliant that is used for the fairgrounds and tent space. To reach it, you must park a good 10 minutes away, and trek across a bridge that overlooks the street below and then pass through another parking lot to get to your car. It sucks. Especially, with a drunk person in tow.
I light a smoke and we head out. Immediately, there are lines of good ol' boys and their skanks pointing and laughing at our cargo. Camera phones break out. Then the digital cameras. Then, even a couple of low tech video ones. We tread on, trying to ignore the bullshit until some guy comes up with a beer and tries to force 8Bit to drink it. My sis snaps. Pushes the cat and screams, "Leave him the FUCK alone!"
I figure it's time to get into brother mode and walk over and tell the guy to fuck off.
We march on. It's not so bad until right around the exit gate (where there are always about five pigs) I start to get nervous, thinking they won't let us clear out and my boy will have a ticket slapped on him. Of course, some dipshit trying to rub his head came up first and this posed a different problem.
I shoved the guy off and told him to beat it. He got agro and noticing there where cops just a few feet ahead, I baited the motherfucker into a fight. We cross the exit and before the guy can even clench a fist, HPD has violently thrown him into a trailer, nightstick against the back of his neck, telling him to cool it. Ed asks, "How come you didn't hit him?"
"Well, how come you didn't, man?"
"Cause I saw the cops."
"Same reason as me, bro."
We march on. Over the bridge and to the queue line for rickshaws (think of it as a carriage but with bikes instead of horses. Come to think of it, that is ironic for Texas, especially at a rodeo).
It is fucking epic in length. Think Beowulf but instead of words, people. Everyone there is sympathetic to the cause and after 5 people I don't even have to ask to jump queue. The fine folks are just giving us the hand signal to move on up. Until we get to about 10 people from the front.
Two yuppies shove me back, I ask them politely if we can skip ahead and point to my inebrieated brother in law, dead to the world on a dirty, metal, green dolly. They promptly tell me to get to the back. I explain that everyone else was cool with it and even offered to pay for their fare. The popped collar bro's cunt girlfriend starts in on me and shoves me back again. I calmly tell her that if she doesn't cool it and touches me again, I'm gonna fucking deck her man. Then a cop steps in.
Well, actually, he didn't step in so much as began jamming me in my ribs (just so ya know, I'm a scrawny cat. No padding there) as hard as he can with his nightstick yelling, "You're not gonna hit now woman!"
I jump back and say, "NO! I SAID I WAS GONNA HIT HIM!" and point to the popped collar bro. The cop cools it off my ribs and ask what the fuck is going on. I relay the details and he giggles, shows sympathy and grabs the next free rickshaw for us. Ed and I dump 8Bit onto the backside and the driver nervously asks, "He isn't gonna puke is he?"
I rip a twenty from my roll (the night before had been very beneficial, tip wise) and said, "Don't worry about it. He's done. And if he does, this should cover it." He looks hesitant so I grab a tenner and then they went off into the humid Houston night.
I talked to my ma about this before I had report back at the tent in the morning (yeah, about 14 hour shifts for 3 straight days) and we agree it is best to not let my father know about what happened. Of course, when I waltz in, the cook team is making jokes about it and my dad begins grilling me for info. He's giddy and laughing his ass off as I recount the details. I'm relived, until I realise something, turn and say, "Dad, if that had been me you'd be beating my ass right about now. Probably, disowning me!"
He just shrugged. Welcome to the family, 8Bit.

Seth Godin Teaches Dipshits How to Further Evil in the Music Industry

I had no idea who the fuck Seth Godin was until I started working at the bookstore. But, after having to pull his tomes and display them, I learned he is some big dick marketing guru. Of course, I'm going to have to invoke the whole Bill Hicks "If you're in marketing do us all a favor...kill yourself" axiom here. He recently posted on his blog (which he proudly boasts is the most read marketing blog around) a lecture he gave to corporate music industry dickpigs about how to save their sinking ship.
His main point was about marketing to what he calls "tribes." Yeah, his solution to the clusterfuck the record biz has gotten itself into is to ruin everything with an ounce of purity left. Look, I'm not gonna get up in arms about Warner Brothers trying to pimp out some new twat de jour by having her piggyback on Brittany Spears. That is expected. What I find more troubling is the commercialization of once vital subcultures that Godin is proposing.
Here's a telling quote, "The next thing is this idea that people care very much about who is sitting next to them at the concert. They care very much about the secret handshake. They care very much about the tribal identification. “Oh you like them, I like them”. FUCK. THAT. NOISE.
Even Deadheads would scoff at having yuppies infultrate their "tribe" so why wouldn't a more reasonable set of music fans? Take the last Flogging Molly show, for example. I've seen that band everytime they've played Houston and what used to be a wild, insane punk rock show has now devolved into drunken frat boy theatrics. Seriously, the biggest assholes at the show were carting their chicks away before Dave King ever said, "Aye." Or how about the Converge show at the Engine Room a few years back? A.K.A. the Night of 1,000 Fights. Fuck, try to go and see a Dropkick Murphys performance now and not witness a sea of popped collars and white caps. Marketing to the tribe isn't really what Godin is proposing. He is subvertley suggesting marketing the tribe to the outsiders. And NO ONE wants their scene infultrated by tourists and fashion victims who leach like vampires.
And fuck you, Seth, for the presupposition that just because I like Band A and Band B are in the same genre I dig both. I fucking adore Jawbreaker but 99% of bands that wear their name out on the press releases have more to do with My Chemical Romance. Once again, marketing will out.
So, shut the fuck up, Seth. Let the tribes alone and steer the record companies towards simply offering us a product, trusting our tastes, letting us make our own decisions about the quality, and then acting. I really hate being pandered to and that is all you are proposing.
Ya know, Hicks was right. Please kill yourself.

Dear, Lance Berkman

I love you Lance. Not just because Texas is the universe to ya or your offensive capabilities or how you ate a twinkie some asshole fans were baiting you with while calling you fat or how you are now the glue that holds this waning franchise together since Biggio retired. Seriously, you WILL be the Biggio of this current wave of Astros sucktitude; a great teammate, a tough as nails ballplayer, and someone willing to pick flowers out in right field when the club asks you to even though you're a first basemen and should never be stuck out there just to make room for a bat less impressive than yours. Despite the love, I do have a couple of bones to pick with you.
First, get off the whole Jeebus thing. I don't care about your religious beliefs and your quest to guide young atheletes to the light (how about you try that shit on Chris Henry and Pacam Jones. Or Milton Bradley or Delmon Young). It's kinda creepy and it makes me wonder what skeletons you're hiding in the closet. Like in two years we're gonna see you on To Catch a Predator skeletons. I do respect you for not doing the whole kiss the fingers and then hold them up to the sky routine. That is fucking lame. Yeah, because Bog wanted you to hit the dinger instead of the equally religious pitcher striking you out. Remember the old axiom, "God is only in the winners locker room." I would totally love to hear a ballplayer say in a post-game loss interview, "God, just didn't want us to win this one." It'll never happen and the umpires and HUMAN faults will continue to be blamed for the L's for eternity.
Sorry, Lance. I got carried away. But back to my point, tone the whole Jeebus freak shit down. That or get caught with some hookers and a pile of blow and then fuck up your knee playing touch football on your road to redemption.
Second, the whole Big Puma thing ain't gonna happen. Fat Elvis will be your legacy no matter how much Richard Justice tries to shove the Puma down our throats. And hey, you're really not fat. I've seen you in person and you're a pretty lean cat. But your a few jean sizes up from Adam Everett and have no chin. Therefore, the whole Fat Elvis thing caught on. We could understand that. We cannot understand Big Puma. I mean, puma's are pretty lean and sleek so you pretty much just made a fat joke about yourself so you can't bitch. Oh, and giving yourself a nickname is fucking weak. If you REALLY want to be known as something other than Fat Elvis (and I pray you do not), then holler at Annie Savoy. Nuke Laloosh, brother.
Yours,
Jay Debauchery

Attention: Big Bitch. THIS is How You ROCK the Drums

Take some lessons from him, bro. A fucking Korean lounge drummer just out rocked your ass.

I Can Now Cross #127 Off the "Things I Want to Witness Before I Die List"

We have a couple of crazy regulars at work. Most of them are homeless people who like to yell at the listening stations, bathe in the sink, and pick fights with other crazy late night customers over religion (I am not shitting you here. Some McViegh type once flipped out because we didn't have an engineering magazine and said that it was proof the world is doomed. And then he blamed it on religion. And then a crazy homeless chick who bathes in the sink and talks to herself got into it with him. It was way less awesome than it sounds). But on Monday, I was a part of something more insane, odd and gross than ANYTHING I ever experienced working at punk rock clubs. And remember, I used to have to clean the bathrooms at Fitzgerald's.
Last week, some random cat waltzed in the store, picked up a kids biography of Martin Luther King, Jr. and started reading while talking to himself in the corner by our first floor entrance. He was covered in turqoise paint (shit was slicked back in his hair) and was wearing shades. Since he wasn't really bothering anyone and providing me and the cashier with some amusement, I just told the boss and he shrugged his shoulders.
A few hours later, the guy is now over by the newspapers and is starting to get pretty loud about racism, the government conspiracy against him, and robots in between random fits of dancing. I thought I had discovered the black Heidegger. We have TV's that broadcast bands the company is pushing and even Oprah because of that whole Eckhart Tolle pseudo-scientology thing. When this appears on screen for the 700th time, the Blue Dude (as we dubbed him) began talking shit to the Oprah. "Yo mama, Oprah! That's right, bitch! Not my, mama! Yo, mama, Oprah. And your auntie, and your sister, and your uncle! Fuck you, Oprah!" I dug it, and couldn't help but start laughing but the boss asked the guy to calm down. And he did. For a few minutes. The boss thought he was half-pretending to which my reply was, "What is this? A fucking performance art piece? If so, this dude's got talent!"
Of course, it wasn't. While re-shelving magazines (seriously, if you go into bookstores and grab 10-15 magazines and leave them in a pile for ME to clean up for you, then fuck you), I heard the Blue Dude getting agro. I thought he might be beefing with the boss and I went around the corner to check it out and the Blue Dude jumped out at me, in the midst of a jig. It was freaky and such a shock I had my fist cocked back. We closed, he left and I had a new story to tell. Until Monday.
Towards the end of my shift, at around 4 p.m., I noticed the Blue Dude chilling in the cafe, with a carton of milk and a grown-up book this time. He was quiet, which was shocking, but I still hung around knowing sooner or later he would flip the fuck out. It started slowly, he began kinda rubbing himself (hey, I adjust my junk pretty often at work. Running up and down those stairs in jeans requires occasional shifting) and then starting chastising some imaginery person he saw beneath him on the floor. A few customers looked up but didn't really seem bothered.
I checked back a few minutes later to find his seat vacated, but, his milk and book were still there. "Oh, fuck," I thought, "He went into the bathroom."
This disturbed me because our bathrooms are fucking hellholes. One time, I had to help clean up a big pile, of mushy feces that had been deposited NEXT TO the toilet and lately I'd been discovering, ahem, "used" pornography. On my way to the bathroom, a customer stopped me, really upset, and told me there was someone naked in the stall save for a paper bag (don't ask me) and masturbating. I called a manager, a really nice, non-confrontational type who begrudgingly said he would check it out as long as I accompanied him. I did.
We walk in and sure enough, the Blue Dude is butt naked in the handicapped stall. He jumped back into view when he heard the door open (and yes, through the cracks and all it was way obvious this dude was sans clothing) and asked what was wrong. The manager told him he had a customer complain about what he was doing. The Blue Dude's response was brilliant.
"Man, I'm just handling my FUCKING business!"
Security was called, they showed up with their helmets firmly attatched as they cruised to the back on their Segueway's with a couple of HPD in tow. It took about 7 minutes before the cops came out (what the fuck took so long? Did they let him finish?), one while putting away his baton. They asked for some plastic gloves and a few more minutes later, escorted the Blue Dude from the store and the Galleria for good. Work pretty much went to a stop for 20 minutes as we all laughed and joked about the events that had just transpired.
Retail, man. It's a fucking trip.
Oh, and if you have no idea why I put that picture with this post you need to meet Carl Monday.

Hats off YouTube...

Well it is official. The Rickroll sensation is OVER. When an internet site uses its own meme to celebrate April Fool's Day... the jig is up.
Go to YouTube and click on any of their featured videos.
Bastards.