Did you hear? Did you hear? Oh, it's exciting.

So, Alanus Whoreissette did an all-acoustic version of her first album for the tenth anniversary of her ground-breaking "Jagged Little Pill". Oh, I'm just ALL-A-FLUTTER. Just what we need. Jesus Christ. Somewhere in a basement there's an AWESOME BAND rehearsing their AWESOME shit after a day of pounding nails and delivering pizza, and this jagged little pill will be taking up valuable shelfspace that could have been theirs. God damn it. God damn it.

What a horrible, horrible record that was. My god. I remember hearing "You Oughtta Know" on the radio the first time and thinking, "Gee, K-Rock is doing a local music feature. That's great. Whoever this is, boy, she's got some work to do but what a great break for local 'talent'."

What an awful, horrible, unspeakable song that is. It reminds me of that crazy girlfriend we've all had. When you realize how fucked-up she is you sorta soft-pedal it on out of there and then The Phone Calls start. What a crappy, hateful, stupid and MISOGYNISTIC pile of vomit that song was. And the rest of that god-awful record. Ow, it hurts to have to do this painful duty of dredging it up and puking on it one more time.

Ms. Star Search herself. Did you ever see her Star Search footage? Late '80's? Oh, sweet fucking Christ. NEWSFLASH: PEOPLE WHO GO ON STAR SEARCH ARE SUCK PEOPLE. ACROSS THE BOARD. It's like revering Kelly Clarkson for being Empowered. 1995. What a nightmare that was. That was when all the Grunge-Lite was starting to come out. All that cruddy Collective Soul and all that. Bleagh. Pat Boone music for people who were buying that GODDAMN FLANNEL at K-mart. I'm pretty sure that's why Cobain offed himself. Both barrels in the head, that guy. SKER-POW. That's a Pisces for you right there, folks. Having to listen to the execrable Alanus squawk and fret like a guiltridden masturbating nun at the Crazy Ladies Convent. Oh, my sweet fucking lord. It truly is enough to make you want to apply a tourniquet to your neck and flay your own writhing, greasy skin.

When I think of the many, many nights of sleep lost to sheer wailing and pulling-out-of-the-hair as I wrestled with the existence of Alanus; how a loving and merciful god could unleash an abomination so ex-ec-re-ta-ble to dwell among we Eloi. Ah, I weep. I weep for my cruelly garroted innocence and my verklempten aortic distubulators and my poor, poor weak infracturance.

I guess you would have to consider it a talent of sorts to be able to SQUAWK OUT YOUR FANGED, ALIEN BLOWHOLE IN A REASONABLE APPROXIMATION OF ENGLISHSKA.

And to be able to create MUSICAL FREQUENCIES WHICH CAUSE IMMEDIATE DESANGUINIZATION OF THE LOWER THROMBOLIC AMPLITUDINAL VENA CAVAS.

WHICH MEANS YOU GET ASS CANCER. AND YOUR ASS FALLS OFF. AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY. There's a way your ass can fall off where you're just like, "oh, O.K." and there's the BAD WAY OF ASSES FALLING OFF. GGGAAAAAHHH.

In the studio we used to make light of Celoone Dianne and her "my heart will go on". this immediately became "...and I know that my ass will go off...." which became a way of approving a good take: "its ass was going off..." This became a simple visual cue of watching a far-off imagined ass circling in high orbit. When you're tracking and the engineer's and band's eyes are watching a far-off circling ass you just feel good, man. When you're on.

Anyway, back to this nightmarish trollop from the third ring of Crapton. This chick, man, it's like, um, like she focused all her evil alien, um, energy to the task of sucking the thinking power out of human brains and up into the mother ship. That's why around '95 shit started getting really scary. There wasn't a Alunus album in 2001 because she focused all her shitty spider vibes on the world and made all the shit go down. That was ALANUS my friends. And you, and I, and our brothers and sisters paid dearly for our lack of vigilance, our failure of imagination.

And she'll do it again, man. Maybe we SHOULD be glad that there's a crappy, psuedoartistic, human-hating stupid wanking nun album out now. She'll have to TOUR and all that and be busy and I say it's a small price for you and I and every thinking person to get 5-6 I.Q. points sloughed off to the aliens rather than have to go through another international tragedy.

Until we can figure out a way to kill Alanus Whoreisette we're just going to have to toe the line, my brothers and sisters.

Fuck you, Alanus. Just fuck you. You and Patti Smith in a ring? Gloves off? You wouldn't last one punch. You and Exene Cervenka? Oh, it wouldn't be pretty.

Oh, god. And that Glen Ballard IDIOT producer of yours lending all his talent to making you sound like you could write a song. Like you could honestly arrange a rock song. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
To a whole generation you are Ms. Female Empowerment. Oh, Christ. You are to Female Empowerment what a mainline shot of a hundred cc's of undiluted Saltpeter is to the Male Empowerment. What a round of buckshot is to a balloon. what the windshield of a Peterbilt tractor trailer is to a pretty butterfly. Female Empowerment saw you coming and tried to hide up its own ass.

Walk MY planet with that psychotropic brain sucking deathray, will you? Ring MY doorbell at 2:30 in the morning drunk and staggering, will you? Tell YOUR lesbian friend that I hit you??
come to MY job and have to be escorted off the premises, will you?

I don't care if Courtney Love IS a psychotic little trollop and DID kill Curt Cobain. She looks like goddamn Joni Mitchell next to your flat ass.

How about, next time you want to celebrate a 10th anniversary, just put out a blank CD and do us all a favor. Don't worry- it'll sell enough so you can still give .00000003 percent of the profits to starving children and you can go to India for photo ops.

And that, my friends, is where I stand on that.