It's Going To Sound TITS.

Listening to Bill Clinton interviewed on the radio today felt like running into an old girlfriend that you never appreciated (although she was a little fucked up). Really brought home what a beady eyed fucked up little xenophobe W is. Can you imagine W speaking in another language? What a bounder. What a weed. SURELY there is a psycho out there somewhere who wants to be famous.

Imagine a world where W gave Clinton the job they're grooming that rat turd Bolton for. He'd be all charming and slippery and elderstatesmanly and banging all the help.

Jesus, I even miss Clinton's sins of the flesh. Really; if you love ass, you love life, and loving life should be a prerequisite for leader the Free World, n'est pas mon petit morseaux du fromage suisse avec le merde d'elefant? And I don't mean that weirdo culto Christian shite that W sacrifices humans to. Who was hurt? Who was hurt? Hillary? Give me a god damn break. Embarrassed and disappointed, maybe. Come on, guys. Hillary doesn't want to do that stuff. Look at her. Hillary's like the Annette Benning character in "American Beauty".

You know, if it turns out Hilary was actually up for it, y'know, wantin' to tear off a piece of Billburger onna Tuesday and a Friday, then Clinton is an asshole.

But my uncanny ability to gauge the human psyche leads me to believe that she is as a field salted and robbed of minerals by The Frosty Winds of Ambition. Who knows. Who knows with the womenfolk. I sure was a whole lot more curious about the Mystery Of Woman twenny five years ago than I am now. It's like losing your interest in bumpers once enough god damn cars have run into you, know what I'm sayin'?

Maybe his dalliances were the original snowmakers. It's likely. Who the fuck knows. Probably it was the dude, what the christ do I know. I don't understand the menfolk either with their slapping that thang around all over. Maybe women SHOULD be a little more turned on by a decent ass and a flat stomach or a brain like a steel trap and less by power and prestige.

People, fuck each other, okay? I don't care who ya are, gay, straight, old, young (not too young). Can't we all just fuck each other? Jesus Christ. Like it's so hard. Let's just take a li'l T.V. time and turn it into Fucking Time. you take the thing, you put it in, ya move it around, bing, bam, boom, it's easy. Anybody can do it. Tell ya, if Mrs. Hitler had spend a little more time on her back and a little less time kaffee klatching with the Daughters of the American Revolution maybe we wouldn't be in this mess.

Pretend he's goddamn George Clooney. Pretend she's Rosario Dawson. Or Eva Longoria. Just not Hilary Swank 'cause that particular Emperor is unclothed. That's an ugly chick, folks. Hell, I'd rather help the other Hilary exact revenge on Bill than get close to that hag. Hilary looks like she done falled outta the Ugly Tree and all the branches punched her on the waydown. I'll even let you put on some fucking Journey if that's what you need. I mean, Christ, it takes what it takes. Just remember- erections lasting longer than 4 hours require medical attention. If you're 80.

Check it out- look at the dashboard of your car. If it's American-made, I guarantee any light or stencling that is supposed to say "gauge" will say "gage".

I'm excited. I'm getting some new pots and LEDs and sliders for my venerable SWR SM400S bass head, I'm going to do all the work myself, and it's going to sound TITS. And it'll cost like 50 clams instead of 200.

I'm producing a song for Henry Slater, the South African Mark Knopfler, and it's going to sound TITS.

I'm going to rock a huge high school graduation party on Sunday. It's going to sound TITS. And I'll get all this CASH. For ROCKING.

Next time I complain about anything remind me of THAT. Or of OPENING FOR CHEAP FUCKING TRICK LAST SUMMER MOTHERFUCKER. Yeah, I did that. Yeah. Or opening for the Ventures. That was O.K., you know? Or opening for The Damned. Or Mike fucking Kenneally. Where you're on stage and Mike fucking Kenneally's fans are looking at you, and you're like, "shit, I have to rock a supremely large chunk of ass tute suite garcon."

Once at the Coach House I was picking up tickets and shit and Chris Isaak told me I had cool hair. You'd have to see an aerial view of Chris and I to properly assess the irony of that.

My buddies Paul and John (?) were in Arthur Lee of Love's comeback tour band. There's some blazing stories there. Whores flying out of windows and gack and all that. My god.

When I was doing live production you'd do these country clubs in Palm Springs and you'd be mixing your big old revue and some 40's or 50's star would come up and do a song that had been their big hit and it's like this one huge song that is totally in the Vernacular and you can't fucking believe it.

It's a crazy old world.

The Bobby Lightfoot Explosion is going to do "What A Wonderful World". How nuts is that? It's going to sound TITS.

a couple quick points before the staff meeting

1. "Rockaway Beach" is the best song.

2. Muslims are weird. They're like Christers but with no sense of humor about it.

Wait, Christers have no sense of humor about it either.

3. Shaved heads and religion only look good on black people. By the same token, if you need proof that the mildly racist white supposition that black people have the market cornered on "hip" is not accurate, pop in some Kool Jazz. wow, is that some hurtin' shit. That's some bad, bad music.


Oh, and a real quick shizzout out to:

Kevin Wolf for having the least neurotic microwave technique, and Bryan for taking issue with someone for "ruining the efficiency of his hot pocket". There's a euphimism for female virginity loss right there, sirrah.

Both have won a dandelion milkshake.

Boy, not only is that a great name, it would also be a capital term of nonendearment for the male effluvia.

Dandelion Milkshake and the Transylvanian Teabags. tonite only.

Oh, and-

I think I named my next band today-

Ladies and gentlement, I give you: Dandelion Milkshake.

Opening for the Harridans.

Oh, and Baby Cheezwhizz---

Maybe we could cut a deal where for each member of Great White I deliver scalped and processed you give us back 25 of their hapless victims. While guilty of questionable taste (let he who is without blame...) they sure's shit didn't deserve the StaPuft routine fuck sake.

I honestly don't know what is better proof of there being no god- the existence of Great White or their genocide.

'Course, they probably made Ian Hunter a nice stack back in '89, so there's that.

If you're not a struggling musician tryin' to make a buck on the white chitlin' circuit, you have no idea how many nails these foreskins nailed into the coffin of Live Music on that fateful night. Fuck me.

Hey Baby Sheepus

Yo Freakus it's deal time. Whip out the plastic and let's repopulate this world with a person or two who doesn't suck! Please!

I'm putting the Hilton sisters, the Olsen Twins, Donald Trump and fuckin' Brad and Angelina on the block.

I want Hunter S. back. Even though he doesn't want to come back.

'kay, I'm putting the entire cast of Revenge of th' Splith on the block. All of 'em. And a sawbuck.

I want a random midieval peasant of your choosing.

I'm putting the entire Bush Admin up on th' block.

I know I can't get much for 'em. Tell you what- I'll throw a hand job in and you give me back that cat that got hit on South Street a couple weeks ago. It'll be a good HJ. Candles, Billie Holiday, everything. Just give me the fucking cat back.

Here's what you do- you trade the Bush Gang to satan for hitler and karen carpenter and then in heaven all the trains will purge on time.

HOOOO-ly shit. That was bad. Yeetz. Ah, fuck it. Arthur Anderson walked. Like my little peccadilloes add up to a hill of beans in this crazy world.

I remember when I was nine I came up with the awesome alternate lyrics to "Stairway To Heaven" after I read "Helter Skelter"------

And the blood on the wall/And the guts in the hall/Are the sign of a bitter struggle/And Charlie Manson's dog is licking/The blood that is dripping/From Sharon Tate's unborn baaaby...

I rocked when I was nine. I hadn't been Found Lacking yet. I loved Poe when I was six. Neddie was reading fucking Lovecraft when he was like four. He used to eat the sides of the pages. I'd read the books later and they'd be, like, a rabbit read them. He liked Tull though, later. Oh, hell- I liked that idiotic Pearl Jam record for a couple three days. whatta you going to do. Glass houses. They smash so nice. Plus when you think about it "English Settlement" is Tull minus the flute and plus a couple dozen IQ points. It's crazy crazy, baby.

O.K., O.K....hmmmmm...how about.....I'm putting the entire staff of VH1 up, everybody in Marketing in the universe, all the people who make motivational sales tapes, and every recording act on the charts. And I will personally off them any way you want. And Pearl Jam. I'll even whack Coldplay now even though the guitarist loaned me a tuner at Irvine Meadows. I don't give a fuck.

I want my fucking hope back.

I'm throwing in the senior staff of Arthur Anderson, Mariah Carey, all right wing talk show pundits and all Fox news "reporters".

All I want is Keith Moon.

Every time we lose someone like Keith the world gets that much less fun.

World's about as fun as a dandelion milkshake these days.

Your move, Bleakus.

Now THAT is a post, children. THAT is how you spell despair.

This Test Determines If You Are Neurotic.

Here's the deal- when you heat something up in the microwave do you just throw it on a minute or two minutes or do you program it for like 1:33 or :47 to try to get it just right?

If you do that you're neurotic.



Proper Recording Protocol: The Use Of "Oh-wey-oh".

This particular exclamation is NEVER EVER used in good music. In horrible music it is acceptable.
Particular egregious is when the harmonic path in the dreaded "Oh-wey-oh" is I-IV-II.

Never, ever use the phrase "Oh-wey-oh".

Horrid examples: That shitty "Latin" Rob Thomas song. The horrible Brian Wilson song from "Imagination" called "South American". Sheesh. I think it even featured that execrable cipher Jiminy Buffet. Morris Day and The Time: "Jungle Love". Gruesome. The hideous career-ending "Walk Like An Egyptian" by The Bangles contains the offensive exclamation. Shiver. The Bangles. Jesus, they broke up so they "could have babies". If there's ANYTHING ON THE PLANET lamer than that, I have not made its acquaintance. "Eternal Flame" indeed. I get that when I listen to them and I'm out of Prevacid.

Jesus. Fucking HEART was better. Until that one sister ate the other one. Even at their lamest they were free of oh-wey-oh contamination.

'nuff said. A free schnapps to further examples.

P.S. Only The Police from '79-'83 are allowed to use "ee-oh" or "cha" because that's how cool they were. Further use has been forbidden by the O.A.O.

Oh- just thought you guys might want to read some lyrics from The Albuquerque Gay Drumming Circle while we are uncharacteristically on the topic of things that could benefit from some fertilizer-based explosives.

Actually I take that back. Homsexuals rock, as long as they're not bitching about celebrity hairdos on that GOD DAMN VH1. We'll leave homo bashing to those fucking Christer Cultist Weirdo Freaks that Eat Their Young. My Enemy's Enemy Is My Friend. Especially when he compliments my ensemble.

How many of your buddies tell you your shirt's lookin' good?

Plus, there is no sign of "oh-wey-oh"'s in said lyrics.

Proper Recording Protocol: Sleighbells?



Mazinger Z!!

When I was a kid I was into karate!! What a tool!! Who the hell is into karate?? Tools are!!

Being 18 is maybe a somewhat workable excuse. Yeah, that's it. Karate is lame!! Lame!! But you knew that!!
How many bands on Matador or Minty Fresh have members that are into karate?? 0!! Zero, yo!!! You know who's into karate? Dirk Diggler from Boogie Nights! But now I have to tell you how I removed karate from my life like an unsightly mole!

'Cause it's funny!!

So, there was a lot of stuff about karate (I like how in Boogie Nights they put the accent on the last syllable for that final cheesy touch) that was good. The three-mile barefoot run through the woods ROCKED. The stretching, the meditation, all good stuff. Man, was I in shape. Only problem was the getting hit thing. I could never warm to it. When yer doing sparring/blocking exercises you're supposed to stop short so you don't actually remove teeth. And then there was the 4-day long Special Training thing you had to do to get your black belt and I knew Goddamned Well I was never doing that shit. It sounded awful. Holding a stance for an hour, all sorts of uncivilized shit. Fuck that.

Final straw came one day when this black belt fucker clocked me full in the mouth and broke my tooth which I had to root canal and crown a few years later to the tune of 6 zillion fucking dollars. Asshole. I would've kicked his ass if, of course, I could.

So, then and there I figured that was it. This kind of crap won't fly. I didn't want it that bad, and hanging out with these idiots was getting old. They was So Into It. Me, I'd recently spent some time realizing It's All Connected, if you get my drift, and fisticuffs just don't fit into that.

There's this thing in Karate (karaTE) called the "ki-yai" which is the yell you do when you do your big strike. You know- "HAI-YA!!". It's gay as hell. It's like a mantra: you pick one and make it your own. It's Very Important or something.

When I was a kid the cheesiest of all cheezy Japanese anime cartoons was "Mazinger Z" about this big robot that this li'l pussy kid sat in the head of and drove. Mazinger Z.

So, at practice, during sparring, I started going "MAZINGER Z!!" for my big yell. It was awesome. "MAZINGER Z!!" Can you picture how funny that would be? The sensei dude got pretty in-sensei-ed. So they told me I had to change it. I said I wouldn't because it gave me more ki or whatever. and then I quit and I acted like it was about that. Ha ha.

"Mazinger Z!!"