Dear me, I know it's terribly indelicate, but FUCK OFF.

Our U.K. Correspondent Brentmeister General has kindly supplied us with a small letter from Londoners in response to the recent brushup.

Excellent work. You are on your way to being the Brentmeister 4-Star General.

Enjoy your prize- courtesy of Lightfoot Industries.


Dammit, Anonymous is right.

I can't be wishing the terrorists would rock someplace like LA instead of London just because I hate it. There's good people there, trying to live good lives. It's not their fault that they have to live there.

One would have to consider a place so soulless, so devoid of value, so utterly contemptible to suggest it as a terrorist target in lieu of the great cities of the world.

Such a place would have to be inhabited by scarecrow folk, people so absent and blank and corrupt and troubled by matters of no consequence. Such a place would have to be inhabited by zombies concerned only with the material, with their possessions, with their own short-term satisfaction.

Such a place would have to be a hideous repository of shallowness, stupidity and greed. The denizens would have to not only be incredibly ignorant but proud of it.


I'm thinkin' San Diego.


Accentuating The Positive

So, I'm going to say a thing or two about Michael Penn instead of cursing and sputtering. How's that?

I was inspired at the Lightfoot Awards ceremony a couple days ago to see what Michael Penn is up to these days and it turns out he's got a new album coming out early next month. Apparently you can stream it here.

Michael is truly the American Andy Partridge. He's endured the exact same "Ship Caught In Ice" record label hostage situation that drove XTC off the rails for years. Good old record labels. Sony was even worse to Penn than it was to their other big selling Michael, Jackson. Boo hoo.

Well, he's free now and I bet his new record will rock a lot of ass.

Unlike The Reluctant Cannonball, however, Mr. Penn will tour in the fall behind his Mr. Hollywood Jr. 1947 this fall. Somewhat extensively. I love the title of this record. It is very Penn. Those of you who read my Penn thing a couple days ago will recall my noting his obsession with Old Hollywood. Now he comes out with a record named Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947.

See? Everything doesn't suck.

The Hirsute Jihadist Fucksquirts of Wimpole Street

Alright, well, that's my three favorite cities hit in 4 years. That would mean Paris is next, then Frankfurt. All sympathies and solidarity to my friends across the pond. Hope you're unaffected.

Don't know why you fuckers can't hit LA or god damn San Diego or some shit. Don't know why you gotta go down my top ten list.

Well, I don't think Lightfooting is going to add much to the chatter on this one.

Remember when I talked about Jerry Springer on Air America? Shiver. Flipped by him today right when he was saying Americans are used to this kind of thing 'cause we've already had a terrorist attack.

Yeah, Jerry. No history of terrorism in Great Britain, god knows.

Oh, you guys? Try to not start going around stabbing Sihks like we did after 9/11, O.K?


The Bobby Lightfoot First Annual Best Fucking Artist Award: Michael Penn, Winner.

the final tie breaker between Mike and Rufus Wainwright is the song "Slipping My Mind" from Mike's '92 album Free For All. This song is simply so good and so pretty and so talking to you in a language you understand that it wins out even over such titanically talented Rufus tracks as "I Don't Know What It Is", "The Tower Of Learning" and "My Baby".

Penn and Wainwright are both guys who siezed on nepotistic opportunity to sneak some excellence into our lives and if that's what it takes, well, i've always got my dad, Gordon. I'm workin' on some demos, you know? I'm going to play at Sin-e and dad's gonna get some of his buds from MCA and A&M and Seagram's and Frito-Lay in to check out the action. yeah, they're starting a label. Got P-Diddy and Macy Gray and Bobby Lightfoot.

Michael Penn is, all in all, my favorite post-XTC artist. What a god damn nut this guy is. Fucking psycho. Me and Mike once landed in jail one night together on a bad, bad drunk. He accosted this bouncer at the Cocoanut Teaszer on Sunset and I had to jump in and rabbit punch the god damn guy. The bouncer.

No, I'm just kidding. I never met Michael Penn. My existence is nought to him.

I met this guy, though, who gave me a ride on the 5 south of Orange County and I reached for a cigarette and before I knew it he whipped out a 9 mm. and he was all nervous like I was going to pull some heat on him. Holy christ, dude. I just want to get some gas. Yikes. Jumpin' Jehosephat. Holy mother of sweet caroline. Santa Elena de Los Emisiones Nocturnales. Corazon Sagrada de la Verga Caliente y Sabrosa. Cristofuckin' Colona de Canceres. Yuck yuck...

Um, Michael Penn played in Northampton on his first record "March" in '91 and I checked that shit out. He was good. It's really about the songs with this guy. He's a flippin' monster. Michael Penn is pretty much to songwriting what Andy Partridge is to....songwriting. Michael Penn is pretty much to songwriting what I am to the meandering go-nowhere hi-g force Opus of Disbelief and Futile Rage in a World Gone Badly Sideways.

You follow me?

Michael Penn's gift is, in his best songs, to arrange the whole trajectory of the song towards one small moment of perfect pathos and beauty that shines out of the cd player and irradiates you with rays of silky, opalescent memory. God, it's good. It's like pulling your first girlfriend's underwear down in slow motion. Tell me that isn't something you'd pay eighteen bucks to get a combined 45 seconds of.

Consistent to this dude's work is a beautifully constructed thematic backdrop of a Crumbling Old Hollywood. He's rooted to his city with a Runyon-like singlemindedness, spraying cryptic, melancholic strophes and triple-entendres onto a backdrop of fading glory and palm trees. His lyrics can be maddeningly indecipherable at times but you just have to remember he's always basically saying the same thing; life is hard, life is funny, life rocks, here's the deal with me, we should try to be kinder to each other, all that.

What an absolute killer this fucking guy is. If songs were artillery everybody on the planet would have to WATCH THE CHRIST OUT.

Awesome Band Name Alert:

"Rotten In Denmark"

Thanks Ma.

Rotten In Denmark opening for th' gosh darned Harridans. At the Pukestop. Showbiz so glamorous.

Fag Burning And Public Broad Casting

"Hey, Baby," in the words of John Doe and Exene Cervenka, "it's the Fourth of July." That being said, and all things being equal (that seems apropos) I want to do the American Thing and STATE VERY SUCCINCTLY AND CLEARY where I come down on a couple of thorny issues, yeah?

First off- I don't know why these wankers in Congress see fit to try, at this sensitive juncture in our nation's history, to draft legislation on fag burning. FAG BURNING IS WRONG, PEOPLE. What the fuck? Huh? We have to ARGUE about this? What's with the fag burning? COME ON. Jesus. People are using this to express dissatisfaction with our country's admittedly STUPID FUCKING DESTRUCTIVE POLICIES???? Huh??


Jesus. Leave the gays ALONE. It's bad enough they can't get married except in god damn Utah.

'kay- next.

What's this with pulling the funding for Public Broad Casting? Again- we actually have to argue about whether our hard earned tax dollars should be spent on throwing women around??? In a public square??

Are we actually funding this now??

I mean, are our values so skewed that some of the less enlightened among us think it is appropriate to hurl the fairer sex hither and yon? IT'S NOT RIGHT. IT'S NOT RIGHT TO THROW WOMEN, YOU FREAKS. Emma Goldman is whirling in her grave like a shishkabob hooked up to a 5.9 Hemi, baby.



This is perhaps China, eh, is it? Perchance this is the Emirate of Bielorusia? No, it ain't dog. THIS IS THE GOD DAMN U.S. OF A. AND IF I SEE ANOTHER BROAD BEING CAST I'M GOING TO GO CONGRESSIONAL ON SOMEBODY'S ASS.

'Nuff said! Fuck oh dear! Does the 'Foot have to be put down on this? Am I gonna have to put the 'Foot down? Huh? Holy Studded Strapon of Turin, Bat Man and Ball Boy!! It's like we're in the Middle Ages with this shit! Did Saint Teresa Of Avila have to endure being chucked about the public square at...at...um, Avila? Holy jerky finger relic under glass!! Snap Into A Slim Jim, people!! Just Snap The Fuck In!! I think Not!! Did the Elizabethans throw, um, Elizabeth about The Court at Wimbledon? Answer please----

Fuck, no.

And that's about where I'm coming from on this crappy crap. God damn it. Mmm. Good coffee tonight, yo.

Let's all remember this fourth of July WHAT GOD DAMN COUNTRY WE'RE IN. It ain't the Middle East, dog. It ain't the Sultinate of Onan, you know? Let's enjoy the fireworks and the presents and the trickee treating and dancing around the Straw Man. And let's leave the fag burning and broad casting to those heathens in god damn Wisconsin. Fuckin' A!!

On a lighter note (no pun intended)------ had a whee of a time at Jingo Acres this lovely weekend. Everyone was just grand. We blew up all this stuff and got to see a lot of dope Mobberly crap. Big thanks to the Jingo crew and my wonderful mater Orangina Lightfoot and Wonder Woman and the kids and dogs and all. Neddie bought a hundred clams of the fines' Chinese mortar rounds and we danced nekkid around a huge bonfire of showers of sparks. I feel like a boy again. Without the Catholic Priests this time.