Th' God Damn Harridans!!! Oct. 29!!! Jay's!!! Live!!!

Holy shit is this going to rock!!!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Neddie Jingo, Bobby Lightfoot, XTCfan...



At Jay's!!!

I think it's in Washington DC!!!

Did I say that!!!

It's in Arlington DC!!!

October 29!!!!

Holy shit!!!


Door prizes!!! Lap dances!! Cocaine!!!


Did I Say That!!!

That's my new catchphrase!!! I've been hunting high and low for a catchphrase that captures my unique and probing style and also represents the idiocy of life in th' 21 century!!!

Some time ago I almost settled on "And That's Where Th' 'Foot Comes Down" or "And That's Where Th' 'Foot Comes Down On That Crap!" but those are patently unwitty and downright derivative. Tried 'em out a couple times and they just didn't have that ring. An unoriginal, unwitty catchphrase on a blog exhibiting this degree of intellect just ain't going to cut th' Gran Poupon!!! No sir!

The beauty of "Did I Say That!!!" lies primarily in the very 21st century frisson (thanks Ned) of th' three exclamation points taking the place of the question mark! Nobody asks questions!! That's so pre-Gulf War One, fuckin' A. Everybody just SHOUTS!!! You know how in stupid Windows you can't even have a punctuation mark in the name of a document!!! Ain't that just crazy!!! Don't you think!!!

Did I Say That!!! Wh'happen!!! 'Nuff Said!!! Good Night and Good Luck!!! Wooaah!!

Wherever You Go There You Are!!!

Did I Say That!!!


Hey Bobby it's me Bryan Ferry From My First Solo Album in 1973!

Dude! Dude, you have to rein this shit in a little bit. A gentleman never goes on about this crap. You don't hear my artschool English ass going all scat on this record, cock. What you've got is Wrecking-Crew-thick slabs of glam R&B with me convulsing away on top like a tortured teenage Lothario on Ketamine 'n' Old Grandpappy.

Man, I was reading this shit and getting an occasional chuckle and then you did the fuckin' one on McKenzkie and Pud and Ken happens to be my half-brother from my mom's second marriage so forgive me if I seem a bit distraught.

And Pud is actually the love child that I had with Amanda Lear and Pud had to go into hiding. My original name for her was Lucretia but fuckin' Amanda has this sense of humor and she was all coked to the gills. Not when she was pregnant, of course. This is during the delivery.

I was hoping it would be a boy so I could call him Larry Ferry. This is actually why Jerry Hall left me for Mick Jagger. Actually, never mind. "Jerry Jagger" is no gently shaken apple martini of a last name now, is it? Fuckin' A. Jesus.

But anyway never mind because I'm Bryan Ferry from my first solo album in 1973 so none of this has happened yet. Right now I'm fixing to do two nights at the Royal Albert Hall with a full orchestra. Can you believe that shit? You got an orchestra?

The Orchestra Of Sweet Regret doesn't count, Lightfoot. You can't count an orchestra where the strings are the wailing of tortured souls, the woodwinds are the mournful harbingers of depression and the brass section is pure spleen. I meant, like a good orchestra like the god damn one I had in 1973.

For my two nights at the Albert Hall, cock.

Anyway, dude- chill, you know? I mean, you've got a good thing going here. You should just try to take walks every day. That's the place to start with you, Lightfoot. I little beatin' the fucking pavement never hurt anybody. I've been doing some Tai Chi and I would recommend that, too. You gotta do something to get outside of that head, man. It's like a decrepit haunted attic in there. Yow, dude.

Also, Bowie and Iman and I have regular three-ways so I'm hanging in there pretty good in the flexibility dept., you know what I'm saying?

So dude- chill. Like I did on this 1973 masterpiece, "These Foolish Things". This album where I did these whack-ass versions of like "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall", "The Tracks Of My Tears" and "Loving You (Is Sweeter Than Ever").

And "River Of Salt"

And "Sympathy For The Devil". Yeah, that's a fucking good god damn one. Fuck!

This One's For The Dude Who Found My Site In a Google Search for "Humping Lessons"

This should give you a fair idea:

Guys Remember McKenzie 'n' Pud????

Man, this brings back some fun memories! Ken McKenzie and Pud!! Remember? Metro Radio in th' late 60's? Fun!! : ) : ) : )

Ken McKenzie and Pud kicked ass! They'd do that sorta jukebox jury thing where Ken would play a record and Pud would give it a happy sound or a Bronx cheer?

Man, that was awesome. I loved Ken McKenzie and Pud.

Actually, I just made this up. I never fucking heard of Ken McKenzie OR his little carry-on, Pud. I'm just trying to clean out my "My Pictures" folder and I came across this crapulescence.

Fucking Pud. Probly wound up turning tricks or dead in a alley with a syringe sticking out of her forehead. And her superior vena cava.

Ken, I can only surmise. Either way I reckon he's dead. Fuckin' dead. Fuckers die, you know? Life's like that. Just sort of comes and goes. For some people it's like an Ingmar Bergman movie, you know? It just goes ON and ON and fucking ON but for a lotta joes it's more like a radio ad then over 'n' out good night New York we're the DEAD fucking dudes love you man. One minute you're the hot thing with yer little family bagage act on god damn Metro Radio and th' next you're a fucking rotting corpse with a bad fucking bowl hair wig that th' Program Director made you get to look hip but you just look like a dingleberry but who cares now because you're deader than Environmental Policy.

That god damn Ken McKenzie. What an utter, craven shit that guy was. Ripped me off for thousands, too. It was one of those christing pyramid things and I BIT. I was young. Young and in love. With Pud. No, just kidding. She was too old for me.

Oh, I forgot that I let on that I made all this up.

What the fuck- odds are good he's a shit.

He's in radio.


Bobby Lightfoot's Greatest Hits #5: This continues to amuse me.

His 'n' Hers.


Hot college chick shows up to paint the eaves, wearing overalls and not much else. After minimal flirting and a double entendre or two, the overalls come off and you go at it over the sawhorse. She comments favorably on your size.


Cute college guy shows up (wait, no- UPS guy. Wait, no- has to be college guy) to paint the eaves, wearing overalls and not much else. After minimal flirting and a double entendre or two, he does an excellent job at painting the eaves. He comments favorably on your thighs. You get a 15% discount on the painting.


While investigating an ancient burial site, you and Lara Croft wind up in a tight spot and the electricity is palpable as you brush up against her. She falls to her knees and pulls your pants down. She compliments your size.


Whilst sconce-shopping (sconce!) at Bed Bath & Beyond, you and Matthew McConaughey wind up in a tight spot and the electricity is palpable as he brushes up against you. He falls to his knees and the ring comes out. He complements your pantsuit (ha ha- you think I just mis-spelled "compliments"- he actually complements your pantsuit).


It's a redeye from New York to Miami. You sit next to a hot businesswoman (domestic engineer/ show girl) who gives you th' hairy eyeball. Over Georgia she gives you a professional-grade hand job under the blanket. She feigns reading. When you get to Miami you go to your hotel and order a steak the size of a terlet seat.


It's a redeye from New York to Miami. you sit next to a well-dressed businessman (doctor, internet zillionaire, architect) who casts admiring glances at your Dolce & Gabana purse. He asks you about yourself the whole flight and when you disembark he gives you a shy, adorable kiss on the cheek. When you get to Miami you go to your hotel and take a nice bath.


Below We Have A (Fucking) Prototypical Lightfoot Post.

1) Title must have curse word and sound all outraged.
2) Upshot of post makes zero sense, but is poisoned with righteous indignation.
3) Convincing case is made for smashing the state or fixing your brainwashed head.
4) Hidden in body of text are subtle and not-so-subtle indications that feelings of profound self-loathing and powerlessness might be actual source of endless anger and frustration.
5) Tone of post is so completely doused in irony and post-mod sarcasm that it is almost impossible to glean where the truth begins and the humor ends.
6) The case is often made that if the reader doesn't "free his/her head" according to th' tenets of Lightfoot and resist the responsibilities of modern adult life they are simply shills.
7) Valuable lessons are nonetheless imparted.

Oh, and as a later afterthought I should probably add:

8) Care is taken to adopt a consistent voice that achieves an effect of "realness" through mangled metaphors, stutterings, lots 'a' hyphenatin' and a general tone of wearyness and bungling contempt. Misspelled words are often left in place and serve as an opportunity for Lightfoot to engage in his beloved pastime of berating himself. A contempt for the very language of contempt is a constant, illustrated by the author's abuse of syntax and general smacking-about of the written word.

9) Physical Malady Humor: This is a constant on The Orchestra Of Sweet Regret, and is generally invoked in pieces involving politics or more often those ding-busted Christers. In particular, any Christers that are associated with Wimpole Street. Lightfoot is relentless with the Wimpole Street Christers, because for him they are a metaphor for the babyjesusing of America. Physical malady humor involves various complaints regarding the torso, the organs or the crotchal area that are brought on by the stress of idiocy et. al.

The more obscure and ridiculous the body part (i.e. "sacroiliac", "Isles of Langerhans") the more likely it is to be thus put to use.

Let's Clear Up a Couple God Damn Things

Jesus Christ, we're hungerin' for truth in this man's Amerikkka!! It's preciouser than fucking gold!

I'm going to do my part today! Here are some misconceptions that are hidden insidiously in rock song lyrics! That's fucking dark!

1) From XTC's sooperlative 1981 album English Settlement- The otherwise truthful "Snowman" contains this hideous fallacy:

"People will always be tempted to wipe their feet/On anything with Welcome written on it..."

Not so! Not truesky! Mr. Partridge is obviously writing as a childless man at this point!

Let me clear this up: those of us with little bundles under our care know for god damn sure that the smaller denizens will, in fact, not be THE LEAST BIT FUCKING TEMPTED to wipe their feet on anything with Welcome written on it! Quite the contrary! They would sooner wipe their foot bottoms on just about any god damn thing else! Drapes! Dogs! Your psyche!

The truth shall set your ass free! You heard it from the fuckin' 'Foot!!

2) The otherwise brilliant and unassailable George Michael is guilty of this little bit of fiction in 1980-something's horrible "I Want Your Sex"- dig this fiction:

"Sex is healthy/Sex is fun/Sex is best when it's one on one..."

Wooaaaaw! Lies! Lies, lies, lies, yeah!

While I can certainly not speak from personal experience I have it on excellent authority that sex can be even better when it's one on two or even one on three! My handsome friends told me! Sometimes sex is even better when it's one on zero! That I can certainly speak on with no small amount of authority! Jesus!

See how we were FUCKING LIED TO???

3) The final example of how we've been led astray:

Loverboy's fantastic, fantastic hit "Working For The Weekend"! Christ, this shit is coming right from Satan's mouth!

"Everybody's working for the weekend/Everybody wants a little romance..."

Listen to these fucking revisionists!

Are you working for the weekend? Not me, dickeroo! I'm working ON the weekend. I'm working all fucking week! Daytime! Nightime! Sundays! I'm "working every hour that God made" for fucking PEANUTS! Liars! They should have called them LIARBOY!!!

Surrounded! Surrounded by fucking lies!




Diller/Lightfoot 10.10.05

Oh, fuck it. I'm tired of Asshole Celebrity Fight Week. You guys can live without it, right?

Shit, it'd be like five more Dukes of Stratosphear records.

Never mind. That would be awesome.

Look, I kicked her ass. She got some in. Put one across my chest w/ a samurai sword that needed 20 stitches. Shoved her face in some lettuce. 'Nuff said.

Worked like a champ that time!

Man, I can't believe you guys are all into Mel Schacher from Grand Funk.

You guys are squares.

Mel Schacher of Grand Funk: The God Of Bass

Man! This guy is great. What a great dude. What talent. If more people were like this guy we wouldn't be in this god damn mess.

'kay- leave lots of positive comments about this dude.

Holy Shit! Can you believe this cock-o?

Man, can you believe the stones on this fuckin' guy? What an A-hole!!

This guy is like crapperific!

What a cock! I can't believe this god damn guy is even on th' radar! Dick!

And his fucking dog Toto!

Everybody respond about what a pricko this dude is!


I've Hit On A Concept

To make me laugh very hard and to make others think less of me.

Gee, that's sort of like my entire musical career. And my blog. And my existence.

Anyway, never mind. Check it out-

I'll do a post on something. Say, some typically heinous Neocon Felcheteer fuckery.

Then, when a few people respond I'll change th' post around so it says the exact opposite.

So the comments will seem to boost some disgusting crap!

I'll laugh!

Tell ya, it's exhausting to be so fucking innovative. I'm like th' Radiohead of blogs.

Karma Police, dum dee dum de dum.