Reaping Th' Whirlwind SUCKS.

Oh, we'll be remembered as assholes. Oh, we'll be cursed, our graves dug up and our skeletons dragged through the streets of unspeakable Blade Runnerish ghettos. God, it's horrible what happens to us.

And how sorely we deserve it. Well, not me. I don't fuckin' deserve it. Odds are you don't deserve it either. But I don't deserve it even more than you don't deserve it because I'm th' fuckin' Polish Cavalry trying to turn back th' Panzers. Yeah, that's me.

I mean, there's some other stuff I deserve. That's how I come to terms with this sick feeling I have. This disquiet. Displacement.

Dude, when I gave up on California and that it was pretty cut and dry because I always try to take responsibility for my shit and I realized my responsibility was to not be miserable. It was easy to leave that mess because I knew that, whatever else, I could never be content if I despised the very ground under my feet. I knew that was a starting point. I knew I loved Western Massachusetts because it's th' Land Of The Ice Cream Scooping PhDs. And I knew I'd end up fuckin' delivering pizzas with other brilliant college-educated lefty tree-hugging freaks and that was a-ight. Yeah, it's scarier when you're 40 than when you're 26 but so motherfuckin' be it. I'll be fine. My musical revenue streams are slowly, slowly, slowly growing to where I could see joining th' Working Poor by next summer.

I mean, I sort of get it now. You have to just always have a bunch of pokers in th' fire and you have to keep track of and nurture all the little flamelets as they flare up and die down and you have to write every fucking penny conceivable off your taxes and then some.

I think the target looks something like this, although I suspect our talented and enterprising Duncleshmeister will be on to even greener pastures by th' time I deign to approach his mark. You can't be all Brian Wilsony, man. Is the thing. That's not going to get you much but a sweet MySpace fuckin' page in this cold world. And plus look what th' dickens it did to our man Brian. Although again- happy to report, happy to report. Every cloud has a liquid centre. Like how I spelled that all British?

In fiction we had this little soundcheck song we used to do called "I'm British" which was just this sort of dopey robotic bouncing-octaves-on-the-bass synthpop thing and you'd sing in a bad English accent and say th' things you do and the chorus was "...because I'm British...I'm British..." It was amusing to come up with stuff that you do that is ostensibly British by nature and then it would just be all nonsequiter shit like "...Iscoopuplittlechildrenand I takethemtothewoods because I'm British...I'm British..."

we also developed a pretty scary three-part a cappella rendition of th' Mentos song which was quite probably the best thing we ever did. The best thing. Aside from when we fired whatsisname and took his picture and made all these blown-up images of his face and stuck them all over our amps and instruments. Uncalled-for but strangely compelling.

That's it in a nutshell, isn't it?

But anyway, back to the pain. We're here for th' pain. We wanted fuckin' upliftenment we'd go somewhere else I s'pose. Lawksamussy yes indeed.

All right here's th' pain for you- I'm starting to feel the same way about this whole country as I did about California in '01.

These people were all here before, you know? They were here. But they kept their fucking weird totalitarian shit to themselves, right? Now they're all Out, you know? They all came the fuck out in April '03 and now we have to read their stupid stickers and look at their flags all over everything.

Not much of that happening in Madrid, my friends.

And this horrible thing where we've turned our celebrities into these animated corpses of mediocrity that spend so much time branding, branding, branding, that when th' thing takes hold they're like, oh, yeah- I'm just a talentless person that stumbled in front of the camera at the right time. I don't actually have anything.

Lennon once referred to himself as "the guy who won the pools". I thought that was pretty cool.
It was cool that he was that cognizant of th' business and the role of luck and timing in starmaking.

But hey, that's Lennon, right? And that's Ray Davies. It's even Vedder and Kiedis and Cobain and them to a lesser extent. But now we've got the Cash Pack, and we've got this hip hop money legacy in music now that reaches its tendrils right back to the 80's. And the top of the American music heap are these random people who have their clothing lines in production before they release a "recording".

And behind it all is guys like me. For every K-Fed there's a dozen fuckin' guys sitting in front of computers cranking this shit out. With their ProTools LE and their sweet front ends. And hey, K-Fed's video is "dropping" registered trademark this week BIG on VH1 don't you fucking know. so hold on to your fuckin' wallets, citizens. And don't forget that Hulk Hogan's daughter's new album is flying up the charts too and boy is it good.

After the first song I RAN to my fucking SUV and hit th' WalMart for all manner of personal care products. It's such great music, man.

K-Fed. K-Fed. What the fuck, huh?

I think the logical sequence of events will eventually lead us to actually having a turd as president and a bucket full of vomit as our Gershwin, our Stevie Wonder. And all our cultural and political icons will be various disgusting bits of cast-off, stinking fat and offal. Fuck, yeah.

and our TV shows will just be these animated pieces of shit and reeking tampons animated and walking about and selling fuckin' chicken parts for th' Good Folks At Home.

And that's what we've lined up for, man. Well, not me. Actually, what th' fuck. Me too. That's what we've chosen, man. Nobody sez I can't hit maliboo with a head fulla Ketamine and rotgut and a Tek 9 and dilute th' workforce. So by not doing that I'm just as much a part of the worthless-by-design celebrity anticulture as anyone else. I'm complicit.

it's what we get. It's what we fuckin' bought. Reaping th' whirlwind sucks.