tuesday, june 30th - “i don’t trust you, but i still like you”
this is the first part of a trilogy, and depending on my mood, all of the songs will connect. if you like this song, please tell someone about the site because i am a lowly creative type and i like to be liked.
but wait a minute. don’t lowly creative types also hate to be liked? well yes, that too. ahh, the dichotomy of life. gene roddenberry was really on to something.
the painting is by henry gunderson. something tells me he is also a lowly creative type.
he’s back, and he’s piping mad. he’s angry at brutus. he’s angry at the rest of his countrymen who failed to come to his rescue, and most importantly, he’s angry at whoever invented his namesake salad. da dum dum.
saturday, june 27th - “latchkey kids of the world unite”
it’s true. i was one. although i didn’t wear a key around my neck or anything, like how they’d show it on the news constantly. i think that image was invented by newsmen in order to scare up more viewers. you know, sorta like the term “post rock.”
were you latchkey kids? regale us with your stories in the comments box.
friday, june 26th - “shit city in the dead of night”
it’s funny to me how the ghost dog looks so high and mighty in that ghost costume, yet the witch dog looks so damned ashamed. buck up, witch dog! you can do spells and make potions and stuff. ghost dog is just a dead dog.
i really like how it turned out. if you like it, you should tell people about this blog. remember when record labels would hire people in towns to be in their “street team” and send them stickers and buttons and stuff? do they still do that? i think i did that once for polyvinyl and forgot about it. there could still be a huge box of rainer maria stickers in a box somewhere in northern florida. sorry, guys.
the drawing is by the always capable aaron spectre.
i had high hopes for this song, but you know what they say about high hopes. wait, you don’t? neither do i. i think it has something to do with a song sounding sorta like the whale below me took a dump.
and whoever posed these lobsters like this.. sickos.
i vow that one day this year, before all of this is so much sand in my memory playground, i will write a companion piece entitled “road 2 hell.” this i vow with the utmost certainty. as a matter of fact. i will pay all of you one shiny nickle if i don’t. i can’t make the same promise for the “road 2 limbo” though. the same goes for “road 2 nowhere because god don’t exist.” actually, that last one sounds kind of cool. somebody call richard dawkins.
since i am officially out of mulligans, for real this time, i decided to just do a song today that i could give less than a crap about and honestly, if i saw it in a dark alley i’d probably mug it. not that it’d have anything of value. typical.
negativity! positivity! tranquility! umm, nyquilability? who else feels like a zombie the next day after a nyquil binge? and by binge, i mean by taking the prescribed amount. i can take 8 xanax and feel more alert the next day than if i take one delicate swallow of that stuff.
thursday, june 18th - “the ballad of a former bedbugger”
what would have bill murray’s character done in “caddyshack” had he ever caught that ornery gopher? what would wile e. coyote do if he ever caught the roadrunner? i imagine he’d get confused and start to lick the roadrunner’s head. either that or start sobbing.
i did this on the quick. i wish i had more time for different arrangements. it could have been cool. oh well, such is life. c’est la blog.
also, thanks to the magic of yahoo’s babelfish, i just learned that “blog” in french is, well, “blog.” in the future, thanks to shared internet history, will there no longer be differences in language? one can only hope, as i’m a horrible studier.
ipods. blogs. shamwows. organic corn. segways. effexor. aim. mia. kindles. webcam porn. information as far as the eye can see. and past that. post-race. post-love. post-its. beatles rock band. barack obama. lasik. hulu. integrated product placement. viagra spam. cats and dogs helping one another. twittering like a real cia agent. open source. tofu pups. serial television. clamshell cases. plastic surgery. plastic mastery. plastique. richard branson on a jetski. richard branson in space. richard branson anywhere, really.
i wonder how long we’d survive in an honest to goodness bomb shelter. we’d have food, working latrine, all of that kind of stuff. but we’d be alone, and totally f*cking bored. so by survive i really mean, how long until we go absolutely batty? i wonder how long i have in me before i’d completely lose it. i’m good for eight months i think. maybe ten. maybe i’ll get to see one day. test my solitary mettle.
what’s in a word? today’s word is “hipster.” what does it even mean? what did it ever mean? it seems to me it just means anyone who likes anything at all. if you’ve heard of the beatles you are a hipster. did all of the high school douchebags of the world scream in unison “by jove! we’ve got it! we can finally make fun of those kids who didn’t fit into our previous stereotypings!” ?
doesn’t that creep you out? I know, it’s purported to mean “someone who pretends to like cool stuff but really doesn’t and is doing it purely for show.” but come on. that shit aint real. nobody is fully like that and nobody is fully not like that either. and who cares anyways. like paul mccartney said, live and let..wait a minute. nevermind.
anyways, I, as the king of the internet, hereby propose we put an end to the egregious use of that crapola word. now pardon me, i have to go lengthen my beard more and make my bicycle more ipod friendly.
you ever get reminded of something from a smell? this happens to me a lot but honestly most of the time it either reminds me of my grandmother(which is good) or beefaroni day at elementary school(not so good.) i really feel slighted that beefaroni takes up such an important part in my memory banks. that’s like using up your computer’s hard drive to store 1,000s of fart jokes.
i searched and searched my gmail outgoing box an managed to find yet another “mulligan.” mulligans, for newbs, is an old song that i allow myself once a week so i can catch a breather. every time i post one i am sure it is the last one i’ll be able to scrape up. every week i am somehow proven wrong. this is(probably) the very, very, very last one! may god have mercys on our souls…
thursday, june 4th - “what’s the matter with time?”
i spent a good amount of time on this one, as it had been a while. having company can do that. the odd thing about this project. what has become of my life? did i have one to begin with? what does it even mean when you say to someone “get a life?” Sometimes I hear people say that and I think, what in the hell are they going on about? How can you not have a life? Even hanging in your parents basement and playing dungeons and dragons all day is still a life. Not that bad of one, actually. Who’s got the 20-sided die?