Friday, November 12, 2010
Predictable
Hey-Row my tasty Asian Delights. It has been awhile... Blame The Crip for getting robbed and not being able to full fill his destiny. Which means writing for me... as I have been awaiting this for Weeks..Instead I will hand lead you into my Pedo-Bear cave and show you what random FB....OR FACEBOOK.....or Personal Positively Ionic Gawd Chat leads for me when late at night. When I am "Getting Raped" aka "shattered post Jays Death"
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Evil Army Interview/ I ruin children
Well my Tasty Tarts it has been a rough week for this here Blogger. Being only barely of legal age means I act like a Mongoloid and generally try and drag as many people into my fox den as possible. Sometimes this is a good thing and other times I wake up covered in man jewce and $2 bills shoved up my ass. Excuses,excuses I know I know but hey I am on the clock here.
Originally I was trying to find the email I received one amazing morning by my brothers Wife (if you could call her that). Seems she wanted to take me to task for ruining her sons life a full 5 years after I had left their miserable home. I could not find said email as I believe I accidentally deleted it, which I find very odd since I never delete anything. But I did come across a half finished Evil Army interview. And I figure since they are all dead I might as well post it....But I guess while I piece that cluster fuck together I can give you how Uncle Black Mike ruins children.....
Anyone who knows me knows my life is pretty much an open book of shattered stories and bullshit.( Part self- hype, part self-depreciation to cover up the thinly veiled arrogance that masks a teflon coat of self-hate (some call the sum of all these parts being Human but I'd like to believe I am better then that). Anyway I am a fucking Long Island Ice Tea of fun and if you take a sip I am sure I will end up trying to finger blast you well into the night.) And because of this I have no problem revealing inner family turmoil or exposing myself in a harsh light...I am here for you all after all you know. Soooooo....
A few weeks after some Gonerfest where I stayed up for 4 days,came back and broke up with my girlfriend (stupid move), some how getting another girlfriend while living with the Ex (even dumber move), shaking off the girl who wanted to be my girlfriend ( smart move), and after a bunch of little retard moves I get an email from The Wife who here on I shall refer to as Floor Sponge.
Now seeing as I do not have the email from Floor Sponge I will have to use my excellent memory. In it she spelled out the fact that in the 3 weeks I slept on her and my brothers couch I taught her son how to use a child proof safety lighter and how not to clean his room. Now having all this tremendous burden upon my soul almost crushed me. Not only was I an aforementioned adulterous asshole on all fronts but I was also The Bad Uncle. I had become every True Americans Dream. The Dream of being hated by every single celled organism that walks the planet.
I can do a lot of things dear readers. I can part the seas, make women climax multiple times, make Vegan food not taste like shit, return library books on time, play guitar, and hell I think a few times I even jerked off into my own face to see what the big deal was for chicks. But I can not for the life of me remember teaching this little spud how to use a lighter or even the reason why I would OR even come up with a bullshit clever story about why/how. So I can just chalk this up to The Floor Sponge just having collected to much bar room aftermath.
As for the "not cleaning his room" remark....DUH stuff that shit under the bed like I was taught to by my for fathers...and they had been taught too for centuries before them. Men didn't make beds so we could sleep comfortably at night. Nor did we do so so that we may cover them in sheets and mate away long into the night. No...NO beds were invented so we would have a place in the room to stuff shit under and it not look crappy. We also invented beds so we could hide porno mags under them, and so we could make DIY vagina's and slam them between the mattresses. I was just completing the circle of life with this kid.
I was rather annoyed at all this accusation to my character so I quickly sent off a return email. I of course once again do not remember the exact wording but I do remember my ex girlfriend seeing it and laughing while she held a knife to my neck internally. I believe it went something like this though...I reminded her of how my brother met her in a bar one day, how she had a drug habit, how her parents were addicted to gambling,how she loved tequila a little to much, how when i lived with them and the dog would shit on the floor she would just put a paper towel over it and walk away so when you walked through the house there were little land mines of funk everywhere, how I helped pay her rent while she sat in a hammock drinking wine coolers, how when one of her cats died she didn't notice for a few days, how her last boyfriend beat her because she was a loud mouth cunt when drunk, how she was a cheerleader in high school so of course became "That Girl", and maybe like one or two more small things. I pointed out all these facts and that maybe her poor parenting skills and her now 11 yr old kid maybe,just maybe....might have had a shitty mother who was a bar room whore bag. I dunno the world is a mysterious place and they are constantly debating Occam's Razor.
My brother is exempt from this story because I love him and he was working a lot during this time. And he also left that Floor Sponge soon after I moved out and away to beautiful Texas. And I did teach the kid how to use matches so he could light off fireworks with me but hey...Don't keep matches with in the reach of children dumb fucks as it says so right there on the fucking labels. Next time....Evil Army interview for reals...and I don't feel like proof reading this turd so fuck off Grammer Sex jews
Originally I was trying to find the email I received one amazing morning by my brothers Wife (if you could call her that). Seems she wanted to take me to task for ruining her sons life a full 5 years after I had left their miserable home. I could not find said email as I believe I accidentally deleted it, which I find very odd since I never delete anything. But I did come across a half finished Evil Army interview. And I figure since they are all dead I might as well post it....But I guess while I piece that cluster fuck together I can give you how Uncle Black Mike ruins children.....
Anyone who knows me knows my life is pretty much an open book of shattered stories and bullshit.( Part self- hype, part self-depreciation to cover up the thinly veiled arrogance that masks a teflon coat of self-hate (some call the sum of all these parts being Human but I'd like to believe I am better then that). Anyway I am a fucking Long Island Ice Tea of fun and if you take a sip I am sure I will end up trying to finger blast you well into the night.) And because of this I have no problem revealing inner family turmoil or exposing myself in a harsh light...I am here for you all after all you know. Soooooo....
A few weeks after some Gonerfest where I stayed up for 4 days,came back and broke up with my girlfriend (stupid move), some how getting another girlfriend while living with the Ex (even dumber move), shaking off the girl who wanted to be my girlfriend ( smart move), and after a bunch of little retard moves I get an email from The Wife who here on I shall refer to as Floor Sponge.
Now seeing as I do not have the email from Floor Sponge I will have to use my excellent memory. In it she spelled out the fact that in the 3 weeks I slept on her and my brothers couch I taught her son how to use a child proof safety lighter and how not to clean his room. Now having all this tremendous burden upon my soul almost crushed me. Not only was I an aforementioned adulterous asshole on all fronts but I was also The Bad Uncle. I had become every True Americans Dream. The Dream of being hated by every single celled organism that walks the planet.
I can do a lot of things dear readers. I can part the seas, make women climax multiple times, make Vegan food not taste like shit, return library books on time, play guitar, and hell I think a few times I even jerked off into my own face to see what the big deal was for chicks. But I can not for the life of me remember teaching this little spud how to use a lighter or even the reason why I would OR even come up with a bullshit clever story about why/how. So I can just chalk this up to The Floor Sponge just having collected to much bar room aftermath.
As for the "not cleaning his room" remark....DUH stuff that shit under the bed like I was taught to by my for fathers...and they had been taught too for centuries before them. Men didn't make beds so we could sleep comfortably at night. Nor did we do so so that we may cover them in sheets and mate away long into the night. No...NO beds were invented so we would have a place in the room to stuff shit under and it not look crappy. We also invented beds so we could hide porno mags under them, and so we could make DIY vagina's and slam them between the mattresses. I was just completing the circle of life with this kid.
I was rather annoyed at all this accusation to my character so I quickly sent off a return email. I of course once again do not remember the exact wording but I do remember my ex girlfriend seeing it and laughing while she held a knife to my neck internally. I believe it went something like this though...I reminded her of how my brother met her in a bar one day, how she had a drug habit, how her parents were addicted to gambling,how she loved tequila a little to much, how when i lived with them and the dog would shit on the floor she would just put a paper towel over it and walk away so when you walked through the house there were little land mines of funk everywhere, how I helped pay her rent while she sat in a hammock drinking wine coolers, how when one of her cats died she didn't notice for a few days, how her last boyfriend beat her because she was a loud mouth cunt when drunk, how she was a cheerleader in high school so of course became "That Girl", and maybe like one or two more small things. I pointed out all these facts and that maybe her poor parenting skills and her now 11 yr old kid maybe,just maybe....might have had a shitty mother who was a bar room whore bag. I dunno the world is a mysterious place and they are constantly debating Occam's Razor.
My brother is exempt from this story because I love him and he was working a lot during this time. And he also left that Floor Sponge soon after I moved out and away to beautiful Texas. And I did teach the kid how to use matches so he could light off fireworks with me but hey...Don't keep matches with in the reach of children dumb fucks as it says so right there on the fucking labels. Next time....Evil Army interview for reals...and I don't feel like proof reading this turd so fuck off Grammer Sex jews
Monday, October 18, 2010
Mexicans
Okay today images are running a little backward then have been appearing. Let me make my peace before you judge Dear Children.
You see many people use my computer when I am not around. And when amusing myself with past history I came across what will follow....Now I am a good "Christian Country" man so I know how to delete otherwise embarrassing searches. (note I tissue wipe all my Porno Hub searches every time a day...maybe more). So i wonder to myself how such a photo ended up on my Cherry pc...Must of been a Mexican as thats all I live with or all that comes over..( and this is not a point of negativety here either. i fucking love the Mexican people, they love tacos I love the way the make them, They love cheap beer and I do to, They like spicy food...ughh yeah... They hate Puerto Ricans and i can relate, They work shitty jobs and I do to... etc etc etc till you come to the part that Mexicans love to fucking party... YES they don't bullshit about politics,whats in, what bands okay to like...no no they fucking have a mild flavored Fiesta just about every day...and up that to Ghost Pepper salsa on the weekends...I LOVE EM) SO me and Mexicans get down.
Now I wonder though. Am I merely living a with stereotypes amoungst me when i come across this "gay" shit on my computer???
You see many people use my computer when I am not around. And when amusing myself with past history I came across what will follow....Now I am a good "Christian Country" man so I know how to delete otherwise embarrassing searches. (note I tissue wipe all my Porno Hub searches every time a day...maybe more). So i wonder to myself how such a photo ended up on my Cherry pc...Must of been a Mexican as thats all I live with or all that comes over..( and this is not a point of negativety here either. i fucking love the Mexican people, they love tacos I love the way the make them, They love cheap beer and I do to, They like spicy food...ughh yeah... They hate Puerto Ricans and i can relate, They work shitty jobs and I do to... etc etc etc till you come to the part that Mexicans love to fucking party... YES they don't bullshit about politics,whats in, what bands okay to like...no no they fucking have a mild flavored Fiesta just about every day...and up that to Ghost Pepper salsa on the weekends...I LOVE EM) SO me and Mexicans get down.
Now I wonder though. Am I merely living a with stereotypes amoungst me when i come across this "gay" shit on my computer???
Sunday, October 17, 2010
How I roll
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You know I have been learning the ways of the Blogger fellow nectar lovers. It is a very complicated life I am learning. Everything that use to be dull has now taken on brilliant colors (or "colours" my Old World challenged working class hero's) and now has new meaning. No longer do I pass by things and mutter a simple "n"aughty word under breath as I pass by. No. NO. Now I search for meaning in these turds of god that cling to his toilet bowl with the fingers of a Day Gecko.
Today I bring you something that was NOT FREE for me. But I do consider it my duty to make the world a better place and it provided free entertainment for millions of others. I hope it does the same for you. I also hope it lets you peak into the mind here behind Black Mike Time. With that I bring you.....A DREAD LOCK.....
As you may or may not have noticed this is a dread lock. Depending on your upbringing and locale you may not know what this is. Basically this is some shit White People invented when they discovered some band called Amebix and decided self worth wasn't worth owning anymore. Yeah,yeah you can hear some other bullshit that some White Person has to say on the matter but basically that is it. No other way around it. Amebix was formed in the 60's and didn't put out a record till the 80's...that's all you need to know about them too. Soooo
After a amazing show I either player or attended and was bored occured a local Inadequately Sheltered aka homeless (ok ok I can't remember if he is Homed or not but that is not the point) person asked if I was still up to pay him $50 to cut his dread off and never grow one again. Now I am a man of self importance and noticing the plight of a fellow American I "jewed" him down to $30. I think I heard all of New York cheer for a moment when this happened. Or at least a single wheezing breath of a single Foot Locker worker thinking of pizza in New Jersey. You choose.
The man in question was obviously in need and quite Distraught over his choice because as he rode away claiming I stole his soul his bike locked up and he...as Us Americans say.. "ate shit".
I.... feeling nothing for my fellow fallen country man laughed it up and "charged it to the game". And you can notice the latex gloves that WERE FREE from work that I used to pry this tasty object from my car. Where it had been hanging like some perverse trophy in my car for months. And you may notice there is some sort of bone in this beaver tail of a dread lock. I know not the reason for any of this. I am only a simple man with simple pleasures like taking a shower. And using shampoo. And I can not tell you where the fuck Jamaca is on any map let alone attempt to spell it correctly.
I had a bunch of awesome stuff I wanted to tie into this dread lock bit but currently forgot. Just add something about my dick,homos,sanfran,being black,being black in Mexican America, and other edgy things and you would have a mountain of wit that would fill my lack of words tonight Dear Lolitas.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Criaturas DEMO
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What we have here my succulent little ones is a demo by a local band Criaturas. This was given to me for FREE and continue with this months theme of FREE SHIT I will review it.
Now I am told this band is made up of all Mexicans besides one of the guitar players. I would like to think that in this day and age of acceptance that they would like to be referred to as Mexican Americans or just Americans but alas that is not so. I believe the word Chicano is the chosen word of these Peoples. Meh, whatever. There is at least one member who proudly flies the flag of his natural birth right at head of the world and claims just pure American...or so I have heard.
Now first things first, all of this is in another language called Mexican. I took this Mexican Language class in Highschool BUT I dropped out after one semester. The reason for my Un-American activity of giving up was because 1) The teacher sucked, so much in fact that he had to have some stomach bullshit done on him halfway through the semester 2) I spent all my time flirting with this one chick who eventually let me crawl in her window one night to test out flavored condoms and cheat on her boyfriend...which wasn't much of a major achievement then but is for me now seeing as I have zero Vampy skills anymore. But I am focusing to much on why I am not down with the language of the Brown here. Back on track kiddos.
The demo opens with some noisy swirly shit that I am told is a roto vibe. The song is called "pesadillas" which I believe I have seen on the set list translated as "thrash song #1". Over all I never want to hear this song again, and probably won't. It is still a driving hc bit with odd sounding guitars(due to having a bunch of pedals from Guitar Centerr I bet). "Pesadillas" bleeds into the 2nd song "Sin Final" which once again I have seen roughly translated as "Slow Song" but I believe is something about no end. It's a danceable jam and I would head bang along to it, especially when the super-tarded metal trilling comes on in the form of a solo. "Despierta" is song...Three..and when I use my google translator it said this song is called "Vampy #1". It starts with what sounds like that shit you use to hear at movie theaters in the 80's...you know like where it's all distorted and epic then the Lion Roars. Anyway so it's that then some crunchy ass sounding guitars and some weird harmonics popping in. I think the guitarist set his pick up selector to the right one as the guitar sounds better on this. There are some words spoken,and driving drums show casing why this drummer is better then your drummer. "No Hay Futuro" which means "No,Yo this songs Thrash song 2" is a total trasher show casing yet again, bad ass drumming, and amazing guitar playing by both guitarists, oh yeah there is some bass playing and singing too. "Paranoide" is numero uno 5 song and I do remember from my hours spent studying and translating ancient Mayan Texts in Highschool means "Paranoid" in American. This is where the bass player takes his leg and puts it on the stage monitor and really starts rocking out, and is always where both guitar players get their Bang on. This is the juice baby. The stuff that makes you want to stab your girlfriends best friend in the face at the show...THE SHIT.
Lets take a quick break and let me grab some coffee. Paranoide made me thristy for man jewce so I will drink the blood of the Columbian donkey guy right quick. Okay "nadie va a sobrevivr" comes up next. This is a song I shall right now rename Gauze. It sounds tough as fuck,so tough in fact is the drumming that I can not come up with anything else to say right now as I sip on this coffee drink. That is how tough it is. I believe this is a song live where The American guitarer would grab a bystanders beer and smash it into his own face or throw something out into the audience to explain his emotional state. Tuff.....Lucky numero uno Seven is named "Mentiras" and is the metal song. Its got palm muting and the chorus effect swirls inside your brain cap. The solos jump out at you and kick you in the nuts (men and women..well chicks might get punched in a single titty).
The final track on this tape (did I mention this is a tape or would the more clever of you have noticed in the picture??) IS...."La Muerte" which means in French "The Motorhead". This is why this band exists. This is why I exist. This is why I crawl out of bed ever morning curse the gods for letting me wake up in the corny town. This IS THE FUCKING JAM MY SLAVES!!!!!
Overall this tape rules the planet. I hear they are amazing live and lay waste to everyone they play with. They do not play very much which is good. Who wants to see a band all the time. The drummer is the nicest guy in Austin,the bass player likes fried chicken a lot,the singer can cut your hair better then Edward Scissor hands,the Afro Guitarez can shred like a motherfucker,and That other guitar player who never talks to anyone and plays the role of the arrogant dude slathered in thinly veiled self hatred is pretty okay as well. BUY this fucking thing or down load the master which is easy to find on something called Google search Criaturas Demo
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Women in Prision demo review
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Instead of seeing this band tonight I decided it would be more fun to sit at home to review their crummy demo tape, and drink beer AND possibly rub one out again. The life of a blogger is an exciting one as I am slowly learning. I have even heard you can get paid doing this shit. Fuck I earned about $1 today since I am going to go "flip" that Wild America record to Trailer Space tomorrow. So if I can someone earn $2 tomorrow I will be content in knowing I am making a meaningful contribution to the world economy.
Okay this is a local Austin band. It has A guitar,A bass,A drum set, and A singer. Tight titties. Now this band is made up of people from all these other awesome bands, none of which I will tell you.....
The Young Voyagers of legend is one of my favorite records…ever. Sure, the lyrics were kind of hokey. How many times can you make a crack about a girl not letting you cum inside her? And how many goofy guys actually believed that whole jokey shock-jock misogyny the group spewed? However, there was something, perhaps the jams or the knowledge that there was a sense of humor underneath, that transcended it all. So imagine my surprise to hear The Young/Sacred Shock's drummer/guitarist Hanz Sharkey III’s new project, Women in Prison . There are definitely no lyrics about cum and daddy issues on this one. It’s all very serious and very dramatic and very moody, and it is all very good. Even with the nearly insurmountable obstacle of the tape saying J.I.M on the side rather then W.I.M , UGH [ed. note: The BLACK MIKE TIME does not endorse any hatred of persons known as JIM, as The BLACK MIKE TIME loves everyone named JIM], I still think this is a most excellent demo tape. On first listen, I was struck by the…emotional gravitas (is this right?) of the whole thing. Maybe it’s the cold weather. Most shocking of all, Mr. Brian Miller is straight up crooning on this record. The speed is always somewhere in the middle but it highlights the vocals so it helps. Song two, “Booger Sugar” is the best track(no track list was given on my "edition" so will just make up my own titles) and with lyrics about crawling on kitchen floors and possibly love/lust (?), it will demand an almost compulsive number of listens and scarily enough, sing alongs. Drums, bass, guitar, vocal. That’s all you need. I am still not quite sure if I am ready for a Functional Blackouts member to have a deep and profound emotional effect on me in the year 2010, but I love this record. We all change girls. Grip from the band
I would also like to add this was the NOLA edition and there were some more songs. However many has been lost to me since I have to go to my roomies room to listen to tapes and it smells like hobo sex AND I stopped paying attention half way through to write this. Basically this shit sounds like some copped riffs from Nervous Breakdown with some slower thug jams thrown in. I am into it. I am actually so into it that I wish I was gay so I could publicly come out and say I want to fuck this whole band at once and everyone would accept me for who I really am.
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Dear Ship of Souls. What we have here is a record by Wild America....titled "the sea" on some bullshit no name label. Now before I start my exercising my American Freedom of Free Speech I would like you all to know that I did not know I would be getting FREE fucking SHIT by having a blog. I was ready to pull the plug on this whole thing after awaking from my beauty sleep and remembering how much I hate the word Blog, Blog People,Blogs, the idea of Blogs,and doing one. But little known fact...I like FREE fucking shit...a lot. I think more then anybody. If you gave me a cup full of Aids and a San Francisco map I would probably thank you and point out where the MRR house was. And it just so happens today I was gifted this fine record by a fine Mexican American (at least I think he is Mexican even though I swear to fucking god he's Samoan or some other off beat flavor).
Now I grew up in the Chicago suburbs so I KNOW pop punk. I saw all the shitty bullshit cacashit that all those fuck tards in Florida probably jerk off too while drinking PBR. I was at ground zero while all those bearded overweight sloths up in WI were lapping up left over cum from Ben Weasels latest turd tickle on record. I KNOW THIS SHIT. Or I did...you see fellow shipmates I have something to admit right now...I am not 15 anymore. I no longer jerk off into shirts, hang out with wiggers on skateboards, try to bang every stupid girl, eat tv dinners, live with my parents, torment the shit out of people, fingerbang chicks who look like there brothers, and I no longer listen to pop punk. With that in mind here's what I think
The cover as you can see is a beach with the name Wild America..(didn't see that coming huh) drawn on it. Now I am no lay out expert but the matte finish or whatever the fuck makes your crafty DIY idea look like shit. It looks like it sez ERIC to me on the cover. Musically I could see myself liking this if I wasn't an Adult. Sounds like what it's suppose to sound like except the recording sucks dick. Are there drums on this motherfucker?? I know there was live when i saw that sexy beast behind the kit. Actually this whole band is a bunch of sexy savages. And me and one of them have history...Real Man history..We both tipped our hats into the same pool, not at the same time mind you. I also stuck my man member through the 45 hole of his former bands records once too. I think I might have tried to convince said Pool to let me do "it" through the record...But that may be revisionism at play. Who Knows
Any Who this wasn't as bad as I was expecting and I can not believe they have the balls to sing like this. I couldn't do it. Maybe that's why they probably get laid more then I. The band gets points for playing crummy house parties to a bunch of smelly fuckers who I want nothing to do with. The band also gets points for these awesome lyrics "everytime i lay thinking of you i come undone". The band is good people. The band is a band in a sea of bands in this town full of bands I would rather see live then most other bands. The bands record is next to a pink dinosaur and 2 dollars bills because.....the record is GAY.
Helping you
I have a favorite saying around my mansion. "You don't get what you want, you get what I want to give you". This tasty treat is one of them. Read on my children and find out why Adderal writtings and alcoholic editing really don't mix so well.
Much love to Richie over at Termbro who for some reason thought it would be a good idea to get me to write this bullshit. I even bought this very computer I sit at now to turn out this turd. Extra love sauce to Ryan Richardson for further correcting and making this thing semi readable......................
Garbage Can...in which one lucky staffer get to sift through the dregs of the TB head office and see what comes up. Will it be their lunch? Or a hot new band that has slipped through the cracks? Every update, one random TBer will be assigned the task of reviewing as much crap as I can stuff into a box. This issue's victim...Austin legend-in-his-own-mind, the "genius" behind Fully Coherant and current Criatura, Black Mike! Stay tuned to see who gets ten pounds of crap in a five pound LP mailer next...
El Garbage Canned: A Test of One American’s Patience
The mess at hand is my volunteering to review some bullshit Richie sent me. You, the reader, are probably more familiar with how these columns go since (a) I hardly read anything on Termbro proper and (b) I attempted to read some past ones to see what I was getting into but decided that I usually just wing things anyway and figure out repercussions later and (3)...uh man, I don’t have a third. I am just dreading what’s in this here package (a feeling that I have not felt since that time I made my community contribution to some cumdumpster’s box, and I thought I surely had Hepatitis Hey/digital AIDS or some dick-exploding disease that would surely end my time on this sweet earth) and man, I am listening to NWA trying to get into the mood. Fuck it. Like most things I don’t care how this turns out.(No shit. - ed.)
First I know this isn’t 5lbs of shit. What the hell Richie, going light on me first time round? I’d say more like 3 lbs. Nice packaging, which no doubt years of collecting and common sense will lend you. Bubble wrap doesn’t need to be reviewed…..What’s this? Hustler trading cards? From 1992. Aww man, nothing but furry crotched monsters, this one chick’s “junk” looks like gristle off of bacon and this other one looks like old chewed up bubble gum rolled around on a gym floor. Fuck maybe there is some hidden agenda, or maybe he thinks I am into such things from some useless, porn-covered vinyl I had a hand in years ago. Whatever.
Ahh a handwritten letter to yours truly on the back of...a porno picture flyer for some shit show. I am getting creeped out. What do we have here...pictures of a hot Aryan Princess with a six-stringed bass by the name of Karen, with a proudly displayed American Flag in the background. I’m down with this and the whole soccer-mom-in-a-punk-band thing is kind of neat. Oh, and look, Richie is not sporting my Total Chaos shirt I gave him in this other Kodak picture...must be old photos of Clockcleaner then, oh yeah. What appears to be Sharkey’s arm is also in the one with Richie. I think the porn plus these are some sort of attempt to connect me with “sucking John Sharkey’s dick” like that balding guy during SXSW said. Good thing I put on my Fedora before I started this writing. Too bad I have a full head of hair.
Vinyl first.
Sprawl Out, a 7-inch. At first glance I notice some hard-earned time and effort went into the cover of this record. It is a silkscreened cover of an octopus hugging a sign that says (take a guess) "Sprawl Out" with a palm tree for added effect. I am guessing these people are from the West Coast from their obvious love of local flora and arthropods. It is confirmed right here in the letter that was included. These are the things they want me to know and I quote “Dear Term Bo dudes…this is (gives all three Christian names)…we have finally finished our record after being a band two years...we recorded this on all analog equipment…in Costa Mesa...300 pressed...we silk screened these in our garage...if you would be kind enough to give us a review”. Why, I like to help people. I will review your record, yes. Let me listen Dear Reader… My immediate reaction is one of confusion. This is some garagey sort of shit with a Fender Rhodes that blippity, squeaks and farts along, then in rolls the double bass pedal action to show me that this drummer has “skills” beyond your normal punk drummer. Fuck, then there is some breakdown part, you know like “Hey bro lets break the mold a little” when in reality the “mold” is the “mold” because it fucking works. You’re on the wrong coast for this kind of shit. Basically I feel this could be on Life Is Abuse if they ditched the striped t-shirts and Crate amps for dreadlocks and Mesa Boogie amps. And actually I am more annoyed by the letter than the record. I feel they imagine they were being “weird and creative” and that it’s a badge of honor to record on “all analog” while silk screening a fucking palm tree octopus thing while in your garage. Well I am here to tell you that it is not. The recording sucks (who cares what medium you use if you can‘t grasp the simple concept of mic placement), the songs stink like some Atom and His Package nerd fest/garage grackle bullshit. The only badge they are wearing around town is “Punk Planet”. On that P.M.A. they are lyrical geniuses. “You’ve got an absence of satisfaction, so you try and throw money in it, you’ve got no real power of your own, so you try to get it by giving people shit”. Must have peered into the bucket of truth and saw me reviewing their record. Clever.
(www.sunfightrecords.com)
Next to feel my love is Sons of Tonatiuh, which is written in Olde English which I can barely read (real metal bands make some logo by hand with drippy spikey letters and shit). At first glance this appears to be some crusty metal shit all those folks in Savannah are all about. You know the whole “I am a Wiccan Voodoo warrior who drinks PBR and my scabies-laced Gaia Woman lets her blood drip back to mother earth because tampons are Man's way of enslaving our face-tattied princesses”. A-side confirms my logical guess. This is some riffless dun-dun-jun chugging-on-the-E-string grooving-metalcore. This is the kind of shit that just sprouts up wherever Neurosis, Antischism, and Kylesa converge upon a rudimentary pagan altar made out of Old English bottles and pages outta Crimethinc. This makes me hate the South. This also reaffirms my idea that you either play Hardcore or Metal, not both, and by the sound of the B-side I doubt they can do either. “Oracle” is the song and it goes with my prophecy foretold sentences ago. Sentences which were etched like runes on mossy stones that wind's breath hath not touched upon since the Moon was young. Maybe I can ghostwrite for this band since the tasty lyrics I am sure they toiled over and over with an ink nib aren’t as good as mine. “My eyes I’ve swallowed, My ears do bleed, My bones are brittle, My flesh is green”. I take it you can’t see because you’re wasted, you have Tinnitus from thinking “Tragedy has full stacks so should we”, eat a burger Tofu fag, and the gangrene is going to thankfully kill you and end your bloodline, thereby cutting down on the Southern Metalcore shit for generations ahead. Please do not procreate if you survive. - Your Pal, Mike
(myspace.com/sonsoftonatiuh)
Viva Le Vox/Paper Dolls, a split 7”. A letter included, but nothing too interesting other than he refers to me as “his friend at Terminal Boredom” when addressing, and signs it “guido”. He also spells his name with a lower case "g", so he must not have much confidence or is Italian, in which case we know why he has no self-confidence amongst us giants. I have a nagging feeling this is gonna blow since split records usually do. Mostly that formatting is reserved to one decent band trying to help out their obviously shitty friends' band. Sort of like in high school. That one hot bitch who always had some satellite mega-moo friend you had to pawn off on your own shadow if you wanted to fingerbang her in photography class. Fuck, I have no reference point for bullshit like this. Tony Bones or ScareCrow Jenkins sing like they are constipated (in that shitty Tom Waits way, not a Tokurow from Bastard way) and the music is that upbeat jangly caca shit like (surprise) Tom Waits plays. Acoustic guitars, banjos, and “whoahs and ohs” and there you have it. I am taken away to a memory of eating at Threadgills, where history proclaims Janis Joplin ate, got wasted, and probably tricked some other drunken hobo into letting her blow him. There is some band playing while I eat my chicken fried steak with scalloped potatoes. I’m with a girl. She’s into the band because they are fun. It's fun. Making bands play stupid acoustic music while eating is fun. I cringe and nod because I need to get laid. Fuck Life. Paper Dolls is guido’s band. Is this even a different band? I think guido and Tara are the types of people who, here in Austin, would hang around Love Joys, a bar where Spot from SST works.(Spot likes Reatards and Clockcleaner a lot. Spot hates to talk about his past. Spot likes me, my bands, and hearing about the latest trouble I‘ve caused. Spot does not like Big Black though, but laughs when I drop the “n-bomb“ at work every three minutes) The kind of people who have given up their Southern dreams of Black Sabbath crossed with Neurosis and who now are retracing their hillbilly roots by applying all that finger tapping to a ukelele and washboard now. Fuck, that Sons of Savannah band above should peek into Sauron's eyeball thing and see their future as a Chicken Friend Steak Rock band. Sucks to get stuck with a box of 7”s that only ten of your drunk friends bought you a PBR for while listening to the Pogues. I think guido will take his frustrations out at seeing this review on his wife Tara like any good Italian would.
(incestrecords.org)
Finally some shit I have some sort of refrence point to. Cross Stitched Eyes, “Coranach”. A band made up of former members of Zygote, Smartpils, SubHumans, and UK Subs. I like two of these bands and maybe you can guess which. The promo Sheet informs me that "If there were a United Nations of Punk, the trilateral union of nationalites of CSE would make an excellent Security Council…and would scare rogue nations into submission”. I don’t know what country, let alone person, would be scared of a bunch of toothless (taking a guess here, since they are English and all), balding, politically defeated old men? Oh look, they reviewed it for me by making comparisions to Killing Joke, Amebix and Rudimentary Peni. But I will add my own spice. Killing Joke I feel, sorta. Amebix, no, because they can tune a guitar and don’t chug in place, and R.Peni...well, whomever wrote that is a retard even though I swear some riffs in “Mourn for Life” are lifted from some of the later RP LPs. I dunno, this is okay if you’re wondering what’s up with a bunch of old ex-peace punkers. I’d give this to that 13 year old chick I saw bleeding at the Jay Reatard show. Then I would see her future of dating some other 17 year old who likes Subhumans and all that Crass shit. He will probably beat her and she will lose self-confidence and move to Savannah or NOLA and join one of them aforementioned modern primitive hippie cults and start a shitty Neurosis-type band. And I will be in New Orleans to convince her drunken crusty ass to crawl under a locked fence covered in poison ivy, to get back into the show she got thrown out of. Fuck man, I am feeling like this is an epsidoe of Lost now. Richie knows more about me than I think. I think now I won’t give it to her and let her follow her path towards being a pretty garage rock chick who will get a boyfriend who beats her, but be in bands I can tolerate better. Maybe at Gonerfest XII she will do drugs with me at the Artisan on the abandoned third floor. Overall, some tribal drumming and chimey guitar parts to sway around a hobo fire to in your backyard is what this is.
(www.alternativetentacles.com)
Mama Rosin on Voodoo Rhythm, a CD. Stupid mock "yellow banana" on the cover. Song titles in French. The French have a horrible sense of aesthetics along with all of their other equally horrible qualities. This CD is representing their home country today. Look at the guy smoking a cigarette to obviously look cool in the blurry band photo. Wow, banjo, triangle, and mandolin lie ahead for me. More goddamn Chicken Fried Steak Rock or Country Fried Steak Rock as us superior Yanks might say, since that makes more fucking sense. You don’t fish-fry fish do you? This stuff is for garage grackles looking to expand beyond the standard combo of guitar, bass and drum by adding some other lesser instruments listed. Basically, France, you fucking lose, assholes. Further inspection of the insert reveals it’s a banana pepper and it looks like Andy Warhol art. Need I say again, France is the armpit of Europe.
(www.voodoorhythm.com)
Snowbyrd “Diosdado”. A CD on a label that should be called “I Like to Waste Money”. Starts with some wind chimes. I absolutely hate wind chimes. My neighbor has a wind chime, but he’s my friend so it slides. After the chimes it starts in with some rocking bullshit middle-aged dudes play who like the Stooges and 70s rock. Travelling further upon Iggy's shaft I feel like this is the shit former dude-bro rockers play in their converted garage/studio while the kids are sleeping and the wife is watching True Blood. “Like, dude, we can still rock with our Marshall Plexi’s and technical know-how”. Too bad it does not rock and I am sure these guys are the types who refer to themselves as “musicians” when talking about themselves at the cubicle. Hell, this makes me dread getting old. Like becoming the beer-gutted, beer-swilling garage rockers I hated when I was 17. (I notice my beer gut is getting bigger, I panic and look around my room noticing all my guitars/records/various shit…I got Chuck Berry/Neil Young/Oblivians records out…fuck, I see my future…it's becoming one of them...shit…). Too bad I don’t give a Rat Fink toy's ass about Iggy, The Stooges, Johnny Thunders, planning a future with a 401k or doing anything remotely like these dudes live/lived, so my future as a boring old faux-rocker like this ain’t gonna happen. I am gonna die alone, broke, with tales of glory right up until the end, and I am happy and content with this. Wait. What’s this on the insert? This CD is an homage to a member who died at age 40. He was in some non-relevant punk bands in San Antonio. Blah blah blah. Whatever. This makes me want to go listen to that first 7” again, at least they had a possible future of decent tunes ahead of them rather than decades of shit laid out behind them. "He’s dead", you say, "how can you knock the dead?" My motto is “Kick them when they’re on the ground since they are closer to your feet”, and also, he left me a stinking corpse of a CD to review. Not many die and leave a human body to decay and an artistic corpse that was probably smelling of shit in the first place. Much love, dead wigger, rock out in heaven in the punk rock elevator music section.
(www.saustexmedia.com)
Sons of Hercules “A Different Kind of Ugly” CD, apparently on "I Like To Waste Money Records" as well. I should’ve saved all the above for this shit. At least that guy had the good grace to die before dropping more turds. This band has been pigeon shitting on Texas cars for years now. The cover shows some old guy who obviously likes the Rolling Stones a lot and it also states “to be played at maximum volume”. I myself always wonder about such announcments. Are you, the band, claiming your audience is too fucking stupid to know how to enjoy rock music? I can see it now. Legions of fans going “man you just gotta listen to it at maximum volume so you can hear the mummy dust grind away in the singers heart”. I don’t even think people are this fucking stupid. No, I think the whole “play loud” schtick is only employed by bands and people who are so god damn brain dead and deaf from years of rocking New york Dolls riffs into their Marshall stacks they don’t get it. Do you? I do. This makes me want to hate rock'n'roll. Wait...this makes me Want to hate RNR, but then I know there’s old fuckers out there in the world writing awesome songs, young fucked up mutant teenagers bashing away, chicks with clits the size of dicks rocking Flying V's and smashing shit. Sons of Hercules, you are like a coke whore who's done her purpose for the night and your time has passed. Time to hang up your Les Pauls and die, sans a tribute CD. This music is for dudes who leave your house stating “rock on” while throwing up the “horns” and go back to their houses full of Rat Fink toys and wives who look like a fat bloated Betty Page, and whose lower areas look like old weathered baseball gloves or wrinkly seal flippers. Flame tattoos. I bet my second born that one of these guys has a flame tattoo...and a Hawaiian shirt.
(www.saustexmedia.com)
Ah, reaching the end my dear follower. Zebras, “an LP” on “a label”. Cover looks like some puke Profane Existence would put out, but somehow better. The back said something about Devo. I am confused again, but I am sure that will change soon. Neat-o Pirate's Press vinyl colors of black and blue, which were my gang colors, homie. I never was in a gang but the GD's in my town liked me a lot because I blew stuff up and trash talked “like a motherfucker”. I think they’re all dead now, so what do they know. Well, this shit reminds me of something that would fit on Life is Abuse (again). Like Tarantula Hawk with all the weird ass keyboards and stuff, but with vocals. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on here. It’s all over the place with some chick vocals now. I’m giving this to my neighbor with the wind chimes made outta keys. Zebras win for least irritating outta this whole mess.
(myspace.com/slazebras)
I have two more things to attempt to listen to. The Untamed and J.Tex. Both look like rockabilly bullshit. Untamed probably like the Misfits a lot and have oh-so-clever names like Helle Hellcat, The Ghoul and Marco Burro. Fuck, do people like this really exist? What sort of genetic debris does it take to create children that will grow up and even jokingly call themselves those names? Not just Ghoul but THE Ghoul. Pompadours, stand-up bass, fuck this whole genre. They can all collectively line up and stick their tongues in my ass for all I care. J. Tex is probably some honkytonk bullshit sang into one of them big dumb mics Elvis used. J. Tex most likely thinks Elvis is king, but that’s because he is a stupid white guy. Everyone knows Chuck Berry is king and always shall be. Ever read his book? That’s rock'n'roll. Stupid white trash hillbilly bullshit. I hope they all get moonshine AIDS and die with a banjo shoved up their ass.
(www.hepcat.se)
That’s about it. Have a wonderful day!
Much love to Richie over at Termbro who for some reason thought it would be a good idea to get me to write this bullshit. I even bought this very computer I sit at now to turn out this turd. Extra love sauce to Ryan Richardson for further correcting and making this thing semi readable......................
Garbage Can...in which one lucky staffer get to sift through the dregs of the TB head office and see what comes up. Will it be their lunch? Or a hot new band that has slipped through the cracks? Every update, one random TBer will be assigned the task of reviewing as much crap as I can stuff into a box. This issue's victim...Austin legend-in-his-own-mind, the "genius" behind Fully Coherant and current Criatura, Black Mike! Stay tuned to see who gets ten pounds of crap in a five pound LP mailer next...
El Garbage Canned: A Test of One American’s Patience
The mess at hand is my volunteering to review some bullshit Richie sent me. You, the reader, are probably more familiar with how these columns go since (a) I hardly read anything on Termbro proper and (b) I attempted to read some past ones to see what I was getting into but decided that I usually just wing things anyway and figure out repercussions later and (3)...uh man, I don’t have a third. I am just dreading what’s in this here package (a feeling that I have not felt since that time I made my community contribution to some cumdumpster’s box, and I thought I surely had Hepatitis Hey/digital AIDS or some dick-exploding disease that would surely end my time on this sweet earth) and man, I am listening to NWA trying to get into the mood. Fuck it. Like most things I don’t care how this turns out.(No shit. - ed.)
First I know this isn’t 5lbs of shit. What the hell Richie, going light on me first time round? I’d say more like 3 lbs. Nice packaging, which no doubt years of collecting and common sense will lend you. Bubble wrap doesn’t need to be reviewed…..What’s this? Hustler trading cards? From 1992. Aww man, nothing but furry crotched monsters, this one chick’s “junk” looks like gristle off of bacon and this other one looks like old chewed up bubble gum rolled around on a gym floor. Fuck maybe there is some hidden agenda, or maybe he thinks I am into such things from some useless, porn-covered vinyl I had a hand in years ago. Whatever.
Ahh a handwritten letter to yours truly on the back of...a porno picture flyer for some shit show. I am getting creeped out. What do we have here...pictures of a hot Aryan Princess with a six-stringed bass by the name of Karen, with a proudly displayed American Flag in the background. I’m down with this and the whole soccer-mom-in-a-punk-band thing is kind of neat. Oh, and look, Richie is not sporting my Total Chaos shirt I gave him in this other Kodak picture...must be old photos of Clockcleaner then, oh yeah. What appears to be Sharkey’s arm is also in the one with Richie. I think the porn plus these are some sort of attempt to connect me with “sucking John Sharkey’s dick” like that balding guy during SXSW said. Good thing I put on my Fedora before I started this writing. Too bad I have a full head of hair.
Vinyl first.
Sprawl Out, a 7-inch. At first glance I notice some hard-earned time and effort went into the cover of this record. It is a silkscreened cover of an octopus hugging a sign that says (take a guess) "Sprawl Out" with a palm tree for added effect. I am guessing these people are from the West Coast from their obvious love of local flora and arthropods. It is confirmed right here in the letter that was included. These are the things they want me to know and I quote “Dear Term Bo dudes…this is (gives all three Christian names)…we have finally finished our record after being a band two years...we recorded this on all analog equipment…in Costa Mesa...300 pressed...we silk screened these in our garage...if you would be kind enough to give us a review”. Why, I like to help people. I will review your record, yes. Let me listen Dear Reader… My immediate reaction is one of confusion. This is some garagey sort of shit with a Fender Rhodes that blippity, squeaks and farts along, then in rolls the double bass pedal action to show me that this drummer has “skills” beyond your normal punk drummer. Fuck, then there is some breakdown part, you know like “Hey bro lets break the mold a little” when in reality the “mold” is the “mold” because it fucking works. You’re on the wrong coast for this kind of shit. Basically I feel this could be on Life Is Abuse if they ditched the striped t-shirts and Crate amps for dreadlocks and Mesa Boogie amps. And actually I am more annoyed by the letter than the record. I feel they imagine they were being “weird and creative” and that it’s a badge of honor to record on “all analog” while silk screening a fucking palm tree octopus thing while in your garage. Well I am here to tell you that it is not. The recording sucks (who cares what medium you use if you can‘t grasp the simple concept of mic placement), the songs stink like some Atom and His Package nerd fest/garage grackle bullshit. The only badge they are wearing around town is “Punk Planet”. On that P.M.A. they are lyrical geniuses. “You’ve got an absence of satisfaction, so you try and throw money in it, you’ve got no real power of your own, so you try to get it by giving people shit”. Must have peered into the bucket of truth and saw me reviewing their record. Clever.(www.sunfightrecords.com)
Next to feel my love is Sons of Tonatiuh, which is written in Olde English which I can barely read (real metal bands make some logo by hand with drippy spikey letters and shit). At first glance this appears to be some crusty metal shit all those folks in Savannah are all about. You know the whole “I am a Wiccan Voodoo warrior who drinks PBR and my scabies-laced Gaia Woman lets her blood drip back to mother earth because tampons are Man's way of enslaving our face-tattied princesses”. A-side confirms my logical guess. This is some riffless dun-dun-jun chugging-on-the-E-string grooving-metalcore. This is the kind of shit that just sprouts up wherever Neurosis, Antischism, and Kylesa converge upon a rudimentary pagan altar made out of Old English bottles and pages outta Crimethinc. This makes me hate the South. This also reaffirms my idea that you either play Hardcore or Metal, not both, and by the sound of the B-side I doubt they can do either. “Oracle” is the song and it goes with my prophecy foretold sentences ago. Sentences which were etched like runes on mossy stones that wind's breath hath not touched upon since the Moon was young. Maybe I can ghostwrite for this band since the tasty lyrics I am sure they toiled over and over with an ink nib aren’t as good as mine. “My eyes I’ve swallowed, My ears do bleed, My bones are brittle, My flesh is green”. I take it you can’t see because you’re wasted, you have Tinnitus from thinking “Tragedy has full stacks so should we”, eat a burger Tofu fag, and the gangrene is going to thankfully kill you and end your bloodline, thereby cutting down on the Southern Metalcore shit for generations ahead. Please do not procreate if you survive. - Your Pal, Mike(myspace.com/sonsoftonatiuh)
Viva Le Vox/Paper Dolls, a split 7”. A letter included, but nothing too interesting other than he refers to me as “his friend at Terminal Boredom” when addressing, and signs it “guido”. He also spells his name with a lower case "g", so he must not have much confidence or is Italian, in which case we know why he has no self-confidence amongst us giants. I have a nagging feeling this is gonna blow since split records usually do. Mostly that formatting is reserved to one decent band trying to help out their obviously shitty friends' band. Sort of like in high school. That one hot bitch who always had some satellite mega-moo friend you had to pawn off on your own shadow if you wanted to fingerbang her in photography class. Fuck, I have no reference point for bullshit like this. Tony Bones or ScareCrow Jenkins sing like they are constipated (in that shitty Tom Waits way, not a Tokurow from Bastard way) and the music is that upbeat jangly caca shit like (surprise) Tom Waits plays. Acoustic guitars, banjos, and “whoahs and ohs” and there you have it. I am taken away to a memory of eating at Threadgills, where history proclaims Janis Joplin ate, got wasted, and probably tricked some other drunken hobo into letting her blow him. There is some band playing while I eat my chicken fried steak with scalloped potatoes. I’m with a girl. She’s into the band because they are fun. It's fun. Making bands play stupid acoustic music while eating is fun. I cringe and nod because I need to get laid. Fuck Life. Paper Dolls is guido’s band. Is this even a different band? I think guido and Tara are the types of people who, here in Austin, would hang around Love Joys, a bar where Spot from SST works.(Spot likes Reatards and Clockcleaner a lot. Spot hates to talk about his past. Spot likes me, my bands, and hearing about the latest trouble I‘ve caused. Spot does not like Big Black though, but laughs when I drop the “n-bomb“ at work every three minutes) The kind of people who have given up their Southern dreams of Black Sabbath crossed with Neurosis and who now are retracing their hillbilly roots by applying all that finger tapping to a ukelele and washboard now. Fuck, that Sons of Savannah band above should peek into Sauron's eyeball thing and see their future as a Chicken Friend Steak Rock band. Sucks to get stuck with a box of 7”s that only ten of your drunk friends bought you a PBR for while listening to the Pogues. I think guido will take his frustrations out at seeing this review on his wife Tara like any good Italian would.(incestrecords.org)
Finally some shit I have some sort of refrence point to. Cross Stitched Eyes, “Coranach”. A band made up of former members of Zygote, Smartpils, SubHumans, and UK Subs. I like two of these bands and maybe you can guess which. The promo Sheet informs me that "If there were a United Nations of Punk, the trilateral union of nationalites of CSE would make an excellent Security Council…and would scare rogue nations into submission”. I don’t know what country, let alone person, would be scared of a bunch of toothless (taking a guess here, since they are English and all), balding, politically defeated old men? Oh look, they reviewed it for me by making comparisions to Killing Joke, Amebix and Rudimentary Peni. But I will add my own spice. Killing Joke I feel, sorta. Amebix, no, because they can tune a guitar and don’t chug in place, and R.Peni...well, whomever wrote that is a retard even though I swear some riffs in “Mourn for Life” are lifted from some of the later RP LPs. I dunno, this is okay if you’re wondering what’s up with a bunch of old ex-peace punkers. I’d give this to that 13 year old chick I saw bleeding at the Jay Reatard show. Then I would see her future of dating some other 17 year old who likes Subhumans and all that Crass shit. He will probably beat her and she will lose self-confidence and move to Savannah or NOLA and join one of them aforementioned modern primitive hippie cults and start a shitty Neurosis-type band. And I will be in New Orleans to convince her drunken crusty ass to crawl under a locked fence covered in poison ivy, to get back into the show she got thrown out of. Fuck man, I am feeling like this is an epsidoe of Lost now. Richie knows more about me than I think. I think now I won’t give it to her and let her follow her path towards being a pretty garage rock chick who will get a boyfriend who beats her, but be in bands I can tolerate better. Maybe at Gonerfest XII she will do drugs with me at the Artisan on the abandoned third floor. Overall, some tribal drumming and chimey guitar parts to sway around a hobo fire to in your backyard is what this is. (www.alternativetentacles.com)
Mama Rosin on Voodoo Rhythm, a CD. Stupid mock "yellow banana" on the cover. Song titles in French. The French have a horrible sense of aesthetics along with all of their other equally horrible qualities. This CD is representing their home country today. Look at the guy smoking a cigarette to obviously look cool in the blurry band photo. Wow, banjo, triangle, and mandolin lie ahead for me. More goddamn Chicken Fried Steak Rock or Country Fried Steak Rock as us superior Yanks might say, since that makes more fucking sense. You don’t fish-fry fish do you? This stuff is for garage grackles looking to expand beyond the standard combo of guitar, bass and drum by adding some other lesser instruments listed. Basically, France, you fucking lose, assholes. Further inspection of the insert reveals it’s a banana pepper and it looks like Andy Warhol art. Need I say again, France is the armpit of Europe.(www.voodoorhythm.com)
Snowbyrd “Diosdado”. A CD on a label that should be called “I Like to Waste Money”. Starts with some wind chimes. I absolutely hate wind chimes. My neighbor has a wind chime, but he’s my friend so it slides. After the chimes it starts in with some rocking bullshit middle-aged dudes play who like the Stooges and 70s rock. Travelling further upon Iggy's shaft I feel like this is the shit former dude-bro rockers play in their converted garage/studio while the kids are sleeping and the wife is watching True Blood. “Like, dude, we can still rock with our Marshall Plexi’s and technical know-how”. Too bad it does not rock and I am sure these guys are the types who refer to themselves as “musicians” when talking about themselves at the cubicle. Hell, this makes me dread getting old. Like becoming the beer-gutted, beer-swilling garage rockers I hated when I was 17. (I notice my beer gut is getting bigger, I panic and look around my room noticing all my guitars/records/various shit…I got Chuck Berry/Neil Young/Oblivians records out…fuck, I see my future…it's becoming one of them...shit…). Too bad I don’t give a Rat Fink toy's ass about Iggy, The Stooges, Johnny Thunders, planning a future with a 401k or doing anything remotely like these dudes live/lived, so my future as a boring old faux-rocker like this ain’t gonna happen. I am gonna die alone, broke, with tales of glory right up until the end, and I am happy and content with this. Wait. What’s this on the insert? This CD is an homage to a member who died at age 40. He was in some non-relevant punk bands in San Antonio. Blah blah blah. Whatever. This makes me want to go listen to that first 7” again, at least they had a possible future of decent tunes ahead of them rather than decades of shit laid out behind them. "He’s dead", you say, "how can you knock the dead?" My motto is “Kick them when they’re on the ground since they are closer to your feet”, and also, he left me a stinking corpse of a CD to review. Not many die and leave a human body to decay and an artistic corpse that was probably smelling of shit in the first place. Much love, dead wigger, rock out in heaven in the punk rock elevator music section.(www.saustexmedia.com)
Sons of Hercules “A Different Kind of Ugly” CD, apparently on "I Like To Waste Money Records" as well. I should’ve saved all the above for this shit. At least that guy had the good grace to die before dropping more turds. This band has been pigeon shitting on Texas cars for years now. The cover shows some old guy who obviously likes the Rolling Stones a lot and it also states “to be played at maximum volume”. I myself always wonder about such announcments. Are you, the band, claiming your audience is too fucking stupid to know how to enjoy rock music? I can see it now. Legions of fans going “man you just gotta listen to it at maximum volume so you can hear the mummy dust grind away in the singers heart”. I don’t even think people are this fucking stupid. No, I think the whole “play loud” schtick is only employed by bands and people who are so god damn brain dead and deaf from years of rocking New york Dolls riffs into their Marshall stacks they don’t get it. Do you? I do. This makes me want to hate rock'n'roll. Wait...this makes me Want to hate RNR, but then I know there’s old fuckers out there in the world writing awesome songs, young fucked up mutant teenagers bashing away, chicks with clits the size of dicks rocking Flying V's and smashing shit. Sons of Hercules, you are like a coke whore who's done her purpose for the night and your time has passed. Time to hang up your Les Pauls and die, sans a tribute CD. This music is for dudes who leave your house stating “rock on” while throwing up the “horns” and go back to their houses full of Rat Fink toys and wives who look like a fat bloated Betty Page, and whose lower areas look like old weathered baseball gloves or wrinkly seal flippers. Flame tattoos. I bet my second born that one of these guys has a flame tattoo...and a Hawaiian shirt.(www.saustexmedia.com)
Ah, reaching the end my dear follower. Zebras, “an LP” on “a label”. Cover looks like some puke Profane Existence would put out, but somehow better. The back said something about Devo. I am confused again, but I am sure that will change soon. Neat-o Pirate's Press vinyl colors of black and blue, which were my gang colors, homie. I never was in a gang but the GD's in my town liked me a lot because I blew stuff up and trash talked “like a motherfucker”. I think they’re all dead now, so what do they know. Well, this shit reminds me of something that would fit on Life is Abuse (again). Like Tarantula Hawk with all the weird ass keyboards and stuff, but with vocals. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on here. It’s all over the place with some chick vocals now. I’m giving this to my neighbor with the wind chimes made outta keys. Zebras win for least irritating outta this whole mess.(myspace.com/slazebras)
I have two more things to attempt to listen to. The Untamed and J.Tex. Both look like rockabilly bullshit. Untamed probably like the Misfits a lot and have oh-so-clever names like Helle Hellcat, The Ghoul and Marco Burro. Fuck, do people like this really exist? What sort of genetic debris does it take to create children that will grow up and even jokingly call themselves those names? Not just Ghoul but THE Ghoul. Pompadours, stand-up bass, fuck this whole genre. They can all collectively line up and stick their tongues in my ass for all I care. J. Tex is probably some honkytonk bullshit sang into one of them big dumb mics Elvis used. J. Tex most likely thinks Elvis is king, but that’s because he is a stupid white guy. Everyone knows Chuck Berry is king and always shall be. Ever read his book? That’s rock'n'roll. Stupid white trash hillbilly bullshit. I hope they all get moonshine AIDS and die with a banjo shoved up their ass.(www.hepcat.se)
That’s about it. Have a wonderful day!
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