My Childhood Drug Overdose

I'm back. Loyal readers (both of you) will be delighted to see I’m taking the blog in a different direction. Topics are not limited to music but as you both know my musical obsession will surface anyway. My hateful nature remains undiminished but I feel that slinging insults on the current crop of musical artists is too easy. It's like pushing your boyfriend down a flight of stairs- Sure it's fun, but there’s no challenge.

This morning I read another blog where the author shared a sweet childhood anecdote complete with both a hearty moral lesson and the mention of a tiny kitten. I’m not wild about reading mundane details of people’s boring lives or learning any sort of moral lesson, but if that asshole can do it then certainly this asshole can too. So, here goes.

I was a bit of a challenging child; my genius was often overlooked due to a surly nature and generally bad attitude. It was hard to play well with others when I knew I was smarter than everyone else. The fundamental problem of a child genius is we are not easily entertained and most of our little escapades stem from sheer boredom. Boredom was a key factor in the following incident, but I will always contend that if my teachers had done a better job of keeping me mentally stimulated the event in question would have never occurred. And there was also the television factor, but we’ll get to that later.

My preschool class was composed of 4-year-old idiots. I was cognizant of this even though I, too, was also 4. My classroom was composed of children who found amusement spinning in circles until either a fall and/or regurgitation resulted. I could read by the age of 2: self-imposed dizziness didn’t do it for me.

I believe my teacher was named Mrs. Earl. Interestingly, M had been in her class four years prior so it's safe to assume that woman was already damaged goods. M also bears the same burden of genius.

The following event is entirely true and for any non-believers I will be glad to supply my mother's email address so she can verify the validity of the story. I will warn you, however, that having me as her child has left her a broken and bitter woman and denying events of my childhood is her particular coping mechanism of choice to survive the trauma she endured raising me.

Act 1

Scene 1

(A typical preschool classroom. A darling, flaxen-haired child (FHC) with stunning green eyes approaches her unfortunate teacher, Mrs. Earl.)

FHC: Mrs. Earl, I just swallowed an entire bottle of Tylenol that I found at home. I also gave some to other kids.

(Mrs. Earl gets panic-stricken look on face.)

Mrs. Earl: You did what? How many did you swallow? Who did you give them to? Let me see the bottle.

(FHC produces an empty bottle from her red corduroy pants, which should be noted, were cinched with a very festive multi-colored Rainbow Brite belt with a sporty, magnetic buckle. Apparently, FHC's mother suffered under the delusion that morning that she was dressing her child for a day at clown school. FHC fails to mention that the bottle was found already empty in the trashcan earlier that morning. FHC fails to mention her penchant for rummaging through household refuse receptacles. FHC fails to mention this fact to a number of people for many, many years. Mrs. Earl fails to notice smirk discreetly creeping across FHC's face.)

Mrs. Earl: Oh my goodness! You're going to the principal’s office. We're calling your mother and poison control. March!

Scene 2

(Principal’s office. FHC is perched on a child-sized plastic chair and refuses to answer questions during the ensuing interrogation. It becomes obvious the principal is not a mother, herself as there was no use of sodium amytal or application of the techniques of sleep deprivation or water boarding.)

She tried to call my bluff.

Principal: I'm calling your mother.

FHC: *silence*

Principal: I mean it. I'm calling her right now.

She lifted the phone and her fingers hovered menacingly over the keypad in case I didn’t understand how the phone worked.

It was a nice touch. She must have had some doubts about my story or she would have already called 911. She had the misguided idea that I might break.

Principal: I’m dialing the number right now.

FHC: *silence*

We'll skip ahead in the story and assume the reader can piece together how the office exchange continued. Both Poison Control and my mother received a call. A weaker person would have cracked and admitted the truth, especially after maternal forces were summoned, but she underestimated my inherent assyness.

I'm assuming the good people at Poison Control said something to the effect that if I had, in fact, swallowed an entire 250 count bottle of Tylenol I would probably be dead by now or at the very least foaming at the mouth and rolling around on the floor in a pool of my bodily fluids.

(Enter FHC's harried, frantic mother.)

Mother: Are you ok? What happened? What possessed you to do something like that?

I was her first-born child so my mother was still pretty new to the whole mother-bit and lived in perpetual fear for my safety. My sister came along a few years later and by that time she was an old hand and had learned it best to let her genius child and semi-genius child bear the consequences of their own dumbass actions. She frequently tested how much we learned and there were many Christmases we received books of matches as gifts in our stockings. She reasoned if we were dumb enough to light ourselves on fire than we deserved it- She had taught us better.

(FHC’s mother is losing her patience.)

Mother: Answer me!

FHC: *silence*

She may or may not have started shaking me at this point, that detail remains a rather heated source of debate to this day. (I told you she was a bitter woman.) I assure you that if I had known the term, "shaking baby syndrome," I wouldn't have hesitated to summon the proper authorities and have her carted off to a Home for Horrible Parents.

Mother: Wh-what? You gave it to the other children?

She had just been informed by Principal Yapper her child was not only a user, but also a preschool drug pusher. I slipped for a brief second and she saw my look of amusement. She had developed a well-trained eye for watching for that sort of thing with me.

Mother: That's it. We're going to the hospital.

She was good.

All I had wanted was to create a little amusing drama and sitting in a hospital ER for hours would have put a real damper on the day. It also meant I wouldn't be home in time to watch My Favorite Martian. You see my other motivation was the television. I went to preschool 3 days a week and for 3 days my television habits were horribly disrupted. I thought if she saw me sick and/or near death from the Tylenol she would take me home and I could retire to the living room sofa for an afternoon of TV watching to my heart's content. The fly in the ointment was for some reason it hadn’t dawned on me that my impending death might lead to a visit to a medical facility. (Even a child prodigy has her off days.) The hospital was worse than preschool.

I acquiesced.

FHC: Ok. I made it up. I didn't swallow Tylenol.

The principal nearly lost it, although though you would have thought the woman would have been relieved to learn she wasn't going to have a roomful of dead preschoolers on her hands. Now, she looked like she wanted to shake me.

That's pretty much the gist of the story. They don't usually suspend preschoolers so I returned later that week. The principal didn’t forget the incident and I feel certain it was she who sent a letter to my future elementary school warning of my arrival.

Later, my mother swatted at my hindquarters with her weapon of choice, the plastic egg turner, and sentenced me to my room for 3 days of solitary confinement. I didn’t mind this because this meant I was left to myself and I could use the time productively to refine my plan for world domination. The real bitch was after all that I ended up missing My Favorite Martian anyway. So I believe the life lesson we can glean from this moving story is that you should really consider the consequences of stirring up trouble to entertain yourself- it might make you miss your favorite TV show.

OLHT Dating Tips: Screening Your Potential Date

...I agreed that what really matters is what you like, not what you are like... Books, records, films -- these things matter. Call me shallow but it's the damn truth…” – Rob, High Fidelity


The older I get the more I realize that a person’s pop culture preferences, especially musical ones, are defining characteristics of who you are as a person and are a direct indicator of whether I might ever view you as worthy of dating me. Now, God knows I’m no Dr. Phil on the matter, but I'd like to think that I have learned a thing or two along the way.

The tips below don't apply to everyone. I am told that there are people in this world who value more than a person’s record collection; they find people’s musical predilections utterly irrelevant in relation to who they are as person. I am not one of those people. This guide is mainly for shallow people like myself who consider themselves vastly superior because of their exceptionally good musical taste and berate others for having exceptionally inferior musical taste. These hints will also free you from the burden of feigning remorse for breaking up with someone because they have shitty taste in music. It's ok to break up with someone because of his or her music collection; bad music is generally a sign of much deeper problems.

If you listen to shitty music you are probably a shitty person.

I know this sounds a bit harsh, but it almost always holds true. How many people who wear Hoobastank t-shirts do you consider friends? If you even know more than one person who would wear a Hoobastank t-shirt then it’s time to find a new circle of friends.

Don’t date people who tell you their favorite musical genre is, “Progressive Rock” and sever all contact immediately if they use the words, “Prog Rock.”

Trust me, these people are not to be trusted. They will make you listen to shitty bands like Rush, Jethro Tull or Yes. They are smug bastards who think they are smarter than everyone else because they listen to Genesis back when Peter Gabriel was the lead singer. They will give long-winded, boring explanations of 23-minute epic songs that make Grateful Dead jams seem brief in comparison. Most of them look like they bought their clothes from the 1978 JC Penney catalog and I guarantee you at some point they will try to coerce you into watching The Lord of The Rings. Then they will want to talk about The Lord of The Rings. The only thing worse than watching that movie is hearing people talk about it. Avoid these people like the plague.

Don’t date people who listen to country music.

I’m willing to let this one slide a bit because I live 100 miles from the country music Mecca. We might be able to be friends if you listen to country, but I cannot date you. Ignore this item completely if you listen to county music yourself, it’s apparent that you, too, have shitty taste and you might as well stay with your own kind. People who listen to country music will have an unnatural attachment to their pickup truck, Mother and/or a favorite firearm. There’s a good chance that they have dated a family member at some point and most likely they will be fans of NASCAR.

Men Who Listen To Estrogen Music: There’s a fine fucking line.

I would encourage women to date men who listen to Tori Amos or PJ Harvey. These men are secure enough in their own manhood to not be threatened by a strong female. They’re probably not going to pull all that macho bullshit either because they are unconcerned about constantly displaying themselves as over-testosterone alpha males. Men who listen to Kelly Clarkson, Jewel and Mariah Carey are either gay or giant Manginas, one of the two. I will give credit where credit is due: Except for an Avril Lavigne cd that I found in MM’s cd case and hurled out the window somewhere on I-75 on our way back from Florida last month, MM walks the line quite well.

Do date people who know little about music, but seem willing to learn.

This is your chance to instill important values and universal truths into another human being, i.e. Scott Stapp = raging douchebag and Thom Yorke = genius. It’s damn near impossible to correct years of ingrained bad taste, but if you can get to them early then you might be able to ward off any bad habits they might develop, like listening to the Foo Fighters.

Don't date people who only listen to music from one decade.

Typically, these people are rigid, inflexible and completely resistant to change. They tend to be completely devoid of any sense of originality. It's ok to like the classics, but not ok if that's all that you listen to. These are the same people who are still telling high school stories from 15 years ago. Trust me- the story wasn't particularly interesting then and it won't improve with age.

Require your prospective date to produce a Personal Top-10 List for your inspection prior to the date.

Here's the thing- They don't have to be any of the ones on my Top-10 List, they just have to be good choices in music. You can pick bands I don't particularly care for as long as you can produce a respectable list and don't try to make me listen to them. Immediately disqualify anyone who has any of the following bands anywhere on the list: Kid Rock, Eminem, Nickelback or Linkin Park. These people may have serious mental issues or at least minor retardation.

And for the rest of it- Just go with your instincts, if you think they might be a douchebag then they probably are, in fact, a douchebag.

The Outright Lies & Half-Truths First Ever Mangina Award

Mangina: The figurative term for genitals on a non-masculine man. If a man is acting girlie, it could be because he has a mangina. Manginas breed drama.

I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but I’ve been blogging like the motherfucking wind lately and honestly, gang, maintaining the level of profundity and devastating wit you’ve grown accustomed to is beyond tiresome. I know, I know- it looks effortless when I do it, but being as smart as I think I am is no easy task I assure you. It is a terrible burden that I must bear and in turn inflict upon others. I took a short sabbatical from writing while at work and commenced my normal morning activities, namely stealing toilet paper from the office bathroom (I’m out at my apartment) and talking on my cell phone. When this became too taxing I took a self-appointed break and logged onto my Myspace account.

Ah, Myspace. Myspace embraces everything I love and hate about the internet and people in general. On one hand, I do enjoy the site and without it I probably wouldn’t have caught up with some friends. On the other hand, it makes every fucktard believe they have something important to share with the world.

Since this is supposedly a music blog I should tie this into a rather highbrow commentary regarding the influence of Myspace on contemporary music and its ramifications on both the music industry and modern culture.

I was going to, really I was. Then I saw it, a little section below the Login info entitled, “Cool New People.”

None of the three people looked particularly cool, certainly not worth having their picture plastered on the Home Page. I ached to mock them. Then I thought about all the lame people who post details of their horribly pathetic, shitty lives on Myspace. Inspiration struck- each week I would seek out the lamest male I could find and bestow a special award upon him, The Outright Lies & Half-Truths Mangina (Male Vagina) Award, hereby referred to as the OLHT Mangina Award.

But, how could I find the lamest people on the site? It couldn’t really be that hard. I started to go through my friend list and working through their friends and friends of those friends and look for people who looked overtly stupid, but inevitably, somebody would recognize Cousin Jo Jo or Uncle Biff and I don’t have any desire to explain why I just wrote 800 words mocking their relative. I may be passive-aggressive and downright mean at times, but nobody has ever accused me of being stupid. When OLHT Awards take off there’s no telling how many lives are going to be touched, and by touched I mean devastated if all goes as planned. So I used the function enabling you to search for people using a common factor. (I’ll tell you the factor I used later.)

Then the strangest thing happened while I was deep in the throes of ridicule. I had this odd, completely foreign feeling in the pit of my stomach. This gnawing feeling that perhaps I was doing something mean and hurtful. I knew what it was: a pang of feeling they call, “guilt.” Was I feeling guilty for singling out a seemingly harmless random dumbass and verbally belittling him? Then I realized it wasn’t guilt, just my stomach growling because it had been several hours since lunch. If these people were stupid enough to voluntarily post information in a public forum then they should consider themselves fair game. Maybe I’m doing it out of a sense of altruistic duty to identify the douchebags of the world or maybe I’m just even more angry and bitter since I quit smoking like Karen said. Either way- Let the games begin.

Just to preface things; I’m going to change their first name, but anything in bold is taken directly from their own website and is their own words. And, using my masterful Microsoft Paint skills I have managed to stealthily disguise these douchebags to protect what is left of their dignity.

Our first ever OLHT Mangina Award Recipient:

John
24 years old
Elk River, MN

Now, I don’t know where this Elk River place is, but if this is the kind of people they produce I’m certainly not going there.

He lists some of his interests:

I love aniamals, i have two cats, and 2 dogs. they bring me joy when im not in a good mood.

Apparently, though, what he doesn’t love is the Spell Check. But, he does talk about the joy his pets bring him. I bet they’re named something super-cute, too, like Fluffball or Princess Tinkerbell or something.

I love to write poems.

Are you holding your breaths for the punch line? You’d better sit down for this one it’s a real doozy.

One day i would love to turn my poems into rap rock songs like papa roach, or limp bizkit.

That’s right girls, not only is he a Tinkerbell-loving Mama’s boy who writes shitty poetry- He wants to set it to rap rock songs. He lists Papa Roach and Limp Bizkit as the musicians to which he aspires. That’s like saying you’d love to have Gary Coleman’s political career.

Actually, he posts a sample of one, entitled, “Good 4 UR Heart.”

if you're always looking for reasoning,
not to be with someone
you always find them,
i guess at some point
you got to let go,
and give your heart,
what it deservers,

Wow. Just wow. Apparently, Prince is writing the titles for his poems, too. There’s some really dramatic spacing and indentation he added that I regretfully had to omit due to space limitations, so maybe it loses some of the emotional resonance without it. And what the fuck does the word, "deververs" mean? Now I’m not entirely convinced that he’s not retarded.

He rambles on some more about smiling and meeting new people and other stupid shit. And then he says:

i would like to teach high school Social Studies first, then i would like to teach college level pol/sci. then i would like to be a us senator, and maybe president one day.

Oh, yeah, dude. I’m definitely voting for you someday, but after winning the OLHT Mangina Awards your life is all downhill from here.

I hate liers, and i try my best to not lie. When you lie you just make things worst.

Will somebody buy him a goddamn dictionary for Christmas for fuck’s sake? Again, and I'm being completely serious here, is he retarded? I might finally get to experience that feeling people call guilt it I find out I’m making fun of a actual retard.

Im a 23 year old college student. Who is majoring in pol/sci.

I bet he’s minoring in English with a sub-concentration in Spelling, too.

Everybody is beautiful in some different way, that is what makes us human.

No, John, everybody is not beautiful in some way. That’s just what parents say to ugly children.

i drink once in awhile, but most times im the sober cab.

That’s your first mistake, dipshit. Everybody knows that if you’re the first to get drunk you automatically disqualify yourself from being the Designated Driver for the night. And maybe if you drank more you’d be more interesting. Goddamn, I’m so fucking interesting when I've been drinking people can barely stand to be around me.

So I am single

Everybody pick yourself up off of the floor after this news flash.

because females are currently crazy and confusing

If by confusing you mean smart enough not to date you, then, yes we are.

The best way to change your self is to be postive and be happy with yourself, and if not happy do your best to change it. for example if u think yourself as being fat, work out at lifetime fitness you will see me their.

Doesn’t it always make you feel better to be, “postive?” I know I’m postive every time I’m on my way to Lifetime Fitness. I’m postive that John will help me to change my life, and for the postive, too. Glad you're always their. And PS- John, if u think of yourself as being fat then you probably are, in fact, fat.

Ok, I was gonna end it there, but this was too good not to post. It’s a comment left by some girl named Amelia.

hey....yeah so your friend really pissed me off on monday, thats why i'm pissed off. i don't really wanna talk about it, especially with you, you just let him treat me like a dog, and my friends and sister too. so w.e.

Whatever is right, Amelia! I guess John’s nothing but a damn dirty “lier.”

Ok, I’m done now. Seriously.

This Is A Test

This Is A Test

Boys and girls, let’s play a little game that I like to call, “You’re not as smart as me, but go ahead and give it your best shot, anyway.” This particular musical romp of fun will gauge how well you have been paying attention and how many pearls of wisdom you’ve been able to glean from the sacred text otherwise known as my blog. For this challenge, I’m going to give you current musical headlines that I have unashamedly and unapologetically plagiarized from several unnamed sources and see if you have acquired the skills necessary for an appropriate response to the information. Prizes will be given to those whom I deem worthy.

Tickets sales have been sluggish in many markets right now for the Dixie Chicks tour, “Whores and More Whores” because:

A. They are being penalized for being outspoken in their political views.
B. Music from their latest album, Whores In Music, has been virtually ignored by country music radio stations.
C. Nobody really gives a flying fuck about the political ideology of the goddamn, Dixie Chicks. People avoid their live performances because they sound like shrieking cats in heat.

If you answered C, give yourself 5 points. If you answered A or B then puncture your eardrums and pray for immediate deafness, your hearing is obviously not benefiting you or me in any way.

Korn has been forced to cancel its European tour after singer, Jonathan Davis, revealed that he has been diagnosed with the blood disorder immune thrombocytopenic purpura, which he detected when he noticed bruises all over his body.

Now decide the correct response to his subsequent statement, "If I continue to headbang onstage, I could have a brain hemorrhage and drop dead on the spot.”

A. His death would, indeed, be a musical tragedy of monumental proportion.
B. Planets would collide and the Sun would burn out if the universe was deprived the privilege of another Korn album.
C. How much do I need to pay to get to see him do that onstage?

If you answered, “C” give yourself 5 points. If you answered, “A” or “B” lie in the bathtub and open a vein; you are of no viable use to me. 5 extra bonus points if you were smart enough to know the blood disorder story was complete bullshit and was conceived as a cover to explain the bruising when it’s quite evident that Davis the Douchebag merely got his ass kicked again.

Thom Yorke has announced plans to release a solo album in July.

A. Who's Thom Yorke?
B. Who moved my cheese?
C. Fucking-A! Radiohead are genius! I will be attending the Best Buy midnight candle vigil the night before its release.

Give yourself 10 points if you answered, C, and a good thrashing if you answered, A or B.

Some assclown named, Taylor Hicks, won this season of American Idol.

A. Ooooowheeeeee!!!! I just can't wait to hear what he does in the hands of some skilled producers!
B. He doesn’t seem gay to me at all.
C. I’m so glad to know this information, especially since I purposely avoided watching the show for the entire season and now find that I still know what happened, anyway.

If you answered anything but C, quit considering yourself my friend.

Gavin Rossdale’s band, Institute, sucks ______

A. balls
B. ass
C. Big, fat donkey dick
D. All of the above

If you answered, “D” give yourself 2 points, but, really, there’s no wrong answer here.

James Blunt’s song, “Beautiful” is:

A. One of the best pop songs I’ve heard in years.
B. In fact, beautiful, simply beautiful! I cry a little every time I’m lucky enough to hear it.
C. An insult to people with good taste. I die a little each time I hear it.

If you don't know the correct answer then I refuse to speak to you ever again. 5 points.

US punks, Green Day, were responsible for saving the life of a 12-year old girl this weekend, in a bizarre chain of events.

What is the appropriate response from the girl?

A. Man, I am so lucky. Thank God for Green Day.
B. Green Day are, like, so punk.
C. Goddammit! Why did I have to be saved by those asshole douche bags? I had to be rescued by a band with an album entitled, “Dookie.” Aargh.

The correct answer is, C, and is worth 5 points. If you answered, A or B then may you be violently assaulted by a man named Billie Joe next time you pass the trailer park.

Snow Patrol have cancelled their entire US tour after singer Gary Lightbody failed to recover from laryngitis.

A. That really fucking sucks. I was really hoping to hear another whiny-ass British band sing about their feelings and/or vaginas this summer.
B. Well, at least James Blunt is still touring this summer.
C. Who fucking cares?

If you answered anything but C (5 points) then acknowledge that admitting you need help is the first step.

Jewel has a touring partner in Atlantic labelmate Rob Thomas…

This is a two-part question.

First, what should a tour featuring Jewel and Rob Thomas be called?

A. The Raging Vaginas Tour
B. The How Does My Ass Look In These Jeans Tour
C. Music For 14-Year-Old Girls Tour

This is a trick question- All are viable possibilities.

What would be the benefit of combining their super powers and touring together?

A. When Rob and Jewel get on concurrent menstrual cycles (as girls living together are apt to do) they can split the same box of tampons.
B. Their audience of teenage girls should make them feel intellectually superior.
C. Absolutely nothing good can come of this musical crime against humanity. Satan is rejoicing in the bowels of hell for the musical suckage he has released upon us.

If you answered, C, reward yourself with 10 points and a permission from me to call anyone you know who consider themselves fans of either artist and berate them until they weep.

Now, let’s see how you did!

5,876 – 5,984 Points

Congratulations! You are, in fact, as smart as I am! Consider yourself lucky enough to spend the rest of your life feeling mentally superior to everyone around you.

1,500 – 2,000 Points

Not bad. It’s unsurprising to me that you’re nowhere near as smart as I am, but a noble effort, indeed.

200 - 500 Points

Yeah, thanks for wasting both my time and yours.

Under 200 Points

You might as well start considering a career in Law Enforcement or Glue Sniffing if you’re even able to read this.

If you scored more than 5 points and feel you deserve some sort of prize and/or award in addition to the privilege of getting to read my work; then send $5, an essay of no fewer than 1,000 explaining why you deserve any damn thing anything and a certified copy of your test results to the address below.

My Readers Are Actually Dumber Than I Thought, Inc.
123 Does It Really Matter If I Make Up a Street Address
Chattanooga, TN 37fuckyou2

A Big Fuck You To Bonnaroo

Well, I am pissed. And I don't mean just a little pissed, too, like when MM "forgets" to use a coaster under his PBR can on my coffee table or when my neighbor, Marty, is fighting with his girlfriend and goes on 3-day benders of listening to goddamn Foreigner. I'm on a level of irritation that is usually only reserved for people who awaken me while I'm sleeping, wear Blink-182 t-shirts or mention Kevin Federline's name. I'm just that pissed.

I blame Bonnaroo for personally fucking me out of finally seeing one of my Top-5 favorite bands of all-time, Radiohead. I was at work dutifully renewing insurance policies, and by dutifully renewing insurance policies I mean surfing the internet and playing with a rubber band ball I had been crafting for about a week, when I came across an online article announcing Radiohead's North American tour plans. I was atwitter with excitement, my little scheming mind already plotting who would loan me money and/or how many assets I would need to liquidate for ticket money, and by liquidating my assets I mean how many dvds and cds I would have to sell. Forget the stock and bond market; my money's tied up in Columbia House and BMG. And if this wouldn't generate enough funds I was fully prepared to start hooking on the street corner. I even asked MM the going rate on hand jobs, surmising this method involved the least amount of time and physical contact while still providing decent money. He just gave me a nasty look and said, "How the hell should I know?" Hookin' ain't easy, bitches.

My financial planning turned out to be a moot point anyway, as I realized with horror that the closest they're coming to Chattanooga is Bonnaroo. Realistically, I had no delusions they would be in Nashville, but I had been banking on Atlanta, as almost every band passes through there on a tour. But, no. The closest place besides Bonnafuckingroo is like 800 miles away and I'd have to give more than hand jobs to finance that kind of a trip.

So fuck me, I'm not going to get to see them because I refuse to go to Bonnaroo. I don't go to Bonnaroo because I like taking goddamn showers and I have better things to do than submerge myself in Hippie-stink for three days. I am not paying nearly $200 to sleep on dirt in 90+-degree weather for 3 days. I'm just fucking weird like that.

I have friends that are going who attempt various angles of enticement. First, they tried evoking a sense of nostalgia for my wilder years, using the old illegal substances angle with claims of excellent crops to be sampled. Please. You think the cops are fucking retards? You don't think they have some idea there might be illegal substances floating around? I live in Tennessee; let me tell you how it works in our great state. The local Barney Fifes of Manchester, TN would like nothing better than to bust some asshole with out-of-town tags with enough fines to fund their annual Lasagna Dinner for the next decade and that particular asshole is sure as shit not going to be me. I'm sure they even have contests to see who can bring in the most out-of-towners and the winner receives a year of free doughnuts or an unsupervised trip to the holding cell with Bubba, the toothless WunderCop.

When that didn't work they tried to appeal to my love for the music community. "But, but…It's like about love and music and being one as a community of listeners," my friend told me. First of all, I assure you that sitting in traffic for 16 hours on a trip that should only take about an hour is not going to get me in the mood to love the neighbors in any community. And, if you are willing to share a tent with me after I have been trapped in a car for that length of time then you are even dumber than I think you are, buddy.

So MM can breathe a hearty sigh of relief; I won't have to whore myself out for ticket money and the only hand job I give will be to him and it probably won't even get me a free dinner at the Sizzler, either. Bonnaroo's legion of damn dirty hippies will writhe around in drug-addled ecstasy to the musical genius of Thom Yorke and I will be stuck sulking at my computer and basking in the joys of soap and water. Fuck you, Bonnaroo- I hope you're content with robbing me of the last remaining pleasure in my life.

More Reasons To Hate The Brits

Do our neighbors across the Pond look for new reasons to make Americans hate them or do they just want to piss me off specifically? A poll released by the British magazine, NME, lists the Top-20 albums of all time as voted on by their readers, namely tone-deaf British douche bags with bad teeth and an unnatural obsession with Robbie Williams. I can't prove it, but I have a feeling that smug bastard Simon Cowell may have had a hand in this.

I swear to God I knew Oasis would grace the top of the list before I even read it. Only British people even remember who Oasis is much less vote for them for things other than Least Relevant Artists of the Millennium. And, THEY MADE THE GODDAMN LIST TWICE. Really, most of it is just the same tired old shit that appears on every list. And, the British are a patriotic bunch if nothing else, there's only two American bands on the entire list.

Here's the list- I refuse to post the link because it will just provide more traffic on their site and might encourage them to engage in future atrocities like this one.

1. 'Definitely Maybe' - Oasis

Most definitely it is not- not a good album that is. I couldn't provide the name of one song on this album if you had me in a half nelson and were flogging me with a Taking Back Sunday cd. The only amusing part of putting them at the top is the fact that they once claimed that they were better than The Beatles. Apparently, your fellow countrymen agree, Liam.

2. 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band' - The Beatles

Goddamn. Can we suck the Fab 4's dicks a little more? Christ Almighty. This album should be immediately disqualified solely because of the album cover. Dress four British men in matching, festively colored silk outfits with flowers in their hair and that’s considered groundbreaking. Dress up four stupid American pussies in matching outfits and you have the Backstreet Boys. Where's the justice?

3. 'Revolver' - The Beatles

See above notation.

4. 'OK Computer' - Radiohead

Ok, I'll give you this one, assholes. Radiohead is fucking genius and if you don't appreciate their brilliance then, “Fuck You.”

5. '(What's The Story) Morning Glory?' – Oasis

Double the pleasure, double the fun, huh? Did their record label or maybe Bush’s henchmen in Florida count the ballots?

6. 'Nevermind' - Nirvana

What is this the token American band for the Top-10? I liked this album. I liked this album about the first 600 times I heard it. And then people started acting like Kurt Cobain was a goddamn prophet and I stopped listening.

7. 'The Stone Roses' - The Stone Roses

I would bet MM's right testicle that you couldn't find 10 people in North America who could name one Stone Roses song. And why would you even want to? The Stone Roses epitomize all that is intolerable about the British: pretentious and whiny.

8. 'Dark Side Of The Moon' - Pink Floyd

Oooh! That's a novel idea! Who would've thought to put that album on a list!! Mentioning Dark Side or The Wall are predictably, safe choices- You’re not going to piss too many people off with either of them. You're just going to piss me off because I like Wish You Were Here better.

9. 'The Queen Is Dead' - The Smiths

The Smiths are a love ‘em or hate ‘em kinda band and I happen to love the hell out of them. This wouldn’t qualify as my favorite album of theirs, but it’s widely accepted as their best. The best thing about putting them in the Top-10 is pissing MM off. Sweet!

10. 'The Bends' - Radiohead

A less obvious choice, I'll give you that. I would've gone with Kid A, but what do I know. I mean, I, unlike the British assholes who voted in this poll, I actually have taste.

11. 'The Joshua Tree' - U2

Motherfucking #11? They didn't even make the Top-5?

12. 'London Calling' - The Clash

One of the few bands that deserves to be on this list.

13. 'The Beatles (The White Album)' - The Beatles

Arguably, the most overblown and over-rated album of all time. And, they didn't just stop at one; they stretched it out to a double-album because God forbid we not include, Piggies or Rocky Raccoon somewhere on there. Beatles' fans get on my nerves as much as any other group of people because they act like if John Lennon farted into the microphone and then recorded it it was some kind of goddamn breakthrough.

14. 'Abbey Road' - The Beatles

I don't think I have anything else left to say about The Beatles. Thanks for hanging out with the band, Yoko.

15. 'Up The Bracket' - The Libertines

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Only about 5 music dorks such as myself even know who this band is and even I couldn't hum along to any of their songs. Just to bring everybody up to speed: You know that druggie douche bag, Pete Doherty, that was boinking Kate Moss for awhile and has gotten arrested for stupid, drug-related shit approximately 78 times? He was the lead singer for the (now defunct) band.

16. 'Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols' - Sex Pistols

Let's just extend the list of talent less assholes to include the Sex Pistols. If I wanted to listen to a band scream and play the only 2 notes they know out-of-time then I'd listen to my own band play.

17. 'Four Symbols (Led Zeppelin IV)' - Led Zeppelin

No arguments here, although, I think it's funny that British people call it, "Four Symbols" when everyone in the States just calls it ZOSO.

18. 'The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars' - David Bowie

David Bowie was a goddamned genius. Moving on.

19. 'A Night At The Opera' - Queen

RIP Freddie. It's a disgrace those British assholes but bands like, The Libertines, before you guys.

20. 'Is This It' - The Strokes

Token American band, number 2. And of all the US bands to chose from, I'll be damned if they didn't pick a shitty poseur Ramone’s wannabe band.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I hope you UK assholes are proud of yourselves and the shitty list you've made.

Who Will Sa-a-ave Her Teeth?

Let me tell you, dear readers- It’s been a long fucking week. If there was EVER a time to return to nicotine bliss it would be now. I am on Day 8 of a severe cable drought, or as I call it, "Sometimes when you get something for nothing, you just get fucking nothing." I am down to three channels, two of which are ABC. The food supply is growing meager. Soon I may be forced to exist solely on the numerous Long John Silvers' malt vinegar packets that MM has squirreled away in my kitchen (He believes he’s hidden them without my knowledge). Alcohol consumption has increased dramatically (We’ll attribute that to the lack of cable. Yeah, it’s definitely the lack of cable.) Morale has dwindled to an all-time low (This is when the alcohol re-enters the picture- It works wonders for the troops). Tempers are rising (Well, that’s not exactly unusual) and judgment is blurred (No thanks to the alcohol). My friend, Cable, left me on a Monday morning and by Sunday I grew so desperate that I watched a Formula 1 race on television while napping. A weaker person couldn't survive this cable mind fuck (MM, I’m speaking to you).

Why don’t I just call the cable company and have them repair it? Short answer: I’m deathly afraid they’ll revoke my stolen, free cable if they learn of its existence. It's a little known fact that Comcast, my cable company, is run by the same savage beasts as Rolling Stone's subscription department. It also goes out quite regularly and has always reappeared by now. Most likely it will return just as mysteriously as it left- I just half to ride it out until then. I think I miss the infomercials, especially the Time Life Music Collections, the most.

I'm relaying this little story of despair because the absence of available channels has resulted in me viewing various TV programs that I would not normally be inclined to watch (see aforementioned Formula 1 race). During the week I go home at lunch for an hour filled with a Lean Cuisine delicacy and a gripping episode of The Golden Girls or, perhaps, Magnum, P.I. This week my lunchtime television options are The View (And let me just say for the record that Joy Behar woman is a real turbo bitch) and that Tyra Banks show. The goddamned Price is Right won't even come in. I settled for The View, but only because there was a 17-minute commercial for feminine hygiene products on Tyra.

So, if you'll indulge me for a moment, let's ruminate over the profound beauty of her words. Luckily for you readers I've added some helpful explanatory notes in italics.

"Again And Again"

Listen dear

Not even if you made me.

I need you to hear.

No, YOU need to hear this: You fucking suck.

I cannot disappear

Please, please keep trying. I will pay you handsomely.

I've tried again and again and again.

Nobody likes a quitter.

I know we said
That we'd give up

No, I think we gave up… The hope that now you have money you'd get your teeth fixed.

You said we'd had enough
Again and again and again.

No, that was me saying, "Shut the hell up." Again and again and again.

But you, you're always on my mind.

Ooh! Clever! That’s a lyric I’ve never heard before!

It's like this all the time.

What? The itching? The painful discharge? There's medicine for that sort of thing.

Say it's cause you're mine
All mine...

It says so right here in my little pink unicorn diary. I heart Jewel. She's just dreamy!!!

And if you will, I will
Try to let it go.

Please let it go- The restraining order is still in effect.

Just look me in the eye
This is do or die

Can I vote for die? And please let me have a hand in it.

And I will stay in love
'Till you say enough

But it won't really be enough until you say the "Safe Word."

Walk down the street

Careful you’re not chewing gum at the same time. Walking is hard.

Stare at lots of things

Ooh, shiny things!

Do what I should
Try to stay busy

I would suggest amusing yourself with loaded firearms. If we're lucky one might discharge.

Your face is all I see
Again and again and again.

Well, that's lucky for you. Isn't it? I am damn hot.

There is no giving in
There is no giving up in love

There's only giving up the hope that your music might one day cease to suck.

In the darkness I recall
Feeling the beauty and the pain
And when you call my name
Say you feel the same.
I cannot disappear...
I've tried again and again and again...

Obviously, you're not trying hard enough.

…Bob Fucking Dylan she's not….