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Showing posts from March, 2013

The Other Life, By Shooter Jennings: A Review

The Other Life is Shooter Jennings’ best album. Last year’s Family Man album was very good and at first I wasn’t sure which one was better. In the end, I think the songwriting on this record is just a bit more solid.

Like Family Man, this album is autobiographical. Whereas the last record explored unity, kinship and things larger than the individual, The Other Life goes in the complete opposite direction. It explores alienation and the nature of the outsider. As you might suspect, the album’s tone is quite dark. And although some of these songs are on the very edge of what you could reasonably call country music, its roots lie in the country soul and dark pathos exemplified by artists like George Jones and David Allan Coe. Just like Shooter Jennings, there have always been a few country artists who aren’t afraid to look into the dark side of the human soul.

The album opens with “Flying Saucer Song.” A spooky piano solo plays just to the edge of tedious and lets us know right from the …

Bates Motel, Episode Two

I saw someone on Facebook mention that the acting in the first episode of Bates Motel was, for the most part, poor. I thought about it and realized that she was right. I just wasn’t really looking at the acting in the first episode. I was looking for suspense and surprises, which I got. Episode two was a little low on suspense, but pretty heavy on surprises.

The show opens with Norman and his blonde crush, Bradley (she’s a girl, just has a boy’s name), witnessing a car accident while they wait for the morning school bus. They find Bradley’s father inside, his body a charred mess. Someone lit him on fire and locked him in his own car. Hoo-kay. We don’t hear much more about the incident in this episode. It’s just one of many plot threads that are introduced.

Other plot threads include the introduction of Norman’s half-brother, Dylan (Max Thieriot), and a possible Chinese sex slavery ring (?). We also find out that pretty much everyone in this little former logging town is part of a cri…

Adventures in Paper Shining

Sunday 24th of March 2013 3:17 am
You can't make paper shine. This fact has been driving me mad. I've probably gone through a small forest worth of printer paper trying this. No matter how much orange juice I pour on it, it won't shine like the sun. I've tried from concentrate, not from concentrate, no pulp, with pulp, high pulp. Nothing works.

Sunday 24th of March 5:42 pm
There is a soda called Sun Drop. I think that that may be just what I need. Capri Sun has a lot of flavors, it'll take me a while to try them all. NeuroSun looks really promising. It even has a picture of a head on it with a sun where the brain would be.

Monday 25th of March 2:02 pm
Jack flapping shit. I have now decided to think think outside of the (English) box and try some Sol beer. By this time the pool that is my office floor has become quite sudsy, tasting very sweet. But the paper still won't shine. Next idea: Dawn dish detergent. They must call it Dawn for a reason. And I may as wel…

The Giant Chocolate Egg Says It's Okay To Be Gay

As with all the important decisions in my life, I asked the Giant Chocolate Egg whether I should support gay marriage. Because I saw my reflection, the answer was "yes."

Though I'm a firm believer in letting the Giant Chocolate Egg make all my decisions for me, sometimes it leads me to weird places. For instance, last year I asked it if I should dress like a Victorian dandy for the rest of my life. The Giant Chocolate Egg answered "yes." And when I asked it whether I should wear pants to my job interview, I didn't see my reflection, so the answer was a definite "no." Actually, that decision wasn't so bad. I got the job anyway and I'm now enjoying a fulfilling career in the field of Victorian dandy pornography.

I think the Giant Chocolate Egg just likes to fuck with me sometimes.

On this issue, though, I think it was right.

Signs Your Houseplant Might Be A Communist

Yesterday I had a thought. This doesn't happen very often and I wasn't prepared. It overloaded my brain circuits. I fell on the floor and shit all over myself. When I stood up, the thought was still there. This surprised me so much that I fell over backward and hit my head. Now I think I'm a pair of high-heeled shoes.
Anyway, this was the thought I had: my houseplant must be some sort of communist. Ronald Regan would not approve. And neither do I. I mean, I feed the thing all the sunlight it needs and water it all the time. I even tickle its leaves and say, "Ooochie Boochies." But what has this houseplant has done in its life besides giving my wife that STD? (Mental note: check to see if this is actually possible.)
My houseplant just stands around in its spot by the window looking pretty. Oh. So. Pretty. I bet it doesn't even notice me when I walk by. What's up with that? How do you not notice a pair of high-heeled shoes walking on their own? I tell my h…

To The Gypsies Fucking Underneath My Carport

Yes, I realize that you need some shelter when it rains. But do you always have to fuck underneath my carport? Is it because I just installed a disco ball for those occasions when my Tupperware parties get seriously out of hand and I have to act quickly before my guests resort to cannibalism? Or perhaps it's because of that shag carpet I installed. Sue me if I like to rub shampoo all over my body and roll around while I sing "The Way We Were" in my best Barbra Streisand voice. So what if I'm a lumberjack? That's okay.

Oh gypsies, how I wish I could trade places with you. You're in your eighties and still doing that love thang underneath a stranger's carport. You wear nothing but argyle socks and a smile that reminds me of Heath Ledger's Joker. So I guess what I want to ask is whether I can join you. I have my argyle socks and shampoo at the ready. Just flash me a signal. Oh you thought I meant for you to literally flash me. Well, whatever works. I…

Feed the Cornhole

Kellog's has enraged a few million parents with their revamping of Corn Pops. Now advertised as having "MORE BANG FOR YOUR BUCK" (yes, in all caps), the breakfast cereal's packaging has been changed to show a busty model topless, wearing pasties made of Corn Pops and a smile only a crackwhore mother could love. Seriously, her only teeth that aren't black are the same yellow color as the cereal itself. But the packaging alone isn't the only thing angering parents. Kellog's Corn Pops now come with fireworks and a working lighter as the prize. Some boxes contain firecrackers, others bottle rockets, roman candles, even smoke bombs, which have been reported to give the cereal the smell of sulphur. A few children surveyed claim they like the flavor. Some chains of stores are shelving the boxes offering incendiary bonuses until Kellog's can get off their asses and release a statement.

This isn't the only corn-related faux pas that Kellog's has found …

My Family Can Beat Up Your Family

Well, admittedly, there's a good reason my family could beat your family to a bloody pulp. You see we're cyborg death bots. We were created specifically to maul you. It's our only purpose in life.

Our creator, one Dr. Mash Taters, is your next door neighbor. He doesn't appreciate you letting your camels graze in his yard. He's had his property surveyed, you know. And why on earth do you make them wear sundresses and your granny's old church hats? Sure, they look great. Really classy dames. Except that they chain smoke and lift their dresses up when cars pass by. Tell them to find a little decency.

And your kids! Must they be so loud? I realize that it's hard to be quiet when you're juggling chainsaws, but, let's face it, if your children do have a career in the carnival ahead of them, it's going to be in the freak show. Faces don't have to look like that, you know. There's all sorts of surgeries or vacuum cleaners that could be used on …

Bates Motel, Episode One

The first episode of Bates Motel provided a solid foundation for this new horror / thriller series from A&E. There were a few surprises and it was about as Oedipal as you’d expect.
Freddie Highmore, who you might remember as the cute kid from Finding Neverland and the cute kid from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory plays a teenage Norman Bates in this sort of prequel to the Alfred Hitchcock movie Psycho. I say “sort of” because this version has a contemporary setting, with cellphones and such. Budget issues? Anyway, it does get a little confusing because Norman and his mother Norma (Vera Farmiga) have a fashion sense that comes straight out of the early 1960’s. And, of course, the familiar motel and the creepy house old behind it look exactly like they do in the Hitchcock film. And yet, everything else is clearly from this era. It provides a weird but interesting contrast between the insular world Norman and his mother share, and everyone else.
The hotel is originally called the “Se…

Mondo Metaphysics (Guest Post By Daguerreotype-O-Negative)

-I believe that there is a reality that I and everyone else are experiencing & manipulating & shaping. -We Interpret this reality through our philosophical worldview like a colored lens with a fixed depth of field would see a landscape. -If we realized this fundamental quality of our limitations of perception we could then look through many different filters to see different aspects of the one reality that we are shaping. 
When I hear the words of Siddhartha, Jesus, Socrates, Morihei Ueshiba, Nietzsche, Thich Nhat Hanh, & Eckhart Tolle I hear the exact same message with little variation. The main differences in some of the great philosophical teachers' perspectives seems to simply be their background, but it all comes down to the simple fact that we are all humans that were simply born here and we are just trying to make sense of everything that surrounds us and there are some fundamental conclusions that we all tend to come to if we just let go of our biases, bigotries…

Help Fix A Creationist's Safety Helmet

Creationists are stupid. Well all know that. Why, just the other day I saw one of them trying to rescue a cat by pushing it up a tree. I saw a news report yesterday about a creationist who threw a party, but nobody showed up because he decided to issue invitations to people after they arrived. And who hasn't seen a creationist stomping his feet in frustration at a public urinal because his zipper won't open? Then they get mad at us when we tell them their pants are on backwards.

Do me a favor: next time you run into a creationist, talk to them very slowly and then offer them a snack. If they start to growl, back up, but never lose eye contact. However, if they piss themselves in excitement you've gained their trust and you have a friend for life. Once they trust you, reach out and make sure their safety helmet is nice and snug. Those things can be pretty tricky.

All I Want Is A Chance...To Fail

Well, now that you mention it, you just might have seen me around town. I'm the guy who plods along, dragging his knuckles. Well, I wouldn't have to drag them if they hadn't been torn off in that terrible volleyball accident a few years ago. Who says that's gross? You're gross. Look, we both have to put on all six of our shoes one foot at a time. You only have two feet? What's wrong with you? Oh, yeah, well, I suppose I have noticed that most people only wear two shoes. How do they stuff so many feet in them?

Okay, so I have six feet and my knuckles are attached to silly string. But you can't fault me for being beautiful. Why, I once took second prize in an octogenarian camel look-alike contest, just narrowly losing to Milton Berle's corpse. You say I would scare off your customers? And the other rodeo clowns? Well, I say there's no accounting for taste, my good fellow.

Ah! Silky Soaky Bum Bum Bum Bum

Come on over to my place. You can touch it. You can touch my silky soaky bum and his little companion. He's a nice little fella. Followed me home one day, flicking his poo clippings onto the back of my neck. I turned around. He was a short, bearded guy. He smelled of garlic and taint cheese. I patted him on the head and said, "Who's a good little bum? Who's a nice little bum?"

This sure didn't make him very happy. He opened his mouth and out came an even tinier version of the bum. Looked just like him. This tiny bum shimmied up the big bum's beard, climbed up to his nose, and then hopped onto my lips. I started to sweat, imagining the horrible fate that awaited me. But then he gave me a little kiss on the lips. Really, it was the cutest thing ever. So I decided to take them both home, give them a silky soaky bath and make them my lifelong sex slaves.

Besides pleasuring me in ways unimaginable by even the most perverted sea otter, they also mowed my lawn …

The Sad Life Of A Kazoo Player

There's nobody so under-appreciated in today's music scene as the lowly kazoo player. The yak bladder player gets all the girls and the guy who plays his washboard abs gets a $2.99 breakfast at Denny's. And that's a pretty good deal in this economy. But the kazoo player, if he's lucky, gets whipped with an ostrich neck fourteen times before being thrown out into an alley onto a pile of thumbtacks.

Even Skinny Man Slats, arguably the greatest kazoo player of all time, had to spend two years training his dog to sit in the same room as him. The closest the dog ever came to showing affection is when he licked some peanut butter off of Slats' finger after he had a heart attack and lay lifeless on his kitchen floor.

But just think where we would be without the kazoo player? Sure, music would be less goofy, but it would also be far sexier. And we can't have that. When music is sexy, more people hump. And when more people hump, there's more babies. Which means…

Argyle Sock Magazine Named Me One Of The Top Ten People To Drink!

I'm not sure if this is something I should be proud of or not. Of course I taste sugary sweet. I'm not arguing that. But what worried me was when I read the part of the article where the author wrote, "It's best not to take small sips of Pat King. Instead, slice him right open and bathe in a geyser of delight. No. Let's not do that. It's not fitting. Because you're simply too pretty to get me all over your nice sundress. I'm like a good habanero sauce: Just a little dab'll do ya.

I’m Okay, You’re a Horse Fucker by Dr. P. Arse, A Book Review

I'm Okay, You're A Horse Fucker is Dr. P Arse's manifesto on the fine art of quacking like a duck when you make love to your significant other at home or during of a zombie attack. His book consists of nothing more than silly catchphrases like "Taste the eyebrow!" and "Jiggle like a matador!" This book is an insult to anyone who's ever even slightly cared about anything in general.

My wife left me for a handsome sea otter after she saw me reading this book. I told her that it was just for a review, but she threw some jellyfish in my eyes and called the police. When the police arrived, they saw that my head had puffed up to the size of a small whale, and I was propping it up with a ladder. They informed my wife that reading was not yet illegal, though she should sit tight because the Republicants are doing their best to fix that. Then they threw some jellyfish on my face and left. I couldn't help but wonder where everyone was getting all that jel…

I Had A Dream Where Everything Was Normal Except My Cats Were Seventeen Feet Tall

What does all this mean? Have I been looking at too many stuffed-animal fetish videos? Has my guilt over calling one of my cats "Wussypants" finally caught up with me? Am I secretly searching for metaphysical truth? Did I just toot?

While these are all interesting questions, I think there's a much simpler explanation. My cats want to outgrow me so they can eat my liver while sucking my brain through my nose. I better keep a good eye on them from now on.

The Safe Word Is "Aaaaaahhhhh!!!"

Listen, sweetie, could  you take off that Darth Vader helmet and help me get this dried eggplant out of my eyeballs? There's something I've been wanting to tell you. You know that goat we've been keeping in the backyard? Well, it's not a goat. It's my Uncle Millie. He's a pretty friendly guy, though his idea of making a well-balanced breakfast is trotting around the kitchen in his underwear yelling, "Feed the Queen!" until a ladybug lands in his mouth. That's why he's so low-maintenance. After all, there's plenty of critters out there. But maybe now you can understand why I don't feel comfortable giving him a bath. That's just something he'll have to learn on his own.

What I'm trying to say is that I love you. But we might want to hold off on the spatula play for a while. It's not that I don't like my ass being cratered like the moon. But you're a woman and I'm a man. Though we both have our needs, is it re…

National Parks Are For Homos and Hippies

Those greedy bastards at the Parks Service have finally been forced to cut their budgets by $131 million. Good. Anyway, what are they bitching about? There's plenty of ways they can make that money back. First of all, forest fires. Establish a lottery where tickets are issued for certain dates throughout the year. If an apocalyptic fire breaks out and destroys everything around it on that day, you win! Scratch-offs could be issued where you attempt to match three tree species that got turned to ashes. Double the winnings!

Second, perhaps it's time for the Parks Service to get into the cage fighting business. You know, maybe bring in a little of that coveted youth market. The Yosemite website lists the Sierra Nevada red fox and the wolverine as two endangered species in the area. You could stick them into a barbed-wire octagon of death and let them fight it out to determine which species gets to keep existing. True, the wolverine's adamantium claws provide a distinct advan…

Remember, Loose Lips Make Me Shake My Hips

Every time you say something untrue, a librarian yells at a Jungian biker for reading romance novels. Every time you forget to leave a tip, a meddlesome landlord finds his son's basement porn studio for penguins. And don't even think about whispering sexy nothings to your dog's bath toys. If you do this, somewhere around the world, a housewife will butter her husband from head to toe and kick him out of the house. Alone in the wilderness, a pack of wild wolves will find him and laugh hysterically at his micro penis for over three hours.

The Mugwump Confessions 1

Do Your Part! Murder Your Employees!

Great news for business owners. Due to recent budget cuts, the government has recently increased the tax incentive for murdering your employees in cold blood. People who collect food stamps, welfare and unemployment are a serious drain on the economy. That's why this year the government is offering an even larger tax break to companies that choose to execute their employees in the parking lot instead of laying them off. In previous years, your company would receive a mere $11.99 in tax benefits for each corpse picked up for recycling. Well, this year that amount has been increased to $15.69! Use your extra cash to buy hats for your company softball team, purchase a small aquarium or even keep it for yourself. Heck, you've earned it!

Professor Docswatch Deports Illegal Teardrops

As we all know, Mugwumpville citizens are allowed up to three teardrops per year, and only on the occasion of a loved one's death, after watching a cute cat video, or when a really tasty taco is dropped on the floor. But people have been ignoring this law for generations. Just last week, ol' Martha Quimly cried a total of six and a half tears after she engulfed her pet llama in flames when it got too close to a fart she was lighting. The llama has since recovered, but it's convinced that it's an aloof priest and is now going around town giving people their last rites without any real enthusiasm.

Extra tears are now being rounded up and sent across the border to Harumphville to aid in their law enforcement efforts. They've just begun a program where they give out wet willies for parking violations. Their previous policy had been to just shoot the bastards.

No, You Really Can't Be a Rock Star

Sure, you've got the look, but do you have the talent? Probably not, especially considering that your mom has issued a restraining order against your guitar. Have words like "practice" or "lessons" ever come to mind? I know times have been tough, and you've even had to sell your Billy Dee Williams collector's plates, but don't you think it's time to give up this particular ghost and do something useful with your time? Maybe you could sell kangaroos to homeless Egyptians. Or you could teach rodeo clowns to cure depression in dust mites. As your next door neighbor, I have to say that I much preferred your "fucking gypsies under my carport" phase. Could you at least turn the volume down so that my wife can stop her infernal howling?

Coming Soon: The Ostrich Bachelor

Wednesdays at seven, join Flavor Flav, Gary Busey and the reanimated corpses of the Marx Brothers in Celebrity Ostrich Hunt: You Bastard Whore (title not yet final). Throughout the course of the show, these celebrities will try to convince Gallington, a young ostrich looking for love, to marry them. Unfortunately, Gallinton isn't impressed by fame alone. She wants to be wooed. She wants to be romanced. She wants to be taken to opium dens, introduced to crystal meth and mechanically separated into a slurry. Whoever wins her talons in marriage is going to have to do a lot of work. When asked about his strategy, Gary Busey said, "Beeeeef!" After he was informed that ostriches and cows are two different animals, he replied, "Don't count me out just yet. After all, a moron is simply a genius in reverse."

This Man Married His Nightmare

When your nightmare is so terrible that it actually manifests itself in the real world, you're about as fucked as it gets. However, there is a way out. If you can convince your nightmare that it should marry you (which, if you're as dapper as the fella above, is all it wants anyway), then you guarantee that when you die, the nightmare only gets to keep half of your soul. That's more soul than all of the CNN anchors combined! Half a soul isn't enough to get you into heaven, but it will probably get you into broccoli heaven, which is almost identical, just a little gassier.