The Church of the Everlasting Groove

HAIL TO THE CHIEF, BABY!

2008-01-25T17:54:00.000-05:00

So, a few months ago, two good friends of mine, Mike and Jeremy, started filming little short comedy bits about two wierd-ass roommates, Sid and Pete, who do wierd-ass things, titled "Dudes." As it turns out, they're pretty funny (especially Jeremy's "10 Dollar Sucky, Sucky: The Jeremy Arthur Story"), so I wanted in and demanded to write an episode.

Lo and behold, my first "Dudes" ep has been filmed, edited, and posted. Check out "Hail to the Chief, Baby!" in which Pete decides to run for President and Sid reluctantly agrees to help. It's got lots of profanity, and we insult nearly every Presidential candidate, so you may want to wear headphones if you have co-workers, grandparents, children, or prudes in the room.

The rest of the "Dudes" episodes can be found here. The next one should be out at some point in the near future and features Sid and Pete battling an unspeakable evil from the depths of Sid's closet.

THE GREATEST GAME EVER PLAYED

2008-01-06T01:23:00.000-05:00

And, no, I’m not talking about Calvinball, though, you could make a very good case for it.

I’m referring to a game I’ve been playing with family and friends since I was but a wee Reverend. To re-cap a few points I’ve made in the past...

I love music (only slightly) more than Zooey Deschanel ("Really? No shit?"). I’m also a natural mimic, which is a personality trait that has provided endless amounts of both amusement and annoyance for those close to me. The music/mimicry connection was always both a blessing and a curse.

On one hand, I’m a musician who, until recently, had no natural singing voice, which used to suck. For a majority of my life, I was considered a "good" singer only because I could accurately imitate whoever I was covering. As of late, however, I’ve developed a decent "rock and roll voice;" it requires a bit of tweaking, but the projection and pitch are definitely there. On the other hand, as mentioned, I have an ability to consistently do very good (or very funny) impressions of other singers.

Of course, this ability is not comprehensive. I can do a good, say, Jagger or Morrison (Jim, not Van) but, due to talent issues, a bad Freddy Mercury. Mostly because that motherfucker had the voice of a God. Maybe if I grew a sweet-ass ‘70's porn ‘stache...

So, once it was established that I could do good impressions I started to play with them. I don’t quite remember when the whole ordeal started, but I definitely remember when it started becoming an obsession and a "go-to" comedy bit.

A friend of mine is a bad-ass guitar prodigy and a fellow music lover. One night, while sitting around, drinking, and smoking up, we started discussing Bob Dylan.

Now, I’ll be honest and say that I was never a big Dylan fan. I can dig on a couple of his tunes but, in my opinion, he’s a great songwriter with a horrible voice.

But it’s both very easy and very fun to pull off a humorous Dylan impression. In an old kitchen job I had, where we would listen to the oldies station, "Like a Rolling Stone" would come on (it seemed) at least once a day. So, whenever it came on, I would sing loudly in my best exaggerated Dylan voice and either make my fellow food-jockeys laugh or groan (mostly for the same reasons). I would also use the line "How does it feel?" (in Dylan’s voice) as a random greeting.

While hanging out with my guitar-prodigy friend (also a massively funny guy) we would do "Dueling Bob Dylan" impressions, which would crack us both up to no end. Then we started thinking, "What would it sound like if Bob Dylan covered stuff that Bob Dylan would never cover?"

Thus, a terrible and beautiful thing was born...

Our first stab at hilarity was the "Yo! Bob Dylan Raps!" idea. What if Bob Dylan were to cover, say, Snoop’s "Gin and Juice?" Or Method Man’s "Bring the Pain?" Or, better yet, NWA’s "Straight Outta Compton?"

From there, the idea soon went completely out of orbit and began to encompass all the wackiest covers we could devise. For your consideration...

-Neil Diamond singing Nine Inch Nails’ "Heresy." Just imagine Neil singing the lines, "Your God is dead/ And no one cares/ If there is a Hell/ I’ll see you there." (That would be, technically, Nine Inch Neil.)

-Frank Sinatra singing Hank Williams’ "Family Tradition." Or Frank singing Marvin Gaye’s "Let’s Get it On." (Or Frank singing any song written after 1960-something.)

-Metallica covering Amy Grant’s "Baby, Baby." (With frequent vocal fills comprising only the phrases, "Yeeeah!" and "Yeeeah-Heh!")

-The Ramones covering the "Happy Birthday" song. (Nah, that’s too easy...)

-Christina Aguilera singing Slayer’s "Dead Skin Mask." (This is actually the one I’d be most interested in hearing.)

-Cannibal Corpse covering James Blunt’s "Beautiful." (A very close second to Aguilera’s "Dead Skin Mask.")

-Michael McDonald singing anything, including songs that Michael McDonald has both written and originated. (Michael McDonald is, by far, the most amusing singer to impersonate.)

And that’s just off the top of my head. I only wish I could remember some of the more inspired, off-the-cuff covers I’ve done over the years.

So, if you can impersonate anybody, please do so. And, please, do so in a context completely outside of that person’s normal safe-zone.

I’m even debating buying a microphone, figuring out how in the Holy Hell to make a podcast, and impersonating my favorites. But that seems like a shit-load of work. And I’m a lazy bastard.

Anyway, introduce your friends, family, and co-workers to this immensely enjoyable game. If they don’t kill you, they’ll only love you ten times more...

THE TOP 3 CHRISTMAS SONGS THAT WON'T MAKE YOU WANT TO KILL YOURSELF

2007-12-21T20:41:00.000-05:00

As a psychotic music lover, I have no problems at all listening to particular songs or albums millions upon millions of times. In fact, when I find a new favorite album, I’ll tend to listen to it and nothing else.

When I first picked up Dream Theater’s "Scenes From a Memory," I listened to it (and it alone) for two weeks straight. Just recently, a friend burned me a copy of Coheed and Cambria’s "IV," which I listened to for about a week solid.

People usually call me on that when I start listing off the reasons why I hate, hate, fucking hate Christmas music.

First, because, honestly, how many times can you hear Frosty the Goddamn Snowman before you want to destroy everything you love? I can only handle about 1/16 of Frosty before I want to turn into Dexter Morgan.

Second, because (with a few exceptions) Christmas songs are either A) written for children (Frosty, Rudolph, any song about a judgmental, voyeuristic fat man) or B) written to glorify Jesus. Children’s music and church music are notoriously banal, boring, and insipid, written exclusively to be easily memorized and easily sung by large groups of people who, for the most part, wouldn’t know real music if it hit them in the head with a wrench.

Third, I just don’t understand the weird, seasonal attachment to Christmas music. Good music is good all the time, not just from November to New Years. So, unless you drive around in the middle of the summer listening to "Jingle Bells," don't tell me you like fucking Christmas music.

The only Christmas song I can dig on is "O Holy Night," because, if you disregard the meaning of the song, you’re left with an eerie, almost evil-sounding number with a beautiful chorus. I still sing it every time it comes on.

But, for people like me, there are Christmas songs available that really get you into the spirit of things...

3. WEIRD AL YANKOVIC - "THE NIGHT SANTA WENT CRAZY"

This is sheer genius. A song about Santa Claus going batshit insane (probably because he heard "Rudolph" seventy-five too many times), tearing the North Pole to the ground, and slaying all the elves and reindeer.

I know a lot of people seem to have an irrational hatred of Weird Al (I’ve always loved the guy), but give the song a chance. It’s well done, "Christmas-y," and very funny.

BEST LINE...

"From his beard to his boots,
He was covered with ammo.
Like a big, fat, drunk,
Disgruntled Yuletide Rambo.
And he smiled as he said,
With a twinkle in his eye,
‘Merry Christmas to all!
Now you’re all gonna die!’"

2. THE DAN BAND - "ROCK YOU HARD THIS CHRISTMAS"

Ahh, the Dan Band. Probably the most fun live show in the history of music and the only band on the planet who can get a room full of drunken guys to sing Wilson Phillips and songs from "Flashdance." I saw them last year and they opened the gig by showing the video for "Rock You Hard," and it damn-near brought the house down before the band even took the stage.

BEST LINE... (TIE)

"Have a very merry motherfucking Christmas!"

"I’m gonna get naughty,
All over your body,
Come sit on Santa’s lap!"

1. SPINAL TAP - "CHRISTMAS WITH THE DEVIL"

Honestly, how could the best Christmas song of all time be anything else?

It’s got a mean-ass guitar riff, and some vintage Tap lyrics. It might even be my all-time favorite Tap song, right up there with "Bitch School" and "Sex Farm."

BEST LINE...

All of them. Although I’m a bit partial to...

"There’s someone up the chimney hole,
And Satan is his name!"

If anyone can think of other fucked up Christmas songs, please, do tell...

PENN AND FRIENDS ON "SOUTH PARK," SYLVIA BROWNE, AND MONKEYS...

2007-12-19T23:47:00.000-05:00

As some of you may know, the incomparable Penn Jillette (and the lovely and talented Michael Goudeau) had a brilliant, hilarious, and perpetually interesting radio show a while back. It ended abruptly in early March of this year but, (hopefully) as both Penn and Goudeau have claimed, shall return in some form sooner than we imagine (hopefully hopefully).

Periodically, I go on a "Penn Binge," where I run through the archives and listen to my favorite or random shows. Here are a few, with commentary...

I, myself, pray to the Dark Lord Satan every day (as all atheists should) that Penn Radio will come back RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Even though Satan has yet to come through, we can thank His Infernal Majesty for the existence of PennFans.

I discovered the show (which was available almost every day on the Enter-Tubes) and got hooked immediately. Not only are Penn and Goudeau hilarious, skeptical, and gleefully blasphemous, but they have (i.e. "Had") one of the most free-wheeling, random, and surprising radio shows ever produced.

In any given show, they bounce from topic to topic (or bounce through various sub-topics), often with a light-hearted yet still scathingly realistic view of whatever is being discussed. But, no matter what happens, there is no Bull’s *clap* Hit present.

It’s damn-near impossible to pick out a "best" show; you’ll have to search through the archives to find your personal favorite. But it is possible (and easy) to pick a few great shows out of the hat and showcase them.

One of the best shows features a surprise guest in Trey Parker, he of the ridiculously (and rightfully so) popular "South Park" TV show. There’s lots of insightful stuff about the show, not just including the technical side, but commenting on the satirist and activist nature of the writing. Because, if you haven’t realized it yet, "South Park," for all the surreal and over-the-top content, is, by far and away, one of the most important, topical, and intellectually noble shows ever produced.

Trey talking about the "Cartoon Wars" episode (with the "controversial" depiction of Muhammad), and the previous depiction of Muhammad in the "Super Best Friends" episode, is very, very awesome, as is the discussion of Isaac Hayes and the whole Scientology/"Trapped in the Closet" flap.

And they talk a bit of shit about Bill "King Media Whore" Donohue. Can’t go wrong with that. Should have been more, though, in my opinion. That guy is a douche amongst douches and deserves a full show where they talk about what a complete fucking prick he is.

Another great show is the one featuring Robert Lancaster, the much-needed mastermind behind the best Sylvia Browne site on the web.

In this show, Penn, Goudeau, and Lancaster dissect the Sylvia Browne phenomenon and proceed to tear it down through evidence. Of course, they touch on her "Greatest Misses," being Shawn Hornbeck, Opal Jennings, and the West Virginia miners saga. To sum it all up, Sylvia Browne is a disgusting bitch.

Finally, Penn dedicated every Tuesday to monkeys.

Why?

Because monkeys kick ass. They’re like humans, except they throw feces, hump each other, and, otherwise, act like humans.

Here is a random "Monkey Tuesday!" with none other than the Man Himself, Gilbert Gottfried, and a great interview with Regis. (The Regis.) Is it just me or, is Regis as half-crazy as you can get?

(Da-da-da-da-dum! Da-da-da-da-dum!)

Oh, yeah, and they have Randi in the studio...

One of the best radio shows ever recorded.

And Dawkins on the horn...

A very close second to the Randi episode...

THE GREAT FUNDIE INFESTATION OF OUGHT-SEVEN

2007-11-08T23:14:00.000-05:00

A bit of background before we begin...

I’m a waiter. I’m a monkey that carries plates and recommends the blackened fish for a living.

Now, it’s not a tough job but it can get annoying. For instance, some people are assholes and just don’t tip for shit, regardless of service or food quality. It’s always blown my mind; if you go to a restaurant that doesn’t have a dollar menu, you’re gonna have to tip the waiter or waitress. As long as the server isn’t an outright prick, they deserve the 15% (or more, if you're awesome). Plan the fuck ahead, people, because science has proven that people who don’t tip also kick puppies.

You’d also be amazed at how many people completely forget what they order. I’ve got a short-term memory like Guy Pearce in "Memento" but, Jesus, I can remember what I ordered only fifteen minutes ago. And don’t even get me started on finicky shits who think they have some sort of laser vision that can determine the temperature of a steak or burger from ten paces.

OK, let’s forget the basic gripes. On to the main event...

I’ve worked at my current restaurant for several months now. For the last few weeks, I’ve noticed an influx of customers who think that tipping well means introducing the wait staff to god.

At first, it was a couple of cards left in various locations, on a table, in the bathroom, etc. The front of the card read "Charge It," in the style of the Visa logo, and the back talked about "Charging your soul to God" or some such insipid shit. Then there were the standard salvation instructions and a few bible verses. Like all versions of witnessing, it’s only clever if you’re a moron with no imagination, but at least it’s not a horrible pun (e.g. "Seven days without prayer makes one weak" or "The light shines from the son").

Then, there was the old guy and his wife, whom I had the anti-luck of waiting on.

They seemed like a nice enough couple at first, just ordering waters and sandwiches, so, at the onset, it was an easy enough table. Everything was kosher at first; the usual introduction patter, a little small talk, I bring them their drinks, they order the sandwiches, I bring them their sandwiches, they start eating...

Then I went back to the table to check on them and asked, "Everything OK?"

The old guy looks up at me and says, "Fine. Tell me son, do you know the Lord?"

And I just stare at him. Normally, off the clock, I’d say something pithy along the lines of, after thinking about the question for a second and adopting the appropriate air of innocence and ignorance, "Lord Horatio Nelson? I seen his statue in England, but he’s been dead for nigh-on 200 years, so I can’t say I know him. But I know of him, though, so, technically, the answer’s ‘yes.’" Of course, on the clock, it’s a different situation entirely.

So, I stare at him a little more and, finally, manage a slightly confused, "Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’d like to think so."

And the old guy proceeds to give me a bit of ye olde Gospel, though, thankfully, it was more of the "Touchy-Feely Hippie Jesus" than the "Jesus Coming Out the Sky With a Big Fucking Sword and Slaying Your Filthy, Sinful Ass" variety; if it’d been the latter instead of the former, I would’ve had a much, much harder time not telling the geezer to shove his Rapture up his stink-hole.

After pontificating for a bit, he ended with, "I just want to make sure I see you in Heaven," or something of the like. I politely thanked him, excused myself, and walked back to the kitchen. Every single time I went back to the table before they finally paid and left, the old guy tried to talk about nothing but Jesus.

Now, off the clock, I don’t mind a good random discussion about religion with a total stranger, unless the person is obviously deranged or carrying a weapon of some sort. Hell, that’s the sole reason why I seek out these conversations online, because I don’t have enough random people trying to have earnest discussions about religion in my life.

Witnessing is different because there’s no discussion involved. It’s just someone telling you something and giving absolutely fuck-all about your opinion on the matter; or if they do give a fuck-all about your opinion, it's only because they automatically think that you're wrong. I’ve always seen it as arrogant and a little twisted, how the person giving "witness" is pretty much telling you that your life is worthless unless you’re living it exactly like their particular church tells you to.

But to witness to someone at work, on the clock, doing a job? That’s just fucking tasteless.

Again, I’m a plate-slinging monkey, and, true, a large part of the job does entail patter. But I don’t talk politics or religion with the customers. Ever. If they’re from somewhere I’m familiar with (and this being Myrtle Beach, everyone’s from somewhere else), we’ll talk about that, sports, music, the Myrtle Beach area, and whatever else complete strangers talk about. Most times, people want to know about me, since a majority of the vacationers are from the North or Midwest and are intrigued by my almost total lack of a Southern accent (which I lost years ago, oddly enough, without ever leaving the South).

But I don’t go up to an old couple while they’re eating sandwiches and start telling them about why the Bible is complete bullshit. I don’t walk into a place of business and engage employee or patron in a captive dissertation about the absurd and transparently man-made nature of "God." And neither should anyone else.

So, the old guy is lucky he tried to evangelize me on the clock. If he’d met me at the gas station or as a customer in another restaurant, he would’ve had a witnessing challenge to pray on when he got home.

Then, to top off the Great Fundie Infestation of Ought-Seven, one week after the old guy’s unsuccessful witnessing attempt, a chick I work with came back into the kitchen with a little red booklet called something to the effect of "Have You Been Brainwashed?" that a customer had included with the tip.

I immediately said, "Oh shit! A Chick Tract? Which one? Which one?" because a Chick Tract is, as everyone knows, the only thing more depraved and hilarious than "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." Lo and Behold, it was even better than some vintage Chick...

It was concerning lectures by Duane T. Gish, he of the aptly named "Gish Gallop," and dealt, predictably, with the supposed flaws of evolution and "proofs" of a literal Biblical creation.

"Gish? Are you fucking kidding?" I asked. "That guy’s about as sharp as a NERF ball. I bet I can tell you almost every argument he uses."

When challenged, I listed the Second Law of Thermodynamics, some lazy nonsense about the anthropic principle, and one or more of the former facets of evolutionary theory long proven false (like Piltdown or Haeckel). Sure enough, Gish’s poorly drawn little comic was all that and more. When everyone wondered how I knew that before even looking at it, I explained the obvious; "Because all these creationist hacks use the same tired arguments over and over and over, no matter how many times people refute them."

And the kicker in that final bit was that an otherwise mentally functioning human being is obviously under the impression that reading Gish’s stupidity will convince anyone of anything.

JUMP CUTS: FRIGHTENING AND MOMENTOUS HARBINGERS OF SOMETHING OR ANOTHER...

2007-10-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

-Responsibility blows like a hurricane and sucks like a tornado. My usual M.O. at any job is to lay low, stay off the radar, and do just enough to get by without getting bitched out for being lazy and inefficient. I’m usually very good at this but, at my current job, I’ve somehow slipped into a bonafide work ethic (at the least, more of a work ethic than previously). As a result, I’m now seen as one of the more responsible people, and it’s seriously cramping my style.

I do the "goofy, laid-back, average worker" thing, not the "dependable guy who gets shit done and facilitates others in getting their shit done" thing; that’s an ill-fitting and itchy polyester leisure suit with a big collar and sequins, my friends.

-How about a semi-dramatic true-life story? My brother and I were watching a DVD at about midnight a few days back when we heard a loud "boom" from outside. Both of us immediately assumed that someone had been coming through the parking lot too fast and hit a parked car, so we dashed outside to have a look.

As it turned out, someone had hit the bridge in front of our place; the SUV sat smoking in the right lane on the bridge and, as of then, we saw no movement and heard no sounds from the vehicle. I ran inside to dial 911 thinking, as one would be wont to think in such a situation, that there’s a very good likelihood that someone got hurt. And, as my brother and I were aware, someone had died after hitting that bridge two years ago. I relayed the known information to the 911 operator (car hit a bridge, don’t know if anyone’s hurt, sounded bad) and went out to see if I could help in anyway before the emergency personnel arrived.

As I walked up to the bridge, I noticed my brother and another neighbor standing by. On the bridge a passing driver had stopped and was parked behind the crippled SUV which, considering how loud the crash sounded, didn’t look near as bad as I imagined it would. The front right quarterpanel and most of the hood were demolished, and the right front tire was almost crunched into the engine block. The air-bags were deployed and smoke was steadily wafting from the buckled hood.

The driver of the SUV, a teenage girl, was walking around, crying, and talking to someone on her cell; her boyfriend, from the sound of it. I had asked the guy who stopped, whom we will simply call "Guy," if the "Girl" was alright but went ahead and asked her anyway. She said "Yes" and, as she was walking around and didn’t seem to be in any pain, I just made sure she got out of the road. Seeing as how she was just walking around in the middle of the bridge, I feel that it was a smart move on my part. Unfortunately, the hysterical Girl kept repeating into the phone, "I’m going to jail, I’m going to jail." So, that disappointed me a bit.

On the side of the road, the Guy informed me, in hushed tones, that the Girl was obviously intoxicated. I sighed, "Yeah, no shit. At least she didn’t hit someone else."

The fire department was there in five minutes and, seeing that the girl was completely uninjured, called off the ambulance and got down to the business of setting flares, directing traffic, and trying to calm the Girl down.

The cops didn’t show up until over a half-hour later. By that time, I had retreated to a safe distance where I could watch the proceedings without being in the way. After quizzing the Guy and letting him go, they questioned the Girl and administered the sobriety test. She failed pretty handily so the cop threw the cuffs on and put her in the car.

It’s sad that the Girl had to be arrested because she was just a kid, probably still in high school, and she’s probably a good kid otherwise. But, still...

She fucked up. She’s lucky that she walked away and even luckier that no one else was involved. As it stands, her parents will probably bring down the Hammer of the Gods, but she’s damn lucky she doesn’t have to live with the knowledge that she paralyzed or killed someone.

And that was my fill of drama for the month.

-The greatest, most brutal heavy metal band on the planet, Dethklok, has released a new album, "Dethalbum." If you’re a fan of the show or the genre in general, you are required by the Infernal Black Laws of Metal to purchase this album and play it very loudly.

Of course, the master musician behind the show (and the excellent show "Home Movies"), Brendan Small, may have painted himself into a corner. With a popular show and an actual studio album, people are already clamoring for a tour. Time to find a live back-up band, Brendan. Just make sure Myrtle Beach is on the list.

-With the NFL season well under way and the NBA and NHL seasons on the horizon, I feel it’s time to address a religious practice that depresses the ever-living shit out of me.

Why do athletes (or anyone else for that matter) insist on giving God and Jesus all the credit when they do something good?

I mean, was God spotting you in the weight room all through high school and college? Was God helping you run corner routes? Was God helping you comb through game tape in preparation for a tough match-up? Was God sitting in the stands at every game (home or away) yelling, "That’s my boy!"

And isn’t attributing a win to God a little insensitive? While God was helping you reel in eight catches and two touchdowns, at an average of 19.3 yards a catch, was he turning a blind eye to say, the suffering of children in third world countries? Or is he just a multi-tasker with screwy priorities?

And what does that say about God? In his infinite, over-powering wisdom, which team does he follow? And who’s his favorite athlete? All of them? And more importantly, why would he give half a crap? You’d think the creator of the world would have better things to do on a Sunday afternoon. Like actually fucking helping people.

The religious should really have a bit more self-esteem and give themselves credit for jobs well done. You worked for it, you practiced, you wanted it bad enough to take it; stand up and say, flat out, "I earned this and I’m proud of myself."

If God wants any credit, let Him come forward and claim it His Goddamn Self.

PRESENTING YE OLDE OLDIES EXPO! PT. I

2007-09-04T02:52:00.000-05:00

There are many odd things about me, and I don't just acknowledge them. I accept and embrace them.

A long time ago, I realized that striving for "normalcy in the eyes of other people" was a futile and, frankly, boring pursuit. It was much easier for me to embrace my idiosyncracies and unique interests and say "Fuck All" to whatever was popular at the time.

Of course, I’ve also taken certain aspects of my upbringing in stride...

Thus, since my parents were oldies/beach music/classic rock junkies, I also came to appreciate these genres (or basic classifications) in my own special way. Which is, of course, to stand atop the world and glorify them to the greatest extent of my powers.

And it’s funny how people my parents’ age (and older) seem amazed at how a black-clad, simultaneously-evil-and-goofy-looking, twenty-something-jackass can have such a comprehensive knowledge of and unconditional love for music made, in most cases, well over thirty years (and, in some cases, more) before he was born.

And, granted, I freak out, as well, when I meet people younger than myself (my funky brother excluded) who also have an anachronistic oldies obsession. But, granted further, people younger than myself are much more likely to have horrible musical tastes than those in their late-20's and above (generally speaking). I mean, anyone who’d rather listen to Justin Timberlake, Jet, or My Chemical Romance than, say, Stevie Wonder is in need of a violent and life-changing aural dropkick to the ears.

So, to help educate those with "musical deficiencies" and to bolster solidarity and enthusiastic discussion amongst those who are perpetually in the Groove, we shall provide a brief, intermittent list of classic songs and artists that have inspired and continue to inspire one Rev. J.J. Hull.

To begin, I submit one of my favorite songs that no one else I know has ever heard....

Wilson Pickett - Engine Number 9

They didn’t call my man "Wicked" for nothing. Take Wilson's throat-searing soul vocals, add in a nasty guitar line, some serious percussion (someone’s wearing a cowbell out), and a James Brown vibe, and you’ve got a cut that’s just as funky now as the day it was laid down.

And feel free to check out the rest of Wicked’s catalog. He simply refuses to disappoint.

THE FUNNIEST THING I'VE SEEN IN QUITE A WHILE...

2007-08-15T03:25:00.000-05:00

OK, how did I miss the fact that the Flight of the Conchords guys are fucking amazing? These Kiwis will fly under my radar no longer...

Feast your ears and eyes upon "Albi the Racist Dragon," "If You're Into It," "Business Time," and "The Bowie Song."

All of the songs are brilliant, but the dueling Bowie impressions are inspired lunacy of the highest possible caliber. The HBO show is just as good, and the forthcoming album should prove to be even better.

A NEW WEAPON IN MY MUSIC RECOMMENDING ARSENAL

2007-07-29T01:01:00.001-05:00

Like a tight pattern of double-barrel sonic buckshot, I can now wield Soundpedia as a deadly instrument in the war against musical ignorance.

We're talking free albums, here, people. A whole website that's a giant "Fuck You" to the RIAA.

To be clear...

I'm all for file-sharing, especially when it comes to music. The way musical fandom works is that some people are casual music-lovers (listening to the radio in the car, at work, or whenever anyone else is listening to the radio), and might buy albums or singles when they hear a song, artist, or group they really like. Generally, they don't broaden their horizons beyond the music they know.

Granted, the above designation describes a majority of the people on the planet, but contrary to popular belief in the upper-echelons of the music industry, the rest of the people are much more important.

The remainder of the population is like me; so devoted to music that they go out of their way to buy every album, see the bands live, and constantly try to spread the word.

Before Napster got big in the late-nineties (and got bought out), "illegal file sharing" was known as "lending a CD to your buddy."

The only thing that file-sharing networks achieved was allowing the "lending a CD to your buddy" concept to flourish beyond mere physical borders. In essence, downloading files from someone else is like that person letting you burn a custom CD from their own extensive music collection.

And, again, most often, the person that downloads songs is the same person that gets hyped up when a new album is announced. A friend of mine downloaded the latest Trivium album, "The Crusade," before it came out because he needed to hear it something awful. After listening to the bootleg copy for a week, he bought the actual album on the release date. When other friends (those who don't fucking get it) asked him why he would buy an album he already had, he just laughed (because he fucking gets it).

And the cats behind Soundpedia, evidently, also get it.

Where else can you hear every Radiohead album ever made? Check out "Amnesiac," if only for "Pyramid Song" and "Life in a Glass House." And "The Bends" is thoroughly kick-ass, as well (especially "My Iron Lung").

They also have a few Clutch albums. I weep for the absence of both "Blast Tyrant" and the newest album, "From Beale Street to Oblivion" (with the amazing "One Eye Dollar" and "You Can't Stop Progress"). They do have the entire "Robot Hive/Exodus" album, though. Every track is killer, especially "Gullah," "10001110101," and "Never Be Moved" (featuring the science-oriented line, "Hey, hey, hey, hey! Get your evolution on!").

And, to my semi-admiration, they have two full Cake albums; "Prolonging the Magic" and "Comfort Eagle." So you can listen to (from "Prolonging") "You Turn the Screws," "Where Would I Be?" and "Let Me Go." And (from "Comfort Eagle,") you can get down to the hard-ass "Comfort Eagle," the groovy "Meanwhile, Rick James," and the nasty-funky "Arco Arena." Unfortunately, no "Motorcade of Generosity," "Fashion Nugget," or full version of "Pressure Chief."

They've also got Faith No More's "Best Of" album, with "Stripsearch" (so gorgeous it almost makes me cry), "Evidence" (one of the smoothest songs ever recorded), and "Be Aggressive" (the only song in world to feature a common cheerleading theme and still kick copious amounts of ass).

The thing that permanently hooked me, however, is the inclusion of all three Mr. Bungle albums, especially "California." If you're even half as weird as I am, you'll fall in love with this album the very second you hear it (mainly "Sweet Charity," "Retrovertigo," and "Golem II: The Bionic Vapour Boy"); if you're slightly-less-weird, it might take a few more dedicated perusals.

So, please, enjoy the free music at your leisure, and be sure to continue to purchase all the good music you can.

JUMP CUTS: THE SPIDERING

2007-07-18T23:53:00.000-05:00

-The spiderfication of the area directly outside my residence continues unabated. Even when the vinyl siding outside is pressure washed and the spindly sons of bitches are eradicated, more are back by nightfall and (though this is sheerly conjecture on my part) royally pissed off. Big ones, little ones, a cornucopia of body types, and a veritable rainbow of colors; and each of them just as disgusting and terrifying as the last. It’s like a never-ending horror show for arachnophobes (of which I am their King and Living Martyr). It’s gotten so I have to carry a broken golf club shaft around as a de-webbing stick; I've dubbed it "the Callaway Web Master Series VI."

-On a more insectoid tangent, I’ve seen some gigantic mosquitoes here in SC. I don’t remember seeing many that big (mosquito hawks aside) in VA and, while I’m glad they’re not that numerous, they’re hungry bastards and, to borrow a choice phrase from an acquaintance, "big enough to fuck chickens." The best part is that I’m finally getting some smug revenge on the people who constantly bitch at me for never wearing shorts, no matter how hot and jungle-sticky it gets.

-I’ve been thinking about this line from Chroma Key’s "America the Video" as of late. "Lost my head in my hotel room when the ground shook/Had to choose between the Bible and the phone book." That’s a good way to deal with the whole "No Atheists in Foxholes" malarkey. Hell, I’ve come close to looking the classic personification of Death in the face (and hearing him talk in ALL CAPS) and never once did I rely on anything other than myself, other people, and the natural laws of the world which, in my case, have been rather forgiving. So far, at least. The same fervent believers who take seriously the "No Atheists in Foxholes" argument will, with regularity, go to the hospital when they are sick or injured, call the police when they’ve been wronged, and seek out professional help when the occasion arises. Sure, they might pray and petition for otherworldly intervention, but when the bad shit goes down, they all end up dialing 911 in case of emergency. (Unless they handle rattlesnakes in worship; but that’s a entirely separate and very special dimension of fucked-up.)

-Also, did you notice that the "No Atheists in Foxholes" argument abbreviates to NAiF? That, to me, is the very essence of appropriateness.

8 RANDOM THINGS YOU PROBABLY DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW IN THE FIRST PLACE...

2007-07-14T15:03:00.000-05:00

I done been tagged by the illustrious Krystalline Apostate (of Biblioblography and God is for Suckers! fame). So now I am compelled to do the following...

I must post the rules or, evidently, Gorlock the Mighty, the Primordial God of Chaos, will rend the meat from my bones and play my intestines like a super-sized kazoo.

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

1. I’m highly allergic to cats and, for some weird reason, horses. I can’t even sit down in a house with more than one cat for more than an hour or so without some heavy-duty allergy medication and a stand-by inhaler. My entire respiratory system locks up like a beat-up AMC Pacer at the slightest hint of feline or equine. But I’m fine around dogs, which leads me to...

2. All dogs love me. Except for the ones trained to attack and kill anything that moves and the really mean ones. And I love all dogs, except for the ones trained to attack and kill anything that moves and the really mean ones.

3. Though I don’t believe in ghosts (and don’t really think I ever did) I’ve got better ghost stories than the people who really think they’ve seen or experienced paranormal activity. The "Ghost in the Window" story and the "Ghost Who Listens to Chicago" are particularly fun.

4. In 1988, when I was in fourth grade, I won an environmental awareness poster contest on the state level. I don’t remember exactly what I won, there may have been money involved (upwards to a Hundo), but I vividly remember the entire set of ‘88 Topps Baseball Cards I received. For a sports-loving fourth grader, that’s like hitting the fucking lottery.

My design was the Earth with bites taken out of the side, like an apple (with a little stem on top and everything), and the caption read "If we don’t start recycling and stop polluting, Earth will be eaten to the core." Not bad for a fourth grader, I thought. A few years later, when I was in middle school, my father decided to attend a work-related convention in Vegas and turn it into a family vacation.

In the Hard Rock Café, they had a series of shirts designed by musicians. Don Henley’s design was the Earth with bites taken out of the sides, like an apple, though it was drawn as a proper "apple core." It had no caption, and while I’m not accusing Henley of outright theft, it is a rather odd coincidence.

5. Everyone has their quirks; mine are, obviously, music-based. I tend to sing often and for no reason; if I happen to hear a song I know, singing is guaranteed. I also drum on anything with in reach, including my own body. I do this completely subconsciously and tend to annoy people with it very often.

6. I’m a moron. I’ve always like the phrase, "The more you know, the more you know you don’t know." And it’s true. I realized long ago that, no matter how much I learned, I would always only know an infinitesimal fraction of all the possible knowledge in the universe but, and this is the important part, I never let it hinder me.

So, I realize that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m just an average moron but I still try to accumulate all the knowledge I can. And I expect the same of everyone else. In my idiot opinion, that’s all anyone can do.

7. I'm a freak for bad weather. When I was a kid, thunderstorms scared the shit out of me, but once I finally outgrew the fear, I found that they were fun beyond measure. I enjoy nothing more than watching high-winds, driving rain, and brilliant lightning while listening to thunder so loud I can't even hear my own screams of elation.

8. I’m an aspiring screenwriter. This is evident in my propensity for writing bits in "faux-screenplay" format (I also find it’s easier to read long blocks of dialogue with names in ALL CAPS and the aforementioned dialogue below the character designation). I started writing movie and TV show scripts for fun in late-middle-school and early-high-school because, well, I’d watched a ton of cheesy movies on HBO, Cinemax, and Showtime. And I’d also seen a ton of shitty movies in the theater, most of them produced by Jerry Bruckheimer or directed by Michael Bay (oftentimes both). I figured, "Hell, I can cook up a better story than this." I’ve been writing random shite for about thirteen years now, and I’m finally starting to take it seriously...

Now, I am compelled to tag others, but just about everyone I read on a regular basis has already participated, so if I think of someone, I’ll run up, slap them on the back, scream "Tag!" and dash away cackling.

MY TEN COMMANDMENTS FOR THE COMPLETE AND TOTAL PRICK FATHERS OF WOMEN I MIGHT WANT TO DATE

2007-07-03T01:18:00.000-05:00

Via this post on Pandagon (a reaction to this Townhall article). I will now sort-of respond to Doug Giles (and so-called "men" like him) with "My Ten Commandments for the Complete and Total Prick Fathers Of Women I Might Want To Date."

Though, granted, this can’t be directed solely to Mr. Giles since, obviously, I have no idea who he or his daughters are.

But Mr. Giles serves as a perfect example of the typical, over-inflated, self-styled "uber-male" who will attempt to conquer every female he can get his hands on (or into) until he creates a female from his own sexual desires and, suddenly, turns into a hard-ass prude. And notice how, in his article, he refers to his daughters (and, presumably, his wife) as "my ladies." I shall reiterate; "my ladies." They're not individual, autonomous people with their own lives who happen to be related to him. They are his. Or so he says. One can only hope he's talking about young daughters and will relinquish his iron-clad domination over them once they become adults.

And, though I don’t have any kids (and, unless I meet the perfect girl, will never have any), I can understand the general protective stance that a father (or mother) takes in regards to a child. But, come on...

Mr. Giles seduced and defiled someone else's daughter. And if he's gonna tell me that he and Mrs. Giles have only had quick missionary-position sex in a dark room and have only done so for specifically reproductive purposes, I’m gonna call "Bullshit" on his whole schpiel.

And if his sex life with Mrs. Giles really does encompass the above description, I’m gonna call "Lame Bullshit."

So, here are my commandments to all the self-righteous jerk-offs who have daughters and want to control their lives because they think that someone, somewhere, might be attracted to them. And keep in mind that all of these "men," not just Doug Giles, have sexed-up other men's daughters.

1. Thou shalt understand that, unless you're a decent guy to begin with and attempt to endear yourself to me as would do to you (as your daughter would undoubtedly wish), you are, essentially, meaningless. We live in a day and age where people can choose their own lives and destinies outside of their family’s influence. If your daughter and I are in love (or getting our mutually-consensual groove on), it has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re lucky that she even told you about us.

2. Thou shalt keep your nose out of my business. I’ve got a life. I’m not a lawyer, doctor, politician, or (Apollo forbid) a conservative pundit on the Internets, but I make the loot, I've got some amazing friends, and I know how to show people a good time. And I make enough greenies to buy a lot of condoms.

3. Thou shalt get a fucking clue. If you think that your daughter and I have only discreetly held hands under the piercing gaze of a pre-approved chaperone, then you’re much more of a comedian than I wish I was. We weren’t in each other’s pants on the first date or anything, but we’ve done things. To each other. In your house. Probably while you were there.

4. Thou Shalt look me in the eye, shake my hand, and not give a flying fuck about my cell phone. (Cell phone? Is he an asshole? What if it’s an emergency? What if a friend or family member is sick? Is he gonna shit in my Cheerios because my brother got in an accident? Ass.) I can look you in the eye and shake all day long, but that ain’t gonna prove a thing. Charlie Manson could look you in the eye while he shakes your hand, will you let him date your daughter? And what the fuck does Snoop Dogg and MTV have to do with anything? I don’t listen to the former nor watch the latter. Are you gonna love me automatically because I prefer the History Channel over Comedy Central? Not all modern males below the age of 30 fall under your stereotypical designation of "modern males below the age of 30."

5. Thou shalt understand that the definition of a "man" is in the eyes of the beholder. Sure, you have a dick. So do I. You can grow facial hair. So can I. You can posture, and poke your chest out, and talk about how much of a fucking bad-ass you are. So can I. Your definition of "a man" is as meaningful to me as your definition of "hurklawdable." And, evidently, you are a neanderthal. At least, now, you know that we agree on something.

6. Thou shalt grow a fucking brain. I am neither liberal nor Democrat, neither conservative nor Republican. I was born and raised in the backwoods VA countryside by a "No Bullshit" father who could lift an engine block in each hand. And we ate meat, too. And (as if it matters) I was educated by brilliant college professors who would call you a "Pansy City Boy." And there’s nary a living soul on this planet who could even hope to program me. And you’re at the top of that list. You dig, "Pops?"

7. Thou shalt know that I don’t buy loyalty or affection. You talk a big game on everything else, but you’ll be cool with me when I buy you cigars? Damn, if I knew your daughter had a pimp, I would’ve never got involved with her...

8. Thou shalt know that "A joke is a joke." You've never told or heard a dirty joke? You don't get to drinking your Johnny Walker Blue with your golf or fishing buddies, or your old frat brothers, and tell a few? Fuck you, hypocrite; I bet you've got more than a few "nigger" or "faggot" jokes up your sleeve. And be careful of idle threats; your daughter might bring home an All-American linebacker or wrestler one day, one who's butt you couldn't even imagine kicking.

9. Thou shalt... Well... That one’s not so bad. I do keep my word and honor my promises, and I expect that of others. And I never welsh on bets. So, what’s your daughter’s number again?

10. Thou shalt know that... (1) I look the way I look. If your daughter was attracted to me when I was wearing ratty cargo pants and a metal t-shirt, then you should be just as happy with me wearing the same. For all you know, she thinks that I look good wearing shades. And nothing else. (And your racist caveats are both sad and comical, but mostly sad.)

(2) Motherfucker, I’ve been voraciously reading damn-near everything I can get my hands on (including encyclopedias) since I was in grade school. Prove to me that you can carry on a moderately intelligent conversation without being an asshole and I’ll show you that I can do the same. And, besides, what’s the literary criteria? Are you gonna disavow me because I’ve never read an Ollie North tome?

(3) Serve? Serve who? I might love your daughter, but I’m not gonna be your indentured servant. I mean, what? Will shoveling horseshit on your Texas ranch prove that I’m the man to plow your daughter? So, as long as I do the meaningless chores that you command me to do, I’ll be worthy of you daughter’s affection?

Shit, the simple fact that your daughter came from a man like you might just turn me away. Or was that your evil plan all along?

But, seriously, this Giles guy is really hung up on homos, "girlie men," anyone who identifies with hip-hop culture (especially black men), and anyone who doesn’t fit the whitebread, Southern, rural idealization that he holds so dear.

So, if you’re a Southern-born, rodeo-riding, Hay-Zeus-loving, conservative/Republican-crony who loves Bush and hates fags, blacks, and Hippie-Eco-Liberals, then go ahead and date the daughters of men like Giles. The very worst they could do is bluster you to death.

HOW THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN, PART II

2007-07-02T02:30:00.000-05:00

MURRAY Abram (now known covertly as Abraham) has been waiting in his meager shack for over a week. He has again taken to writing his own personal journal and, again, speaks along with the words.)

MURRAY
So. Jonas. Said. To. Ari. “Of. Course. My. Daughter. Is. A. Virgin!”

Murray dips his feathered stylus into a bowl of ink.

MURRAY
And. Ari. Said. “Then. Why. Did. Saul. Hirschfelder. Say. That. He. Tapped. That?”

Murray dips his stylus again.

MURRAY
And. Jonas. Said. “Hey! That’s. My. Daughter. You. Son. Of. A...”

A bright light flicks on from above and Murray shields his eyes. This time he is able to speak...

MURRAY
Oh! Nice of you to show up!

The light dims a bit, so that Murray doesn’t have to squint. The voice of GOD still booms from everywhere.

GOD
What?

MURRAY
You told me to sit right here and wait for you to dictate your laws. You told me that you’d be back in an hour. Well, I’ve been waiting here for a week and a half, and...

God cuts him off...

GOD
Whoa! Whoa! You do remember that you’re talking to God, right?

MURRAY
I don’t care if I’m talking to my great-uncle Shlomo! You said an hour and you lied!

GOD
Lied? Lied? I am incapable of telling lies, my friend. Maybe... Maybe time is different on this side.

MURRAY
Well, what kind of consideration is that? I’ve got a family to feed! I’ve had to ask my brother to help with my work! That’s embarrassing! Now he thinks that I’m a cripple, or an idiot, and he’s been moving in on my wives!

GOD
Hey, I... I’ve been busy. I’ve got an entire creation to lord over, after all. Not just Murray Abraham’s house.

MURRAY
And another thing! My parents won’t speak to me! They’ve disowned me! And they bring up a good point! Abra-HAM? Ham? You do realize that we’re Jewish, don’t you?

GOD
See, that’s the thing...

MURRAY
What?

GOD
You’re Jewish now but... Well, I’ve got a plan.

MURRAY
What plan? I thought we were your chosen people. Wasn’t I chosen among the chosen?

GOD
Yeah... About that...

MURRAY
What?

GOD
See... There’s been a... Change of plan, so to speak.

MURRAY
Oh my God!

GOD
What?

MURRAY
I wasn’t asking you a question! I was venting!

GOD
Yeah, that’s gotta stop. Now. You can vent all you want, but don’t bring me into it.

MURRAY
But you’re the one who’s...

GOD
Ah! Ah! No! Curse your great-uncle Shlomo if you want, but I get a free pass. In fact, I might want you to write that down...

MURRAY
Jesus!

GOD
And don’t say that, either.

MURRAY
Why? Last time you decided to grace me with your presence, you said it!

GOD
Yeah, well... I’m saving that for later, too. Check this out. OK, you know how there’s all this evil all over the planet, right?

MURRAY
“Evil all over?” I don’t know about that. There are a few pricks here and there but...

GOD
Nothing but evil, everywhere I look. So, I figured, if people are so stupid that they aren’t gonna do good just for the sake of doing good, I’ve gotta give them a little push, right?

Murray stares up into the light, pauses, and gives the focal point of the light a critical look.

MURRAY
OK.

GOD
So, how about this? Perpetual torture.

God pauses, and Murray looks up into the light.

MURRAY
Though I don’t know why, I imagine you have a very smug look right now.

GOD
The smuggiest. Hear me out, now...

MURRAY
Why are you so smug? People are dying out here, horribly, and you're talking about "perpetual torture?"

GOD
If you’d shut the Hell up for a few seconds, maybe I’d tell you.

Murray sighs and waits.

GOD
Do you want to know?

Murray sighs again.

MURRAY
Yes.

GOD
OK. Here’s the score. You know how you believe in me, right?

MURRAY
Reluctantly.

GOD
Shut up. So, I was thinking, since I want everyone to believe in me anyway, I might as well put a fire under their collective asses. Literally.

MURRAY
I don’t follow.

GOD
I just created this... Place. There’s a Lake of Fire, right? Not a puddle, not a pond, but a lake. A Lake of Fire. A big Lake of Fire. And lots of other terrifying stuff, too, like spiders and snakes and shit. And if someone doesn’t believe in me, or chooses to rebel against me for whatever reason...

MURRAY
Like the fact that you’re crazy?

GOD
Shut up! Have you not listened? Have you not learned? And I’m not crazy. You just... You can’t even begin to comprehend the majesty and omnipotence that is my superior being! So, shut up and stay shutted up!

Murray raises his hands as if to say, “Fine! You win!”

GOD
So, if people don’t like me for whatever reason, they go into the Lake. Forever.

Murray looks up into the light.

MURRAY
Are you smiling?

GOD
Don’t be daft. I don’t even have a mouth.

MURRAY
So, what you’re saying is that... If someone doesn’t fall in line with exactly what you’re saying, then you’ll make sure that they’re thrown into a Lake of Fire for... Eternity?

GOD
Sounds about right, yes.

MURRAY
Well...

Murray trails off. God waits.

GOD
Now what’s the problem?

MURRAY
Well... You haven’t really said anything. Except “Live long and prosper.”

GOD
Ah! No!

MURRAY
Sorry! Sorry! “Be fruitful and multiply.”

GOD
Better.

MURRAY
So... What about those who follow whatever future laws you see fit to tell me?

GOD
What do you mean?

MURRAY
Well, you seem so hard-up to condemn those who defy you to a “Lake of Fire,” what’s in it for those who, I don’t know, actually agree with what you tell them?

GOD
But everyone will agree with me.

Murray pauses and puts his head in his hands.

MURRAY
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that most people need an... Incentive to do things beyond the fact that they’ll burn in a Lake of Fire if they don’t like you. So, if we follow all your laws and such, that you’ve yet to dictate I might add, what then?

GOD
Oh... Well... How about the opposite of a Lake of Fire?

MURRAY
A Lake of Water?

GOD
No, jackass! A... A place where you can do whatever you want and be happy forever.

Murray perks up.

MURRAY
Can we have sex?

GOD
Uh... Hm... I don’t know...

MURRAY
Oh, come on! That's one of the only things we have to look forward to! If we're not tilling the fields or hunting our food or singing fun songs, we want to... You know...

GOD
We’ll see. Until then, just push the Lake of Fire. Call it... Hell... Uh...

God trails off and pauses. Murray prompts him with...

MURRAY
Call it Hell?

GOD
Whatever. And I’ve got another idea on deck...

MURRAY
Oh, I can’t wait.

GOD
I’m gonna call it, “Original Sin.” It’s a doozy.

MURRAY
I don’t doubt it.

GOD
Give me a few days to work on it.

MURRAY
I should sit here for a few months, then?

GOD
Oh, ha. Just hang tight, Abraham. When I work out the details, I’ll summon you.

MURRAY
So... Can I actually leave the shack, or should I just sit here.

GOD
Ah, go ahead and leave. I can track you down if I need you.

MURRAY
Thanks, I guess.

GOD
You’re welcome. Peace.

The light blinks off. Murray growls...

MURRAY
Why does he keep saying that?

HOW THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN

2007-06-28T02:30:00.000-05:00

An old man, MURRAY, sits in a tent. He is writing on a scroll of parchment and speaking along with the words.

MURRAY
And. Then. Gladys. Puked. On. My. Goat.

Murray dips his feathered stylus in a bowl of ink.

MURRAY
So. I. Said. "Gladys! Why. Did. You. Puke. On. My. Goat?"

Murray dips his stylus again.

MURRAY
And. She. Said...

Before he can continue, a light flashes on from above him. Murray glances up into the light, shields his eyes, and can’t speak.

A booming voice, the voice of GOD, comes from everywhere.

GOD
Are you Murray Abram?

Murray takes a second to answer.

MURRAY
Yes?

GOD
Good. My name is... Um... Well...

God trails off into mumbling.

MURRAY
I’m sorry? What was that?

GOD
Well, some people call me El Shaddai. But, then some call me Jehovah. And some call me Yahweh. Then, in the distant future, some will call me...

MURRAY
I’m sorry, again. I just... What are you?

GOD
I am your God.

MURRAY
Which God?

GOD
What?

MURRAY
See, we’ve got a few, so...

GOD
No! No you don’t! You only have one, and I’m Him!

MURRAY
Oh. Really?

GOD
Yes, really! Am I not speaking to you from a beam of light?

MURRAY
You are.

GOD
You’re damn skippy! Now, where was I...

MURRAY
You’re my God?

GOD
Yes. I am. I am that I am.

Murray starts to say something, then stops.

GOD
What was that?

MURRAY
I’m sorry, it’s just... What does that mean?

GOD
What does what mean?

MURRAY
"I am that I am?" It doesn’t make any sense. It’s like saying, "A tree is a tree."

GOD
Oh, don’t be stupid. I am that I am because I am. I’m, like, everything. I’m you, a little bit. Except not so questiony...

MURRAY
So, you created me?

GOD
In a roundabout way.

MURRAY
Why?

God pauses.

GOD
I’m sorry, what?

MURRAY
Why am I here? Why did you create me?

GOD
Oh, well, I... You know... I, uh, created you for a purpose.

MURRAY
What purpose?

GOD
To... Live long and prosper.

MURRAY
To live long and prosper? Hey, sounds good to me.

GOD
No, wait! How about, "be fruitful and increase in number." I’m gonna save the other line for later.

MURRAY
OK.

GOD
So, is there anything else?

MURRAY
Um... You’re the one who came to me.

GOD
Oh, I didn’t just come to you, I... I chose you.

MURRAY
For what?

GOD
To... To spread my word.

MURRAY
But all you’ve told me is that I’m chosen and you want humanity to, I’m guessing, have a bunch of sex.

GOD
I didn’t say that! When did I say that?

MURRAY
"Be fruitful and multiply?" Yeah, sounds like sex to me...

GOD
Fine, sex it up, then. Just, here’s the thing. I want you to...

God stops. Murray waits.

MURRAY
Yes? Um, Mr. God? Sir?

GOD
I’m sorry, I had to let my dog in. Look, don’t worry about what I said before. Oh yeah, and your name is Abraham now.

MURRAY
What? Why?

GOD
How about "Because I’m God."

MURRAY
But my mother will kill me!

GOD
You want I should bump her off for you?

MURRAY
No! She’s my mother!

GOD
Then deal with it. Look, just sit here and wait for me to contact you. I’m gonna be dictating my ultimate message of authority and whatnot and so forth.

MURRAY
But... But why do I have to write it down? Can’t you...

GOD
Stop. Just... Just stop. Let me reiterate. I... Listen carefully now. I am God. I am telling you to sit here and write things down for me because I am God. What am I?

MURRAY
God.

GOD
Who am I?

MURRAY
God.

GOD
Thank you.

Murray pauses. God does the same. When Murray speaks, God cuts him off directly...

MURRAY
But, why...

GOD
Because I don’t have freaking arms! OK? No arms means no hands which means no writing. Just do it, OK?

MURRAY
OK.

GOD
OK?

MURRAY
OK!

GOD
Is that all? If it’s not, make it quick, I’ve got a city about 40 kilometers north of here that needs to be destroyed, so...

MURRAY
Well, there is one thing...

GOD
Jesus! What?

MURRAY
Could you tell Gladys to stop getting drunk and puking on my goat?

GOD
So shall it be.

MURRAY
Thanks, God.

GOD
No problem. But, when you continue writing, you’ve gotta cut the part about puking on a goat.

MURRAY
If you say so.

GOD
Call it editorial oversight. Be here in an hour. I might want to dictate some laws or something.

MURRAY
Sure. Sure.

GOD
So... Hey, take it easy.

MURRAY
Same to you. God.

GOD
Peace.

The light blinks off. Murray looks up to his normal ceiling, then looks around. When he realizes he is alone again, he shakes his head...

MURRAY
Of all the gods in the world, I’ve gotta get the crazy one.

GUESS WHAT?

2007-06-23T23:11:00.000-05:00

(First saw this at Chez Bob.)

I am thusly rated...

Mingle² - Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

fucking (14x)

shit (11x)

fuck (7x)

hurt (4x)

murder (3x)

pain (2x)

gay (1x)

The list is funny until it gets to the last item, then it gets asinine.

Holy fucking murder-pain-hurt shit! I said "Gay!"

Aaaah! I said it again!

THE END IS PERPETUALLY NIGH

2007-06-17T20:37:00.000-05:00

After a marathon "Guitar Hero" session the other night (in which I began to work my way up to tackling some of the more difficult tracks on "Hard") my fret hand finally cramped up and I switched off the Playstation. The console is set to channel 3 which, with my basic cable package, is the Headline News.

Not surprisingly, I was greeted with the vacuous Glenn "Fuckface" Beck and decided to see what sort of tripe he was prattling on about. I was pleasantly surprised, however, to see that his topic was "The End of Days?" and his guests were none other than Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, the professional doomsayers and amateur human beings who wrote the eschatological "Left Behind" series of Fundamentalist Christian novels.

As he is wont to do, Beck proceeded to verbally fellate LaHaye and Jenkins with credulity, treating their visions of flying Christians, a "one world government," and the Antichrist as if they were talking about something as concrete as the GDP of New Zealand. I didn’t get to watch the whole debacle because my brother finally interjected with, "If you don’t change the channel, I’m gonna put this liquor bottle upside your head."

The whole "End Times" thing has always fascinated me, not because I believe any of it, but because so many other people believed and still believe it. Back in my Christian days, I was lucky enough to belong to a church that never discussed such things, so I never gave any serious thought to the Rapture, the Antichrist, or any of that jive.

And, for further clarification, this rant isn’t directed at a majority of Christians, the ones who take a more progressive view of the Bible and eschew all this Apocalypse craziness. The religious folks I’m friends with laugh off the "End Times" as fantastical malarkey, and rightly so. This is solely directed at the assholes who believe that Revelation is a literal version of true future (or present) events.

What these literalist Christians don’t realize is that we’ve been living in the "End Times" ever since before the man called Hay-Zeus supposedly walked the Earth. Hay-Zeus was, if anything, an apocalyptic preacher (he believed he was living in the "End Times"), as were his followers, as were their followers, as were blah-blah-blah-yakkity-schmakkity right up to the present day. The problem with all this "The End is Nigh" talk is that, so far, it’s been all smoke and no fire and, if I may employ my own acute powers of prognostication, it will continue to be so.

The very concept of the "End Times" is like Fundie porn; or, more accurately, the "Grandpappy of All Snuff Films." Of course, the uber-faithful see it as the greatest possible thing that could ever happen; the good people fly up to Heaven, those "left behind" have to convert or die, Hay-Zeus comes out of the sky to slaughter everyone else, and this horrible, awful, sinful planet is turned into some kind of "Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy" paradise where, presumably, people just sit there and love God all day. Or something. Because, see, the psychotic, ultra-violent, fever-dream/acid-trip "prophecy" in Revelation is, like all other "prophecy," kind of vague and completely open to interpretation (unless you’re one of those literalist schmucks). In fact, the only specific prophecy I can think of is found in a book called "Good Omens," which is much more interesting (and better written) than the Book of Revelation.

Of course, LaHaye and Jenkins are convinced that we are living in the "End Times" because, I don’t know, the world is a crazy place and people are fighting wars. And "them damn gays" want to marry. And Richard Dawkins is a best-selling author. And whatever else they don’t particularly agree with is happening somewhere, maybe, possibly, and they sure as shit don’t like it. So they long for the day when a majority of the world’s population will perish in a horrific battle while they sit on a cloud in Heaven and look down on the damned with smug grins.

In keeping with his propensity for unmitigated insanity, LaHaye (who looks like a cross between a slimy used car salesman, Ron Popeil, and the Crypt Keeper) also believes in the Illuminati. Got that? The fucking Illuminati. He thinks it’s some kind of liberal conspiracy, which fits in perfectly with his "one world government" deal, so he can point to an invisible enemy and yell, "See! One World Government! They run the United Nations! If a Democrat is elected president, the Seventh Seal will be broken! Massachusetts is Megiddo!"

So, the moral of the story is this. LaHaye, Jenkins, and their ilk are amusing in some respects but... Anyone who actively seeks the abject destruction of our planet and cares little about the eternal torture of well over a billion people is someone you should always keep a very wary eye on. Oh, and Glenn Beck sucks, too.

And here's a little something for people who are constantly looking for the Number of the Beast.

THE BEST THING TO COME OUT OF BELGIUM SINCE THOSE WAFFLES...

2007-06-15T15:31:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm a metalhead who talks a lot of smack about pop music in general, but there are some groups that I can't help but groove to, fawn over, and love unconditionally.

One of these is the Belgian act Hooverphonic, a trip-hop/pop group fronted by the sexy and sulty Geike Arnaert, who has, as far as this guy right here is concerned, one of the most beautiful voices in music today. They have a new album coming out this fall (Glee!), so, until then, here are a few select cuts...

Club Montelpuciano (From "Blue Wonder Power Milk")

Gorgeous! From the simple, ascending chimes to the James-Bond-Like guitar line, it's the kind of song that makes people involuntarily sway from side to side. As Ron Burgundy would say, "This is baby-making music."

One (From "Jackie Cane")

Another flowing, easy-going song that should serve as a template for all the other pop bands out there. A great beat, some more of that trademark "Spy Guitar," and, unlike a lot of other pop songs I've heard, amazing back-up vocals. How often do you listen to a song and sing the back-up vocals instead of the lead?

Vinegar and Salt (From "The Magnificent Tree")

This song is a bit slower, with a delicious piano, and it really lets Geike loose to show off her pipes. Lovin' that chorus...

GO JOE!

2007-06-14T00:41:00.000-05:00

The Ultimate Fighter 5 semis shall be broadcast later tonight, 10 o'the clock, on Spike.

It's been an interesting season, albeit with lots of stupid Reality TV-type BS (which most people who watch the show could give half a shit about), and the most exciting, vicious, and enterprising fighter we've seen thus far has been 22 year old Joe Lauzon.

In his fight against Brian Geraghty, Joe put a little ground and pound on him and, when Brian managed to get out of it and stand up, Joe jumped on his back like a nimble and violent monkey and choked him out.

My man is a beast, a goddamn monster.

But Joe's also a hep cat. He's not a cocky fuck like a few other pricks who've been on the show and, outside of his fighting life, he's obviously an intelligent, stand-up guy. The kind of guy who would kick your ass only if you really fucked with him.

So, now you know that Joe Lauzon is going to be a fighter to watch. And knowing is half the battle.

UPDATE: Well, he lost, as did his teammate, Gray, both of whom I predicted to win their respective matches. C'est la vie, n'est pas? Oh, well. Look forward to seeing ya fight in the future, Joe.

GOSH DARN IT TO HECK!

2007-06-12T23:29:00.000-05:00

I am forced to tackle this subject, even though Bob fucking nailed it.

If that offends you, you might want to stop now. On second thought, keep reading; I might just learn ya something.

Signs of abject ignorance are, unfortunately, all too abundant in our fair country. Presidential candidates dismiss evolution as if it’s the Loch Ness Monster; the general populace would rather vote for "American Idol" than keep up with politics or world events; smarmy "journalists" spew their unqualified opinions as hard facts.

One of the longest running bits of insanity, one that still infects people to this very day, is the notion of "bad language."

For the purposes of clarification, we’re not talking about the simple concepts of manners, tact, and cordiality. Even those of us who cuss like angry, drunken sailors are decent enough to refrain from doing so in front of people we’ve just met, people we barely know, or people that we, for whatever reason, don’t want to anger or upset. Most times, at least.

For example, I don’t cuss around my grandmother because, well, she’s my grandmother. I love her and respect her and, since she (for some reason) doesn’t want to hear "bad language," I honor this simple request.

That doesn’t mean I agree with or even fully understand this moronic societal aversion towards words which are, essentially, synonyms for other words, phrases, and concepts we use all the time.

I was brought up knowing about "bad" words and was instructed never, ever, ever to say these words. When I asked why these words were considered "bad," I was given the standard answer any parent gives when they either have no idea what they’re talking about or simply don’t want to discuss the issue; "That’s just the way it is."

That was never a satisfying answer for me, especially after I heard my father say "motherfucker" for the first time. I understand that that’s just the way my parents thought; they raised my brother and I in the only way they knew how, in the way they were raised. Since they were told not to indulge in the "bad" language, they taught their own children as such. Of course, once they got older, they cursed whenever they felt like it, so... I see where the initial idea comes from but I still think it’s a steaming wok of shit.

Language is one of the main things that set us apart from the other animals, the catharsis that set into motion the entirety of human society and culture. It is, quite literally, the most useful of all human inventions.

So why do people insist on handicapping our greatest tool for no good reason?

Take "fuck," for example. Though we ingenious moderns have pushed the boundaries of the word "fuck" into every conceivable grammatical or contextual use, the primary meaning of "fuck," the one everyone thinks of first (because you’re all dirty and sinful) is "sex." But, somehow, referring to the act as "fuck" is worse than referring to it as "sex."

If I was on Nancy "Hyper-Bitch" Grace’s poor excuse for a "news show" discussing some lurid murder trial where a husband was murdered by his wife’s lover, I’d be hard pressed to avoid mentioning sex. So, I could say, "Yes, we believe that the wife and lover had been having sex (or the more acceptable "sleeping together") for four months before the murder," and no one would flinch. But if I say, "Yes, we believe that the wife and lover had been fucking for four months before the murder," I’d be chastised and, most likely, levied a hefty fine.

It’s ridiculous. Everyone knows "shit" as a substitute for "feces," "poop," "crap," and other scatological designations. I understand that this taboo comes from some kind of weird human embarrassment of natural bodily functions, so why should one synonym for feces be more socially acceptable than another?

Similarly, how can one word for "feces" be more disgusting or unacceptable than another? We are talking about shit, after all, and no matter where it comes from or what you call it, it’s still shit. So how is "shit" worse than anything else?

Even small children are affected by ignorant adults who insist on foisting their ignorance on those who are already (through no fault of their own) ignorant enough. A small child saying, "I have to go poopy" is cutesy; often the adults will laugh about it and say, "Oh, little Billy has to go poopy!" But if Little Billy says "I have to take a shit," he can look forward to a mouthful of soap, an assful of paddle, or some other form of physical or mental punishment. Why? It’s just a fucking word!

Most people who are anti-profanity are not only ignorant but highly arrogant as well. The most-used sentiment I’ve heard from this group is, "People who use bad language aren’t as intelligent as those who don’t."

To that, I can only offer a hearty and robust "Horseshit!" In fact, I’d argue the exact opposite.

Those who believe in such a thing as "bad language" are doing nothing but unquestioningly obeying things they were told. Nothing more. These people were taught that "bad words" shouldn’t be said and, like the good little sheep that they are, they don’t dare utter (Gasp!) a word that someone else said was bad. And these are, usually, the same people who try to use the, "Well, if your friends jumped off a bridge" argument and skip gleefully and obliviously over the irony.

Critical thinking is often discussed under the auspices of science and skepticism, but it should be applied to these sort of common sense issues as well.

The stark-naked facts of the matter are that no human being, dead or alive, could or can provide a single reason why "bad" language is actually "bad." No one can even come close to offering a common sense reason as to why the concept of profanity even exists, much less why we shouldn’t say these words.

"So," the prudish killjoy may ask, "why say them?" Well, here are our profane reasons, shitheel...

A. For emphasis. If you say, "Someone’s a jerk," they’re a jerk. If you say, "Someone’s a fucking jerk-ass bitch-bastard," they’re a fucking jerk-ass bitch-bastard. One of these is mild, the other denotes a more scathing tone.

B. For humor. Using the above example, calling someone a "jerk" might be apt but it doesn’t... It doesn’t pop. It has no cadence. There’s no delivery involved. But call someone a "fucking jerk-ass bitch-bastard" and you might get a chuckle. Do it with a great Bronx accent and I guarantee someone will laugh. Do it with perfect delivery and in the proper context and you’ll kill...

C. Why the fuck not? Language is like a living thing in that it evolves over time, on a micro and macro level (for you creationists and intelligent designers), and does so constantly. We introduce new slang, lingo, and colloquialisms on an almost daily basis, and who’s to say that today’s benign terms won’t end up being tomorrow’s vulgarities, or the other way around? Besides, language is meant to be used, else it wouldn’t have ended up in our lexicon in the first place.

D. Your taboos and superstitions have no power over intelligent, rational human beings. Once again, unless you can make any convincing argument for profanity actually being a bad thing, we ain’t buying what you’re selling. We’re not your children to brainwash and boss around. If we want to say a word, we’ll fucking say it. Fucking proudly.

E. It pisses you (the prudes and morons) off. If all it takes is a throwaway "fuck" to get you riled then, hey, "Cry me a deep fucking river." Because, seriously, adult humans shouldn’t be stupid enough to believe that a word is "bad" or "cursed."

We’re talking about words. Words! Remember that "sticks and stones" expression? Sure, it’s a cheesy saying, but it’s also true. "Words will never hurt you." Unless you’re really fucking sensitive. Or an asshole. Or a really fucking sensitive asshole.

CHAD JOHNSON: MAN AMONG HORSES

2007-06-10T01:35:00.001-05:00

Chad Johnson, of the Cinci Bengals, outran a horse.

Of course, they gave him a head start but... Hell. We humans will take what we can get.

To further complete the total domination of the animal world, Chad will next...

-Fistfight a bear.

-Headbutt a ram.

-Wrestle a silverback.

-Punch Chuck Liddell in the junk.

-Bite a shark in half.

-Out-soar an eagle.

We must all begin worshipping him now. When the despotic alien warlords invade our fair planet, he will be our only hope.

WALTER WILLOUGHBY VS. TUCKER LEE THOMPSON

2007-06-09T23:30:00.000-05:00

I wrote the following bits for a potential student-created-and-produced play at my alma mater that, unfortunately, never got off the ground. We realized the plausibility of pulling it off a bit too late in the year and, by the time we got tacit approval from the instructors, it was only half-written and we were all embroiled in official theater productions, a directorial class final project, and final exams in general.

What my fellow actors ("Big Up Yourself" to P.T., Lambo, and Ty) and I had concocted was a frenetic, free-flowing, sketch-comedy-type show. It was to feature crazy original music, musical-theatre-parodies, absurd sketches (including a Satanic creative writing seminar), and other bits of random comedy. The fabled "Fourth Wall" was virtually non-existent (like "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged") and we even had some weird, existential bits like a lengthy introduction/disclaimer for a scene never intended to be performed.

A running gag throughout the production featured two fictional candidates campaigning for the mayorship of a fictional city in Virginia. The fake campaigns were to comprise a multimedia extravaganza, with fake posters all over the theatre, college, and town, a slide show accompanying a dramatic voice-over, and, in the end, an actual debate between the candidates which would quickly devolve into petty name-calling and slander.

Just because I always thought they were amusing and they will likely never be performed, here are the first ads from each candidate...

WALTER WILLOUGHBY AD, #1

(The projection screen is blank. A faint instrumental version of "God Bless America" plays.)

(A stereotypical "rich white guy," WALTER WILLOUGHBY, in a conservative black suit and blue tie, walks to center stage.)

(SLIDE: "WILLOUGHBY ‘05.")

WILLOUGHBY
I’m Walter Willoughby, and I approved this ad.

(WILLOUGHBY leaves. An ANNOUNCER comes over the PA; he sounds like the guy who does every movie trailer, just a bit softer and more reverent.)

(As the ANNOUNCER narrates certain things in VOICE OVER, corresponding slides are projected...)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
Walter Willoughby has served the public as a prosecuting attorney...

(SLIDE: WILLOUGHBY lectures a jury; he wears the same suit and tie.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
A health and physical education teacher at Madison Falls Middle School...

(SLIDE: WILLOUGHBY, standing in front of a class of kids, uses a yardstick to point to posters of male and female genetalia taped to a blackboard; he wears the same suit and tie.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
And the chairman of a children’s charity, "Kidz Be Ballin’", which provides culturally-significant sports equipment to underprivileged, inner-city, non-white youths.

(SLIDE: WILLOUGHBY, shooting a sky-hook, plays basketball against a group of young black kids less than half his size; he wears the same suit and tie.)

(The strains of "God Bless America" transition into a darker, more menacing instrumental.)

(SLIDE: Another man, who looks similar to WILLOUGHBY, TUCKER LEE THOMPSON, wears an identical suit with a red tie instead of blue; THOMPSON also wears elbow-length, yellow rubber gloves and a surgical mask pulled down below his chin. He holds a vacuum cleaner extension in one hand and gives a "thumbs up" with the other; he looks to be caught in mid-laugh.)

(The ANNOUNCER takes on a darker, more accusatory tone.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
His opponent for Mayor of Madison Falls, Republican Tucker Lee Thompson, works in abortion clinics for fun.

(SLIDE: "VOTE WILLOUGHBY: ABORTIONS AREN’T FOR FUN.")

(SLIDE: "PAID FOR BY FRIENDS OF FAMILY VALUES FOR WALTER WILLOUGHBY")

And now, the other side of the race...

TUCKER LEE THOMPSON AD, #1

(The projection screen is blank. A faint, instrumental version of "America the Beautiful" plays.)

(Another "rich white guy," TUCKER LEE THOMPSON, in a conservative black suit and red tie, walks to center stage. He greatly resembles WILLOUGHBY in mannerisms, demeanor, and accent.)

(SLIDE: "THOMPSON ‘05.")

THOMPSON
I’m Tucker Lee Thompson, and I approved this ad.

(THOMPSON leaves. The same ANNOUNCER comes on and treats THOMPSON with the same reverence once reserved for WILLOUGHBY. Once again, corresponding slides are projected with the narration.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
Tucker Lee Thompson has aided his community as the Dean of the Stonewall Jackson Military Academy...

(SLIDE: THOMPSON salutes a line of teens in military school uniforms; he wears the same suit and tie.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
A volunteer at the Madison Falls YMCA...

(SLIDE: THOMPSON floats underwater with a few kids in the background and gives an enthusiastic "thumbs up;" he wears the same suit and tie.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
And president of the non-profit Spragen-Michner group for underprivileged, inner-city, non-white, mentally challenged, bedridden children.

(SLIDE: THOMPSON performs a crappy sock puppet theater for a sickly-looking black kid in a hospital bed; he wears the same suit and tie.)

(The strains of "America the Beautiful" transition into the same dark instrumental played during the WILLOUGHBY ad.)

(SLIDE: WILLOUGHBY, wearing his black suit and blue tie, holds a blender in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. An adorable kitten sits in the blender; WILLOUGHBY seems caught in mid-laugh.)

(Again, the ANNOUNCER takes on a darker, more accusatory tone.)

ANNOUNCER
(VO)
The Democratic candidate for Mayor of Madison Falls, Walter Willoughby, drinks kitten margaritas.

(SLIDE: "VOTE THOMPSON: NO KITTENS IN MARGARITAS.")

(SLIDE: "PAID FOR BY FAMILIES FOR FAMILY VALUES FOR TUCKER LEE THOMPSON.")

ANGELIC BEINGS DOING MUNDANE THINGS

2007-06-08T15:55:00.000-05:00

Found in this week's Swift; Item 3, "An Old Act."

Wow! Angels! Legions of them! And they help us with specific things in our lives, even things that have no real bearing on anything else at all!

I have much in common with the Angel Lady; for instance, we both offer good, clean, family fun. And like the Angel Lady, I, too, enjoy making shit up. So, here are some of the pertinent angels for modern living...

Julius, Angel of Bad Stand-Up Comedians: Entire set consists of jokes about Britney Spears not wearing underwear and Paris Hilton in solitary.

Mervin, Angel of Console Video Game Systems: Causes your $500 Xbox 360 to die six months after purchase. Somehow, keeps your Sega Genesis running to this day.

Mary, Angel of Advertising and Marketing: Has an open disdain for stupid people, i.e. "you."

Edward, Angel of Misogyny: Wonders where his goddamn dinner is, why you can't fix yourself up every now and again.

Will Wheaton, Angel of Nerditry: Big on the Internets. Tends to kick ass. Was on some sci-fi show.

Herman, Angel of Reality TV Shows: Next season's biggest hit, "My Baby Wants a Sex-Change."

Laura, Angel of Punditry: Contends that everything you've ever believed is wrong. Can prove it using only appeals to emotion and uncompromising smarm.

Caroline, Angel of Performance Art: Spends an hour and a half inside a glass cube humping a medicine ball while reciting the owner's manual for an '87 Ford Escort in German.

Marshall, Angel of Basketball: Hopes you brought a number two pencil, bitch, 'cause he's 'bout to take you to school. Face!

Tommy, Angel of Animal Rights: Eats dolphin-safe tuna. Throws paint on fur coats. Wears leather shoes.

Henrietta, Angel of Recreational Drugs: Can hear colors, pluck the stars from the sky and eat them. Also, thinks you're pretty fucking rad.

Morgan, Angel of Elective Surgery: Has calf implants, tail.

Roger, Angel of Skateboarding: Can totally gnar-dog that death gap, brah.

Lorraine, Angel of Angry Feminists: Hates men. Hates women who like men. Hates gay men because they like men. Really hates Manfred Mann.

Remember, the angels are all around us; they shadow us and help us decide our destinies, or some such shit. So, keep on the lookout for these winged harbingers of triviality and thank them for, I don't know, prying the lid off a jar of dill strips or helping you pick the perfect set of matched luggage.

I HEART HEART

2007-06-03T15:19:00.000-05:00

I missed the recent VH1 "Rock Honors," where one of my favorite bands was featured.

I know a fair amount of older folks, in their 40's and such (older than me, don’t get sensitive), who are also music junkies, and I’ve gotten an eerily consistent answer from them when I ask "What’s the best live band you’ve ever seen?" Surprisingly, most of them say, without hesitation, "Heart."

Even the guy who works at the convenience store down the road admitted, "They’re the best bar band the world has ever seen."

Unfortunately, I was born a bit too late to catch the most classic of the classic rock bands in their respective primes. I’m forced to either catch the husks of once-great bands (the present Skynyrd touring line-up) or live vicariously through those who were actually there.

I know people who saw Zeppelin, the Who, the Stones, and other such legends. And all of these people, save for one (who never saw Heart live), agree that Heart was a better live band. It’s not so amazing to me, really, because Heart is a versatile, fun, and supremely riffy band, I’m just amazed that people who live and die by that little mouth with a tongue hanging out will flat-out say, "Yeah, Heart would blow them off the stage."

Heart - Bebe Le Strange (From "Bebe Le Strange")

This is a great cut all around, but the guitar line could teach more than a few bands how to turn a simple riff into a perfect, borderline-metal hook.

And, might as well get it out of the way. Yeah, I’ve got a thing for Nancy Wilson; always have, always will.

JUMP CUTS: "I NEED A BIONIC KNEE"

2007-05-28T14:11:00.000-05:00

-It's getting awful "spidery" outside mi casa. Now, I might say that I "hate" something like "American Idol" or willfully ignorant people, but I'm often engaging in mild hyperbole. I have a very strong dislike for these things (and many others) but I hate, hate, fucking hate spiders. And they're everywhere. I've gotta walk through at least five spider webs just to get to my car, and it's getting old fast.

-I've been jamming Europe's Final Countdown. "Arrested Development" junkies will recognize it as Gob Bluth's perpetual magic theme. That keyboard gets stuck in my head about, oh, eight or nine times a day.

-I think my right knee is royally fucked.

You know when you take a bad step and, for a brief moment, your knee hyper-extends? It's been happening to me more and more frequently. At first it was just annoying; now it's kind of frightening.

I was in the bookstore yesterday and crouched down to snatch a book from the lower shelf.

When I stood up, my right knee just buckled and I crumpled to the ground. And it hurt. It hurt a Hell of a lot more than it usually does.

A lady down the aisle came over to help me but it hurt so damn bad I had to wait a minute to test it. I couldn't put my weight on that leg, so the lady and a bookstore employee helped me over to a chair where I waited five minutes or so before testing the leg again.

The bookstore guy said that they had had other medical issues in the store before. An old guy had a stroke, a pregnant woman thought she was going into labor, and a little girl, running through the store, tripped and cracked her head open on a bookcase.

I asked him, "You ever had a 80-year-old man trapped in a 26-year-old's body fall just because he stood up?" He admitted that they hadn't. Hooray! I'm a precedent!

Eventually, the pain subsided and I managed to limp away. It's still tender and I'm still a bit limpy, but it's feeling much better today than when I went to sleep.

It's just weird. I've never injured either of my knees and I've never had problems until this past month. One day, everything's aces. The next day, I need a friggin' cane just to get out of bed.

Before I do anything drastic and buy a Life Alert ("Help I'm in a prone position on the ground and I'm unable to stand!"), I'd rather do something practical. Like have a bionic knee installed. So, if anyone knows any mad scientists willing to curtail world domination long enough to make me a cyborg, I'd be greatly appreciative.

WHITE RABBIT SAYS, "FEED YOUR HEAD!"

2007-05-28T14:00:00.000-05:00

The Creation Science Museum Carnival debuts over at Pharyngula. Tons of good articles, most of them genuinely informative and a few, well, more my style of information.

Also, nearly missed the last Skeptic's Circle, at the always brilliant and sexy Skepchick.

ITINERARY FOR THE CREATION MUSEUM'S OPENING DAY

2007-05-24T00:53:00.000-05:00

Our Evil Invertebrate Overlord, PZ Myers, has beseeched us to comment on the impending disaster that is the Creation Museum.

I have done him one better...

Using my nefarious powers, I have sent one of my loyal demon scouts to procure a copy of the Creation Museum’s official itinerary for the opening day festivities. Some of the events seem quite interesting...

ITINERARY FOR MAY 28TH, 2007

7:00 - 8:00 AM

"Prayer Breakfast and Fellowship"

Special message and prayer by Dr. Ken Ham* followed by a Biblically prescribed breakfast of mostly unleavened bread.

9:00 AM - 3:00 PM

"Guided Tours of the Creation Museum: Presented by the Bible!"

While Biblical characters such as Joseph, Abel, and Moses lead patrons around the Creation Museum, other Biblical characters will be spread throughout for added authenticity.

Be Abraham! Prove your love for the Lord by sacrificing your son! Will God give him a reprieve? Test your faith and find out!

Be Jonah! Walk around in a real-live whale!**

Be Jesus! Heal a leper and raise Lazarus from the dead!

Be John! Step into our "Prophecy Box" and see what it’s like to receive divine inspiration from the Lord!

During guided tours, there will be presentations by leading scientists and researchers in the field of Creation Science*** as well as other distinguished guests!

9:00 - 11:00 AM

"The Politics of Faith"

Thomas H. Hunter, a former Moral Majority lawyer, speech-writer for Pat Robertson’s presidential campaign, and Nixon biographer will discuss how we must change the course of our once-glorious Christian nation through our faith. Using the Word of the Lord and the Christian Political Philosophy of Ralph Reed, he will offer Godly tips on how to influence a heathen democracy through force.

Mr. Hunter will also answer the question, "Why Do Liberals Love Terrorists and Abortions?"

11:00 AM - 12:00 PM

"The Right Reverend Zepheniah T. Gauldin’s Old Time Hellfire and Brimstone Hour of Godly Power"

Rev. Gauldin, pastor and founder of the Lord Jesus of Nazareth Church in Willow Gorge, West Virginia, will take us "back to the mountain hollers" with his blend of fiery oration, encyclopedic Biblical knowledge, and over sixty years experience in battling Satan and his unholy minions.

Not for the faint of heart, but perfect for those strong in the spirit! Bring the kids for a lesson in what real faith looks like!

12:00 - 1:00 PM

Bag lunches served.

1:00 - 2:00 PM

"The Magic of the Bible"

Christian magicians Ben and Miller perform various illusions (based on Biblical miracles) using human trickery then explain, using Biblical proofs, how the miracles of the Lord were REAL!

2:00 - 3:00 PM

"Live From Solitary with Dr. Ken Hovind*"

Dr. Dino* himself, via satellite, will present his revolutionary ("not evolutionary") new witnessing methods, learned in the "real world" and honed in "the yard." He will talk about keeping your faith while in lockdown and explain how "Screws are the Devil."

3:00 - 4:00 PM

"Why Are There Still Monkeys?"

Dr. Herman Marshall*, an accounting professor at Mooreville Community College in Kansas who has a doctorate from Liberty University and was one of the leading voices in the fight to introduce intelligent design curriculum into public schools, will present compelling evidence against the theory of evolution and for a literal, Biblical creation by elaborating on his central theme.

5:00 - 6:00 PM

"Keeping Dinosaurs as Pets"

Kurt Kayley, Christian Comedian, will present his Joshua Award winning one-Christian-man-show, billed as being "informative for adults, kids, and women alike." Using Biblical proofs, Kurt will demonstrate how our ancestors not only lived with the dinosaurs but had good, clean, Christian fun with them!

6:00 - 7:00 PM

"Executive Dinner"

Dine on sacrificial lamb and rub elbows with some of our Museum’s executives, benefactors, and Christian friends. Dr. Ham* will discuss the Museum’s purpose and commemorate the opening day with a ceremonial faith healing.

The Dinner Prayer will be read by an audio-animatronic Velociraptor.

7:00 - 8:00 PM

"The Roarke Family Band"

Hailing from here in Kentucky, the Roarke Family Band presents an evening of gospel standards and contemporary Christian music with a healthy dose of family-friendly fun.

No dancing allowed!

8:00 - 9:00 PM

"30 Pieces and a Fireworks Extravaganza!"

The Christian Theater group "30 Pieces" will perform the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ live in front of the Museum.

(Remember, when asked, you must pardon Barabbas.)

As our Lord Jesus is crucified, the fireworks will go off and we will reflect on the painful, terrifying, and totally necessary sacrifice He made in the name of our Loving and Just God, so that our horrible, despicable, and sinful (but righteous) natures shall be negated!

Amen!

*All doctors listed are not really doctors.
**The whale is dead.
***Creation science is not really science.

IN WHICH I BECOME MY OWN GOD AND CREATE A PERFECT DAY...

2007-05-18T18:20:00.000-05:00

In the beginning, there was only a dark void and nothingness. Plus, God was having a really kooky dream involving an underwater shootout with anthropomorphic trigger fish.

And God did awaken and realized he had slept in until noon. And God had his "morning constitutional," checked his e-mail, and ran to the store for some smokes. And at the store, God did find buy-one-get-one-free Parliament Lights. And, lo, God did also purchase a Yoo-Hoo. And sixty minutes passed, the first hour.

And God did return to his abode to read webcomics, drink Yoo-Hoo, and eat pretzels. And God discovered a new comic, one he had never read, and called it "Nobody Scores!" And God saw that it was good. And sixty minutes passed, the second hour.

And God began to smell sort of ripe. Thus, God did take a hot shower and tested the acoustic value of the bathroom by singing Elton John’s "I’m Still Standing" very loudly. Then God did take bread outside and fed some geese. Then a goose began to bum-rush God and squawk at him, and God did run away giggling. And sixty minutes passed, the third hour.

And God received a phone call from a friend whom he didn’t particularly want to hang out with, and God did say, "I’m busy all day, give me a call tomorrow" and hoped the friend would fall for it. And it was so, for the friend did say, "OK." And God called the people he had originally wanted to go out with and made plans. Then, God left the house and he did sit in traffic for nearly half an hour. And it was not good. And sixty minutes passed, the fourth hour.

And God entered Best Buy and purchased the Gojira album "From Sirius to Mars." God also debated buying the first volume of "F Troop" (because Cpl. Agarn doth please God) but decided not to. God listened to Gojira, and found that it did rock. And God did brave more traffic, but with the guitar line of "Global Warming" keeping him company, it was good. And a little less than sixty minutes passed, the vague fifth hour.

And God did enter into the land of Chili’s and found his friends. And God ate margarita chicken and drank three whiskey sours. And it was good. And God and his friends did talk about how the length of a mullet is inversely proportionate to the intelligence of the mullet’s owner, how the American political system is, at present, like the Mafia with a few extra billion to throw around, and the fact that Terry Pratchett is a goddamn genius. And God did also decree that it was not weird for him to say "goddamn." And sixty minutes and change passed, the sixth hour or so.

And God stopped at the store and bought a deuce-deuce of Natty Ice (to cap off his buzz) and another Yoo-Hoo (for just before bedtime). And God did return home and vowed to bang out ten pages on a story he’d been working on. And it was so. And it was good. But, of course, God was biased. And God did decide to watch MST3K on DVD for the rest of the night. And sixty minutes passed, the seventh hour.

And God watched MST3K, and verily did he laugh at the antics of Crow, Tom Servo, Gypsy, and Cambot. And God did end the "Joel Vs. Mike" debate by saying "Hey, I think both of ‘em are funny." And God drank his Yoo-Hoo, donned his footie-pajamas, went to sleep, and dreamed he was a little blue dog. And the day was good.

EVERYBODY MUST GET "SPACED"

2007-05-15T22:10:00.000-05:00

I haven't seen "Hot Fuzz" yet but I love, love, love "Shaun of the Dead." As a fan of both Romero zombie movies (especially "Dawn") and fast-paced British comedy, "Shaun" had a perfect mix of pop-culture references, original humor, and some surprisingly poignant scenes.

If you thought that "Shaun" was the pinnacle of the Simon Pegg/Nick Frost/Edgar Wright connection, though, you are gravely mistaken.

"Spaced," which premiered on England's Channel 4 in '99, was written by and stars Pegg and Jessica Stevenson as Tim and Daisy, a pair of recent acquaintances who must pose as a "professional couple" to rent an affordable and comfortable flat. After they get the flat, they have numerous amusing adventures and incidents with the alcoholic landlady, Marsha, the moody artist, Brian, Daisy's flightly friend, Twist, Tim's military-obsessed mate, Mike, and Colin, the dog.

The cast is brilliant (especially Stevenson's adorable and hilarious "Daisy" and Mark Heap's twitchy, unpredictable "Brian"), the writing is impeccable, and Wright (also the director of "Shaun" and "Hot Fuzz") works his camera more than any other TV show ever filmed.

There are only two seasons (with only seven episodes each) and every episode is so far beyond an American comedy show that it's, frankly, sort of embarrassing.

Every episode is available on DVD (I've already ordered mine) but, if you want to sample the goods, they're available on YouTube as well.

Here is the first episode, for your viewing pleasure. I can't offer enough praise. "Spaced" is, simply, one of the funniest and most amazing shows that you'll ever see.

JUMP CUTS: FALWELL EDITION

2007-05-15T15:16:00.000-05:00

-And so it came to pass that Jerry Falwell finally got to be proven wrong. Now, let's see which politicians and "journalists" can think up the most unwarranted effusive praise for a man who lived his life as a bigot, racist, misogynist, and enemy of the Constitution. Normally, I try to say something nice about anyone who dies but, in this case, I can't think of a single thing.

-Had a long overdue cross-car duet with a cute brunette in a red Jeep. I was jamming Cheap Trick's "Surrender" at a stop light and hear, faintly, someone else singing along to my left. I look over and chick is belting it out, so I started singing just as loud; she had a pretty solid voice, so we had some nice harmony going. Unfortunately, we only got through the first chorus before the light changed, she went left, and I went straight. I love spontaneous connections with complete strangers...

-Totally forgot about how awesome the video for Pearl Jam's "Do the Evolution" really is. The part where the woman is dancing (with the strobe effect) is creepy-cool.

JIM CRAMER IN "MAD MUSIC"

2007-05-14T15:29:00.000-05:00

I was never much on the nuances of business and industry. The Money or Business sections of the paper are the only ones I automatically skip and I involuntarily snarl every time the news goes into a stock report.

It’s just not my thing. And it’s the same reason I never bothered to learn about physics; too many numbers involved and, if there’s one thing in this world I can’t deal with, it’s numbers. When I was in ninth grade, I just barely passed pre-algebra. Now, I have to seriously think about it just to remember my multiplication tables. And, for the love of all that some people consider holy, don’t ask me to keep score in a game of Spades.

Yet, I find myself compelled to watch Jim Cramer on "Mad Money." It might be because I’ve always liked watching train wrecks but, often, it’s not prudent to laugh; watching "Mad Money" gives me the best of both worlds.

I mean, yeah, Cramer’s a raving lunatic (we can easily recognize our own) and possibly a danger to himself and others, but something about him got me thinking...

"What if he didn’t do a show about money and investments and business? What if he was still that batshit crazy and did a show about something I got equally excited over, like music?"

Hmm... What if...

OPEN ON: Cramer’s studio.

Cramer walks into the shot wearing a white polyester Vegas-Elvis jumpsuit, a pompadour, and giant sunglasses. He still keeps his Cramer persona and is yelling the second he enters the shot.

As usual, Cramer stalks around the studio and the camera follows what he’s doing.

CRAMER
Holy monkeys, people! Have we got a show for you! Welcome to Mad Music, I’m Jim "the Axeman" Cramer...

Cramer hits one of his many buttons and a Van Halen riff plays briefly.

CRAMER
Welcome, welcome, and rock on, America, World, Universe, anybody, everybody, I don’t care. I love you all because I’ve been up three days straight on mushrooms. I haven’t eaten, and the only thing I’ve had to drink is cough syrup, so let the show begin!

Cramer hits another button and we hear David St. Hubbins yelling "Rock and roll!"

CRAMER
Rock and roll indeed, my precious children. We’re gonna jump right in with some things that have been weighing on my mind as of late, weighing heavily. Number one is old news, but Bob Dylan shilling for Victoria Secret? That’s just weird, people, and I don’t really understand it, I mean, I can understand why he would specifically shill for Victoria Secret because, you know, if anyone has a chance with the most beautiful women in the world, it’s someone old enough to be their grandpa who looks old enough to be their great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandpa. That’s the world we live in evidently. Why is that?

Cramer hits a button and plays the first bit of lyrics from Desmond Dekker’s "Beautiful and Dangerous;" we hear, "Why, oh why, oh why, oh why, tell me why!"

CRAMER
I don’t know, Desmond Dekker, that’s why I asked you! Moving on to bigger and better things, isn’t Steely Dan awesome? I mean, don’t they just kick superfluous amounts of ass? I’m telling you man, all you needed to do to get laid in the seventies was go to a liberal arts college, get on the lacrosse team, smoke some grass, and play Steely Dan for the ladies; it’s like the chicks were hardwired to get horny when they heard it. Now it’s, I don’t know, Akon or some crap. Who’s that other guy, sounds like he thinks he’s in "the Matrix?" Neo? But he spells it with a hyphen and a "Y," so it’s still "neo" but it’s really "Ne-Yo." Goddamn, I wish Marvin’s daddy had never shot him...

Cramer hits a button and plays a bit of the Commodores, "Night Shift;" the lyric with, "Marvin! (Marvin!) He was a friend of mine..."

CRAMER
We miss you, Marvin, and R&B misses you more. And what’s up with that James Blunt kid?

Cramer hits a button and plays a bit from "You’re Beautiful;" we hear "You’re beautiful! You’re beautiful!"

CRAMER
What is he, a long-lost Jackson? If not, it’s good to see that eunuchs can still get normal jobs in this day and age.

Cramer hits the "Rim Shot" button.

CRAMER
Thank you, folks, I’ll be here until I pass out from exhaustion. Speaking of which, does anyone else think it’s hot in here?

Cramer rips off his Elvis jumpsuit to reveal a pair of leather pants, a long-sleeve red silk shirt, and a purple t-shirt underneath.

Cramer, in an impossible Looney Tunes moment, pulls a giant afro from behind his back and dons it. He then produces a headband in the same fashion and wraps it around his head as he talks.

CRAMER
I’ve been practicing my supreme axe-man skills, folks, let’s see just how close to rock sainthood I’ve come.

Once Cramer ties on the headband, he produces a right-hand Strat strung for a lefty.

Cramer hits a button and we hear the opening of "Purple Haze." Cramer pantomimes badly over Jimi. When the clip ends, he bows and blows kisses.

CRAMER
Booyah! That’s how we do it at "Mad Music," my little fried dumplings! And, hey, how about the Police getting back together, huh? Maybe they can give us more songs about stalking! Who knows, maybe Sting will write a concept album about Tantric sex. I wonder what he’d call it!

Cramer hits a button and plays a lyric from "Synchronicity Pt. II;" we hear "...a humiliating kick in the crotch!"

CRAMER
Ouch, Sting! I think someone’s got a fetish! And, remember, folks, the Police are headlining the Virgin Festival in Baltimore on August 4th and 5th, along with the Smashing Pumpkins and the Beastie Boys!

Cramer hits a button and we hear the lyric, "Hey, ladies!"

CRAMER
I’ll be there running a falafel stand. Don’t worry, I won’t jack up the prices too much. And I’ll gladly trade falafel for any kind of loose psychotropics you happen to have on your person. We’re not picky, but we prefer Oxy’s and Xanny-bars. Hey, I’m feeling kind of stupid, anybody else? How about we hear some words of wisdom? Woo! Today’s words of wisdom come from Mr. Shane MacGowan...

Cramer hits a button, and we hear lyrics from the Pogues, "Dirty Old Town;" "I’ll chop you down, like an old dead tree."

CRAMER
That’s ‘cause I’m the Axeman, baby!

Cramer hits another button and we hear a riff from Ted Nugent’s "Stranglehold." He pantomimes again, just as badly as last time.

CRAMER
Double Booyah for the Motor City Madman! The Nuge! He sent me a fur loincloth just a few weeks ago and I haven’t taken it off since. He’s good people. Jinkies! Is it... Is it time for Mad Mail already?

Cramer hits a button and we hear Stevie Wonder, "Signed, sealed, delivered!"

CRAMER
My how the time flies when you’re having tactile hallucinations. Our first question comes from a kid named Kevin in Moosejaw, Saskatchewan who thinks he’s a smart ass. Kevin asks, "Who would win in a fight? Lemme or God?" That’s a trick question, and I’d say that even if I hadn’t seen "Airheads" over 200 times. Obviously, God would win because, in this case, God is Ronnie James Dio.

Cramer hits a button and we hear a bit from "Holy Diver;" "Jump! Jump! Jump on the tiger!" Cramer bangs his head with the "jumps."

CRAMER
The next question is from Clarice in Houston, Texas who asks, "I have a friend who says that Jethro Tull is cheesy and overrated. Can you help him see the light?" I’m sorry, Clarice, but if your "friend," who I seriously doubt is worth your time, can’t see how groovy Jethro Tull is, I’m afraid there’s no hope for him. I’d say it would be best to simply slaughter him and harvest his vital organs and blood for people in need of transplants or transfusions but, unfortunately, bad taste is just as communicable as Hepatitis. So, it’d be best to either cut all ties with this supposed "friend" or send him to the Mad Music studio for a tune-up. Man, it’s still hot in here...

Cramer rips off the leather pants, the silk shirt, and the afro. He is now dressed in Mick Jagger’s outfit from the "Start Me Up" video.

CRAMER
Much better. Now, I’ve got some investments I’ve had my eye on for quite some time, and these are the dragon-slayers, people, these are the musical investments that will give you the best head-bang for your buck. Coming in first is one that a lot of you have been giving me crap over, and I’m sticking by it. They haven’t been able to duplicate the success of "OK Computer," but Radiohead is primed for a comeback, my tiny dancers. They’ll have a new album out within the year and it will be huge. They’re overdue for another groundbreaking release, so if you lost faith with them after the wonderfully obtuse and oddball "Kid A" and "Amnesiac," prepare to admit that Radiohead is still as good as they used to be.

Cramer hits a button and plays a bit from "Paranoid Android;" "...you will be first against the wall."

CRAMER
And will. I know these next guys are getting old and people nowadays know them more for their beards than their music, but keep on the look-out for ZZ Top. Their classic blend of rough-edged, bluesy rock is coming back in a big way and they’re set for a revival anytime now.

Cramer hits a button and plays a line from "Waiting for the Bus/Jesus Just Left Chicago;" "Have mercy!"

CRAMER
Lastly, KT Tunstall. She’s Scottish, she’s hot, she can sing, and she plays a mean guitar. The main reason she’s a good investment is that they play her on both the pop and country stations. You know I’m not much on the country scene, unless we’re talking Jerry Reed...

Cramer hits a button and we hear, "Eastbound and down!"

CRAMER
But that’s a big market people. This girl is cross-over gold and, if she were to record something with a little more "oomph," she could conquer the rock and roll stations, too. Well, that’s all we have for Mad Music. Next time we’ll talk to a special guest, Mr. Marcus Wyatt, who will tell us why it’s the perfect time to invest in, of all things, Scandinavian rock and pop. Good night and rock on!

Cramer hits a button that triggers the sound of applause. Cramer bows and walks off doing the Mick Jagger "Chicken Strut."

(DISCLAIMER: This horrible caricature of Jim Cramer does not necessarily represent the views and opinions of the Church of the Everlasting Groove or the Rev. Jenner J. Hull. Or Jim Cramer. We assume. We don’t really know, we’ve never met the guy.)

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT IN ANTICIPATION OF THE IMPENDING TRAFFICOCALYPSE...

2007-05-13T14:53:00.000-05:00

It’s that time of the year again. The pollen finally dies down a bit, the humidity takes over, and people from up to a couple of thousand miles away hop on their hogs, groin sleds, trikes, or what have you and make the pilgrimage to Myrtle. Except for the annoying increase in already horrendous traffic, I don’t really have any gripes with Bike Week.

Despite the strange, convoluted stigma surrounding "bikers" and other frequent riders, I’ve found that most of them are decent people all around. Hell, the Scorpions I knew in VA would rather hold bike rallies for sick kids than, say, shank some guy with a broken Budweiser bottle. (Time and a place, people.)

And if you ever want to sit down with someone and be regaled with some of the craziest stories you’ve ever heard, hunt down an older biker who’s been on the road for a while. Those cats are hep.

There’s one thing that makes me nervous about all these bikers. It’s not the reputation or the wardrobe or the attitudes. From what I’ve witnessed, something like only one in fifteen (of Bike Week bikers, now; I couldn’t tell you comprehensive figures) wear helmets.

Warning: I’m going to turn into everyone’s mother. "You’re not leaving this house without a helmet, Mister!"

Having walked (i.e. limped) away from a nasty wreck with only an annihilated shoulder and some lacerations, I’ve been trying to push helmet use ever since. Had I not been wearing one at the time of the accident, I’ve no doubt that I would’ve either been killed or suffered some serious head trauma. Ever since, I’ve been, for lack of a better, Non-Seinfeldian term, a "Helmet Nazi."

Of course, this wasn’t always so (and, granted, I haven’t ridden anything in over five or six years). Before the wreck, I was one of those die-hard, militant, "Wind in Your Hair, Bugs in Your Teeth" types. Even though I rode dirt bikes and quads instead of road bikes, the general philosophy is the same, except "Less Wind, More Bugs."

I’d only wear a helmet if I was unlucky enough to be caught leaving the house without one and my parents bitched me out. So, I suppose it was the freedom of riding without a helmet but, there was also a bit of hubris there, too, a definite, "What, me wreck?" mentality. And, yes, since my parents were the original "Helmet Nazis," there was a little bit of deliberate "Fuck the System" thinking as well.

Then, in a delicious coincidence, on one of the few days I donned the helmet unprompted, I got slung head-first down a hill. As can be imagined, I was a tad more careful once I finally (somewhat) recovered.

I’m not trying to chastise anyone, unlike my father, who, when I lamented wearing a helmet, said, "Well, at least we know that if you split your head open, it won’t affect ya much." People will always have their own reasons for deciding not to wear a helmet (some good, some not so good), so if that’s your kink, go forth and do your thing.

I’d suggest that one way to bolster helmet use, though, is to have some fun with it!

Form a band of Viking Bikers. Imagine a dozen guys cruising around town with horned helmets, dragon heads on the front of the choppers, leather armor, and fur vests. For bonus points, have the entire gang wear long blonde wigs and call everyone Nordic-sounding names like "Sven Kjordling" or "Tornblad the Tall."

Or, better yet, how about Samurai Bikers? Get some ornate helmets and chestplates and become the most honorable warriors on the highway.

If I had a bike, I’d rock it Pith-helmet-style. I’d pull up beside someone at a stoplight, give the person next to me a slow burn, and ask, in my best upper-class British accent, "Mr. Livingston, I presume?"

In closing, I know that some people will still continue to not wear helmets and, in all likelihood, these people are competent riders who will never have a serious wreck. But someone dies during Bike Week every year who would’ve survived had they been wearing a helmet.
A helmet’s not the only thing that will help save you; remember where you are...

People here drive like assholes. There are a whole Hell of a lot of cars on the road and most of the drivers have, at the best, only a vague idea of where they’re going. They are extremely brake happy and love jumping lanes with little to no warning. They are also, more often than not, completely unfamiliar with the concept of "blind spots;" the safe bet is to assume that everyone around you is a moron.

So, have a good time out there, people, but watch your asses.

THE 60TH SKEPTIC'S CIRCLE...

2007-05-10T20:40:00.000-05:00

I've been doing a shitty job of keeping up with these things, even though I know they happen every two weeks. (Bad Reverend! Bad!)

The newest Skeptic's Circle, at Infophilia, is a doozy. And a lark. And a barn-burner. And a hootenanny.

Give it a run.

CHRISTMAS COMES EVERY WEDNESDAY...

2007-05-09T17:19:00.000-05:00

At least, it does if you're a "Lost" junkie. If you're not already hooked, now might be your time to check it out. I know it's late in the third season and, if you don't watch the show, you have no chance in Hell of figuring out what's going on but the last handful of episodes have been so fucking good that I can remain silent no longer.

And, besides, I never started watching "Lost" until half-way through the second season. All the hype surrounding the first season automatically turned me off (this is also the reason I refuse to watch "Lost" promos) until I finally caught a 2nd Season ep that was so weird, ominous, and well-written that I impulsively went and bought the first season on DVD. After watching twelve episodes in a row (from 2:00 PM to 2:00 AM) on a free Saturday, I've been a rabid fan ever since. And, yes, the pilot episode was the best hour of television entertainment ever committed to film.

And when I use the phrase "'Lost' junkie," that is fairly accurate. At this exact moment, I am fully willing to sacrifice the lives of countless innocents to make it 10:00 and get my fix. And once 11:00 rolls around, all I can think about is, "Only seven more days, Reverend. One day at a time..."

After the 3rd season finale, I'm seriously considering being put into an induced coma until season four debuts.

To pass the time until ten, I've been jamming (in a non-stop fashion) to a band introduced to me by my recently married friend...

Catfish Haven - "Crazy for Leaving" (From "Tell Me")

This is what we at the Church of the Everlasting Groove mean when we speak of "rock/funk." These guys have a watertight groove and manage to produce some of the best bluesy rock I've heard in my quarter-century on this planet. Check out their MySpace page, located yonder, and hear two other great songs as well.

FREE BAND NAMES

2007-05-09T14:54:00.000-05:00

I've accepted the fact that I'll never be the rock god I wanted to be. I don't like it one goddamn bit, but I've accepted it.

I have neither the patience nor inclination to master an instrument; besides, I gave the git-fiddle a try and I've found the only one I can effectively play comes with the game "Guitar Hero." I'm trying to learn the bass off and on, but that, of course, won't turn me into Flea anytime soon.

I'm a decent-to-very-good singer (depending on the key of the song and whether or not I have to hit any high parts with projection), but because I'd look ricockulous in leather pants, I refuse to wear goofy Emo make-up (there's a picture of Avenged Sevenfold's guitarist looking like Boy George that I've seen but can't find), and I think lead singers flouncing around onstage (such as Mick Jagger or Chris Robinson) is completely unnecessary to making good music, there's a slim chance any band with even passing dreams of fame would hire me on.

I also can't write song lyrics. Not even a little bit. They all sound like middle-school poetry, either from a wannabe Lothario trying to impress his first girlfriend or the loser that's in love with every pretty girl but too afraid to talk to any of them. Seriously, my song lyrics would make an American Idol reject cringe.

So, unless someone wants a lead singer that won't dance, only wears normal street clothes, and tells jokes inbetween songs, I'm relegated to singing along like the rest of the fans, albeit very loudly.

Since my dreams of making music are effectively crushed, I feel my backlog of band names should not go to waste. Feel free to steal them at your leisure or add your own...

-SPODY (For you Non-Country-Folk, "spody" is the traditional Southern pronunciation of "sporty.")
-DEAD BABY SEAL
-ATHEIST WETSUIT
-PRESTIDIGITATION
-SPOOKY AND THE CRACKERS
-TUNA SURPRISE
-ONE GRASS, TWO GRASS, RED GRASS, BLUEGRASS!
-MISSION: IMPROBABLE
-FESTIVUS (Great name for a metal band doing Christmas covers.)
-SWEET EVIL JESUS! (Thanks, Penn!)
-MR. BROWNSTONE or MY BUDDY RON (Perfect for shitty, image-based bands that will just get hooked on heroin anyway.)
-MOTHERS AGAINST CHILDREN
-NUM NUMS
-THE DRIP
-TEHRAN DISCO
-TIBIA CAPO (I must find a way to acquire an actual tibia capo...)

And, my personal favorite...

-HELL IF I KNOW (Imagine the Abbott-and-Costello-like implications of having this band opening for the Who, Yes, and the The...)

A PERTINENT ADDENDUM (AND SOME MUSIC)...

2007-05-01T00:01:00.000-05:00

The "custom-wedding ceremony" offer still stands but, in our haste to get the word out and emphasize both atheist weddings and humorous weddings, we neglected to mention another type of wedding that we will readily write or conduct.

Same-sex ceremonies. We'll do 'em gladly.

I know the laws on same-sex marriages are completely FUBAR, but we're still on board. Be it legit or just for the principle of the thing, we will, without hesitation, officiate any wedding, be it husband and wife, husband and husband, or wife and wife.

Our motto, thus far, is "Love is the only tradition worth observing." This means that we see no difference in heterosexuals and homosexuals. If you're in love, you want to get married, and you want to have some fun with it, it's fried gold, as far as we're concerned.

So, tell your friends. And while you're telling your friends about crazy weddings, you might as well tell them about the craziest metal band of all time...

GWAR - "Saddam A Go-Go" and "Jack the World" (From "This Toilet Earth")

Since they hail from VA, GWAR is probably my favorite local band. This Double Feature lets them loose on an especially nasty bit of metal/thrash and then some punk/pop.

IN WHICH I TRIUMPHANTLY RETURN AND OFFER MY SERVICES TO GODLESS HEATHENS IN LOVE...

2007-04-30T13:06:00.000-05:00

Ah, it's good to be back.

This weekend, I performed my first wedding. The bride and groom were two very cool and very close friends of mine, and while I'm not officially official (they were really married a week before), I'm under the assumption that acquiring the proper credentials, so that I can actually marry people, isn't all that hard.

So, here's the score...

I'm thinking of parlaying this one-shot favor for friends into a potential side business.

I've been to a baker's crap-load of weddings and, if memory serves, only two (counting the one this weekend) were what I would consider "fun" weddings. I had another friend who got married on the beach in a ten minute ceremony with the reception at the bad-ass aquarium in Wilmington, NC; nothing says "love" like getting faced off of free beer and staring at an 8-foot long, neon green eel for a few hours.

For atheists, humanists, and other non-believers, weddings can be downright horrifying. Most of them are held in churches and are overtly religious, due to the fact that weddings aren't about the bride and groom but, more often, about pleasing the respective families and staying true to vaunted "traditions", to the point of being a mini-mass with a little something about non-god-or-Jebus-love thrown in for good measure.

To do what little I can for my Hellbound brothers and sisters, I will be, henceforth, offering my services as a scribe for custom-made wedding ceremonies.

Our goal in this is to celebrate the love shared by two people, and their commitment to each other, without invoking anything more mysterious than, say, the universe as a whole. None of this "god sanctioned love" and "holy state of marriage" jive. If power is vested in me by anyone, it's the state of wherever or the bride and groom themselves.

The ceremonies can and will be done on a case by case basis. If you'd like the crazy story of how you met your fiance to be a focal point, so be it. If you've got certain poems or song lyrics you want thrown in, that's no problem. If you want me to start with the Princess Bride "Mawwiage" bit (which I did in the wedding this weekend), I'd be more than happy to do it.

Hell, if you want your dog leashed at the altar, I can write the ceremony and read it over the PA to make it seem as if the beloved pet is the reverend. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of dog..."

Most importantly, I can make the weddings funny. Your traditional church weddings are just as boring as a normal church service, which always struck me as odd. Weddings are supposed to be happy! Two people are in love and they want the world to know it! Why have all this formality and rigid structure, with everyone sitting in uncomfortable clothes and reciting tired old call-and-response bullshit, the same bullshit we've seen in every fucking wedding ever slogged through?

Weddings should be fun for everyone involved, not just the alcoholic second cousins staying for the open bar. And the humor can be toned down or built up for taste. If you've got a really hip family, we can turn it into a comedy show that has real meaning. If you've got the kind of family who thinks "Happy Days" is a bit too racy, we can be a bit more subtle. Sure, you've heard people after a wedding saying, "Oh, that was very nice," or "it was a beautiful ceremony," but how many times have you heard people say, "Damn, that wedding was more fun than going to the movies!"

We can also do weird weddings. Goth weddings, heavy metal weddings, Star Wars weddings, etc. We'll draw the line on, say, Furry weddings just because I'd feel weird saying, "When a squirrel and a panda bear fall in love..." but damn near anything else, aside from religious ceremonies, is fair game. I'm also not above dressing up to accomodate the theme of the wedding; remember, I'm an actor and we all, traditionally, have very little shame, few scruples, and a constant need for attention.

We can do pretty much any length, from "short and sweet" to a magnus opus wedding (though anything over half an hour is just begging for people to get antsy and bored). As mentioned, I'm working on getting official, but if any prospective customers have other people in mind for the officiator and simply want it written, that's fine, too.

And remember, to anyone crazy enough to seriously consider taking me up on this, I'm an East Coast boy, so, unless someone is willing to pay for it, I can't just up and fly out to, say, Cali. If you're anywhere from VA down to FL and a couple of hundred miles West of there, I may charge for gas and lodging (along with a normal performance fee), but that's about it. So, for the time being, I'll have to confine myself to my immediate surroundings; I'll still write a ceremony for anyone, I just have to be picky about actually performing it. I'm hoping that will change but, then again, people would have to be interested first...

So, if you want a unique and fun wedding, or know someone who might, drop me a line. This whole ordeal is pretty new (the idea didn't hit me until a week or so ago) but it seems like something that might have a nifty niche market.

And if you're wondering about my ability to actually perform the wedding, I'm an English/Theatre grad who has absolutely no problems with public speaking. Comparatively, I can't be any worse an orator than any preacher or priest you've ever seen or heard.

RANDOM SHITE

2007-04-15T23:37:00.000-05:00

The Rev. Jenner J. Hull has been neglecting the Funk and Groove due to personal reasons. Hopefully, these reasons shall be revealed in due time...

This doesn't fully excuse me, but it gives me a decent alibi. So, to make up for lost Funk, here's a cornucopia of random rock/metal/pop.

Muse - "Time Is Running Out" (From "Absolution")

The moment I saw the opening, I said... "A 'Dr. Strangelove' video and a great track?" This is one of those songs that's so fucking good, I can't help but sing my ass off.

Apocalyptica - "One" (From "Inquisition Symphony")

For those of you who have always seen metal and classical music as being one in the same... (By the by, Apocalyptica got popular by playing Metallica tracks as classical songs on four cellos.)

Natalia Avelon and Ville Valo - "Summer Wine" (From the "Das Wilde Leben" Soundtrack)

So, now we have a smoking-hot, Polish-born, German temptress, Natalia Avelon, singing a Nancy Sinatra/Lee Hazelwood song with a Finnish crooner.

I've never seen the movie, "Das Wilde Leben," and I've never heard of Avelon before, but this is a kick-ass pop song and should be on the radio here in the States. Hell, can you name a pop song that's better?

And, lest we forget, Ville Valo (from the band H.I.M.) is the only singer alive who sounds as smooth as Dean Martin and as dark as Nick Cave. (He also looks a lot like Johnny Depp in the video...)

Be forewarned! The video for "Summer Wine" contains nudity. If you're averse to that sort of thing.

I tend to focus on the singing, but that's just me...

FAREWELL TO THE MASTER...

2007-04-12T13:06:00.000-05:00

Well, it was inevitable. I've been expecting it for years but it's still the sort of thing that catches you by surprise, sucker punches you in the throat, takes your wallet, and runs off into the shadows.

The Master, Kurt Vonnegut, has died.

To celebrate the life and legacy of one of our greatest American writers, find a friend or family member who has never read his work and lend them a copy of "Slaughterhouse 5," "Breakfast of Champions," or "Galapagos."

FUN THINGS TO ANNOY OR AMUSE YOUR FRIENDS...

2007-04-08T14:37:00.000-05:00

I’ve always lived by one philosophy; "Your friends are the assholes you can tolerate the most."

Not to say they can’t be fun people you really enjoy being around, but, come on, even your close friends can be real pricks. For me, those are the best friends...

I believe in a code of friendship where you can, essentially, take out all your random frustrations in a constructive, amusing way without fear of any dire consequences. Instead of rising up in violent retribution against any perceived slight, you should be able to, say, rip mercilessly on a buddy for having "fat ankles" until he finally gets annoyed and yells at you.

Well, OK, you got me. That take on friendship is too cynical even for my tastes, but it is partially true.

Becoming close with anyone automatically entails a certain amount of good-natured annoyance and playful insults. In the interest of helping others fully enjoy blatantly screwing with the minds of their dear, dear pals, I’ve compiled a short list of "Fun Things to Annoy or Amuse Your Friends."

STUPID DANCES

This one is potent if you have a friend who is either (a) shy in public or (b) worried about "not looking cool." It also works for anyone, at any time, and in any situation, provided the dance is stupid enough.

If you've ever watched "Arrested Development," you’ve seen Gob’s "Chicken Dance." If not, behold. This is the level of stupidity you should aspire to.

Certain "stupid dances" work better than others in a given situation. For example, a "stupid dance" you would use to celebrate, say, throwing a piece of balled-up paper into a trash can might differ greatly from the "stupid dance" you would use to intentionally embarrass a friend on a crowded dance floor.

Here are two more examples (given the "Chicken Dance" as a first)...

"Surgeon Hands" or "The Funky Surgeon"

Simply hold your hands in front of your chest with the palms facing towards you, like a surgeon would after sterilizing their hands. Now, in time to the music, of course, move your "Surgeon Hands" up and down and groove.

You can then say stupid things like, "Aw, someone better bring me a beer, stat!" Or, "Funky Surgeon’s ‘bout to open up your heart, girl!"

"The Mummy" or "Fuck-You-Hotep"

This one works best with lots of people around. Simply hold your arms in front of you, stumble around like you’re drunk (or have been dead for a few thousand years), and moan periodically. All those club kids with the glow-sticks and pacifiers will love it.

THE PUNCHLINE WITH NO JOKE

No, it’s not a bastardized Zen koan; it’s actually a fairly old, mostly tired ruse that only works really well with a certain personality.

Know the guy/girl who, if you mumble something to yourself, will keep asking, "What did you say?" This will nail that guy/girl at least once, maybe several times if they're a few old ladies short of a sewing circle and/or unbelievably gullible.

It only works if you have at least one accomplice. If "the mark" should leave the room for more than a minute (maybe less, it depends), explain the ruse to your accomplice(s) then...

Just as "the mark" returns, act like you’re just finishing the best joke in the world. It works even better if you can come up with a really weird punchline. My friends and I always worked off the "And, so I/he/she/random name said..." template, just to get an honest competition out of it. So, when "the mark" enters, be on the verge of breaking down in laughter and say something like...

"And, so I said, ‘If you think that’s a rodeo, Mister, you ain’t seen jack shit!’"

Then you and your accomplice(s) laugh like it’s the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

If all goes according to plan, "the mark" should want to hear the joke also. Whatever you do, make sure "the mark" is told something along the lines of, "Ah, you wouldn’t get it."

If "the mark" is of a certain personality, he/she will be driven to the brink of insanity until he/she hears the "joke." Surprisingly, it also works on "normal" people every now and again but you've gotta commit (and a large number of competently manipulative accomplices helps).

THANKS TO YOU, I HAD "DANCING QUEEN" STUCK IN MY HEAD THE WHOLE GODDAMN TIME!

My absolute favorite. Since I listen to a lot of random music and tend to associate with people who do the same, this always ends up being a very simple game.

It works well if you have a friend who hates, say, a particular genre of music that you happen to dig. I’ve found, however, that it works better if you happen to use a song that "the mark" likes.

I prefer to use 80's songs because, for some reason, people either really love or really hate 80's songs. Either way, it works for me.

Some songs I’ve used recently include...

Steve Winwood - "Higher Love" (From "Back in the High Life")

John Parr - "St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)" (From the "St. Elmo’s Fire" Soundtrack)

Paul Simon - "You Can Call Me Al" (From "Graceland")

Huey Lewis - "The Power of Love" (From the "Back to the Future" Soundtrack)

Hall and Oates - "Private Eyes" (From "Private Eyes")

The H&O, particularly, is often devastating if "stuck" because you automatically want to go...

YOU
Private eyes!

(Clap!)

YOU
They're watching you!

(Clap! Clap!)

If you can, try to do it before someone does something fairly important, like work, school, a funeral, a quadruple bypass, etc.

The title of this bit comes from direct experience. A few years back, I caught a college buddy before an important business exam and sort of absent-mindedly sang some ABBA during lulls in the conversation. After the test, he walked in my dorm room, slammed the door, pointed a menacing finger at me, and said, with all the malice a person could possibly muster, "Thanks to you, I had ‘Dancing Queen’ stuck in my head the whole goddamn time!"

I also have friends who won’t hesitate to get cheap and paltry with this game. I draw the line at using commercial jingles or modern pop/country songs but, sadly, I have more than a handful of acquaintances with no such scruples.

One guy in particular (let’s call him "Bitchpants," because he would do this frequently) would whistle the Enzyte theme at inopportune times and also sang various McDonald’s jingles. Damn you, Bitchpaaaaaaaants!

YON THINKING BLOGGER AWARD

2007-04-07T22:10:00.000-05:00

Dikkii (he of the Diatribe fame) was cool enough to tag the Rev. Jenner J. Hull for a Thinking Blogger Award.

I appreciate it greatly but, crap... Now I’ve got to live up to it.

The rules are as follows...

-If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with 5 blogs that make you think.

-Link to this post so that people can find the exact origin of the meme.

-Optional: Proudly display the "Thinking Blogger Award" with the post you wrote (there is a silver version if gold doesn’t fit your blog).

-Your chosen blogs cannot have previously been awarded.

Since Dikkii nominated me, I can’t nominate him back but, for all intents and purposes, "props" have been given. Here are some places I’ve been frequenting...

Rev. Big Dumb Chimp - (Some scientists claim that hydrogen, because it is so plentiful, is the basic building block of the universe. I dispute that. I say that there is more stupidity than hydrogen, and I say that is basic building block of the universe. Frank Zappa.)

Braindump - (Thoughts on skepticism, religion, theology, philosophy, and everyday life from a godless geek.)

Atheist Self - (Outnumbered. Discriminated against. Mistrusted. We need to speak up. We need a voice. This is mine. This is my atheist self.)

Science Notes - (My thoughts and notices about science and scientific discoveries and on the philosophy of science.)

Thinking Meat - (It’s meat! And it thinks!)

IN WHICH I CORRECT A GRIEVOUS MUSICAL TRANSGRESSION...

2007-04-06T13:02:00.000-05:00

A friend (let's call her "Buttercup") remarked that, much to her amazement, I had yet to mentioned Zep. I hung my head in shame.

Buttercup also chastised me for neglecting to mention Zakk Wylde's stellar album "Book of Shadows" in the "Mellow Metal" post so, just so she doesn't kill me while I sleep, listen to...

Zakk Wylde - "Evil Ways" (From "Book of Shadows")

Now, back to Led Zeppelin.

I take Zep very, very seriously. So seriously, in fact, that the last time I even got close to fighting someone was a few years back, when some high school kid tried to convince me that Led Zeppelin was overrated. When he said, "And 'Stairway' isn't all that great of a song,'" one of my friends advised him to either leave, shut up, or be prepared to take a bottle of Guinness upside the dome.

So, yes, I am prepared to shed blood (anyone's, I don't care) to protect the sanctity of Zep.

They're the perfect band. Amazing guitarist, great vocalist, and the most rock-solid backbeat/rhythm section ever. They even spawned a Muppet; the most amusing Muppet, to be exact.

I could easily write dozens of lengthy posts extolling the glory of Zep, but I feel it's best to let them speak for themselves.

And the best thing about them is that they pass the "Dartboard Test" every time. Write down all the names of Zep songs, stick them to a dartboard, and chuck three darts. You'll get something like...

Led Zeppelin - "Houses of the Holy" (From "Physical Graffiti")

The git-fiddlin' on this track is phenomenally groovy but the lyrics stand out to me more than anything. I love any lyrics that can be used as pick-up lines...

"Let me take you to the movies.
Can I take you to the show?
Let me be yours ever truly.
Can I make your garden grow?"

Not quite as good as...

"What's your name?
Who's your daddy?
Is he rich like me?"

...but still effective.

Led Zeppelin - "Hot Dog" (From "In Through the Out Door")

I love this one because every time I hear it, I see a massive, Old-West-style bar brawl in my head.

You know, people sliding down the bar, people swinging from chandeliers, someone kicking a full spitoon through the air, some lady screaming until she catches a stray punch, and a guy with a bushy moustache obliviously playing a honky-tonk piano the whole time. It also shows Zep's capacity to switch musical styles and genres seemingly at will.

Led Zeppelin - "Ten Years Gone" (From "Physical Graffiti")

Aside from featuring one of the most evil guitar riffs in history, this song has a special significance.

I once was in love with a wonderful girl who counted this as her favorite Zep song (and one of her all-time favorites); upon learning this, I fell even more in love with her (if that was possible).

Unfortunately, it never worked out quite like I planned and, though we haven't talked in years, I still think of all the fun we had whenever I hear this beautiful song.

So, to all my wonderful, beautiful friends in the Wild World of the Web, buy everything Led Zeppelin has ever produced. Thank you.

THE SHOULDER, PT. II

2007-04-03T22:36:00.000-05:00

After the first shoulder incident, I went through physical therapy and got better. Much better, in fact.

Once I started lifting weights and exercising, my left arm was stronger than before. By my senior year in high school, I was 175 pounds of super-fast muscle on a six foot frame.

The summer after I graduated (and mere weeks before I was to attend my first college) I went to the beach with my family and ex-girlfriend.

Up until the end, it was a good week. I had fun with the family, ate some amazing food, fooled around with the (ex) girlfriend; all was right with the world.

On the second to last day, though, something horrible happened. I dove into a wave, like I did hundreds of times since the first shoulder incident.

This time, however, when I hit the wave, my shoulder dislocated.

I popped up from the water screaming, like something out of a fucking horror movie.

With the (ex) girlfriend and the rest of the family taking in the rays, I had to stumble up the beach and exclaim, "We need to go to a hospital, right now."

The only problem was that the nearest hospital was about half an hour to forty-five minutes away. The only thing close was a "Prime Care" type facility.

In the Prime Care (generic title), I was given a shot of Demerol in one leg and a shot of Valium in the other.

I laid on a gurney, on my stomach. My dislocated arm, pointed towards the floor, held a three gallon jug of saline solution. The drugs were supposed to make this make this process bearable; it didn't work.

About five minutes into the ordeal, my (ex) girlfriend had to be removed from the room because I was in so much pain that she was crying. Ten minutes into the ordeal, my parents finally left because they couldn't stand seeing me in such a state.

Over half an hour later, it was apparent that the drugs hadn't even remotely kicked in. Nor had the jug of saline come close to putting my arm into place.

Finally, the lady in charge got on the floor, grabbed me in an armbar, put her foot on the bottom of the gurney, and pulled my shoulder into place.

Instead of unbelievable pain, this action brought instant relief. I immediately went from the mindset of "Please, somebody, kill me" to a veritable orgasm of non-pain.

After having my shoulder swaddled in a sling that strapped the arm to the body, I went back to the condo.

My father had planned on being a stand-up guy and offering me (being underaged) an open season on his liquor supply. The doctor strongly advised him against this, considering the drugs I had been given.

Her words were, approximately, "Unfortunately, the drugs didn't work as fast as I wanted them to. But they will work."

And work they did...

Once I got back to the condo, I sat down in a swivel chair and watched TV. I couldn't tell how loopy I was getting until I decided I wanted to go outside and smoke a cigarette.

After asking my (ex) girlfriend to get my smokes, I walked towards the balcony.

I walked directly into the glass door and fell right on my ass.

Everyone laughed raucously after they helped me up. I laughed harder than anyone (being, for all intents and purposes, stoned off my ass), got up, smoked my cigarette, came inside, and promptly passed out.

The shoulder has never been the same. Even after surgery, it still hurts like all Hell and can't be used normally.

I can't even swim; any full rotation of the left shoulder could potentially throw it out of joint and, given what's happened before, I'd rather not test it.

As Metallica said, "it's sad but true." I live at the beach but can't swim. *Disgusted scoff*

THE SHOULDER, PT. I

2007-04-03T21:18:00.000-05:00

In the summer of 1994, I was piloting my four-wheeler through backwoods trails towards a friend's house. The purpose of the journey was to spend the day swinging on a rope tied in a tall tree over a wide and sufficiently deep creek. Should've been fun times all around but, alas and alack, things didn't work out as expected.

While negotiating a downward grade in a particularly rough trail, I went over a bump too fast, hit the next one wrong, and was thrown uncerimoniously into the air.

The four-wheeler came down in the forest, resting against a fallen tree, and still running. Oddly enough, the vehicle had been acting up in the previous months; half the time, we couldn't even get the damn thing started. After the accident, it turned over on the first try every time. Go figure.

So, while the four-wheeler was pitched one way, I went the other. I slammed into the hill, rolled down, and blacked out. It was estimated that I hit the ground at somewhere around 35-40 miles per hour.

I came to seconds later, tried to stand up, and blacked out again. In my violent roll down the hill, my helmet flew off; we found it several hundred feet away in the woods. That's a PSA for the kids; if I had forgotten the helmet, I'd either be dead or a vegetable. Somehow, I also lost a shoe.

By the time my brother and cousin, who were riding ahead of me, realized what had happened and turned around, I had stood up again and found that I couldn't move my left arm. Then I noticed that my left shoulder was at a disturbing right angle. Then the pain set in.

Eventually, I made it to the hospital and moved quickly through the process of getting my shoulder set.

As it turned out, the dislocated shoulder wasn't quite all I suffered. The ball that fits into the ball-and-socket joint was taken completely off the bone. Hence, the dislocation and fracture.

I was taken to the X-Ray room. This is what I looked like...

I had left the house wearing sweatpants and my prized "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective" t-shirt. To get to my shoulder injury and the cuts on my legs and feet, my shirt and sweatpants were cut off of me. Since I had planned on being in the water, I was only wearing swimming trunks under the sweatpants.

Parts of me were caked in dirt; my face and arms were orange.

I had two nasty cuts/scrapes that had not been tended to; the gouge on my side was dripping blood on the floor and the odd parallel cuts on my feet (which probably had something to do with the shoe getting ripped off) were turning one foot a dark red.

As mentioned, my shoulder was at a right angle. The pain had been throbbing for the past hour and had increased to something like a constant stabbing feeling in my shoulder, upper arm, and neck.

The pain was so intense at that point that I was breathing in shallow gasps.

The X-Ray room was so goddamn cold that I (dressed in only swimming trunks) was shivering uncontrollably. This, as can be imagined, did not help the shoulder situation.

So, there I am. I'm shivering, dirty, bleeding, half-naked, and I'm in so much pain that it's hard for me to stay conscious. A nurse comes in, sticks my X-Ray into the viewer, and leaves.

The doctor (a radiologist, I presume) walks in without so much as a cursory glance in my direction.

The doctor grabs my X-Ray, looks at it, pauses for a second, and says...

"Ow!"

I was in too much pain to do much of anything. He smiled at me, shrugged, and left. I silently cursed his name, whatever the Hell it was.

Several minutes later, I was given a delicious cocktail of the most wonderful drugs and a small Indian doctor stood above me, grabbed me in an armbar, and forcibly yanked my destroyed shoulder back into place.

After the drugs everything is fuzzy, but the nurses told me that the "snap" of my shoulder and broken bones sliding back into place could be heard throughout the ER.

I love this story because it's not quite as bad as the second time I dislocated my shoulder. Might as well tell the second story directly...

MELLOW METAL AND UNIMAGINABLE PAIN

2007-04-03T18:07:00.000-05:00

That whole Grim/Dimebag thing got me thinking about how heavy metal isn't all screaming, growling, and destroying your eardrums. In light of this, I found a few examples of metal and hard rock bands getting downright cuddly.

But first...

I've had some pretty nasty injuries in my time. Had a chunk taken out of my shin after a failed attempt to Evel Kinevel a six-foot tall mulch pile; had my nose broken in a drunken backyard boxing match; had my shoulder dislocated and fractured in a four-wheeler accident (which has a morbidly funny story attached to it) and subsequently dislocated it several more times. And, once, when I was trying to flip an open knife in the air and catch it, I got distracted for a half-second and found said knife sticking out of my hand.

Something that came close to topping the list happened to me last night. I was eating a piece of pizza and I bit my tongue. And not like a little nip that raises an ulcer and is uncomfortable for a few days.

I bit clean the fuck through the edge of my tongue.

If I hadn't had a piece of pizza in my mouth, I would've screamed like some buxom chick in a Hammer flick.

My tongue somehow got caught by my first molar, the one sharp one, and since my sharp molar is, apparently, Nosferatu sharp, I now have a quarter of an inch deep slice on the edge of my tongue all the way through. It bled for ten minutes straight and prevented me from eating anything for the rest of the night.

It's swollen as all Hell today and I have to take very careful bites, but it doesn't hurt so much. At least tongues tend to heal quickly.

Now, dim the lights, find a comfy chair, close your eyes, and prepare to chill...

Opeth - "Windowpane" (From "Damnation")

Though Opeth considers themselves a "death metal" band, they're more than capable of getting iinto a lighter Groove.

In fact, one of their albums, "Damnation," was written and engineered to be a completely mellow experience. The opening track, "Windowpane," is a gorgeous, flowing, almost hypnotic track. This video has the song set to the beginning of "The Passion of the Christ" (which is oddly amusing), and I'm only offering it so everyone can get a taste...

Opeth - "Atonement" (From "Ghost Reveries")

Opeth's latest album has some of the darker, meaner metal they've ever created and, conversely, some of their prettiest melodies. This isn't a video, but the song is worth the time.

Porcupine Tree - "Lazarus" (From "Deadwing")

Porcupine Tree's Steven Wilson (who produced several Opeth albums) is more hard rock than straight-up metal, but he's been known to lay down some heavy riffs (like the break-down in "Blackest Eyes") in the appropriate situation. He can also annihilate a rock ballad.

I had found an actual video of "Lazarus" a few weeks back but, for some reason, I can't hunt it down at the time. Someone made a fan video of the TV show "NCIS" (never watched it) with "Lazarus" as background, so just go ahead and load it up then ignore the visual aspect.

Porcupine Tree - "Trains" (From "In Absentia")

This live performance of "Trains" is just as good as the album version. Don't you love it when that happens?

INSOMNIAC RADIO PRESENTS...

2007-04-01T03:13:00.000-05:00

A little something to help people chill. The Church of the Everlasting Groove isn't "All Death Metal, All The Time" or anything.

And just as music is purported to have soothed some kind of large, pissed-off animal, it can also help people relax and, hopefully, help one schmuck in particular get to sleep sometime soon.

After keyboard wiz Kevin Moore left Dream Theater, he went in a completely different musical direction and created...

Chroma Key

You can listen to every song on every album in the "Audio" section, but if you're curious for just a taste, I'd suggest...

"Another Permanent Address" (From "You Go Now")

"Astronaut Down" (From "You Go Now")

"Undertow" (From "Dead Air For Radios")

It's good, good stuff; slightly trippy, often strange, and always groovy. I first heard "Another Permanent Address" a year ago and it's stayed in my "Top Five Favorite Songs Right Now" list since then.

METAL MADNESS AND A DICKLESS PIECE OF SHIT

2007-03-31T14:37:00.000-05:00

On Thursday, four metal bands descended upon Myrtle and, to paraphrase Parliament, "did it to us in our ear holes."

Gojira + Machine Head + Trivium + Lamb of God = "What? I can't hear you! I went to a metal show last night and my ears are still ringing! What? Hell Yeah, it kicked ass! Oh, you want me to stop yelling? Sure!"

All of the bands were phenomenal, but this isn't so much about the concert overall as a specific instance.

My favorite part was, without a doubt, Robb Flynn's intro to the Machine Head song "Aesthetics of Hate." If you're averse to profanity, here's where it gets hairy.

When Pantera's Dimebag Darrell was murdered in '04, crazy, wild-eyed, bad-ass, fucking-brutal metalheads the world over sat down, put their heads in their hands, and cried like small children. The same people you would suspect of having no concept of empathy or humanity were emotional wrecks for days on end, sometimes weeks. Hell, even now, over two years later, we all still get misty when anyone even mentions his name.

However, as Flynn would make abundantly clear, there were others who seemed to relish in the death of another human being and, in doing so, gravely insulted millions of people all over the world.

Just after Dime was killed, some low-life, scumbag, shite-cunt called William E. Grim, from an equally-scumbaggy conservative website, Iconoclast, wrote an article entitled "Aesthetics of Hate: R.I.P. Dimebag Abbott, Goodbye & Good Riddance."

Grim's pathetic ramblings (in a copied form) can be found here (along with a good rebuttal); I can find little else about the article except for reactions against it.

He says early on, "I in no way want to engage in a blaming the victim scenario," then proceeds to do exactly that! He blames the "depravity, ugliness and ignorance of everything that heavy metal represents" for the murder, not, say, the fact that the murderer was a mentally ill psychopath.

So, tell me one thing, Oh-Grand-High-Bitch-Ass-Poobah Grim, would you say the same for John Lennon? Huh, fuck face? How about Marvin Gaye? Are you going to play the same stupid game for classic rock and R&B? Obviously, he only does so when it involves musicians and fans of a genre of music (by the way, he "cannot use the noble term music in a description of heavy metal") that he doesn't particularly like.

The most egregious lapse of common sense and human decency, however, comes with this passage...

"It was highly amusing, and also terribly sad, to watch on television fans conducting a "vigil" for the slain Mr. Abbott outside of the Alrosa Villa. It was an assemblage of ignorant, semi-human barbarians who were filthy in attire and manner, intellectually incoherent and above all else, hideously ugly to the point of physical deformity. Here is a definite case in which the outer appearance of these "fans" accurately represented the hideousness of their souls. That the physical deformity of their ugliness was self-inflicted makes the spiritual tragedy of their misspent lives all the more tragic."

Wow. I mean, just, wow. That another human being can look upon his fellows as such is, to me, simply staggering. I'm sure little Grimmy's mother once told him, "don't judge a book by it's cover," but obviously, Grim is either too stupid or hate-filled to even comprehend such a thing.

If Grim were to meet me on the street, he would have no idea. Cargo pants, nice black shoes, a plain t-shirt, short hair; he would consider me, most likely, "a nice young man." If he talked to me, he'd likely think that I was loquacious but articulate. If he were to read my (formal) writing, he'd likely say that I was a well-educated man.

Of course, if he caught me listening to, say, Cannibal Corpse, he'd automatically think, well, everything he said in the quoted passage. That, my friends, is the very definition of a jackass douchebag.

Forget the fact that most metalheads are only "metalheads" at a show. Forget the fact that they hold regular jobs, raise families, and contribute just as much to our society as some prick conservative hacks I could name. In Grim's microscopically narrow view, "heavy metal = bad" and fuck-all to any mitigating circumstances.

Oh, but Grim isn't done yet, not by far. Now he wants to show you just how ignorant he really is by blasting Dime...

"He was an ignorant, barbaric, untalented possessor of a guitar and large amplifier system. Freakish in appearance, more simian than human, he was the performer of a type of "entertainment" that can be likened only to a gorilla on PCP. Lacking subtlety, wit, style, emotional range and anything approaching even the smallest iota of intellectual or musical interest, Mr. Abbott was part of a generation that has confused sputum with art and involuntary reflex actions with emotion."

Sweet. Fucking. Jesus. Remember, Grim is (supposedly) a homo sapien. How this man was intelligent enough to ever survive, much less put his native grunts and screeches into human speech, is far, far beyond me. And, of course, you know the spineless taint never would've written such a thing if Dime was able to defend himself.

William Grim, you are not a human. You are not an animal. You are neither plant nor mineral. You are, as far as any intelligent, moral person is concerned, below sub-atomic.

You are not worthy to be part of the aerial flotsam of dust and dead skin cells that floats through the air. You embarrass leeches and lampreys. If you were to fall into raw sewage, you would repel it as water does oil. You would make a compost heap gag.

When you depart this world, maggots and worms will refuse to feast on your corpse for fear of passing on your horrid, diseased life-force to their offspring. And, if your god exists, you will stand before him and, when he looks at you, he will be ashamed that he ever allowed such as yourself to be counted among his creation.

The words you wrote about your fellow humans should be remembered for posterity and taught to young children everywhere as a cautionary tale against proudly abject and wanton ignorance, profound stupidity, and blind hatred.

For his crimes, William Grim has moved to the top of my "List of People I'd Sooner Chop in the Throat Than Look At." And, let me tell you, folks, it takes a lot to knock Fred Phelps down a rank.

Robb Flynn and Machine Head even wrote a song called "Aesthetics of Hate," and they dedicated it to the tragic death of "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott and the tragic birth of William Grim.

Adding further insult to injury, Grim only used Dime's death and the fans' mourning to launch off into a typical "evil leftist" screed.

In closing, kudos to Machine Head, and all the other bands and metalheads, for carrying on Dime's legacy by continuing to make and appreciate good music. Double kudos to Flynn for calling out and savaging Grim's ill-conceived and cold-hearted rant.

And, Grim? Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I can only say, "Fuck you up the ass with a concrete dildo. Sideways. Twice."

Flynn's initial reaction to Dime's death (and several examples of what a nice guy he really was) can be found here. By doing a Google search for "Dimebag," you can find many other examples from fans and musicians alike.

THE DARK HALLS OF SCIENCE

2007-03-29T15:23:00.000-05:00

It is doubtless that many of you have heard of the "Evil Atheist Conspiracy." Most would see this as an offshoot of the Christian "persecution complex," or the egotistical rants of the "intelligent design" faction, who can only define their "science" by picking through the debris on the fringe of evolution.

In other words, most would hear of the "Evil Atheist Conspiracy" and either scoff or chuckle.

However, as my in-depth investigation has uncovered, the conspiracy runs deeper than anyone could imagine...

(SCENE: THE GREAT HALL OF THE CASTLE DARWIN)

The Great Hall is massive; mounted heads from thousands of rare species line the walls. A table big enough to seat forty is in the middle of the room.

Some thirty-to-thirty-five scientists sit at or around the table in groups of three to five.

The Biologists sit in the floor by the table. They wear tattered lab coats and feast on a human body in torn bishop’s garb.

A trio of Chemists are clad in heavy robes to hide their hideous burns. They speak in serpentine rasps.

The Classical Physicists and the Quantum Physicists sit across from each other at the table; each group eyes the other warily. A Theoretical Physicist alternately watches both groups; no one seems to notice him.

The Astronomers are in their true alien forms. They are nearly impossible to describe because no one can stand to look at them for more than half a second at a time. They use alien technology and satellites to beam communication directly into one’s brain and, for some reason, smell like butterscotch pudding.

The Archeologists are dressed in suits made of bones held together by string and wear extinct animal skulls for helmets. They are naked under the bone suits, which is readily apparent. They stand because sitting down is both awkward and very uncomfortable.

The Anthropologists are dressed in a mish-mash of armor from various historical periods and carry mean-looking swords and axes. Everyone else gives them some space, but not because of the cutlery; they smell a little ripe.

The Mathematicians hover quietly overhead on a construct of imaginary numbers. Show offs.

The medical field is represented by a coked-up Pharmaceutical CEO, a Surgeon who is busy dissecting a human hand, and an HMO Lawyer who, everyone agrees, is a true nexus of evil.

Of course, the Atlanteans, who gave us pitiful humans all our technology, sit with smugly superior smirks. Despite their vast knowledge, they are really quite goofy.

Lastly, a Representative from the White House, Lloyd C. BETTINGHAUSER III, the son of one of Dick Cheney’s old frat brothers. He keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure that the Biologists haven’t noticed him.

RICHARD DAWKINS walks in the room. He has horns and a slight reddish tint to his eyes. Dawkins walks to the table, sits down at the head, and puts up his feet.

Dawkins has dropped his usual thoughtful, deliberate, scholarly manner; he’s more of a slick, fast-talking sort.

DAWKINS
Right, then. Everyone here?

Before anyone can answer...

DAWKINS
Good. Let’s get on with it, I’ve got a meeting with the Pope in an hour. We have a visitor from the White House, Mr. Bettinghauser, who’s here to observe the way we do things. Please, don’t eat him, or control his mind, or make him soil himself in fear. First order of business; Biologists, what have you got?

A BIOLOGIST looks up, drops an arm, and shambles over on all fours. When he reaches the table, he stands up, wipes some blood from his mouth, and says...

BIOLOGIST
How are you, Richard?

DAWKINS
Fine, fine.

BIOLOGIST
Hybrids. We’ve got some interesting ideas. We’ve even brought a sample.

The Biologist turns to his group and says something in a strange language that sounds like a combination of monkey screeches and Klingon.

Another biologist ambles over, bows, and presents a stuffed and mounted combination of a puppy and a zebra. Dawkins raises an eyebrow.

BIOLOGIST
It’s a zebrador retriever, sir.

DAWKINS
I can see that. That’s all well and good, but I don’t exactly think cute will help further our evil, secular, materialist plot of total world domination, do you?

BIOLOGIST
Oh, no, no! I made this for my daughter. She wanted a stuffed animal, so I let her kill it, clean it, and mount it herself. You know kids and their toys.

DAWKINS
Good show, old man. They’re so adorable when they're covered in gore, aren't they? And I trust you’re still working on the other project?

BIOLOGIST
Yes sir. We'll have syphilis airborne in less than three months.

DAWKINS
Excellent. Thank you. Oh, and why don’t you cook me up a tiger/parrot hybrid? I want to fly it to work.

BIOLOGIST
Of course, sir.

DAWKINS
Mathematicians, you still have God locked up in that tiny invisible box?

The Mathematicians all start speaking in rapid sequences of numbers and technical jargon. Dawkins cuts them off...

DAWKINS
In a language other than super-smart-ass!

The Mathematicians all look at each other. They nod in unison.

DAWKINS
That’s all you had to say. Archeologists?

An ARCHEOLOGIST, wearing a sabertooth tiger helmet, salutes the group.

ARCHEOLOGIST
Your Lordship, our conspiracy to plant aged specimens of "dinosaurs" and other "ancient species" was nearly discovered, but we’ve taken care of it.

DAWKINS
Ah, yes. What was that chap’s name? Hoving?

ARCHEOLOGIST
Something like that, sir.

DAWKINS
I trust you fed him to the Biologists?

ARCHEOLOGIST
No, sir. Actually, as it turns out, he hadn’t paid his taxes in quite a while, so...

Some at the table wince or shift uncomfortably; Dawkins whistles...

DAWKINS
Poor sod. Those IRS guys are right bastards.

There’s a general murmur of agreement from the table.

ARCHEOLOGIST
And all traces of alien or Atlantean culture on Earth are still under wraps.

The Archeologist nods at the Atlanteans and, after he shields his eyes, the Astronomers; they nod back.

DAWKINS
Anthropologists?

An ANTHROPOLOGIST, wearing a Centurion helmet, a Mongolian fur vest, and the legs to a suit of armor, stands.

ANTHROPOLOGIST
We’ve eliminated or summarily dismissed all archeological evidence of a Young Earth.

DAWKINS
And that "Lost Tomb of Jesus," that was your work, I assume?

ANTHROPOLOGIST
It was mostly Cameron, sir. Of course, once he contacted us we told him what he wanted to hear.

DAWKINS
So, the real tomb is still safe?

ANTHROPOLOGIST
Ten feet under a kosher deli, sir.

DAWKINS
Splendid. Astronomers?

Dawkins (who seems to have no problem looking at the Astronomers) acts like he’s listening to a voice inside his head; everyone else does the same.

DAWKINS
Oh, well done, Astronomers, well done.

Everyone claps.

DAWKINS
Oh, that is evil! And that part at the end with the "Face on Mars?" What you gentlemen do is an art, not a science, and I mean that, I really do. If the rest of you were as effective as the Astronomers we’d be right in the thick of a Reign of Darkness.

Dawkins gives the Astronomers a "thumbs up"; they nod.

DAWKINS
Chemists? I see you’ve all healed up nicely since the last meeting.

A CHEMIST stands.

CHEMIST
Thankssssss...

DAWKINS
And what have you been working on?

CHEMIST
Throwing sssssssssmall children into vatsssssss of asssssssid.

DAWKINS
And how’s that coming along?

CHEMIST
Sssssssssswimmingly...

DAWKINS
Or not, I suppose.

Dawkins chuckles, the others laugh, and the Chemists hiss in delight.

CHEMIST
Yessssss! You are correct, ssssssssir!

DAWKINS
You Chemists brighten my day. Physicists?

A CLASSICAL PHYSICIST and a QUANTUM PHYSICIST stand up; they never take their eyes off of each other.

CLASSICAL PHYSICIST
Everything’s copacetic, sir.

QUANTUM PHYSICIST
As smooth as silk, sir.

The THEORETICAL PHYSICIST stands up.

THEORETICAL PHYSICIST
If I may say something, I...

DAWKINS
You may sit down and shut up.

The Theoretical Physicist plops down and pouts.

DAWKINS
Has anyone come anywhere close to a unified theory?

CLASSICAL PHYSICIST
Not if we have anything to say about it.

QUANTUM PHYSICIST
Ditto.

DAWKINS
You fellows still hate each other?

CLASSICAL PHYSICIST
Yep.

QUANTUM PHYSICIST
Damn skippy.

DAWKINS
As long as you get the job done. Atlanteans?

The Atlanteans wave at Dawkins like Jethro from the "Beverly Hill Billies."

DAWKINS
Love what you’re doing. Keep it up.

The Atlanteans grin and give him a collective "thumbs up."

DAWKINS
Doctors?

The PHARMA CEO stands up and bows.

PHARMA CEO
My liege. Our surgeon reports that malpractice suits are down while "accidental" or "natural" deaths are steadily climbing.

The surgeon stabs the dissected hand several times and giggles to himself.

PHARMA CEO
And we hope to have 30% more Prozac in the drinking water by next year.

DAWKINS
Outstanding. And, finally, our esteemed guest and closest friend, the Prince of Darkness, Satan!

A jet of fire shoots from the floor and reveals Satan in all his stereotypical glory (red, horns, fangs, cloven hooves, etc.).

ALL
Hail Satan!

SATAN
Dickie D., my man!

DAWKINS
How are you, old friend?

Dawkins stands up, hugs Satan, and reclaims his perch.

SATAN
Feeling good, feeling good. I would’ve gotten here sooner but I had a meeting with Pat Robertson.

DAWKINS
Yes, of course. How is all that going?

SATAN
It’s all aces, baby. I’ve got Robertson, Falwell, Dobson, all of ‘em in my pocket. As long as I keep the money and the adoration flowing, they’ll say that Paula Abdul is the Second Coming.

DAWKINS
Was that you, with the whole Haggard ordeal?

SATAN
Nope. He’s the one who liked meth and man-ass, not me.

DAWKINS
It goes to show you never can tell.

SATAN
As of now, everything’s moving along quite well. The Christians think all the Muslims are out to get them, the Muslims think anyone from the West is out to get them, and the Jews think everyone’s out to get them. Honestly, it’s getting too easy, drill sergeant.

DAWKINS
I know, and it’s not quite as fun as it used to be.

SATAN
On the bright side, that whole "intelligent design" kick is doing better than I had imagined.

DAWKINS
How so?

SATAN
Well, remember how we had to slip Behe a mickey just to win the Dover Trial? Ever since then, I don’t know, it’s like they all went crazy. I haven’t had any contact with them since last year but they just keep digging themselves deeper and deeper. I was able to devote more time to death cults and UFO cults, though, so I’ve got some really nifty ones coming out next year. And I got "The Secret" on Oprah, too, so...

There is a rousing round of applause.

DAWKINS
That’s why you're the master.

SATAN
Thanks, Dick. All my usual rackets are coming out even; alternative medicine, nightmare philosophy, Wall Street, public education, politics. An even keel all around, you might say.

DAWKINS
Glad to hear it.

SATAN
Oh, and kudos on the book, by the way.

DAWKINS
Thanks, old boy. Well, does that cover it? Anyone else?

Dawkins listens to the Astronomers in his head. Some people sigh or groan after they do the same.

DAWKINS
Jolly good point, Astronomers. Now, calm down! They’re right, you know. Every meeting, we end up performing the virgin sacrifice in the middle of the orgy because some people...

Dawkins gives the Biologists a dirty look. They all avert their eyes.

DAWKINS
...can’t seem to control their bloodlust. Honestly, it’s so anti-climactic, no pun intended. So, for once, let’s enjoy the orgy and perform the sacrifice after, so we’ll have something to look forward to. OK? Everyone?

There’s a general murmur of reluctant agreement.

DAWKINS
Good. Well, this meeting of the Evil Atheist Conspiracy has closed.

Dawkins motions to the Biologists. One of them hands him an arm. Dawkins brings the arm down on the table like a gavel.

DAWKINS
Now, let us pray...

Dawkins hits a button on the underside of the table. A panel slides out of the ceiling and a glass coffin comes down on two chains.

The mummified corpse of Charles Darwin (complete with several mummified finches) descends. All the scientists get down on their knees and chant...

ALL
Hail Darwin! Hail Darwin! Hail Darwin!

After crossing themselves with pentagrams, the scientists stand up and begin moving towards the Orgy Room. Dawkins walks over to Bettinghauser.

DAWKINS
Mr. Bettinghauser, is it?

BETTINGHAUSER
Yes, sir.

DAWKINS
Will you be staying for the orgy?

Bettinghauser, who was nervous the entire time, finally perks up a bit.

BETTINGHAUSER
Really? Well, sure. Why not?

Dawkins grins; Bettinghauser does the same.

DAWKINS
Great. You can have him first, Chemists.

Dawkins slaps Bettinghauser on the back and disrobes as he walks towards the Orgy Room. Bettinghauser is frozen with shock until a Chemist puts an arm over his shoulders and leads him to the Orgy Room.

CHEMIST
Dibsssssssss!

57th Skeptic's Circle at Aardvarchaeology!

2007-03-29T12:12:00.000-05:00

'Yon 57th Skeptic's Circle is up at Aardvarchaeology. There you will find a collection of insightful, articulate missives, a group of enlightening and amusing skeptics, and... Some jackass with a fake church? Really?

SUMMERTIME, AND THE GRIPIN' IS EASY

2007-03-27T14:49:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah, it's still March, I know, but if you live at a beach that gets cold in the winter, summer starts when you get that first good run of warm to hot days. No spring for us, baby, nuh-uh.

We'd rather enjoy the summer before it starts baking you where you stand.

I've got two gripes already, though. One that I've come to accept but still dislike and one that I will never, ever understand and refuse to tolerate.

Pollen. Necessary evil, true, but one of the more annoying ones. It's not so much because of allergies; I've been sneezy as of late, but I'm used to that. I hate walking outside and thinking, "Damn, that yellow car is fugly," then realizing that it's mine. I've got nothing against yellow cars, I just like the color mine used to be.

The real gripe is something much, much worse. And something that's wholly preventable.

Common courtesy is, to all civilized humans, an essential part of social interaction. We hold doors for complete strangers; we stop to help someone if they drop something; we converse jovially with cashiers, waiters, and other people we encounter who we will, most likely, see only rarely or never again.

I mean, you wouldn't see something weird like, say, a person walking alongside someone else in an effort to prevent that person from finding an entrance to a building. You would call that person an asshole or a nutjob. In fact, that scenario is pretty unlikely, as a person would tire of the asshole/nutjob's antics and either push the asshole/nutjob out of the way or find a police officer to talk a bit of sense into the asshole/nutjob.

So why have I had that exact same scenario happen to me five times in as many days? Just put the asshole/nutjob in a car and substitute "highway" for "building."

Why can't people understand the simple concept of a merging ramp on a highway? If you're in the right lane and you see cars trying to merge onto the highway from your right, move over.

Unless you're in heavy traffic or being passed on the left, if you see cars trying to merge into the lane you are currently in, move the fuck over.

This is neither brain science, nor is it rocket surgery.

I'll even admit that, sometimes, I'm not the most courteous guy. If I'm in a bad mood, I'll be a little short with people. If I have to wait for an inordinate amount of time when it shouldn't take so damn long, I'll get annoyed. And if I get attitude or bad service without provoking it, I'll get downright surly.

Face to face with other people is one thing. A car, the very act of driving, is a whole 'nother ball of shit.

People seem to forget how frighteningly dangerous automobiles can be. They just hop in the car and drive on down the road, putting on make-up, reading, carrying on in-depth conversations while looking at the passenger, or just staring off into space while people around them are trying not to die.

That's why common courtesy applies more so on the road. Being casually incourteous in your normal life might miff some people or get you an old-fashioned "down-pegging."

Being casually incourteous in your car, on the road, at speed might kill or seriously injure a number of people in horrible ways, not to mention the property damage and insurance headaches.

So, to all the assholes. Move the fuck. Please.

To calm down from the blinding rage induced by driving a mere four miles, I found this...

Bobby Brown - "On Our Own" (From "Dance! ...Ya Know It!" and "Ghostbusters II")

Say what you will about Bobby Brown now, but Bobby Brown circa 1989 was, in the parlance of James Brown, super-bad.

I'm not much on the video (they took some editing liberties with the song) but some of the random celebrity cameos are surprising. How about a young Chris Reeve?

This is one song I've never found in a karaoke bar, which is surprising. Give me a couple of people on back-up and I guarantee I could "tear the roof off the mother."

*NOTE* In the last post, I mistakenly attributed the song "Bitch School" to the Spinal Tap movie. It should be (From "Break Like the Wind"). Thanks to Dikkii for pointing it out.

I'd edit the actual post, but I seem to be having problems doing so. I'll try again later, promise.

TRIPLE DOSE OF FAKE ROCK

2007-03-25T22:36:00.000-05:00

The saddest thing about the modern rock scene is that none of the acts are better than, say, (A) a fake 70's rock band populated by idiots, (B) a fake 80's metal band fronted by a no-name singer who looks a lot like Marky Mark, or (C) a fake death metal band, with a bass player named "William Murderface," which happens to be "the world's 12th largest economy."

Here are the Rev. Jenner J. Hull's three favorite songs from fictional bands...

(*Fair Warning* As always, the language is going to be profane (which should be expected), and the videos may be, as some would say, NSFW. Since I've only had one job that allowed me the luxury of doing anything on a computer that wasn't related to work, this N/SFW concept is new to me but I'll try to be aware and alert people when I link to the sort of video seen below. )

Spinal Tap - "Bitch School" (From "Break Like the Wind") *Not From "This is Spinal Tap," like I previously said. What am I? A moron? Yes.*

Years ago, my friends and I decided to separate the words "idiot" and "moron." While "moron" stayed the same (e.g. *scoff* "What a fuckin' moron"), "idiot" came to be known as a term of endearment for those acquaintances and/or individuals who exhibited behavior so outlandishly, self-consciously stupid that no other label would adequately apply. Within weeks, saying "that guy's a fuckin' idiot" was considered a badge of honor, a complete and utter confirmation of total hilarity. The trend continues to this day; most recently, watching "Arrested Development" DVD's and screaming, "Will Arnett/David Cross/Tony Hale is such an idiot!"

So, the members of Spinal Tap are "the idiot's idiots." The video for "Bitch School" is a flawless example of idiocy at work; the chick biting off a chunk of chalk almost kills me every time. With laughter.

And, just for kicks, Nigel Tufnel at his best.

Steel Dragon - "We All Die Young" (From "Rock Star")

I'll admit, I was wary when I heard about "Rock Star." I liked Mark Wahlberg in "Boogie Nights" and always enjoyed Jennifer Aniston more as an actor than eye candy, but neither seemed like the type to carry a rock and roll movie. Once I found out that Zakk Wylde (pardon me, "Zakk Motherfuckin' Wylde") was doing the git-fiddlin', it was a lock.

As it turned out, it was a damn good movie with a killer 80's metal soundtrack. Between Jeff Scott Soto providing vocals and Michael Matijevic's performance on "We All Die Young," it's enough to make me yearn for a beat-up, frayed Steel Dragon concert tee.

Dethklok - "Deththeme" (From "Metalocalypse")

A cartoon death metal band on Adult Swim? You bet your sweet bippy it's funny.

The weirdest thing about "Metalocalypse," though, is the fact that it was created by the same guy who made the constantly entertaining "Home Movies," Brendon Small.

Compare the "Franz Kafka" rock-opera from "Home Movies" with...

The opening theme for every "Metalocalypse" episode.

A couple of handfuls of kudos go to Brendon Small for some fortuitous speed metal riffs. His solo at the end of the "Dethjingle" (AKA "Duncan Hills Coffee") is sickening.

FUN WITH REFLEXOLOGY!

2007-03-23T01:07:00.000-05:00

I couldn’t resist dealing with another "ology." Background follows...

As a child, I was one of those day-dreaming, overly-imaginative sorts. Always thinking about something off the wall, coming up with jokes, trying to invent weird new games to keep my friends and I occupied.

And, like most children, I was naturally gullible, probably because of the excessive imagination. The gullibility went away as I aged but I can still vividly remember being scared shitless of Bigfoot because I thought he was a real thing; for a while, I wouldn’t sleep up top in a bunk bed because "that was the perfect height for Bigfoot victims."

I’d see a strange light in the sky and immediately think "UFO," because people seeing them seemed like a pretty common thing and aliens were, by far, the most interesting beings that could ever exist, except for dragons. I was both fascinated and frightened by the prospect that, someday, I might see a real ghost.

I readily believed stories that would now seem obviously fabricated or embellished beyond the point of falsehood.

Why did I believe these things? I was like every kid you’ve ever known; I had no real reason to believe that I was being lied to. And I was seven or eight.

I understood the concept of lying, having mastered the straight-faced, look-you-in-the-eyes, "I didn’t do it," as a defense mechanism against my father’s unfathomable (albeit periodic) wrath. So, I understood lying to save my ass (literally), but not lying about something that was either (a) totally inconsequential and/or (b) potentially really embarrassing.

Since my heroes at that time were Bugs Bunny, Wile E. Coyote, and Daffy Duck, I had no real concept of fame and celebrity, i.e., "famous adults were working a job like my parents and had no desire to be famous for the sake of being famous." Also, "How could an adult ever hope to be as cool as Bugs?"

So, I never even considered that the people who claimed to have seen the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, or Little Green Men would be doing it for exposure, a lark, and/or because they were crazy.

Sometimes innocence sucks. And it’s too bad that we have to get jaded to get wise.

So, for a time, I accepted the people who saw weird things like unknown creatures and "bonafide miracles" as truthful because, quite frankly, I knew I couldn’t get away with, "Yes, there’s a bigfoot living on the mountain by my house and I’ve seen it," and I figured that no one else could or would attempt something so ridiculous.

And, yeah, sometimes, through no fault of our own, innocence makes us a little stupid.

Once we grow up and start actively learning about the world, however, we, for the most part, drop our previously-held irrational fears and superstitions for a more honest and logical outlook on the world. That’s why most intelligent, mature adults consider Bigfoot an urban legend and aliens an intriguing possibility.

When faced with reflexology, the "massaging of feet to cure and diagnose disease," I think even my childhood counterpart would say, honestly and with no malice...

"Mister? You’re full of shit."

That didn't stop me from doing some super-scientific reflexological research, though. Here are the Scout's Honor, No Bullshit, Experimentariffic Findings...

LITTLE-KNOWN REFLEXOLOGY PRESSURE-POINTS AND SPECIAL MASSAGE TECHNIQUES

-By vigorously massaging the ball of the foot in a clockwise motion, the patient will launch into a pitch-perfect cover of Dean Martin’s "Non Dimenticar," regardless of the patient’s gender. (*Note* Great for Italian weddings and YouTube videos.)

-By jabbing a finger sharply between the first and second toes, the patient will have total recall of his/her past life as a clam. (*Note* Patient may have been a Scientologist.)

-By rubbing on the left and right side of the heel, the patient will begin speaking "l33t" and will try to "pwn" you. (*Note* Whatever you do, do not refer to patient as a "n00b.")

-By pulling both the first toe and the fourth toe, the patient will promptly shit him/herself. (*Note* If you must do this, be prepared to run.)

-By pressing down very hard between the bones on the top of the foot, the patient will scream something like, "Ow, that hurts, you prick!" (*Note* This is a normal reaction and should never be taken as a genuine admission of pain or discomfort.)

-By repeatedly punching the arch of the foot, the patient will have an orgasm. (*Note* Only tested once on some chick I picked up at a fetish party, but makes sense.)

-By licking a patient’s foot from the Achilles tendon to the arch, the patient will, for some reason as of yet unknown to reflexology, experience a high level of discomfort. (*Note* Additional trials have confirmed this in all but one patient.)

In all seriousness, a self-made quote comes to mind in regards to this type of woo.

I wasn't talking about reflexology at the time but it still fits...

"An intelligent person says, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ Only a moron says, ‘I’ll see it when I believe it.’"

FUN WITH ASTROLOGY!

2007-03-20T19:02:00.000-05:00

For thousands of years, people have used the planets and stars as a giant decoder ring for life. Proponents of this particular brand of woo claim astonishing success in a wide range of predictions and assertions, from divining a person’s exact destiny to telling people who they really are.

So, just how hard is it to lay down an astrological chart with a fair amount of accuracy for anyone?

As we discovered, not very.

See if you can find yourself on this list. Let the stars be your guide!

THE CREEPILY ACCURATE ZODIAC: EIGHTIES MOVIE EDITION

-CAREY MAHONEY

You’re fun-loving and a free spirit but possess a rebellious streak that often puts you at odds with various people. You don’t get along well with authority figures but, due to your amiable nature, seem to always avoid serious punishment. Even though you’re a natural born leader, you don’t like to flaunt it.

-LONE STARR

Though most would see you as gruff and self-centered, you are, at the core, selfless and trustworthy. Though you prefer to look out for yourself (and trust others to do the same), you will not hesitate to help those in need. Sure, you might run with a fairly rough crowd but the Schwartz is strong with you...

-TY WEBB.

As a paragon of confidence and cool, people often come to you for advice and instruction. Though you move in some of the "in-crowd" cliques, you consider yourself an outsider above such petty concepts as "popularity" or "tact." You also enjoy vaguely Eastern philosophy, especially when applied to sports and recreation.

-BILL S. PRESTON, ESQ. AND TED "THEODORE" LOGAN

You’re a dreamer, one of those ambitious people who locks in on an accomplishment or goal and sees it through to the very end. Sometimes, you tend to neglect everything else while seeking this goal, but you know that, in the end, everything will work out for the best. "San Dimas High School Football Rules!"

-DR. PETER VENKMAN

Some say that you don’t have a serious bone in your body, and they might be right. It’s not that you’re a useless buffoon, it’s just that your sense of humor inevitably crosses over into everything you do. Even when performing groundbreaking and dangerous scientific experiments, you’re more apt to make jokes about a co-worker than just do your job.

-IRWIN R. FLETCHER
(A.K.A. "Arnold Babar," "Mr. Poon," "Peter Lemon Jello," "Jane Doe," etc.)

When someone once told you "You can be anyone you want to be," you took them literally and decided to apply it to your entire life. You may seem flippant and nonchalant, but deep down inside, you care deeply about the plight of the common, downtrodden person. Of course, you care more deeply about the opposite sex...

-THORNTON MELON

You’re a self-made individual with a madness to your method, and you aim to keep it that way. However, while you’re making your way in life, you vow to have a good time above all else because what’s the use in having money if you can’t enjoy it? Family comes first, but never at the expense of fun. You’re even bold enough to bitch out Kurt Vonnegut.

-LOUIS SKOLNICK

Loyal to the last, you value friendship and comradery above all else. When anyone close to you is in need, you’re one of the first to jump into action and do so instantly. Though you’re not the most popular person in the crowd, you know that, once people accept you for who you are, you’ll be just fine. Your laugh is infectious.

-CHRIS KNIGHT

You know that real genius lies in the ability to inspire and encourage others. While you may be a smart cookie, your interests lean more towards relaxing and displaying your odd sense of humor. Though some may see you as a goofball, your sense of right and wrong never cramps your unique style. You heart toxic waste.

-LT. FRANK DREBIN

No matter what kind of outrageous antics are going on, no matter what kind of impossible situation you find yourself in, you always manage to keep a straight face and get the job done, albeit, mostly in strange ways. You are well-respected by your peers and co-workers. Why, we don’t know.

-"NUKE" LALOOSH

Being young and talented isn’t always easy. You must work hard and listen to those wiser and more experienced than you. You must also avoid unnecessary temptations, only then will you be ready to move up to "The Show." You got that, Meat?

-JOHNNY FIVE

Due to your amazing abilities, people are always looking to use you for their own nefarious purposes. As long as you rely on your friends and your various talents, you’ll find what you’re looking for. And always look on the bright side; you’re alive!

Did you find yourself? I bet you did!

I’d like to think of myself as a Fletch or Lone Starr, but I’m more of a Bill and Ted.

All right, fine, I’m a Skolnick. Happy now? Sheesh...

DAILY DOSE OF HANGOVER

2007-03-18T22:14:00.000-05:00

Although I didn't do a whole lot of drinking last night (Honest!), I'm sure a bunch of people have bad-ass hangovers today (I'm looking at you, Savannah, Georgia). Here's the musical panacea...

Shane MacGowan and the Popes - "B&I Ferry" (From "The Crock of Gold")

Irish Reggae!

"Jar!"

THE DEER COP CONVERSATION

2007-03-18T21:57:00.000-05:00

I had this approximate (slightly embellished) conversation, one of the more random, pointless, and utterly stupid ones in recent memory, a few weeks back. I have no idea what made me think of it; I chuckled for a second then went, "Wait. That’s the stupidest crap I’ve ever heard." Then I kinda felt bad for even participating in such a thing.

The following conversation took place between the Rev. Jenner J. Hull and a friend (incidentally, the same one whose dog pissed on his ass) who we will refer to as, oh, how ‘bout "Marzipan."

I’ve known a "Jambalaya," a "Brown Eyes," and "A Girl Named Stanley." I even met a guy who insisted on being called either "Super Jew" or "Jewy." (I called him "Jewy," so I could be Han Solo.)

I’ve always really, really wanted a "Marzipan." And I don’t know why.

The discussion began when I was extolling the duties of the "shotgun" passenger while riding in my car...

REV. JENNER J. HULL
Your only job is "deer and cop watch." That’s it. That’s all you do. I watch the road, you watch for deer and cops. Deer, cop. Deer, cop.

MARZIPAN
Deer cop? Like, a deer that’s a cop?

RJJH
Well, that would be weird. And awkward. I’ve hit a deer. [In the car, of course.]

MARZIPAN
Me, too. Give a deer a badge and a gun and it’s all over, especially if he pulls you for speeding.

RJJH
Deer cop’s probably got a beer belly. And he’s gotta wear a little deer cop yarmulke since he can’t wear a regular Statie hat, on account of the antlers.

MARZIPAN
Unless it’s a doe cop.

RJJH
Oh, come on. We just got over the deer discrimination in general, it’ll take time before there are equal deer rights amongst the general deer population, much less the deer cops.

MARZIPAN
They’d probably be all pissy with everyone.

RJJH
Yeah. Deer cop says, [with an exaggerated southern drawl] "License and registration, human." And then he scowls and looks at you... [RJJH turns his head to the right, then the left, then the right, then the left.]

MARZIPAN
"You were goin’ awful fast there, boy. You know, my kind were here before your goddamn roads were. My yearlings play in that field right there."

RJJH
Deer cop’s checking out the I.D. and saying, "I see you got a gun rack, huh? Think that makes you a man? Hell, my grand-pappy gored some old redneck what lived down the road a ways and tore one of his damn nuts off; he didn’t need no gun."

MARZIPAN
Then deer cop leans in the window and goes, [sniffs twice] "Is that venison I smell, boy?"

RJJH
And you know PETA would love it. Until one of ‘em gets tasered by a deer cop.

Then I got to thinkin’ about other interesting anthropomorphic animal occupations...

Deers probably wouldn’t make good cops. Too skittish. Might as well make ‘em park rangers or other government employees in the Forestry or Agriculture departments.

Dogs would make better cops. They’re smart, fast, efficient, and, when called upon to be so, vicious as motherfuckers. Dogs from, say, Labs, Shepherds, and such up will be the beat cops and special units. Imagine a SWAT team of Neopolitan Mastiffs, Great Danes, and Irish Wolfhounds. Some of the smaller breeds, like your Poms and Miniature or Teacup whatnots, can do the detective and desk work. Of course, all the Dalmations would want to be firefighters...

Goats as trash collectors and in sanitation related public works is a must.

Whales, dolphins, and orcas as Coast Guard. Obviously.

Horses? Taxis.

Cats would be the artists. Not like they’d deign to do much of anything else.

REV. JENNER J. HULL
It’s a dead mole on my doormat.

CAT
You just don’t understand my art! Hiss!

Given the current political climate, we’d imagine people would only vote for weasels, skunks, or snakes. The Eagle Party would probably be a lock, too. (Stephen, Jr. in ‘08!)

Birds would run the post office; night mail from owls and bats. Larger parcel delivery would require mules, camels, and/or elephants. So, regular mail would be faster but interstate trucking would be slower and much, much shittier. Literally.

Bears as bouncers and doormen. When they say, "You’re not on the list," they mean that shit.

Raccoons would probably end up being thieves. They’ve got the costume down and tend to be one of the sneakier woodland creatures. The smart ones would smuggle themselves into jewelry stores on some rich old ladies’ fur coat. And don’t bring up Daniel Boone; they tend to get all bitey.

Spiders would still be disgusting, horrible things. Yes, I admit it. I’m an arachnid racist.

Possums as panhandlers. I can see the sign now; "Will Eat Garbage For Food."

Finally, kangaroos in the NBA. Sure, they can’t run the point or shoot that well, but put ‘em in the paint and watch ‘em shatter the single-season rebound and block records. And you know they’re gonna kick ass in the long jump.

"What of the otters," you ask? Well, they’re already running every world-wide conspiracy you can name. Others may be afraid to speak out against them, but we see through the cute.

Rumor has it that they’re even funding the McCain presidential bid...

STONEHENGE, SHMONEHENGE...

2007-03-17T00:49:00.000-05:00

Check out this post on GifS!

My man's even put in a bid on the Great Pyramid. (Go to the bottom of the page and look under "Introducing the First Machine to Walk the Face of the Earth.")

Someone give him some kind of award, please. Better yet, give him a couple of hundred able-bodied workers and see what he can build...

A PSA THAT'S MOSTLY USELESS BUT STILL PRETTY COOL

2007-03-16T21:17:00.000-05:00

As mentioned previously, I taught myself how to juggle.

And you can, too! All you need is three tennis balls and, at the most, an hour a day.

Begin with two balls, one in each hand. Since I’m a righty, we’ll start with that assumption.

Throw the ball in your right hand in an arc, with an apex not much higher than your own height, to your left hand. Make it high enough that you can see where it’s going but low enough so that you don’t have to wait for it. Watch it in the air.

When it starts to fall, throw the ball in your left hand, in a similar arc, to your right hand. The rising left-hand ball should pass inside of the falling right-hand ball.

Catch the right-hand ball in your left hand. The left-hand ball should be, roughly, at the apex of the arc. When it comes down, catch the left-hand ball in your right hand.

Repeat this until it is fluid. After a number of successful throws and catches in this manner, you should be able to memorize the strength and motion needed to float the balls from one hand to another. Remember, "Throw then catch!"

Once you have a somewhat fluid motion from right to left, try it from left to right.

For a related exercise, try two balls in one hand. This helps your timing and throwing immensely; if you can get a handful of catches one-handed, you can confidently juggle three balls.

When the two-ball method is memorized, add in the third ball.

With two balls in your right hand (one in the left), throw one of the two balls to the left hand. Throw/catch with the left hand, then try to throw/catch with the right hand. Catch the free ball in your left hand, then stop.

Do it again. And again. And again. Then switch your starting hand and do the whole three-catch exercise from the beginning.

When you’re comfortable with three catches, go for four.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Then move up to five catches.

By now, you should be able to go for more. When you’ve got free time, see how many catches you can get in a row.

Within three days of teaching myself how to juggle I was nailing a couple of hundred catches regularly.

Within a week of starting, I could do a couple of thousand catches while carrying on a heated and in-depth conversation with several people.

It won’t make you a living, unless you’re Penn Jillette, Michael Goudeau, Jason Garfield, or Vova and Olga Galchenko (the nastiest of the nasty), but it’s still a fun skill to possess. Teach yourself in your spare time, then break it out amongst friends; I guarantee they’ll be, at the very least, somewhat impressed.

And watch this Galchenko video for comedy gold...

DAILY DOSE OF CRAZY-EYED HERON

2007-03-15T16:11:00.000-05:00

Hooray! My evil heron buddy is back!

See, there's this gigantic, crazy-eyed, blue-and-grey heron that loves to perch in the waterways near my abode. He scared the ever-living Hell out of me the first time I saw him, standing there in that flamingo pose and looking at me like, if he wasn't so damn skinny, he'd love to just tear me apart and devour me on the spot.

And, as mentioned, the heron has crazy eyes. And not like, "One of 'em's lazy," I mean so evil and hate-filled that I've named him "Swearengen," after Ian McShane's character on "Deadwood."

For this reason, it's not an uncommon thing to walk by the apartment building and see a weirdo in a heavy metal t-shirt yelling at a giant, crazy-eyed heron, "Sway-gen! Cocksucker! Sway-gen! Cocksucker!"

Maybe that's why the heron's always giving me evil looks.

Also, there's some massive car show going on down the way, so the usually packed roads are more-so; of course, the roads are packed with old street rods and muscle cars, so at least you have something pretty to drool over while you're stuck in traffic.

An episode of "Lost" a few weeks back (the one where Hurley found the VW in the jungle) featured the awesome Three Dog Night Cut, "Shambala." It was a good choice, given the context of the show and such, but it wouldn't have been my first pick...

Three Dog Night - "Eli's Coming" (From "Suitable for Framing")

Justin Timberlake says that he's "bringing sexy back."

Riiiiiight.

Of course, those of us with musical taste and/or knowledge know that "sexy never left." It just got co-opted into the whole "label-manufactured-bands/American Idol" pop music scene and watered down so that sexy now just means, "a typical dance track with loud bass."

Listen carefully, Justin and fans.

Marvin and Tammy are sexy. Curtis Mayfield is sexy. Ann Wilson is sexy. Hell, even Three Dog Night got super-sexy with "Eli."

Stop trying to claim a "sexy monopoly" when you have no authority to do so. When it gets to the point where I'd rather listen to Justin Timberlake than Marvin Gaye, then you can go ahead and crown yourself "The Grand Dragon of Sexy" and bring back whatever the Hell you want.

Until then, just sell your records to thirteen year old girls and shut the fuck up.

"Eli's Coming" showcases the devastating Three Dog Night vocal layering that put them at the top of the 70's rock/soul game. Not content to simply sing like bad-asses, though, TDN also brings an accomplished band with a rock-solid groove.

The kicker here is, definitely, the emotional, belting, gospel-tinged vocals. Unlike the tinny, thin, wussy vocals of our modern era, the boys in TDN make you believe what they're singing. "Eli's coming, hide your heart, girl!" You might forget it's a song and start checking over your shoulder...

DAILY DOSE OF N'AWLINS

2007-03-14T15:41:00.000-05:00

Since the Rev. Jenner J. Hull has been listening to more older stuff than newer over the past few days, this will be last installment of the horribly-named "Modern Funk Week."

We're also notoriously fickle. So much so that, the next time you, dear reader, check back, we might be soberly discussing the benefits of a diversified portfolio, offering samples of our latest needlepoint creations, or devoting this entire space to how much we love penguins.

And believe you us, we fucking love penguins.

We can't mention "Modern Funk" without urging you to, if you have not done so, go out immediately and buy a Galactic album. Any one will do, but we're gonna focus on the opening of their '98 release...

Galactic - "Hamp's Hump" and "Love on the Run" (From "Crazyhorse Mongoose")

"New Orleans' own Galactic" are still jamming strong, despite toiling in mainstream obscurity (they should be on the radio all the time) and suffering, like countless others, through Hurricane Katrina.

"Hamp's Hump," the playful, almost cartoony opening track, was the first Galactic song I ever heard and set the hook deep. After hearing the follow-up, "Love on the Run," I knew I had discovered a new favorite band.

As a former horn player, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull automatically respects a band with a good horn section, and Galactic's sax-master, Ben Ellman, is right up there with your Karl Densons and Skeriks. This live version of "Hamp's Hump" (found here, in the audio/video section) lets him loose...

As for "Love on the Run," well, it just goes to show that Galactic's jam is sweeter than a jar of strawberry preserves. Unfortunately, now that Theryl DeClouet (a.k.a. the Houseman) has left the band, we won't be treated to anymore soulful, throwback vocals.

Here's hoping that the Houseman continues to make good music on his own time and the now-totally-instrumental Galactic comes out with another album. Now would be good.

DAILY DOSE, 03.13.07

2007-03-13T00:06:00.000-05:00

Since the "Modern Funk Week" was cut short by a spotty connection and the angry malaise prompted by having to deal with said connection, it shall continue unabated in "warmer climes" until we have, at least, five days worth of individuals and/or groups who still honor the spirit of the Funk in these, the Apocalyptic End Times of decent music.

Though our current choice is an older song (17 years old) the perpetrators are still alive and Funky, recently made the Grammy Award a bit more respectable, and are still making people listen to and love jazz/Funk/bluegrass who would, normally, never-ever-ever do so.

Bela Fleck and the Flecktones - "The Sinister Minister" (From "Bela Fleck and the Flecktones")

"The Sinister Minister" is now the Official Theme Song for the Rev. Jenner J. Hull. Just so's y'all know.

We'll be honest and say that the video version is a bit disappointing. They shave damn near a minute off the song and, for the sweet love of Eros, even cut into the bad-ass bass solo. Of course, we can look past this and see a compromise; at least they made the video in the first place.

This is one song that deserves to be played very loudly while driving very fast. You owe it to Bela. And me.

Hell, you owe it to yourself...

ST. DIME

2007-03-12T17:06:00.000-05:00

As the shredder-in-residence for Texan metal heroes Pantera, "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott (1966-2004) had cemented a place in rock history long before his tragic murder at the age of 38.

After Pantera’s stellar 1990 release, "Cowboys From Hell" broke onto the scene, American metal was instantly redefined. Featuring a raw, dark sound, crushing riffs, and Dime’s gymnastic fretwork, the boys (including Dime’s brother, Vinnie Paul on drums, Rex on bass, and Phil Anselmo on vocals) became instant classics in the eyes of those who wanted their heavy metal to be a little more, well, heavy.

Not content to let their debut album become their defining moment, Pantera continued to refine and expand their sound and, unlike a lot of young bands, kept getting better with every release. Credit goes to the group as a whole, but Dime’s relentless excellence and uncanny capacity for constantly surprising fans who think "he just can’t get any better" was a major factor.

After Pantera’s break-up, Dime and Vinnie Paul formed Damageplan and plotted a triumphant return to the metal scene. Taking a slightly different track from Pantera’s southern-fried thrash, they expanded the signature "Dime/Vinnie" sound even further while staying true to their metal roots.

On Dec. 8th, 2004 (which is either a terrible coincidence or a sick cosmic joke), while Damageplan was playing a show in Columbus, Ohio, a deranged man stormed the stage shot Dime five times; three others, Nathan Bray, Erin Halk, and Jeff "Mayhem" Thompson, were killed and several people were wounded. As the gunman was holding a hostage, a police officer, James Niggemeyer, managed to come upon him unnoticed and killed him before he could execute the hostage or harm anyone else. Dime died soon thereafter.

I used to wonder how people could get so worked up about people they had never met or known dying. I was sad when I heard about Jerry Garcia, Phil Hartman, and Stanley Kubrick, but Dime’s death was much more devastating. As a long-time fan and tireless advocate of Pantera’s unique brand of musical madness, it really felt like I’d lost a family member or, at the very least, a close friend.

As Vinnie Paul said about his brother, he had a heart "twice as big as Texas;" he also had the talent to match.

Now that I’ve sufficiently bummed myself out, on to the miracles...

MIRACLE #1: According to legend, young Dime was banned from competing in guitar competitions in his native Texas because he was too good.

MIRACLE #2: Influenced and was revered by guitar idols who had influenced him. Dime was even buried with Eddie Van Halen’s iconic yellow and black striped guitar; the axe was placed there by Eddie Van himself.

So Damn Funky...

Pantera - "Cemetery Gates" (From "Cowboys From Hell")

A perfect example of how Dime can go from gorgeous to evil in an instant. "Cemetery Gates" has always been my favorite Pantera Cut, mostly because of Dime’s mind-blowing squeals. There’s one at the end of the song that’s so high-pitched, it’s a wonder he didn’t bend the strings slam off the neck of the guitar.

Dime was an amazing human being and a consummate musician; he will be missed greatly.

FAREWELL TO DELP, JENI...

2007-03-12T14:05:00.000-05:00

Why is it that bad stuff only happens when I take a brief, self-imposed news exile?

On Friday, Boston singer Brad Delp was found dead at his home.

On Sunday, the very funny Richard Jeni shot and killed himself.

It looks like today's turning into an inadvertent day of death, as I'd already planned on performing the next Official Canonization. The Canonization will go ahead as scheduled but, afterwards, we'll try to lighten up the proceedings a bit.

DAILY DOSE, 03.09.07

2007-03-09T12:50:00.000-05:00

So, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull ran into an old friend whom he hadn't seen in a month or so. After the obligatory greetings and inquiries as to "What's happening," the first thing he says is...

"Yeah, so my dog pissed on my ass the other night."

It may have been the first time I ever heard that sentence, but I hope it ain't the last.

I've also decided to coin a new phrase to describe the dial-up connnection I now find myself stuck with.

"Uphill Molasses." I feel that it's self-explanatory. You can also add your own qualifiers depending on the severity of your situation. "Frozen Uphill Molasses." "Uphill Molasses Underwater." "Uphill Molasses on a Dead Sloth."

Because of the Uphill Molasses, I don't feel like hunting down a video of the next Cut (if one even exists).

Karl Denson's Tiny Universe - "Because of Her Beauty" (From "The Bridge")

A musician buddy of mine would refer to this as "The Panty Dropper."

Regardless of your gender, sexual orientation, or taste in unmentionables, the soulful, soothing jazz/Funk of Karl Denson may not rile your loins, but it will cause uncontrollable booty shaking.

Besides great lyrics (love, love, love the chorus), Karl and the fellows (including trombone master Fred Wesley) keep a solid, flowing Groove throughout. There's not as much free-form jazz lunacy as some of the other Cuts from the album (all great, by the way) but it offers a good, smooth counterpoint for those that want to slow the Funk down a bit.

As always, Karl and his Tiny Universe flat-out refuse to disappoint...

DAILY DOSE OF HOME

2007-03-05T23:35:00.000-05:00

The Rev. Jenner J. Hull is back in VA for the week. It's a bittersweet sojourn, because I'm cat-sitting for my parents and I'm highly allergic to cats.

Yeah. I know. "How can you even stay in the house?"

It's actually not so bad because the feline in question, Loki (the Norse God of Mischief), is mostly an outside cat. I'll have to take an allergy pill every morning but, honestly, it ain't as horrible as it should be. Although, I do have to wash my hands every time I touch the cat. If I don't and I happen to touch my face, it's over. The breathing stops, the eyes close up, and the face swells up; if I don't have an inhaler handy, I might just find out if, as an atheist, I'm right or wrong.

In this case, Death is yellow and white, soft and furry, and likes to rub up against your legs. And he's adorable. The bastard...

We don't quite know why, but we're designating this week as "Modern Funk Week." Until I return to the beach, we're going to be showcasing only modern bands and artists who are not only Funky (because, as we've seen, even country singers like Jerry Reed can be Funky) but intentionally bring the Funk on a regular basis.

First, the best rock/gospel/blues band you've never heard...

Robert Randolph and the Family Band - "I Need More Love" (From "Unclassified")

Robert Randolph cut his pedal steel teeth playing in church, and it shows. The Family Band's groove combines strong gospel influences with all kinds of rock, blues, and, of course, Funk. The result is one of the tightest "jam bands" on the planet and a Funky force to be reckoned with.

The best part of "I Need More Love" is Danyel Morgan's mesmerizing bass and surprising voice; the guy looks like a UFC fighter but hits high parts like every pop singer wishes he could.

This is another one of those songs; if you can't get down to it, there's something seriously wrong with you.

SAY IT AIN'T SO, PENN AND GOUDEAU!

2007-03-03T21:14:00.000-05:00

Sad news for those of us who love skepticism, humor, and quality radio programming.

Penn Jillette's amazing, hilarious, and infinitely interesting radio show (featuring the best co-host ever, Michael Goudeau) on Free FM has officially ended, at least for the time being. I'll offer a link to the official Penn Radio homepage, but I don't know what will come of it in light of this depressing news.

I found Penn's show around October of last year and, since then, my brother and I have listened to it nearly every single day. When we went home to visit the family for Christmas, we went through Penn withdrawal because our ancestral home has the slowest dial-up connection known to man.

In the meantime, those who didn't religiously tune in to Penn's show (or, in my case, listen to it on the Net) can find a comprehensive archive at PennFans; listen, laugh, and kick yourself in the ass for not discovering it earlier.

If you were a fanatical Penn Radio listener, drop Penn and Goudeau an e-mail at PennRadio(at)gmail(dot)com and let them know that you loved the show and eagerly await the triumphant return.

Dogspeed to P&G; here's hoping they come back, entertain, and inform us very soon.

TRIPLE DOSE (PRIMUS SUCKS!)

2007-03-03T19:59:00.000-05:00

Goddamn computers.

Something went wonky with the Church's Official Online Manifestation over the weekend. Like always, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull did everything in his meager power to correct the error, finally got pissed off when nothing worked, gave up, and decided to check out the situation today. Of course, now everything's kosher, like there was never a problem. Typical...

Anyway, since we've gone a full few days with nary a mention of the Groove or the Funk, we're going to make up for our involuntary procrastination with a Triple Dose of one of the Rev. Jenner J. Hull's all-time favorite bands.

Way back in 1991, a young Southern boy raised primarily on oldies and beach music discovered the soundtrack to the seminal 90's slacker sequel, "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey." In between the hair metal (Slaughter's "Shout it Out") and the kind of metal that makes stupid people think that all Metalheads worship the Devil (Megadeth's "Go to Hell"), Primus' "Tommy the Cat," with a mind-blowing bass line and Les Claypool's country-fried vocals, stood out like a bright, burning, beacon of bad-ass.

Ever since, Primus and all Claypool related projects (except for Oysterhead) have enjoyed a hallowed place in the Rev. Jenner J. Hull's music-obsessed heart.

Here are three of the Grooviest Primus tracks with their appropriate video links.

Primus - "Tommy the Cat" (From "Sailing the Seas of Cheese")

Since it was one of the first rock songs I came to truly love, "Tommy the Cat" will forever be one of my favorite Cuts. Honestly, I didn't even know what those weird looking, extra-long, four-string git-fiddles were for until I heard Les Claypool work one over like he was a fucking mob enforcer. And, not to speak ill of Bill and Ted, but I find it hard to believe that anyone could beat Primus in a battle of the bands.

Primus - "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" (From the DVD with the album "Animals Should Not Try to Act Like People")

By the by, the "Animals Should Not Try to Act Like People" album has a DVD with every Primus video ever made and some select live performances; it comes highly recommended. Primus' cover of the Charlie Daniels Band's "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" is good but not phenomenal, except for the awesome and creepy "a band of demons joined in" part of the song (the intersection of bluegrass and metal is something I've always loved hearing). The video is exceptionally good, though, especially if you love claymation.

Primus - "Mr. Krinkle" (From "Pork Soda")

Any song with a stand-up bass, cello, or any similar large, deep stringed instrument is automatically better than one without; if Les Claypool is the man beside said instrument, the odds are the song is going to kick a plethora of asses. This Cut is awesome, but the video for "Mr. Krinkle" is sheer, ca-reepy perfection. All I have to say is, "Don't let the kids watch it before bedtime."

DAILY DOSE, 02.28.07

2007-02-28T16:45:00.000-05:00

"Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny" came out yesterday, so the Reverend Jenner J. Hull purchased it laughed his happy ass off. Y'all should do the same. Be warned, "Citizen Kane" it ain't, though the D make that explicit claim in the lyric "You know our movie's better than-a 'Citizen Kane.'" I'm going to assume hyperbole on their part. As for their "tasty grooves" being "better than-a chicken chow mein," well, that depends on your taste in Chinese food, I suppose.

It was more fun in the theater, true, because at that time I'd already bought and memorized the soundtrack. Since my friends and I were the only ones at that particular show, I serenaded them along with the movie; they might have been saying "Shut up, asshole" and "Just watch the movie" the whole time but they really loved it.

So instead of picking a song from the soundtrack for the Daily Dose, I'll simply recommend the whole thing and go with this instead...

Cake - "Comfort Eagle" (From "Comfort Eagle")

Cake is known for their laid-back, quirky Groove and John McCrea's unique vocal delivery, a style I have dubbed "conversinging." "Comfort Eagle" is one of the Funkiest of all the Cake Cuts (Slices?) and has some of the weirdest lyrics as well. I think it might be time to change the Church's motto to...

"We are building a religion
We are making a brand
We're the only ones to turn to
When your castles turn to sand"

THE NBA IS GRUESOME

2007-02-27T21:22:00.000-05:00

Yeesh.

First, Dwayne Wade dislocates his shoulder.

Now, Shaun Livingston dislocates his knee.

Believe you me, folks, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull knows exactly what it's like to dislocate a shoulder. I'm not showing the videos because it's a bit too painful for me to watch; although Wade's isn't so bad, Livingston's is damn-near horrifying.

If you happen find one and it looks like D-Wade is crying (or trying not to), don't blame him. I sure as all Hell don't.

We hope both of 'em get better with the quickfast.

DAILY DOSE OF DISCLAIMER

2007-02-27T14:37:00.000-05:00

Holy pajamas!

Greetings to all those coming in from "Chez Phil". If you're looking for even a fraction of the great content on Bad Astro, prepare for disappointment. We're not scientists; we're crazy people who really love music.

As I mentioned, we're totally on Phil's side. And as for "Rogan holding his own," he did a lot better job in the first segment. The second segment seemed to be entirely about "von Braun is/is not a Nazi" and really had nothing to do with the debate. It was entertaining, though, which is all I really expect from Penn's show (the skepticism and atheism are just sprinkles and chocolate syrup on an already loaded banana split).

So, yeah. We landed on the Moon. Phil's right. Joe's wrong. They're both funny.

And von Braun wasn't really a Nazi. He was actually a sea otter. Don't let the historical revisionists tell you otherwise; they're just a part of the "Vast Otter Conspiracy."

In honor of the occassion, a very predictable Daily Dose...

R.E.M. - "Man on the Moon" (From "Automatic For the People")

Sure, it's mostly about Andy ("Here I come to save the day!") Kaufman, but the title works, so we'll use it. And it's a catchy little song, too.

DAILY DOSE, 02.25.07

2007-02-25T19:47:00.000-05:00

Nothing much happened today. Saw a big storm and some ducks fighting each other, though...

Opeth - "Deliverance" (From "Deliverance")

I had to invent a word to describe Opeth properly.

Brutaful - (adj.) Used to describe something that is both "brutal" and "beautiful."

One of the strangest of the Swedish heavy metal acts, Opeth is perfectly comfortable with searing metal riffs or sweet, Reniassance-style melodies. They also tend to write long-ass songs, so instead of just pounding on the same riff for a few minutes, they can work several movements, sections, tempo changes, and other musical oddities into a mini-opus.

"Deliverance" is thirteen minutes of pure aural lunacy and features some of Opeth's best and wildest licks. The final three minutes consists of a devious double-guitar section (one heavy guitar and one light guitar) that brings the Cut to a crashing end and is, in my opinion, the nastiest last three minutes of a song ever recorded.

JIVE! #3

2007-02-25T02:57:00.000-05:00

Man, there’s just a superfluous amount of "Jive!" in this ca-razy-razy world, ain’t it?

This next bit was related on Joe Rogan’s website, specifically, here. Here's a direct link to the video that will soon be in question.

I gotta give Joe Rogan some respect. I always loved the guy on "NewsRadio" because he held his own with the immortal Phil Hartman and brilliant Stephen Root; no easy task.

I wasn’t so much on "Fear Factor," but that really had nothing to do with Rogan; a steady job and a paycheck on a hit show is a steady job and a paycheck on a hit show.

I do like him as a stand-up but I got burned out on stand-up (except for Carlin and Hicks) so long ago that I really don’t watch it anymore.

And, since I’m also a UFC fan, I’ve gotten enough exposure to Rogan to like him and recognize him as a weird and funny guy.

Of course, Rogan was on Penn Radio (twice) recently doing the Moon Landing Hoax thing with Bad Astronomer Phil Plaitt, and though we’re solidly on Phil’s side, Rogan at least took the time to know what he was talking about and gave Phil a run for his money on several points. Aside from the Moon Landing Hoax thing and, possibly, a few other quirks, Rogan’s a generally skeptical cat, and we’re always cool with that. As long as he doesn’t believe in Ramtha.

So, I’m not some psycho-obsessive Roganbot, but that’s really beside the point...

Carlos Mencia

Even without the current controversy, I never liked the guy.

I saw one of his comedy specials some years back and said, "Meh." You could tell even then that he was, at the best, a third-string quarterback for the Cleveland Browns (no offense to the Browns). I’m tempted to say, "Only the Funky Lord knows how he got his own show," but I think even the Funky Lord would shrug, mumble something about "demographics," and discreetly change the subject.

His whole act seemed to be predicated on the fact that, "he says what you only think." Which is complete bullshit.

Does Carlos Mencia know any males between the ages of 15 and 30? If so, then he’d know just how tame his act really is. He must be hanging around with Mennonites or something. If he’d have hung out with my high school and/or college crews, he would’ve gotten a comprehensive education on "offensive, crude, and vulgar."

He thinks he’s a comedic genius simply because he’ll make fun of race. Ooh, so edgy! Sure, a little good-natured racism amongst friends can be funny (on the same level as a well-timed "Your Mom" joke), but the racist joke is always the cheap joke, and you have to be naturally funny or very clever (Pryor, Murphy, Dice, Kinison) to pull it off well.

"Ooh, look, a brown-skinned guy wearing a turban. Cab driver or convenience store clerk? Ha! Hey, a couple of black guys on the corner! Must be drug dealers, right? Ha! How about a Mexican guy driving a car? Must be 20 more in the back! Ha! All Asians are good at math! Ha, ha, ha!"

See, any moron (e.g. Yours Truly) with a passing knowledge of commonly held racial stereotypes can write this crap. Richard Pryor material it ain’t. Besides, there are other current comedians (e.g. Sarah Silverman) who actually are edgy and offensive and funny.

So, if someone had told me a year ago that Carlos Mencia was accused of stealing jokes from other comedians, I wouldn’t have believed them, if only for the fact that I thought all his jokes were bad. I would’ve then made a bad joke of my own, "Unless he’s stealing jokes from Bazooka Joe!"

I might (might) could’ve seen the "Ah, Rogan’s just jealous" angle, if it was only Rogan accusing him. Add in George Lopez (who, evidently, jacked Mencia up for it) and at least half a dozen other comedians (some of which are on tape saying, "Yeah, he steals jokes," in front of Mencia) and you either have an elaborate and mean-spirited conspiracy amongst unscrupulous comics or a single jerk-off joke thief.

Rogan and Mencia recently had it out on stage (and on "the video...in question") at the Comedy Store which resulted in Rogan being banned from the venue and dropped by his agent, whom also represents Mencia. Mencia calling Rogan "a little bitch" is probably the funniest joke he’s ever come up with; and he’s lucky Rogan didn’t rip his face off.

So, why write about this when we have, say, the whole Iraq/Iran/North Korea fiasco being decided by corrupt or impotent politicians more interested in gaining a swing vote than actually governing the country? Well, we are a Church based on Funk, humor, and entertainment in general. And politics make our hearts hurt.

Theft is theft, be it your TV, your car, or your intellectual property. For me, it’s even worse when it’s something you’ve had to develop from scratch and craft into something insightful, beautiful, or funny. You can replace a TV or a car, but people can only hear a really good joke once.

Stealing someone else’s routine is tantamount to stealing their livelihood; it’d be quicker and easier for all of us if Mencia just hacked a comic’s bank account and put the mic down for good.

And we at the Church despise cheaters. Doubly so when they parlay their dishonesty into a (for some reason) popular show on a network that we otherwise respect. It almost irreparably sullies Comedy Central, to have a phony putz among such brilliant jokesmiths as Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Trey Parker, and Matt Stone.

And if you still feel like giving Mencia the benefit of the doubt, Rogan provides documented proof of Mencia stealing a two-year-old joke from a comedian that once opened for him, Ari Shaffir. Then Mencia denies that Ari ever opened for him.

In closing, we at the Church would like to urge all of our Funky Monkeys to take a giant crap on Carlos Mencia (and all art thieves) the next time you hear his name mentioned. We’d also like to offer a hearty "Huzzah and Kudos" to Joe Rogan for having the conviction to loudly challenge this particularly pathetic shitheel.

FUNNY IS FUNKY: HALFPIXEL

2007-02-25T01:13:00.000-05:00

There are many places in the virtual universe that are both Groovy and humorous, and here is another.

Kristofer Straub (creator of the hilariously high-brow sci-fi/art comic Starslip Crisis) has started Halfpixel, where he holds forth on different matters and offers some very fun diversions.

Chief amongst these diversions is the Origin Story Maker, a nifty little deal that allows you re-write a comedic scene of epic superhero proportions and either submit it on the site or keep it for your own perverse pleasures.

I found the thing one night and spent hours messing with it; I didn't stop until I realized that it was already four in the morning.

Here's one of my favorites; I call it, "The Origin of the 'Your Mom' Joke."

DAILY DOSE, 02.23.07

2007-02-23T18:54:00.000-05:00

After recovering from the Slayer festivities, eating some Zaxby’s (that shit is good), and donning the ceremonial vestments (in this case, a Washington Capitals road jersey), we’re ready to dish out another Daily Dose.

We’ve touched on the many different representations of the Groove and the Funk in various genres. We’ve also overlooked one fairly important genre, one that had a profound influence on both rock and metal.

Punk, baby! But not this wussy emo-punk-pop on the radio nowadays (we’re looking at you, Fall Out Boy; a clever "Simpsons" reference does not a good band make). Sure, we could throw down some Bad Brains or early Misfits or the awesomely bad Sex Pistols (anyone heard "Friggin’ in the Riggin’" lately?) but we’re gonna go with a slightly more recent act...

The Dwarves - "Motherfucker" (From "Blood, Guts, and Pussy")

First off, great title for a song.

Second, these guys are nuts. Just look at the name of the album.

Third, it really is a good, thrashy punk song.

Fourth, the "Surfin’ Bird" part at the end is straight-up bad-ass. And hilarious, if you juxtapose it with a "Back to the Beach" context.

Fifth, did I mention that these guys are nuts? I mean, kooky-batshit-daffy crazy. It shows through in their music, and we at the Church enjoy that sort of thing.

JAM SESSION MADNESS

2007-02-23T18:27:00.000-05:00

So, yeah, Slayer was OK. If, by "OK," you mean "the craziest, loudest, most brutal metal available to two ears." Then, yeah, it was OK.

The Rev. Jenner J. Hull could easily fill endless tomes with praise of Slayer and other Death Metal Monsters. However, if you’re not a Metal Freak and have never seen a full-tilt metal show, there’s really only one thing I can say...

"RRRAAAAAAAAAARRRGGHH!"

If that tells you nothing, here’s an analogy I’ve always found helpful.

"Imagine slamming your head violently and repeatedly against a concrete wall while having an orgasm."

As for the actual show, well, it’s kind of fuzzy at this point. A good time was had by all (except for the poor beat-up bastards in the Pit), Slayer rocked harder than diamond, and copious amounts of beer were consumed (drivers were designated). In the Rev. Jenner J. Hull’s experience, heavy metal hangovers are always the least painful.

Sober, tipsy, or faced, I’ve found that the best shows I’ve been to always remain kind of fuzzy. If the Groove is locked in, even the shambling zombie denizens of the Funkless Masses tend to focus solely on the music and, somehow, "lose time." Or, more accurately, "blur time." I’ve found that, mere minutes after an awesome show, I’ll have the following hypothetical exchange with my fellow show-goer...

(In the car, after, say, a Clutch show.)

THE REV. JENNER J. HULL (RJJH)
Oh my good, good Funky Lord! That was ca-rucial!

FUNKY DEACON (FD)
Fuckin’ A. I told you they were gonna play "10001110101," didn’t I?

RJJH
And they did. I love that they played "The Regulator." It sounded better live than it did on the album!

FD
What did they play after that?

RJJH
Oh, it was... I... I don’t remember...

FD
Me either.

RJJH
Damn. Damn! "Regulator" was only the fifth song, wasn’t it?

FD
Sixth.

RJJH
Was it?

FD
Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t it?

RJJH
That’s what I asked you!

FD
I don’t know! I might’ve been in the can!

RJJH
Ah, never mind. They kicked ass.

FD
Fuckin’ A.

In the case of a metal show, even if I don’t exactly remember the exact chronology of exact events, I’d still know it was good if I woke up hoarse.

I woke up this morning sounding like Harvey Fierstein. And I sounded fabulous...

Updates on future Jam Sessions as they become pertinent. We’re thinking about a "One Week Notice," or something of that nature. Regardless of what we decide, the next must see is Black Label Society at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach on the 29th of March. If you attend, make sure to wear the colors.

They say that the South Carolina Chapter of the BLS is one of the meanest. We shall see, but we’re leaning towards "True."

DAILY DOSE, 02.22.07

2007-02-22T17:01:00.000-05:00

Wow. It was over 70 degrees here at the beach today, up from the rainy 40's of yesterday. Given the sheer randomness of the weather in the past months, the forecast for tomorrow calls for highs in the 8000's, lows at abolute zero, and a 300% chance of scrap metal raining from the ground.

In sad news, Dennis Johnson, a former All-Star basketball player and an NBA champ with the Boston Celtics, collapsed during a pick-up game*** and died earlier today. He was a great man and an amazing and unselfish player. You were the man, DJ, and you will be missed.

Man, I was all set on talking some smack about intelligent design after reading this post by Kevin Beck over at Doc Bushwell's (Kev slams DaveScot in the comments), but now I'm just bummed out. In these situations, I find it's always better to listen to a happy song...

10cc - "Good Morning Judge" (From "Deceptive Bends")

Just a cool, groovy, and strange track. A little funk, a little smattering of honky-tonk, and a suprisingly nasty guitar line punctuate what might be one of my favorite songs of the '70's. Though it's not quite as cool as "Dreadlock Holiday" (known mostly from the "Snatch" soundtrack), it's by far the best 10cc track and a seminal Sacred Cut. You've gotta love the psychotic optimism of the lyric, "San Quentin is the place to be/I'm so happy I don't want to be free."

***EDIT*** When I first heard the report of DJ's death, I kind of sat there, just shocked. Apparently, while I was thinking, "The guy's just barely fifty," I misunderstood the initial report and somehow threw a "pick-up game" into the mix. Dennis Johnson was actually coaching a developmental team at the time and collapsed after a team practice. Sorry about the screw-up, Funky Monkeys. And sorry, DJ.

DAILY DOSE OF FUNKY DEACONS

2007-02-20T18:28:00.000-05:00

In the interest of economy, we shall, for now, combine the newest Funky Deacons with the latest Daily Dose. We here at the Church enjoy killing birds with stones.

New in the Realm of Funky Deacons ...

It's common knowledge that 95% of You Are Morons. Rockstar Ryan can help you figure out whether or not you're apart of this illustrious cabal.

Rev.BigDumbChimp may well be "big," because that's totally relative, and he is chimp-like, because "Who isn't?", but he sure as all Hell ain't "dumb." Quite the opposite, actually.

And now, a perfect example of why the Rev. Jenner J. Hull is a tremendous freak of nature...

I burn CDs constantly. I still listen to my various bought albums but, more often than not, I just want a little taste of everything. While I take good care of my "real" albums, the burned CDs usually get tossed about the car with no real concern for their well-being. Every now and again, I find one of these CDs, pop it in the stereo (if it isn't too scratched-up), and wonder, "What in the Hell is wrong with me?"

Exhibit A; these two songs led off the CD...

Willie Hutch - "The Glow" (From "The Last Dragon" Soundtrack)

Berry Gordy's "The Last Dragon" is the best horrible movie ever made. Just the story is patently ridiculous, even in the context of high-concept 80's movies. A roving band of chop-socky miscreants led by a kung-fu-Master/faux-Warlord? A sociopathic music producer with some kind of mysterious and murderous creature in a stagnant tank? William H. Macy? Really?

I'm still amazed that I love the movie so much.

In this Cheeseterpiece, Leroy "Bruce Leroy" Green, a martial arts student in New York who, for some reason, thinks that he's Chinese, gets caught in a battle with said sociopathic music producer when the sleaze tries to strongarm the popular VJ Laura into highlighting his latest horrible Cyndi Lauper rip-off. Along the way, Leroy is also in search of the mythical "Glow," which, we're assuming, signals that the fighter has acheived the highest level. The humor is campy, the over-acting (especially "Sho'nuff," the "Shogun of Harlem") is brilliant, and the soundtrack is the perfect match.

"The Glow" is the epitome of early-80's R&B/pop Cheese. Every time I hear it, I have to yell, "Leroy! Who is the Master?"

Mr. Bungle - "None of Them Knew They Were Robots" (From "California")

I've bought "California" four times since it came out. Wore the first one out, lost the second, and wore the third one out. The newest one has been copied extensively; the disc has only been in my computer once and has never actually been listened to. And so shall it remain.

"NoTKTWR" might be the best known Bungle track, since it was featured in Julie Taymor's stupendous "Titus" in the post-crowning orgy scene.

Like most of Bungle's tracks, it's complete and utter insanity. Jumping from psycho-lounge to rockabilly to evil Latin chants, it's the quintessential music for discerning individuals who aren't afraid to consider themselves "Weirdos."

FUNNY IS FUNKY: WONDERMARK

2007-02-18T19:57:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to make the Church of the Everlasting Groove more computer savvy, and as an excuse to plug what we think is funny, we will now attempt to perform a "Hyperlink." As it takes all our (pathetic) technical knowledge just to keep the Online Manifestation of the Church up and running, this will be a truly momentous achievement. If we can pull it off...

Behold! The dastardly, perniciously hilarious David Malki ! and "Wondermark."

THE ROUND MOUND OF REBOUND AND ALL-STAR SATURDAY

2007-02-18T16:08:00.000-05:00

The All-Star Saturday festivities were some of the very best in recent memory.

The high points and low points were...

...a "Best In Game Dunks" show beforehand with lots of great footage and interviews. Something that will never get old; watching Darryl "Chocolate Thunder" Dawkins rip a rim right off the backboard.

...a quartet of Rat Pack impersonators that was, mostly, pretty bad. Except for "Frank;" I don’t know who the guy was, but he did one of the best Chairman impressions I’ve ever heard.

...Penn and Teller were there! Which was odd, because my brother had mentioned earlier that day, "I bet you they’ll find a way to work Penn and Teller into the show." Penn sawed Teller in half and "found a Frenchman backstage" (Tony Parker) to be the legs.

...Dwayne Wade won the skills competition and did it only a second slower than Steve "Quickfast" Nash’s record time of twenty-five seconds. The low point of the whole weekend; Nash is sitting out due to a sore shoulder.

...Jason Kapono won the three point contest with an exemplary score of 24 and thoroughly whipped both Dirk Nowitski and my boy, "Agent Zero," Gilbert "Hibachi" Arenas.

The second best part was the dunk contest. After a few years of mostly boring competitions, the young contestants brought a little creativity back to the All-Star segment, which is good. Remember when the dunk contest was just as important as the All-Star Game itself?

The best dunks were...

...(#3) '06 winner Nate Robinson’s gravity-defying, Jordan-style dunk on his first attempt. I’m just still amazed that a guy who’s only 5'6" can do such a thing. Alas, I couldn’t find a vid of this one.

...(#2) Gerald Green’s Dee Brown tribute. A nasty dunk perfectly executed. I love Nate's reaction after Green clears his head...

...(#1) Dwight Howard’s sticker slap. When he did it in real time, it looked like just a basic (if high-flying) alley-oop-one-handed-stuff. Then, upon landing, Howard points up to the backboard. I’m thinking, "Jesus, Dwight, it wasn’t that good of a dunk," and then you see the sticker. They ran it back in slo-mo and, sure enough, when he catches the ball, at the apex of his jump, he slaps a sticker (with his face on it) about four inches from the top of the backboard. My man's got hops!

Of course, the greatest moment was the highly-anticipated footrace between long-time NBA ref Dick Bavetta and, quite possibly, the "Coolest Cat on the Planet," Charles "The Round Mound of Rebound" Barkley. I was expecting Bavetta, who puts in about five miles a day and runs up and down the court for a living, to win it. Sure, Charles was an uncommonly fast big man in his prime, but he’s put on the pounds in the last few years (as have we all).

Barkley, always a tricky opponent, is also surprisingly agile.

All-Star game tonight, bitches and bastards!

THE GENESIS OF FAT BACK, PT. I

2007-02-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

In the Spring of 2002, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull received a very odd and portentous phone call from a man named Jerry. It went a little something like this...

(For future reference, Jerry has an awe-inspiring Southern accent. Your Humble Reverend’s accent is practically Canadian in comparison.)

THE REV. JENNER J. HULL (RJJH)
Thank you for calling the Funkiest religion under the stratosphere, how can we get your Groove on today?

JERRY
What?

RJJH
What?

JERRY
Uh... I’m lookin’ fer a girl named Jenny.

(RJJH pauses.)

RJJH
Jenner?

JERRY
Jenny Hull?

RJJH
Jenner. Jenner Hull.

JERRY
I thought it was Jenny.

RJJH
It’s Jenner. I’m Jenner. Jenner J. Hull, at your service, sir. What’s happening?

JERRY
Well... Do ya remember a woman, name of Carly Robertson?

RJJH
Yeah. Redhead, tall, used to play the mandolin with a bluegrass band in Eden [North Carolina], right?

JERRY
The same. You recall her talking ‘bout her Pa?

RJJH
"Turbo" Terry Walsh?

JERRY
Yes, sir.

RJJH
‘Course I do! The man’s a legend! He played with Fat Back Jackson!

JERRY
That’s why I’m callin’ ya.

(At this point, RJJH is speechless. A few seconds of frantic silence ensue.)

JERRY
Hello?

RJJH
Yeah, hey, I’m, I’m still here. So... What? You knew Turbo?

JERRY
Turbo and Fat Back both, for a while. That’s why Carly told me to call you.

(RJJH is, again, speechless.)

JERRY
Are ya on a cellular phone, son? Are ya goin’ through the mountains?

RJJH
No, no. I’m sorry. It’s just...

JERRY
Ya heard a lot of Fat Back’s music, have ya?

RJJH
Yeah, I’ve got a few LP’s and a 45, and I’ve heard lots of stories and...

JERRY
I met ‘im in 1967. Him and Turbo and Jackie MacNamara were playing at the...

(RJJH rudely cuts him off.)

RJJH
Wait, wait, wait, wait. Just who the Hell is this? Oh. Oh! You scumbag bastard! This is Jambalaya, isn’t it?

JERRY
No, and I ain’t gumbo, neither. Name’s Jerry Walker. Like I said, I caught up with Carly, she told me whatcha were doin’ with regards to Fat Back, and said I should call ya. Now, don’t be gettin’ no accusatory tone with someone trying to help ya.

RJJH
Look, I’m sorry, really. But, you’re not jerking me around? You met Fat Back when he was only twenty-two?

(Jerry pauses briefly. He then sounds a little amazed.)

JERRY
How’d ya know he was twenty-two?

RJJH
‘Cause that’s the lie he told the most. Man stayed twenty-two for, like, seven years.

(Jerry chuckles.)

JERRY
Well I’ll be damned. And you never met ‘im?

RJJH
No.

JERRY
Shit. Y'already know more about ‘im than half the people he ever knew.

RJJH
So, what now? Do you have some old recordings?

JERRY
Nah, wore ‘em out or lost ‘em years ago. All I got is stories. Ya still livin’ in Virginia?

RJJH
For the time being.

JERRY
I’m in Alta Vista for a week or so. Think ya can get out here?

RJJH
Yeah, it’s only forty-five minutes away.

JERRY
Good. Carly said that you’re good people and that ya were looking for first-hand knowledge. I figured I’d give ya mine.

RJJH
What kind of first-hand knowledge are we talking about here?

JERRY
Well, for one, I was there when he got his nickname.

RJJH
Where are you in Alta Vista?

(Jerry gives his temporary address.)

RJJH
Be at the Irish pub in twenty-five minutes.

JERRY
Thought you said it’d take forty-five.

RJJH
Don't you worry about that. Drinks are on me.

JERRY
You got it, kid.

(Conversation ends.)

For the record, the Rev. Jenner J. Hull got to the pub in just over twenty-seven minutes. If he hadn’t hit that damn vulture, swerved off the road, and got hung up at a stoplight half a mile from the pub, he would’ve come in at just over twenty-five.

Fat Back’s story (as told by Jerry) coming up in "Pt. II."

EMERGENCY JAM SESSION ON FEB. 22ND!!!

2007-02-16T18:30:00.000-05:00

Hell Yeah!

Local members of the Church of the Everlasting Groove will be congregating at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, on February 22nd to witness the sonic assault of the one, the only, the truly frightening...

SLAYER

Your Humble Reverend will be the one with Satan on his shirt. Oh, wait...

Pardon, the one with Satan dressed as a gas attendant on his shirt.

Unearth will be the opening act, but Your Humble Reverend isn't so familiar with them. A Funky Deacon tells us that they aren't too bad, so we'll go ahead and take his word for it and excommunicate him if he's wrong.

Honestly, it could be a pack of wild dogs farting into kazoos as an opening act; as long as Slayer closes the show, all will be well.

All Funky Monkeys in the area are encouraged to attend. We eschew mandatory Jam Session attendance when it's something like the the most brutal death metal on the planet; we understand that it just ain't some people's cup of Funky tea.

DAILY DOSE, 02.16.07

2007-02-16T01:26:00.000-05:00

The Church of the Everlasting Groove seems to be semi-popular with a handful of individuals and we are greatly appreciative. All we can do is ask, respectfully, that you bug the shit out of everyone you know and force them to love us. If you must use violence or other forms of illegal coercion to accomplish this goal, then so be it.

What is that you're yelling? Is it, "We want the Funk!"

Ask and ye shall receive...

Dream Theater - "Overture 1928/Strange Deja Vu" (From "Metropolis Pt. II: Scenes From a Memory")

If someone were to kidnap the (insanely) beautiful and (insanely) talented Zooey Deschanel, put a gun to her head, and, on the pain of her death, force the Rev. Jenner J. Hull to name his favorite band, he'd have to say, "Dream Theater." Then, for his heroic act, he and Zooey would ride off into the sunset on a snowy white steed, buy a small tropical island, and spend their remaining days feeding each other grapes and constantly professing their undying love for one another.

Well, we can dream, can't we?

Your Humble Reverend can't quite remember how he got into Dream Theater but, once he did, he did so obsessively and never looked back.

The first DT album I bought was "Scenes" and, once I got through the intro track (I wasn't much on the hypnotist part), was immediately hooked. "Overture" is a bombastic instrumental running through the various themes and riffs explored in the rest of the album, mixing the heavy with the light, and leads directly into "Strange Deja Vu."

I took to "Strange" immediately, mostly because of the subtle bravado of drummer Mike Portnoy. I've always had a thing for fills (regardless of the instrument) and Portnoy does it damn-near constantly and spices up every part of the Cut with his own little tweaks, be they short cymbal flourishes or double-bass bombs.

Basically, what you have is the rare "Virtuoso Line-Up." Petrucci is a Git-Fiddle God, Portnoy is a Beat Machine, Myung is a Bass Monster, Ruddess has the Fastest Fingers in the Biz, and LaBrie belts like every "Hair Metal" singer wishes he could. If you like gorgeous, interesting, and elaborately complex music, then Dream Theater should be high on the recommendations list.

ON THE LOCAL TIP: GREYDON SQUARE

2007-02-16T00:44:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen (but especially the Ladies), the Rev. Jenner J. Hull is proud to present a new segment on the Church's Official Online Manifestation.

Your Humble Reverend realizes that people are not born great. Einstein wasn't born one of the most brilliant theoretical thinkers of all time; he had to work to get there. Rosa Parks wasn't born a seminal figure in the Civil Rights movement; she had to make a stand and earn it. Hell, the Pope wasn't even born the Pope; he had to be voted in.

And our greatest and Most Funky musicians and singers are not ready-made on a factory assembly line, ready to Jam right out of the box with no assembly required. They must start small, obscure, and with zero professional credentials before working towards greatness.

So, besides showcasing the Funk Giants, the Church of the Everlasting Groove will make a concerted effort to shed some Funky Light on the little guys and gals, those that toil in the trenches in an effort to bring their hearts, minds, and music to a wider audience.

Our first unsigned gem can be found in the links section under "The Compton Effect."

Greydon Square...

...is an atheist and physics major from Arizona via California. As Your Humble Reverend has previously stated, he's somewhat iffy when it comes to rap and hip-hop but he knows true talent when he hears it.

Setting aside the sheer novelty of being an "atheist rapper," Greydon's lyrics are honest, thoughtful, lucid, and very well-written. Distilling thousands of years of philosophical and theological musings into a three minute track is undoubtedly tough, but Greydon pulls it off with panache to spare. I'm not sure if he writes his own beats, though. If so, then he's just that much better. If not, then it just further proves his good taste.

If I were forced to compare him to another artist, I'd say he reminds me of an early Eminem, back when he was the most innovative and surprising hip-hop act around. He has the same type of effortless, methodical flow which, combined with his obvious intelligence, makes him fucking devious...

And, come on, people! Penn Jillette gave him props! You can't argue with that...

MORE FUNKY DEACONS

2007-02-16T00:17:00.000-05:00

Ah, how that little link section grows.

Three new Funky Deacons have joined the flock...

Matt of "Pooflingers Anonymous" focuses mostly on throwing metaphorical feces at targets that, frankly, could use a bit of de-spiffifying. May his aim continue to be true...

And P-Funk, a great man by any measure, has become the first Official Online Ordination of the Church of the Everlasting Groove. So, please, from now on, show him the proper respect and address him with the honorific "The Rev. P-Funk." If he chooses to add further honorifics to his title (e.g. "The Right Honorable and Estimable Reverend P-Funk, His High-Rolling Holiness"), this is kosher.

The Rev. P-Funk has actually exchanged words with our Funky Lord, George Clinton. If only we could all make such a truthful claim...

And where would we all be without the Rational Response Squad? Take their "Blasphemy Challenge" and earn a one-way, non-refundable ticket to Hell. No cover charge, $1 domestic drafts, and entertainment starts promptly at "Armageddon."

JIVE! #2

2007-02-15T17:05:00.000-05:00

With all the brouhaha over the John Edwards/Amanda Marcotte/Melissa McEwan/William Donohue thing still going fairly strong, The Rev. Jenner J. Hull figured that he'd weigh in on the issue and get the second installment of "Jive!" out of the way.

William Donohue

We may reiterate that the Church does not discriminate against any particular religion that isn't ours. Jew, Muslim, Zoroastrian, Catholic, or whatever, we don't care. As long as you recognize the Groove and the Funk (and aren't an ass), everything's copacetic.

So, when we say that Bill Donohue is an astounding piece of shit, we say that without referring to his Catholicism.

And he is an astounding piece of shit. And, due to his constant double-standard act, is either totally ignorant or intentionally and knowingly stupid. He's perfectly fine calling a pair of bloggers bigots and, at the same time, completely overlooks his own history of bad-mouthing Jews, homosexuals, Muslims, and anyone else who doesn't live specifically by his narrow views.

Donohue would like people to think that he's the official mouthpiece of the Catholic Church but the simple fact is that every intelligent, decent Catholic in the country thinks that he's an annoying schmuck with a self-righteous persecution complex.

Basically, he's a controversy whore. Think back to high school; there was always some duplicitous, back-stabbing bitch who'd spill everyone's secrets in an attempt to manufacture drama, presumably for her own personal amusement. Donohue's turned it into a career.

Just because someone may disagree with an official church policy (e.g., contraception) or thinks that Donohue is a pompous douchebag, it doesn't mean they hate all Catholics. And Donohue would realize that if he weren't such a blatant glory-hound.

DAILY DOSE, 02.15.07

2007-02-15T02:09:00.000-05:00

Since it's, technically, the next day, we're gonna go ahead and lay down some more (rock) Funk for y'all.

Before we do, however, we at the Church want to give a shout-out to insomnia. Without it, we would have never listened to music for hours on end and we would have (Funky Lord forbid it) never heard the Groove.

Joe Satriani - "The Extremist" (From "The Extremist"')

Much as Your Humble Reverend hates the wanton misuse of the word "extreme" in modern popular culture, "The Extremist" is the perfect label for the man known in certain circles as "Satch."

Legend has it that Satch wrote this song for a Gap commercial; something about a biker and a ballerina. He submitted this Sacred Cut as the "biker song" and it was rejected because it was, and we're paraphrasing here, "too hard." Sounds like the end of an "Asian Hooker joke" to me.

Regardless of the Cut's origins, it is a relentlessly hard-rocking song. Satch, like always, shows his versatility by stringing together the perfect base-riff (not to be confused with a bass-riff) with multiple virtuoso solos; if I'm not mistaken, even the harmonica solo is just a distorted guitar. And it's all disgustingly good...

FUNKY DEACONS: GOD IS FOR SUCKERS!

2007-02-14T21:04:00.000-05:00

If you have not done so previously, check out God is for Suckers! You'll find this amusing, insightful, and brutally honest collection of individuals in the (for now) wee link bar under (what is now) the pangolin. They are most definitely Funky. All of them. Even the pangolin.

The Unofficial Church Mascot will change on whims and whimsies. For example, I remembered how much I like pangolins and decided to eschew my psychotic cat, "Loki, the Norse God of Mischief," for the time being.

Fear not, though, cat lovers. Loki (A.K.A. "Wild Tooth," "Crazy Face," "The Avian Assassin," "Feline," etc.) shall return at some point, if only because he's provided us with many funny pictures. And he is completely psychotic.

A BRIEF BIT ABOUT YOUR HUMBLE REVEREND THAT MIGHT EVEN BE TRUE

2007-02-14T16:56:00.000-05:00

"Please allow me to adjust my pants/So that I may dance the Good Time Dance/And put the on-lookers and innocent bystanders into a trance..." - Neil Fallon (From Clutch - "Mob Goes Wild")

Well, I can't really dance, but you get the idea. Sort of. Probably not. I'm not even quite sure that I do. What the Hell were we talking about again? Doesn't matter...

Anyway, if anyone is curious as to what the Reverend Jenner J. Hull is really like, here's a selective list of interests, activities, accomplishments, and quirks.

The Rev. Jenner J. Hull...

...has an obsession with Yoo-Hoo. And we mean a serious obsession. Frankly, the rest of the Church thinks it's quite unhealthy and have taken to referring to the beverage as the "Chocolate Horse." At least it's not a fetish.

...was, at one time and for his age, one of the best trumpet players in the Great Commonwealth of Virginia. Has not touched the instrument since.

...accidentally touched Katie Holmes' ass on the set of "Dawson's Creek."

...does an uncanny Michael MacDonald impression. And, when he's half-drunk, a decent Frankie Blue.

...taught himself how to juggle in three days with the help of a Rottweiler/Shepherd/Beagle puppy named, aptly, Puppy. The Reverend dropped, Puppy fetched.

...is afraid of spiders. And heights. And comb-overs. And televangelists. Especially televangelists.

...has a man-crush on James Randi. Yeah, like you don't.

...loves "Lost" because it's so damn frustrating and confusing.

...is proud to have evolved from ape-like creatures, but would've much rather evolved from bird-like creatures. Opposable thumbs are cool, but wings would be infinitely more bitching.

...thinks that only one perfect person has ever lived. Her name is Zooey Deschanel.

...loves Thabo Sefolosha of the Chicago Bulls because his name is so fun to say. Go ahead, try it. "Sefolosha, Sefolosha, Sefolosha!"

...thinks a French dip sandwich would be absolutely faboo right now.

...wishes that hockey jerseys were considered "formal wear."

...hates commericals. The cats that write commercials (except for, maybe, a handful of said "cats") can, in the words of Kurt Vonnegut, "take a flying fuck at a rolling donut." Then they can "take a flying fuck at the Moon."

...can, on a clear day and in fair winds, hit the high parts in "Billie Jean."

...once killed a hobo. With kindness.