So tonight has turned out to be the worst night since I went to see that Gilbert and Strummer musical The HMS Pinochet and Guadalupan Halcyonist terrorists seized the building, lettin each of us hostages go only after we sang the theme song to Gilligan's Island. That was the last time I go see a show that Greil Marcus called "A useless and flimsy excuse to brink back some of the characters from Andrew Lloyd Jagger's Street-Fightin' Cats." Anyway, so sith I have money and sith I have cause, wherefor did I not get trashed tonight? I would turn to my inner David Lynch, but that sleeper hasn't awoken and won't tonight. The fascist brigade keeps bringing back Bob Seger, Detroitness incarnate without the blackface, so he won't scare the alabaster breast of America with sweet jungle rythms, reminding every teenage boy (as if he needed a reminder) that all he has to do to be a complete success in school lies beneath a single tiny layer of cotton . . . Kid Rock seemed to milk the last drops from the dairy cow of All-American Badass a long time ago, and now must be retired with Vanilla Ice to the White People Making Black Culture Safe For Consumption Nursing Home, founded in 1974, 1978, and for the first time in 1982. And founded in 1994. And yesterday. Because it just keeps being too cool to pass up, this whole rapping about being a skater stuff. Or rather, it keeps maintaining the illusory and monetary trappings of cool. The cats with the mutton chops will let you know whats really down with all this, and for once, they're right, just don't ask them too much, cause they might get too confused to get back to their art gallery before curfew.

Really People, how long must I be without RELIEF!!!!!!!!!!!!

I think somewhere, somehow, Elvis' corpse is sodomizing Screamin' Jay Hawkins.

The laws of physics deman a rematch with the laws of mutual masturbation - - - rug burns et al.


If any of this made any amount of sense to you, you should just give up now.