That Must Die

I’m not totally sure it’s exhaustion that’s caused this nightmare, either, because I’ve only read a couple news stories and blogs yet today. Chief among these stories is a blog entry by Gregory Levey called “How I Accidentally Got 700,000 Fans on Facebook.” I only read the blog at all because it sounded entertaining. By the way, it turns out giving your Facebook page a pithy name will net you 700,000 fans on Facebook. It helps if the name is not just pithy, but the name of the book you’re trying to sell and a commonly used phrase by teenagers (and those chemically and emotionally similar to teenagers). In this case, the Facebook page for the book in question got 700,000 fans by being called Shut Up, I’m Talking. Not too interesting.

Now, This American Life enters my world at “Not too interesting” and just a dash further. When you look at the details of the blog the author writes for, you see it’s subtitled things like “Let’s get ready to mumble.” Cute, right? Cute, or… just a dash further? But backup, let’s look at what the site is even called. It’s called The Nervous Breakdown. And what book, again, did the author write? Shut Up, I’m Talking is the book he wrote! And what book is he about to publish? How To Make Peace in the Middle East in Six Months or Less Without Leaving Your Apartment, thank you very much! (Out soon thanks to Simon & Schuster/Free Press.) In the blog entry itself, this Gregory Levey chap describes his first book as, a “memoir about how, when I was twenty-five-years-old, I accidentally stumbled into a job as a speechwriter for the Israeli Government, first at the UN and then in the Prime Minister’s Office – despite not even being Israeli.”

Is it starting to become clear? This guy, Gregory Levey, is literally a walking, breathing, excruciatingly real version of This American Life. He possesses its disturbingly urbane, but shy and insecure theme, along with its youth-focused and some might say sophisticated worldview! Not to mention This American Life’s borderline holier-than-thou subject matter.

Let me sum up the This American Life episode which I’m sure will be airing about this mini-controversy: “I’m sorry, I’m just a wee munchkin who only recently helped write for the Israelis at the UN and then got entirely disgruntled because some lesser-thans dared become a fan of my book about the matter of my Israeli experience on Facebook. Well, I shouldn’t say I’m all that disgruntled, because it will help promote my second book about the whole Israeli thing! Ha! Ha ha ha! My God, will someone get me the Xanax, I think I’m having some sort of emotional breakdown. Oh my sweet maiden, I just can’t take reality anymore.”

That’s every This American Life ever. And I hate it.

Below is a comment I made in reply to a girl who asked for people to convince her to like the Arcade Fire or explain why she should enjoy them.

why would you wanna be a part of boring arena rock? dude, seriously. you are better than that. like, win butler is the stupidest man in all of music. he is so stupid he tripped over the cordless phone. so stupid when he goes to the beach, all the feral cats try to bury him.

…wait, no, that’s for ugly people.

well, he’s ugly too. and his band is like one dead, overdosed bassist short of a slipknot pep rally.

also, he wishes he was wayne coyne. i mean, their little fight thing, win butler should be like, ‘wayne coyne is right, i am a stupid mofo and wish i could write something half as good as the flaming lips’ worst song.’

furthermore, his first name is win butler. wow, the man wins butts. good for him. or maybe he’s just some sad failure at jeeves-hood who couldn’t get a job supporting rich upperclass englishmen because he lacks the dry wit and ingenuity necessary. i could rest my case just on that, but i won’t.

i don’t know if anyone here ever saw his pathetic 9th grade ‘elect me class president’ worthy letter written about some lame thing george bush did, but the man was literally out-written and out-grammar’d by pete wentz who wrote some letter or blog post about the same lame thing george bush did.

pete.

wentz.

is a more articulate man than win butler. the guy who hangs out with one of the simpson bimbos (and presumably the other at family events) is a more prose-capable man than the guy who writes sickeningly unboisterous compositions for pitchfork to squeal over.

like, i would literally punch myself in the face for a lot of reasons, but i would go a step further and drive myself into a tree at 5 mph (so as to avoid any serious bodily harm) if pete wentz outdid me at anything. anything. and yes, that includes pictures of my penis on the internet.

oh, and man, what is with people wanting to like bad things? i don’t get up in the morning and go, ‘you know, hitler, my psuedointellectual peers who don’t understand history or oratory skills past what’s necessary to win a high school debate tournament tell me hitler had some positive traits… if only he didn’t use them to murder millions of people and invade several countries and bomb the hell out of britain and sink a boatload — hah — of random ships carrying civilians.’

you should not try to like the arcade fire! you should not try to like something to fit in! these bands get popular because insecure tweens and 20-something graduate school dropouts feel the need to fit in with their peers and elite critics’ circles in the first place. someone needs to fight the good fight and say, ‘wow, the arcade fire is a terrible band and i am glad i do not like them. do not try to persuade me otherwise, because my taste is my taste and i just do not like this faddish, horrific spectacle of musical atrocity.’ until that day comes, animal collective and the arcade fire and spoon will roam free across the land. we will suffer their blight and contagion. they will be allowed to defile music in ways unspeakable.

and i am encouraging you all to be that individualist who likes things because they like those things and who dislikes things because they dislike them.

ps

if anyone here likes the arcade fire, that’s totally cool.

This doesn’t really have to do with terrible music critiques smothering pelicans or hardworking Americans having their taste outsourced to India. It mostly has to do with people who should not be allowed near any sort of device used to create printed album reviews. Take, for instance, the review I saw yesterday of Small Black’s EP:

These guys have it. Mixed rhythms of pedals and synths. I feel like melting when I take part in this eclectic sound. How will you feel when you listen? You probably wont like it because you won’t understand it. Get in the zone, my friend. Eat this album as if it were your own face.

The person who wrote this is evidently incapable of selling so much as a used car. Or maybe that’s his problem: He’s a used car salesman who thinks he’s good at his job and should extend his logic to music.

“Boy, what kind of car are you looking for? I’ve got –”

“Well, I’m mostly looking for something I can get to work in…”

“… So like I was saying, I’ve got a really great 1984 Ford pickup that has your name all over it.”

“That’s great, but I’m not really interested in something that has so many miles on it.”

“Sir, excuse my guffaw, but you obviously know nothing about cars. I’m a car salesman, I know cars like no other. And let me tell you, this one — well, she’s a beaut.”

So when a band he likes comes around, he, the expert, is sure that you, the entry level music semi-aficionado you are, must listen to something over and over to really appreciate its genius.

Well, have you ever listened to Small Black? I wouldn’t really recommend it. There are some albums that are classically and forever known as growers: CDs most people will tell you offer new intricacies and sounds on each listen. I can’t imagine how Small Black, a lofi chillwave band, is possibly one of those.

But I also don’t understand the idea of eating something as “if it were your own face.” That sounds like something a wannabe acid freak might tell his mom when she finds his tabs. I imagine him complaining to his mother in some spacey Valley girl voice about how he won’t be able to experience the multiheaded racist psychopaths raping her without his acid.

More importantly, this sort of music criticism is a blight on the actual concept of using your soapbox as a critic or devotee to encourage people to seek out new music. It makes the band’s fans look obnoxious and weird. It makes the band look like a chore; like you have to experience some sort of hazing ritual that might involve a moose and funnel cake before you will appreciate the CD.

And let me say, there has never been a CD ever created that was not instantly enjoyable to the audience it speaks to. If a band does not entice you on your first listen, there are few reasons you should listen again. Maybe you were in a bad mood, maybe you were too young to understand the lyrical content. But in the case of a band as bland (but perfectly listenable) as Small Black, age is but a number. There is nothing covered in the lyrics or structure that age or a passing listen would obscure.

The idea that everything is now so complicated and esoteric as to require multiple listens to understand — no matter how simple (and I don’t mean that in a bad way) the art is — is a bad and negative one. The barrier of entry to art should not be so high. And one shouldn’t lie about the actual barrier’s existence, because it doesn’t exist at all.

Whenever I relisten to a CD, it’s because something struck me as worth a second look on the first listen. There are bands I have bought CDs by that I am not really interested in listening to a second time. But a good CD will make you want to listen to it again, especially if you feel like you missed out on something the first time around.

Hi assfaces, it’s been awhile. I was trying not to spend so much time sitting around on the computer, because that’s for losers. I’ve been out skateboarding a lot more lately. I can finally do a kickflip. It’s taken me a couple years to get it down, but it took my friend Jon three years so I feel accomplished.

(This blog title is in reference to the Beatles, in case you didn’t know.)

Today I was talking to my cool lesbian friend Katrina about her tattoos. I want a tattoo, but I’m worried my Catholic school drone classmates would make fun of me. I don’t know — fuck them, I am my own person. I do what I want. Once I’m 18, anyway, ha. Stupid parents.

I’m so tired of skateboarding being hijacked by like these industroscene skateposeurs. Like, check this pic out:

Christ, I see this and I just wanna throw up all over my keyboard. It’s a disgrace to anyone who ever rode the board. And I ride the board a lot, so I think I’m qualified to talk about this. Fuck Selena Gomez and her dying-cat-sounding music. Fuck Disney, man.

Sometimes I just wanna listen to the Clash and cry into my pillow thinking about the youth of today. You know one day we’re gonna be adults and some of us are going to be elected politicians? Heh, maybe by then we won’t even have elections anymore. Maybe the drones will just file into Washington, D.C. and start sucking each other’s cocks until they get appointments from whatever cryptofascist libertarian oligarchy is running things then. Nepotism is so for squares.

I got a formspring the other day. I was kind of hoping some homophobic friend of mine would ask how gay I am so that I could use my favorite Betty Dodson quote to explain queer politics to them. But so far no one’s asked anything. It’s been about a week now, so maybe I should mention I have a formspring on Facebook…

Sometimes I go to this kids’ message board to talk about music. Most of them listen to really bad garbage like Hawthorne Heights and Green Day. You know, just really fake shit. But there are a couple cool people there who mostly listen to noise and glam rock. Sometimes I talk to this one girl on the boards about whether men should be subservient to women. As a gay dude and gay skateboarder, honestly, I don’t know how I feel about it, but she got me really into Tori Amos.

But like I said, a lot of them are just uneducated hicks who would misunderstand The Catcher in the Rye to the point of shooting John Lennon if they were their uneducated selves and also mentally ill.

John Lennon, there’s a great musician. I think if I could put together a supergroup, it’d basically be Pink Floyd and John Lennon.

I guess, I don’t know, as I look out on my life and see how much time people are wasting on the internet being fatass, stupid Americans, I’m glad I have some hobbies that take me outside the house. I have my own website, yeah, and I have a Facebook, formspring, and numerous message board accounts. But that’s not really all that much internet presence when you look at your average turbonerd assdouche of steel. I’m practically a hermit, honestly.

I got into buying vinyl records when I was about seven or eight. My dad says I always preferred the sound of vinyl to CDs or cassettes, but he doesn’t know I’m gay so I take that with a grain of salt. Maybe I had bad taste as a baby, ha.

Anyway, I buy a lot of vinyl now. I’ve got a pretty good collection going. I even bought a copy of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon yesterday. It’s lucky I found it, because I don’t think they printed a lot of those.

Well, it’s getting late, so I should go to bed. But I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac, truth be told. All my stupid brainwashed classmates go to bed at 10, but I just can’t sleep so I’m usually up a little later listening to music. I guess it’s time to turn off the Queen and get some shut eye, though. Hopefully I can skate some tomorrow.

Hey guys, it’s 2004 2010 now and a fair amount of CDs have come out. Because I am not cool enough to have a Rapidshare blog with 1000 hits a week, I will not be linking you to downloads or telling you to pirate music by people and labels who actually need money for bongs and vinyl printings.

But I can give you names and Youtube videos! In no particular order, here are some chill CDs from 2010:

Titus Andronicus -The Monitor

These bros were all like, “We’re gonna make an album about the Civil War.” I was like, “Cool.” Then the CD came out and very little of it has to do with the Civil War. But that’s okay because most of the songs on the CD sound pretty nice. There are a couple that make me cringe and wish I could travel back in time to shoot Conor Oberst in the face (jk) to keep him from inspiring such lyrics as, “You ain’t never been no virgin, kid, you were fucked from the start.” But the record just sounds good. This is the part where I take out the reviewer cliche and go, “Oh boy, they sure deserved their name Titus Andronicus because their music is soooo chaotic and violent.” Now’s the part where I punch it in the face. Titus Andronicus is a good band. Their lyrics give hope to assholes everywhere and for that I can’t really forgive them. Titus Andronicus is one of those “I suck but everything is everyone else’s fault but I’ll persevere even though life is so hard” bands. I’m okay with that, but you might be surprised to know that assholes also find that sort of thing appealing. Titus Andronicus has a high “disaffected young white male” to “normal music fan” ratio. But they’re still a good band! If you want a less “I suck but everything is everyone else’s fault but I’ll persevere even though life is so hard vibe,” you’re probably best sticking with their first CD. Here, suck on a sample.

Oh, by the way, I am not gonna be a douche and compare these listed bands to other bands. I’m going to be a douche who doesn’t do that, okay? Okay. (Exception for comparison to Conor Oberst. I’d compare anything to him. He’s so comparable.)

Thrushes – Night Falls

Man, is it cool with you guys if I take some time to talk about LSD right now? It’s not like Thrushes has anything to do with LSD or anything and I know none of you kids are really into LSD. I just wanna say LSD a few times. Anyhow, Thrushes is a shoegaze band or something. I don’t even know what anyone is anymore. It’s 4 in the morning. They sound a lot like Conor Oberst if Conor Oberst was a chick in a shoegaze band (jk). Actually, they sound kind of subdued and mellow. That’s cool. Here, listen. It’s vagina music, but they’ve always been pretty nice on Myspace.

These New Puritans – Hidden

These bros, I don’t even know. This is the part where I guess I have to invent all sorts of crazy ass metaphors and talk about what “grimey motherfuckas” these guys are. Maybe add in a little bit about how, when I listened to this CD, I saw my first shooting star. But I won’t, because I need that stale line for another review. But these guys are actually pretty un-stale and they are truly grimey motherfuckers whose existence is like the light of an elephant’s trunk upon thine eyes. Enjoy. Or don’t.

Ted Leo + The Pharmacists – The Brutalist Bricks

Ted Leo, dude, you are one chill bro. I am down with you. I get you. Your soul resonates with me. We connect on this level as bros. We’ve never met, but I’ve seen you in concert twice. I’ve wanted to touch your arm, maybe give you a massage. I’ve wanted to congratulate you on being a genuinely nice person who writes wicked music. I’ve wanted to… lick your scalp. :( There, I said it. But The Brutalist Bricks is your best album in a long time. If I had it on vinyl, I’d probably say it counts as three records — even though it’s only one record! And I wouldn’t even be doing it to make myself look any cooler than I already am. Your music is just that precious. The collection of mp3s kicks off with the fantastic The Might Sparrow and then goes on its merry little way, being merry as it is wont to do. Particular standouts are Tuberculoids Arrive in Hop, Where Was My Brain, and One Polaroid a Day. The first is a really different sound for Ted Leo, but it sounds hauntingly awesome. The last features Ted’s genius take on the word “whoa.” I think he became a bear to sing that song. And by “bear,” I mean “large, hairy, homosexual gentleman.” The Mighty Sparrow.

Liars – Sisterworld

Liars, good band. Actually, here, let me try out this cool reviewer trick I learned while reading Rapidshare blogs: “Liars, they’re pretty okay.” As I casually accept them into my coven of a music collection, you wonder, “Hmm… He is almost indifferent. I must listen!” It’s the same method desperate nerds use to try and get girls: barely acknowledge her existence and she’ll want to have sex with you.

Sorry Liars, I’m sure you’re hurt that some guy on the internet is spending more time making fun of Rapidshare blogs than talking about how pretty okay you are. But you are pretty okay. You’ve got that whole art punk rock thing down to a science and it sounds pretty okay on this Sisterworld gem of yours. I hope my compliments make up a little for all the anguish I’ve put you through. I’m so sorry. Maybe if I plug your single you’ll forgive me.

Japanther – Rock ‘n’ Roll Ice Cream

U like lesbian noise pop? Yeah me too. Look at how I said “noise pop” like that. Man, I am so good at this reviewing thing. There’s practically a genre for everything! These Japanther dudes and dykes have this setup where they play fuzzy guitars and sing harmoniously. I am down with that. May still be a couple vaginas short for a Lilith Fair appearance, though. Sorry. But if you like the sound of a band missing a couple vaginas, here.

Giant Drag – Swan Song

I once left a comment on their lastfm shoutbox after listening to the CD just once because the girl is hot. But I hate women, so, idk, w/e. Swan Song is just an EP that’s a “followup” (CHECK THAT! LINGO!) to their “debut album” from 2006. They are a cool band that sounds at times very shoegazey and at other times very pop psych-y. I would compare them to some random minimalist composer, but I am being a douche who doesn’t compare bands to each other right now so you’re out of luck. You’ll have to google “minimalist composer” on your own if you’re looking for the Rule 34 pix. Chick in the band has fibromyalgia or some crazy ass disorder like that. Cool that she can still shred. Cool that the drummer can keep his snazzy hat on in this video. Note that this video is of a song not on the EP Swan Song because there are no good videos of the songs off of Swan Song, including the “official video” for Stuff to Live For. So listen to the songs, because you’ll throw up if you watch the videos. Maybe it’s the artist’s vision and I just don’t understand, but I threw up. Really.

Everybody Was in the French Resistance… Now! – Fixin’ the Charts, Volume 1

Eddie Argos is one bon vivant in a world of non-bon vivants. A man about town in a world of people who never leave the house (ie, me). A good man, a great father, a superstar. He was in the band Art Brut (not a comparison). Now he’s in this band, where he and his ladyfriend write pop songs as he feels they should have been written. Not word-for-word parodies, but reconstructions of what the songs should have or subliminally conveyed. They sound a little twee, a little out of place in a world dominated by Weird Al (not a comparison). The song I’m about to post is a good song. I hope you like it. I really do. I also hope you like the random picture of the kitchen. Like it. Please.

Dinowalrus – %

Dinowalrus is all about being relevant. I would say they are a highly relevant band with the potential to “explode” all over your faces at some point. Like Times New Puritan (rule addendum: comparisons to bands already named are allowed), I find them hard to describe. So watch them be bros on this Brooklyn rooftop. My life’s dream is to play songs on the roof of a building in Brookland. Brookland. Yeahhh, Brookland.

Das Racist – Shut Up, Dude

Das Racist is fantastic. If you like hip hop, you’ll like Das Racist or I’ll kick a family member you love in the shins. Haha, not really. But they are more clever than I will ever be, so I defer to them on all issues where rhyme and reason are concerned (ie, life). Their general advice is: smoke weed and eat at the combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell, if you can find it. I’ve never done either of those things, so my life is a failure in the eyes of one Indian man and one Mexican man. I hope that won’t impair my getting hired by them in the future. Shorty said. The mixtape was put out by Das Racist for free, so go get it. It’s on Stereogum somewhere, just search their name. It’s 5 AM, I’m too tired to do it.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Beat the Devil’s Tattoo

I feel like this is a “bad CD name.” I’m not sure I would be comfortable telling relevant alt bros I liked a CD with a name like “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo.” I think they should have come up with a better name. I dunno, though. I’m not a name expert. Anyway, if you like the *edit* and *edit*, you’ll probably like BRMC because people say they sound just like *edit* and *edit*. I think critics are programmed to say that BRMC sounds like these bands. It’s in the music reviewer guidebook. You could, say, compare them to a lesser-known band like *edit*, but, while you would gain extra cred, people would argue with you and tell you they sound more like *edit* because that’s what all the other critics say. You could even compare them to people like *edit* and say, “But the band cites this guy as an influence too! They aren’t just *edit* clones!” But you would be shouted down because music experts are never wrong.

I don’t even know what goes on this video. I think the guy from Swervedriver or the band that did that terrible video with the animated rabbit has a midlife crisis and the band plays music over it. Still sounds pretty good. My favorite CD of theirs after Howl. Apparently some people are upset there is a girl in the band now. Why are people so afraid of boobs?

Posted: April 13th, 2010
Comments: No Comments.

Hi guys, I just got back from a Third Eye Blind concert. Man, that was so wicked fresh. And in this context, “wicked fresh” means “terrible spectacle of humanity.” I mean, it felt a little like stepping into a natural history museum. I think I even saw a mammoth on stage next to the band as part of an Ice Age diorama. There were people in the audience who looked like they walked out of a Boy Meets World casting call. But man, let me tell you, this stuff was real. It was ’90s real, man.

The ’90s were a disturbing and misremembered (often dangerously so) time. That I caught Third Eye Blind on their Help! We Wrote Songs About Graduating but Look Where that Got Us?!?!?¡ tour is in itself a little miraculous, given that I have no legs and should have been, by virtue of my leglessness, unable to even attend the show. But I had a dream.

See, people from my generation really love the ’90s. It was a time of no responsibility, because we were children. So were our parents, because baby boomers are eternal children of Satan. It was just a really childish time in general — a time when people got paid ridiculous money to design shitty looking websites and it was okay to wear absurd turtlenecks. I hear jokes about oral sex were still hilarious then, but I am going to leave that up to historians in future years to sort out. Who knows, maybe Carlos Mencia could have won the Nobel Peace Prize if it was still 1996. Fortunately, we’ll never have to find out; Carlos Mencia died this morning. Oh, and it’s no longer 1996.

But anyhow, I saw this Third Eye Blind show. It’s hard to put into words exactly what seeing a Third Eye Blind show is like, because it’s so cringe inducing that every word I will type from here on out will be followed by you, the reader, going, “Christ, they really did that? No one in the audience rolled their eyes?” You’re just gonna have to believe me on this stuff, because no technology dated after 2001 was allowed into the venue (ie, good D-SLRs, camera phones). I have no “proof” or “facts” to back up anything I am about to say, but that’s okay because I’m not the one who has to look at your mom every night. The review itself is in a block quote because I originally published it at the Rolling Stone, where I am a contributing editor.

There I was at a Third Eye Blind show. Wow, did people really once drop acid for this shit? Here I was listening to some dweeb named Stephan Jenkins up on stage. He had one of those dude ponytails where it looks like his hair is a plaster cast. You know? I know. It’s like someone compressed all his hair flat on the top of his head and then gave him a ponytail. He was telling us how important it is not to kill yourself if you want to make it in life or some shit, I don’t know. Given how the economy is these days, I felt like I’d be lucky to get a job where I stabbed myself repeatedly in the face with various sharp implements — the employment equivalent of seeing a Third Eye Blind show — if this whole “music journalism” thing didn’t work out.

As Jenkins (that’s really his last name) went on and on, it hit me. It. It hit me. His penis. I don’t know if he has some sort of telescopic attachment or what (I think most men would need one, because I was several rows back), but his penis hit me on the arm. Not the face, thank God, but the arm. It was a humiliating event because I was at the concert with several friends and fellow professional journalists. And speaking of professionalism, Mr. Jenkins, it is not professional to slap your audience members with your dick. Of course, this is a man who once may or may not have said, “God dammit, the Holocaust never happened, so stop talkin’ to me about it.”

Shortly after you regain your senses upon having been touched with a man’s penis, you begin to wonder what just happened to you. Maybe it was fake. Maybe it was Jenkins testing the waters regarding a future Ozzy cover band career. So many thoughts flowing your head at once, but what can you really do? A man has just touched you with his reproductive organ.

Oh! I know what you can do. You can walk out. I’m a human being, I don’t have to take this immature ’90s shit.

Sorry person who reads this, I really do try to avoid getting political here. It’s not very interesting, I doubt I have an original political idea in my head, and I’m not particularly qualified to expound on things with which I have little to no experience.

That said, I’m not sure I understand this gem about a feud between anarchists and tea partiers. When I think about it, it seems like anarchists and the tea partiers occupy a similar level of unreality and cognitive dissonance found in few places outside of high school honors philosophy classes (do such things even exist? The idea keeps me up at night, as it’s probably my own little version of hell).

Maybe I’m daft, but this statement from an anarchist strikes me as making little to no sense:

“If the tea party movement takes over this country they will really hurt poor people by getting rid of social programs like food stamps, unemployment benefits, disability benefits, student aid, free health care, etc.”

Um, I’m sorry. Where do those benefits come from, Jello? Do they magically appear out of thin air, or are they benefits granted by, uh, the government? I’m no expert on anarchy, but I was under the impression the whole point was desire for the elimination of government. Here’s a definition provided by the US History Encyclopedia, you know, that bastion of tea party sympathy:

It is fitting that the word “anarchism” derives from anarkhia, the Greek word for “nonrule,” for that is what anarchists essentially espouse: the eradication of government in favor of a natural social order. A libertarian variant of socialism, the ideals of anarchy date back at least as far as the eighteenth century. Elements of anarchic thought were evident in the seeds of the American Revolution and Thomas Jefferson’s writings often hinted at anarchist thinking.

Now, I know that, like with everything, there are subgroups of whackos who are different than what the dictionary definition says. You got your anarcho-capitalists and socialist anarchists and anarchy in the UK, and that’s all fine. Maybe these anti-tea party anarchists are part of the pro-government strain of anarchy that’s becoming so hip with the youth lately. Like I said, I’m not an expert.

But that’s not even really the greatest part of the piece. My favorite comes up when some Angry White Male™ has to overcompensate for his mother’s inability to breastfeed him as a child with threats of carrying a concealed weapon to these rallies. Like really dude, what happened to you as a kid that made you feel the need to act like such a bully?

Whoa, big man on campus, fat, hairy, gun-toting hick takes gun to tea party! What was once an Onion-esque headline has now become the political norm. Fuck, I don’t even know. What are these anarchists going to do? Call you names? And then you’re going to pull out your little Red Rider BB Gun and wave it in the air like you just don’t care?

Then I realized the article was posted on April 1st and a spark of hope burst forth.

Well-known racist/assassin duo Matt and Kim have apparently inspired Erykah Badu’s latest video. I guess it’s NSFW if you work for the Secret Service or State Department. Might be off limits in the CIA too.

A brief synopsis: the video begins by saying it was “INSPIRED BY MATT AND KIM.” Now, that got me to wondering. Matt and Kim are incestuous lovers, whose twin eerie and calcium-lacking bodies haunt my dreams nightly. What could Erykah possibly be trying to tell us?

hay gais is my font centered rite... O WELL AT LEAST I DIDN'T KILL THE PRESIDENT

Then… It hit me! We’ve always heard there had to be a second shooter that fateful day JFK was assassinated. Could it have been that Matt/Kim pulled one trigger while Kim/Matt pulled another? Could it be they have some sort of gun that functions like those two-seater bicycles — a rifle perfectly suited to creepy ass twins/lovers/husbands+wives whose goal is to kill the president with the simultaneous pull of triggers? Should Matt and Kim’s militia be investigated by the FBI? So many questions, so little time! Walk with me, America!

And as the video continues on, we see Erykah Badu in various states of undress. Finally (and I mean “eventually,” not “whoa, been wanting that for awhile”), she gets shot. Murdered in cold blood. Is it because she’s black? Is it because Matt and Kim hate black people? Did their despicable incestuous love drive them to racist propaganda and cause Erykah Badu to feel it necessary to make an artistic statement that practically screamed, “HEY STOP SHOOTING BLACK PEOPLE, MATT AND KIM — YOU GUYS SUCK”?

If Matt and Kim stole the LHC and used it to create a mini-black hole, would they make Erykah Badu disappear?

Recently there have been some news stories concerning this Jihad Jane character. What the liberal lamestream media has failed to report is Jihad Jane’s dangerous co-conspirator: Jihad Joanna.

That’s right, that’s right. Joanna Newsom is a fucking terrorist. Joanna Newsom recently released a nearly three hour long CD, wherein she creates propaganda for terrorists and plots to destroy America. Listen to this and tell me this isn’t terrorism. Fucking tell me it’s not!

PUFF PUFF GIVE 9-11 WAS *MY* JOB MOTHERFUCKERS

You can’t tell me it isn’t, because it is.

Now, someone has to warn America before her pollution can spread. We can’t have another 3 hour long terrorist diatribe circling slsk communities around the world.

This may or may not be known terrorist Joanna Newsome

So what can be done?

Well, my approach is manyfold. First, we must end the War on Drugs. Second, we must bomb Vatican city, destroying their prized collection of harps and sending a message to terrorist sympathizers the world over: we will not spare any harp. Third, we must hunt Jihad Joanna relentlessly, until she is locked safely within a cell in Guantanamo. I am not normally an advocate for suspending the habeas corpus rights of young harpists, but I am for suspending the habeas corpus rights of young terrorist harpists. Finally, and I think most drastic of these actions, I would have every person who owns a copy of her terrorist paean sterilized.

I realize that this action may seem over the top. I realize it may seem frightening. But fellow Americans, I do not mean to create fear in your hearts. I mean to create awareness. I wish you all could have the clarity of insight to know that Jihad Joanna plans to destroy America and all that we hold dear. I, for one, will not allow this to happen. Lock and load, real America. Lock and load.

P.S.

Firebombing of Renaissance fairs will begin tomorrow at noon.

Glenn Beck has been made fun of for many things. Just tonight I read that he is a terrorist because he calls people fascists all the time. While I’m not sure I follow that logic, there are other things I don’t follow. In particular, I don’t follow Glenn Beck’s style of analogy.

I first noticed Glenn Beck made terrible analogies when I heard him compare many different things to a scenario in which a fictional person (maybe terrorist Glenn Beck) set someone’s grandmother on fire. It made no sense and was so bizarre that you had to wonder who could possibly be understanding what the man was trying to say. Do people watch him and sort of nod in agreement as he says that the United States is like a girl being deflowered (ie, raped) by Roman Polanski? Because the man says that. He says it here. It makes no sense. I mean, regardless of whether it’s a fair analogy to come up with anyway, how the hell does the US go from being raped by Roman Polanski to being Roman Polanski cowering in France? That is weird!

Anyway, god dammit, I am no longer interested in writing about this, so here are so more Glenn Beck analogies to boggle at:

http://mediamatters.org/mmtv/201001250030

http://mediamatters.org/mmtv/201001140060

http://mediamatters.org/mmtv/201001200016

http://mediamatters.org/mmtv/200910020013

http://mediamatters.org/mmtv/201001190027