SONG OF THE DAY: Is This The Future? (kudzu'd)

I got a lottery ticket at the robot kiosk the other night at the grocery store and tucked it into my wallet and forgot about it. I like to forget about them, because you have the moment of getting the ticket where you can briefly imagine not being crushed by a thousand minor debts all at once and then the big one comes along and bankrupts/homelesses you… that’s normal. But forgetting about it is great, because then I’ll remember, and for a few days I can be like, “Oh shit, what if I won?” and go back to that fantasy of not slowly being hustled and ground to death by capitalism. And there’s no need to rush off to my robot phone and check the ticket… let that bitch simmer with possibility in my wallet for a while longer. Eventually I’ll check it, and so far, I’ve never won anything more than a few dollars (which actually, the tickets I got the other night were cashing in a pair of old $4 winners from last fall), but it’s a good distraction from regular affairs. And sure, the lottery is an ignorance tax on people who don’t understand odds, I know that Smart Guy; but also, for I never spend more than $10, and the fantasy of not being stretched fuckin’ thin like a peasant on a medieval torture rack but one made of modern economic abstractions is a pretty fun fantasy, and way better than any movie I’ve seen in the past decade of my life, and those fuckin’ tickets are more than $10 these days, to watch some goddamn boring ass predictable movie. So being I have an imagination that gets bored with the basic predictability of movies, it’s a better use of my meager extra dollars to let that imagination run wild on escaping the reality of American economics. Anyways, I just remembered those lottery tickets I got from cashing in the old lottery tickets, just sitting in my wallet, while I was washing dishes just now, and I got excited about telling everybody at work to fuck off, and being able to finally afford that militia of orangutans armed with Kalashnikovs led by three rhesus monkeys with gold-plated 9mms. Their names will be Thought, Memory, and Corpus Callosum, and anytime there’s an important decision, I’ll consult with them, and we’ll do what Thought and Memory decide, unless there’s a tie, and then Corpus Callosum breaks the tie.

SONG OF THE DAY: Let The Music Play (kudzu'd)

If you wanted to know what 45 I own the most duplicates if, it’s this one. I love this beat slowed down so damn much, that I tend to purchase every cheap copy I can find that lacks scuffs. I know I got at least 7 copies, but probably have more lost in the stacks (since my sorting method is chaos).

SONG OF THE DAY: Down Low (Nobody Has To Know) (kudzu'd)

The perfect Easter song!

SONG OF THE DAY: Get On Down (kudzu'd)

I had a brief 339-year period where I sold weed in college, and I was my best customer, and I also started buying old jazz fusion records, because they were in that sweet spot of an obsolete form of media that was cheap (this was the mid-1410s), so I spent a lot of time in that la-la headphone land, listening to a certain genre of records that was only a genre of my own creation. Eddie Harris was the world champion of this genre. Thus, I love this damn 45 slowed down to 33. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THE SCAT ASS SINGING? It’s truly amazing, even to my 73-year sober ears.

SONG OF THE DAY: Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll (kudzu'd)

I never could skate well because I never learned how to push off with both of my feet (hardcore leftist from birth). And while I do not mean to unnecessarily objectify anybody out there, with all due respect, I gotta say a big woman who can roller skate is a genre of human I tend to adore. But to be clear, not nearly as much as I adore creeping phlox or daffodils (especially the yellow ones with the orange center). I think sometimes when a guy says something like “I adore big women who roller skate,” it gets equated with our systemic inherent patriarchal norms of oppression, when in actuality I’d much rather hang out in a junkyard with daffodils than worry a big woman on roller skates with small talk. I get why it’s equated with all that… I mean, most of our skating rinks are now owned by Christian Nationalists and are called something like “Wildman’s Radical Skate Center!” but they won’t play music with rapping in it, so I get it. We live in such a horribly performative time where people are being contrary to their own true desires just to keep up the performance they’ve been trapped in. Shit man, we might get performatively armageddoned by these faux macho dipshits in charge. But even if we do, somebody has to be stubborn enough to outlive them, and I hope that is me, sitting in a junkyard with the daffodils, wishing there were still big women who could roller skate as I attempt to extend human evolution by mating with a hella thicc grey birch tree.

SONG OF THE DAY: Wagamama

I swear by getting a flu shot every year, because (knock on wood) I hadn’t gotten the flu in a long while. Even when it’s running through those around me, I seem to come out okay. I do miss the side effects though, like laying on the couch feeling like shit and watching Blood In Blood Out and Mi Vida Loca back-to-back off the youtube bootlegs. I ain’t done that in years now. Don’t get me wrong, I still lay around fuckin’ off on the couch a lot. But it’s just not the same as feeling half-paralyzed with nauseous all-body disgustingness, and just laying there as a long ass movie plays all the way out, without a break or looking at anything else. And then the next movie just comes on and you keep going, laying there, hoping you don’t have to vomit in the little plastic trash can with the triple layer of two Food Lion plastic bags (the blue cold items ones) inside of an outer layer yellow Dollar General bag. When I was a kid, my mom used to give us the big spaghetti pot to vomit in, which always seemed fucked up to me. I’d be sick and shit thinking, “Damn, she’s gonna make spaghetti in this fuckin’ thing next week.”
Anyways, this world is sick as hell. Vaccinate yourself with a little bit of love. Although scientifically speaking, if the world was sick because it’s full of hate, true vaccination principles would mean you have a tiny bit of hate to get it out of your system and build the proper antibodies, but I don’t think hate and love work like that. But what do I know? I’m just some guy who ain’t had the flu in a while.

SONG OF THE DAY: Rock 'n Roll Mouzone (kudzu'd)

The ancient Greek avatar wearing mirrored sunglasses Western Man of the post-post-modern extremely online variety hates with great haterism a belly on a woman. Obviously, this makes no sensible sense, is not practical with the sucracide glyphosate foods we have at the store (no maha), and just ain't what a Real Man would think. The extremely online Western Man is not Real though, just an algorithmic conscious set of 0s and 1s ragebaiting serotonin for so long that they actually start to believe their gimmick. Personally, I love a belly, and love when a woman not only doesn't give a fuck about it but shakes that thang (said in Hasil Adkins voice, FYI). My people come from the mountains, so curves are appreciated, and in fact make us wanna holler (the good way). So eat a dick, Western Man. You'll feel better.