RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Sunday, November 16

NFL WK 11: AFC North & West teams


#1: PITTSBURGH STEELERS (6-3, 3rd overall) - The Steelers are a beat-up team, especially on the offensive line, which means Ben Roethlisberger might be broken in two within a couple of weeks. Against the Redskins, Byron Leftwich did alright, and might do well trying to prove himself one last time, much like Charlie Batch used to do for the Steelers. I have been banking in the fantastical footballs with Mewelde Moore, so much so that I’m pretty disappointed Fast Willie Parker might be actually playing a regular amount again this week. The Steelers are probably, even after losing to the Colts, the second best team in the AFC, in what’s a pretty down year for the NFL, because if we could put the ‘08 Steelers into the middle of ‘07 AFC in simulation world, they probably wouldn’t even make the playoffs.

#2: BALTIMORE RAVENS (6-3, 10th overall) - Joe Flacco is living the tiniest little corner of young millionaire success you could ever dream of. New Jersey high school kid who slipped through major college recruitment processes, and ends up in neighboring Delaware playing as a Blue Hen. Somehow makes enough I-AA noise to become a top QB prospect in an era when teams spend high draft picks on QBs that never pan out from major colleges, much less from lesser-known ones. There really is no one else to be the Ravens QB as Steve McNair is retired and Troy Smith is one of those aforementioned flame-out QBs from a high profile college team. So Joe Flacco becomes a rookie starting quarterback. And the Ravens go crazy beyond expectations, as the defense plays like it always has, and the offense is able to do more than just not fuck up when necessary. Still, I have a hard time believing a young kid named Flacco from Jersey can maintain such success. There seems to be Lifetime Channel flavored tragedy awaiting him. Maybe not this year, but it will happen at some point.

#3: SAN DIEGO CHARGERS (4-5, 19th overall) - Man, what a great year to be a misanthropic Redskins fan. The Cowboys are self-imploding, and Norv Turner is proving beyond any shadow of a doubt that he might be one of the worst head coaches in the history of the NFL. Not obviously bad enough to get fired mid-season, but definitely the most underachieving mediocre waste of collected talent coordinator there ever has been. I hope Andy Reid retires to help his kids through rehab and the Eagles hire Norvell after he gets fired in San Diego.

#4: DENVER BRONCOS (5-4, 22nd overall) - It’s really hard to believe any division in the NFL could be worse than the AFC West when the Broncos are in first place. They have a white fullback named Peyton Hillis (a frat brother’s name if there ever was one) starting at tailback. I guess they did resign Tatum Bell, which hopefully will lead to an entertaining parade of Broncos cast-offs, who Shanahan discarded like empty cereal boxes because it was his system, not the back, that made it work. On a related note, I hope Travis Henry gets convicted on federal charges and ends up in Leavenworth with Michael Vick. That would make the evil semi-pro guards vs. upstart got-nothing prisoners football game really interesting. Maybe Matt Jones can fuck up real good so Leavenworth could get a good receiver too, to cover all the skill positions. (I love that term “skill position” as if linemen don’t do shit. Why don’t you just say “handsome people position, where the guys look good and are fast and people like them, as opposed to the big, ugly fuckers we have everywhere else”?)

#5: CLEVELAND BROWNS (3-6, 23rd overall) - The Brady Quinn era has begun, on a night time basis only thus far. I am pretending he only played one game because I never got aruond to finishing this shit this past week, but I'm gonna wrap it up and predate post it using blogospheric brave new worldliness. I bet this week Brady Quinn has a much tougher time, but does well enough for them to just sneak out a win against Buffalo, probably on like a 56 yard field goal or some shit like that.

#6: OAKLAND RAIDERS (2-7, 27th overall) - Al Davis is getting more and more entertaining, cutting DeAngelo Hall (only after paying him 8 million bucks for eight games). I am hoping he will become more and more crazy and gets to do whatever stupid assed reality show the NFLs does on whatever cable show next year. Not that I'd see it, but I'm sure I'd read little things about it inside the internets, then I would pretend I knew it for myself. That's the great thing about the internet... it allows you to act like you're not the fucking ignorant piece of shit you really are.

#7: CINCINNATI BENGALS (1-8, 28th overall) - Man, Chad Johnson became obsolete pretty shortly this year, didn't he? And I think this is a forced contract year where he was probably hoping to get enough of a contract next year to have a gold-plated shark tank beside a 1967 postcard-worthy pool. Probably the stupid Dan Snyder will sign him next year. I think they were trying to trade half their draft for him this past year anyways. Meanwhile, I think quietly and without much notice, T.J. Houshmanzadeh has become my favorite non-Redskin foozball player. The Hindu power ponytail, arm tattoos, and overbearing personality on offense. He's so dreamy.

#8: KANSAS CITY CHIEFS (1-8, 29th overall) - Tyler Thigpen has become undiscovered halfway decent talent extraordinaire, at least when it comes to the fantastical footballs. When a QB catches TD passes in the NFL, washed-up fratboys nationwide will rejoice and sound like Jim Rome inside their own halfwit thoughts. Again, I hope this is all part of Herm Edwards master plan to eventually have nobody on his team with more than 4 years experience, trading all older quality veterans for multiple draft picks. Madden '03 is the best version of that game ever, and that was the method for success there. Never sign a free agent over 30.

Saturday, November 15

S14: 2008 MLB Worst Payroll-Per-Victory Rates

I used to every year in my zine The Confederate Mack do payroll per victory for baseball teams and rank them, because I find it amazing how much player payroll is spent per winning game. It seems impossible to me that anybody could make money owning a pro baseball team, excepting those few teams who have like 3000 different styles of their baseball cap worn by fans and urban youth galore. So I did it again this year, and here are the worst 14 teams, if you consider worst being spending the most money per victory achieved. I count post-season as well as regular season in this nonsense.
#1: New York Yankees ($2,349,231.20 per victory) - The Yankees have pretty much always finished worst on this list ever since they took over A-Rod, and before then they always finished second behind the Rangers, who has a high payroll and still sucked. I used to frequent this dork message board where there was a prominent guy who was a Yankees fan and he’d call anti-Yankees fans cockroaches and shit, acting like they were haters. But come on man, fuck the Yankees, buying up everybody they can. It’s so ridiculous that you know it won’t work, and this past season where they didn’t even make the playoffs, yet like half their starting line-up got rich enough to buy other Major League Baseball teams, it’s too fucking funny. Then stupid assed Junior Steinbrenner gets all bitchy about how the playoff teams are decided, acting like it’s not because they didn’t make the playoffs for the first time in a while but because he cares about the sport. If the Yankees cared about the sport, they might try to not drive up the price of every player who might be halfway decent, thus rendering most teams unable to sign a high profile free agent. Then they all end up in the Bronx, where they are poisoned by the cancer of contentedness, knowing they’re not just a baseball player anymore but in NYC, and could end up fucking Madonna (like A-Rod) or Mariah Carey (like Jeter) or something. I can understand it being hard to give a fuck about playing a stupid game like baseball when you’re trying to score some pretty famous notches on the gold-trimmed mahoganey headboard of your king-sized bed.
#2: Seattle Mariners ($1,928,958.72 per victory) - They weren't that good either, outside of Ichiro Suzuki, who must be making a bazillion dollars in order to explain this hefty payroll.
#3: Detroit Tigers ($1,860,610.76 per victory) - The Tigers, not too long ago, were one of those young scrappy teams that made the playoffs with a relatively low payroll. Instead of sticking to their secret genius plans and dumping off all their good players for hot prospects, to keep cycling in unknown talent and compete, they actually resigned all their good young players, as well as a few high profile free agents. This has led to absolutely nothing but false hopes and finishing third on this nefarious list.
#4: New York Mets ($1,548,240.18 per victory) - As much as I hate the Yankees and their fans, it's just as fun to laugh at the misery of the Mets, who don't even have all those World Series rings to flash at me to justify their ridiculousness.
#5: Atlanta Braves ($1,421,745.60 per victory) - The Braves have come back to earth, finally not having like 3 of the best 6 pitchers in the game at once, which carried them to a decade's worth of Divisional titles, but only one World Series ring. My dad always liked the Braves, and I grew up a Giants fan, so I've hated the fucking Braves forever. Pulling up their Triple-A team from Richmond, which was a good afternoon place to go get drunk in the sunshine, even though I didn't do it hardly enough, makes me not like them even further.
#6: Los Angeles Dodgers ($1,347,597.00 per victory) - Had a pretty good run after getting Man-Ram there at the end of the season. I was actually rooting for them in the playoffs, as I like Manny Ramirez. Baseball players are such full of shit assholes, it's nice to see some guy just be like fuck it, which of course is an affront to the purity of baseball to the types of assholes who obsess over it. If he ends up signing the contract the Dodgers offered him, I would expect them to be far higher on this list next year, regardless of how well their season goes.
#7: Chicago White Sox ($1,346,548.13 per victory) - Really, the only thing good about the White Sox was Ozzie Guillen's wacky ass antics, but after hearing that "psssh" soundbite about 3000 times in the two hours of Jim Rome I've listened to this year, I don't even like him. There are people out there who excitedly listen to the Mike & Mike show in the morning, and then Jim Rome in the afternoon, and they think all of it is smart and funny. I hope all those people get the bird flu.
#8: Boston Red Sox ($1,320,693.42 per victory) - Honestly, being they consistently have the second highest payroll, by far, in Major League Baseball, the fact they are successful enough to fall as low as 8th on this list is impressive. I really don't mind the Red Sox, as they used to be funny that first time they won the World Series with a bunch of longhaired freaks and closet degenerates. Now, they've moved more towards that clean cut whiteboy image which probably matches their fan base better, but doesn't seem as probably to win another ring. And man, I can't tell you how much that Papelbon kid freaks me out, with his mouth always looking like an anus.
#9: Chicago Cubs ($1,220,060.13 per victory) - I enjoy seeing the Cubs curse continue year after year, because it's so comedically perfect to see baseball fans suffer. Also, I am in full solidarity with goats, so not letting a straight up regular acting bro bring his goat to the baseball game is an unforgivable offense, and they are right to never win a World Series again for as long as stupid baseball is played professionally.
#10: Los Angeles Angels ($1,180,359.73 per victory) - Being not a baseball fan except extremely casually, the Angels are off my radar. I know they have a few really good players, really ugly ass red uniforms, pretend they are from L.A. proper, and used to be the team of The Black Jew Rod Carew. Beyond that, fuck ‘em. Oh yeah, Bobby Grich too, which used to be my rap name.
#11: San Diego Padres ($1,169,485.97 per victory) - This will surely go down once they dump Jake Peavy for minor league scraps.
#12: St. Louis Cardinals ($1,158,423.83 per victory) - The Cardinals and Cubs being blood feud rivals is interesting to me, because I would not be too bothered if both team planes crashed into each other in the sky. Then again, there’d be a bunch of corny assed black patches on baseball hats and jerseys and all sorts of dorky remembrances where pretentious dicks like Peter King and Rick Reilly and Bob Costas wax melodramatically about it all.
#13: Toronto Blue Jays ($1,137,138.37 per victory) - I am not sure in the translation of dollars with the world economy in a shambles, but I would figure since the Canuck economy has not gotten retarded with speculative lechers destroying it like in American, that maybe this figure may not be perfectly correct. Although, I guess all the info I found was in straight up U.S. dollars, and they can convert that shit however they want. Were I to hit the lottery this weekend, I’d buy gold bars and machine guns, and hire a bunch of Mexicans to hang out on the bottom of the mountain I buy with the machine guns, keeping the riffraff out. Mexicans are loyal as fuck, and hard workers to boot. That’s why I won’t hire a white dude anymore.
#14: San Francisco Giants ($1,063,812.50 per victory) - Haha, Barry Zito. I was more than glad to abandon the Giants as my team last year when the Nationals rolled out at a new team full of crazy negroes like Lastings Milledge, Dmitri Young, and Elijah Dukes, in a new stadium that wasn’t even completed yet. When I was 8, the first little league team I played on was called the Giants and I thought if I was good enough, I would move all the way up to the pro Giants. Man, I was a naive little fucker then. That Giants thing got me to trade for tons of Giants baseball cards back in the day, including a Dave Winfield card when he was with the Padres to this kid named Jay who was a Yankees fan for 25 random Giants cards. The Barry Bonds years really tested my tacit approval of a team in a sport I barely follow outside of the newspapers, but I stuck with it because I’m one of those fucking dorks that puts some sort of pride in being blindly loyal to teams you have absolutely no fucking physical attachment to outside of your own retarded emotions. But fuck them now. I’m a Nationals man. Well, at least once in a while during the summer when I need to halfway care about something to read in the paper’s sports section when there’s still 15 minutes left in my lunch hour... Who am I kidding? I’m self-employed. I regularly take two hour lunches, and still bill motherfuckers for it. Hahahaha.

Friday, November 14

100 VINYLZ: #80 - Gratitude 2xLP by Earth, Wind & Fire


(1975, Legacy Records)
This was one of my folks’ records that I copped when I went away to college. They were divorced, and dad only kept like 30 records, and mom didn’t even have a turntable, so fuck it. When I lived on Grace Street’s 1200 block (Richmond‘s scenic transvestite prostitution block), I’d make loops of nice breaks off records using a dual cassette tape player of my bitch girlfriend’s. I made a ton of loops off this double LP. Part of it is live, and part of it is studio (I think), and it’s really the only Earth, Wind & Fire I’ve ever heard that held my interest even remotely. I used to jam loops off this enough that I bought five or six other Earth, Wind & Fire albums, expecting more of the same, only to be disappointed each and every time.
After Sunz of Man released that terrible reworking of “Shining Star” a few years back, I started to play this double LP again fairly regularly. But honestly, I haven’t put it on a turntable in years. I think it’s in the sideways stack of albums in the corner of the front room that I tore the walls up to put new drywall in and paint and get all tight and crispy for a new bedroom. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, so maybe I should work on that some more. Or I could just go sit by the river and wait for trains to come by and see if they have any interesting graffiti on them.
But yeah, I’ve been meaning to dig this record out for a while now, to see if there’s some good funk to fuck around with. It was one of my parents few soul albums, and I guess once you get into soul a little deeper, Earth, Wind & Fire is not the first thing you go for. It doesn’t really conjure up baby-making music, so much as middle-aged, successful black folks dancing in church clothes at a soul food buffet. Or something you’d hear at the public lake where black people go to wax their cars on Sunday afternoons.

(frybread) Goat Rights vs. Property Rights

I was sitting around yesterday, about to log onto the stupid internet and waste twenty more minutes of my life, with no one else home, when I figured, fuck it, I might as well go for a walk to the end of the road. The wife and kids would be coming home from ballet class, so I’m sure they’d pass me somewhere along the way, because I didn’t really mean to walk for a couple of hours.
I enjoy the concept of walking through wherever you live, with the attitude that even if you drive a road a thousand times, you don’t really see it as closely as you would by walking it. I got past the first deep gulley where some kid died hitting the guard rail a few summers ago and there’s still a plastic bouquet of flowers in the curve. That made my heart pump a bit, not that I’m fat, but I could definitely use dropping a few pounds, and reconditioning myself. By the time I went through the second deep gulley dip in the road, going up to the old commune set back off the road where the old couple brings us dumpster dove bread sometimes, I was in the mode and not huffing at all. It was all overcast like it might start raining again any moment, and cool, unless the sun busted through to make it too hot every now and then. I got up towards the end of the road where the farm pastures start, and laughed at all the young black cows staring at me like I was gonna shoplift from them. The opposite side of the road, the pasture rose above the road about nine or ten feet along a bank, and I could hear a goat freaking out. All my goats are dead, but I know that sound. Something was fucked up. I pulled myself up the bank and saw for some reason a little square of fenced out land in the pasture (probably some phone line bullshit or something) and two goats had gotten their heads stuck in the fence squares trying to get at some better varieties of weeds. I looked through the fence and thought, “Fuck.” It wasn’t my land to be tromping around on, nor my goats to be concerned about. Plus, I didn’t need no wigged out goats goring me up accidentally with their horns.
So I walked the last half mile to the end of the road, thinking the family would be along shortly and I’d just ride past it on the way home. Or if they didn’t come (which they didn’t), they’d be loose all ready and okay, ignoring the obvious that goats are retarded creatures (that’s why they’re called nature’s presidents), and can’t get themselves unstuck, and that’s why you’re not supposed to use square fencing with bigger openings like what this pasture had for goats to graze inside of. Almost back to that spot, I heard the goats still freaking out, so I walked through some woods to where an entry gate was, and not only were those two still stuck, but there was a third one stuck on the front fence line. By this point I had kind of figured this was a test. When I still had my goats, I did a lot of hanging back with them in their pen, and they’re pretty chill animals. But before getting back, I came to the conclusion my respect of arbitrary property markers was pretty stupid, and exactly what faggot Republicrat/Demolihicans would want me to respect. And it seemed silly to leave three living goats to be stuck, hoping whatever other human claimed ownership of them would come along to save them before they died. So I jumped the gate, and went in to the first goat. He was big, but smaller than the ones I had. But mine had had their horns burned off, which is a decent idea to keep from getting fucked up, and doesn’t hurt them when their young kids just like circumcising baby boys is painless. (Yeah, I know.) When I got near him, he was freaking the fuck out, trying to jump through the little square to the outside to get away from me. I thought he was gonna break his fucking neck before I could help him. So I calmed him down by petting him for a minute, then angled his head until the tip of the horns went back through the same square he was stuck in. Then I had to work his neck backwards a little, and he gave it a yank and was free and did this weird bounding back-and-forth wobble hop run thing that goats do when happy and tweaked.
The second one went way easier, being smaller, and a pretty friendly little fellow. He was actually the one calling out when I passed by the first time. He got out and took off. The last one ended up being the hardest one because every time I got near the back of his head to try and move his horns out, he’d flip out in paranoia mode and twist his whole body around so he could look at me. I even think he snipped at me a couple of times, but I’ve never seen a goat bite anything other than bushes, so that probably wasn’t the case. I had to do the chill petting thing with him, and it took some goat head twisting to get his horns pointed back through in the right direction, to the point I thought I might end up breaking his neck getting him out. Lots of times, that’s how goats die, is from broken necks, and then they just lay there dying, their BWAAAs getting more and more feeble. He finally pulled out and took off quick, to join the other hundred goats halfway across the field. Behind me, two miniature horses with long blonde hair had meandered over and were looking at me like, “What the fuck is up with this dude?” All I did was leave, not stepping in cow shit once, and walk the rest of the way home. It was then, passing one of the speckled steel guard rails in the curves of one of the gulleys, that I was gonna start carrying big, thick Sharpies and go on these walks and write things real tiny in the curve of guard rails, where no one will ever notice it driving past, and probably the only people who do see it will be the Mexicans cutting the grass along the roadside for the state, and they won’t be able to read my scrawly English.

S14: Best College Football Teams

Figured I'd do one more best football teams list since Division II playoffs are about to start, and Division III and I-AA aren't too far behind. I'm not sure about NAIA, it being too far off the radar, but I'll probably find out as I look up stupid little things to mention along with these listings. Most likely in a couple weeks, once all college regular seasons have ended, I'll do a final shitty team list, and then a final best team list after the Division I National Championship spectacle, which I guess is like the second week of January now. Fucking ridiculous. But here's the best college football teams, simple criteria of least amount of losses (meaning none pretty much) with average margin of victory breaking the ties.

#1: Mount Union College Purple Raiders (9-0, 39.89 average margin of victory) - The Purple Raiders faced fellow unbeaten team Otterbein last weekend in a Division III showdown for control of the Ohio Athletic Conference, and Mount Union smoked the #12 Cardinals of Otterbein 49 to 20, solidifying their own #1 ranking, and setting them up to steamroll through the Division III playoffs, yet again.

#2: Morningside College Mustangs (9-0, 39.89 average victory) - Morningside will be taking part this weekend in what the NAIA refers to as The Game, against Sioux Falls (see #5 below) in South Dakota, where Sioux Falls has won 32 straight games. They've also won 72 of their last 73 conference games (both teams are members of the Great Plains Athletic Conference), with the only loss coming to this very Morningside team in 2005.

#3: University of Saint Francis Cougars (9-0, 39.11 average victory) - The #3 ranked team in NAIA football has a showdown on the road in Chicago with their Mid-States Football Association rival, Saint Xavier, this Saturday. The winner will go to the NAIA playoffs. The NAIA actually signed a deal to have their national championship on TV this year, although it's whatever fucked up college sports CBS-affiliated station there is inside the cables and satellite signals nowadays. But it'll be on TV.

#4: Monmouth College Fighting Scots (10-0, 36.30 average victory) - Division III the Fighting Scots fucked up Knox College last week, to retain the Bronze Turkey, whatever the fuck that is. I love all those little obscure ass regional trophies like that. Hampden-Sydney College plays Randolph-Macon, and that's like the third oldest rivalry in college football, and it's little shit ass private colleges, but them whiteboys get geeked up for that shit. Congrats to the Fighting Scots though, for winning their version of the Super Bowl, and now they wait for the Division III playoffs to start next week.

#5: University of Sioux Falls Cougars (9-0, 36.22 average victory) - Sioux Falls is a perennial NAIA powerhouse, ranked #2 right now going into the aforementioned showdown with Morningside, and in their nine games, have only given up 26 points this season. The Cougars struggled last week against shitty little Dordt (who has shown up on the worst version of this list both times) and only won 34 to 2 on the road. Perhaps even in the small pond of NAIA unknown college football, teams can suffer from looking ahead.

#6: University of Minnesota-Duluth Bulldogs (11-0, 34.45 average victory) - The Northern Sun Intercollegiate Conference champions' regular season ended last week, and they earned a bye through the first week of NCAA Division II playoffs, which get underway this Saturday. In two weeks, they will host their first ever playoff home game against the winner of Wayne State/Chadron State.

#7: Wabash College Little Giants (9-0, 33.78 average victory) - Wabash hosts DePauw University in their 115th meeting, for The Monon Bell this weekend. Wabash is the favorite to win the game as well as the North Coast Conference title, and earn an entry into the Division III playoffs.

#8: Abilene Christian University Wildcats (10-0, 33.70 average victory) - The Wildcats have already won the Lone Star Conference title for the year, wrapping up Division II regular season competition last week by whooping Midwestern State. They got a bye through the first week of the Division II playoffs, and in the second round will host the winner of a game this weekend between Central Washington at West Texas A&M. West Texas's only loss this season came against Abilene Christian in their conference blood feud, so a rematch in the playoffs would be huge. West Texas A&M is probably more known nationally this season for being where Ryan Leaf was bumming painkillers from players.

#9: Millsaps College Majors (9-0, 32.56 average victory) - After beating fellow small college previously undefeated powerhouse Trinity College a couple weeks back, Millsaps should be able to cruise through their regular season finale against cross-town rival (the town is Jackson, Mississippi) Belhaven College this weekend, into the Division III playoffs next week.

#10: Friends University Falcons (9-0, 29.00 average victory) - The past two years, Friends has been Kansas Collegiate Athletic Conference co-champions with Bethel, but this past weekend, they crushed their conference rival, 41-7, to earn a solo championship. Should they power through Saint Mary's this weekend, they will enter the NAIA playoffs as top five team.

#11: Grand Valley State University Lakers (10-0, 28.30 average victory) - Grand Valley State is the #1-ranked team in Division II, and a traditional power at that level. They closed out the regular season by crushing the 25th-ranked Division II team, and got a bye through the first round of the playoffs, being seeded #1, awaiting the winner of this weekend's Ashland/Minnesota State game.

#12: Case Western Reserve University Spartans (9-0, 27.67 average victory) - They can lock up the University Athletic Association title this weekend against Washington University, and probably get into the Division III playoffs as well. The UAA only has four teams. Case Western is 2-0 in conference; Washington U. is 1-1.

#13: Boise State University Broncos (9-0, 25.89 average victory) - Boise State is the infamous BCS crashing team that plays on that ridiculous blue turf, who beat Oklahoma with plays from the 1930s where the dude who scored the winning points proposed to his girlfriend in the end zone afterwards. And here they are again, undefeated, and trying to crash the BCS games, which should be crashed. I find it amazing the biggest argument against a playoff in Division I football is that it would make the regular season games less relevant. I have a solution (internet Div. I playoff solution #3,295,406) that solves that problem and doesn’t make the season too retardedly long either. You keep doing the polls and computer ratings and releasing the BCS bullshit, but all you do is take the top 8 teams that actually win their conference title. Fuck second place teams, even if they’re in the best division on earth. If you’re not the best in your conference, you can’t be the best in the nation. And who the fuck cares if Boise State would finish in 13th place in the SEC? Take the best 8 of the eleven conference champions (or if one of the few independent teams finishes higher in the BCS than four of the conference champions). It’d make the conference title games all the more important, and all the games going up to it more important, because right now a major team could lose a game and still weasel their way into the national title game. I’m gonna email President-Elect Obama a link to this post. Everything’s different now. He’ll listen to me instead of just sending a form letter response.

#14: Texas Tech University Red Raiders (10-0, 25.70 average victory) - I actually watched their game last week against Oklahoma State (I missed the Texas one), and this is a fun ass team to watch. I would be perfectly happy to watch them play in the national title game. It’s like watching Madden football almost, so much so you sort of wish they’d just abandon punting altogether and plan on going for it every fourth down ever.

Friday Love/Hate

I love wearing my dirty assed bright orange stocking hat this time of year, all high up on my head like an old dude from some dirtbag east European country would wear. My grandpa used to wear his like that, and I never could figure out how to do it. Then when I stopped giving a fuck about things like personal appearance, my hat rode up comedically to the top of my head naturally. There's probably a valuable life lesson in that, but I didn't bother to pay attention.

I hate people who talk about taking a cold shower to stifle their sexual urges. I used to live in an apartment that was basically a retard commune, and the only place you could have any pure privacy was in the bathroom, and that's where the best porn mags were, so usually that's where I'd masturbate. Being we never paid bills in a timely manner, half the time we didn't have hot water either, so I learned how easy it is to masturbate in a cold shower's stream. It's actually nice feeling. That tub never drained, and there'd be like two inches of water in it with questionable chunks of things floating in it at all times. You just had to hope it was your questionable chunks of unovaried babies.

100 VINYLZ: #81 - SlaughtaHouse 12” by Masta Ace Incorporated


(1993, Delicious Vinyl Records)
You know, the internet being acting like it's all that and knows everything, but when I was looking up this single, since it's amidst the mass of vinyl out in my cold ass camper, which tends to be off limits during the deep winter months, everything I found on Masta Ace discography listed this single with no mention of "Born to Roll", which is what makes this single so awesome. Understand, I had the "Jeep Ass Nigguh" single, and the original song was great enough. And I was buying a lot of vinyl back then, and Masta Ace was gonna get snatched up every time, being the album this was off of is good start to end (like most Masta Ace shit, which the internet acts like it knows already, but does it really feel it, or does it just perpetuate this "Masta Ace is the shit" persona because everyone else acts like it's supposed to be that way; the internet seems to be on some emperor ain't got no clothes trip a lot of times). And "SlaughtaHouse" was a solid enough song to have the single of, for remixed version and instrumentals because I tended to be the blunt-happy Super Nintendo playing some WWF Royal Rumble type dude who would play some quality instrumentals for like 9 hours in a row back then. But when I bought this single and heard "Born to Roll" for the first time... holy fuck. That was some genre-shattering shit.
Now let me clarify for a second. I'm not trying to get into music dork "Masta Ace bridged the seemingly impossible gap of east coast and west coast, furthered on the Sittin' On Chrome LP, which was notable because of self-destructive tribalism polluting hip hop at the time blah blah fucking blah" meme. I don't care about trends or who did what first or what caused this or that. It's just, as a giant music fan (as opposed to dork which I probably am too, hence this list that I may or may not ever finish by the end of the year like originally planned upon), know good shit as it spikes through my eardrum. Often times there is no explaining it at all. "Jeep Ass Nigguh" in its original form was a pretty top-notch track for that boom bap era on its own, but slowing the pace of it over top that new thick ass bass line on this remix, it was much too much. This was also the golden era of riding ass music, that you could just cruise too, with 808 bumps galore to rattle your side view mirrors as you looked for cops while you sipped on your Mickey's double deuce. But most of that riding music tended to be pornographic (like Too Short) or gangsta as fuck (like pretty much everything else). Just hearing a nice, smooth ass traditional east coast lyricist make a sumthin' 2 ride 2 track was like rounding the corner, bumping into some roller skating chick whose stick of chocolate got in the jar of peanut butter I was eating on while walking around for some reason, and we knew it was perfect together as we tasted it, and we ended up tearing up the bed sheets in the whirlpool room of the Comfort Inn all weekend long.
I don't know why the internet I perused didn't acknowledge "Born to Roll" as the first song on the B-side of this single, before "Saturday Night Live", but it didn't anywhere I looked. Did I get some ultra-rare bullshit by accident back in the day from Willie's (R.I.P.)? I doubt it. Internet just be stupid half the time, full of shit and talking long and loud about everything like it know, but it don't know. Fucking robot nerdland.

Big Nasty Porter


AFFORDABILITY: I actually have no recollection of how much this cost, as I got it at the same time I got that free double deuce of James River Pale Ale. I will figure that into the cost, and also assume since it was a local brewery there for Richmond, it was not as obscene as many 22 ounce bottles of microbrew bullshit can go for. 4 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: It had good enough alcohol content, you could taste it. It was just hard to force it into my throat because of the bitter taste. I came to a realization, which was pretty obvious, but never occurred to me before drinking this. I have always thought I loved a good porter, except there's so many porters that taste like ass to me. This is because most porters taste like chocolate and coffee mixed together into the beer. The only ones I like are just straight up chocolate shit. I drink maybe five cups of coffee a year, and hate people who drink that shit all the time. So the last thing I want to do is have my beer taste like a dirty ass cup of coffee. But I guess that's some folks thing. 1 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Honestly, the label looks like it was designed by a guy who couldn't get into the Marines from New Jersey, who has a Tasmanian devil tattoo on his semi-muscular arm. Lots of primary colors mixed with black, and I guess that's supposed to be striking, but it looks kind of stupid. Props though for the odd shape of the label, tricking your eye into thinking the bottle's actually painted. 2 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Richbrau Brewing Company in Richmond, Virginia. There are two micro spots in Richmond - Legend and Richbrau. Legend was in this shitty ass industrial neighborhood where like five blocks over you could get robbed by crack addicts. Richbrau was in the cobblestone streets of Shockoe Slip, home of big money youthful douchebags. I always assumed Richbrau was a piece of shit place, just because of where it was located in town, although I think I've gotten drunk there a number of times. Did they used to have a bunch of pool tables on the second floor? I don't trust Richbrau though, being it's in Shockoe Slip. Probably some old money assed bitches, finding a money-making hobby for their leisure lifestyle. 2 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: Everything about this did not make me feel good. Cup of coffee beer, with a goofy assed label that made me too self-aware, from a place I don't remember enjoying too much when I lived in Richmond. I guess since then I've had some good friends' bands play there, but that has nothing to do with me firsthand. My experiences were not good, and I didn't enjoy this beer. I can't outright fault it for anything, but I will never probably buy another one. 2 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 2 & 1/5 STARS!

Thursday, November 13

Harpoon Winter Warmer


AFFORDABILITY: A seasonal fauntleroy beer, thus it's not very affordable from a crumbling economy perspective. I think this bitch was like $9 a sixer. 1 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: I will not front, this is one of my favorite fancy fucker beers. When we lived in Oregon Hill after having the first baby, and the godless Hindus ran the neighborhood store every day of the year, I remember both Thanksgiving and Christmas walking the alley the three blocks up there multiple times on both days to get just one more 6-pack of this shit. I think it's probably a myth that fancy beers have higher alcohol content than shit beers, something to make fuckers who aren't rich (like me) wasting extra money on something unnecessarily feel better about their frivolity. But I know, if I could afford it, I'd drink this shit all night long. I actually went out of my way to find this shit, at a new Whole Foods in clusterfucked Short Pump. Anybody who knows me knows how much I hate going in Whole Foods, and most likely were I ever to get mental health care, I'd be on xanax right away to deal with my white knuckle worries I get in such places. Yet I willingly went in to try and find a 6-pack of this when the Kroger by the Home Depot across the street didn't have any when I was buying some new sanding discs. 4 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Simple Christmasy label, makes me feel good. I am trying to stay in simple man mode for this Christmas, ignoring the consumer extravaganza it's become. I've got three kids, two of which are old enough to make a list of like 3000 things they'd like to get, but hopefully we can temper that with some charity work or something. Fuck all this buying everything everywhere. People need to remember how fucking good they have it. Most of this useless shit I end lusting for is just that - useless. Of course, I say all the self-pretentiously while talking about a $9 six-pack of beer I drank. 3 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Harpoon Brewery, of New England fame. The label promises breweries in Boston and another somewhere in Vermont. I'm not much for New England, but I've learned from travelling there, it's not that different from what I know from experience. You just replace Mexicans with Puerto Ricans, and everybody not only actually says all the letters in words, they enunciate them rather sharply, probably because of the cold. 4 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: It fills me with warm feelings for the holidays, whether that be actual holiday or just laying out of work because it's raining, and playing music loudly with the kids dancing around and a crock pot full of pot roast, enjoying my home. Fake Gods bless us, one and all. 5 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 3 & 2/5 STARS!

Wednesday, November 12

100 VINYLZ: #82 - Black Berries 7” by The Isley Brothers


(1969, T-Neck Records)
My wife is a trained herbalologist, doing mad plant science, the corner of the kitchen all crazed up apothecary style with bottles and jars and ointments and bubbling jars of fermented this or that. She is always talking about communicating with plants, which I can respect but haven't really experienced too often at all. But a few summers ago, I started noticing blackberry bushes flowering like crazy. Like everywhere I looked, there they were, and I'm sure they've always been there; I just had never been drawn to them before. This started intense blackberry harvesting on my part, which is hard because the deers and wildlife always snatch them up in the wild as soon as they get ripe. But we had a giant clump of blackberry bush grow in the middle of a yucca plant on the edge of our front yard near the ditch, with sporadic country road traffic, usually just neighbors, but that kept wildlife off the bush. I was getting about a quart of fresh blackberries a day at one point in season, which was great. Then the state came along and chopped the whole thing down, yucca plant and all.
We used to have local VDOT workers cut this road, and they were cool. They'd park their tractors in our side field and would even mow that field for me for not messing with their shit. It was all good. But I guess they started subbing it out and it was just Mexicanos who cut the road, and chopped up all my shit. I called the local office to talk to the manager dude, who we'd talked to before about a shrub conflict with an old bitch bus driver lady as well, who felt we had to cut down trees in our front yard on the off chance she had an accident because someone came around the curve that was marked 25 mph too fast and plow into innocent children, who would be our future. I was jeopardizing America's future by having an untrimmed shrub in my yard. I told him about the dudes cutting my shit up, because I thought he might want to know. He gave me the number of their subcontractor company to try and get money back, but fuck man, the yucca plants were here when we moved in and the blackberries were wild. It wasn't about money no ways, just about dudes chopping down shit that was on my property. He sent out his boys, who measured right-of-way from the center of the road, and not only were the Mexicanos beyond that, they were even more beyond it than I realized, as right-of-way is measured from the center of the road and not the edge. The local office boss guy was cool, and he must have told the subbing company, because I stood around in the yard to make sure to let the Mexicanos know next time, and he didn't even cut near my house, which was good because another spot fronting a pasture they always cut, I had planted a bunch of sunflowers.
Anyways, it was during my blackberry spells, that I was digging in the crates in the basement of Plan 9 in Richmond's Carytown, looking for dollar 45s that seemed halfway worth a shit, when I came across this song. The Isley Brothers are great, but you probably knew that already. Good old school baby-making music, and I have a couple of LPs, but never any singles, especially 45s. And what a good purchase this one was. First off, it's some obscure little label called T-Neck, and the sides are just one long song broken up into two parts, which the Isleys were famous for, but also is classic soul single snazziness. Ron Isley does a little intro about him and his brothers picking blackberries growing up in Cincinnati, and then of course the song goes into euphemism mode, and it's just great shit that is reason 1,309 that I'm an idiot for not having my jukebox fixed yet. I could be playing shit like this in the kitchen with all the lights out and candles lit right now, drinking a homemade pear cider, and trying to convince the old lady to be wearing less clothes at the kitchen table.

Homemade Song of the Week: "Not the Only One" by S.E.P.

I am putting this up even though I am bored with most of the music I have that we've done. I need to get back out in the camper. I need to get all the instrumentals that PSY/OPS thinks sucks from him. I need to start doing some new shit. Wintertime's coming quick, but I'd rather not hibernate at this point. Times are still climactic, even if everyone is gaga for Obama, and shit needs to be happening. Anyways, this song was originally some lyrics I wrote in the camper to record over the instrumental of "Cadillac on 22s" slowed down a chunk of rpms, and I was gonna put it on the new Prolo CD we've been working on, but then one night at PSY/OPS house, throwing shit together at the end of 45s on 33, he played me this beat and I felt like doing something, so I just used the lyrics I had written for the fake "Cadillac on 22s" song (which I originally called "Virginia Back Roads") for the PSY/OPS beat. I like the song good enough, and I had already uploaded it to sharebee at the library the other week, so it's what you get this week. Prolo still ended up doing a "Virginia Back Roads" song over that David Banner beat, but it was just a freestyle with me and Mike Gee, and then Boogie Brown dubbed in a hook he sang like a hobo wino, which is his style. Hopefully, I can get some of the final mixed new Prolo shit to start putting up for all four of you who actually look at this blog, but for now, have at this "Not the Only One" song.

Tuesday, November 11

James River Pale Ale

AFFORDABILITY: So I went into the new swank and gaudy Whole Foods in congested Short Pump, Virginia, in Richmond's far west end, looking for some Harpoon Winter Warmer for the wife, and they had a lot of stupid fauntleroy beers, so I stood around looking like a goof in oil-stained housepainter clothes for about fifteen minutes. I eventually picked up this brew because it's a big double deuce bottle I can use for homebrewing, and it's named after the James River, where I have often dipped my shitty body over the years. When I went to check out, the girl ringing it up, a late 20s/early 30s light-skinned black chick, was all extra-friendly, because I got it like that. This one didn't have a bar code, so she was looking at it, and I said, "It said $2.99 over there." And she said, "Well, it don't say it over here. It doesn't have a bar code, so it's on the house," and she put it in the bag. I tried, "Did I tell you I meant to get four of those?" just to gauge her reaction. She laughed a haha, that's funny but probably not laugh, so I didn't push the issue. But still, the motherfucker came home free. 6 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: I only got one, and to be honest, the cap was barely on the fucker, so it wasn't really carbonated too well, tasting kinda flat. It had a little kick to it though, but it was also a pale ale, which always tastes like the smell of dirty socks from a Grateful Dead show in 1989 smell after doing acid for three days straight to me. Normally, that might seem bad, but being I am mired in the realm of responsibility and financial struggle as I grow greyer with weaker bones and more spasmodic muscles, I have romantic memories of doing acid half the week while wandering the fuck away from the home base without concern for the future. 4 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Being it is a microbrew double deuce, it is a big booming brown bottle with ample space for a label, which is a very standard and crudely printed one with bland colors. But the center picture is the Lee Bridge over the James in Richmond, and looks to be an old one, before the foot bridge over to Belle Isle was built. It brings back wonderful memories of being a young and stupid adult in Richmond. My first kid was born like five blocks from that bridge, at a house we rented from a bitch ass lady. One time, with some friends, we went down there and I showed them how to get up on the cat walk (which was a steel grate you could see through) underneath that bridge way over the river, and those three dudes were pretty nervous, and I was naked except for some overalls and kung fu slippers, and of course I ran ahead full speed, even though there were pipes that ran across that you might knock yourself out on if you weren't careful, not to mention the whole plummet to your probable death thing below, and tucked into one of the accesses to underneath the roadway where homeless dudes slept as minor league mole people, waited for my nervous friends to pass by and get ahead on the catwalk a little, then I came storming out with a deep authoritarian voice, "HEY! YOU BOYS! FREEZE!" stomping real loudly behind them. Man, that was good times back then. 8 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Blue & Gray Brewing Company, out of Fredericksburg, Virginia. I like the idea of a little microbrew company doing this, but Fredericksburg? The James River isn't even close to up there. Plus, I'm of the stubborn southside Virginia belief that everything north of Richmond (including Charlottesville, and points north as well) is just the fake south where yankees who like to pretend to be southerner have moved to get away from cold weather and stupid Italians. So I am distrustful of this Blue & Gray Brewing Company. 3 out of 5 though.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: Obviously, from my review thus far, it has filled me with nostalgiac memories. I drank part of this out back under the bright almost full moonlight, listening to many penned up hunting dogs howling at rutting deer in the woods. My old farmhouse was warm from the wood stove, smoke billowing out the chimney up into the shadows of the big oak tree perched precariously over the front yard, and everything was fucking good. I wish I had gotten 17 of these for free, and I'd sit out there all night long in my t-shirt, lifting weights between beers, and enjoying every fucking breath of oxygen I was sucking in. 5 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 5 and 1/5 STARS!

Monday, November 10

J.J. Krupert's October Gaypod Mix

I never got around to doing my write-up and dl mix for the October J.J. Krupert Gaypod mix, even though I took the ten most played songs off my tiny little shuffle gaypod and made a rar file for just such a thing. I have not been motivated to dabble in the belly of the beast that is the internet. Life has been a financial struggle, mostly self-created, but still a struggle, and when life gets real, you see the internet for what a fucking waste it is. But I digress, and talk shit against the medium you are all up on in the process, which is kind of my way, to shoot myself in the foot and mock and detest anyone who is interested in what I’m doing. But nonetheless, here is a mix for you to fuck with if you feel like it (meaning most likely nobody but Kami will dl it), and self-reflecting write-ups of the ten stupid songs follow as well, to try and explain why I like gay shit or show how cool I am for obscure shit.
#1: “Pills I Took” by Hank Williams III - Again this month, we start off with a track from the Straight to Hell double CD, which is a classic. Hank III’s new shit just came out, and it’s more like stuff that didn’t make Straight to Hell than an actual new album. It doesn’t seem like progression, I guess because his heart is into making halfway shitty rock music instead of incredibly retarded country music. “Pills I Took” is by some other band I don’t care to remember, because in the honorable tradition of country music, Tricephus took someone else’s song and owned the fuck out of it. Very timely as well, being so many people pop the pharmies nowadays. I was at a big party at my fam’s house, the Fall Fling, and this dude who was a good high school friend of mine’s older brother, Grambo, he disappeared after playing some horseshoes. The next morning when I was spinning some Wilson Pickett much to the delight of older redneck people wanting to shuffle their hungover feet fireside on a Sunday morning while sipping on the day’s third Bud Light, Grambo told me he passed out early because he took a couple painkillers. We shared funny anecdotes of the world slowing down suddenly and against your will when mixing pills and alcohol. I know you’re not supposed to, but it’s just such a perfect hard stomp on the brakes of your brain to do when you feel like getting completely fucked up. Honestly, I find it weird someone would just do pills without drinking. That seems really fucking weird to me.
#2: “Longhaired Lounger” by Prolo - This is off the last Prolo CD, which is one of my musical groups, but I had nothing to do with this. My man Brown writes shit all the time, and has a group with his bro and some other dudes called the Porch Loungers, but he said he wrote a few songs that were just too fucked for them. So basically, this is a country song, but screwed and chopped, and put at the end of a sort of rap album. I guess. But it’s also about the best fucking thing ever, and it has entered my canon of shit to be played at my funeral.
#3: “Wagon Wheel (live)” by The Porch Loungers - See, here’s Brown’s other group, kind of southern rock, kind of bluegrass. This was from the Newport Festival, and S.E.P. played a shitty short set there too like 2 in the morning after everybody had passed out the cops made us cut off the PA since the ultra-shitty Led Zep derivative local classic rock guitar hero fuckfaces before us played really shitty cover songs really fucking loud for far too long. I really love when Boogie and Nate Brown get to getting down, it’s some great shit. I heard they’ve revamped again, with the yankee drummer not being able to play quietly enough for a newgrass band, so they’re all acoustic now or something or other. As long as it’s still loungin’, and not all uptight and conflicted.
#4: “Box #10” by Jim Croce - I love me some fucking Jim Croce. I grew up with my parents playing a bit of his Greatest Hits type stuff, and have pretty much accumulated all his pre-death studio albums as an adult. His ability to tell stories and describe characters is pretty underrated, and were he someone who grew up in an earlier time, I would’ve loved to see what kind of stories he wrote had there been no Jew-run music industry to exploit him for profit. This was the first favorite song I found of him while in college that I had never heard from what my parents played when I was a kid, which meant I tried to blow both my parents brains with this awesome song on mixtapes (actual tapes too, usually Maxell 90 minute bitches) because I knew they didn’t know it. I often times, when writing stupid rap lyrics, try to emulate songs like this, because this is truer to my heart and soul than pretending on and on about how smart and clever I am and how many surgical metaphors I can espout about microphones or words.
#5: “Enough Rope” by Chris Knight - I am not a fan of new country or alt.country or anything that’s supposed to be a shining beacon light of real country in the light polluted neon overglow of modern country. Most all of it, whether mainstream or alternative, seems to be crap. But I heard this song on the satellite one Sunday morning, and it got me. A dude on the Secret Clubhouse message board hooked me up with a number of Chris Knight tracks, as he’s supposed to be this awesome unheralded Nashville songwriter guy who I think wrote a famous song or two, maybe even for stupid homoerotic Brooks & Dunn, but I can’t rightly remember to be honest. A lot of Chris Knight’s stuff didn’t do a whole lot for me, but this song is top fucking notch, small town go-nowhere but happy about it all being perfectly imperfect whiteboy goodness. If Sarah Pailin ends up running as the Republicrat candidate in 2012, this should be her campaign song, if they wanted to be real. But they won’t. They’ll have stupid Charlie Daniels and Lee Greenwood and more irrelevant to regular people bullshit like that, with maybe Toby Keith being a washed-up cartoon of his more marketable younger self by then to throw in some pablum too.
#6: “Born Poor” by The Jaggerz - I have accumulated a ton of 7-inch singles for the broken jukebox I own that I’ve been meaning to actually get fixed for a couple years now. Every time I call the old dude who fixes such things in town, he doesn’t have room to stuff it in his rented workspace, but he’ll call me next week. He never does. Although he always asks me where I live, I tell him, and he says he’s gonna be in that area next week, he can come by and look at it, and I explain I could just drop it off for him to fix at his leisure, and he says he’ll call me next week. This has happened three or four times now. Anyways, this is a 7-inch A-side I have that I know nothing about the group at all, but the song is one of my favorites. It’s goofy ‘60s era white people soul (from the sound of it), but I love this song. I often just go along singing that shit in my head, “I’M SO GLAD I WAS BORN POOR” downt chicka downt du-downt dow downt. Catchy as fuck, and makes being a miserable broke ass far more enjoyable.
#7: “Small Town” by Nappy Roots - Stolen off of their Humdinger CD, and this is about the best song on there. I really dig Nappy Roots for making shit like this, which they seem to do better than anybody else (“Aw Naw”, “Po’ Folks”, “Gonna Be a Good Day”, this song), but it’s like the David Banner “Cadillac on 22s” thing... I just wish they could concentrate on creating this weird sub-genre of happy-to-be-country southern feel good rap music, like Arrested Development but for people who aren’t fucking fruits and not nearly so fruity or pan-African. When I first stole this, we had rented a Pontiac Torrent to go to the Outer Banks and I had this on my gaypod and bumped the fuck out of it on the trip, as it was rap music that my kids could actually listen to. The lyrics aren’t groundbreaking, and I don’t understand why they wanna go to Cape Cod in the hook, but nonetheless, this shit make me feel all warm and sunshiney and want to play horseshoes with 3 point ringers with ponytailed rednecks who smell like Winston cigarettes.
#8: "C.R.E.A.M." by El Michel's Affair - Two sub-culture ripples collide with this song, as the goofy beta version Wu-Tang appreciation societies, most famously represented by that fucking Norwegian whiteboy group who does Wu songs, combines with the new school vinyl funk 7-inch movement. El Michel's Affair put out a 7-inch where they basically, as a funk band, recreate the instrumental to a couple famous Wu-Tang songs. I could see how it could get repetitive quick, but it sounds fucking amazing in minor amounts. This song was always a favorite of mine (way back in the day, Prolo sampled that "livin' on earth no different from a cell" line for an on-the-verge-of-suicide song I used to do all the time). Somehow, El Michel's Affair redoes it, and I love it. One thing on my mental checklist of American consumerism to eventually do now that everything will be different forever since Obama is gonna be President (for example, no more abortions because people won't want to have them, not because they were told no; also, homeless people will smile more) is to buy some of these obscure 7-inch funk pressings that are going on like crazy now and can be seen in Wax Poetics magazine advertisements. I also really need to get some Sharon Jones records on vinyl as well.
#9: "Paper Planes" by M.I.A. - Remember, this was from September gaypodding it, so I was swept up in that undercurrent of pop culture which made me like this song. I remember Mike DIKK trying to get me into M.I.A., partially because he thought it was great and likes to try to trick me into liking gay shit, but also he has a Hindu vagina fetish (just not the hairy ones) and wants to share his perversion with me I think. Hindu girls have weird noses though, for my tastes. The M.I.A. CD, much ballyhooed by musically intelligent dickwads as a must-have offering, I found to be annoying as fuck and not very enjoyable. Too urban American music is one thing, and too urban Euro music is far worse, because it's white people making it mostly and their cities are giant clusters of brick and mortar thousands of years old, but third world chaos sprawl too urban music is too much. I thought I was gonna have the malarias if I listened too much. But somehow, "Paper Planes" snuck into my brain. Somebody told me it was in some movie, but I don't see movies, but some Jew who owned the rights to her next CD must have paid to have this song positioned with the HAARP beams they aim at us all from the satellites, and it got stuck in my brain. My wife, who hated the M.I.A. thing too when I put it on her ipod, was distrustful of me saying this song was good. We must've listened to it like 300 times that week at the beach. In one moment of psychic clarity - I thought - she wanted to hear it and I told her with my gaypod (a shuffle, which means you have no control of the order), you just have to think about the song and it comes on. She was like, "whatever" but I told her I'd been practicing it. Sure enough, two songs later, it came on. We rolled the windows down (actually pressed the down button) on the rental car and smelled the saltwater in the air and it was good man. Thanks weird ass fake drug dealer tiny punjabi chick. (I also realize, after putting these thoughts together, that it wasn't my brain power so much as the HAARP energy that caused the song to come on. All these electronic things are in cahoots, against us. This is why Maximum Overdrive has never been released on DVD, because They don't want you to know The Truth.)
#10: "African People" by The Jay Boys - This is a snippet of the actual song, culled from Madlib's Blunted in the Bomb Shelter mix, which is a great entry into the world of dub music. Dub music is like the new thing that uber-music nerd people like who feel the need to be contrarian to things regular music nerd people say is great (Santogold, for example, or pretty much anything in Fader magazine honestly). The reason I love this song goes back to my personal affinity for the Paul Revere & The Raiders "Indian Reservation" song this is a re-working of. My dad used to play that song, and I actually have it on 7-inch. That's a great song, and really odd and out of place with everything else you hear from that time in pop music. The Jay Boys switching it to Africans just makes it all the more intriguing to me. I just pressure washed a house where a dude from Ivory Coast has a drum importing business, and I hope to do more work there so I can barter for some djembes for my kids, and also to try and talk the dude into hooking me up with a connect to import crates of west African records. Having a source for actual vinyl from that region would make me happy as fuck, because you can't find real good shit within the normal American music dork crate digging realms. I think that's why, no matter how much crap he actually puts out at times, I will always love Madlib, because he is ultimately a guy obsessed with digging for sounds and making beats. But he's not like normal crate diggers - he goes to foreign countries and does themed mixes and shit. Madlib, as much as he is jocked by the normal music nerd people and I am the contrarian type who feels I have to be smarter by being differenter than them, is an American treasure. I know Stones Throw cult members scour the internet looking for links to their shit to throw their robot lawyers at and get links removed, so I hope if you soulless SoCal white dudes working under the magical spell of Peanut Butter Wolf happenstance across this, you will let this mix link fly, being it's just one song, and I have given your overlord's #1 prophet/profit much love.

100 VINYLZ: #83 - Atlantic Jazz: The Avant-Garde LP by Various Artists


(1986, Atlantic Records)
I do not pretend to be anything more than a casual jazz fan. Like most white assholes who came of age in the '80s, my first forays into the jazz genre were the massively-proclaimed genius of Miles Davis. He was the guy you were supposed to like if you were into all sorts of wacky music, showing how intelligent and open-minded you were, to find pleasing rhythms in rhythmless blasts of horn and snare all jumbled together in chaotic meanderings. I didn't really stay with Miles Davis though, but once I was culling for samples for boom bap hip hop beats, I dug deep through the jazz bins of Plan 9's used records, before they even had a basement in Carytown. Mostly, I acquired and admired a ton of jazz fusion stuff, that wacky intelli-funk nonsense spearheaded by Herbie Hancock, but I found a lot of stuff I dug just by reading the musicians and buying other cheap jazz records featuring the same players. That's how I knew what the fuck Diamond D was talking about when he'd always say "Willie Bobo". I'm so old school and smart and hip and have a bunch of records and am awesome, aren't I?
Anyways, this record is a compilation of Atlantic jazz, and was probably the first John Coltrane or Charles Mingus I ever had on vinyl. Oddly enough, neither of those dudes are the ones who cracked my skull on this comp. First off, back when I'd make mixtapes for friends like us older folks used to do back in the days, Rahsaan Roland Kirk's "Black Mystery Has Been Revealed" was a great thing to throw in the mix, best at the end of side A, to hear Kirk's freak out to kind of wrap up one side of a cassette mix and leave you hanging wildly if you were about to bolt without flipping the tape (because we didn't have autoflip tape players that often back then, just the dual cassette thing where you could put the second one on play with the pause button and when the first one ended, it bumped the pause button so you could listen to ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY MINUTES OF MUSIC IN A ROW!), and also set you up nicely to get into the other side, which knowing me back then, probably would've started out with either Redman or Eddie Harris if I wanted to continue the crazy theme.
But this album has "Lonely Woman" by Ornette Coleman on it as well, and was where I came into knowledge of that song even existing. This is one of the greatest songs ever, and really, helped me understand that I don't understand jazz music, because it's like wacky retard black man way of trying to create soothing wonderful feelings in you, but doing in a convoluted back alley direction where you think you won't get there. "Hey, let's make a bunch of crazy sounds with all these big band instruments and just generally fuck shit up, but something awesome might happen if we're junked up enough." I can tell you this, along with "Central Park West" by Coltrane (not on this record), are my two all-time no doubt about it greatest most favorite jazz genre songs of forever. And they are two of the most unexplainably beautiful songs I've ever heard. You've got to understand, I'm a genetic redneck from rural southside Virginia. Just the fact I've willingly listened to jazz music makes me a gay in my ancestors' eyes. But to not only just listen, but to find just miraculous songs like "Lonely Woman" in that wacky genre, that makes me really really gay. And now I've written about it on the internet, to score the trifecta. Word up.

Wild Blue Blueberry Lager


AFFORDABILITY: It was $9 for a 6-pack, which now that my credit card is just about maxed out again, is far too expensive. I am pretending that I am middle class and that the bullshit ways of American class systems will actually change under a mulatto President, so if it was a halfway decent beer, $9 a sixer might not have shocked me. Which thinking back to my brain from like two years ago, that's pretty shocking to even re-read. What the fuck is wrong with me? 0 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: It promises 8% alcohol by volume on the label, but fuck man, this is not a blueberry brewed lager... it is a fucking drink with like blueberry juice added. It tastes like a shitty soda, making it near impossible to even finish one bottle of it unless you are a autistic homosexual. 0 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Kind of a weird Ralph Steadman-esque drawing of a blue dog kicking up a blueberry with his hind paws. If it was really all fucked up and murderous hallucinogenic like a bonafide Steadman, maybe it would be cool, but being this is a shitty soda beer and it's not Ralph Steadman, it is fucking stupid. 1 out of 5, just for the outside chance it's actually Steadman getting paid from some dumbasses.
CORPORATE MASTER: The company on the label is called Blue Dawg Brewing, from Baldwinsville, NY. I imagine it's some overweight half-Italian, half-Polish dude with a fu manchu facial hair motif because he loves Orange County Choppers. He probably started the company with his firefighter buddies after a moose hunting trip to Maine where they got drunk as fuck with some Micmacs they met. So I will give them benefit of the doubt. 4 out of 5, because I bet they have a hellafied softball team.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: Like I said, this is blueberry soda that allegedly has alcohol content. And it's a disgusting blueberry soda at that at. This might actually be the worst beer I've ever drank, other than Steel Reserve 211 or Keystone Ice. But Keystone Light is better. 1 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 1 & 1/5 STARS!

Friday, November 7

NFL WK 10: NFC North & West teams


#1: ARIZONA CARDINALS (5-3, 8th overall) - This is the year the Cardinals will celebrate finally living up to their potential. Except it's been like ten years promised to be coming. Also, they have almost as many wins as everybody else in their division combined, but they are just barely over .500 themselves. This is like winning the special ed spelling bee, and once they make the playoffs, even in this year of mediocre clusterfuck parity, they will be dispatched rather abruptly. And probably in front of a less-than-sell-out crowd, unless somehow they are playing the Cowboys, whose fans will fill the stadium like usual.

#2: CHICAGO BEARS (5-3, 9th overall) - The Bears are also leading a clusterfuck division, which really could turn into anything in two weeks time. I have internet Bears fans galore, and it's really amusing to see the Bears having to go with Rex Grossman for however long they have to go with him. It's like you are in a race and then Imaginary God decides you have to have cancer that could become full-blown suckiness at any second for one long ass length of the race. You just kinda hope you can coast through it and the cancer doesn't blow the fuck up, ruining your chances completely, before you go back to normal. Also, recent stories have come to light how Kyle Orton is a drunken underage womanizer galore, which explains the dirtbag beard, which of course, I completely endorse and respect. At first, I thought, "Awesome, Kyle Orton is a degenerate millionaire, sneaking teenage girls into clubs." But then I sort of realized that's basically what Kerry Collins used to be, and Kerry Collins is the most untrustworthy weasel-like human being in football. Seriously, he looks like the elder dirt dog of a roofing crew, the guy who gets to drives the work truck when the boss has to go to court. That is Kyle Orton's fate, and it's creepy. But maybe he won't ever quit and he can be a drunken degenerate forever. Or rather than go the Kerry Collins route, he could also pull a Kenny Stabler, trade in his debauchery after its peak for a trophy wife or two, and settle down and be the color commentator for Purdue football radio after his playing career is over.

#3: GREEN BAY PACKERS (4-4, 17th overall) - I had a best friend growing up who was a big Packers fan, probably just to be difficult with everybody else, and we ended up having a falling out as adults because he was a terrible alcoholic (like the completely unfun kind who would get belligerent or who you'd call and say, "Hey, I'll come by to pick you up in two hours," and when you get there he'd be passed out on the couch with the back door wide open and an empty fifth of Jim Beam on the coffee table). Plus, he told people back home I had the AIDS, which I have no idea where that came from. Although I also had three girlfriends of his in a row proposition me at various times while involved him and he was passed out or in the bathroom or I was giving them a ride home. I never fucked none of them, because I am an honorable man, and even though this friend was barely a halfway decent friend, I could not violate that trust. Which is ridiculous of me, because basically nothing really matters. I lost out on a lot of pussy with my retarded moral compass, and what do I have to show for it? Anyways, usually when I think of the Packers, I think of watching them play and their stupid funny-talking fans with cheeseheads on, and I think of Pete, who now has a real estate license in Richmond, which seems pretty appropriate. I imagine all Packers fans to be the same sort of seemingly upstanding but secretly impossible types of filthy human beings. That's why they loved Brett Favre so much, because he's cut from the same cloth. I feel bad for Aaron Rodgers, because not only does he have to battle the cult of Favre, but the overall slimy shithead nature of Packers fans. I hope his soul is not compromised in the process of attempting to fulfill his football dreams. Some things just aren't worth it.

#4: MINNESOTA VIKINGS (4-4, 18th overall) - How the fuck could Gus Frerotte lead the Vikings back to the brink of NFC Central leadership? As a Redskins fan, I once sat through the longest most painful game I've ever seen in my adult life, a Monday night game if I remember correctly, where Frerotte was QB for the Skins against the New York Giants. It was the night he infamously headbutted a padded wall and knocked himself out the game. It was also a 7-7 tie after overtime expired, a long boring affair. Me and my man Born King ended up drunk as fuck at this chick Jenn's house, cut on her house alarm to her sister's annoyance, and then we went drunk driving through Church Hill, wrecking her car onto a cobblestone sidewalk, but limping it back home. It was a great time back then, but seems like centuries ago. I am still a little off, but a settled hard-working half the time family man all the time, looking to carve my mark on this World. And here's Gus Frerotte, still stumbling around, same blank deer-in-the-floodlight expression, QBing in the NFL. I am not impressed by these career NFL back-ups, just waiting to ruin some young guy's job with mediocre old guy efficiency. If stupid NFL teams would go back to having veteran QBs with young back-ups who, no matter how high a draft pick or profile they have, sit behind the vet for two or three years, to cut their teeth and learn the ropes (double cliché action!), instead of this new style where you throw some young dude to the wolves like shit on the wall (more double cliché action!) and hope he sticks, with some cagey veteran fucker holding the clipboard wearing a baseball cap on the sideline, just waiting for a chance to grab his helmet and look like he’s ready, even though he hasn’t taken a snap in a regular season game since 2003. It’s almost better career-wise to fly under the radar like a Frerotte or Todd Collins than to be a first round bust like David Carr or Patrick Ramsey, both of whom could probably stand around and look like they’re ready just as good as a Frerotte or Collins.

#5: ST. LOUIS RAMS (2-6, 24th overall) - I like how the Rams hulked up for two weeks when Haslet took over, then Steven Jackson got gimpy again and they’re shit as a team. On a completely unrelated note, I do not know where the Rams play now, but I guess they must have a new stadium, because that annoying ass Greatest Show on Turf era bullshit astroturf is gone and replaced by the nicest looking grass I think I’ve ever seen in football. Seriously, if that’s fake grass or real grass or whatever, they have a nice looking field. I let my yard go wild because my wife makes voodoo tinctures from a lot of things (in fact, used a goldenrod oil made from the flowers to help my seized up neck and shoulder muscles go back to normal just yesterday and today) that pop up, so we’re far from Round-Up types. In fact, I usually never have all my 2 acre yard cut because we are letting parts of it go for this or that. There’s still a tall patch beside one side of the house because it has some werewolf plant my wife wanted to let grow and harvest but didn’t because it brings drastic change to your life when you handle it intensely like that. So I can appreciate a nice looking grass field for a sporting event. Props to the Rams field crew. If they do such a thing, they should send them dudes to the Pro Bowl.

#6: SEATTLE SEAHAWKS (2-6, 29th overall) - I have a buddy who is seemingly a respectable member of society, selling medical supplies, but secretly is a degenerate pervert. He had tons of those Leg Show magazines with women’s big dirty feet stepping on dude’s dicks and all, and we joked about getting him a Laotian boy for his birthday one year and he was all like, “Cool!” and we weren’t sure if he was joking or not. He is a Seahawks fan, which always seemed odd to me, because even when they are the best they’ve ever been, like a few years ago, they really weren’t a legitimate threat. You knew Shaun Alexander and Matt Hasselbeck were probably gay with Mike Holmgren playing the part of the wizened old bear showing them the ropes of underground S&M culture in liberal Seattle back alleys. And now they are back to being complete shit, with little glint of hope to move out of it. Maybe they’ll change their uniforms again. But it seems to fit my friend’s personality - secret pervert who wants to feel unworthy and abused. I would imagine most adult male Seahawks fans are like that.

#7: DETROIT LIONS (0-8, 31st overall) - You know, I’m kinda sad because I don’t think it’s possible the Lions will go 0-16, even with the tough schedule they have. I wish Dan “Safety Dance” Orlovsky wasn’t injured and they weren’t running with gimpy retread Daunte Culpepper this week, because I think if the Big O was still under center, they would’ve upended the Jaguars this weekend. They’ve kept it close a number of games, and are bound to crack one open at some point. Shit, just by releasing the giant crushing worthlessness of Matt Millen, they’ve probably guaranteed themselves two victories this year. Now maybe they can draft something other than a wide receiver with their first overall pick.

#8: SAN FRANCISCO 49ERS (2-6, 32nd overall) - Man, we’ve all been waiting years for Samurai Mike Singletary to finally eyeball his way into a head coaching job. But good god, what the fuck. He’s acting like he’s trying to turn around an underachieving high school team, mooning them, sending a main offensive weapon to the showers well before a game was over. I love the idea of crazy coaches and all, but I think you’ve got to be one of the boys crazy like Jack Del Rio as opposed to the “I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T FUCKING PLAY HARD YOU FUCKING PUSSY!” ways of early head coaching Singletary. Although he might just be remembering his own playing days and secretly sabotaging the rival 49ers from within, kinda like how Norv Turner did to the Redskins. He’ll fuck the franchise up for like five years, rendering them even more ineffective than ever, get fired, and be the D-coordinator for the Bears for like ten years after that. You’d think he’d want to ruin a division rival though, but I guess the Lions are already pretty impotent, and the Vikings and the Packers are too smart to hire Singletary to coach their team into submission.

Newcastle Brown Ale


AFFORDABILITY: It’s all relative. I don’t drink canned beers anymore, so it’s like I’m a liberal elitist and my tastes have been refined to not make sense to normal people anymore. Even with that standard, a six-pack of Newcastle is usually around $9, which is high end bullshit. But at the Food Lion, 12-packs were only $14, which is cheaper than Corona. Hell, now that the Germans own it, Budweiser 12-packs ain’t too far from that. So because I bought a 12-pack, I will give it the benefit of the doubt, tempered with the fact I bought a sixer for my wife the other day at the local country store run by a college boy. 3 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: Newcastle is a thick ass beer, but sweet. It’s hard to suck down fast enough to get obliterated with though, although I enjoy it just fine as an initial priming of my liquid-distilling insides for a good night of beer-drinking. I do remember getting really fucked up on this shit solely one night at some bar in Richmond that had it on tap and I had a stupid hippie girlfriend at the time who sported the bill, causing me to think $5 drafts were not a ridiculous idea to drink 11 of. 2 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: The Newcastle label, as played out as it looks as I’ve hung out with too many hippie girls in my life, is actually a pretty cool label. Weird yellow/orange color, nice big white oval with the name in red block letters embossed in black. Gold medals from in all likelihood fixed beer contests. And that blue star with the subliminal from a distance black city scene. Plus every beer label needs some subtle wheat and hops doodles. Added bonus because the bottle is imprinted with the words “The One and Only”, which makes this the second most aesthetically perfect molotov cocktail beer bottle, only trailing those little Mickey’s malt liquor grenade bottles they used to make shaped like those plastic huggies drink ghetto children love because they come ten for a dollar with a foil seal on top. 5 out of 5. I was gonna say 4, but it triggered me thinking all that, and now I’m all happy, remembering Community Pride’s shitty assed store on Main Street behind the shithole apartment I lived in, and what a great feel good Friday every day was back then. Potato wedges for breakfast and pork chops for dinner. Using the pay phone at the grocery store on the same block as my house, watching the ghetto assed people strolling by, living a fucking life. Gentrification ruined it though. That Community Pride is now some sort of fancy taphouse and the immediate neighborhood is all rebuilt and painted in pastel colors and I bet you can’t get a lake trout sandwich for twenty blocks if you’re lucky.
CORPORATE MASTER: They sponsor fancy futbol teams, so their limey corporate overlords must be pretty reptilian by David Icke standards, except I’m not a limey so I don’t know about it. And no matter how fucked they might be, just thinking about beer and soccer makes me think of Andy Capp, and I’d like to imagine at one point they had a print advertising campaign with Andy Capp drinking Newcastles. That’s probably completely off-base, but what the fuck do I care? I’m an ignorant ass southern American. 4 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: I will not lie, I like Newcastle Brown Ale. I buy it for my wife and usually snake two of the six, maybe more if she doesn’t drink it fast enough for my liking. Shit, that’s the whole reason I bought a 12-pack, so I could drink more and not feel like I’m taking all her good shit away from her. She has been pregnant or nursing for almost 11 years now. But at the same time, I’ve walked through Grateful Dead parking lots enough times to sort of detest that upper echelon of Deadhead kid pulling a cooler full of Sierra Nevadas and Newcastles behind him, trying to rip me off because they didn’t recognize me from being at the last 38 shows or any Rainbow Gatherings. 2 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 3 & 1/5 STARS!

Homemade Song of the Week: "The Good Life" by S.E.P.

Earlier this year, my grandfather died. It had been coming and I knew it was gonna happen this one weekend, and it did. My moms called me and I rode down, before the funeral people had even gotten there. He was all dead and laying in the bed in his front room, and my mom and uncle and crazy grandmother were there, and we took care of thangs. Funeral people came and carted off grandpa, and I volunteered to stay the night with grandma, who usually slept in the reclining chair in the living room watching TV. I sat with her till she fell asleep while we were watching Rambo. Then I went into the front room where my grandpa died and watched Flavor of Love, which worried me because what if his ghost was floating around. He'd never approve of some shit like watching Flavor of Love. Eventually, I just went to bed, but in the next room on a lump of a mattress, because I was not sleeping in the bed my grandpa had just died in and shit. Anyways, before Rambo, me and my crazy grandma watched an episode of Little House on the Prairie, and the long talking sample at the end of this song was in that episode. I loved it right away, and knew the foreign singing dude's son was the same kid who played Tony in Escape from Witch Mountain, so I imdb'd that shit to find the right season and episode of Little House, got it from Netflix, and ganked the sample. I also wrote the lyrics the next day, most of which sitting on my dead grandpa's front porch, which is why it has that "my granddaddy used to have me sitting on the front porch..." part. Because he did when I lived in a trailer park in Farmville. I'd go kick it with him on the porch and he started telling me all these crazy things about being a wild assed young man, wrecking cars in Jersey where he grew up with Polish immigrant parents. Living with drunk Indians in Oregon for a while, digging irrigation ditches on some government project. Crazy times galore in Chicago after World War II. My mom said she had never heard a lot of that shit, so it was fun to hear. Anyways, PSY/OPS didn't love this song as much as me, and I think you can tell because the vocals don't sound as crispily mixed as the rest of 45s on 33, although to be fair, I loathe the sound of my own voice so it's hard to say if I know what I'm talking about on that affair. But this was one of my favorite songs we've ever had, just for the lyrics and shit.

Friday Love/Hate

I hate people using the whole blue state/red state thing so much. I don't remember this bullshit before like the 2000 election, but it's really goofy to see supposedly educated well-to-do people get caught up in the same color-based blind tribalism that the crips and bloods have used to help justify not thinking of each other as like actual humans.

I love the cool ass fall nights, full moon coming this week, sitting in the field behind my house, watching the sky and shadows and all that hoo-ha. I was lifting weights out by the goat pen, and thought about how this was perfect set-up for Jason to pop out and choke me with the bar. Then I got all pretentious/indignant, thinking, "Man, that's just like TV, to make me afraid of being outside at night." Then I thought of that Mr. Show sketch where David Cross is pretending to be Allen Ginsberg and he talks about he doesn't watch television. Mr. Show was some great television.

PP: Part Thirty


This limousine is so fucking long, in front of a pink building, that a simple human Polaroid image ensnarler could not contain it’s glory and maintain proper focus. One day, I’m gonna have a car just like this, sitting around, waiting to take me places, because I drive it to escort rich people or high school kids splurging and splooging through a prom night. If I’m lucky, maybe one day an NBA player will accidentally kill me trying to do bar tricks with a shotgun and the Harlem Globetrotters.

This is a schoolbus convered in graffiti. I know in my heart that most likely it was white people who did such a thing, and they probably have some stupid band that I would never enjoy in a million beers. But still, I am attracted to such things. I cannot help it. It is like cleavage on fat black women.

Last year’s summer, I would look up car cruise-ins to go take pictures. I took my kids to one at the new Food Lion with the crooked aisles in Goochland, and this was a car we saw. It was a shitty cruise-in, as if there is such a thing as a cool one. How come drunk dudes don’t have cruise-ins? Aren’t there any booze-ins anywhere? The grey-hairs at this thing were fucking squaresville man, and I say that uber dorkily on purpose, because even talking like that would be the equivalent of penis tattoos to those uptight fuckers.

And another snap from that shitty cruise-in in Goochland. This was the pimpest car, because he had fake dice on his tire stems and door locks. But he also had some stupid assed fake drive-in restaurant tray on his driver’s side door with some plastic hamburger bullshit. The gay overrules the okay on that one.

Monday, November 3

PP: Part Twenty Nine


An old black pick-up with flames painted on it! Roller derby revival where people drink PBRs! Red-speckled old-fashioned kitchen tables! Betty Page bangs on chubby chicks with forearm tattoos! Framed Johnny Cash album covers! Tattoo parlour proprieters! Dudes who used to like rockabilly in high school but mostly play Slayer nowadays! Awesome!

My truck is only a four-cylinder truck. I need to cut wood, but it's a 2-wheel-drive, four-cylinder, and gets stuck when I park near mud. I just got myself a chainsaw, and have a big dead tree still standing back in the abandoned goat pen, but my chainsaw's not big enough to take that thing down. Plus, I've never made trees fall before (other than wrecking into them once or twice), and I am a-feared of having the tree bonk my head into the ground like a cartoon. I have concussed myself a good number of times through hilarious recklessness, never to where everything went black-and-white, but plenty of times where I couldn't remember things or was stupid for an hour or day or week or whatever (might still be stupid for all I know, which wouldn't be enough if I was legit knocked stupid for good), and don't want to challenge giant growths of wood falling on my brain. The hardwood kitchen table is enough.

The dude who used to own this car is a glass man and was behind me the other day coming home. He used to also be one of the regulars at the Dew Drop Inn before it closed down when rich yankees bought it to not refurbish it and ruined the one good bar in town. They have a bar themselves, and it has the football games, which is a new thing to be so close to home (only ten miles away!), but still. Dew Drop Inn was danky perfection. Nonetheless, this car sat around forever, never driven, and for sale. One time, before we had washing machine and dryer, I was doing our family’s clothes at the laundromat one Sunday afternoon (Ms. Pac Man at that place was all mine, I had five of the top eight scores) and there was a super-hot Puerto Rican looking chick. This orange Porsche was outside that day and I falsely assumed the hot Puerto Rican looking chick whose pussy I really wanted to eat drove it. But no. Just some older drunkard guy, who looks to be northern in nature. One thing I do not like about my town is how there’s all these working class fuckfaces who are from Pennsylvania or New York or whatever. Go back to Africa, motherfuckers! Although, to be fair, the dude who owned this Porsche that never drove or moved for years, I’m pretty sure I drunkenly remember him having his birthday party at the bar one time, with his grandkids there and shit. Even if you’re from up north, coming to my neighborhood and taking my jobs and stealing my women, if you’ve been here long enough to have grandkids here too, and you make them come to a bar to give you a birthday cake, I guess you can’t be all that bad.

I would love to own a Race With the Devil machine like this. So classicly boxy and probably low-frills inside. Propane-powered good times await me and my children as I force them to take long trips to nowhere, where we get chased by Satanic sheriffs and brainwashed schoolchildren. We pull the awning out to relax, only to realize we are surrounded by death. The end. Actually, that’d be a great way to die, to be travelling in a dilapidated Winnebago and then killed ritualistically by secret Satanists.