Producers are necessary.  They are almost an exact equivalent to a film’s director.  An outside perspective, someone to tell you you’re right, you’re wrong, you’re brilliant, and talk shit on you when you go to the pisser.  We’ve had like 5 producers in our day, and we’re about to have another one very soon.  There’s a musical style and a working style that could not be more different with each guy we’ve worked with (I only say “guy” not to be sexist but because none of them were bitches) ((I only say “bitches” for a sexist comedic effect)) (((I know it wasn’t funny.)))  

You can really identify what type of producer you’re dealing with by the studio he records in.  Sure, you can take a greasy turd from his cramped, messy, flea-riddled, beautiful studio and give him a bunch of dials and fancy gear but your record wil SOUND EXACTLY THE SAME.  No matter what.  He’s an old dog that never learned any tricks or viable life skills.  He plugs shit in.  You will have bass hiss and snare rattle.  His being alive is nothing short of complete luck and an astonishing amount of drugs.  All of his records sound the same, and I mean sonically, because he only knows how to capture ONE SOUND.  It’s up to you, the musician-type, to make it sound different, because even though all the records sound exactly the same, they’re all incredibly different because he records metal, punk, boy scout choirs, folk, country, dubstep, well not dupstep; and you can be absolutely sure that even though the bands are different genres, they are all completely broke.  

Then there’s the guy with THE BOARD.  Holy shit.  The board.  He has the Porsche of boards.  Captain Tiny-Dick.  Hyphenated last name — a divorcee.  He’s also the record label’s guy and he’s pretty much a Jack-N-the-Box television commercial director.  Did you hear his last 10 records since he got that board and a digital interface?  Because if you have, then you’ve already heard YOUR next record.  “But we’re different, man.”  Not for long, G.  Sonically, structurally, melodically, all of that shit — you’ve heard it before and you will soon be hearing it again.  

Finally, there’s the HOME STUDIO guy.  This guy is sometimes cross-pollinated with the greasy-turd producer or the board guy, but this bruiser works at home.  He may as well be like a black-jack dealer sleeping in the casino.  He’ll give you all the cards you need as long as you just hang out.  All the time.  He wants friends.  He wants to show you his toys.  “See that pre-amp over there?  NO DON’T TOUCH IT!  DO NOT TOUCH THAT!!  It’s fucking awesome.  We won’t be using that.”  Fast forward three months of arguing: “This note!  This note would be perfect coming through that pre-amp!!  …okay, that didn’t work…”  Do you like playing music?  Well good, because you’ll be doing that a little under 3% of the time here.  Do you like seeing guys play video games?  Yeah, me neither.  That’s 98% of the time with zero margin for error.  And I’m not trying to make this sound bad, because this is by far the only way to go, and it’s incredible to get to do any of this, or be alive in general.  

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Do you remember that scene in Face/Off when Nic Cage has taken John Travolta’s awful body and he’s suddenly at an FBI desk job all day, everyday, working a 9-6 job although he’s really a mastermind criminal?

There’s a scene in the office where Special Agent Cavolta reaches over and smack/grabs his secretary’s ass and says something like, ‘Ohh yeahhhh.”

The secretary is obviously disconcerted that her trusted boss of many years has violated her in this way, but it turns out, after years of research on my part, that the actress playing the secretary never had to go through that misogyny.

In a brilliant directing move, John Woo put Nic Cage in a woman’s formal professional suit and then did a CLOSE-UP of Cage’s buttocks being squeezed and groped by Travolta. This is a really deep and layered scene, and it’s the basis of my doctoral dissertation, and also part of a documentary being made by the BBC right now.

In the documentary, you’ll get to see:

The director explaining the motivation of the scene directly to Nic Cage’s ass.

The deleted scenes of John Travolta’s boss asking him why his paperwork is absolutely terrible lately.  

348 Takes of John Travolta grabbing, groping, squeezing, caressing Cage-Assss, with Travolta saying, “That was good, but it needs to be GREAT.”  

And finally, Travolta explaining that he’s not really grabbing Nic Cage’s ass in the scene, he’s actually grabbing his own ass.

The documentary will be called ASS/OFF, and it’ll be available on LaserDisc and only LaserDisc in January 2024.

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Once, in the movie theater, after watching Terminator 3: Rise of the Horseshit, as the dialogue was finishing up, saying something awesome like, “Never stop fighting, never stop believing, never… stop…” my friend Jeff finished their thought, shouting out, “…making shitty Terminator movies!”

I laughed with the rest of the gang in a bitter, jealous laugh, and, thinking on my toes, I yelled out something along the lines of, “Never stop making shitty Terminator movies!”   Who needs friends anyway…

I took a risk that eve in that Cineplex.  I thought, ‘okay, what Jeff just did worked.  Now let me give it a try.’  And that’s what art is, really.  ‘Look at that painting; it’s beautiful – I could draw that.’  ‘Wow, that was a great movie; I could write that dogshit dialogue.’  ‘I love that song – oh, it’s just those three chords?  I can play that, maaaannnn.’

There are so many fantastic quotations about art and its process that it’s hard to know where to start, but there are some quotes where you just stop and say, “Oh my good gravy, yes, YES!  That jagoff nailed it!”  Then it turns out that that person really IS a jagoff – and his art is “performance art” which, at best, is public masturbation, and at worst, it’s…it’s…I don’t know…a guy sucking a…no, a girl shoving a thousand…wait, it’s a dog with a…it’s just awful.

But I think the best quote regarding art is from William Bickley: “True art is an expression of your depth; sometimes more, but never less.”  You know who William Bickley was?  He was the co-creator of the show Step by Step with Patrick Duffy and Suzanne Somers.  That guy knows as much about art as…that one guy…or that woman with the eye patch…that weird fuck with the webbed toes…or the dude missing his ear.

You just have to work hard at your art and one day it will be appreciated, either by a few or millions.  Take me, for example: I moved on from movie theater stand-up comedy/improv and now I sell used dildos to widows in nursing homes – and that’s because I’m an artist.  And let me tell you – the money, the notoriety, and the pussaayy is awful.  Very few of these old broads want a used dildo OR a relationship with a used-dildo-salesman, but in time, my art will be appreciated.  Just the other day I got my name in the paper – it doesn’t matter what for.

So now the six of you know what art really is – Me in a movie theater shouting out the same funny line that my friend Jeff just said.  Me selling used sex toys to geriatrics.  Me writing this blog.  Thank you for reading it.  In time, this too will be appreciated; or taken into evidence.

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Most people only use craigslist to sell their extra horse manure and pick up the occasional tranny hooker, the guys in SBM are no exception, but being three dudes in a band we also periodically peruse the musicians postings in the community section.

For those of you who have never looked at this section it is packed full of the most starry-eyed delusional bastards who have ever walked the erf. Yeah, there is the occasional legitimate opportunity for a skilled and dedicated musician, just like there is the occasional Subway sandwich that doesn’t taste like it fell out of an asshole. The odds are better that you will be bit by a lottery winning shark.

If you choose to believe the over-hyped rants found on craigslist, then you must be really excited about the five to ten better-than-AC/DC bands born in Los Angeles every day. It is like the surviving members of the Beatles had gay babies with the surviving members of Led Zeppelin, and those babies grew up to place ads on craigslist.

I wanted to know if these ads got any responses, so I placed an ad of my own. Here is that ad…


Dear future partner in crime,

Do you have a killer voice?
A voice that people HAVE to listen to, hanging on every word?
Do you have a perfect blend of tone, style and power?
Is your greatest desire to have legions of followers under your complete control waiting for the next lyric?
Are you willing to use force, when necessary to get what you want?


If you answered “YES” to most or all of these questions, then maybe, just maybe, we can make some real MAGIC together.

 When we play jaws WILL drop, and if they don’t, bodies will 😉

Here is a short list of the geniuses that inspire me; The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, the Rolling Stones, Genghis Khan, Che, Nirvana, Alexander the Great, and the Clash 

About me; I have an unquenchable thirst for music and a raging fire in my heart for world domination. I have over 20 years experience with both guitars and small arms. I have access to my grandmothers bomb shelter where we can practice our songs and develop our plan. I also own a digital 8-track and 4 firearms.

Within 3 months I would like to record our first gold album and have control of a small town. Although we may have to go to a rural area where people are more “malleable”. Within the first year I would like to have done at least one platinum album and have complete control over a county. With hard work, we can grow from there.

If you have the Voice and the desire write me before you miss the boat. LETS TAKE OVER THE WORLD:)

The worlds greatest guitarist/songwriter/leader


p.s. Do not bother contacting me if you are a crackpot. I don’t need you flooding my yahoo account.  

I learned that there are at least 13 erratic, desperate singers willing to join a militia for the chance to make it big in the fine art of rock n’ roll. Most were willing to give me their phone number. One guy even gave me his home address. Here are a few select responses.

you have my voice…I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU
25 year old rock singer ready to DO DIS SHIT
Check out the vox and get back to me ASAP

thanks for your time
J. Nitro

J. Nitro, if that is your real name, you have what I like to call a winning attitude. With that and your constipated Axl Rose timbre, you don’t need violence to get to the top.

hi i am Paula i like your add straight power ,a little on me i sing ,write dance and love all styles of music i know action speak louder than word so i am will to put my mouth were the money at contact me live 

i am ready to work (XXX)XXX-XXXX

Paula, Paula, Paula… I would love to read from your lyric book.

Hello I’m responding against my better judgement due to the uncanny similarity of taste in bands. I imagine there are lots of people inspired by the combination Beatles stones zep acdc clash nirvana but I don’t seem to run into them I would describe my vocal power as emotionally terrifying if you are interested, please respond by suggesting a song you’d like to hear me sing and I will record it and send you a link ps if you find my soundcloud page don’t equate it with my tastes I use it to show samples of my jingles for video games and children’s book commercials

This person is one of the few to have any sense of hesitation in their message. I really wanted to respond to this one and see if I could get them to cover Girls Got Rhythm by AC/DC. Let’s face it, not many people sound good screaming about sex in falsetto.

hello bro I saw your add and I have to say you sound really serious about your plans .with that being said I will cut right through the chase im a great vocalist with power and range im looking for the right people to start a revolution in music. anyways go to  and there you can hear me. 

Hey, Bro. Yeah, Im serious as fuck. Let’s do this shit… oh, wait… myspace?!?!?!? You gunna take a horse and buggy to the practice space? (Get it? Myspace is old. I totally zinged him. TOTALLY!)

I left the craigslist ad up. If you find it, leave me a love note.


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The Cat Psychiatric Center

Isn’t it just a little bit funny to think about cats having paranoid schizophrenia?
No, it’s not.  It’s a horrible thought.  You’re a horrible person.  Incredibly insensitive, but please, keep reading, this is serious.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve sat at a party (my bar mitzvah) listening to one human (my mom) tell another human (me) about their cat’s personality!

“She’s like a person!”  She is not LIKE a person.  She IS a goddamn cat.

The thing is, I am a cat person.  I’m not a cat hater by any means of that phrase.  I have a cat.  I’ve lived with cats.  How could you not love them…They’re like, little, amazing, stout-ass, despondent, temperamental, furry versions of dogs, but the incredible reality is that the cats that need the utmost attention, the kitties with disabilities, hardly ever get the treatment they deserve; nor the diagnosis, for that matter.

When people talk about their cat’s personalities, they don’t realize that they own a “Down’s Syndrome kittie,” A “Tourette’s cat,” a”Schizo Calico,” a “Manic-Depressive Meow-Meow.”  These are not unique personalities.  These cats have mental health problems.  They’re out there, shitting in boxes just like every other normal cat, but they’re not “normal.”  They’re suffering.  Have you ever had your cat checked out?  Explored the process?  Taken the time to give your cat a little kitty ink-blot test?  Or a personality disorder survey?  It is time for some real cat mental health talk.

Besides writing blogs, playing Mike Tyson Punchout on Nintendo, and working the grave-yard shift at El Pollo Loco three nights/month, I do cat therapy groups.  I run the groups, actually, but I also do one-on-one consultations and treatments.  Just Mano-A-Toonces.  (Toonces, the driving cat, was addicted to kittie heroin.  We just couldn’t save him.  It was ironic that he was always driving off a cliff in those SNL sketches.  Ironic and awful…)

I own a full-body cat suit, equipped with real feline hair and dander, that I won in an Ebay bidding war against three of the world’s top cat therapists all of whom are located in the San Fernando Valley.  That clearly makes me the best on the planet.  I interact with the cats.  I move into your house, I shit in the litter box, I give you a ton of attitude, shed hair everywhere, maul your couch, and I work 24/3(days a month) to connect with your cat(s) for a good seven months to a year.  Maybe you’ll exploit me and make a crazy Youtube video that gets way fewer views than you think it deserves.  The process is scientific, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be fun!
Now, I’m going to be fantastically honest with you here because I’m a straight-shooter —
I am a businessman/cat, so this service is INCREDIBLY expensive and totally DISPLACING and INCONVENIENT, but the service is also invaluable, and my numbers speak for themselves.  76% of my customers were unavailable for comment on whether or not they’d hire me again.  76%. 

If this is something that concerns you, Cat call me and we’ll chat it out.  I do free consultations with an $8,525.00 retainer.
CALL: THE CAT MENTAL HEALTH CLINIC @ 323.555.3132.  It’s a pay phone located behind the Walgreens on Burbank Blvd. in Panorama City, CA.  Ask for CATMAN.

Hasn’t your cat suffered long enough?  :)?


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Band Spotlights: Switchfoot

I recently got the opportunity to sit down with the band, Switchfoot, to talk about their upcoming album, their previous success, Jesus, and keeping it all in perspective.

J: So, why in the holy fuck are you guys so popular?

SF: (laughing, like we’re a bunch of buddies) Haha, well—

J: No, seriously, you’re not that popular, but soo much more than you should be. Right? I even have a couple friends who like your band.

SF: Is that a real question –

J: No, it’s not. I mean it rhetorically, in a lot of ways. You don’t even have to answer. But at least admit – this shouldn’t be so, right?

SF: This shouldn’t be so? What magazine is this again?

J: I’ll ask the questions. (pause) What’s the band’s name?

SF: (pause)

J: You’re a band, ain’tcha?

SF: We’re Switchfoot.

J: Switchfoot?

SF: Yes.

J: It says here: Seether.

SF: Switchfoot.

J: You’re sure?

SF: Yes.

J: What are some of your musical influences?

SF: Honestly, we grew up listening to –

J: Honestly? Of course, honestly. What the fuck does that mean? If you’re not going to be honest with me, why are we even going to do this fucking interview?

SF: That’s a darn good question.

J: Oh, Darn… That’s right, you boys love Jesus. Huh? You looooove Jesus! Jesus Freaks?

SF: Is that a question?

J: I inflected it a question, didn’t I? Let me ask you something, asshole: what do you think God and Jesus would think of your music? Because on first listen, don’t you think at least 2/3 of the holy trinity would be apt to consider this “devil music.”

SF: Dude, this is getting weird. Yeah, I think we might split –

J: Let’s not forget: Revelation 22:20.

SF: He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

J: I meant Luke 12:20.

SF: But God said unto him, thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?

J: I’ll ask the questions here, guys: How ridiculous is that?

SF: It’s not ridiculous. It’s the word of God.

J: The word of God? The word of God is the liner notes of the Motorhead anthology. Haven’t you watched Airheads 430 times like me and my loser friends? I mean, am I right or am I right here? Help me out, Token Asian Guy?

SF: What?

J: What do you mean, what? Morrissey 13:18 says: “You can’t help but think that the Chinese people are a subspecies.”

SF: Okay.

J: That is a real quote from the singer, Morrissey. Isn’t that crazy?

SF: Yes?

J: He’s a fuckin’ weirdo, huh?

(long pause)

SF: What is this?

J: This is a standard form email interview for all guests of Muscles, Tanning and Music Magazine.

SF: Muscles, Tanning and Music. You’re the ones who gave the new Skrillex album 6 yoked biceps?

J: Well, their new stuff was buff –

SF: What’s that out of?

J: What? Why are you…? Don’t ask me…stuff. It’s not out of anything… I don’t have to take this shit. It’s three guys with, huge…biceps. You’re either yoked or you’re flabby teenage boy boobs, man.

SF: Flabby teenage boy boobs?

J: I expect that’s something you’re quite used to…

SF: How so?

J: (pause) One time, my buddy AJ and I were riding around, and we were takin’ some tasty puffolas off the ol’ Mary-Jew-Anna pipe, if you catch my drift…?

SF: (silence)

J: …and we noticed that there was a cop behind us.

SF: (silence)

J: So, my friend leans over and says, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” And then he slowly handed the cop his expired library card from 1999. How crazy is that?

SF: Pretty crazy…

J: A fucking expired library card, Switchfoot! (laughing for 3 minutes straight) So what’s next for the band?

SF: Uh, we have a Midwest –

J: He was arrested.

SF: What?

J: AJ. He was arrested. I rolled over on him. And it was his third strike, too. He’s in prison. Any pets? Any sex out of wedlock? Any occasional bowel irregularities?

SF: Alright, that’s enough, this interview is over.

J: No, actually it’s not. Siddown. (looking at papers) Wait, yes it is. That’s all the questions I have here. Nope, wrong again. I’ll just ask the questions I’ve prepared for the group, Staind. (pause – card shuffling) On the cover of your album, Tormented, from 1996, you put a bloody cross and graphic image of a Barbie doll. Why did you choose that album artwork?

SF: That’s not our album –

J: It says here it is. And then, Fred Durst was all mad and stuff, huh? Then he got over it. Then he signed your band to his label. What was that label called again – “Nookie” Bullshit “Give Me Something to Break” Records, Incorporated? LLC?

SF: We’re on Atlantic. What’s your fucking band on?

J: HOLY FUCK! Did you just curse at me?

SF: (arguing) Dan, man, come on. Dude. Don’t let this little shit talking cocksucker make you lose your Christian values, man.


SF: Is that a question?

J: I inflected it, didn’t I!? Well, forget you guys! This article ain’t ever going to print! And you can forget about future interviews in this online workout magainze! FUCK! YOU!

SF: Come on, man. He didn’t mean it.

J: (pause) Okay… Okay, I guess the Bible teaches some kind of forgiveness. Okay, whatever. I just have one last question:


You’re sure you’re not Seether?

SF: Alright…

J: I’m kidding. It’s a joke. Come on. Have a sense of humor, Switchfoot.

SF: So do you have one real question?

J: Once again, I’ll ask the questions – but yes. Have you ever masturbated in an airplane bathroom?

SF: No.

J: Never joined the mile-high jackoff club?

SF: No.

J: I have. Thank you guys for doing this. Really.

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The Year Was 1887…

…and Emil Berliner had just invented the Gramophone for all 12 of his family members to hear.  You can imagine that Emil was kind of like an anti-latter day Sean Parker in the way that he made it possible for music lovers to not have to physically take themselves to a concert hall to see music – much the same way that Sean Parker made it possible for the members of Metallica to starve to death. 

Fast-forward one war-filled century, and in 1987, the previously homeless band Guns N’ Roses put out their debut, Appetite for Destruction.  In one hundred years, humanity lunged forward from hearing Emil Berliner singing the German alphabet over and over and probably dying completely broke at age 26 (still did more than me), to Axl Rose straight GIVING it to his drummer’s girlfriend (having heterosexual intercourse with a female on the last track of the album, “Rocket Queen”) and selling 16 million copies before becoming the icon/cockbag that he is today. 

Part of me would like to go back in time, to Emil’s simpler and disease-filled time, and insert “Rocket Queen” into the playlist while the Berliner family had a quiet evening of listening to Emil’s horrible voice and hoping not to die of Tuberculosis.  Granted, “Rocket Queen” and its coitus sounds are like the show Blue’s Clues to us now, those of us who are Internet and social media and sex and Ice Truckers: Season 2 addicts, but in Emil’s time, there was literally no sound during sex other than gravelly, whisper grunts.  The sounds of Axl knockin’ boots would’ve been traumatic for them.  I bet their reactions to it would’ve been exactly like, or similar to an ordinary, 21st century person’s reaction to the webisode, “Two Girls: One Cup.”  Or is it, “Two Broke Girls?”  I always get those confused…

But anywayz, it got me a-thinkin—which ain’t no good for nobody—about the future.  Emil and his German, Victorian-era asshole buddies probably saw an oil painting in an underground, erotic art museum of a woman showing off her disgusting, drum-stickish, pale calves and thought, “Well, now I’ve seen absolutely everything…  How could it get any worse than THAT?”  Well, Emil and pals, it totally can…  Just about anything today is far worse than anything back then.  For instance, the aforementioned program, “Two Girls: One Cup,” which definitely doesn’t need or deserve quotations around it at all; or the (grammatical) colon is a little bit worse than everything up until the year 2000.  And Emil might have quipped to his friends, “What would those dicksuckers in the Dark Ages thought about that, huh?  Let’s go listen to me sing the alphabet song again on my gramophone, yo.” 

But now, I have to wonder, HOW MUCH WORSE COULD IT REALLY GET than 2G1C??  It truly can’t, unless of course, it.. just……does…  In the year 2087, when we’re all dressed in similar aluminum space-suit outfits, is the “hot tub girl” Youtube vid (A quite popular Internet video in which a girl defecates violently into a pool of super-heated water) going to be a commercial for Fibercon or something?  Are we at the erotic peak and cultural bottom of our civilization?  Why isn’t the religious right-wing people doing more to slow us freaks down?  Why hasn’t anyone killed Chris Brown yet?  Will Tara Reid make a comeback?  And finally, if Emil Berliner was strapped to a chair and forced to listen to a few tracks of spastic Dubstep “music,” his eyes pried open like that nice young man in Clockwork Orange, would he still have invented the mother of all music devices?  The answer is NO to all of the above.    

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FUCK YOU, 2012!

We made it, babys!  2013!  Make it great!  At least adequate.  Try not to die…

I thinks to myself…  wat wood b da bess weigh to sellbrate da nu yere?

We are gonna start a new trend here, lady and gentleman.  It’s weird when you know, as you type, that this special something is going to catch fire.  I’m arubbin’ two sticks together…

(please don’t steal this idea from us.  it’s the best one we’ve had in years)

hey, it’s joe.  the other guys don’t let me talk a whole much in this band, which is cool and stuff because they’s right; drummers shouldn’t be talking.  ever.

so, the movie they let me watch was called Wild Things with Kevin Dillon’s brother, Matt, and Chris “Crispy” Bacon’s son, Kevin.  it also had some girls in it.  that one chick who was in that movie with the neurotic guy from Friends.  Not the tall neurotic one, but the other one.  Not Joey, obviously, but the other one.  I think his name was Chandler.  Yeah, Chandler.  I could obviously go back and delete everything I just typed and just type that, or none of it at all, but I like to live with no regrets. Let me tell ya, it ain’t workin out.

So Chandler’s dream girl from that movie where he’s like an architect or something and Kevin D’s brother are in this movie.  And it’s a goood one.   I started watching around the time that Matt Dilon’s character (I forget his character’s name) is helping a young retarded boy with a schooner.  Matt D’s saying, “boats, Jimmy, boats.  that’s the way to pay for college.  fixing boats…”  He’s right.  And then the other actress, who’s about 35 playing 18, she’s saying some shit like, “hey Mr. Lombando, can I get a ride home?”  I did remember his name afterall, even though his name is Lombardo, not Lombando…

While in his jeep, the rich girl says something to the little poor goth girl like (although she doesn’t say it TO HER, she says it loud enough where the goth girl can hear… YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING, FUCKO!!)  “Where’d she get those shoes — Whores ‘R Us?”  HAHAHAHAHAHA

This, combined with the Bil Murray character, added some much needed comedy in an otherwise droll and dull and lull period piece.  The period?  1998.  The Miami area, I think.  Blue Bay?  Swamps.  Oh yeah, Bill Murray is in it.  He’s pretty good.  But he’s always good.  Did you see him in Caddyshack?  Yeah, I didn’t really like it that much either.  But I saw it.

So here are the Pros of Wild Things:
A heavy helping of Bacon
Cat fights
Swamp Trash

It was a little too short.
There needed to be more twists and turns.
Gator orgy?   (that’s not a question, really.  it’s saying, WHY NOT AN ALLIGATOR ORGY SCENE?  Give the audiences what they want, and they’ll buy tickets)

I hate to point out flaws in a movie, also, but the prosecuting attorney seems to be the lead detective in the Kelly Van Ryan rape case.  That doesn’t seem right.  But they don’t want to overwhelm us with characters.  That’s the rich girl’s name, by the way.  Kelly Van Ryan (sp).  As an example of them re-using characters, Kelly Van Ryan, the rape-victim/conspirator/liar/Denise Richards character, in a deleted scene that I found, plays Matt Dillon’s grandmother when he’s going through the turmoil of losing his counseling job.  They don’t even put any makeup on her.

And there’s only one TRULY great, Nic Cagian-moment in Wild Things:
LOCATION:  Police Station

Dilon says, “Cocksucker!”
Bacon:  What’s that?
Dillon:  You heard me, motherfucker, I said ‘cocksucker.’
Bacon:  What!?
Dillon:  You heard me!
Bacon:  Wanna say that TO MY FACE!?!

So then Bacon kills Kelly.  Pretty much right after this.
And it’s like, I knew that shit was coming.  Unless of course you didn’t.
What I don’t understand, is when characters go into like a METHOD-style of acting for their character’s double identity.  Bacon is the bad guy and in cahoots with Dillon, but in between the scenes, he’s on a MISSION.
It’s like the scene in The Dark Knight (and this is a Sonny revelation), where Batman is talking to Lucius Fox with all those little computer screens, and he’s STILL USING THE BATMAN VOICE.  Maybe four people in all of Gotham City know who Batman really is, and when Bruce uses that machine with all the little screens against Lucius’sss will, THAT’s when he should’ve called Batman out on it.  Lucius should say, “You know it’s me, mothafucka!  You don’t need to use that voice!  Fuck this, I quit.”

So Wild Things was steamy and sensual, thrilling and titillating, confusing and quite possibly the best film ever made in 1998.  Just as possibly, it could be the worst.  But you have to admit, reading this blog is a lot like watching the movie.  Lotta swamp ass.

Finally.  Even though I feel like I wrapped this mother fucker up like a mummy — I did want to point out that the last line of the Academy Award-winning film, CRASH, is, “Dopey fuckin’ Chinaman…”  I only bring this up because it’s: 1.  got Matthew Dillon in it.   2.  It’s not NEAR as good as Wild Things or Where the Wild Things Are or Ghostbusters.  3.  Do you think Paul Haggis knew that it was gonna be Ludacris saying that line, and it was the last thing he had in the script, and he wrote it and was like…YEAUP, I’M DONE!  That will for sure get me a statue.  4.  I’m a little insecure about how I finished the blog.  5.  Mummy.

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The End of the World…………


Do you think someday soon there’s gonna be some type of honest-to-goodness Apocalypse?
Some catastrophe that “wipes the slate clean” and “sets the clocks to zero” and “ends all life as we know it on a planet that we stripped and raped and prodded and polluted and trashed and FUCKED in a bad way…?” Hmm?
I equate this inevitability to the night my mom finally snapped…

My mama, a gentle, caring, compassionate woman, had her flare-ups. She would scream out, “SHIT SHIT SHIT!” or “GO THE FUCK IN!” every once in a blue lagoon. Y’know, normal mom shit. So anotha motha, Mother Earth, sick of all the bullshit Exxon Mobil bullshit and endless saw mills and toilet paper overuse that takes two flushes, is just gonna Fuck. Us. Up.
But the question is: what is Mama Nature gonna unleash? Zombies? Yeah, maybe. A violent, deadly strain of incurable chicken Poxxx? Could be. A Children of Men-style no babies-thingy. Nope. Zombies? Yeah, MAYBE, man.
Whatever it is, one thing is for absolute, god damn certain — those guys hiding out in the woods right now are gonna look like GENIUSES.

They will instantaneously be our rock stars, movie stars and royalty. You want your ration of beans this month? You gotta kiss the ring — and not the one around his finger, either. Welcome to Frank’s Country, or Bruceland or The United States of Steve Erickson. These strongmen will be the new leaders of what will resemble the barbaric tribes of Gaul and Germania — warring factions that will separate the men from the men who die.

Their childhood stuffed animals will be your new Congress. Their collection of spoons from the Southwest — The Smithsonian. Their favorite song, “You won’t be Lonely” by Stryper off the very underrated (and very commercially popular amongst the militia types) Yellow and Black Attack album = Your new National Anthem. Welcome home.

So, what I’m trying to say is….umm, be nice to your mother. Always. And PICK UP YOUR GODDAMN TRASH!!!

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On a long enough time we all sell out…

(I just want to make sure everyone knows I wrote this weeks before Billie’s unfortunate, fake meltdown)

A poster advertising the Fox hit show (i guess…), The Voice, made me say aloud, “oh, what the holy fuuuugghhhhh!!!” as I threw up in my mouth before spewing all over my grandmother who was in the wheelchair in front of me inside the Victoria’s Secret at the Glendale Galleria. It was a fuckin mess…

The poster featured a very made-up Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day and The Network and Pinhead Gunpowder and Foxboro Hot Tubs sitting next to Christina Aquilera with a look across his face that said, “Oh, this season, it’s on, girlfriend.” Christina is equally sassy, with maybe a little bit more ‘tude, saying something like, “You thought last season was crazy????!?? uh uhhhhh!! It’s ON, girlfriend! And I’m bringing Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day with me!” If NOTHING else, it was consistent…

As I’m coming out of the bathroom, I hear security screaming, “Whose old lady is this!!!” And I still can’t seem to shake that poster — Billie, come on, man!!! The (fucking!) Voice????? Why not a Haliburton informercial?
The script:

Yes, it’s true, we purposefully set
out to destroy every form of life on
this planet, but…

There’s a long pause…the studio audience will shift nervously…

Ladies and Gentlemen, Billie Joe of
Green Day!!!

The APPLAUSE sign lights up.

Billie, you’re gonna play a new one off your
14-disc set, Uno, Dos, Tres, Cuatro, Cinco…ugh…

Now, I love Billie Joe Armstrong more than anyone else in the world. I think most guys in bands look up to him, and that’s why it’s so disturbing that he would choose The Voice over American Idol….. WAIT, I mean, that he’s doing some DOGSHIT TV TALENT SHOW at all!!! He doesn’t need to do this, does he? Does he need to galavant, cohort and co-host with these dicksuckers and do these radio festivals wedged between usher and rihanna? Is he broke? Is he dying? Is he JUST famous enough to want to be famouser?

Whatever the reason for his temporary insanity — I will say, that this season was the best damn season of The Voice I ever seent! It’s always GREAT, but this season, IT WAS ON!!!

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