Categories: Lists Posted on August 12, 2009 By: Roy
I recently received a letter from DJ that urged me to go check out the video “Remember The Time” by the late-great Michael Jackson. Back in 6th grade I was really into Egypt. I’m not sure why. I guess I just like middle-eastern countries and wonders of the world. So, anyway, as I’m sure you know, when you get interested in something in 6th grade you end up getting an encyclopedic knowledge of it. Kids are just much better at devouring trivia. That’s why we all still know all the words to Smash Mouth’s “All Star” and Sugar Ray’s “Every Morning” (we do all know those words, right?). Like I was saying, I know pretty much everything there is to know about Egyptian culture….or so I thought! Here are five things I learned about Egyptian history from the “Remember The Time” music video:
5- Michael Jackson Is A Scholar On The Subject
Yes, I knew that Jackson was a fairly decent dancer, a brilliant mathematician and a crack-shot rifleman, but I did not know he was an Egyptian scholar. After watching this 9 plus minute video, I am CONVINCED that Michael knew everything I know about Egypt and much, much more. The first thing you notice in the video is how accurate the architecture is; let’s do a compare/ contrast.
Here’s a screen-shot from Michael’s video:
And (since they didn’t have cameras back then) here’s a screen-shot from the movie “Ten Commandments” (which must be accurate because it’s religious):
Obviously both films are working from the same historically accurate information (or stereotypes).
Jackson didn’t just do his homework on the architecture of the room, he also must have done massive research on his casting. When casting Ramesses The Great, Michael went with funny man Eddie Murphy. Perfect!
4- Egyptians Have Developed Lighter Colored Skin Since
I didn’t release this, but if Michael Jackson did it, it must be true. The “Remember The Time” video is littered with African American superstars. Namely, Michael Jackson, but also Eddie Murphy. And then how about David Bowie’s wife, Iman. More like Ihottie! Am I right? How about someone for those guys who don’t like music, comedy and girls? Bam, we’ve got Magic Johnson!! Then two more famous blacks guys I’ve never heard of: The Pharcyde and Tom “Tiny” Lister, Jr.
Well anyway, like I said, Michael must know Egypt a lot better than me, because I didn’t realize Egyptians were really that black. As I mentioned in the introduction to this piece, Egypt is a middle eastern country, though it is positioned on the tip of the African continent. I wonder why people can never cast Egyptians correct. In the Rugrat’s Passover special the Egyptians are white and in this video they are all black. Why aren’t they ever Arabian like they really are?
Really the only person in the video who looks even remotely Egyptian is Michael (thanks to his skin ailment). Take a look at some real Egyptians. These are the two most famous, their President and their Miss:
3- Ancient Egypt Didn’t Have A Problem With Feminism
Have you noticed how much control the queen in the video has? Now my knowledge of Egyptian culture tells me that Ramesses’s wife is named Nefertari. Or at least that was his principle wife…in other words his favorite out of the other seven wives he had. But man, Iman is empowered in this video! While being fanned by slaves she says, “Oh Eddie Murphy, entertain me!” The pharaoh immediately works to satisfied 1/8th of his wives.
Devils sticks dancer? Not entertained. Fire breather? Not entertained. Michael Jackson…
2- Brendan Fraser Had Nothing To Do With Ancient Egypt
I could have swore he did.
I’m not even going to elaborate. I think Brendan Fraser is just laughable on his own.
1- Michael Jackson Was There
Here’s the real kicker. Michael Jackson doesn’t just know a ton of shit about Egypt through years of research. He knows it from first hand experience! Believe it. Meg just wrote a post about how apparently god-like Michael is, well it looks like she was right. Michael Jackson is the reincarnate form of some Egyptian king. Take a look at this statue and tell me you don’t see the resemblance:
My only conclusion: Once Michael gets done with the complicated process of getting to the Egyptian underworld he will unleash a swarm of pestilence across the globe, eradicating anyone who does not own the “Dangerous” album.
Categories: The News Posted on July 15, 2009 By: DJ
Many of you may not know this, but I’m a pretty well-read guy. I’m not implying I’ve read any particular library of classic books – I’ve made it a point to never read a single Charles Dickens book no matter how many I was assigned throughout high school, I have a particular disdain for Ernest Hemmingway and, frankly James Joyce can suck my hog (I assume based solely on his name that he’s of the homosexual persuasion). However, I do read the news every day. The real news. The New York Times – not Metro NY, The Post, anything posted on CNN or any of that other silly hogwash. (Morris Day and) The Motherfucking Time(s). That shit is the MAD notes!
Anyway, I was reading an article yesterday about Michael Jackson’s memorial (Michael Jackson: The Memorial, rather) and I came to a phrase that was totally worthy of a tweet, however Twitter tells me “Arrow_on_red” and to “watch a video,” which I never do. So, unable to share this hilarity in my normal manner for quips of such insignificance, I decided to let it stir for an entire day and be evacuated from my body in a long form post. My original tweet will be followed by my elaboration:
yesterday the ny times referred to the michael jackson memorial as an ‘orgy of mourning’ http://bit.ly/ZSqkY sounds like an awful goth band
(Note how I refuse to use proper punctuation for my tweets.)
Indeed, Alessandra Stanley decided to equate the ramblings of a bunch of aging stars and the sobbing of a child to a sex act involving three or more people. For this, I cannot fault her. I’m almost positive it’s the first time I’ve ever laughed while reading the Times – unfortunately for me, I was drinking hot coffee and ended up with second degree burns inside my nose, but that’s neither here nor there. What I can fault her for, is the exact words she used. An orgy of mourning carries a ton of possible connotations. For one, had her left pinky slipped and hit the shift key, she would have ended up with an “orgy of Mourning,” conjuring images of retired Miami Heat basketball star Alonzo Mourning having all kinds of kinky sex with other people with the last name Mourning.
As my tweet above will inform you, though, this was not my initial reaction. At first, I thought it sounded like a bad high school “goth” band. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what the term goth actually means. In middle school I know we used to call anyone who listened to KoRn goth. I don’t think I used it in high school, but if I did, I’m relatively certain it was in reference to the fat asses who watched Anime (and by association Hentai). In college, I realized both the definitions were wrong as I became more entrenched in what I know as “metal” and listened to idiot girls refer to other idiot girls who happened to be wearing a black t-shirt as goth.
Now, I tend to associate it with darker rock acts and (at the risk of upsetting either a frigheningly fat or skinny mongrel of an outcast) some more feminine black metal acts and people who still insist on wearing trench coats and ponytails. (Ghaal, I’m looking directly at you.) With that, let me set the scene for how Orgy of Mourning came to be:
Greg Schmidt (or Devastatorious as he liked to be called, not realizing how retarded and off-base it was) was a skinny lad, aged 15. At one time, he was very much into N*SYNC, but never told anyone. As a direct result, he was driven head first by the denial of his own homosexuality to black metal. First it was just once in a while, when he was bored of his Metallica CDs, but with the advent of high speed Internet and P2P networks, he found he needed to own and know everything about every band ever, which brought him to his current position in life – trolling message boards, blogs and news sites to point out whenever someone forgot to mention the latest Abigail Williams release.
One particularly rainy afternoon, Devastatorious was ham-handedly playing something resembling a ham-handed Mayhem song on his Line6 Pod Pro, which he got on eBay for “like half of list price.” As he came to what some would call a chorus, his buddy Mike Shea (Khhal for our purposes) came running down with a great idea, “Let’s start our own band!” Of course, this sounded like a great idea to Devastatorious. “Ok, well first things first – we need a totally bitchin’ name,” he explained.
“Well, yeah of course. What should we call ourselves?”
“The most dark and hardcore thing ever.”
“Nothing was darker than when my mother mourned the loss of Sprinkles (the shivering family Teacup Something or other).”
“Fuck yeah, the idea of mourning is deep as hell.”
“What else should we include?”
“How about something sexual? Not because we’ll end up having sex six months from now, or anything.”
As he said this, Greg shot a look to the right to avoid eye contact with his new bandmate. Mike continued looking at him awkwardly for a moment before breaking the silence:
“This might not be cool, but check it out.”
“Remember that totally gay band from back in the day Orgy.”
“Yea, they suck.” No they don’t, he thought to himself.
“Well, how about we take ‘Orgy’ back and make it cool again?”
As if they had both sprung rods simultaneously, Greg and Mike looked up from their in-progress black painted nails and exclaimed triumphantly:
Everyone has heard the sad news about Michael Jackson and I like to think that everyone was at least somewhat saddened. I mean if you don’t like Michael Jackson songs, then what’s the point? While everyone was upset, some people, some very deeply devoted fans, were nothing short of devastated…physically , emotionally, spiritually. One of these people was our good friend Megan Riebesell. She won’t be able to see Michael in London this summer, but the least we could do was let her share some words with you. – Roy
Hello. My name is Megan Riebesell and I am here to talk to you about the biggest tragedy this planet has ever seen. As you must have figured out by now, I’m referring to the death of Michael Joseph Jackson. During this period of confusion, referred to by psychologists as “Stage 1: Denial” in the model for the five stages of grief, it is hard for people to see clearly to the issue at hand. In hopes that this article will make it easier to cope, at least for the mere few it may reach, I am going to use this forum to share some of my experiences with Michael, and discuss how his passing has affected me, Megan Riebesell.
It was obvious from a young age that Michael was probably not supposed to have ended up on earth. Something went wrong, somebody messed something up. Whoopsies! Typo, wrong planet, something like that. People kind of started to realize this when the J5 made their first appearance on Ed Sullivan in 69. If you saw this you’d probably notice what could develop into a debilitating overload of soul and groove. Certainly too much to be contained by the small, frail body of an11 year old. If you went even further and watched this one you’d additionally notice that he’s not moving the way that a child who probably just advanced to having legible handwriting should move.
So lots of people were sort of catching on, J5 ruled with 4 consecutive number one hits on the billboard chart, which was the first time this had ever happened. I have to assume that people who actually lived through his emergence were desperately rationalizing: “Okay this kid will probably grow out of it in like 4 years when he’s a fucked up teenage mess.” I think a lot of people would have been more comfortable with that scenario.
Instead, Michael decided to fucking unleash his maniac talent on everyone full throttle. By the time when most kid stars would start to totally burn themselves out, realizing they completely missed out on childhood and collapsing beneath the pressure of the limelight and everything, Michael invented a new way of dealing with all of it. He figured since he was irreversibly damaged and would probably never fully work through it, he might as well use the one thing he did get out of it, which was being raised as a fucking psychotic perfectionist. So he decided to just like create everything. He focused all of his dysfunctional shit as well as his superhuman talent-energy, and took music and entertainment to a level that didn’t even exist yet. Flawlessly. Pretty much: wake up, think of the bass line to Billie Jean, brush your teeth, oh start doing THE MOONWALK, um go downstairs, grab a banana, redefine music videos , and then finally head off to work at the studio inventing pop music, etc. Day in the life of MJ. No biggy.
By 1994, Michael has already released Thriller, which is still the top selling record of all time, and is onto his 4th best selling album already (and has done all that other shit that you’ll wikipedia later.) People as a whole are immersed in the new world of entertainment he has created. I’m starting to feel a little weird about how many consecutive times I can jump all over my couches screaming to the Free Willy theme and still get emotional at the end. Ironically enough, this is around the point when everyone starts to turn on him. He’s just doing his thing, inventing everything that people ever like ever so that everyone can copy him forever. Yea, he’s fucking crazy as fuck considering everything, but he’s still just pumping all of that into amazing visual and auditory masterpieces for the whole world to enjoy. He’s touring selling out shows on every continent by now and it’s a little bit daunting for humans to discover that one being can pretty much hypnotize a good amount of their entire species at one time. It’s to the extent where an alarming amount of people literally become incapacitated or unconscious, sometimes needing medical attention, when in his presence. I mean yea, I know, Beatlemania and everything, but seriously this is different. Full grown men had to be lifted out of the crowd, sobbing and hysterical. The physical reactions people had just to seeing him on stage was unsettling. Humans detected an unmistakable cause for concern.
If you’re going to watch one video in this post, watch this one. With the lights off.
Everyone flipped out when they realized Michael Jackson had too much power over the human race. So we just did the thing where we criticize someone until we bring them down to our level. We thought it was weird that he was had a chimp named Bubbles, wanted to buy the elephant man bones, made his house into a peter pan amusement park, cried at the end of Men in Black, etc. Personally, I don’t see what’s so weird about being a fucking CRAZY person after having a dramatically shitty life, and having to be a vessel for all of those insane songs and dance moves that needed to reach earth somehow. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty confident that a normal, psychologically sound person would not be capable of even one of his countless feats. Still, most people were feeling uneasy about the whole situation. We felt compelled to exploit all of his quirks until we had completely forgotten about all of his contributions. On top of being the victim of a really unfortunate skin disease analysts agreed that MJ suffered from another shitty condition, body dimorphic disorder. Jeez, what a weirdo, feeling like he needs to change his physical appearance. Anyway, as it turned out, no one could see past his physical appearance, so his music became secondary to gossip about his strange lifestyle, and he was slandered for the rest of his life. After this, Michael decided that he would rather hang around chimps and little kids only. Again, to me this seems like a pretty basic cause-and-effect type situation we have here. However, the masterminds of mankind determined that he must have been molesting kids. Not the monkey though, oddly enough.
So somehow by the time his last album hit, which was of course no Thriller, but still better than most things, lots of people were too embarrassed to go into a record store (remember those?) and ring up the latest from the world’s most renowned child-molester at the time. And who could blame us? The trials got way more publicity than, lets say, when he founded the Heal the World foundation, whose mission was to provide medicine to children and fight world hunger, homelessness, child exploitation and abuse. Or his being a major contributor to 39 additional charities in his career. They got even more coverage than when all of the profits from smash hits “Man in the Mirror” and “Heal the World” went to charity. Probably even more well known than the “We are the World” video, which he coordinated, gathering the biggest musicians at the time to record a song that raised millions of dollars for famine relief. Or how on the 123-show world tour for “Bad” he invited underprivileged children to watch for free and sing with him on stage, and then gave donations to local hospitals, orphanages and other charities in every place he visited. The trials, which were unsuccessful in providing any actual evidence of molestation, are still more widely acknowledged than how the “Dangerous” world tour, where he danced like a fucking maniac for 65 shows and then gave all of the proceeds, I repeat, all, ALL of them to Heal the World. After that he sold the broadcast rights for the show to HBO, took that money and put it towards HIV/AIDS research. And remember when his afro caught on fire during the filming for that Pepsi commercial? Haha ha ha!! Guess what? He took the money from that lawsuit and gave it to the hospital where he was treated and started a burn ward for research and technology in severe burn treatment. Then he got plastic surgery because he was self-conscious about his scalp and we made fun of him for the rest of his life. And said that he touches babies.
So after trying to withdraw from the public eye, (unsuccessfully, as tons of brilliant journalists and psychoanalysts made whole careers out of obsessing over his weirdness) Michael comes back at the world and announces “THIS IS IT.” A 50- show tour taking place at the 02 stadium in London, possibly his last performance ever. In tradition of MJ, he had invented some kind of crazy 3-D background scheme that would transform the experience of seeing a live concert. He committed to giving the world one last show, granting everyone the chance to forget all about the baby-dangling and plastic surgeries and just enjoy the fucking immaculate presentation of all of the songs that make everyone dance no matter where they are. He agreed to subject his 50 year old body to putting on 50 more seizure-inducing performances which would have allowed millions of people to enjoy the same magic that had possessed them for decades. It would have given millions the opportunity to experience the intense, uplifting energy that looks more powerful and mind-altering than any drug trip. An experience that is unexplainable, but proven by concert footage of full grown adults losing the ability to hold themselves up. I was going to be one of these people.
Michael Jackson has left behind a whole world of humans who were touched by his timeless legacy. I’m sure that even those of you who didn’t spend $750 on airfare to London have the same feeling of emptiness in your lives as I do right now. But remember, we are all in this together. Take advantage of your neighbors and comrades who have probably all have attempted the moonwalk at one time or another, and might need someone to commiserate. Talking it out feels good. Even if it leads to both parties drunkenly agreeing that Michael Jackson was more important than Jesus, or the holocaust, and then the conversation becomes a little uncomfortable. Just get it all out. Letting yourself come to terms with how you feel will help you to reach the final step in the grieving process: Acceptance. Make this tragedy easier for yourself and those around you. Heal the world. It’s what Michael would have wanted us to do. We’re all going to get through this.
Most readers are probably expecting me to bash Perez Hilton over the upsetting video he posted in regard to the savage beating he apparently suffered the other night. Well, expect no more! Here it is.
For those who aren’t aware of what happened, here’s the brave little man explaining the situation in his own words. For those who rightfully don’t give a rat’s ass about what this pansy does or says, please bear with me on this one. I guess at some point over the weekend some music thing happened and at an after-party, poorly named rapper Will.I.Am of the Black Eye Peas approached Mz. Hilton and politely requested “in the future, can you please be a pal and not post anything at all about my band?” to which Mario Armando Lavandeira replied (and this is somewhat accurate): “Not if my life depended on it. Fuck you in your gay ass, you faggot scum.” Shortly thereafter an event occured that was a surprise to no one except Mr. Lavandeira – he got repeatedly punched in the face by someone associated with Will.I.Am.
I have no problem with Perez Hilton – if you can make a living off adding poorly drawn dicks to pictures, I’m all for it. In fact, I used to read his blod fairly often, when I was a younger, dumber asshole than I am today. But for him to be shocked that someone finally decided to take a swing at him is absolutely fucking insane. And to twitter people to call the police for him is more outrageous than him parading around like some sort of gay activist. This jackass could very well be the poster boy for why gay marriage is not legal throughout the United States.
So anyway, in tribute to the site that will one day be featured on “I Love June through October 2007″ on VH1, I decided to make some pictures myself, and instead of just attaching some lame attempt at sounding in-the-know like Perez so often does, I’ll elaborate on my art for my faithful readers. Here goes nothing…
A nice easy one down the middle for ya. It’s simple and very direct. In my opinion (and the opinion of roughly 100% of the rest of the American population), anyone who wears a shower cap and a faux-fur coat anywhere outside of his own panic room should have the word “ASS” tattooed on their awful forehead. An earlier draft of this picture has the showercap providing him shelter from a cum-storm. Ultimately, I felt that if I wanted the word “ASS” to have the biggest possible impact I should just give it the spotlight.
I know he’s under the impression that he’s a skinny gay guy now, but Mario, or Mary as I like to call him around the pool house, used to be a big fat bitch. My girlfriend and I recently took a trip to the desolate wasteland of the American Mid-West and made a stop at the Columbus Zoo, which was actually pretty cool. The best part? The freakishly giant nipples on the nursing gorillas. The worst part? Waking up from our mescaline-induced coma to realize we weren’t anywhere near Columbus and in reality we had been ogling Perez Hilton shirtless on Fire Island.
I made this one in case you couldn’t put together the last joke on your own.
Both taken at Wal-Mart while the creepy photographer pulled a wrinkled coin purse out of the secret pocket in the front of his trousers and offered Perez a giant sucker if he would take pictures like a nice boy.
One of my favorite things to do in my own posts is to take pictures of things that are similiar and just mush ‘em together. I think it’s a more effective way of getting my point across than trying to actually explain it to the jobless retards intelligent, contributing-to-society socialites who read this blog. This one may be a first though. I’ve compared Barack Obama to Andy Dufresne, a shitbag D.A. to Louie Anderson, etc., but I’ve never encountered a douche so awful it would be an insult to compare him to himself.
This really needed to happen though. I have a friend who always flashes the same half-hearted smile when someone takes a picture of her and I give her endless amounts of shit for it. Luck for Perez, I’m feeling a bit under the weather today (homophobia::SNIFF:: ) and I’m afraid if I give him any sort of access to my asshole, I won’t be able to sit for a week or so…
Also, I think the “(ANALLY)” added to “Tame Me” is fucking hysterical. If you don’t agree, close your browser and remove your sex organs with a bicycle chain.
This one’s a bit more on track. After I showed mind boggling amount of restraint I displayed in the “ASS” photo, I decided to let it all hang out on this one. And by “all” I mean a half a dozen dicks either entering or sprouting from a particularly close-up bust of Lavandeira. For some reason, this picture reminds me of the only time my mother caught me masturbating. Weird.
One thing I have a huge problem with in Perez Hilton’s pictures is his lack of wit when it comes to the text. “EW” “ACK” and “YUMMY” are not good enough indicator of how he feels about a particular celebrity or how other people might imagine that celebrity views him or herself. I took the opportunity to spell out to Perez what his (hopefully dead and therefore no longer able to reproduce) parents probably think of him. Nothing.
Finally, I think this is truly my pinnacle as a fuckstick celebrity blogger. I mean, comparing Perez Hilton in the previous pictures to the Dutch Boy Paint mascot, a gorilla, and himself were all pretty genius, but to come up with John “who?” Daly was a stroke of genius. Then, to take those two similar pictures and pit them against one another just took everything to the next level.
For those of you who don’t know, John Daly is a pathetic shell of a professional golfer who actually has an alcoholic drink named after him (it’s also known as a Dirty Arnold Palmer, but that’s for another obviously hilarious post). In my opinion, in his never ending quest to get fucked up, John Daly has displayed more backbone and a more winning attitude than Mario Armando Lavandeira ever has or ever will.
Perez Hilton, I sincerely hope you die. Soon.
Here’s a gallery of all the previous pictures plus 13 that Roy added:
Categories: The News Posted on June 16, 2009 By: DJ
It’s my understanding that we have a lot of international readers. So for their benefit, I’ll briefly describe what we in American call an “election.” You see, once every few years, when hack comedians run out of bad jokes about our beloved president, another man challenges his throne. Then we watch “pundits” bicker about the merits of these two men on TV for about three years. When the American people decide they can’t take it anymore, the men choose other men as their partners through civil union and the pundits argue about the partners’ merits for another six months or so. Finally, if the groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, three states get to choose who our next president will be. This year, the man who won wore black face in tribute to the great minstrels of our country’s glorious past. Of course, he’s not any different than you or me or the last president, for that matter.
Apparently they’re holding erections in Iran now- Did I jus- HAHAHAHAHAHA. OHHHHH WHEW! Wow… that was crazy. Iran is holding elections over there now. As with any election, this one has had its fair share of problems. Held on Friday(?), the elections were really important, I guess. According to some reliable sources, Iran has been fucking around with nuclear weapons, or something. Unlike in the good old US of A, the Iranians couldn’t choke down the cold hard facts. Instead of realizing that they are a silly display not unlike the WWE, Iranians expected the words “change” and “hope” to actually mean something. It’s like they believe every movie they see over there. In their defense, there are only three movies available in Iran and they’re all documentaries.
You really want the Iranian Steven Spielberg running your country? Didn’t you see the last Indiana Jones?
So, in an unprecedented display of machismo and huge fucking nuts (being the opposite of giant, crying, pussy), Presidential Candidate Mir Hossein Moussavi claimed the elections were rigged in favor of current President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. To be honest, I don’t see it. I mean President Ahmadinejad did get 62% of the vote (a total of 13 voters made up mostly of his own staff) versus 33% for Moussavi and the obligatory 5% of crazies split between Ron Paul and Ralph Nader. Mr. Moussavi, you should be ashamed of yourself. Seriously, your country is suffering from riots, its citizens are having their rights taken away and war with a super power is imminent and all you can think about is how you didn’t win an election? What are you going to tell me next, that this Pall Mall 100 isn’t going to soothe my sore throat? Puh-lease!
You see, here in America, we accept the harsh truth that a puppet government forces us to – we have no control over what happens ever. So what? You want to be burdened with making decisions which might affect someone other than yourself? Say Moussavi got elected and turned out to be a total nutjob and didn’t wear pants to work every day. You want to be responsible for that? Didn’t think so. A wise ex-English teacher once taught me a valuable lesson: the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Which generally holds true, unless that devil has demonstrated his inability to lead or string together coherent thoughts time and time again, James.
This guy gets shit done.
The point is this – it doesn’t matter and it never will. In fact, I’m fairly certain that every event I just mentioned was entirely fabricated by the media for their own amusement. No shit. For instance, I caught Anderson Cooper saying the following at dinner the other night:
We make everything up. There are more factual events taking place on Spike’s Deadliest Warrior.
I may or may not have actually heard that at dinner the other night. Come to think of it, I’ve never even met Anderson Cooper, but I did once hear his voice set to ominous music in a documentary on Google Video, so he might as well have been sitting in my living room revealing all his dirty, silver haired secrets, of which I’m sure there are many. According to some of his peers, that old queen hides a secret about as well as an elephant hides its trunk.
In the end, what will probably happen is the American people will once again be forced to watch the same view of the Missile Command championships in night-vision on CNN, ABC, NBC, Fox, CBS (yeah, assholes, you got listed after Fox), and a plethora of other shit-stain networks as our country bombs the fuck out of Iran for one reason or another. After two weeks of that, it’ll probably be football season and, frankly, most of us can’t be bothered – with the way the league is shaping up this year (what drama!), who could even blame us? Football rules and Iran drools.
After what felt like three months without a post we’re back with a killer interview. To celebrate completing school my girl and I went on one of the most metal tears ever. My last day of class was 5/6/09 and I capped it with an extreme performance by GWAR at the Chance in Poughkeepsie then after a night of debauchery with Frank we were off to NYC. On Friday, we caugh the No Fear Energy Music Tour with Lamb of God, As I Lay Dying (who definitely deserve a new found respect from me), Children of Bodom (who only played three songs – Alexi “Avian Bone Syndrome” Laiho destroyed his shoulder and couldn’t perform) and God Forbid. On Sunday we were able to see Mastodon perform Crack the Skye at the Williamsburgh Theater in Brooklyn – if you have the opportunity, you have to go.
But Saturday is truly the important night right now. I had the opportunity to sit down with Protest the Hero guitarist Tim Millar and got a great interview. Tim was a great guy and the staff at the Blender Theater was one of the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. Being in the midst of the most metal weekend I’ve ever had, I didn’t have too much time to prepare so please bear with the interview as I stumble through the first few questions. Also worth noting is the fact that Roy coming to the interview wasn’t ever even an option, so I don’t know why I felt it necessary to say he “pussed out.” I’m a horrible friend. Below is the interview and a flash gallery. After the jump is another gallery if you have trouble with this one and a transcription of some of the highlights.
So, the first African American President of the Harvard Law Review caused quite a stir the other day. What the fuck was this asshat thinking? You don’t fly a 747 over a city which had its two biggest towers destroyed by passenger planes just seven and a half years ago. Apparently, Air Force One was out of commission and government officials needed to take pics of lower Manhattan. The plane was escorted by a pair of F-16s. The question isn’t why Barack Obama needed to be there instead of just letting the F-16s do all the work and not upset idiots in the city. No, the question here is do the British actually use the word “areoplane” over airplane?