Friday Thoughts and Links
On this Friday ‘aft, I ponder those former Eastern Europeans who float through our cultural bloodstream like frothy backwash, hitting on party Latinas and compulsively fondling their iPhones like an arthritic yeti, and it strikes me.
The douchey hand gesture, a fully destabilized semiotic construction meant to mark cultural alterity outside the realm of the linguistic or corporeal, actually does the opposite.
It marks itself as smelly poo flush.
And lo, the Rooster flies into the sunset as Yuri hits his dad Boris up to borrow the BMW 525 to go to the “totally mad party, yo.”
And Boris reconsiders whether life under Soviet oppression really was that bad.
Sure they didn’t have food or electricity on a regular basis. But they didn’t have Grey Goose neither.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB CD Pick of the Week: “Be brave persevere through it all. I and I get sickled on sacred love. I and I get tickled. Sacred love.”
Mark your calendars: International Douchebag Awareness Day is December 12th
The Jersey Shore’s “The Situation” is now selling a douche-abs shirt so choady it rivals the unholy cultural shame that was Mooby Dick.
Your humble narrator’s Twitter was quoted in the L.A. Times story about yesterday’s Weiner roast. I’m honored.
The great Werner Herzog reads “Go the F@#k to the Sleep” to the kiddies.
A reality show in England captures documentary footage of teenage London ‘baglings in action.
If you’re bored this weekend, why not watch Pulp Fiction in a little over three minutes?
Hot Chicks with Robby the Robot
Stanley Kubrick’s Chicago. 1949. Beautiful.
Frolic + Dance = France. Somehow douche dance passes through a culture of mimes and cheese and emerges the other side as some cirque du soleil performance art that’s really freakin’ impressive. Not sure how that happened.
But you are not here to watch strange French dance steps. You’re here for pair:
Crazy Eyes Crazy Chick Self Portrait Pear
Crazes eyes crazy chicks always spice up a Friday night. Go out and partake of all that our shmorgasboard of a consumer culture offers.
Sam Jackson reading Go the Fuck to Sleep….
Robby the Robot sure can pull some tail… I give him a nodda-douche for the lack of chin fung, kissy lips and Ed Hardy apparel.
I always liked James Taylor’s music, but I’ve gained a whole new respect for him after reading that he’s capable of pounding forty eight beers, but considered it, “Ten too many.”
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I’m on my second can of Schlitz® but the night’s still young.
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Slick
with the disappearance of phone booths, where does Clark Kent change into Superman garb?
…just askin’
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laddy
Sometimes you kick Yuri, sometimes you really fucking smash his stupid little Russian pea-head.
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Red Octobers
@ creature,
I saw him coming out of a Port-a-potty once.
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Crazy Eye Crazy Ass Pear is one of my favorites for sheer, imperfect down-home-girl-next-door perfection.
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Honey pie
Ah, the Pear that is Kari Sweets. Nice one.
Mmmmmmm!!!!!!! Crazy Eyes Crazy Chick Self Portrait Pear and Hermit nailed it right on the head in describing her.
The frolic quartet’s masks scared me.
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London’s such a great city and it bums me out that there are baglings like that running around. I Fucking Hate Pikeys!!!!
Ryan O’Neal called from 1981 with a Cease and Desist Order for The Situation…
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Brother.
That ain’t Robby T. Robot. This is:
http://www.robothalloffame.org/04inductees/robby.html
^ Geezer’s
I was listening to the Gresh & Zo Boston radio show on the android app while making breakfast today and couldn’t get to it fast enough to turn it off when giant headed Senator John Kerry came on to join the revelry.
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I could have sworn he said he was watching Manny Ortez play at Lambert Field the last time Tim O’Brien and the Boston Brewers won the Stintley Carp.
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I hate politicians with a wrath usually reserved for ingrown nasal hairs and flapping silicon side-boob wrinkles on pummelfucking pornstars
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Sonny Boy Williamson
bagboner blue is making his ” i jest pinched the first in a series of coilers”, face. stankubus next to him is in for an rude awakening!
As noted above, that’s not Robbie the Robot, that’s the robot from Lost In Space. Neither of whom are as cool as Tobor Radar Robot – THE EIGHTH MAN!!!!
Of course, Mr T would just break Tobor into a clattering pile of caliginous junk.
The only people I want to see that Situtation shirt on is fat dudes. Because it would be funny. Anyone wearing it in seriousness needs to be shot and quarted and then those quarters need to be shot again. I think I’m being fair with that punishment.
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And robots always pull hella tail. R2D2s reaal name was R2DoU, they just changed it to make it more family friendly.
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Furries
A reality show in England captures documentary footage of teenage London ‘baglings in action.
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I’ve always wanted to say this in a real world scenario.
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I fuckin hate Pikeys.
Well, DB1; you and I have one degree of separation from the L.A. Times.
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I actually had a real editor from the Times email me to request that I stop posting “I peed in a horse once” in their comments sections. Apparently he was the poor bastard that had to troll through, find and then zap them.
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I acquiesced; he was grateful.
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My Precious.
Een Soviet Russia, bottle services You.
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друзья
Sadly, the real Robby the Robot started freebasing WD-40 and was last seen mostly disassembled as a fluffer for http://www.fuckingmachines.com videos.
^Don’t click on that link if you’re at work; apparently there IS such a site….
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Jeremy.
Ryan O’Neal and Tatum O’Neal have a new reality show called ” Who The Fuck Is Gonna Watch Two Has Been Never Were Hacks Like Us So We Can Get Off The Cat Food For Good.”
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Regis Philbin Fact
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Farrah’s Decomposing Anal Tumors
Damn you DarkSock. I thought that site would feature robot courtship and robot romance. Not cool man. As for the assless pants featured above, that’s clear material over her exposed cheekage right? What is that, like a splashguard? And has anyone seen that movie? Should I Netflix it?
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Midgets
Do. Not. Rent it.
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Bruin.
Regarding RevChad’s disturbing “Farrah’s Decomposing Anal Tumors” sign-off…
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It makes me ponder what a fatal tumor must think after death and decomposition has set upon the flesh of its unfortunate host.
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Probably the same thing Glenn Beck’s thinkin’ right now.
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Or that Weiner guy.
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Far left / Far right wingnut zealots suck weathered mule colon.
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Newt Imus.
Putting. It. In Cue.
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Druid
^ apropos of nothing: Politically I feel like a guy standing alone in the middle of an empty once-great 10-lane highway, watching all the traffic gummed up in the ditches on either side.
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Dammit, Reverend Chad; why did you go and drag politics into this thread?
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Gompers.
^Dammit Nancy; don’t say you weren’t warned.
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Since you’re there trolling through 80’s video dreck, take Baron Von Goolo’s advice and cue up “Brain Damage” as a palate cleanse…you can thank me, and him, later. And by “thank”, I mean mail me one of Reverend Chad’s dried mushrooms.
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Beaulah.
I always watch a half-hour of Fucking Machines before I start drinking and end up here.
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Canaanites
You haven’t lived until you’ve made sweet, passionate love to a thirty-six inch, diesel stump grinder.
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Brethren
I had an on again, off again relationship with a 1/2 hp sump pump back in the mid-nineties.
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Dude
@DarkSock, RevChad stopped sending me stuff when I made a commitment to never stop harshing his mellow. But I’ll send you some of troll Nancy Dreuche’s cinnamon loaf instead and Jacque D’s prototype for the Poo-Be-Gone: Turn Your Brown Upside Down for those experimental nights with your Mrs.
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Hermit, I believe it is time for some Hermit and his Machines: Fan Fiction. Tell us about that fish tank pump from the other side of the tracks.
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Autobots
Good idea Nancy ya dried up skag, and by dried up skag, well you know. A Hermit story would be fitting on the pre-Father’s Day eve-eve because I have to be niceish to the kids for the weekend cause they made me some stupid bullshit shit crap that will go directly into the trash. Mongoloid Amazon retards. A Poem, a Ditty, A Tome. A tale of woe would be nice cause I got nothing. I’m only drunk. No doobs when it’s this hot. Maybe something including anal leakage and mayhem.
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Sluts
Dear Nancy,
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You know, The Machine is a motherfucker, but I can deal with it if I dull my senses with enough alcohol, Claussen Pickles and adderall. It’s women who give me the most trouble.
I started seeing this Russian chick who is quite a bit younger, real nice body, but a face that would give a bull moose an epileptic seizure and stop a loaded freight train dead in it’s tracks. She says that we’re soul mates, but I’m not so sure, I can barely understand her, and she walks with a profound limp that I don’t think I could get used to.
Sometimes I catch her sitting out in front of my house in a small Russian car with binoculars and a camera. I’ve also caught her wearing a wire on more than one occasion. I’m starting to think she’s an undercover agent with the KGB and was sent here to gather classified information.
Between you and me, I’m privy to a great deal of sensitive National Defense secrets.
I know it really isn’t going to work with us, but I’m not sure if I should break it off before I get in too deep or not.
What should I do?
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Signed,
Indecisive in Indiana
Awww Revy, you’re making me blush. I haven’t been so insulted since someone called me a spade faced tranny when I first started commenting on here. Sweet sweet memories.
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Jigga whats
When we make love, she insists that I wear a football helmet and she squeals like a bottle-nose dolphin which, quite frankly, is a little unnerving.
Then she rides me like a pony and slaps my buttocks with the flat side of a spade shovel.
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Which I’m pretty cool with.
i can smell the turd in crazy eyes ass pear’s bowl, and it smells like, freedom.
and i don’t mean freedom in a gay george michael and the anal prolapse who was theoretically in wham with, what’s his name? i heard he went on to be a spokesman for anheuser roebuck, ah fuck it i don’t want to look it up
i don’t mean it in a lee greenwood kind of assholish hyper military fucknuts and the 101st chairbourne pissants who act like some guy who did 21months of active duty in the mid 80s is someone who needs to be blown for their great sacrifice for our freedom, freedom.
i don’t mean it in some sort of boomerific nostalgia hippie ass freedom bullshit because just doing drugs, getting laid, then going on to ass fuck our economy and our culture, as well as turning all religiously righteous and unfree as soon as their genitals and their capacity to catch a decent buzz wore off….
i mean freedom like the moment you realize the dead hooker still the money you paid her, in her pocket or somewhere and probably some other schmoe’s money too….that is freedom.
mon chou
Dear Indecisive,
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This is a tough one. Well first off the Cold War is over so I’m sure you have nothing to fear with her being a spy. She’s probably an avid bird watcher which would explain the binoculars and camera and I’m sure the “wire tap” is nothing more than an iPod shuffling the latest Brittney Spears. (I have it on good authority that they love her. Also they love jeans. So if you buy her a pair, BJ City my friend.) But what stood out in your letter was that you wrote “I know it isn’t going to work out with us”. If you know that, why go any deeper into the muck? Trust your gut on this one. The longer you wait the harder it will be to peace out after Lenin’ing her Stalins. Apparently women get all weird and clingy after boot knockin’. And c’mon soul mates? What’s this chick reading, that Danielle Steele garbage? You need to be up front with her (a face to face chat if you can stomach it) so she can move on and find someone who is as into her as she is into them. And you can get back to your manifestos and motorcycles until you find that special someone that makes your motor purr all the time.
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Word to your Mother,
Nancy Dreuche
^ he likes the shovel swat, dumbass
@hermit
sounds like you need a dose of Junior Brown & his tune KGB
Gorky Park D-Bag in blue appears to be suffering from Bell’s Palsy and distal contractures of the left hand. Cause: he drank Axe and bathed in Grey Goose.
No. No. No. ND has it all wrong. Get as much as you can, whatever it takes. Then when you’ve had enough, or she gets ‘weird and clingy’ as ND properly describes, give her the old “It’s not you, it’s me.” In person is optional. Or, since she’s foreign, just stop calling.
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Pard’ner.
John Oliver hosted a stand up show on Comedy Central. You must watch the opening monologue to season 1, episode 4. This might be the Netflix link, but since I’m running Linux, I can’t be sure.
Unless you’re in Canada. In which case “Comedy Central” is a channel on “cable TV”. And “stand up” is a form of comic presentation. STANLEY CUP!!!!
http://movies.netflix.com/WiPlayer?movieid=70188285&trkid=4213507
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Ladies and Germs.
@creature, I didn’t see that part until after I wrote my Ann Landfill letter, porchbeef. Sheesh, that’s the last time I help any of you taint lickers.
@ creature 8:08,
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Yep, parts of that story were embellished, and I did draw inspiration from JB’s “Cagey Bea.” Unfortunately, the part about her face was not embellished and is the grisly truth.
Therefore, I think I’ll take Nancy’s advice. I’m going to let her blister me with a shovel one more time, then text her a tearful, heartfelt goodbye on my IPhone.
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Sum’bitch
@ hermit
shoulda known that Jr was to cool for KGB
@ND, don’t sweat it hon, I know better than to take gal advice from another gal!
…gooober
I had a brilliantly scathing indictment of government, society, pop culture and hair gel but one look at Crazy Eyes Crazy Chick and I forgot all of it…she made me flashback to my college years. Thank you Crazy Eyes Crazy Chick.
@ Hermit: Een Soviet Russia, Horse Faces You. S’okay.
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@ Nancy D: “Jigga Whats”? Yeah, I’m puttin’ that one in my pocket.
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I have an every-week-or-two jam session with this one really eclectic bunch; I put down my lead guitar since this bunch has 3 other dudes playing 6-stringers and took up bass. Since nothing exceeds like excess, I bought myself a sick-ass bass rig. I got a sweet-ass Fender Jazz 5-string bass and a 1,000 watt head running a Peavey Black Widow 15″ cab with an Avatar 4×10 cab sitting on top of it. It is big enough to play a 1,000 seat venue. The bass stack is so big I have to reach up to dick with the knobs on my amp, which sits on the bass cabs, and I’m a tad over 6′ tall (unless I’m really drunk, in which case I tend to stoop down to 5′-9″ and pee my pants). This is all great, except that we jam in a spare bedroom the size of, erm, well, a spare bedroom, and the other dudes are playing little combo amps the size of carry-on luggage. Our poor drummer (a petite 4′-11″ hour-glass shaped cajun hottie who can somehow drum like John Bonham and Lars Ulrich at the same time) says she can’t hear herself when I turn up too much, which is only when I’m drunk. Which is only when I get there to jam. It’s so fuccen loud I get involuntary bass-wood standing next to the stack; I feel like I’m getting head from a bee hive. I feel like I’m a bus driver on-shift. I feel like Creature at a fish market…looking at all those gape-mouthed dead grouper…
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Why, Nancy, do I tell you this?
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1. To gratuitously brag to Vin Douchal about my bad-ass over-sized bass rig.
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2. To gratuitously brag to Vin Douchal that my drummer is hotter than his.
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3. Most importantly: Yeah, you Canadian-False-Reverend-Eviscerating-Harpy: I’m taking the name “Jigga Watts” as my stage name to rub into the faces of my long-suffering bandmates’ faces. Goin’ to http://www.tshirts.com right now to order a set.
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4. To finally accuse Creature, in front of everyone, of being a Fish Fucker.
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Jigga Watt.
Dark Sock, If they ain’t complaining about the bass being too loud, you aren’t doing it right. For reference: Mr. Jack Bruce of Cream, and Mr. John Entwhistle of The Who.
False Reverend. Pfah!
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Conquistadors
Bedtime..
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Sandman
it’s true, I get a strange sensation when I see Ronco large mouth bass commercials for Propeil pocket fishermen….that & I have a new girlfriend who can queef on command…this time it could be love!
johnson
@Nancy
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Cartoons.
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Bugsy
Malformed URL’s my herpetic ass.
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Son
i wear grouper as a cod piece…
cap’n
@Sock – I empathise.
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Back in the late 80s I had the ultimate Prog Rig: Rickenbacker bass, Sunn Coliseum Amp, box of Fender 10s and a Cerwin Vega sub the size of a dishwasher. Stopped playing for a while and sold it all off. Cuz I can be stooopid that way. I miss my Rickenbacker…
Anyway, several years ago, Mrs Tempest bought me a nice Fender Jazz. By the way – to make it really sound like a monster, get Roundwound DR strings with the cylindrical core. MONSTER sound.
Since you’re doing Peavey (and to be fair, Peavey has improved a great deal over the years) you might look at keeping the monster rig in the garage for gigs and use something like this for practice:
Peavey Tour TNT115 combo amp:
http://bit.ly/m2vmy3
The thing is 600 watts. It kicks SERIOUS ass and sounds really very good. It kicks back and has an EQ. I’m thinking of getting this one – it’s not super expensive either – new here in Canadia it’s about CDN$550.
HW
Troy:
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I have an old Peavey TNT115; it is an under-powered 100 watt bass commode. The new gear is way better. And manufactured in Meridian, Mississippi by hungover rednecks, might I add. Versus Marshalls and Celestions made by hungover Limeys. Well, actually, hungover Malaysians these days, I guess.
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So I took the 15″ Peavey driver out and replaced it with a hemp coned neodymium magnet driver. The old woofer weighed about 30 pounds; the new Eminence driver, with a tiny 7 ounce neo magnet, weighed about 4 pounds. Now I can lug my combo around without running my ass out on a string, and it sounds better. These new neo drivers are amazing.
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If you’re thinking about gearing back up with a modest budget, check out Avatar cabs. They’re made in Indiana and when you order one you talk to the owner of the company, Dave. I got a neo 4×10 for hundreds less than the Ampeg and GK cabs I was eyeballing, and I’ve gotten nothing but compliments on its sound. Check out this review; I’m replacing my Peavey 15 BW cab with Dave’s 2×12 next and I’ll have all-Avatar.
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Dave.
Loves me some Bass Guitar, Stanley Clarke & Phil Lesh are the Shit!!!
Keri Sweets. Yum. Only other chick who could remain sex a sexpot while studiously avoiding going hardcore was my second wife.
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What is young Ivan waiting for? The ruffies kicked in half an hour ago, and he’s got half an hour tops before he needs to roll her out the door of his car while he coasts past the emergency room entrance.
The site says ‘no nudity’. I’m not so sure…
http://www.karisweets.com/update/2.jpg
^Ya.
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“How many bass players does it take to put in a light bulb?” A: Bass players think they are to groovy to install lightbulbs.
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I sold all my old electronics for dope money a few decades ago. My sweet DW’s are still mostly unassembled on account of the gout and nervous problems. I also have three cases of beer, a bit less than an ounce of Rev Chad Red, 32 Cialis Pro, and 8-20 oz. striploins marinated in molasses, bourbon, and special herbs that always enhance the eating experience. I also play around with a vintage Wurlitzer piano and the occasional bout of pancreatitis.
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Doctors
@DarqueSocque:
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Yeah – the old Peavey 115 was OK as a personal practice amp but not really all that great for gigging. Kind of a “cardboard” tone to it and under powered. The new Peavey shatters windows and kills termites.
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Today Me, the Mrs, and our petunia girl are going to go and buy her a guitar. She’s been doing piano for years and is very good. To give you an idea, she’s 13 and can play this pretty much dead cold straight up from memory:
and right now she’s learning this:
and this:
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So when she said she wanted to start on guitar, we were cool with that. So we’ve been finding some role models for her and there are some really amazing players that she seems to like. For acoustic playing she’s been impressed by Kaki King (the first female on Rolling Stone’s “guitar god” list) – when she’s doing extended techniques like this at a TED talk she gave:
http://www.youtube.com/user/kakiking#p/a/f/1/TV5JBCBcCO0
or more “conventional song writing” like this:
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and also she’s been getting into Marnie Stern’s work, but she complains that Marnie’s a good player but “Kinda LOUD”. Her’s Marnie showing off:
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Personally, like my daughter, I like Kaki’s playing a lot – she’s fucking amazing – but damn Marnie’s a freakin’ hottie…
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So the Tempest family is off to buy a nice guitar for our darling, and a cheap POS for me so I can show her basic chords. Lessons are $50 a pop and I can certainly give her at least the first 4 lessons in basic guitar playing, so there’s $200 for a crap guitar right there…
I have a couple ukuleles, but feel no need to compensate for teeny weeny
And by vintage I mean old pice of shit.
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Thelonius
@DarkSock, I always suspected that Creature was a BASSman. Good work. And Jigga Watts is all yours buddy. I won’t even charge you liscensing fees (i.e. Ambien laced Ambien).
@Creature, your new lady sounds like a keeper. And I prefer the term “dame advice”.
@RevChad, your “cartoons” link didn’t work me. Probably for the best. Most likely it was Bugs Bunny “Porky Pigging” Daffy Duck.
@Hermit, keep the goodbye text to one screen maximum. Those things cost rubels.
Creature, I got a uke for my birthday last week. I’d just rewired my brain to play the lap steel I got last year with it’s fucked up tuning, then I got a mandolin and it’s all tuned like a fiddle, and now the uke has that crazy 4th string that’s hanging out on the wrong side of the fat string…they all need to get their shit straight.
RE: The picture above:
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The co-ed latrines in the Moscow Rehab were an instant hit with club goers.
I play a custom 37-string Les Paul strung with suspension bridge cables through a nuclear reactor.
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Stinkfists.
I can read the nodules on the base of my man saber like braile…they say, “go see a dr.”
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don’t be discouraged by the different chord structure on the uke Sock…the size is perfect for farting around with, I sit for hours on the sofa watching ballgames & trying to learn Nick Cave songs…my neighbors love me!
unisex toilets…heh heh
i sit first chair in the skin flute orchestra that plays behind the lucite loafered ladies, while they perform their dance recitals.
unisex toilets?
slampigs
The one in the middle: what color is his shirt.? Is that robin’s egg blue? It is mighty pretty.
I play a cello. The strings are made out of the entrails of oompa loompa virgins and the bow is made out of the tail of a baby unicorn.
Drusilla
My zither uses 100% virgin emu tendons and all the wood is from endangered Amazonian tuk-tuk trees. Well, this IS my fourth one. After a good jam session I tend to smash them up Pete Townsend-style. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Baba O’reily on a zither.
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warthog-faced buffoons