Tuesday, 24 February 2015

Rock N' Roll Needs Dickheads Again.

There's something missing in the music industry, and its absence is having an effect so detrimental and burdensome that it is seeping down through our society like bird shite rolling down the window of a Suzuki. We act like we don't want it, we try to justify our stance on it like college intellectuals who, at the heart of it, are merely well-read and well-spoken idiots. We sit there and we say "the world would be better without...", while at the same time grabbing and scraping our fingernails at anything that, not matter how benign, might prove worthy enough an example of why our society is broken beyond repair. We're looking for bad guys left, right, and centre, but we're having a hard time finding them. We can yammer on about government officials and heavy-handed foreign dictators, but those aren't the type of bad guys we're looking for. We want pro-wrestling fiends that bathe themselves in our hatred. Proud peacocks that strut around with feathers extended, ready and willing to shit on anyone and anything that isn't of any importance to their agenda. It's not about their endgame intentions, it's about the way they shake their arses while doing so.

We have a lot of horrible, disgusting people in this world, I shouldn't have to get into that, but we haven't seen a rock star in far too long. What we need is a lightning rod for our hatred, and it must be sporting a feather boa and brandishing a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Where's Axl Rose? Where's Courtney Love? Where are the real villains in the music scene? Sure we've got Kanye West, but even he has a level of sincerity and devotion that I'm too uncomfortable with. We need a shameless, hedonistic strain of Skeletor to come along soon so that we might turn the guns from each other and onto someone truly deserving of our ire. Someone so utterly repulsive that they welcome our hatred like free daiquiris and use our spit to shine their snakeskin boots. A real bastard who walks on stage with arms wide open to 50,000 people ready to hurl bottles of piss at them. Where are the rotten scumbags pasted on teenagers' bedroom walls, the ones we try to warn them not to follow? 

No, instead we've got these sedated cardigans sitting on stools with acoustic guitars, thanking their fans for simply mustering up enough money to come to their concerts. There's a horde of chart-topping babysitters lulling everyone into slumbers ripe with idealist dreams. Admittedly decent human beings who realise the weight of their words and who polish their lyrics off in order to influence society in a positive way. I won't deny that these people are closer to saints than those whose images hang from old granny's locket chains, but there's too many of them. There's too much yang, and it's about time we had a bit more coke-snorting, seal-clubbing yin. 

We've been attacking Maroon 5 for fuck sake. Maroon fucking 5. That's like slapping the hand of a toddler for making a finger painting of a cock. We need a clear line between good guy and bad guy, and that line can only be etched with the help of a truly hideous and egotistical rock star who tramples on the heads of small children and washes down meals of human flesh with liquefied banknotes. 

It's about time we got the villain we deserve.

Sunday, 22 February 2015

Pregnant Teens and Game Show Gauntlets.

Filthy, covetous American capitalists, you can make a reality show out of anything but you can't read the graffiti on the bathroom door. Your greasy fingers, all stiff with arthritis, are expert at pie-dipping, and yet it is I, a lowly Irish college student with habits I can't afford, that is going to be the one to make you even richer. Wait, put away that flag and bald eagle bust, you don't need to pretend this has anything to do with patriotism, your newsreaders' and celebrities' bibs are already brimming with that stomach-churning glop, you're okay, no one's watching. Let's rap.

Now, you've stuck cameras in the faces of everyone from celebrity wives to inbred trailer mutants, and you have done so with the shamelessness of a dog shitting on a child's hopscotch court, so my proposal shouldn't be any more outrageous than anything you've already done before. We both know that the number one problem in your country today, ahead of gun-wielding racism and obesity, is pregnant teenagers. It's not so much that unplanned parenthood is the problem, but rather the fact that your teenagers are already grossly stricken with self-entitlement enough without having the added attention of pregnancy on them. They groan and they whine and they Snapchat and cry, all the while your television crew are backing up into their front gardens to film them for a few days here and spend the rest of the week editing out moments when their bladders failed them on their €1,000 couches. You're giving them too much leeway, capitalists, you need to make sure they know who rolls the cheques.

You're all about entertainment and so am I, so my proposal is simple. Rather than film these snarling child-bearers drive their SUVs into white picket fences, why not make them do battle with each other, or a team of highly-trained athletes, in a gauntlet style game show extraordinaire? Watch 13-year-old Betty attempt to fight her way past eight Kendo warriors who have been starved, water-boarded, and brainwashed for weeks leading up to the event. Marvel as Sarah, eight months in, tries her hardest to zip-line through the thunder dome without irking the wrath of Panther, almost 400lb of muscle, rage, and easily irritable PTSD.

I'm not even going to begin to write up what kind of a budget we're looking at for this one, because I know you're so used to spending most of your money recruiting the subjects and paying video editors to make them look even more repulsive than they actually are. Without going too deeply into digits, I'll tell you we'll need a "thunder dome", make of that what you will. We'll need giant pillars for contestants to hop across. We'll need high-powered canons to fire bean bag rounds at them as they unicycle across tight ropes. We'll need to pay the athletes a little bit extra for their troubles, laying the smackdown on pregnant women is not easy on the sleeping pattern. And finally we'll need a studio audience to record laugh-tracks for when our teens ultimately fail.

As I said, I won't talk numbers here, but I do hope you're reading, my heartless television executives. We can pave a road to a bright future for ourselves and our families, so long as that road is carved out on the backs of pregnant teenagers.

Wednesday, 11 February 2015

Things to Do Instead of Vehemently Opposing Marriage Equality.

"Partake not in the flesh of your kind" spake Jesus of Nazareth, whose breath did funk heavily of wine and whose left eye had begun to sag, "for is it not...for is it not...for is it not...nay, forget that which I had said before. Partake in whatever, man, as long as nobody's getting hurt".

And so the apostles did rejoice and make merriment on that night, each one of them completely fucking discombobulated, and they blasted Black Sabbath so that all the kings of Israel may hear it in their beds.

The Jesus Christ Power Hour 18:22:23

We're living in incredibly overbearing and political times. Everyone seems to have picked sides and everyone seems to know what's best for each other down to the most minute and trivial of details, this is true in the cases of both Right and Left wing politics. It's in times like these, where the tiniest of things trigger offense in the militant masses, that you can forget that people's lives, not symbols or subjective meanings, are being held in the balance. So it's a rare occurrence like this one that we can actually pull together and make a real difference in people's lives rather than simply win an unproductive "Twitter war".

For those of you who are voting 'yes' or are interested in learning more, follow THIS HERE LINK.

For those of you who are currently huddled away in subterranean bunkers awaiting the nuclear winter that will weep over the land if the majority vote 'yes', well you're entitled to your opinion as well. That's the beautiful thing about diversity, even the gobshites are allowed to have their say. Of course, the price of diversity is friction, so we're never going to agree on everything.

However, though we may not be able to agree, if you are truly upset over all of this talk of homosexuals marrying and getting one step closer to being treated more like regular folk, then there are measures you can take to both ignore the entire process and claim pacifist status at the same time! Don't be a David Quinn, be a David WIN!

Here's a whopping 50 ideas for how you can spend your time instead of trying to boss other people around under the guise of moral superiority:

1. Go and live with the pandas in China. Marry their ways, achieve total serenity.
2. Start up a coffee shop for solvent abusers. It's an untapped market as far as I know.
3. Ride your bicycle around in circles really, really, really, really, really fast.
4. Claim a sheet of ice in the Arctic as your own and invade Norway.
5. Become one of these people that wait in long queues for the latest in fad technology.
6. Learn how to do sushi good.
7. Become one of these people that bring sushi to college for lunch.
8. Become a sushi fish.
9. Marinate yourself in cod liver oil and become the smoothest person in the world. Charge people to touch you.
10. Start an Anarcho Punk band. Become disillusioned by the whole scene and become a Nihilist, then start an Industrial band.
11. Join the Pigeon Liberation Front. Liberate pigeons.
12. Get really into serial killers.
13. Invent a selfie stick for people with really tiny arms.
14. Drink coffee until you can do absolutely anything.
15. Go to parties and put lamp shapes on your head and become literally the funniest human alive because no one else has ever thought of doing that before.
16. Sell psychoactive cacti to school children.
17. Get on the tanning booth scene.
18. Choose a spirit animal. Tell everyone you have a spirit animal.
19. Become a foot model until your feet are old and unable to keep up with the market's demand for smaller, nicer feet.
20. Bring back The Human League.
21. Invent rocket boots for dogs.
22. Yearlong work-out montage.
23. Travel to Wimbledon in search of Wombles. Do not return without their blood dripping from your hands.
24. Eat all of the biscuits.
25. Get really into Tantric sex and Caribbean shirts. Start quoting Oscar Wilde at every chance that arises.
26. Find your Chakra. 
27. Contact the ghost of Jimi Hendrix and ask him how he did that thing.
28. Fill the void in your soul with mountain climbing.
29. Go to the land down under, where women glow and men plunder. If you hear thunder, you'd better run and probably take cover.
30. Take your blood-fueled revenge on the Communists that kidnapped your family. Drop as many one-liners as you can in the process. Especially "clean up on aisle five."
31. Become a prison dentist.
32. Try and discover a new dinosaur, call it the Diddilywiddlyoppodus.
33. Get really good at playing the synthesizer, but refuse to play it for anyone, stating "I'll never play again...not after that night". Then show up unexpectedly at the high-school prom and play your heart out to the applause of everyone in attendance, including your synth-playing rival, Tyler Bones.
34. Try to absorb solid meals through osmosis.
35. Learn to love again.
36. Learn a really valuable lesson about life with a friend using the Chinese finger trap.
37. Grow a moustache, adopt aviator sunglasses, drive a Dodge Challenger.
38. Start hosting Satanic rituals in your back garden. Provide refreshments and after-party entertainment.
39. Play the Roxanne drinking game until there is no one left standing and even the moon has shunned you.
40. Write a really detailed letter to Blue Sky Studios stating why you think there really isn't any need for another Ice Age movie. The story has been told.
41. Go back to ancient Egypt and help the Nubian kings wage a bloody war with the Assyrians. 
42. Do the monkey with me.
43. Go to a Doom Metal gig and lose every brain cell.
44. Cartwheel everywhere from now on.
45. Learn how to cartwheel 69.
46. Find out if Frankie really went to Hollywood.
47. Bake.
48. Start a cult based around the teachings of George Takei. Make "Oooh myyyy" the ceremonial chant.
49. Learn how to co-exist with people who live their lives and perceive life differently to you. You don't have to agree with each other, but the world is moving on whether you like it or not, things will change and things will stay the same. You may even find that the world doesn't end when new ideas and ways of life emerge, you might even join in celebrating them. You can either live here or simply exist here.
50. Try and piss on every street lamp in your town over the course of your lifetime.

Tuesday, 10 February 2015

Spice Up Your Sex Life with Astral Projection.

There's nothing quite as disheartening as staring into those eyes that once brimmed with red-hot lust, only to find them idly narrowed in discontent. Somewhere along the line the flames of your passion began to wane until they became nothing but glinting embers that merely blink themselves from existence amid the dark clumps of ash. You both know that there's not very much you can do to save your sex life, you've already tried everything by this most despondent of moments. You held the bucket over their head for the 100th time, only to catch yourself thinking, 'waterboarding just isn't doing it for me anymore', and when you finally did pour the bucket over them, you felt every bit as cold and suffocated as your partner did, who had also begun to tire of it all as well. 

Maybe you've tried role-playing, a fairly agreeable and tame bedroom exercise as far as kinky goes. So the two of you were sprawled out on the bed dressed as a flower and a bumble bee, writhing around in the totally debased act of 'pollination', but then it happened again. You suddenly yearn for the company of other bumble bees, to hear them buzz around the room merry in their endless bumble bee servitude. You want nothing but to satisfy the needs of the hive, anything but satisfy the lover on your bed. The bumble bee character you invented for yourself has swallowed you alive. Your fire has died.

But it can be reignited. 

You see, you've simply exhausted the pleasure of human touch. All those nights spent fucking restlessly like horny psychopaths has taken its toll on your tactile perception, and so that touch that once turned you into a 'roided up Pepe Le Pew has become too familiar, too predictable. You need to reach new, untold of vistas if you are to salvage your love, and you can do this with a little practice known as astral projection.

Not only will this spiritual episode heighten your sexual experience, but it could prove to be the well-needed confidence booster you've been lacking all this time. You may have trouble getting it up sometimes, but your disembodied soul is constantly proud and fully erect. You may be worried about being on your period, nonsense, the soul needn't bleed from its luminescent vagina. No, sexual experience cannot be hindered by human trivialities in the Astral Plane, you are the very perfect form of yourself. Pure, shining, and ready to hump like a dirty pig.

In order to astral project, the two of you will need to create the perfect atmosphere first. Any Taoist with a set of beads would tell you that complete silence is necessary in order to achieve this altered state of consciousness, but I call mischief on that. You'll need the most romantic music imaginable for this ride, so break out the first W.A.S.P. record and turn that fucker up to 11. The music may only be slightly audible in the Astral Plane, or it may present itself physically in the form of coloured waves or shapes, it matters not, you'll be too busy making hump to each other to notice much anyway. You just need some background noise so the Astral neighbours don't hear anything.

Now, with the music blaring, the two of you must sit cross-legged in front of each other on your bed. Relax your bodies as best you can so that you can relax your mind, reaching a state hypnotic sedation is the most important part of this process, it is the key to the gate of unearthly pleasures. If you're having a hard time relaxing, you might want to pop some sleeping pills or a few Tramadols, just to loosen yourself up for the slide into hypnosis. Eventually you will feel your body vibrating lightly, slowly building in intensity until the two of you have finally emancipated yourselves from flesh and bone, and are now ready to bone.

Though your physical bodies will be left behind, cross-legged on your bed, your newly liberated souls will be free to roam the Astral Plane, fornicating as wildly as you please and in any disgraceful positions your sick minds can formulate. You will find that your disembodied bodies have found new meaning and you can begin afresh the exploration of erotic knowledge of which can only be found in one another. You are perfect and your love is perfect.

Or maybe you'll just overdose on drugs in a room throbbing with 80's Hair Metal. At least you did it together.

That's what love is all about.

Sunday, 8 February 2015

Music For Doing The Nasty.

It was a real head-scratcher trying to come up with a nice rinkydink and politically correct opening paragraph for this one, I have been inactive for quite a while after all, but then I remembered that most of you are basically just sick, libidinous mole creatures performing substandard impersonations of humanity, and as such, charm isn't necessary to win your attention.

I missed you though.

Music plays this all-important role in even our most humdrum of moments, and it's something that can't be minimized. It can be the difference between a torturous study session with your head buried in the books and a slightly more bearable hour or so of pairing off your essay on Nazi eugenics with the perfect Red Hot Chili Peppers record. It's the main difference between a cookie-cutter meth addict and a Juggalo, between your neighbour's poodle and a "Scene Kid" (remember those?).

Most of all though, music is perhaps the most overlooked of all sex toys, and if it wasn't for that Freddie Jackson record, the one collecting dust in your parents' attic, the cover of which teasingly displays his mustachioed face glaring lustily and readily, you might have been popped off into a sock on that particular night. Music and sex have been inseparable since Marquis de Sade first asked the chambermaid if she'd help him see how far he could fit a bugle up his own arse. Itsuse as both an instigator and accelerator of libido limbo cannot be understated, the problem is in choosing the right tunes. Aren't you glad I'm here to sort you out this Valentine's Day?

Luigi Russolo

Nothing says "I'm a weird fuck, so let's get naked and shame our ancestors immediately" like the horrific
and discordant sonic experience of Italian Futurist anti-music. If your partner doesn't absolutely agree to
all of your hideous plans for the evening after about ten minutes of this, then you may need a new lover.

Venetian Snares

If you're one of those spooky circus freaks that feels the need to keep the whole sweaty procession in rhythm with the music you're listening to, then perhaps you'd make use of the musical stylings of Canada's own Aaron Funk. Then when you're bragging to your goofy-looking friends, you may have something impressive to brag about for once.

Napalm Death

It's always good to be able to last for a whole song.

Gary Glitter

I heard somewhere that Pedophile Chic was a thing. Actually I didn't, I just made it up. If you do somehow find a partner who will indulge your weird proto-Glam fantasies, then at least make sure they're of legal age. Don't be a prick.

Mad Kabuki Theater Music

あなたが寝室にあるときに時々 、それはお尻が性器を満たしている場所に指を入れて良いです。これはあなたの喜びである場合、注意してください。Anata ga shinshitsu ni aru toki ni tokidoki, soreha oshiriga seiki o mitashite iru basho ni yubi o irete yoidesu. Kore wa anata no yorokobidearu baai, chūi shite kudasai.



Something by the band Korn. Just to set the general tone of disappointment for the rest of the night.