Like most people in gagglefuck situations, we look to the past in order to inform us with some type of schematic as to how we can remedy the present. 1982’s “The Message” is so concurrent with our present social/economic narrative that it becomes an eerie prophecy tune. We took links to a shitload of stuff we’ve been bombarded with by the media( mainly against our will) recently and connected them to the song. We’re not so sure if it’s a cool idea or not– spend some time clicking on the stories and listen to the song and let us know what you think.
Broken glass everywhere
People pissing on the stairs , you know they just
Dont care I cant take the smell , I cant take the noise
Got no money to move out , I guess I got no choice
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with a baseball bat
I tried to get away , but I couldnt get far
Cause the man with the tow-truck repossessed my car
Dont push me, cause Im close to the edge
Im trying not to loose my head
Its like a jungle sometimes , it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Standing on the front stoop,hangin out the window
Watchingall the cars go by, roaring as the breezes
Crazy lady , livin in a bag
Eating out of garbage piles, used to be a fag-hag
Search and test a tango, skips the life and then go
To search a prince to see the last of senses
Down at the peepshow , watching all the creeps
So she can tell the stories to the girls back home
She went to the city and got so so so ditty
She had to get a pimp , she couldnt make it on her
Its like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from goin under
My brothers doing fast on my mothers t.v.
Says she watches to much, is just not healthy
All my children in the daytime, dallas at night
Cant even see the game or the sugar ray fight
Bill collectors they ring my phone
And scare my wife when Im not home
Got a bum education , double-digitinflation
Cant take thetrain to the job , theres a strike
At the station
Me on king kong standin on my back
Cant stop to turn around, broke my sacroiliac
Midrange, migraine, cancered membrane
Sometimes I think Im going insane , I swear I might
Hijack a plane!
Its like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from goin under
My son said daddy I dont wanna go to school
Cause the teachers a jerk, he must think Im a Fool
And all the kids smoke reefer , I think itd be Cheaper
If I just got a job , learned to be a street sweeper
I dance to the beat, shuffle my feet
Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps
Cause its all about money , aint a damn thing funny
You got to have a con in this land of milk and Honey
I cant walk through the park, cause its crazy after the dark
Keep myhand on the gun , cause they got me on the
I feel like an outlaw, broke my last fast jaw
Hear them say you want some more, livin on a
A child was born , with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smiling on you buthes frowning too
Cause only God knows what you go through
You grow in the ghetto , living second rate
And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate
The places you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alley way
Youll admire all the number book takers
Thugs ,pimps , pushers and the big money makers
Driving big cars , spending twenties and tens
And you wanna grow up to be just like them
Smugglers , scrambles , burglars , gamblers
Pickpockets , peddlers and even pan-handlers
You say Im cool, Im no fool
But then you wind up dropping out of high school
Now youre unemployed , all null n void
Walking around like youre pretty boy floyd
Turned stickup kid , look what you done did
Got send up for a eight year bid
Now your man is took and youre a may tag
Spend the next two years as an undercover fag
Being used and abused , and served like hell
Till one day you was find hung dead in a cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young
Leave it up to the British to turn all of our pleasures into an academic deconstruction while introducing terms like “banal insularity”. We’re insular because if we had shows like this on our American TV sets, a shitload of crock TV producers would be hanging themselves.
We jizz with happiness when we find something on YouTube that we like. Sadly, we are quickly reminded that we’re so starved for quality content on TV, we’ve had to reprogram our neurons in order to conform to watching the bulk of our media on the internet.
In “Secret of Drawing”, Art Historian and 100% BBC ALPHA MALE( see Top Gear’s uber-cock Jeremy Clarkson for further proof ), Andrew Graham-Dixon pastes together a psychological profile of selected artists as the significance of their “visual language” is discussed.
In this episode we get to see Daniel Clowes work on further molding the stereotype that all great contemporary graphic novelists a) suffer from some psychological malaise, b) have decided to dedicate their lives to a medium that will never give them the happiness that they need and that only makes them further obsessed on c) a period of time ( the 60’s/70’s for Clowes or for Ware early 20th Century) they think was better but d) don’t realize they would be miserable even if they lived in that period.
Warning: The Following breaks every principle in David Denby’s treatise against haterdom, “Snark”
Happy Valentines Day Folks!
We’ve decided to highlight three of the things that have made the internet–or friend-box as we’ve come to call it– the bastion of lonely people of all ages,colors, and D&D character classes. So if your reading, give your self a pat on the back: chances are there is no one else to do it for you.
I HAVE MORE SELF-ESTEEM THAN YOU
When God created Photoshop it was only to complete a camera-cat-words triangle so that socially awkward and desperate people across the universe could anthropomorphize cats into what they always knew they were: smarter, better fed, and more articulate versions of themselves.
2)VIDEOS OF BABIES
Does this kid have 76 million relatives? You could have wiped the tears from your face, put the leash on the cat, and went and found your own child to kidnap already.
3) WEB CAMERAS
YOU CAN TELL ME
Web Cameras make us long for the day when you stuck to telling your deep and always boring secrets to the only gay guy in your whole town, or that prisoner pen-pal who was embezzling from you! With the advent of the web-cam comes proof that lonely people do not want company or companionship, only yearn to be lonely in front of millions of people.
Well, We’ve got to go and work on that crochet pillow we’ve been putting off.. Once again, Happy Valentines!!!
A few days ago we saw a T-Shirt that scared the fuck out of us. Thinking that only real nuts would wear it and because we don’t live in the south– because political views where we live are kept to mumbles or come out as spotty racist tirades or maybe because the people here don’t have real balls or care– we assured ourselves that we wouldn’t see anyone wearing one. Ever.
If They Wear This
You Wear That
We can’t say we were surprised to see that the same sentiment has been pasted onto a “Club Gitmo” T-shirt that is being sold by Rush Limbaugh. Meaning that the prospect of actually seeing someone wearing one has greatened significantly.
It has always been the job of “humor” to laugh rationality in the face– to take the truth and tell it to go give itself a hand job.
These shirts are like graphic representations of the skewed pattern of irrationality that Limabaugh has always subscribed to.
Along with that are our own shirts, less cruel and more truthful.
They Wear This
You're Wearing This
1up YouTube for letting user Pruane2Forever direct the abuse and alienation he’s probably been feeling since he can remember towards the camera and not by shooting his school up.
Props to Pruane-Dog for calling out 50 Cent. It’s about time someone did it!
A few weeks ago The Unblinking Ear made us hip to a distasteful marketing trend. Indie Rock Cardio looks like a last attempt by Chaos, of Main Street Dairy Queen fame, to get the break she’s been waiting for. You Go Girl!!!
For those who think their depth and expertise of punk rock is unsurpassed,or if you are considering Indie Rock Cardio: subscribe to the Unblinking Ear’s podcast to be put humbly back in your place.
A singular object, idea, or institution cannot constitute a trend. Indie Rock Cardio here is your well deserved Look At All These People Biting Off My Shit Award.
Vodpod videos no longer available.
Here is what the ON Network has to say about it’s totally whack Cooking With The Band:
The host is tattooed and goateed Sam Mason—“part rocker, part chef”—of New York’s WD-50, who employs the musical fingers of touring bands for help in making such exotic specialties as black olive cobbler and miso butterscotch halibut (along with more staid creations, like steak and frites and bagels and lox).
I’m not sure if we are supposed to be amazed that bands eat or we should feel so embarrassed by all of the people on the show that we experience some insight regarding human empathy?
Still, I’m happy that I can now cook great meals and not worry about packing on the pounds. Thank god for Indie-Rock!!
Just Cause I Look Like A Dude Doesn't Mean I Am
Chris Brown, master of single sylabble oh’s and ah’s, didn’t make it to the Grammys last night. Instead he was picked up by LA police for making “criminal threats”and is being investigated for the more serious, and less startling,
accusation that he has been hitting equally talented phonetic acrobat, Rihanna. (see: Bom-Bom-Be-Dum.)
We want to take a moment to explain to Chris Brown that although Rihanna’s haircut as of late leads one to suspect she is in fact male, hitting a girl who looks like a guy is still like hitting a guy only it’s a girl. Which is a nice way to say you don’t hit women dickface!
He never made it to the Grammy Awards stage, but Chris Brown’s performance Sunday could become an example of how to wreck one’s career in record time.
We don’t think “career” is the right word, it implies longevity in one field of work. And while we won’t compare winning the lottery to lasting long in the music industry we will analogize it to catching heterosexual HIV.
There is a chance, but it’s hard.
So see you later Chris Brown, we hope.