Primer-y Colours

The Annual Woodlake Car Show was tonight. I was walking up on Bravo Lake, no relation to the Wood in the town's name, so I am told. I could hear, in the faint distance, Buddy Holly's True Love Ways playing on an archaic sound system. I talk to Kent on the blower, he convinces me to download Afghan Whigs Black Love, I tell him about The Horrors' Primary Colours. After that convo, I come home and listen to Kid Cudi's first album and watch Keanu Reeves' Speed. I write of Heracles and a ghost world where the spirits live a romantic existence.

Sometimes I just sit and ponder life to the tune of Iceage and then I hear The Horrors’ New Ice Age plays unironically and I go bat shit crazy. The song does it to me. I settle down and have a beverage or infinity and beyond...

On the Horrors' song "Three Decades" the skinny No Wave punk tells me to forget my regrets. At this point kid, its hard to remember any regret, so mission: accomplished.

My demons visit at night, in form of night terrors and they attack to the tune of Primary Colours (the actual song - a song that is probably the most honest and beautiful remake of a Romantic Wave song, you know, the one that wasn't written in 1985 by Cocteau Twin.) These demons, fearsome snakes the lot of them, attempt to dance to the beat of the song, but I stop. I then put in a Ferris Bueller DVD and skool the alien lizards the ways of human beings in the middle of Regan's reign.

That'll teach, ‘em.

Me and the snakes from my night terror-laden brain prep a dance routine for two plus years and perform to the Primary Colors song--only the masses hear Heartbreak Beat by Psychedelic Furs so that the Horrors song doesn't leak 21 years early, that’s how real paradoxes happen--Doc Brown was wrong. Accept it.

Giving the Devil his Due when he’s Due up at the Plate

That dude, Christian Lopez, the Mensch that caught Derek Jeter’s 3000th hit and turned around and gave it back to Jeets right after the game, claiming “it wasn’t his to keep” got a bill from New York Tax Board for $22,000 for the taxation on the gifts that the Jeter and the Yankee organization gave him for his generosity. The greed in this country has hit an all time low. I cannot wait to wake up, some day in the near future to the smell of my own blossoming garden, wearing clothing that my girlfriend made for me, using my own urine to line my secured parameter so that the bunnies and deer don’t nibble on my corn. No electricity because the grid has shut down. Campfires were stories of video games, movies and internet memes are regaled. My shotgun under my pillow every sundown as hounds stand watch for the zombies on the horizon.

My point is, this tax shit has got to end. In the worst recession of my generation: lawyers, politicians and bankers continue to squeeze the proverbial blood out of the turnip that is we middle class. This Lopez dude, like many in my generation, is in debt up to his casaba melon of a head. He owes 150K in loans—just to have, Timothy “my-dick-is-smaller-than-quark” Geithner, hold out his hand with a shat-swallowing grimace, using the tax laws on the books to punish a good citizen, the toast of New York City, just 4 days after he ‘made’ the income he had taxed. These guys are reptilian Satanists devoid of souls, who eat babies for brunch and rape high-schoolers (mostly males) for sport. When the tide turns, you bet your ass we’ll be inserting a spit in their asses—human centipede style—and cooking them over the open flame for all to enjoy. But in the meantime, Derek Jeter should step up the plate as he did last Saturday, and give this dude the 22K he needs to pay off these vulturious hogs who hide in the shadows like the swarmy lumps of devil jism they are.

Update: Just read that Lopez was offered 50K for all the memorabilia that Jeter/Yanks gave him, cutting his debt down 1/3. Gotta love this country—150K in the hole just to become a mobile phone salesmen. So kids, the lesson is, if you have the once-in-a-lifetime chance to catch the 3000th hit of a baseball idol—you better do it at least 3 times to be square with these leprous hobgoblins in three-piece Armanis.

Now, where is my baseball mitt?

Fuck You,Man!

G+U

As the adamantium trax of the robotic death machine crushes the skulls of the human race, we survivors will all look back to early July 2011 and remember when the + entered the equation. Google+ is supposed to be revolutionary, a social networking interface that takes your existing Facebook 'friends' and populates them into your + account. I've heard that the robotic minds at Google are 'perfecting' the social network experience by allowing users to create social groups so that you can brag about seeing the trailer to the new Batman movie at Comic Con without your mom asking when you will stop with the silliness and get in the business of pushing out a mutant that looks half like you so that she can feel fulfilled in some way.

Or maybe this is just me.

In this case, maybe this new Google platform is a good thing. I often times have people commenting on FB status updates that really have no business doing so. I've had girls I went to high school with say I talk about sports too much. Tuff shit, sugar tits. I like sports. Always have, always will. To me, it makes more sense than the political sewer in Washington and the turds Hollywood churns out these strange days Jim Morrison warned us about. All I'm saying is that I think G+ is a grand idea; a social networking system that takes bits and pieces of the best things of the social networking experience and perfecting it. And if Mark loses a few scheckles because of it--it was because he couldn't hang with what will ultimately become Skynet. He's still a billionaire, opportunistic douche-nozzle that looks like he'd be more comfortable throwing babies in a bonfire at Bohemian Grove than hanging out with you.