• Sarah Palin is MILF-tastic. I could care less about her politics or shitting developmentally disabled babies out of her old dried-up uterus when she has that slutty soccer mom thing working for her.
  
• Foreign policy lessons for America from the Byzantine Empire. Very Art of War with guerrilla warfare sprinkles on top. I agree with most of these points, however, the United States has the tremendous advantage of geographic isolation which the Byzantine Empire did not. This means we can wage wars on six continents with a slim a chance of the conflicts spilling over into our Motherland. So unless we drop bombs on Canada or Mexico, I am guessing Americans will flourish historically a lot longer than the Byzantines.
• The more I see of Ice-T's wife Coco, the happier with him as a person I become. Continue to Peel Their Caps Back with your cave bitch, good sir.

Labels: america, boobs, chicks, history, music, politics, pop culture, war

Mark: Have you heard of Art Brut? Euro-Indie rock band. Not bad. That would also be a good name for your next child other than Spilly.
Me: Did you stay up for the game and watch the grand slam?
Mark: I did not. Although I was there for Tulo's unassisted triple play and that was dope.
Me: This was ... doper? More dope? Dopest?
Mark: Unsure.

Labels: /mark, denver, im convos, music, pop culture, sports

• Ten things we do not understand about humans. I love how pubic hair made the list and I love even more that some scientist has studied pubic hair back to prehistory. For the record: we do not need explanations for why women prefer to go hairless.
  
• With the recent retirement of NHL star Jeremy Roenick, Greg Wyshynski compiled a list of his top ten pop culture moments on Yahoo! Sports. Of course the mention of him in the movie Swingers was high on the list (#2). In reference to Roenick being a video game hall of famer I could not agree more. He was without a doubt the most dominant players on NHL '94. I averaged a hat trick with him each time I played as the Blackhawks. Note to my wife: with my birthday impending I urge you to make this happen.
• The thirty five worst celebrity tattoos. Fred Durst: thank you for confirming you are the biggest douchebag in a group douchebags. And Reggie Miller? Seriously?
  

Labels: geekery, hockey, movies, music, pop culture, science, sports, tattoos, vajayjay

Fatherhood has yet to provide me with any kind of spiritual awakening. After speaking to the other expectant fathers in my various babying classes, I was expecting angels to descend from heaven and play a harp rendition of "MMMBop" while I recognized the kinship of all living things when my son was born. Instead, I was relieved that the boy arrived with no serious health/birth defects and his mother did not go all 19th Century on me and bleed to death during childbirth and leave me and the boy to resent our stations in life and grow bitter over the years while tending to the family farm. It is cool to have an entire life dependent on you. It is also scary as hell. I think the true measure of whether or not I was a successful parent will come when it is time for me to go into a nursing home. If I did well? The boy will come visit me with his family on a semi-regular basis and take me out for a steak on occasion while tolerating my rants at the waitress for being too slow with the side order of gravy. If I did not do well? I will suffer in a multi-level town house in Thornton and eat Alpo out of the can and call my son "a fucking pussy" when he makes his annual call to wish me a happy birthday. Right now the boy is much like a zombie army; singularly focused on food, growing at an exponential rate and adverse to any kind of a rest. I am debating the Boggins Window Crib to make nap time more interesting. Not sure if that will get me the steak dinner or the Alpo. Only time will tell.

Labels: bad parents, family, l-i-v-i-n, music, pop culture, the boy, tomfoolery, wife

• The world's strongest vagina. It can lift 14 kilos? Whatever. I would like to see what it could do with ping pong balls. Seriously. I would really like to see that.
• A father and son that kill and bury hookers together stay together.
• I could not agree more, John Niven. Because you record some awesome shit like Dirty Diana you get a free pass of the kiddie-touchin'? Not on my watch you dead, twisted, clown-looking freak. It is not like you revolutionized industry and tried to get us to hate on some Jews. You fingered little boys in the ass and should be vilified accordingly; especially posthumously.
  

Labels: death, history, killing, link goodness, music, pop culture, vajayjay, whores

I am somewhat indifferent about MJ's passing as the King of Pop has been dead to me since 1993. On one hand, I owned Thriller on vinyl and am able to sing most of its songs from memory. On the other hand, kiddie-touchin'? Dude was always weird. But I would have been weird, too, if I were raised by a devout Jehovah's Witness that had a penchant for regular beatings and mental anguish. Still, weirdness and amazing talent should not give you a free pass on the kiddie-touchin'. The complete entertainment package that MJ was will be unmatched for years to come. The world is now left to ponder who the most talented Jackson alive is. Most will argue Janet, but I am calling Jermaine.

Labels: death, music, pop culture

• Timberlake absolutely killed Saturday Night Live over the weekend. I am loving the Color Me Badd personas he and Samberg take on. Acid-washed jeans? Christ.
  
• The Denver Nuggets have been rolling through the first two rounds of the NBA playoffs. The main reason? Homegrown talent Chauncey Billups. I remember watching Chauncey eat my high school alive in the state basketball tournament back in '94. If the Nugs win it all, there is no player more deserving of MVP honors.
  
• Rwanda, fifteen years after the genocide. The new government granted Get Out Of Jail Free Cards to most participants of the single largest mass murder in African history. Good times.
  

Labels: death, denver, history, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, war

• Unicorn madness brought to you by my wife's childhood needlepoint "Unicorn Jumping Over A Rainbow" project.
• Best. Jon Mayer. Fan. Ever.
• I need to order business cards for Broz Design and beef jerky is now officially under consideration.
  

Labels: broz design, link goodness, music, pop culture, tomfoolery, wife

Last night, after a home-cooked Italian feast courtesy of my mother, we settled on my parent's couch to catch the 2009 Grammy Awards. Some highlights:

• I now remember why I have not watched a Grammy Awards show since 2005. Its called Coldplay.
• Enough with the onstage collaborations. Seriously. I doubt anyone in America has been dripping in anticipation for a Paul McCartney and Foo Fighters jam session. There is a reason why two Beatles are dead; God does not want the surviving members to play their songs anymore.
• I cannot count how many times Dean Martin must have turned over in his grave after seeing this. Being as his next of kin were in the audience watching, I believe they were legally within their rights to kill one (if not all) of the performers that took a shit on Dino's memory and then wiped their asses with it. Except maybe MIA's unborn child. That kid is innocent. My rage spares the unborn.
• Jennifer Hudson: Look, I understand your family was murdered just a short while ago, but could you have at least sent your assistant out to find a dress that did not look like you you just ate a plate of crab legs at a seafood restaurant?
• Alison Krauss and Robert Plant recorded music together? I thought Robert Plant was dead. At least he has been dead to me after the Honeydrippers fiasco.
• Is there anything left for Kanye West to not bitch about? Even the Commish is with me on this one.
• Stevie Wonder. Sigh. You just make me sad.

Labels: music, pop culture, rage

Nice work, Johnny Trombones. However, you are only true of heart if you owned The Final Countdown on vinyl. Or obnoxiously sing "Carrie" to every woman you know with the same handle twenty five years after the fact. For the former members of my design team, here is your point of reference. May I remind you that in 1986 a man could be pretty and awesome at the same time.

Labels: music, nostalgia, pop culture

• The year 2008 in photographs.
• Does this generation of middle-school kids even know who Wynne Cooper is? Did they lust after her 13 year-old frame and fantasize about making out with her in Paul Pfieffer's basement after the Sadie Hawkins dance like the pubescent Matt Brozovich did?
• Mr. Belding rocks the karaoke and is releasing a DVD/CD called Karaoke With Your Favorite Principal Dennis Haskins, aka Mr. Belding. I enjoyed his duet rendition of "Mustang Sally" with the ever-vapid Brook Hogan. Someone should have told Mr. B about Brooke's cock before he dropped all those sexual innuendos.
  

Labels: chicks, link goodness, music, pop culture

• How hot dogs are made. Just look at that delicious vat of leftover blended meat pastes dipped in smoke flavor!
• 8-Bit Jesus is a Christmas album that features classic tracks done in the style of different Nintendo game's soundtrack. My personal favorite is "The Legend Of Noel."
• Face. Just. Melted.

Labels: chicks, food, geekery, music, pop culture, tomfoolery, xmas

• Fetal Bites: America's number one fetus cookie cutter. Upon purchase I foresee Scottish Shortbread fetus cookies in my future.
  
• A giant pregnant anaconda is slain. Seeing all those dead anaconda babies strewn about gave me a Temple of Doom vibe as opposed to a JLo/Ice Cube vibe.
• A preview of Steven Colbert's "Another Christmas Song." Colbert has a decent voice and I am guessing the album will kitschy and mildly entertaining ranking somewhere between Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics and The Star Wars Christmas Album (the latter of which I owned on vinyl in my youth).
  

Labels: america, babies, dead babies, food, geekery, link goodness, movies, music, nostalgia, pop culture, wife, xmas

• The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks.
• Zombie attacks from antiquity.
• "I Love Shotgunning Zombies" shirt from Threadless.
• You Tube of the Cranberries song "Zombie."
• The guide to zombie fornication.
• How zombies work.
• Zombie pinup girls; beauty and braaains!
  

Labels: books, halloween, link goodness, music, pop culture, zombies

Friday. The wife and I attend the 2008 Punk Rocks show at Red Rocks. The band lineup includes NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Bouncing Souls, Street Dogs and young Denver skate punks Frontside Five (the Circle Jerks are a no-show). I soon recognize how old I am when I breeze through beer lines in mere minutes. I soon learn that new punk kids like smoking weed way more than old punk kids. NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones and Bouncing Souls are still awesome. The Street Dogs are the opposites of awesome due to an hour and a half set and a fifteen minute dissertation on who the Ramones are and why they are so important to punk music. The only way to make their set less cliche would have be for the lead singer to not remove his shirt before his Ramones tribute song only to reveal a strategically planned Ramones shirt underneath. I conclude that six hour concerts and $7 beers are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Saturday. Enter the annual neighborhood pool luau. We represent a respectable drinking crew and my next door neighbor's classic rock cover band melts faces. Our HOA is awesome because they allow (tolerate) my next door neighbor to wheel an ice-cold keg over to the pool to serve free beer. I soon realize that inflatable monkeys cannot sustain the belly-flop weight of a grown man from a diving board. Post-luau we torch a fire in the backyard pit and the wife provides ingredients for 'smores. Three people fall asleep in their chairs. I conclude that staying up late and drinking until intoxication two nights in a row is not nearly as fun in my thirties as it was in my twenties.

Sunday. My annual fantasy football draft goes down in the living room. Being as this is the fifteenth year of my league's existence and the same team owners have been in said league for the past six years, I expect the draft to take no more than two hours. Four hours and eight cases of beer later, the draft concludes after much humor, animosity and stupidity (this sums up my fantasy football league perfectly: upon the draft's conclusion one team owner loudly proclaimed, "I have to get going. I am late for marriage counseling.") Steak, potatoes and a gigantic apple pie from Costco are then decimated in less than twenty minutes. I conclude that sports gambling and NFL football viewing are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Labels: chili dog, denver, drinking, drugs, glory days, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, music, sg crew, sports, the greens, weekend that was, wife

It is videos such as these that make me long for a time when MTV actually played music videos. A time when the Participation Ribbon Generation was not responsible for subjugating creative video ingenuity to an ancillary channel on digital cable in lieu of reality programming that long ago withered and died on the vine (please give me yet another reality show about former reality stars competing in the ultimate reality competition in order to win fabulous prizes that said former reality stars do not deserve). A time when Downtown Julie Brown and Kari Wuhrer filled my adolescent brain with impure desires. A time when one could easily cross the cultural void by watching Yo! MTV Raps and the Headbangers Ball in the same sitting. MTV sold out long ago and nothing short of a topless Audrina Partridge doing the Ed Lover Dance atop Spencer Pratt's dead body will make me cool with it.

Labels: music, nostalgia, pop culture

• Hannah Montana penis candy.
• "Raised to be tough" guy also not raised to lose drinking contests.
• Some scientists are claiming that for the first time in human history, the North Pole will be free of ice of this summer. If we can retroactively measure the North Pole ice pack back through Prehistory, then we should be able to stop Tila Tequila.
  

Labels: drinking, link goodness, music, pop culture, science, stupidity

• Another reason besides gambling payouts to enjoy college athletics. Note to YouTube video collage guy: Have enough respect for your craft to at least have the images of your obsession sync with the music. And Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady"? Come on. Think it through.
• Jackie Warner, attractive lesbian fitness trainer, is apparently the apple of every straight girl's eye.
• Sleeve tattoos are officially played out. Ho do I know? Because of this.

Labels: chicks, health, lesbians, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, tattoos

• Analytics according to Captain Kirk. In short, the survival rate of a red-shirted crew person on the USS Enterprise is akin to that of a Russian infantryman during WWII.
• A timeline of Black Flag's hair.
• The Montana Meth Project. Gritty, jarring and perfect.

Labels: drugs, link goodness, music, pop culture, war

The sparsely posted on MB was experiencing some down time while Jake configured servers and did some technical shit that you probably did not care about nor appreciated. The website is back online now upon meeting with a therapist and listening to its Cure music library.

Labels: geekery, jake, music

• The comics deal that put Mile High Comics and Charles Rozanski on the map.
  
• The 20 biggest record company screw-ups of all time. Number one? The killing of Napster. Also ridiculous yet notable; the selling of Motown for peanuts, letting Bob Dylan go for a thousand bucks and the Guns N' Roses Chinese Democracy debacle.
• An image gallery of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue covers from 1964-2008.

Labels: boobs, chicks, comics, link goodness, music, pop culture, swimsuit issue

Me: Interesting.
Jake: Meh. She does not stun me. Who cares if she can play some golf?
Me: I guess it is nice to know that she is not just a useless hot bitch. She can hit the shit out of a golf ball, too.
Jake: Give me Heidi Klum playing with her tits any day.
Me: Well, duh. Her tits are fantastic.
Jake: "Great knockers!"
Me: The Seal thing baffles me. I bet she is a size queen. It is the only explanation.
Jake: Never thought of that.
Me: Him and Edward James Olmos could be brothers with all that shit on their faces.
Jake: Ha! Seal had lupus. Cut the guy a break. He is just trying to get by.
Me: I do not call banging Heidi Klum "Getting By." I call that "Out Punting Your Coverage." "Getting By" is laying wood to someone like Britney Spears.
Jake: That is not "Getting By" that is "Giving Up."
Me: Nice.

Labels: boobs, chicks, im convos, jake, music, pop culture, sports

• Mother of year turns tricks while her kids are in the back seat and snorts coke from the stomach of her newborn son while breast-feeding him.
• Today marks the anniversary of Tim Allen being arrested with one and half pounds of yam-yam at the airport and rolling on his longtime friend to get a life sentence reduced only to go on to make shitty situation comedies and Santa Claus related films.
• Members Only jackets for $10. I may have to pull the trigger on one of these badboys and wear it over my Queensryche Operation: Mindcrime concert shirt.

Labels: bad parents, drugs, link goodness, music

• Jake got more ink over the weekend. Two words: fucking huge. At least something will be able to take the attention away from cock dagger now.
• DMX loves dogs like Mike Vick.
• Congratulations to 2007 Miss Teen USA Hilary Cruz (from Colorado; represent). I trust your response during the question and answer segment was not anything like this.

Labels: colorado, jake, link goodness, music, pop culture, sports, stupidity, tattoos

Tonight the wife and I will be attending the Gwen Stefani concert at the Pepsi Center and joining throngs of anorexic sorority sisters whacked out on Dexatrim, underage girls adorned in midriff shirts and flaming homosexual men badly singing, "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" I bought her the tickets for Valentines Day after scoring a sweet deal on StubHub that will put us in the fifteenth row. This should be a close enough to turn the wife into a blubbering mess of drunken fan girl as well as fill my masturbatory database for a solid year after catching shots of dew and early morning fur from the Pussycat Dolls.

Post-Concert Update: A Gwen Stefani fan demographic I completely overlooked yesterday: lesbians. Namely, hardcore, golf coaching, femullet sporting, hardware store lesbians. We were lucky enough to sit next to a fun couple that fit into this aforementioned classification. Not only were they friendly, half drunk and had a great sense of humor; they enjoyed making out during most of Gwen's ballads. I was saddened to learn the Pussycat Dolls were not opening (I was fed misinformation) and instead had to listen to the verbal abortion that is Lady Sovereign. Akon took the stage next and was solid all around save for the ten minutes he gave the mic to some Beyonce-wannabe hack signed to his label that sucked the life out of the crowd. Akon sang about the ghetto and being in love with strippers and made countless inquires to the female audience members while taking off a shirt saying, "Ladies are you ready for this?" Eventually he got rid of the shirt all together and informed us it was alright to do so because he goes to the gym and gets "his fitness right." Gwen took the stage amid the piercing shrieks of thousands of middle school girls and proceeded to dominate the set. She was at her best when the show antics were at a minimum (she had a troupe of break dancers and Japanese girls doing all sorts of shit behind her) and did one song in the middle of the crowd (much to delight of the folks sitting in general admission). She accidentally called Colorado "Utah" in the middle of a song, but she made up for it by mocking herself for the slip up afterward and displaying her naked, shredded midriff and scantily-covered "mom" boobs for the rest of the night. Overall I would say it was a great performance. Walking out of the venue we ran into my best friend growing up and his girlfriend (he also bought her the tickets for Valentines Day) and we decided to stop into Brooklyn's for "a drink." After downing six beers each we then headed home.

Labels: denver, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, music, pop culture, wife

• Miss Tennessee Rachel Smith was crowned Miss USA recently. Methinks it had much to do with her prominent camel toe during the swimsuit competition.
• The 10 worst rap album covers ever made. Sadly, I used to own one of them. I can only wish it were M$ Tee Having Thing$ or Tec-9 Straight From Tha Ramp.
• After the move this weekend the wife and I will be within spitting distance of the best liquor store and mini-golf in Colorado.
  

Labels: camel toe, link goodness, liquor, music, pop culture, the greens, vajayjay, wife

• Paparazzi shots of Britney's cash and prizes (very un-work safe). Five years ago this link might have melted my face, but now her nether regions are about as interesting to me as an introductory to statistics college course. Bonus: C-Section scars!
  
• Wikipedia for Encierro.
• Snow reports for local ski areas. With an intense Arctic storm moving in, ski areas could be getting upwards of two feet of snow and I could be spending the next couple of days on the slopes reveling in soft, champagne powder while you jerks are stuck in a cubicle at work.
• Selections from the notebooks of Max Roosevelt, 15-year-old socialist.
• Big local news (so big in fact, they interrupted an episode of Judge Joe Brown for the press conference yesterday): Jake Plummer gets benched and Jay Cutler will start as the Broncos quarterback on Sunday. I am officially nicknaming Cutler "The Paperboy" because he bears striking resemblance to a chubby neighborhood kid that slings the daily news and not because he looks like the one-hit rap wonder of the early 90s.
  
• Wikipedia for GG Allin. Specifically, the "Death" heading.

Labels: colorado, history, link goodness, music, pop culture, snow, sports, unemployment, vajayjay

• Wikipedia for Halloween.
• Halloween costumes for sluts. My personal favorites: Teacher's Pet, Alice In Wonderland, Whore Ballerina, Herpes Care Bear and Bondage Whip Cat Woman. Disturbing items: Homo-erotic Roman Warrior costume and the sexy plus-size costume section (note the complete lack of realistic models that could adorn the "three-man tent tarp" size). A note to sexy costume manufacturers everywhere: Your plus-size section should consist of one costume; a king-size white sheet with eye holes cut out labeled "Sexy Ghost That Eats Too Much."
• Anna Nicole Smith is facing the possibility of exhuming her son's dead body.
• Wikipedia for Samhain (the festival, not the bag of assholes band Glenn Danzig fronted after the dissolution of the Misfits).
• Outsiders soliloquy performed by a talentless hack for the now dead Stanley Kubrick.

Labels: death, halloween, link goodness, movies, music, pop culture, whores

• Meth addict attempts suicide via nail gun. Hijinks ensue.
• A photo journey through the post-nuclear wasteland of the former Soviet Union. Inspired by the twenty-year anniversary of the Chernobyl disaster.
• In my life, I have found there to be only one indisputable truth: Journey's Escape is the equivalent of musical panty remover.

Labels: cold war, drugs, history, link goodness, music, panties

Blender's 50 worst things to happen to music.

Labels: music

Hair metal dissertations that tug on the old Steelheart:

• Mr. Sun on the Scorpion's Rock You Like a Hurricane.
• Izzle Pfaff on Whitesnake's Here I Go Again.

The Here I Go Again video filled my pubescent years with countless hours of masturbatory fodder. Tawny Kitaen's ruby tresses flowed in the wind as sheer linen robes exposed her bulbous breasts and buttocks while she stretched and gyrated her limber body all over the hood of David Coverdale's car. It was a sight to behold. Unfortunately for Tawny, this was the zenith of her career. Soon after she defiled that black muscle car, her life and looks degenerated in the magical world of happy dust, prescription medication and attacks on her ex-husband with a shoe.

Labels: chicks, drugs, music, tomfoolery

• Take that, you cocksucking creationists.
  
• The reason the Duke Lacrosse season was suspended indefinitely. It is one thing to call strippers bitches and threaten to skin them; but if you do these things while "cumming in your Duke issue spandex" then you have crossed the line.
  
• Seven famous songs with factual or logical mistakes in the lyrics.

Labels: link goodness, music, science, sports

• The rise and fall of an Indian reservation drug dealer. Jake digs the bear claw tattoos prominently displayed on homegirl's sweater puppies. He would. The guy does shit like this on the weekends.
• A dissertation on the NBA logo. The article argues whether the logo should be redesigned to reflect the current culture of the league or remain the way it is. I say redesign the logo to something that is indicative of the modern NBA; a tattooed kid with cornrows that cannot play defense and has no outside shot but can dunk like a hungry police officer at a coffee shop.
• Good to hear that Hank has not lost his edge.
• Tanith Belbin has made me a fan of Olympic ice dancing. There. I said it.

Labels: drugs, jake, link goodness, music, sports, tattoos

After my discussion with Jake and much deliberation, I decided this would be the mixed tape I would create for the Son of God:

1. "Jesus Built My Hotrod" by Ministry
2. "So Fresh, So Clean" by Outkast
3. "Down On My Knees" by The Crucifucks
4. "The Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash
5. "Kill The Poor" by Dead Kennedys
6. "Holy Diver" by Dio
7. "When I Get To Heaven" by Ice Cube
8. "Killing In The Name Of" by Rage Against the Machine
9. "Sister Christian" by Night Ranger
10. "Sympathy For The Devil" by Rolling Stones
11. "If You Love Someone Set Them On Fire" by Dead Milkmen
12. "Epiphany" by Bad Religion
13. "Something To Believe In" by Poison

I know Jesus was a subversive Hippy and would probably enjoy some Grateful Dead, Phish, Widespread Panic and Cat Stevens, but that is not the point. The purpose of the mixed tape is not just to throw on a bunch of music that the recipient likes and is familiar with. Making a mixed tape for someone is the ultimate truth; it strips down the walls society builds around human relationships and then rebuilds them through the majesty of song. That, and if you give a mixed tape to girl hopefully it will get you laid.

Labels: jake, music, pop culture, religion, tomfoolery

Being as its Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and I am white, it seems only fitting and respectful to Dr. King to bash white celebrities that I despise. I am sure Dr. King would agree that all that brotherhood and hand-holding business would be out the window if these jag offs were standing next to him:

Scott Stapp. Can someone please grab this guy with their arms wide open and squeeze him until his eyeballs pop out of their sockets? If not, we will have to keep getting updates like this. I checked out his bitch's website and noticed that she bears an uncanny resemblance to the brunette Carolina Panther cheerleader that got arrested for trading fur and slap boxing in a public restroom.

Peyton Manning. The most entertaining part of the NFL playoffs for me is watching Peyton Manning fail. Take a seat next to Dan Marino, Peyton. You have a long career of post-season disappointments and bad commercials ahead of you.

Tara Reid. Please bury your face in a mountain of cocaine and breathe deep ala Tony Montana, Tara. How Taradise has not been canceled yet reinforces why the plug needs to be pulled on the E! Network.

Labels: music, pop culture, rage, sports, tomfoolery

It may be Wednesday but I just now recovered from this past weekend. After treating my liver to a host of pollutants for three straight days, my body was pleased to remind me that it is not 21 years old anymore. On Friday, I went to the Great American Beer Festival with the usual cast of characters, minus one future brother-in-law who came down with sore ovaries stayed home (click here for some hot Flickr action). On Saturday, I went bar hopping with a large group of rowdy and intoxicated family members to celebrate my cousin's impending nuptials. On Sunday, I attended the System of a Down concert at Pepsi Center with my future brother-in-law (who miraculously recovered from his sore ovaries) and friends, where two cases of beer and a can of Skoal Bandits were killed and an annoying fat guy in glasses who quoted Plato was almost killed.

Labels: bro-in-law, denver, drinking, hangover, music, weekend that was

This morning in the break room one of my 23 year-old coworkers was wearing a Catch 22 shirt. I remarked how I loved the book and her eyes got glassy like she just bonged a box of Franzia. She than sighed and said in the most demeaning tone, "Catch 22 is a band, Matt." So now I am off to walk the mall in beige Velcro shoes, hit the early bird at the Sizzler and then fall asleep in the easy chair before dusk watching reruns of Matlock.

Labels: age, books, music, tomfoolery

Today marks the third decade that I have been alive. If you forgot to get me something please refer to my Amazon Wish List or throw me a dollar bill as if I were a skank stripper named Midnight working the day shift at a seedy club in North Denver who is two months pregnant and has three sex partners tattooed on her arm. People of note who share my birthday:

• Victoria Silvstedt (Playboy playmate)
  
• Debbye Turner (Miss America 1990)
  
• Trisha Yearwood (Country Singer)
  
• Joan Lunden (Cohost, Good Morning America 1980-1997)
  
• Jeremy Irons (Actor)
  
• A tattooed, red-headed ordained minister that resides in Los Angeles.

People of unworthy of sharing my birthday:

• Jimmy Fallon (Alleged Comedian)
  
• Matthew Perry(Alleged Actor)

Labels: birthday, music, pop culture, strippers

Me: Cory Feldman is itching to be in a rock opera.
Monica: When all else fails, try the rock opera.
Me:I got news for Corey Feldman. There is only one man that can pull of the rock opera and his name is Meat Loaf.
Monica: Well, you cannot blame him for trying.
Me: Oh yes I can. A rock opera is nothing to be trifled with. It takes equal parts falsetto voice, sequined jumpsuits, frilly man-blouses and rhinestone unitards.
Monica: And Corey Feldman does not fit that bill?
Me: No, my friend. He most certainly does not.
Monica: Certainly you jest, but did you see his frilly attire on the Surreal Life while getting hitched?
Me: No.
Monica: He wore a pirate shirt and man tights, Matty.
Me: Interesting.
Monica: Now, I realize you cannot fuck with the rock opera formula. I am just saying, for a fancy boy, Feldman fits the bill.
Me: You may have swayed me. One thing troubles me, however; can Feldman sing?
Monica: Does it really matter?
Me: That settles it then. The time is nigh to write a rock opera for Corey Feldman. I will call it A Celebration of Corey. It will be the story of his life set to musical score: his childhood, Stand By Me (accompanied by a tear-jerking on-stage reunion with Wil Wheaton), his days on smack, The Lost Boys, the suppressed memories of Jacko molesting him, his marriage to stalkers and then, for the grand finale we will call Corey Oblivion, a duet with Mr. Corey Haim.
Monica: Yes!
Me: Now all I have to do is learn how write a music.

Labels: im convos, mons, music, pop culture

• A funeral procession led by the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.
• A car crashes into the second story of a house.
• Longtime reader and friend of the MB got a haircut over the weekend in preparation for the upcoming Trixter concert.

Labels: death, link goodness, music, pop culture

Rapper C Murder is changing his professional name to C Miller because he thinks people misunderstand him and perceive him as a killer. I do not think it is the name that makes me think C Miller is down with homicide so much as it is the conviction and mandatory life sentence for second degree murder.

Labels: death, music, pop culture

1. "A Boy Named Sue" by Johnny Cash
2. "Police On My Back" by The Clash
3. "Roses" by Outkast
4. "Welcome To Planet Motherfucker" by White Zombie
5. "King Of Rock" by Run DMC

Labels: music, technology

• I enjoy having a penis.
• I am going to be all Top Jimmy on the treadmill tonight.
• There are two advantages to being with a woman who just had a baby. First, the oversized breasts would be fun to smack around. Second, you have a natural milk source around if you need a squirt in your Raisin Bran and do not feeling like driving to the grocery store.
• I wonder if the two-headed baby is doing okay.

Labels: music, pop culture, random

Last night, after a strenuous ice hockey game I settled on the couch to catch the 2005 Grammy Awards (a.k.a. the Ray Charles Suckfest). Some highlights:

• Usher is the R & B equivalent to the second coming of Christ. I missed the memo.
• Producers, not kids downloading music illegally, are killing the music industry. Example: Ray Charles posthumously wins Album of the Year for Genius Loves Company. Ray's longtime manager and twenty white men dressed in thousand-dollar suits walk to the stage to accept the award. If you were ever curious where the majority of your money goes from a CD purchase, look behind the sweet old black man in the bow tie.
• That Alicia Keys is one talented, piano-playing bitch.
• Ease up on the mascara, Billy Joe.
• Thanks for the dissertation on tsunami relief and copyright laws, Mr. Head of the Grammys. Now please shut your hole and let Usher collaborate with a musical fossil.
• Britney won Best Dance Recording with "Toxic" which left me pondering one thing: Where is the C & C Music Factory when you need them most?

Labels: hockey, music, pop culture

Much like a keg of PBR in a university fraternity house or Paris Hilton on an aircraft carrier full of cocaine, I am tapped. I just do not have it today ("it" referring to the creative magic that makes me money and causes the ladies undergarments to moisten). While searching for inspiration that was non-porn related, I found a video of the best hockey fight I have ever witnessed. Then Jake sends over Jam On It by Newcleus. Any moment now I expect Turbo to bust out the storage room and do the electric worm past my cubicle. Things are starting to look up.

Labels: fighting, hockey, jake, music, pop culture, tomfoolery

In high school I listened to thrash metal almost exclusively. I considered Pantera to be the quintessential hardcore band (even overlooking their three pussy metal albums before the big thrash breakthrough Cowboys From Hell). They took hold of my immature teenage mind and led me to believe that punching people in the face was cool, tattooing "Unscarred" on your stomach illustrated that how tough you were and serenading a lady with the song This Love was the most efficient way to win her heart.* Back then I would have been downtrodden if Phil Anselmo and the boys broke up, but I doubt I would have dealt with my grief by firing six bullets at point blank range into Dimebag's head.

* During my sophomore year I made a mixed tape that included This Love for my girlfriend, Crystal. I believed that she would enjoy the song and award me originality points for its placement amongst the cacophony of hair band ballads. Our relationship was over by summer's end (upon my discovery of cheap liquor and loose women) and I assumed the mixed tape became a relationship casualty of war. Fast-forward eight years into the future to Crystal's wedding. While dancing with her during the traditional dollar dance, she mentions to me that she still has the This Love mix tape. Yeah, it is that easy.

Labels: death, glory days, music, pop culture

It is called a Free Clinic for a reason. And for the record, I think Baseball Bat Abortion would be a great name for a speed metal band.

Labels: dead babies, music

Rest in peace Ol' Dirty Bastard. We hardly knew ye.

Labels: death, music, pop culture

Can somebody please lob a live hand grenade in Tommy Lee's direction? The fact that he has procreated, fashions his hair with kinky white man dreads and makes music that sounds like a 300-pound wolverine getting sucked into a jet engine should be reason enough.

Labels: music, pop culture, rage

Captain Kirk is rock and roll. I can only hope that somebody in the music industry comes to their senses and mixes a Kerry King guitar track with the "Khan!" screaming tirade from Star Trek II.

Labels: music, pop culture

During my freshman year of college, you could not go anywhere without hearing the song "Breakfast At Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something. For those of you lucky enough to never have heard this scourge upon popular music, let me assure you that if faced with a choice of inserting your genitals into a meat grinder or listening to this song until the end of time, you would gladly drop your pants. I first heard this lyrical cluster fuck late one night on a lonely road near Amarillo, Texas. I was sharing driving duties on the way to helping my good friend Julie move into her dorm room at TCU. As Julie lay asleep in the passenger seat, I was fumbling with the radio on a quest for programming that would keep me awake when I came upon "Breakfast At Tiffany's." After listening to one minute of this pussy band wax philosophical about a former relationship where both parties had nothing in common but the enjoyment of a 1961 Audrey Hepburn film, I was on the verge of hurling myself onto the highway in front of an eighteen-wheeler. Here is an insight into why your relationship probably fell apart, Deep Blue Something; while you were busy playing the sensitive card, talking about cotton candy and kittens and watching old chick movies like a middle-age gay man with a personality disorder, your woman was dropping ecstasy at a frat house and getting fucked on a stained couch by a guy who still had his balls intact. I was hoping that would be the only time I would ever hear that song, but unfortunately, for the next year and a half it haunted me everywhere I went. Thankfully, the one-hit wonder that was Deep Blue Something faded back into obscurity and I went on living my college musical life in the zen that was the Wu-Tang Clan. Enter this past Saturday morning. As my lady and I were eating a delicious breakfast at Le Peep, "Breakfast At Tiffany's" comes on over the Muzak. I began to panic and look around for a loaded gun or stabbing implement to kill something.

Labels: college, music, rage, wife

When the Battle of Fallujah ends, American troops may have AC/DC and Arabic goat herder insults to thank for it.

Labels: music, pop culture, war

This link about the trials and tribulations of a career roadie is fantastic. Some excerpts:

• "I started doing so much cocaine, my dick was completely useless. So when girls would come around and say they were willing to do anything to meet the band, I just started throwing meat at them. That's what they had to do to earn their backstage pass. I'd make them strip down and stand in the corner while we pelted them with the deli tray. After a while, it became like this daily event. All the bands would stop sound check and gather round, just to watch me throw meat at some chick."
• "He asked me if I wanted a drink, and I said 'Sure,'" she recalls. "Then, out of nowhere, he puts his hand up my dress and, not even knowing me, sticks his finger in my asshole. I didn't even flinch, though, because I knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of me. And right there he said he knew I was his girl."
• Motorhead guitarist Phil Campbell offered him a hamburger. "I was starving because I hadn't eaten for a long time, so I said, 'Sure,'" Hickey says. "And because my nose was so torn up from all the speed I'd just snorted, I couldn't smell." He could taste it, though, and high as he was, it only took him one bite to realize that Campbell hadn't given him a hamburger at all, but rather a patty of shit stuck between a bun. "That was my appreciation for being so dedicated to the band," Hickey says. "A shit sandwich."

Labels: crazy, drugs, music, pop culture

Religious moviegoers in Georgia were horrified to find their ticket stubs to The Passion of the Christ imprinted with the number of the beast. The manager of the theater claims it was a computer glitch and not the work of Satan.

First, in the book of Revelation the number 666 was said to refer to the Antichrist in which many modern Christians misinterpret as the coming of Lucifer to Earth in human form during Armageddon. Most biblical scholars concur that the number actually refers to the Roman emperor Nero, whose name equals the numerical value of 666 in Hebrew. Nero was quite a bastard to first century Christians and he enjoyed torturing them by crucifixion, setting them ablaze and feeding them to lions. John, the author of the book of Revelation, understood the wrath of the Emperors firsthand as he was poisoned, beaten, dipped in boiling oil and eventually exiled to the island of Patmos just for being down with the Lord. Therefore, the number of the beast does not refer to the Prince of Darkness himself but to the oppressive leaders of first century Rome.

Second, I am of the opinion that the greatest song Iron Maiden ever recorded was The Number of the Beast.

Labels: evil, history, movies, music, pop culture, religion

Me: "Damn though mans I'm just tryin' do me. If the record's two mill' I'm just tryin' move three. Get a couple of chicks, get 'em to try to do E. Hopefully they'll menage before I reach my garage."
Monica: God bless the Jay-Z. I love him. I would be all sick ass groupie for him. Would you be a male whore/groupie for any band or singer?
Me: Gwen Stefani. The Go-Gos circa 1982. The Bangles circa 1986.
Monica: Susanna Hoffs was a sweet piece of ass.
Me: You (besides Jay-Z)?
Monica: Lenny Kravitz. Robert Plant circa 1978. Henry Rollins circa 1986.
Me: I had a thing for that one Heart sister back in the day. Not the cow but the one that played the Axe.
Monica: Nancy.
Me: That blond curly hair, running around in lingerie and busting out some riffs on "What About Love."
Monica: Marvin Gaye. That would have been interesting.
Me: Even more interesting: Barry White.
Monica: Not Barry White. He is a whale.
Me: Speaking of interesting, how about Janice Joplin? Ugly as sin and chasing the dragon. I would have just yelled at her until she serenaded me with some "Bobby McGee."
Monica: Ha! Jimi Hendrix. You know he would have clogged a girl up something fierce...
Me: Er...?
Monica: ...with drugs, not sperm.
Me: Whew. Thanks for clarifying. I would have tagged all of Bananarama.
Monica: I do not even remember them.
Me: Sure you do: "Leaving me here on my own, its a cruel. Cruel summ-aaaah." Not summer, mind you, but summ-aaaah.
Monica: You complete me.
Me: Right back atcha, fruitcake.

Labels: im convos, mons, music, sex

No her first name ain't baby, its Janet, Ms. Jackson if you're nasty.

Labels: boobs, music, pop culture, sports

The presidential election is fast-approaching and once again the Democrats seem clueless (Howard Dean screaming like a maniac after a third-place finish in Iowa) and Republicans seem content with believing delusions of grandeur (next time just say "We want the fucking oil" and I will have no complaints), I am casting my vote for Ronnie James Dio.

Labels: music, politics, pop culture

This ukulele rendition of the Super Mario Brothers theme song just made pine for some old school NES action. In junior high I bought a used Nintendo from my friend with the money I saved from my summer job at the swimming pool. It was a great investment. Many Super Mario Brothers battles ensued with my sister(s) that followed this basic formula:

Turn on the NES game console and select a two-player game. Sister(s) achieves first player status due to birth rite (this procedure was established years previous with Pac-Man on the Atari). Sister(s) starts turn, runs full speed into the first enemy on the board and dies. I assume control, proceed to play my turn for the next two hours whereby sister(s) has lost interest and found something else to do allowing me to play sister(s) when I finally die.

It was a glorious time.

Labels: family, geekery, music, pop culture

I just checked my spam mail and was pleasantly surprised to receive an update regarding Belgian death metal. I do not ever recall visiting a Belgian death metal site nor signing up for an e-newsletter focusing on Belgian death metal, yet this is the second time Belgian death metal has found its way to me. Dare I claim a Christmas miracle?

Labels: music, tomfoolery, xmas

Upon reading this, I was reminded of the Apache cut "Gangsta Bitch." It goes something like this:

Snappin' on niggaz takin' no shorts
Sittin' on a porch pullin' on a Newport
Minds her business knows cause she hears things
Fat herringbone and diamond studded earrings
She's a thoroughbred walks and talks with class
Try to get fast she just might slap your ass
Come meet my moms but the two might not click
Parents just don't understand
I need a gangsta bitch

Labels: crime, music, pop culture

Update on Big Lurch; The MB's favorite aspiring rapper who smokes angel dust and eats bitches lungs.

Disturbing Aside: I forgot when I wrote my initial post on Big Lurch. Instead of sifting through my blog archives due to my laziness, I decided to Google "eating a bitches lungs." I chuckled as I hit enter thinking it was a long shot at best. The MB is the number one search result. The internet is magical.

Labels: crazy, death, drugs, music

My lady and I have great email exchanges over the course of a day. Today, I threw this gem her way:

While in the midst of map drawing, the Black Eyed Peas song 'Where is the Love?' began assaulting my eardrums. I had forgotten I ripped this song and stored it in on my computer long ago. The song is your typical beat-driven, hip-hop funk mantra the Black Eyed Peas are known for. In the rap, the following topics are covered: wars being waged by crooked politicians, poverty-stricken children starving in the streets, people smoking crack atop urine soaked mattresses in abandoned houses and the claim that terrorists are not only fundamentalist Muslims wishing to wage jihad on American soil but top ranking officials in our own government. So I pose the question to you, my lady, where IS the love?

With the scant bit of knowledge and understanding I have acquired in my twenty eight years on this earth, I have been grappling with this question all day and I have come to only one logical conclusion:

The love is in my pants.

Labels: music, pop culture, tomfoolery, wife

Watch this. I may be flying to Korea to steal this child and bring her back to the United States to start a xylophone school. Or a sweatshop. Which ever comes first.

Labels: music, tomfoolery

The Man in Black is no more. Godspeed, Johnny. Be sure to say hello to Jack Tripper when you get there.

Labels: death, music, pop culture

I do not get Techno. I have tried to understand the music and the scene but it has never worked out between us. I like the allure of young, sweat-soaked bodies stuck on each other in some ancient tribal dance, but the monotonous beat, the lack of lyrics (aside from the occasional sexual innuendo or F-bomb repeated for twenty minutes atop a monotonous beat) and the "songs" that never seem to end does not do anything for me.

Are you reading this in Minneapolis, Scott? I may not get Techno but I appreciate the mix and the effort.

Labels: music, pop culture, scotty minnesota

This morning, I walked into work, put on my headphones, took a bite of my breakfast burrito and cued up the song "Astro Zombies" by The Misfits. Here is an expert for those not familiar with the early musical life of Glen Danzig:

With just one touch of my burning hand,
Gonna send my astro zombies to destroy this land,
Prime directive: exterminate the whole human race.
Your face melts into a pile of flesh,
And your heart heart pounds as it pumps with death,
Prime directive: exterminate this whole fucking place.

It feels like that sometimes, does it not?

Labels: music, pop culture

Monica: God do I hate Creed. "Arms Wide Open" my ass. I would like to jam something down Scott Stapp's wide open throat.
Me: Ha! Excellent. Take your I Love My Baby/I Am Down With The Lord rock somewhere else, Scott. Like the bottom of the ocean.
Monica: Totally.
Me: Just a poor man's Stryper if you ask me.
Monica: Honestly.
Me: Well played.

Labels: im convos, mons, music, pop culture, religion

Four fans are suing the rock band Creed for putting on a bad concert. Front man and cocksucker Scott Stapp was reportedly too intoxicated to sing. I understand how frustrating a concert can be when the band sucks. I have seen Stone Temple Pilots twice and they were terrible each time. In the summer of 1997, I saw them at Red Rocks and Scott Weiland had shot up smack just before the set, sang three songs and then spent the rest of the time talking about Indians eating peyote. In 2001, I saw them at the Family Values Tour where a sober Scott Weiland sat on a velvet couch and played their new songs acoustic while my date was lying on the Pepsi Center bathroom floor vomiting because she had drank too much with her heart medication. Needless to say, I do not feel sympathy for these fans because 1) they actually like Creed and 2) they should be used to being disappointed because Creed sucks.

Labels: colorado, denver, music, pop culture

Yesterday, a high school freshman followed me around the office for career day. She was very cool and I was impressed with her motivation and direction. When I was fifteen, the only things that interested me were loosing my virginity, smoking cigarettes, drinking whiskey, throwing up all over my parents basement and getting my drivers license. I never gave much thought about a career. I only knew that I liked to draw obscene pictures of teachers in my notebooks. Many coworkers claimed I handled the mentor relationship with competent professionalism, but I think I corrupted her young mind like Socrates. Or Iron Maiden.

Labels: career, corruption, data slaughterhouse, history, music

One of the great mysteries of the universe is how on December 8, 1980, Mark David Chapman shot and killed John Lennon but spared Yoko Ono. I do not think it was too much to ask for an errant hollowed point bullet to cut down that peace-loving bitch in her prime. It may seem cruel to call for the death of another human being, but I assure you it is not as cruel as listening to the politics of an aging hippy for the next twenty plus years.

Labels: death, history, killing, music, pop culture

Fans at a Great White concert got their money's worth when a pyrotechnic display sent the concert hall up in flames. Over seventy people are reported dead and the body count is mounting. The aftermath of the fire left many asking questions. Questions like, how did Great White sell three hundred fucking tickets? In lieu of the tragedy, band members had only this to say: "Thank you West Warwick! Good night!"

Labels: death, music, pop culture

If you want to mess with criminals, lock them away in the prison designed by anarchists. Beds are placed at a twenty degree angle making them nearly impossible to sleep on, floors of the cells are scattered with bricks and other geometric blocks to prevent prisoners from walking around and the walls are curved and covered with mind-altering patterns of cubes, squares, straight lines and spirals which utilize tricks of color, perspective and scale to cause mental confusion and distress. To make the torture complete Kenny G is then piped in over loud speaker.

Labels: crime, music, politics, pop culture

As I post this my moronic neighbor (yes, that one) has been loudly playing techno music for the past two and a half hours. This is aggravating as my intentions for tonight were to quietly eat a plate of fish and watch some hockey on television. I have now muted the hockey game and am giving my neighbor an education in music. I have turned all my speakers to our shared wall and am blaring the Dead Kennedys album "Plastic Surgery Disasters." What adult male listens to techno for two and half hours? Christ. I am going to repeat the album until 1 in the morning as a special Christmas treat. It is the season for giving after all.

Labels: hockey, music, the fairways, xmas

• Kids in the Denver metro area will be braving a cold Halloween night. I will refuse candy to a child if I see their parents dropping them off in a car. If these spoiled punks want sugar, they better be out in the elements with a pillowcase risking hypothermia, pneumonia and frostbite. I want kids half frozen at my front door with teeth chattering. Then and only then will I give them two mini-Reese's Peanut Butter Sticks.
• A Cheers for serial killers. Ted Bundy, one of the Hillside Stranglers and John Allen Muhammad have all spent nights at the draining cold ones.
• Jam Master Jay was gunned down at his recording studio in Queens yesterday. Rest in Peace Jam Master Jay; the turntables might wobble but they won't fall down.

Labels: death, denver, drinking, halloween, link goodness, music, pop culture, serial killers

David Berkowitz (a.k.a. Son of Sam) has urged the mad sniper to "stop killing innocent people." You may remember Dave from his serial killing days when he used to walk up to random people and fire his .44 Magnum pistol at them until the chamber was empty. He claims that a 3000 year-old demon dog named Harvey told him to go out and kill. Thankfully, he has seen the error of his ways and is now encouraging others not to make the same mistakes he did. On a related note, Nikki Sixx is advising teens not to use heroin and engage in promiscuous unprotected sex and Mariah Carey is lecturing young women on emotionally stability and healthy diets.

Labels: killing, music, pop culture, serial killers

In Asia, men are surgically implanting pearls in their cocks, women are circumcising their husbands with scissors, nut vendors are dressed like cheap whores and the Japanese are developing a perfect toilet. A glimpse into Asian culture is sometimes more bizarre than tripping acid at a Stryper concert. Take Asian porn for example. Imagine a woman seated in the middle of a room. Surrounding her are numerous naked men, masturbating like circus monkeys. When they are ready to unleash the dogs of war they use her body as a landing pad. This is called bukkake, and these videos are wildly popular in Southeast Asia (if you want a bukkake link, tough shit. The MB does not promote circle jerks unless we are talking about the punk band). My coworker Greg said it best: "If I did not have a girlfriend and a healthy fear of diseases, Southeast Asia would be a lot of fun."

Labels: data slaughterhouse, music, perversion, poop, pop culture, porn, whores

I wish we had this club at my high school because I might have actually joined and formulated a positive opinion about organized clubs into adulthood. Instead we had the garden-variety student council and pep club scene with kids promising another pop machine in the cafeteria should they be elected to a meaningless political post. Some one (read: my buddy Tim) should have dedicated a club to Satan, Lord of the Underworld. It would have been more constructive for me to talk about Lucifer within the safe confines of a high school classroom with a faculty adviser present mediating discussions rather than what I actually did; discussing the Prince of Darkness over a three foot bong in a stoned kid's basement, listening to Slayer's "South Of Heaven" on the stereo, smoking Camel Wide cigarettes and drinking stolen whiskey.

Labels: a-town, drinking, drugs, evil, glory days, music, pop culture

Despite the objections of the Five Man Electrical Band and Tesla, signs seem to work. When most see a No Smoking sign they abstain from lighting up their dirt sticks. Most people will not park next to a No Parking sign. Society tends to obey signs with a Pavlovian reflex. In Santa Cruz, the Deputy District Attorney ordered all dumpsters be adorned with the sticker No Baby Dumping in hopes that it will discourage reluctant mothers from throwing their babies away. I think this is a good idea and hope it works. If we see a decrease in dumpster babies we should try signs like Absolutely No Murder. Or Gang Rape Strictly Prohibited. Or Do Not Masturbate On The Dairy Products. Why not try it out? My junior high school gym teacher once said that it never hurts to try. Of course, he liked to watch us shower after class but that is not the point. The point is signs work.

Labels: america, bad parents, dead babies, music, pop culture, tomfoolery

After taking most of the summer off like the Colorado Rockies, I have come back to the world wide web, more cut, more shredded than Rocky Balboa did to face Clubber Lang for the second time in Rocky III. In case you are Ray Charles and have not noticed the sexy site overhaul, The MB has a new look that is bound to make you question fundamental web designing truths. I hope you enjoy it.

In my absence, I have been ridiculed and ostracized due to my flight to free agency in my roller hockey league (Read all about it here). A young punk named Mark thought it was wise to open his ballwasher and question my actions. Not only are you unaware of the situation as to why I left the Slashing Hyena Organization, Mark, your claims are unwarranted and untrue (especially the part about me being a star athlete). Keep in mind, my friend, that if I had not the left the club, there would not be an open spot on the roster for you to fill, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it. That being said, I intend to destroy you and eat your face when we meet out there on the rink. Then, in the manner of a true hockey player, we will get drunk on cheap beer when the smoke has cleared and you are putting your arms back into their sockets.

Speaking of eating bitches, I give you Big Lurch.

Labels: /mark, big lurch, drugs, hockey, murder, music, pop culture, summer

With Valentines Day fast approaching, young lovers are scrambling to find each other the perfect gift. If you are at a loss for ideas on what to get your sweetheart this year, try this on for size: GWAR is coming in concert on February 15 at the Ogden Theater. Trust me on this one; tickets to a GWAR concert would show your mate how much you love and respect them as a person. Picture this scenario: You and your lover go out to a nice dinner, a fancy steakhouse or someplace where you can get a nice piece of fish. You take a drive into the mountains. You whisper sweet nothings into each others ears. You make love in the backseat of the car. To conclude the magical evening, you go to the music hall and listen to insane thrash music and watch in wonder and joy as a giant vagina spews fake menstrual blood out of its opening, and a giant, hairy cock sprays the unsuspecting crowd with large amounts of semen. All this occurs while grown men and women dressed like barbarians and Oakland Raider fans simulate murder and rape. Who said romance is dead?

Labels: denver, music, pop culture, valentines day