• 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: comics, link goodness, music, swimsuit issue

• 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

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 Beyoncce-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 Brooklyns for "a drink." After downing six beers each we then headed home.

Labels: 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

• 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, link goodness, music

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: 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

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

1. Jesus Built My Hotrod - Ministry
2. So Fresh, So Clean - Outkast
3. Down On My Knees - The Crucifucks
4. The Man Comes Around - Johnny Cash
5. Kill The Poor - Dead Kennedys
6. Holy Diver - Dio
7. When I Get To Heaven - Ice Cube
8. Killing in the Name Of - Rage Against the Machine
9. Sister Christian - Night Ranger
10. Sympathy For The Devil - Rolling Stones
11. If You Love Someone Set Them On Fire - Dead Milkmen
12. Epiphany - Bad Religion
13. Something To Believe In - 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 mix tape is not just to throw on a bunch of music that the recipient likes and is familiar with. Making a mix tape for someone is the ultimate truth; it strips down all the walls society builds up around human relationships and then rebuilds them through the majesty of song. That, and if you give a mix tape to girl hopefully it will get you laid.

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

• 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

Last night, after a strenuous ice hockey game and a delicious dinner made by my lady, we settled on the couch to catch the Grammy Awards (a.k.a. the Ray Charles Suckfest). Here are a few observations:

• 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: 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 mix 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 mix 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 outfit.

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

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

Monica: God, 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 slash I worship Jesus" rock somewhere else, Scott. Somewhere 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

• 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 these 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.
• This place is like Cheers for serial killers. Ted Bundy, one of the Hillside Stranglers and John Allen Muhammad have all spent nights at this bar sucking down cold ones.
• Jam Master Jay is no more getting gunned down at a recording studio in Queens yesterday. I will listen to Raising Hell as a tribute. Rest in Peace Jam Master; the turntables might wobble but they don’t fall down.

Labels: halloween, link goodness, mass murder, music, serial killers