A little about me and also, a rant about some music that sucks.

I will begin the post here, because that is the first space available to type. I am a 71 year old metalhead who works for the Canadian government as a music filter. Basically it is my sworn duty to listen to music and filter out the artists who threaten the security and intelligience of our beautiful nation. Because of me, we Canadians are free from the likes of barbaric bands such as Disturbed, Everclear, and of course, Beyoncé. Holy shit, wordpress puts the little ‘ over the e on Beyoncé automatically, but doesn’t recognize wordpress or Everclear as words. Weird.

But I digress. Do not fret freedom loving Americans. For every lame musician I censor, I have given my people true talent like Rush, Justin Bieber, and of course, Kataklysm. Now them dudes kick ass. Their all like, “AS I SLITHER, I SLITHER DOWN YOUR SPINE!” And I’m all like, “No dudes! Don’t slither! Don’t Slither!”

I had to stop typing that paragraph. I got so scared I pissed myself. I need more dependable adult diapers. Depends are just to wishy washy. I never know if they will absorb it all or not. Like a friend who says they will meet you for coffee on your lunch break but then doesn’t show. You call and of course get no answer. And she doesn’t answer her phone even though it rings for like a minute, and she always has her phone! Then she texts you like four hours later with some bullshit excuse about how she locked her phone in the car and had to get a tow. But how did she call a tow truck? And perhaps more suspicious, why didn’t she call a locksmith?

 So now that none of you are still reading, the real post! I hate the direction metal is going. Not the genre itself, but by the fact that when I wrote metal, 99% of you immediately asked yourselves, “Which type of metal is he talking about?” I’m talking about all of the subgenres and how people react when they find out you listen to hardcore, or death, or melodic death, or Doom, or Thrash, or Canadian Hyperblast!!! Fuck yeah! Hyperblast! Its all fucking metal. Who gives a shit if Trivium sounds exactly like Metallica. At least they sound better than Metallica does now. And don’t even get me started on Christian metal. I love that shit, but them dudes ain’t always so Christian, Tim Lambessis. Its almost always a marketing ploy. With some exceptions of course. I heard The Crimson Armada just went double Murr! That’s just like platinum!

  • Jesse Leach, what the hell bro? We all get it, you are a sensitive dude. You have emotions and a taste for the finer things in life. Like wine, and smiling when you shouldn’t during a metal song. But cut the shit dude. You used to be badass. Rusted embrace was hostile man, hostile. And then you got all depressed or whatever and left the band and that’s cool Jesse. That happens to lots of people. Sometimes people just need a new situation. You did your own thing and now your back. I was stoked when I heard that you were reuniting with Killswitch but then I heard the overdone clean vocals and got pissed. Scream dude! Scream! You sound like Danzig. Not in a good way. I worry that you may be misfit ya hoser. 
  • The Human Abstract is a long name. Play some shows and quit holding out or we will all forget what THA stands for pretty soon and it will just gradually replace “the” in everybody’s vocabulary. 
  • My depends may be leaking fluid.
  • Devin Fucking Townsend.
  • Fit For An Autopsy makes me happy on rainy days. On sunny days I like to jam some Protest The Hero, the 4th best Canadian band of all time. On sunny days though, they are the best. Don’t believe me? Listen to a whole album. And focus. Shit is brilliant. Like Rush on crystal meth. With more musicians and less sweat. Rush sweats. A lot. Front row gets soaked. If they played long enough in a closed space clouds would form. Then it would rain sweat. Fact.
  • I also like this new band called Alice in Chains.
  • I wish Sumatra didn’t suck so bad because I love them.
  • Whitechapel needs another guitar player. The rhythm section just wasn’t chunky enough on the last release. More songs next time too. Like 22 or some stupid number. Just split into two groups and write a double album. The drummer will be the all time quarterback and work with both groups. I think his name is Alex or something. Who cares, he’s a fucking drummer. Phil only gets to write vocals with one group. Have one of your stupid guitar players not named Alex write the other vocals. I figure it will piss Bozeman off so bad that he might actually write some pissed off shit again. Let him go emo Alex. Even if he seems all angry, depressed, and down. Just remember that I’ll be happy. And that is what matters most.
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Things I Think About Chris Adler Joining Protest The Hero

I didn’t want to write about Protest The Hero twice so close together. The good news is, pretty much nobody read my other post about them. It wasn’t just about them, I was mostly talking about my dog. Or my job. Yeah it was about my job. I’m a music filter. That’s my job. You work at a major retailer. You are a peasant. You probably work in a deli, John. Wondering how I know your name? As a government official I naturally have access to all your personal info. How do you feel about that? I ought to be ashamed of myself.

Bullets Bitches!

  • Chris Adler is my second favorite drummer behind only Dirk Verbeuren of Soilwork. Despite Rody Walker’s annoying laugh and weird raspy, teenage girl who drinks to much and talks like an idiot, valley girl voice, PTH is one of my favorite bands. Kezia is one of the best albums ever. It is borderline Neil Young good. On the surface this looks like a great pairing.
  • Adler is from Lamb of God. Obviously. If you don’t know that, why in the hell are you here? I’m not here. I am there.
  • Adler plays some incredible shit. Don’t believe me? That’s fine. I don’t give a pile of shit laying in front of my lawnmower. Its my shit and you cant have it. Some of you are becoming increasingly disinterested in my vulgarity. You are a hypocrite. You probably listen to rap music focused almost entirely on ass and titties. Some day you will have a daughter. So remember that the next time you objectify a woman vicariously through music.
  • Remember that bit of foreshadowing I did a second ago? The part where I was all like, saying it was a good pairing on the surface. This is the part where I should examine it more in depth.
  • Okay so I did it. I don’t have time to post all of my analysis so I decided to summarize it right here. In just a couple more sentence fragments. Almost. Not quite. Awesome. Did you miss my analysis? It was the sentence that had only one word in it and came two sentences ago.

 

 

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How To Read My Damn Blog

Start by going my blog. Its called Metalrants. Also, its called Music And Things I Thunk. Confusing right? Wrong. You are an idiot. Lets get down to it, You have clicked a blog post which tells you how to read a blog. Therefore, I am going to give you the full rundown from start to finish.

First and foremost, this blog is made of magic. Sometimes you don’t feel the magic. Relax. Don’t worry about a thing, girl. You shouldn’t get antsy and click the back button on your browser. The best thing to do in that situation is to get high, man. Know what I mean? Just get high. It’s a spiritual thing or something.

Next, don’t read this as fast as you can. Take your time. Savor every comma and weird sentence structuring. I don’t type this blog out very fast. I stop for a second or so every time I have a comma or period. Some of you laughed when you read period in that last sentence. I’m sure you make your parents very proud.

I guess that’s pretty much it. Get high, and read slow. Everything is funnier in a slow drawl, in my brain. Just find your brains drawl. And read it however makes it funniest to you. But do exactly as I say. Or said. Or typed I guess.

Oh shit man! I almost forgot something kind of important. Subscribe and like my posts! Even if you hate them. I am a sad old man. Do you want me to die with no likes? That would be all on you guy.

 

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More Than Four Words About My Job.

Work has been good to me. Sure I have my hard days, like when I had to “accommodate” Rod Stewart behind the local supermarket while wearing nothing but my diaper. Weird thing about it, he kept yelling “I’m Rob, I’m Rob dude!” He really wants to be a Rob. I know the feeling, I hate my name too. He looks much younger and dirtier in person.

Oh yeah! I have good days too! That is what I wanted to talk about before I started off on Rod Stewart. I love Rod Stewart. Good days! Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I am personal friends with Geddy Lee. And that makes every day a good day. We hang out. Sometimes he lets me strum his bass. Seriously. He looks younger in person.

But what I really wanted to talk about tonight, is the way your eyes shine in the moonlight. Just kidding, get over yourself. This is my blog. Stay off of it.

Want to hear about the worst day ever at work? You bet your ass you do.

Protest The Fucking Hero.

It was September 2007. The weather was fine, or bad. I don’t remember. I received a call on my rotary telephone. When I heard the high pitch voice coming a million miles per hour from the other line I immediately shouted, “RODY SLOW DOWN! Just tell me what happened!”

His response was pathetic and had that weird sentence structure adopted by American teenage girls with that upward inflection every few words.. “We were touring, with our friends Matt from Trivium, and John from The Sword, and we were going to the U.S. and then Luke was all, getting high. And he had pot. And when they searched him, they found his bag full of devil grass, and they took it, and said he couldn’t come though. And now I’m totally scared that we wont finish the tour,” said he. Now I get why he doesn’t get to write the lyrics. Listening to Rody Walker talk is like watching Miley Cyrus try to impersonate both Ringo Starr and Yogi Berra at the same time.

“Where are you Rody?” I asked.

“Vancouver! You have to help us Dillon!”

“My name is not Dillon. But you are just a stones throw from my house. I will see you in twenty minutes. Just stay there!”

So I hopped into my Cadillac and drove to my homeboy Marco Bressette’s house and threw him in the back seat along with his guitar. He was given no choice in the matter, for obvious reasons. He struggled when he woke up, but I shot him full of this special stuff I got from Neil Young and he just kind of laid there and dreamed. It was funny. Don’t judge me, I’m a very old man. It would have been extremely difficult to kidnap a guitarist without some sort of aid.

Well after that it was kind of boring for a few minutes while I drove to the border. I found Rody in tears holding another grown mans hand. I don’t try to judge others based on that sort of thing so I thought nothing of it. Seriously, after that whole thing with Rod Stewart, who am I to judge. But if I was a judge, I would probably say something like, “I’ll allow it,” and swing my gavel deal. Also, did you know steroids shrunk Rods junk?

I quickly turned away anyway, because the sight of another man in tears always makes me want to cry. It’s not my fault. It might be your fault though. I walked up to the nearest border patrol personnel and identified my self, and my title of “music filter.” Of course I was brought up to speed quickly once they were made aware of my prestigious rank. I told them not to worry a bit, as I had the solution in my car.

A lovely agent named Steve Bushemi accompanied me to the vehicle. No, not the actor guy, its not even the same spelling probably. Marco was just waking up from his awesome dream session when we arrived. He started screaming and whining about how I had drugged and kidnapped him, just being a total baby about the whole situation. Fella needs to grow up. Big time.

Of course the lovely, but dull border patrol agent fell for his sob story and cuffed me. Rody, seeing my distress came running up like a puppy who sees his master being accosted by a really tall guy in a swimsuit that lives next door who claims I was watching his family swim through a hole I had drilled out of his fence to allow for better air flow to my yard. Grass needs oxygen to grow. That is a fact. Look it up.

Well, when Rody saw the tied up Marco, he stopped dead in his tracks. As it would turn out, they were friends! And he agreed to go on tour with them! It was awesome! Except for the fact that I had to spend the next 72 hours in a non voluntary mental health center for evaluation. I was totally sane and Marco decided against pressing charges. He actually called me several months later for Neil Young’s number. He wanted more special stuff.

You don’t believe any of this? Here is a link corroborating my story. Just scroll down to “Live Performances” and you will see it mentioned.

 

 

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If some of the Seattle Mariners were actually songs instead of people

Okay, this time things are going to be different. I’ve had sixteen cups of decaf and I cant sleep. Lucy is in heat and all the neighbor dogs have been howling and a hollering all night. Nothing I can do about that except to wait it out and write all sorts of garbage for the internet people. You are the internet people. One of the internet people.

The following dribble is a scientific list of what would happen if professional athletes turned into songs. I might do this once in a while when I take to many of my meds. Tonight we will dissect the Seattle Mariners roster and its musical twinnies. I will include links to the songs. A few years ago this post would have been about the Montreal Expos, who were stolen in the dead of the night by America and relocated to where else, but Washington D.C. How wrong is that? I’m not saying its a declaration of war, but it certainly is a stain on the relations between our two nations. It was very rude. Sure I could root for the Blue Jays, but I’m not going to do that. They suck. I hate Jose Bautista. I hate Toronto. It smells. And everyone is always in a rush. Parents are bad there. Plus, Seattle is basically Canada. Lets begin.

  • First up is obvious. He is the Mariners best player. He had to travel to a new country and deal with a crude new culture. He may as well be king of Seattle. Clearly the most important, and popular player on the team. They built the ship around him. He is the engine that drives the cow milking machine. Without this player, you get no cattle boob juice. This player is none other than Canada’s native son, center fielder Michael Saunders! His song is easy! Its Centerfield, by John Fogerty!
  • Now lets talk about the Robin the Saunders Batman, Felix Hernandez. The best pitcher in baseball. He is known for having a devastating 0change up, large bling in his earholes, and looking ridiculous in a baseball cap. He doesn’t get any play with the ladies.

If Felix was a song, I imagine it would be this song by these two morons who will never get jobs at Supercuts. They should have thought about the internet ridicule that would come with this joyous bit of dipshittery and racism.

Felix and Chip Hannouer hang out.

  • Next on the list is Brendan Ryan. He always looks pissed off, except in the picture I found of him. I don’t believe that he is pissed off all the time, because that would make it hard to function in the real world, and Brendan Ryan is probably better at life than I am. He is a Major League baseball player and I am afraid to leave my house because I shit and pissed myself on the front porch in front of a  neighbor the other night. Naked. Brendan Ryan is a great defender, but a poor hitter. I am a great judge of musical talent, and a poor musician. I am so jealous of Brendan Ryan. He also managed the stress of looking like a sex offender in front of thousands of screaming fans every night. People scream at baseball players who look ridiculous.

That picture is gross. Brendan Ryan is a creep, by Radiohead.

  • Franklin Gutierrez. He is always injured. He is injured right now. When healthy, manager Eric Wedge makes the unforgivable offense of playing him instead of Michael Saunders, the one true king of Seacanada. He treats him like royalty when he is nothing but a warm body who sucks up all of Michaels oxygen. Saunders is of course gracious as always, but at some point he must expel this imposter from the kingdom. “Guti” is shell of a man. He once missed the better part of two years with irritable bowel syndrome. I tried to go home from work because I crapped my pants a few years ago. My boss said if I left my post the customers wouldn’t get greeted. I had no choice. I had to stand in line with several people while waiting to purchase a can of fabreze. In hindsight I should have bought a roll of toilet paper, or fresh pants. In truth I didn’t even try to wash up. I just jammed that can in my pants and sprayed. It left a rash that burned for days. It was like the clap, herpes, and crabs all at once. I had fluid leaking from my goose neck like a slowly melting ice… penis.

Franklin sucks, so its only fitting that he would be “You Suck” by Strapping Young Lad.

Thanks to everyone who took time out from Angry Birds and video poker to read my blog. Both of you.

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ON SPELLCHECK AND OTHER THINGS THAT ARE METAL!

I just read my post from last night. It was full of errors. It had spelling errors. It had grammar errors. It had incorrect information. Do you want to know why? Its because in Canada things are spelled differently, and our grammar is different and better than yours. Also, I didn’t proof read it at all. Or use spellcheck. I wish that I had, but I was tired. It was after 4pm when I wrote that. It was also after 6pm when I wrote that. I am old.

So I was listening to an old favorite today. Alice in Chains. Yes sir. That was one of the most influential bands in recent memory. I know they are still together, with a new singer who tries very hard and is good at what he does, which unfortunately is just a Layne Staley impression. It will never, and can never be the same.

Cantrell is still a very talented musician who deserves a lot of credit for writing and creating an amazing band. He wrote much of the lyrics and did a great job. His guitar work is not fancy, but it kind of captures your thoughts when you hear it. He harmonized with Layne in a fashion that added a tremendous amount of diversity and texture to the music. Those two were perfect together. It’s almost embarrassing that Jerry’s solo project never really took off. But the true shame is that he and Layne didn’t have more time to work together.

Layne Staley was the weight of a few feathers by the time he passed. Drugs ravaged his body as drugs are wont to do. Some of you thought that word was “won’t.” But its not. the way its pronounced in that sentence is like “want” but it means other things. Use your Pictionary and look it up fool. Well anyways, here is to you Layne. I regret not making this paragraph more somber. A great talent passing at such a young age almost seems ordinary at this point. Hendrix, Cobain, John Lennon. Even a guy like Tupac. I know, that’s not very metal. But what’s more metal than telling people you are a gangster in every way possible, and then falling victim to a violent murder. He practiced what he preached, and was great at what he did. Instead of pretending to be hard, he actually was. That seems pretty metal to me.

Enough bummer. Fun stuff time!!!!!! Party on Wayne! I wish Wayne was here.

I friggin hate Disturbed. I haven’t heard a bigger bunch of sellouts since the Beach Boys. Remember when they came out with Down With the Sickness? That was intense! It wasn’t metal, but it was damn close. David Dreimon was better than okay. His lyrics were pretty brutal. With the obvious exception of Droppin’ Plates and Shout 2000 which both sucked. A lot. If you liked those songs, frig off. Permanently. Or repent. You can also do that. Actually yeah, do that. I need the readers. So…… You can stay. Just kidding, frig off. Those songs sucked and so do you. Congrats Disturbed! Bands that have been banned before you include Korn with dubstep guy, Hanson, and Bruce Springsteen because he’s rude when you join his table at McDonalds when you just happen to run into him there, completely serendipitously. I just wanted to sniff the wrapper Bruce! You could have been great! But you are a jerk.

Here is our trivia for the day. Its actually more of an IQ test because you have the internet right in front of you. If you don’t know, just google it. Google kicks ass. Please move me up your search results google. I deserve it, I’m a Canadian dammit!

Oh yeah, trivia. What metal song are the following lyrics from? “I am alive! But I am dead, in the world I was born into!”

This was a risk, big time. The thing is, if no one responds in the comments with the answer, or if I just get zero comments, it will be super embarrassing. But I guess it wouldn’t be that embarrassing, since no one would even see it. So respond in the comments so that I don’t feel embarrassed about having no one to feel embarrassed too, or about. I don’t know what the correct word for the end of that sentence is. Maybe you do. That’s also trivia.

Oh! And feedback is appreciated! Positive, negative, who cares? I’m just so lonely. Its just me and Lucy. And she’s a dog. Just kidding again, I know my prose is wicked rad.

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Needles and Neil

A friend of mine told me my blog is to plain. He said it needed more spice to attract todays consumer whore generation. He said I should look into a border, or using more pictures. Of course, if I used one picture that would be more than the amount I’m currently using, which is none. And that’s the way its going to stay. I don’t want the whippersnappers running around my page, pissing me off. If you don’t like what I write in this very plain Jane blog, there’s the door. Not literally, metaphorically. It would be weird if that sentence was a door.

I think if Alexander Graham Bell, (or AGB as I like to call him) knew what the phone would turn into, he would have stopped working on it. Your probably reading this on your phone right now. Or on a tablet. You are stupid. I mean, just think about it for a second. You walk into a store, and have some 19 year old kid telling you all about the “hottest new android” phones. After a few minutes your convinced, like “I gotta have one!” Then he tells you all about the best new tablet. And without pausing to allow your brain time to sift through all the bullshit, you agree to buy both items.

Two things are very wrong with this. The first and most obvious, why in the hell do you need two devices that are exactly the same in functionality, but just in different sizes. That is bullshit. You are a dumbass. But perhaps even more concerning is that you made a major purchase, likely with a contract to commit, on the advice of a teenager whom you had never met prior to entering your local Radiojack or wherever. When a kid like that talks to me, I just tell him to eat a block of Monterey jack. That’s what I tell him. Fuck it, lets get to the music.

Today I’m going to talk about a musician that I have a tremendous amount of respect for. He has been a favorite of mine since the 60’s. To give you an idea of how long ago that was, Abraham Lincoln was still the President of the country we Canadians use as a buffer zone for Mexico. Thanks America.

The Musician I am going to talk about has been elected to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame three times. Seriously. Ill bet your shit band cant even do it once. I’m talking to you, Rush. Just kidding, I was happy to hear you guys finally got it. But the musician I’m talking about had put out 62 records the last time I checked, which was 2010. Its been awhile and I’m not looking it up on the stupid internet. Besides, you get the point. Dude is a beast. This musician at one time even partnered up with Pearl Jam kind of. He recorded the greatest song ever in 1967. But its not my favorite song by him because that was with Buffalo Springfield. He made me cry in 1980. Once he recorded an entire show for a video, only to refuse to allow the production company to sell it, at least temporarily. His reason? A chunk of coke is clearly visible throughout the video. He should have just worn his shame. That takes away the power of his detractors. He should have just been all like “Fuck yeah its coke. Jealous? You are poor.”
Oh peaches, I forgot to tell you who I’m talking about. It’s Neil Young. Duh. He was awesome. That dude is dedicated to his craft. Every time I hear him on my Pandora I smile, knowing that because of me, Canada has Neil. You are indeed very welcome Canada. You know, he’s from here. Seriously. He looks Carly Simon, but he plays and sings like a hummer in the front seat of a Corvette. Damn I wish I had a Corvette. But I have a Geo Metro, which I cant drive because I cant go outside. I talked about that in another post and this paragraph is rambling. My mind is tired and I’m still naked.

Neil Young did something today none of you will ever do. He got out of bed and said “I’m Neil Young.” Sure some of you will do the same thing tomorrow morning, but we will both no your name is Steve Carlton. Steve Carlton will never be as good as Neil Young. He must be jealous. I guess a few of you will be named Neil Young, but you are a different Neil. This post was never about you. Get over yourself. Unless the real Neil is reading this. In that case this is for you. The possibilities are endless.

Neil Young was at one time in a band with Rick James Bitch. He would later change his last name. Seriously. At one point he was Terry Johnson. Then he was all sorts of other weird names too. http://www.biography.com/people/rick-james-248967
That is a url I just put there. Fancy internet letter that mean “Web Portal!” I don’t know how it works, but if you can make it work, you’ll see. Get in there champ! You have to do it quick because the portal will close if you don’t.

Mr. Young wrote my favorite song by Neil Young. It’s called “The Needle and the Damage Done.” I like it because its about a who is sewing and he pricks the vein in the crotch of his elbow, which happened to be on the arm he had just wrapped with a rubber tubing to make sure he wouldn’t lose to much blood if he lost an arm due to alligator. Well this needle was a magic needle and it made him feel really good, and took him to strange worlds where the sky yellowish red and The Monkees were good. But for all the good things about this incredible magic needle, it did bad things too. The most obvious was the ouchies from the needle itself. I mean, this thing really gets in there. And who knows who pricked themselves with the needle before. Get real guy. Your going to lose blood. Not much, but this music filter says any amount is to much in these tough times. But that was the 60’s. Or 70’s. Who gives a shit. You do. That’s why you are still reading this. And I thank you.
If you want more info on Neil Young, visit wikipedia.com and digest for days. I think I’ve summarized his career with great scrutiny, covering all the most important information. Again, my favorite Neil Young song is “Born in the USA,” by Bruce Springsteen. Just kidding, that would be a form of treason.

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I went outside today. It was weird. Not because I hadn’t been outside in three and a half weeks, but because I didn’t wear any clothes. None. Besides, I’ve been outside nearly every day of my adult life. Who wakes up in the morning and just says, “Hey, I’m not going outside today.” That just seems lazy. Or maybe they are scared that everyone will know they are high. But seriously, if you are so paranoid that you think everyone will know that you are stoned, everyone probably already knows you are stoned. You go to Hell.

Back to the original purpose of this post. Today I went outside. Naked. Just as I came into this world, except this time it was a much larger and more saggy version of naked me. All because I decided to try a night without my diaper. I’ll explain.

 It was about 5:30 in the morning, and I awoke in a panic. I felt the dry fabric of my sheets and relaxed briefly. My bladder had held, but it wouldn’t for much longer. I could feel it expanding into my bulging prostate and wrapping around it in a gross sort of hug. I slid out of bed and onto my feet. The morning air was cold and my trouser trout looked more like a trouser minnow. That joke was a reach, I know. That’s why I used italics on the original wordage of “trouser trout.” That’s a really funny phrase that I’m counting on to make this post a success. It means penis.

Anyways, I shuffled through my hall to the only bathroom in my cottage (The Canadian Government doesn’t pay well) and quickly found the door locked. Which was odd, because I live alone. I tried desperately to break the lock when I heard a low growl from behind the door. That’s how I knew. Lucy was taking the browns to the Superbowl. Damn dog watched “Meet the Fockers” once and decided that dogs were in fact smart enough to use a toilet, just like cats. Well that shit bit me in the ass hard this time.

Thoughts were racing through my head like chariot archers listening to Trigger the Bloodshed. Where could I piss? Kitchen sink. That’s where. I tore ass running to the kitchen, which stunk the whole place up. Dishes were piled up high, as Consuela hasn’t come in over a week. Nothing about this was good. I could have pissed all over the dishes and she would still clean them. In fact she wouldn’t even say anything, because she’s deaf. And deaf people cant talk. Not because she’s Hispanic. That’s what you thought. Your ignorant. Its because she’s deaf.

But she would know, and so would I. We would exchange awkward glances in the hall. The type of looks typically seen when you get caught eyeballing the chick you’re walking behind by someone else and they are all like “You’re a dirty old man, and even though that lady doesn’t know you are staring, I do. Pervert.” And your all like “Oh c’mon, she has to know with those hams dragging behind her.

The kitchen was no good. Only choice left was outside. No time for clothes. I was going to explode and kill myself with urine toxicity in the blood. Embarrassing. So I opened my front door and took my first bold step into the nippy early morning air. I had the cover of darkness to aid me. Good stuff. It shrunk some more with the drop in temperature. Not good stuff.

I got to the edge of my porch and froze. Standing across the street was my middle age neighbor Regina. She was staring at me as one stares at someone who is standing naked on a porch. Her dog even took a break from shitting on her neighbors lawn to bark at my dog. In this instance, my dog is also referring to my trouser trout. Before either of us could say a word I felt the warm flow of piss flow over my balls. I told you it was cold outside.

If she couldn’t see it, I’m sure she could hear the loud crash of the piss hitting the porch. She simply turned and briskly strolled back inside. Nothing more. I stood in my shame puddle and noticed it had become a mud puddle. Extra shame. Consuela was not going to be happy with me.

That folks was the explanation for what I am about to share with you. Remember that one time when I briefly discussed how weird it would be to stay inside for a whole day, let alone three weeks or more? Well you should, it was in this same post. Scroll up for an hour. I’ll wait. Sorry to everyone who read the whole post and remembered it, but we have to wait for the lazy stoners to catch up. Don’t skim my blog. Take it all in bitch.

Okay, I think that everyone has read the above mentioned discussion. Let us proceed. Well it turns out there is a good reason to never leave the house. Ever. Emptying your steak and nightcap in front of the neighbor is a good reason. I called Consuela to let her know she was fired but I don’t think she understood me. She’s still deaf.

Music time bitches! You still with me? Good! I’m hoping someday someone actually reads my blog because they like it. That would be cool. But that’s not music. Its music time still bitches!

I’ve been jamming The Living Infinite by Soilwork. Another great release from a band that tours harder than Bob Dylan. Actually that’s not true. Don’t believe me? Look it up. I’d post a link, but I wont. Because I don’t care what you think. Keep being ignorant. He’s been touring for decades. But Soilwork did lose Peter Wichers to tour exhaustion once. And once more for being a whiner. They keep getting more melodic but still maintain a certain edge. I do wish they would release an album more in the mold of “Steelbath Suicide” but those times are gone and not returning unless Bob Dole gets his wish to go back in time.

Bjorn Strid sounds more like Akerfeld or whatever his name is, but he’s still awesome. Can still scream, but the dude can sing too.

The French guy in the band is pretty good I guess. I wonder if he’s been to Montreal. Probably born there. He’s not a real French. He’s like French fries.

Dirk Verbeuren. Good job guy. You hit shit with sticks real well. And in interviews, you sound like Kermit the Frog. Nicely done Dirk.

Dirk is in another band too. With some other guys who might play in Soilwork. You should check them out. And let me know what their name is.

Back in diapers.

 

 

I went outside today.

Aside