Jesus fucking Christ....is this what we're reduced to?  

Ali Baba update

Continuing his unchallenged reign as overlord of insane situations Ali Baba just informed me that he might be a little late coming down to visit tonight because there are ten ATF agents sitting around his kitchen table at the moment.

No word on if he is serving them coffee and donuts.

Sigh....

Sorry so lame

Things are too busy to post much of anything. Please watch Tom Delay's death spiral for entertainment until I can get back to regular updates.

Tomorrow night...rock show....do it.

The big finish

Friday night at TT Reynolds in Fairfax, VA., is the last show for the Pharmacy Prophets with our guitarist and founding member, Wesley. We'll continue on without him of course and think it's fitting that Wes go down in history with a spectacular onstage death to close out his time with the band.

Please don't tip Wes off to our plans, we want it to be a surprise.

So far we are considering:

1 - Blowing him up onstage with plastic explosives.
2 - Rolling in a tank of alligators and pushing him in after the last song.
3 - Watching in awe as he ascends to the kingdom of heaven and eternal life.
4 - Hiring a gang of meth addicted transvestites to pummel him to death with nightsticks.
5 - Having a wee person dressed up like a wooden match spray him with kerosene and then set him ablaze at the end of the last song. While the last notes ring out he can writhe around on the stage all en fuego.
6 - Covering his guitar with honey and unleashing a swarm of rabid fruit bats to eat his flesh off.

Please comment with any other great ideas and come out on Friday to see which one is the winner winner chicken dinner.

The times they are a' changing

I’m a week away from a pretty significant change in the life of me and I’m having that weird sort of melancholy laced with excitement that expected change can bring, (unexpected change just sends me into blind panic). Next Friday night will be Wesley’s last show as the guitarist for the Pharmacy Prophets. We’ve had a good run, longer than either of us ever imagined it would be as the band at its genesis was supposed to be a recording project and maybe two or three shows. We kinda blew that out of the water.

It all started with the untimely and horridly sad death of my boss and great friend John Kidner, (of Kidner Transport fame on this here blog). John had been sick for a while and even had an organ transplant but was supposed to be on his way to recovery when the cancer roiling around in him decided to go on a Genghis Kahn style assault and fuck him up royally. John died and I was really pretty heartbroken about it as were all his friends including Jane and Steve Negrey, the owners of Iota. Jane was a classmate and friend of John’s from elementary school and we decided it would be cool to do a benefit show in his honor maximum rock and roll style.

It would be my band Luka Brazzi, Vanity Champ, (Shaun Brennan ex VC and now fronting rock juggernaut Kung Fury was a longtime inmate in the Kidner Transport looney bin) and some friends in Quitter U.K. It was all to the good until it turned out that Luka could not only not do the show but we were breaking up for good immediately and with no delay. Oh my thinks I!

I should have done the smart thing and cancelled but Kidner would have haunted me till the end of my days if I had pussed out like that. I decided that I would put together a band for this one show and play a bunch of songs I had written for Luka and then get back to my life as a bass player non-parallel. With all the awesome bros I had made over the years putting together a band would be no problem and I would rock out as a front-man one time and humiliate myself in John’s honor. I figured he would appreciate it. I started calling the bros and had the same conversation over and over and over –

Bro - “So who’s going to sing?”
Me – “I am”
Bro – “ Dude you’re the bass player”
Me – “Not in this thing, it’ll be fun. Can you do it?
”Bro – “Ummm…no, like I’m having pre-op transgender therapy treatments that night. Sorry bro.”
Click

Damn! I was going over my mental rolodex and thought about Wes. Wes and I had been in a prog-rock metal band years before that ended with me being choked by our drummer and the cops coming to break up the bar fight that ensued shortly thereafter. It was not the kindest of endings and I had very little contact with big Wesley in the years that followed. I figured I could give him the opportunity to hang up on me as I had done for the rest of my bros so I called him up and we chit-chatted for a bit and he finally asked me what I wanted. I told him and waited for the excuse and hang-up. He said – “Let’s get together tonight and start working on the songs. Being in a band again together will be fun.”

Just like that, no questions or second thoughts just a friend being cool and giving me the benefit of the doubt. Very strange but he is at heart a strange man which worked very well to my advantage in this case. We met up that night and got right down to it and he quickly ascertained two things. One was that he dug the songs that I had written and two that it was going to be quite the project getting me converted from bass player to guitar player/singer in less than three weeks.

We still had to find a rhythm section and things were looking kinda sketchy but we had a show to play so damn the torpedoes and lock up the women and all that. We also started talking about recording all the stuff in Wes’ home studio and making a record of sorts out of it. The more we talked the better an idea it seemed like so we decided to do that. We would get a drummer to record drum tracks and then do the rest ourselves with me playing bass tracks and singing and Wes doing all the guitar shit. Much like the band itself that simple project got blown out of all proportion and the next thing we knew there were viola players and back-up singers and all sorts of crazy shit coming in and out of the studio. That process eventually became our record, “Songs of Death and Happiness”.

First things first though we had the Iota gig to get through. Wes called up a doode he knew who agreed to step in on bass for a night and my old roommate/bandmate Eric, (now in the Pods), was kind enough to play drums. We worked up a set and did the show which went surprisingly well. I think Kidner dug it as my walls haven’t started bleeding and my kids haven’t been sucked into the TV set Poltergeist style as of yet. So there we were, we did the show and then it was….over? The show was really fun for me and Wes and Eric, god knows what the bass player thought if he was really capable of thinking much at all.

After that show I got some calls about setting up more shows and an email from Henry Rollins looking motherfucker Jeff Jones. “Good show, if you don’t let me be your bass player I’ll kick your narrow ass.”

So now that we had the bass player issue settled we started to record the album and play shows and generally have a good time but this was all still totally new to me being a singer and frontman and guitarist. I got nerves before shows which had never happened when I was playing bass. The nerves resulted in me being in the bathroom at the club puking my guts out while Wes set my guitar up for about the first seven or eight months of the band. Maybe it contributed to the gravel in my singing voice, who knows? Eventually that stopped thankfully for me and the doodes lined up behind me for the crapper.

The band sort of took on a life ot it's own and we just rolled on and on. We played good shows and bad shows and met great people and told some others to go suck a wang. Eric left to pursue his masters in classical composition, Jeff a few months later because it was time for him to do so. Phil Rossi stepped in on bass after I took the Jones approach and threatened him with violence if he didn’t join up and he brought his old drummer Ben into the fold when we needed him.

So now three years later with all the changes that have occurred and with all the different things that we all want to do it’s time to put a lid on this version of the Pharmacy Prophets. We have had three bass players and six drummers all told and after Friday I’ll be the only original member left. Kinda weird but it all feels like it is where it should be. Wes and I are better friends now than when we started the band which is an absolutely unbelievable happenstance given my proclivity for over-reaction and intense paranoia driven personalization of everything that happens around me. It’s just time. Weird, cool but weird.

Wes has been helping our new guitar player get up to speed and we’re all being so mature about the situation that I kinda want to kick my own ass for being such a grownup. But it is sad for both of us and I’ll miss the dogshit out of playing with Wes, he’s kinda the main reason I’m still out there playing at all. I owe him a lot and I’ll do my best to send him out in a grand fashion.

Next Friday, April 29th, at TT Reynolds in Fairfax

Exit… Stage Wes.

That's a man baby!

I was wandering through National Airport, (which will always be National Airport to me and not Reagan National Airport or whatever the hell it’s officially called now), browsing the magazine racks for informative and serious literature like Details when I saw the leering demonic head of Ann Coulter perched upon her tentacle-like neck trying to jump off the cover of Time and eat my soul. I had two thoughts upon first glance, one was that it was revolting that a charlatan and spectacularian witch like that would warrant the cover of a prominent weekly news magazine and the second was that that freak has some outrageously large feet…...more like shovels on the end of her boney legs than the standard podiatric equipment we humans are issued upon birth. These things were big, too big, and too big to not have an evil origin behind them. But what was it…….…….

As the caffeine from cup number five started to kick in and get my supercharged cranial neurons firing at maximum capacity I started to ponder and the halogen bulb of brilliant observation I carry in my head lit up strong….what a brilliant scheme….what a massively nefarious comic book villain worthy scheme. Perped and prepped decades before, no doubt from the brains of Pat Buchanan and his ilk, to infiltrate the soggy headed minds of America! What pray tell have I uncovered through my awesome powers of deduction…..peep it here folks.

Enter into evidence common sense. We all know that no woman in her right mind would spew the kind of shit that Ann Coulter foists upon the world. Who really believes that kind of crap that isn’t some sort of provincial white guy that’s scared of vaginas and the way that his wiener looks when it’s all shrively in the morning? Anyone who hearkens back to the “good old days” of the 50’s pretty much sucks and lives in the warm embrace of revisionist history. The world wasn’t better then unless you happened to be a jolly old white guy suburbanite with a stranglehold on the good jobs and the slaphappy right hand of the government and the stinging left of backwards social and class structures keeping people that were born smarter relegated to the back of the bus or folding dishtowels and cranking out youngns. It sucked more then that it does now for most of the citizens of this country. You don’t believe me? Talk to a retired FBI agent who was stationed in Mississippi in the 50’s like I have on many occasions and hear about the good old days. Pretty fucking terrifying. Anyway……

So where does Coulter come from? How does this big angular goofy footed freak break into mainstream culture blowing hot air about the joys of beating down her own gender? Simple. She isn’t brainwashed, she isn’t just in it for the soulless dollar, and she isn’t even just a loudmouthed self-hating loon.

She’s a man baby.

C’mon you don’t believe me? Take a closer look. I’ve seen drunken IT consultants at Halloween parties in mom’s old mumu that look more like a natural woman. Joe Namath
had more estrogen rocking when he did a pantyhose ad than Brother Ann. That “chick” is 100% dude and has been sent Manchurian candidate style to assassinate the brains of chicken-shit reactionary buttheads across the nation! It’s evil; it’s brilliant and goddamn if it doesn’t seem to be working. Here’s how I’m guessing it unfolded.

Back in the 50’s when Slow Joe McCarthy was starting to unravel the cognoscenti of white dudes running the show from behind closed doors were starting to get nervous. The Korean War just wasn’t all that fun and the whole Commie angle just couldn’t hold a candle to the Axis. On top of that the busboys and street cleaners that were in the front of the landing crafts right next to the white kids in World War II were getting kinda pissed about being sent to the back of the bus when they got back home and women were starting to get fed up with choosing either mom, waitress, teacher, nurse, hooker or crazy lady with cats and ambition as their career choices. Now the boys at the top weren’t dumb and they could see the writing on the wall that a cultural shift was on the horizon that even they couldn’t control so they started doing some long-term strategic planning. They knew that they would have to lose some battles to win the war, basically give up the 60’s and the 70’s to the whackos, numb and dumb the populace in the 80’s and 90’s and come back strong in the next century to get back to where they started from. Let the masses get what they wished for and then remind them how much better it was “back in the day” when starched white gas station attendants checked your oil and everybody knew their place. It would take time but it was the only way. Patience is a virtue even for evil fuckers in darkened conference rooms smoking Pall Mall’s and saying nasty things about Jackie Robinson.

They knew that they had to front their long-term power grab with covert agents that would make the targets of their ambition think, “hey I get it, this person is speaking for me because they are me!” But with nature and human will being what it is and the fact that women were entirely mystifying to begin with the thought of putting their eggs in the basket of a real live female was too risky. So what to do what to do………..

Enter, “Operation Nip and Tuck”.

Sending agents to various orphanages across the country with instructions to procure “sissy looking baby boys” they went through various stages of sex-change procedures, with varying results, combined with deep training in media influence and celebrity building. These new “girls” were placed with host families tasked with infiltrating society and building their stature as “known” people. Of course there were failures, some of the operations were only partially successful and the operatives went rogue…brilliant but insane creatures caught forever in a parallax between man and woman, good and evil.

Can you say Richard Simmons? Hmmmmm?????

But the successful moles are out there. Teamed in parallel with Agent Condi Rice, (like your own eyes don’t back me up on THAT one), Agent Ann Coulter took to the airwaves backed by the machine and became a bonafide media star! Such is the power of television and the desperation of your average dickhead that “she” was even considered hot by millions of TV viewers. Can you imagine the glee of the architects of Operation Nip and Tuck at that? This was going to be easier than they thought! And damn if it isn’t working. There are millions of chuckle-headed fools just lining up to eat the guano that Agent Ann produces out of that Mister Ed looking face of his….errrr….hers. I wonder what the reports back to the home base are like –

AA – Coulter to base…come in base.
Base – Yo…good job on the Cavuto show. I was a little worried about the forced sterilization shtick but damn if you didn’t hit another home run with that one.
AA – Yeah that was a stretch but y’know, people are fucking idiots.
Base – True dat…true dat.
AA – I have Real Time again this Friday, wait’ll you hear what I have lined up for that shit. I love cable; you can really go all out and get some good numbers on the notoriety scale. All in all things are good, I got the cover of Time and was a little scared by the cover shot but those goddamn hicks still seem to eat my ass up.
Base – Crazy, I mean, that people buy this whole you’re a woman thing and all. I never thought it would work as well as it has but I guess the people upstairs know what they’re doing.
AA – No shit. Anyway I have to go get ready to pull Delay’s ass out of the fire again. I figure I’ll go with the homosexual invasion threat as a lead-in and close up with the liberals want to murder your babies routine.
Base – Classic rock baby, classic rock. You gotta dance with the partner that brung ya as they say. Everything else going OK?
AA – Yeah, the phone sex thing with O’Reilly gets pretty tired and spending time with Ted Nugent and Alan Simpson is about as fun as getting my dick cut off but the job is the job. Hey speaking of that, when my contract is up in ’09 you guys still have my wang in storage right?
Base – Mmmmmm….about that.
AA – You better not be telling me you lost my schlong, don’t EVEN BEGIN TO TELL ME THAT YOU LOST MY SCHLONG!!!!
Base – oooohhh…..no no no….it’s fine…umm…I’m looking at it in the jar of formaldehyde right now…a damn spiffy jimmy if I ever saw one.
AA – Are you sure……because if it’s gone.
Base – Ann…would we lie to you?

Of course she might just be a really scary looking loudmouth but I’m going with my theory until proven otherwise. Just take a look at the cover of Time and I think you’ll be right there with me.

The sands of time

I was reading about the Ted Nugent speech at the NRA rally for my man tom Delay and trying to reconcile the idiotic cracker douche up on that stage with the rock star Wango Tango Wang Dang Sweet Poontang Nuge from the 70's. That guy used to sell out stadiums and now he's a whacky ass shill for Tom Delay and Wayne LaPierre? He was always an idiot with the loincloths and flaming arrows and crap but idiocy is not necesarrily a preventitive to coolness......just look at Ringo Starr! But with the Nuge and others of his ilk how can one's star fall so far? How the hell does that happen?

It led me to think about about folks that have aged well and those that have not. I'll compile a list of those that have done the aging thing with aplomb and those that have just become pretty fucking pathetic. I'll attempt to categorize them together but please don't get too persnikcety about it. It's really, really late (early when you read this), and my head is buzzing from a really long band practice and some really good beers. Now on to the show; please feel free to comment and whine and kvetch if you disagree or be really brilliant and on top of your game if you think I'm dead on .

Aged well vs Not Aged Well

Rob Halford vs. Ted Nugent
Tom Brokaw vs. Dan Rather
Nikki Sixx vs. Vince Neil
Tracii Lords vs. Anna Nicole Smith
Me vs. My Brother
Bono vs. David Lee Roth
Jason Bateman vs. Kirk Cameron
Jon Stewart vs. Dennis Miller
Al Michaels vs. Marv Albert
Paula Abdul vs. Arsenio
Jimmy Carter vs. Gerald Ford
Keith Richards vs, Eric Clapton
Kim Jong Il vs. Saddam Hussein
Busta Rhymes vs. Coolio
Pele vs. Diego Maradonna
Clint Eastwood vs. Robert Redford
HBO vs. Showtime
Zombies vs. Vampires
Mary Kate vs. Ashley
Bruce Springsteen vs. Rod Stewart
Cher vs. Cher
The NFL vs. MLB
Harrison Ford vs. Michael Douglas
Sugar Ray Leonard vs. Mike Tyson
Arnold Schwarzenegger vs. Sylvester Stallone
The entire world vs. Michael Jackson

Hello wonkette my new friend

So it appears that I got the Delay screed from last week linked up to ye old Wonkette and now I have gazillions of new pals coming by Castor Oil to read up on the goings on of the most important thing in the universe...

Me.

For all you newcomers (thanks for coming by the way) here's what this whole thing is all about.

Me.

As long as you're down with that we'll get along just fine. A quick bio - I'm a husband/father/homeowner/singer/gutiarist/worker/dropout/writer/drinker/prophet with fabulous hair and a kooky local bar right up the street that fuels lots of the content hereabouts. My kickass songs can be heard here - www.myspace.com/thepharmacyprophets

You can also fuel my ego and bank account by buying my album off iTunes, just search on the Pharmacy Prophets. Ok, end of infomercial.....

I figured since old Anna Marie drove all y'all here based on a simmering resentment for old Long John Kerry and his campaign or lack thereof that I would repost a post from before the elections when he was really starting to concern me with all this wiffling waffling shit, right after the first debate. It was really at the genesis of this blog and helped shaped it's direction. I called it:

Democracy Tommy Lee Style
Let me state for the record that I can't stand Bush and think he is a duplicitous little piece of semi-idiotic and fully theologically fucked up piece of shit. Kerry could have stood up and professed undying gay man love for Joseph Stalin and I doubt it would have swayed my vote.

But still...It's patently ridiculous to me that our President seems so aggravated at having to participate marginally in the electoral process. You would think he could put as much energy into preparing for the debate as he does reading scripture while sitting on the can in the morning but all he did was remind me of me in high school when I tried to B.S. my way through an oral book report for a book I never read.

“I KNOW IT WAS BIN LADEN THAT ATTACKED US!!! I WAS TOO COMBING MY HAIR!!! THAT’S NOT MY DEAD HOOKER…JEB MUST HAVE LEFT IT THERE!! I’M TELLING MOM!!!!”

It’s fucking ridiculous, I was waiting for him to look at his watch like his Anton LeVay motherfucking old man famously did during a debate until I remembered that Cheney tells time for Bush Jr. and his keepers don’t want him to get distracted by having unevenly weighted arms so he doesn’t get to wear a watch. He might forget to keep breathing. I got particularly incensed when Bush in a moment of total floundering and stuttering and full on octane powered hem-haw vapidity pulled out that stupid fucking "I have climbed the mountain" pandering bullshit. It offends me because it smacks of "when I don't have anything else to say I'm going to remind you that Jesus really does like me more than the other guy so vote for me or go to Hell… as in real Hell it’s hot as a goddam motherfucker down here.” If I want Jesus for President I'll write him in, let me have that small comfort ok? Thanks. You dick.

The same type of thing aggravates the shit out of me about Kerry when his whole campaign has been "at least I'm not Bush". That's the argument for 21 year old roundheads at the Galaxy Hut and hyperventilating idiots on the internet like me to make, not the next Commander in Chief. Tell me why you should have the job you “this should be so easy to win but somehow I make it ridiculously hard” zombie motherfucker. Jesus, how can you not beat Bush even by accident? How many more heads need to get sawed off before you get the message across that you can figure out a better plan?

It’s like telling an employer that unlike the heroin addict working in the mailroom you only have an OxyContin and coke problem so he should go ahead and make the switch and wondering why you haven’t gotten a call back. Don’t just meander around and tell the Security Mom’s they should be excited because your wang’s not as limp as the other cock in the contest. Shout it that out your dick is hard as a piece of Adamantium Rebar, you’re swinging it in front of you and you’re going to start ringing doorbells with it so America better get ready to swing from the ceiling and have four years of Pam and Tommy style Democracy up in here. WE WANT BETTER you douche, not just not as fucking bad. Make the electorate you’d love to fuck want to FUCK YOU TOO (to paraphrase Eazy-E).

Gross, I just talked about Kerry’s dick. Have you seen where he puts that thing?

Anyway…So like a lot of you I mostly sat back and chortled at the inane faces that Bush made. They’re the kind of faces that if some kid made them when you were picking sides for a game of Marco Polo you would pass up on him because he’s obviously too stupid to understand the concept of the game. From a comedic angle the split-screens were hilarious. The look of total bafflement on Bush's face when Kerry referenced Kennedy and DeGaulle should be the grail test for all Bush impersonators to pass. Despite all of his policy retardation, criminality, and general fuckedness I still have fears that Bush will win. When it comes to things in life coming about that are really going to irritate the dogshit out of me they are usually right on time, maybe I ran over the head of the Illuminati’s mistress or something when I was drunk one night and now they have it in for me, I don’t know. Whatever, if I’m going to hate it you can damn well bet it’s scheduled for a prime time slot.

At least there is intrinsic proof out there (here) that if Bush does win I can say "don't say you weren't warned that you're gonna get 48 more months of the same ramrod crammed up your banghole" to everybody that votes for him so I have that going for me. "I told you so’s", make dark times so much sweeter and amusing......at least until some fucker in a ski-mask with an agenda saws your head off on his way to drop nerve agents in the water cooler at your kid's soccer game.

every rose has it's thorn

I just can't take my eyes off this page....maybe that's the point and if so I guess I'm the sucker born every minute. This damn thing is like crack. Crack that makes you laugh unstoppably. From skunk guy to sensitive meathead guy sucking in his gut.....it's OutrageouS! I mean, who decided the rose was the key to the image of the guy on the left? It's pretty obvious that singer guy has done some serious mirror time with the cover of Jane's Addiction's XXX record and ummm, well, the other dudes all faceplanted into mom's mascara bucket to get their point across but the rose? Is that classified as an honest to god prop? That's a Celine Dion affectation dude, it's not rocking for a hot young faux punk rock stallion to look sad and hold a rose. You're in the...whatever band you're in...not rick Astley's backup band!!!! Get it together....go strap on a codpiece made out of a circular saw blade and light your junk on fire if you want to do the rock theater thing. Kids these days....sheesh. You're making Voodoo Blue look masculine!

Apparently you have to be a myspace member to see what the hell I'm talking about. You luddites and non-hipsters can take a peek by taking a dip into the world wide web the pool of sadness and pop rocky lonliness.

The hit single is called "Butterface!" STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!!!!!!

I can hear it now....backstage at the club....macking on a 15 year old drunk on two wine coolers and an unhealthy Good Charlotte obsession...Thorny McRoseholder breaks out the rap:

"Hey baby, please hold my rose while I strap on my axe and rock your world....but please don't look at my tears...they hold the secret to my broken heart. It's alright sweetheart...I'll be OK....it's just that life can be a big cereal bowl of heartbreak and I seem to be eating breakfast three times a...(cell phone rings)...Oh hold on a second baby......hello......jesus mom no, I told you I was going to borrow....no I can't bring it home.....no...no.....dammit...no....can't you just go to CVS and buy some more....no......I'll pay you back....I will....I have to......mom.......no I am not THAT WAY and you don't have to say anything to the ladies at church....are you crying.....mom.....stop.....lots of guys wear eyeliner....... like lots....like ummmm....well like lots of people I know...OK...OK......I have to go I have to go I have to go I have to go.....ok.......yes...around 2:30.....I KNOW IT'S LATE MOTHER....I have to go...ok.....I love you too......even though what...you love me even though what.....I....I have to go....goodbye mom......OK......goodbye....hey baby....like I was saying.....so I talk to Joel and Benji about the depth of our soul bruises and shit all the fucking time and.....have you bought the Butterface single yet....it's OK...I cry when I'm alone and I hear it too....how old did you say you were again?"

Haha. The comments under Thorny McRoseholder are fucking priceless. From the 16 year old myspace chicks -


*Channelle♥Nicole*
cutie pie!<3
*CASSY *
REOWR.That's sexy. :)
bianca
marry me?
Jessica
how adorable. Can I have that rose?
Love is not like anythingEspecially a fuckin knife
You have got most pretty hair <3and i`ll have the rose if noone else wants it ;)
Chelsea
that puppy dog look is so sexy and the eye liner is hott and the rose adds a nice touch latyerzx~chelsea
SWEET REVENGE
aww. ..how cute!!
briana
look at those puppy eyes u r sexy

From the one dude not in the band to leave a comment:
Joe
you shouldnt try to be emo...seriously emo is for fags and you guys have some potential... just dont go down that road

I have to stop now or I'll never escape.

Haha.

Freebird

Hearing a mediocre rendition of Freebird on American Idol and the insane orgasmic reaction it brought to the crowd was just....crazy. You go Bo Bice you big thing you. Keep on rocking in the nothing is free world.

Turbo Lover

Just scored a box seat and VIP parking to Priest and Queensryche at Nissan. I hope QR plays the Lady wore Black. Usually I loathe "big" concerts and would never consider going to Nissan, even for Judas Priest, but when you can avoid the rabble via VIP parking and sit in a comfy seat and knock back free booze all night on some stranger's dime who am I to complain?

I love capitalism, vendors sucking up to customers with totally non-work related stuff like Priest tickets to gain favor for future business. It rocks ass if you're on the good side of it. In this instance I just happen to be tagging along with the customer in question. but I used to be on the very agressive vendor side back in the dot-com days. Golfing, (which I actaully hate), boozing, (which I thoroughly love), going to the track, carousing, pro sports. concerts...it was awesome. Sure we burned through 50 million bucks in less than two years but dammit you have to spend money to make money, right!?!?!?!?!? I miss the good old days sometimes. Sob. Ah well, I'll drown my sorrows in free Maker's Mark to a soundtrack provided by middle aged leather clad Brits screaming for Vengance and exploring the vaguries of homosexuality through Marshall stacks.

In other news I just got in from New Orleans late last night and have totally fallen head over heels in love with that place all over again. Mabe tis' time for family Castor to pack up and head South....maybe maybe maybe. If I can convince Philito and his lovely lovely to move down as well that would probably seal the deal. 24 hour bars. Total genius.

If I had a hammer

After the lunatic rantings and near disemboweling of myself over the Presidential elections I vowed inwardly to not get worked up over politics anymore and I have done a pretty good job of that up to this point. Sure, I’ve had a few slips here and there. Like the other day when I had just gotten the wee infant daughter to sleep and the phone rang, waking her up and sending my blood pressure into the atmosphere……

Me – “Hello….”
Fred – “Hello Sir, this is Fred from the Friends of John Kerry”
Me – “Oh you have to be fucking kidding me”
Fred – “Sir, as a loyal friend of Senator Kerry…”
Me – “Hey Fred, listen closely for a second OK….
Fred – “Sir?....I’m calling…”
Me - :Fred, stop and listen to me…OK?”
Fred – “Sure sir, go right ahead.”
Me – “Fred you just called me and woke up my sleeping baby daughter presumably to ask for more of my money to give to a guy that’s married to a billionaire and that I watched mount the most inexcusably inept and pathetic Presidential campaign imaginable. You people with millions and millions of dollars, some of them mine, couldn’t figure out how to beat a half-witted charlatan that had launched this country into a war over nothing…NOTHING FRED…..N-O-T-H-I-N-G…..NOTHING!!!!!!! The economy was in the shitter, the deficits were off the charts, we had a flu epidemic, the President made a complete and total asshole out of himself on nation-wide television, our soldiers were being blown up all over Iraq and our citizens were getting their heads chopped off on the evening news because of this shitwit and you still managed to let him beat you. Five months later his approval rating is in the 40s Fred, in the 40s and he still beat “my friend” John, and by complicity, you Fred. He beat you and now you ask me for more cash. For what? To do what? What the fuck are you going to do with it? YOU LOST DON’T YOU REALIZE THAT FRED!!!!!! It’s amazing, really, the heights of stupidity that y’all hit. So do me a favor Fred, tell my friend John to take me off his calling list and that the next time he needs money he can go fuck himself and his hagged out wife with a bottle of Heinz 57 sauce.
Fred – “Sir that kind of attititude is really unnecessary…
Me – “No Fred, that kind of attitude was and still is totally necessary. You just don’t realize it and that’s why you are where you are and unfortunately me and the rest of the country are right there with you. Now fuck right off.”

Sure I was a little hard on Fred but the baby was crying and he had stirred up a whole lot of pent up frustration. I also was just in a shitty mood over a freshly stubbed toe so it was nice to have a target for my ire that wasn’t physically there to punch me in the face. But as I said for the most part I have been pretty good about the whole politics thing to the point that I can watch with simple amused fascination as Tom Delay continues to get his large man tits twisted deeper in the wringer every day by the, “liberal media”. I have to believe in karma, I have to. The old axiom “what comes around goes around” just seems to prove itself true every damn day. Shit, Pat O’Brien dishes the dirt on celebrities for years and then lo and behold there he is on tape talking about doing coke and eating some woman’s ass. KARMA!!!! Ashlee Simpson…KARMA!!! Me starting to receive the adulation and respect that I so richly deserve…burgeoning KARMA!!!!!!!!!!!

So as I have done many times in the past I chit-chatted with Professor Wes about this Delay thing. Wes is a bonafide history Professor for real and for true and knows lots about lots of things and can usually manage to both inform and make me laugh my ass off at the same time which is a good and rare thing. I told him that Delay reminds me of Smokin’ Joe McCarthy and Wes agreed with the historical footnote that, “McCarthy was actually doing ok till he decided to take on the army.” As I read up more on McCarthy that turned out to pretty much be the case. When you read more about him, which you should and can here - http://mccarthy.cjb.net/ -, you’ll find that aside from being quite possibly the biggest asshole in the history of American politics McCarthy little more than the kind of loudmouthed fuckfaced nitwith that I seem to find myself constantly surrounded by at the local watering hole. He was a dope and a drunk and an ignorant lout and a shitty gambler. Hell, I can picture him sitting on a stool at the bar watching TV with the regular morons and waxing idiotic……………….

“Let me tell you Boob, the Reds are everywhere.”
“I hear ya Joe….hey do you think those beanbags are that whore’s real titties?”
“Probably not, goddamn whores with their fake titties……and Commies, don’t forget the Commies.”
“Yeah, I’d bang the shit out of her though”
“Oh hell yeah Boob, hell yeah!!!! Hey, I hear the Pope was a goddamn Commie”
“No shit?”
“You bet your ass he was….and a Nazi!”
“Fucking Pope.”
“You got that right! Hey turn up the volume, Days of Thunder is coming on!”
“You think those are Nicole Kidman’s real titties?”
“Naw, they’re fake. Hey I hear that Tom Cruise is a fag….and a Commie!”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“DAMN!”
“This is a good movie though, even though he’s a fag and a commie.”
“Oh hell yeah.”
“Wouldja pass the beer nuts?”

But back to Major Tom. He’s just one of those people that I see on the TV and instantly take a massive disliking to. Add him to the list that includes the singer from the Goo Goo Dolls, Pat Collins and Will Thomas from the local news, Mo Rocca, Richie Sambora, Pat Robertson, Dick Cheney, the creepy Burger King from the new Burger King ads, Ted Koppel, the barefoot Contessa and Ariel Sharon. The list goes on but that’s the folks that come to mind at the moment. I always thought Delay was an asshole, (tolerable) and an eager proponent of dismantling the constitution to further his own bullshit agenda, (not tolerable). Seriously, anyone who embraces the nickname “the hammer” is either a gay porn star or a simple flaming fuckface, (or both). I just hate this big white guy chest-puffing bullshit that Delay seems to be all about with his little sycophantic buddies prancing around his ankles while he uses “plain talk” to “get his point across” as to “what the people want”.

Hey I’m a people and I want you to shut the fuck up and go back to running a shady pest extermination business in the butthole of Texas you dick. How about it?

It was the only glimmer of joy that I could find in the whole pathetic Schiavo situation that the American people both red and blue, crackers and cokeheads, whores and wanna-be-whores masquerading as soccer moms took a look at what Congress was up to and said, “That is seriously fucked”

Wasn’t it just a few months ago that we were all supposed to be so concerned with the threat that those scary hordes of fags were perping on the sacred bond of marriage between a man and a woman? Oh it was fucking D-Day time for the future of mankind, remember???? Remember those scary lesbians on the courthouse steps exchanging vows while they plotted to eat your babies and turn your older daughters into sex crazed unshaven Vegan Satan worshippers!!!! It was the GAYPOCALYPSE and we had to re-elect our stalwart heroes on the right so they could defend us from these pesto loving armies of filth with their Melissa Etheridge war cries and rainbow stickered Cabriolets!!!!! IT WAS WAR!!!!!

That is, right up until Delay and his monkeys decided that the whole sanctity of marriage business didn’t matter for shit compared to the furor they could spin up over a single brain-damaged woman with water in the brain and a terribly sad intrusion into the lives of her and her family. While plainly not caring one sliver of a shiver about Schiavo herself Uncle Tom and his pissboys decided that they could really dispense some Kool-Aid to the lunatic nitwits that propagate a “Culture of Life.” Never mind the fact that number one “Lifer” George Bush was all for zapping retards and minors in the electric chair while he was running Texas. Don’t think for a minute about the fact that Delay pulled the plug on his own fucking father a few years back. Oh no, this was different!!!! Terry must be saved so the douchebags that Randall Terry and his ilk get worked up into a lather would fund Delay’s PAC to the brim so he could save the world for Jesus, (and allow him and his family to continue to barnstorm all over the world and line their pockets with rubels and kopecs from Russian oil mobsters). Hey why not give it a shot? Every other maniacal shenanigan they pulled over the last few years paid of in spades with the bible-thumpers. How could the lose by pulling a commando style legislative maneuver to save her from the Pagan hordes that hold the Constitution in some dithering regard over what’s “the right thing to do!” Alert the National Guard, we’re on a crusade to save Terry!!!!! But finally, finally, finally it seems that enough was enough and the pulse of the nation actually agreed that, “goddamit I wouldn’t want to be kept alive in that state either and who the fuck are you assholes in Washington to take that decision away from me and my family. Fuck you Tom.”

Karma.

And as it turns out as things often do that once the shit-slide starts it gathers momentum. Every day it’s a new thing in the papers about what a chuckleheaded shit Delay is and how he has systematically abused his office, his peers, his constituents and you and me. The sharks have started to gather in the water for “the hammer” and the same system that he and his cronies have used to fuck others for years is about to turn around and fuck him right up his fucking ass. Y’know, when you’re enough of a dick to put yourself on a mountain top so high that you think that the FAA is on beck and call for your political purposes the drop is precipitously long and painful. Delay will piss and cry about it and how unfair and intrusive the media is and blah, blah, blah. He’s already started down that road. I can hear it now, “it’s dirty politics and woe is me and how could you forsake me Jesus after all of the cash I have raised in your name?!?!??!”

Somewhere along the line his buddies will turn on him and let him get strung up on charges and he will be disgraced. When that happens I hope that somewhere in Harlem Bill Clinton will think back to the Kenneth Starr investigation and the impeachment hearings that got wound up over a blowjob and politics and laugh his big fat fucking ass off.

Karma.

I love it.

Enter....Stage Wes

The unlikely Professor

Ladies and Gents in a first for the old Castor Oil experience I am going to present to you a guest author for part of this post, (actually two authors I guess). Please welcome Mr. T. Wesley; guitarist for the Pharmacy Prophets, college professor, all-around jack of all things music related and admirer of…….mmm……boobies. Wes sent a review, (upon request), of our show last Friday to the Roundtable.

What, pray tell is the Roundtable you ask? The Roundtable dear lads and lassies consists of about 12 guys that argue about music and other things like handjobs and who has proclivities towards necrophilia over email all day instead of working. The Roundtable has been in existence for almost ten years now and has probably cost our respective employers hundreds of thousands if not millions of dollars in lost productivity. To illustrate, here’s an example of a typical Roundtable topic that has elicited two weeks worth, (and counting) of messages back and forth mostly calling each other stupid retarded gaywads with no ear for music and the like.

From Eric, Roundtabler extraordinaire……

“This list is our top 40 Cheese Rock songs of the 80's. We did it draft style, so a third of them are mine. The idea was to pick cheesy rock songs from the 80's that we liked at the time and would still listen to now as a 'guilty pleasure' kind of thing. Legitimate 70's bands that succumbed to the cheese 80's sound were welcome in addition to bands that existed mostly in the 80's. We avoided bands that transcended the 80s (Police, REM etc). We also omitted cheese metal, as that will be another list. Enjoy, let me know if there are songs that we missed that you would want on here. This list will no doubt entertain Will and make Steve vomit.

1 - 867-5309 (Jenny) - Tommy Tutone
2 - Eye of the Tiger - Survivor
3 - Working for the Weekend - Loverboy
4 - Goodbye to You - Scandal (featuring Patti Smythe)
5 - Your Love - The Outfield
6 - Jessie's Girl - Rick Springfield
7 - Shadows of the Night - Pat Benatar
8 - And We Danced - The Hooters
9 - Freeze Frame - J. Geils Band
10 - I Think I'm In Love - Eddie Money.
11 - Take it On the Run - REO Speedwagon
12 - Good Girls Don't - The Knack
13 - On the Loose - Saga
14 - Twighlight Zone - Golden Earring
15 - Fantasy - Aldo Nova
16 - Lunatic Fringe - Red Rider
17 - Simply Irresistible - Robert Palmer
18 - The Breakup Song (They Don't Write 'Em) - Greg Kihn
19 - Owner of a Lonely Heart - Yes
20 - Run Runaway - Slade
21 - Change - John Waite
22 - On the Dark Side - John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band
23 - Don't Pay the Ferryman - Chris DeBurgh
24 - Summer of '69 - Bryan Adams
25 - Authority Song - John Cougar
26 - Find Another Fool - Quarterflash
27 - She's a Beauty - The Tubes
28 - Heat of The Moment - Asia
29 - What I Like About You - The Romantics
30 - Don't Tell Me You Love Me - Night Ranger
31 - Everybody Wants You - Billy Squire
32 - Stone in Love - Journey
33 - I Love Rock & Roll - Joan Jett
34 - Photograph - Def Leppard
35 - So Caught Up in You - .38 Special
36 - Rebel Yell - Billy Idol
37 - Raised on Radio - The Ravens
38 - Million Miles Away – Plimsouls
39 - Money for Nothing - Dire Straits
40 - Boys of Summer - Don Henley

End of email

This list has caused endless discussion twixt the Tablers’ over the merits of what Journey song rocks and what Journey song does not. I told you the conversations are pretty stupid. Journey can't rock. It's against the laws of nature. Idiots. Anyway, my input into these matters usually consists of something like, “Does it bother your wives that you wear their clothes”, “this list makes me want to tongue kiss Carson Kressley”, and "if you weren't so stupid you would realize that Hanoi Rocks is better than all of this shit". I also routinely damn Rush to the fires of hell when I don't have time to think up fresh material. I dig the roundtable, it really keeps the old brain working throughout the day.

Anyway, now that you know the context of the Roundtable here is the text of a humble and insightful review of the Pharmacy Prophets he sent around yesterday morning. From Wesley -

Opening band - Kung Fury - was really good if you like energetic, slightly out of tune NY punk. The singer/guitarist is perfect for that band and that genre. Really nice guy. Wears high-heeled shoes most of the day from what I heard.

The leaky ceiling dripped on the drums all night, which really irritated Ben. He was happy to have his bass drum pedal back though, after waiting since mid-January for the parts to come in at Guitar Center. He liked my pedal just fine; it's just that it wasn't his. Kind of like jerking somebody else's gherkin, I guess. Either that or my pedal just sucks and he didn't want to tell me that. Anyway…...

Phil was at the front end of a nasty cold, which I'm told is wrecking him full-force as of today. Of course, his hair was perfect. He sang like an angel and smoked like a demon. Steve, whose hair is only marginally less coiffed than Phil's, was also 'on' Friday night, actually getting it done on guitar. His sound was good, his playing was excellent, and even though I had his vocal pulled out of my monitor, I think he even sang well all night. At the very least, I did not witness any self-flagellation, which usually follows any song in which he bricks a sequence of notes. The guitar I built for him sounded excellent, as always.

My playing was about 90% perfect, which is pretty par for me. I fairly tanked 'Earlgray' in more than one place, most egregiously the (rather horrible) solo. I was disappointed that the sound man cut our set short by two songs, as we jumped straight to the set-closer, skipping the two songs for which I had worked up sweep-arpeggio 8-finger-tapping solos. I thought about breaking that shit out early in the set, but I wanted people to have something to look forward to, and part of me kept thinking "If I save it till the end, then all the chicks will know I have endurance and can go harder/faster at the end, and therefore want to take me home to participate in wild threesomes with their hot stewardess roommates", but alas, I lost the chance to test that theory out.

We played a new song that I actually remembered all of (and crushed on the solos - yeah that's right I said soloS, I get two in that song!), so I was pretty happy about that. I had a little trouble getting my rig balanced out volume-wise - running two amps is freakin cool, but logistically it's a bit more effort than I'm used to at a show.

I think Trey was the only 'tabler that came, and come to think of it, his girlfriend, I mean hair looked damn good too. I was kind of disappointed that his girlfriend wore a COMPLETELY unrevealing top, but they made up for it by bringing their neighbors to the show.

Lucky for me, as I was almost done loading out, Trey pitched in to help, grabbing my Les Paul and heading down the stairs. I followed him out, but couldn't figure out why he didn't stop at my truck. "Hey Trey," I hollered (I figured he'd unnerstand a 'holler'), "My truck's over here." I guess in the rain and with all the traffic, he didn't hear me, cause he kept walking. So I put down my other guitars and caught up to him at the corner. I clapped his shoulder and said, "Scuse me man, the truck's..." which is about the same time I realized I wasn't following Trey at all; it was some random white dude with a leather jacket that LOOKED like Trey from behind. So imagine my surprise...and then imagine his. He wisely put my guitar down and hustled the fuck off before I could recover sufficiently to process what was going on and step on his spindly neck. (Note: by 'spindly neck', I am not continuing the suspect's alleged similarity in likeness to one Trey, I have branched off on my own at this point.) I then put my Les Paul in my truck, chatted briefly with the very wet Mr. Ben Drummer, and headed home for a shower, cheese & pickle sandwich, nacho chips, and some well deserved satisfaction in the groinal area.

End of email.

Back to me….for those of you who are unfamiliar with our guest author let me paint a picture. Imagine a very, very large man with a shaved head, massive goatee and tattoos all over the place who loves his guitars almost as much as I love…well…myself. The fact that murder was not perpetrated on the weasely shit that tried to steal his Les Paul still astounds me. Maybe the Pope threw out one last act of mercy on his way uptown or quite possibly the allure of getting out of the rain and home to the cheese sandwich and groinal release overwhelmed the neck-stepping impulse. Regardless, that is one lucky little junkie.

And yes, my hair did look terrific.

Thanks Wesley.

rico suave

Today's announcement will be Greaseman style. Why? I have no clue.....

Waddaloodadaddum I am feeling frisky..........Tuna Tuna Tuna feesh tuna feeesh is so deeelish how I love to eat my Tuna Feesh....QuangTree 1967........

We're playing at the Velvet Lounge tonight. It's going to rock much ass.

Sgt. fury. When I was....a LAWMAN!!!!!!! Habba Doo Gaga Habba Doo Gaga Habba Doo Gee! Ppppt Pppppt Ppppt.......

915 U St, NW
Washington, DC

With Kung Fury and Sovus Radio

DOODADS!!!!!