Watch yer ass...it's Walpurgis!!

Clickit!!

(Listen to War Pigs and don't accept eggs for payment)

UPDATED: Post of the Day

Fuck the foo!



This just in on the Top Daily Annoyances list:

Definitions of histrionic on the Web:

a personality disorder in which a person is emotionally dramatic and exaggerated, attention seeking and always wants to be the center of attention
www.psychmd.info/glossary/h.shtml

Be a Pants Man!!

Me...morbid? No fucking way.

For reasons unknown to me, I have been labelled as being a bit morbid. I can't say that fully understand why. Maybe it's the skull ring on the finger or the Motorhead necklace around the neck. Maybe it's my cheery disposition that is completely devoid of cheer and my positive nature that is negatively-charged. Maybe it's because I refuse to wear a Donald Duck costume.

But morbid? I don't get it.

Here's my pal Señor Skully, a stack of angry music and my newest acquisition for Disgraceland...












Yes, it's a Matchbox and yes, it's a hearse. Yes, it also has a coffin in the back. For those with a keen eye for detail, you may notice that 57 is not the normal number for this particular car. It is supposed to be #30, so apparently someone somewhere fucked up.





















And here's a closer look of the musical goodness that is filling the air with joy in the hollowed out halls of Disgraceland on this bleak and dreary day...
















Lest you think we've completely abandoned the concept of sucky packaging at your one-stop shop for shit you can't buy off the rack, fret not. Looking within the CD stack, my first thought when I think of Danzig's 4p is not the songs contained within, but the packaging wrapped around the disc. And you know what? That 4p has some packaging that sucks!! It's one of those environmentally sound deals made from the finest cardboard that American Recordings could find. None of that plastic jewel case shit that keeps your shit sealed off from the elements until someone cracks the hell out of it. Oh hell no. You have to open the bitch up like mad to even think of getting the damn disc out of the packaging. No matter how much I love the music, having to wrestle with the shit to get to hear the tunes is going to have me thinking twice before playing the thing. Not only was I ticked, apparently retailers were less than happy because the disc didn't fit into their plastic frames that prevent thievery. Hell, by making it easy to slip out of the frames, that devily Danzig was damn near encouraging people to do ye olde five finger discount in the pre-Napster days. It's my impression that the record company and Mr. Glenn should include a free CD-R with this one so you could automatically burn a copy of it and not fuck with sucky packaging (!!).

And remember, friends, Danzig spelled backwards is "Giznad."

There, I scanned it.

From the current issue of No Depression...

You Turn From It

It’s funny how aspects of your life loom large, having an impact like no others. You evolve and revolve as it does, breathing it in anew, and spewing it forth with great fiery breaths and sinister snarls as though you alone are hip to the groove. You get it and you don’t really give a fuck if no one else does.

And then, you turn from it.

The Rubik’s Cube of life pivots, and what once was a clear and concise pattern has become a jumble of perplexing colors. But you adjust quickly and run with the mixed tiles and form your own pattern and soon learn that you’ve done this all along. You even laugh that few are clued in because it’s so foreign, so alien.

Once in a while though, you, like everyone, feel cheated. There’s been a breach in your defenses and you try to return to some of the former patterns for stability. Some stand the test of time, and others instantly give your feet less than firm ground and, again, you turn from it.

Your trust now flees and you’re a newborn doe, cowering. You fill your being with newly acquired aspects that loom large and these solidify such that you take a chance and look back, with your ears and as if for the first time, you are knocked on your ass.

In other words, this non-headphones, non-earbuds person listened to the Metallica version of Green Hell with mucho volume via earbuds. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Questions like, “HOW did they DO that?!” and “WHAT IN THE FUCK happened to them?!” (Well, other than the death of one kick ass bass player) sprang forth immediately. Talk about CRISP and RAWKIN’ tunes!!

Seek it out and crank it, for the former packaging of Metallica did not suck.

Green Hell, Metallica style
(I stole these lyrics from a lyrics website and they probably are not 100% - who the hell could understand James and/or Glenn during this scream fest?)

Here in this place lies the key to your death
Touch it, see it
Here in this place is the means to your end
Touch it, feel it
Green hell

You did your best as someone could
I bet you never knew you would
AND Did you run away from it?
I bet you thought you really COULD
We're gonna burn in hell
Green Hell
Like every hell but kind of green
Green Hell Green Hell
Try let me get back up there
Green Hell Green Hell
Feel it burning in your cereal
Green Hell Green Hell
Throw our fuckin' friends inside
Green Hell Green Hell
Gotta fuckin' pay and you must stay
Green Hell Green Hell
Cannot REFILL THE TORCH OF DEATH
Green Hell Green Hell
Hell is reigning in your blood
Green Hell Green Hell
Gotta burn it all
Green hell

You did your best as someone could
I bet you never knew you would
And did you run away from me
I bet you THOUGHT YOU REALLY COULD

Here in this place lies the key to your death
Touch it, see it
Here in this place sister won't let it in
Touch it, feel it
Green hell

You did your best as someone could
I bet you never knew you would
Did you run away from ME?
I bet you thought you really COULD
You've come to this as someone told
I bet you never knew you would
Gonna bring
Green hell

This just in: I came up with a new reality TV show: "The Creative Slut". Think cooking and crafts Martha Stewart style, but with more black and sex toys.

CAUTION: Elderly People Being Mean!!

I'm finding it harder to be a gentleman

Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, the same shit replayed on a moment to moment basis like some kind of real-life production of Groundhog's Day. Variety has been outlawed because even in shitty times, it can eliminate boredom. Boredom keeps the rebels and the militants under the thumb. At the very least, it keeps them from throwing shit at other people's heads. Unfortunately in some cases, it actually causes some to start launching shit at unsuspecting noggins. I'm not sure where I fit in that mix, but I can't say that I've thrown anything at anyone in far too long. I should change that. Maybe.

But I've got boredom.

Oh, how I have the boredom. So bored that even repeated spins of Gimme Shelter (arguably the best song of all-time) doesn't even bring much of a rise in the spiritual gauge.

Monday's excursion into occupational lunacy not only rocked the boat, but repeatedly slammed the fucker into the rocks like nobody's business. Even as action-packed and steeped in bullshit as it seemed at the time, it's the same old song and dance without the majesty of a full-blown dog and pony show. Sometimes, the dog and the pony aren't really necessary and no one wants to clean up the shit afterwards.

Tuesday was certainly more mellow but the boredom was throat-high and rising fast. Don't fuck up the shtick and don't let on that you'd rather be somewhere other than here. Simply go through the motions and no one gets hurt. Throw a few paper clips at the fig tree downstairs and find other ways to entertain the frazzled mind and idle hands.

In Vulgarian terms, Wednesday is what is commonly referred to as a "motherfucker." 8:30 until 8:30. A constant barrage of monotony. In the Crayola 64 pack of life, it's about as brown as it gets. A dull color and a tint associated with rampant fecality, which seems incredibly appropriate. By mid-day, the mind and the body are completely in sync in numbness. The eyes sense movement and colors, but the mind no longer gives a fuck enough to process and relay the message. It's just like the scene in Pink Floyd's The Wall movie where Pink sits there staring blankly from his hotel chair until he goes crazy ape bonkers and explodes into a shitstorm of zany antics. At that stage of the deterioration, my body just couldn't muster up any zany antics so I just stared blankly.

As Thursday as slowly unveiled itself, it's another day of being in two places simultaneously. I should have figured out a better way of handling the deed dumped upon me, but until the Bone Clone arrives in the mailbox, it looks like I am the walking dude stomping between two places in separate buildings. No one else seems notice or give a fuck. I guess that's what happens when it's someone else's issue. Just be sure not to get your shit on someone else's shoes. It might wreck their risque dance moves and stain their shoes. It's bad mojo.

Fridays once offered so much hope, but have become so thoroughly bastardized when associated with the previous four that it's just a continuation of the poo-poo choo-choo. No unsuspected surprise to snip a link in the boredom conga line, just keep on keeping on. Fading to black like death by darkness only to be reborn in the light.

When A Redneck Cooks - or - Fire In the Hole!!

Turn on that blue natural gas flame on HIGH baby and heat up that iron skillet, ‘cause we’s cookin’ some vittles!!

Open the plastic wrap on a pound of fresh ground turkey. Sprinkle and COVER the top of the ground turkey with Tony Chachere’s Original Creole Seasoning. Next, sprinkle ample amount of crushed red peppers. Using a good-sized metal spatula (not one of them sissy spatulas, get you a REAL metal spatula!!) and cut your newly seasoned ground turkey (sounds naughty, don’t it?) in half long and short-wise like so’s you’n end up with your meat cut into quarters (don’t sound too pleasant, do it?).

Just before putting your patties onto the skillet, coat her real good and liberal like with some Wal-Mart Great Value brand pam. (You’ll know if you’s got the right stuff because it’s got a little advertisement on the side that says somethin’ like: “Just like you like your women, Our pam’s cheap, easy and greasy!”)

Now, time to get yore hands dirty!!

Scoop you up a quarter of that finely seasoned meat and make patty number one and lay her on the fiery hot skillet. Repeat. (You will likely know when you’ve used up all your patties when you ain’t got no more on your plate.)

After you get you a good searin’ goin’ on that first side there, give ‘em a good mashin’ with your high-quality spatula and flip them bitches over. (I find it helpful tell each one of them to, “Turn bitch!! TURN!”) Once you got ‘em all flipped, smack them bitches on the hiney. (They likes it like that.)

Once you got ‘em cooked good, through and through (don’t want nobody to get the Hershey Squirts now do we? HELL no!) drip drop drip you some Frank’s Hot Sauce on the top of them bitches. (Don’t be cheap with it now!! Dress, to impress!!) And scoop ‘em out on a plate so’s they can be lettin’ all them juices absorb real good. While they’s busy doin’ that, ya’ll can toast your buns. (shut your mouth!!)

Put your turkey burgers together on the buns, top off with some Kraft Hickory Smoke BBQ and salt, and add you on a real nice hunk of pepper jack cheese!!

NOW THEM’S SOME TASTY ASS, FIRE IN THE HOLE, TURKEY BURGERS!! HOT DAYUMMMMM!!

Bloggy Doesn't Do News Related Posts

Not even news related audio posts with curse werds. Nope, never.

And Yet the Bitch Didn't Know Putting This on My Window would Piss Me Off?

FUNction Over Form

When I was a child (shut up!) there was a regular occurrence of out-and-out sin in my household. At a very young age, I had a very good sense of right and wrong…and sinful behavior. Mom, I love you, but it’s surely going to reflect on you that you insisted to vacuum the carpeting during shows like Mork & Mindy, The Incredible Hulk and Laverne & Shirley.

I mean really. How could you?

Today, it is clear this behavior had a lasting affect upon me. I feel very strongly that there are many, many, many things far more important than dusting door frames. My house is a freaking wreck, and I’m mostly okay with this hardcore truth.

In my home, the “couch table” is always piled with things of varying importance. Obviously Red Hots visit this spot in the house rather frequently. Increasingly, Strawberry Whoppers make an appearance. Vanishing from this table nearly as quickly as the candy, would also be pepperoni pizza from Little Caesar’s. Often DVDs or Xbox cases find their way to the table, along with laser pointers, whistles, Chinese yo-yos and cat toys made with straws and straw wrappers. All things of great importance.

Recently I found a deal on buy.com and my purchase made its way to the couch table, and onto the blog because it’s all about the packaging. 200 blank CDs for $19.95. Free shipping, no tax.

Now how can you beat that? I don’t think you can. These 200 CDs could contain a not-so-random artist, family photos or movies, data that I want to archive, or the brilliance that is YPS!!

Whatever they hold, I’m just thrilled they arrived here, safe and sound, stacked and placed on spindles with a Sharpie on top. The lid was firmly closed and the container was shrink-wrapped in plastic and both spindles were in a box, within a box.

Ah, the opportunities afforded by blank media, the sustained high of Red Hots and some good ole fashioned packaging (that does not suck). Just check out those tiny little plastic donuts that …that um… Anybody know what the heck those little plastic donuts found on the top of the CDs on the spindle are for? Why so many? Were 12 really needed? I mean if they’re trying to prevent the CDs from sliding up and down and perhaps become scratched beyond use, why make the damn spindle so tall? There’s got to be a clearance of over an inch from the top CD to the top of the lid. WTF?

And that Sharpie Mini, what gives? I mean I love the Sharpie brand and use one nearly daily, but what’s up with the keychain loop on the cap of the marker? If the Sharpie disengages from the cap (damn that’s so naughty), the cap will remain securely attached to your keys, while the now topless marker is free to leave an inky discharge in your purse. I mean pocket, it will leave an inky discharge in your POCKET.

“Say, is that a Sharpie Mini in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

For the Nar Sissy

Here ya go, HTGT, check out the Gcast player to the left.

Yet Another YPS!! Exposé

While on my various travels over the last few days, I have stumbled upon some insight to one of life's mysteries. As a part-time correspondent in the packaging wars, I feel like I should share this revelation with those folks still frequenting this patch of scorched Earth.

While on said travels, there have been (at least) two instances where other commuters seem to completely ignore the stop sign aimed in their general direction and proceeded to barge right into my path. The first one occurred on Saturday and has been somewhat documented in an audio post over there on the YPS!! hi-fi. The second incident happened not 30 minutes ago.

As I was leaving the parking lot listening to some tunes filled with piss and venom, I noticed another vehicle approaching on my right. Having lived in Kentucky all of my life (sad as that may be), I know to never assume that the natives will obey traffic laws because as more often than not, they will do something really fucking stupid. When it comes to doing stupid shit, Kentuckians will rise to the occasion every damn time.

Sensing that the woman driving the white vessel of impending doom had no intention of stopping, I figured I would save myself the trouble of dealing with insurance agents, intense profanity, and having to stifle the desire to beat the bitch senseless. I braked. As she proceeded through the stop sign, I pointed at the stop sign and in return, she offered some lame ass gesture and a cutesy expression that loosely translated must mean "I am a fucking idiot." At least that is the way that I interpreted the message.

After fuming about it for a while and watching this slackjaw hilljack actually stop at the red light, the revelation hit me. It's not that these people are bad drivers, it must be that they can't read. She understood the concept of the red light, but that octagonal shaped sign with the big word on it just confused her to no end. Besides, who can be bothered with words when you're behind the wheel of a car and focusing your attention on your cigarette? Obviously not this chick.

With more thought about it, I realized that she must have been a product of the same Daviess County Public School system that shat me out many moons ago. After all, no one knows more than me how little it took to graduate from the hallowed and hollowed out halls of Daviess County High School. Hell, I even had a Driver's Education class with a future NASCAR cocksucker that spent most of his time throwing tennis balls around the classroom when the instructor was out driving with the designated drivers of the day. Apparently that class is almost as big a joke as some of the others and that simultaneously explains why these people can't read a fucking stop sign and can't drive worth a shit.

Since the local educational system failed them miserably, I will take it upon myself to teach some incompetent fucks a thing or two. This is a stop sign. While the word may be long and confusing to you, it means to prevent your car from moving in the path of someone who is traveling at X number of miles per hour and whose vehicle will crumple the shit out of your car and possibly you . If you choose not to comply and the damage to the vehicles is minimal, it might lead to your ass being beaten like a rented mule. When I am king, I will make it perfectly legal to take out your tire tool and beat anyone caught running a stop sign or stop light until you are perfectly satisfied. While it may seem extreme to some, it's actually quite a humanitarian gesture. It's the concept of "Thinning the herd" and if people insist on driving all shitty like, then they should be thinned...immediately.

If you are one of the drivers running stop signs and driving like a douchebag, let it be known that your packaging sucks!!, your driving sucks and...


























Lest you think this is the ranting of an insensitive beast, you're probably right. But would an insensitive beast write poetry like this:


Copulation on the bricks
donkey legs on Chinese sticks
don't break the shake
or quake the sheik
for tonight, the eagle flies


Yeah, probably so.


Fuck it.

I like Devo.

No, Really

This is a Bonnet-Free Zone

Cheese, Please

UPDATED: Bloggerific Ideas of the Day

1. I want to name the next dog I get "Ransack".

2. I want to submit to the makers of the Power Puff Grrrls that there needs to be a villain made of pocket fuzz.

3. I'm mulling over the idea of making round Rice Krispie Treats with Red Hots and crushed Strawberry Whoppers and calling it "Bloggy's Ballz of Fury".

>>>4. Please see today's Gcast post for yet another BRILLIANT idea.


These and many, many, many more BRILLIANT ideas brought to you buy Coffee and...Benadryl: "Wake up, and dry up!! With Coffee and Benadryl *SNIFF* the day can only get better!!"

Pure Genius...

I wish I'd created it.

One of My All-time Favorite Music Videos

Ah, the days of VHS. About 25 minutes of pure genius.

Sure Fire, All Fire, Whatevva

Warning: The new audio post (to your left) has a cuss word in it. Oh sure, I might have repeated it once (or twice) but at least you know it's there.

Me Mudder and Me Pooch, Arrrrrgh!!