That rat-bastard weasel
Underneathica and I are in a violent mad-dash race to see who can post a write-up sooner regarding the album
Jungle Rot by
George Brigman. What
Underneathica fails to understand is that I am
far more obsessed with anti-social drug addict shut-in musicians than he is--
perhaps because I am an anti-social drug addict shut-in musician myself. Michael Yonkers,
Todd Tamanend Clark...name any one of 'em and I start drooling all over my government-issue orange jumper. I am
way more into
Don't Bother Me than him. I am much more likely to be humming
I'm Married, Too during a lull while stamping license plates than he would be. I hasten to add:
perhaps Underneathica doesn't even have a job in the first place? It is I, with my verbally-challenged speaking skills, that allows me to be in touch emotionally, physically, spiritually and--yes,
telepathically--with songs like
It's Misery.
On a related note, if you find yourself writing an article about mega-popular actor/producer
Tom Cruise and his long-term triumphant success in Hollywood, you might consider using the witty headline
Cruise Control. Personally, I lean more towards the headline
Dumb Fuck Scientology Sleazeball Buttface Sleazebag. It's got a little something sassy to it, ne c'est pas?
1 comment:
Now you've gone too far. The internet is no place for hiding behind fake screen names and hurling obscenities. You've insulted me, you've insulted my scientifical religion, and when the aliens come I will personally make sure that there is no room for you on the space-ark. Oh, and I do too have a job.
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