Monday, June 30, 2008
Day 2 - The 2nd day of the tour was in Burlington, NC. We only had to drive an hour to the show, which was nice considering that we had just driven 14 hours the night before. After working out a few kinks in our set list we had to open the show. We are playing a few new songs on this tour, which I'm pretty stoked about, and the kids seem to be too so that's always good. With nothing to do but sit around the rest of the night we sat around drinking the free beer that was provided....and then some more free beer that wasn't exactly provided...if you get my drift. Once again we couldn't find a place to stay, and with it being too hot to sleep in the van, we got ourselves yet another room at a Motel 6. This time it was by ourselves so we had a lot of room to relax and watch awesome movies such as Anaconda, and the Godfather Part 3. The pool was closed for cleaning so that was a huge bummer. If anyone with a swimming pool who is coming to a show soon is reading this, let us hang at your house. I promise, we are sweet dudes.
Day 3 - Ahhh Richmond, VA. We played at a venue called Alley Katz, which turns out is actually in an alley. The promoter for the show had booked us last summer on our tour with Architect and Destroyer Destroyer, and its always good to see familiar faces. Well, familiar faces that haven't dicked us over on our guarantee. The show was an all day "fest" which I usually hate, but this was cool because all the kids actually stuck around all day. After the show the sound guy let us stay at his house. Finally, a free place to stay! He had a huge projector screen so we watched this movie called "Wristcuter: A Love Story" which ended up being really good. It had that really hot girl from "40 Days and 40 Nights" in it whose name I can't remember, but anyway I think I'm going to marry her.
Day 4 - I sit here typing this blog on my Sidekick at Crocodile Rock in Allentown, PA. Its finally not super hot out tonight, so I'm just hanging out enjoying the fresh air. We showed up a little late today because traffic in DC was a bitch, and as soon as we showed up we had to load right in and play. The sound guy was an asshole, but I won't get into that. Anyway, not much to say about today. We would be drinking but beers are $4 and we're poor. I think we just found a place to stay with some hot girls -- I hope they aren't 15. Nick will be writing a blog for the next few days so stay tuned for that.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Bishop Kent Manning
by, Kevin Howley
by, Kevin Howley
A dead heart shrieks so loudly in the ER. In Bishop Kent Manning’s case, his lifeless heart was loud enough to bring him back from the dead. The EKG meter hummed steadily until the Bishop’s eyes blasted open, then continued with a rhythmic beeping. The EKG produced the beat of an appalling soundtrack. The cracking and scraping of bone, the slurping noise of blood, the whiz of cold machinery, and the muffled voices of doctors and nurses plundered horribly over the metronome of the EKG meter. His torso seemed a detached heap of metal and blood; an excavation site where he had the best view. Whether he was in shock or drugged, he felt no pain. His only real feeling was the trembling of his skull and he’d occasionally taste iron tickling the back of his throat. He was road kill; meat and bone being tenderized for consumption or a calf being packaged for distribution. His guts were exposed and his blood was decorating the ER staff. He had all the strength of a gnat smeared across a windshield and the only pain he felt stemmed from an echoing voice somewhere in his wiggling head.
“There is no God,” he heard.
Even while he could see a smashed bullet being plucked from his midsection, his only worry was that damn voice. He never remembered thinking that God didn’t exist and attributed the voice to the trauma he was experiencing. Even when his father died, when he’d watch the slaughtering of farm animals, when he’d cover his face in makeup for the television camera, when he was taking a shit, when he drove, when he slept, and especially when he counted money, he never doubted the existence of God. As he tried to ignore the voice, he heard someone mutter, “spinal anesthesia,” and he fell asleep.
“Bishop,” a voice called to him.
His mind fumbled to wake up.
“Kent! Wake the fuck up!” the voice continued.
He did wake up and tried to recognize the voice. Kent was in a hospital bed and sitting in a chair next to him was a stranger.
“Oh, right…my face,” the stranger said. “You’ve never seen me.”
“Who are you?” Kent asked.
“Well, when you rob a bank, Kent, the last thing you need is some shithead with a decent memory seeing your face so you usually wear a mask,” the stranger said. “I wore a mask when we met. I wore a mask when I shot you!” the stranger laughed.
Fractions of memories began to add up in Kent’s head and he remembered the voice. He remembered being in the bank when someone with a mask came in to rob the place. Kent tried to think of something substantial to say but could only whispered, “You.”
“Yea,” the stranger said. “Me.” The stranger continued, “Imagine my surprise when I’m just trying to get some money from some bank and I see Bishop Kent Manning, that annoying fuck from TV, standing directly in front of me. I remember thinking that, if anything were to go wrong, at least I’d have a well known hostage to take. But then you tried that charming “on-air” type of shit with me and, I gotta tell ya, Kent, it irritated the fuck out of me. And then you just had to break down like such a little bitch in front of me. It made me sick. I had to kill you, y’know?”
Kent’s eyes began to drip as his memory improved. Kent remembered speaking to this man and exactly what he had told him. Then he remembered, “There is no God,” and sobbed.
“Yes!” the stranger said. “Just like that. It’s fucking disgusting, Kent.”
Kent tried to stop crying. He was always so good at conveying such confidence on television. When he was in front of the camera, while the phones rang, and while the funds kept rising, he was God. He thought of his church; the 26,000 members of Bishop Kent Manning’s “Rising Tide” Congregation. Then he thought of what he had told this masked stranger in the bank.
“Oh yea,” the stranger went on. “First you tried to get on my good side. You told me how barely any of the money you raise actually goes to helping anyone. And that, in fact, most of the money you raise goes to repossessing the homes of your “flock.” You were going on and on about how people are such sheep; how they need someone to do their thinking for them. You were so pleased with yourself while telling me how these old widows shell out their children’s inheritance to you. You told me about your fake bank accounts and all the political candidates who get most of the money. You told me how easy it would be for you to give me so much money to let you live. You said that you and I are alike. And, honestly Kent, I wasn’t going to kill anyone, but here’s this huge televangelist in front of me just pouring on the bullshit. I mean, I’m just a criminal. No grey area. You’re just so fucking fake. And when I raised my gun, damn did the blubbering start,” the stranger laughed. “Oh, it was too much. I really didn’t care about how much money you could give me. I wanted to shoot you. So I did. But, hey, now that you survived, I kinda want that fucking money, Kent.”
“There is no God,” Kent’s mind repeated.
With that echoing voice proclaiming so persuasively, Kent couldn’t find a way to perform. Even though he was a cheat and a criminal, he always did believe in God. Now, Kent was empty. He just couldn’t perform. Hell, he even tried to picture the face of a widow he’d taken money from. The proud Bishop. He meant nothing.
“There is no God,” repeated.
“So, y’know, keep your mouth shut and heal up,” the stranger said.
Kent’s stomach dropped and his throat swelled.
“When you’re all better, we’ll take a nice walk to the bank together,” the stranger said. “I shouldn’t have to bore either of us with details of what would happen if you tell anyone about me,” he continued. “I mean, your church and audience members, the politicians, the oh-so faithful, they’ll be so disappointed, Kent.” The stranger smirked. He had such sharp features. Kent was sure that there was something in the Bible about this, but he couldn’t recall anything.
“So, yea, I’ll be visiting every day until you’re better,” the stranger said as he got up from the chair and headed for the door.
Kent’s eyes swam as they followed the stranger from the chair to the door. He thought back to that loud EKG meter and the shriek that woke him. If God was not responsible for these events, who was? How do atheists deal with such situations? How does anyone deal with anything? He had never had so many questions and each one felt like a dull nail being driven into his forehead. He thought that the hate of the world must have been in that bullet. A fat tear dropped from his cheek when he looked up at the stranger opening the door to leave his room.
“Don’t look so down, bucko,” the stranger said. “You’re alive aren’t you?”
With that, the stranger was gone and Kent was alone, really alone. He looked around his room and everything seemed to exist without purpose. The walls of his room, the window, the bed; everything was meaningless. He looked down at the IV in his arm and wondered why he should be kept alive. He wondered who kept him alive. He felt that a great deception had been taking place with no author or benefactor. He then removed the IV and, with all his strength, got out of bed. His head throbbed as he looked left to right. He walked towards the window and opened it. The warmth of the sun met a strong breeze and blanketed his body in euphoria.
“I feel,” he thought.
He looked out the window. He looked down the 16 stories at all those people walking around with their own thoughts and ideas. The door to his hospital room opened and he hurled himself out of the window. From behind him, he heard an unearthly scream and, as the concrete launched skyward to meet him, “There is no God,” flashed in his mind.
A dead heart shrieks so loudly in the ER. In Bishop Kent Manning’s case, his lifeless heart was loud enough to bring him back from the dead…
Friday, June 27, 2008
Sunday, June 20
The Fabreeze-scented air indicated one thing: the dozen smelly dudes had vanished.
I’m pretty much over this shit by Sunday. The theme this day was pretty much “let’s fast forward to the two bands I wanted to see and get me the fuck out of dodge.”
Dudefest, Day 3
I’m at the end of my clean clothes so I appear dressed for either a Juggalo tea party or a funeral. But whatever, this is Dudefest, not The Cure live in concert. Graf Orlock was the first band we wanted to see and they were simply incredible. If you’re not entertained by playing “Guess where this sample comes from,” just merely watching the band is enticing enough.
After Graf Orlock was Backstabbers Inc. Good stuff all around, even with minor technical difficulties. I’m thinking a comeback more epic than Michael Jackson before he went fucking crazy is in order, thoughts?
Here’s a brief summary of the end of our Indy trip:
Watched a lady get arrested outside of Red Lobster, not sure what she did. Maybe an animals rights activist letting the lobsters loose? Nah, gotta remember this isn’t California.
Ate at Ruby Tuesdays, finally. Those fucking advertising geniuses knew I’d get there one day.
Spent two separate plane rides nearby passengers choosing to sing operatic/Backstreet Boys style tunes.
-Sheena, BMA Publicity Assistant
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Saturday, June 20Yes, man really came from a monkey..
After spending a night of compromised sleep in the Days Inn (thanks to Luke from Gaza snoring louder than a semi running through 20 barrels of nitroglycerin) the frosty Charlies once again make their way into the hands of the_Network – it’s 11 a.m., yum, breakfast.
Some of the guys zone out on CNN, while everyone waits his turn to make a half-assed attempt at removing days of caked sweat from their crust-laden bods. One of them flips on The Discovery Channel – or a channel that falls within the same vein – and the next half hour or so is spent watching the history of man at the caveman stage, and no, it wasn’t a GEICO add. Still, that’s quite some irony; seven dudes who wreak watching cavemen travel in groups through the forest, searching for basic necessities. I wonder if they smell the same?
Dudefest, Day 2
Didn’t I mention we love being fashionably late? Well good, because once again the BMA staff didn’t get to the venue until right before Gaza was set to play, about 4 p.m. After some minor difficulties getting in, we managed to infiltrate the building roughly one song into Gaza’s set.
We weren’t too sure who we missed, but it wasn’t a big deal. I don’t think too many kids cared either. “Who was that?” a girl asked her fellow Dudefest buddy about the band in the slot before Gaza. “I don’t know. The shitty band before Gaza?” the guy replied.
I think it’s safe to say Gaza pretty much owned that stage, kicked it in the teeth and even mopped the floor with the remaining carcass. Pullin’ kids up from the audience left and right, Gaza vocalist Jon almost managed to blend into the fevered, swarming mass, which is hard to do for a guy with enough height he could give LeBron James a run for his money.
Fuck all y’all cankles
I’m not sure which was more amazing: the amount of cankles I saw at Dudefest, or my first time seeing Lords live -- I’m leaning toward Lords.
The description of Lords live will fast forward, since I think at this point the day’s heat damaged my long term memory capacity, just picture awesomeness in your head.
Slip n’ sliding and beer shotgunning, holy wet underpants!
Despite what you may assume by reading the preceding header, we didn’t visit any of Indianapolis’ fine stripping establishments – But Luke from Gaza managed to end up in his underwear for roughly 85 percent of the day.
Basically, someone set up a Slip n’ Slide in the back of the Emerson Theater and Luke thought it would be an amazing idea to shotgun a beer in his skivvies, all while sliding in the mosquito infested, murky waters of the rubber slide. Not only did we discover Luke has to hold the record for shot-gunning beer under 30 seconds, but also the unfortunate details of Luke’s boxer briefs having more ass-area holes than Paris Hilton’s brain from taking “E.”
Here’s a few other minor details I discovered after Lords and before Pig Destroyer:
- I’ve spent two days enjoying a lunch of mini gummy burgers, tootsie rolls and candy fries – hello diabetes
- The_Network drummer Tim and I share the same birthday, New Years Day. Yes, we’d like a fucking cookie.
- Bennett’s beard holds many secrets, other than food and dried alcohol from a week ago.
Who the fuck brought a dinosaur to the party?
Saturday’s Dudefest was sort of like SeaWorld, or any zoo for that matter. An inflatable dolphin and a gigantic stuffed dinosaur were enough to make anyone feel like they were on the set of Fear and Loathing: Indianapolis. But even more so, when people started riding the inanimate animals instead of directly crowd surfing, I began to question when I’d start seeing unicorns and Neil Patrick Harris. Kids rode this soon-to-be-fossil like there was no tomorrow, with smiles on their faces that can be best described as creepy.
A group of people were watching up on the side of the stage, while I preferred the lower area next to the stage. I look up and see Luke and Casey from Gaza to my right. I take a second glance about five seconds later and Luke’s in his underwear, again. He doesn’t put his pants back on until several half-naked crowd surfs later.
Overall, Pig Destroyer killed and everyone knew it, even without the band’s samples working. As epic as this performance was, I’m not sure even the brontosaurus that everyone in the crowd copped a feel on beat the mayhem at Zanie’s Too.
Bloody kisses, nah, more like bloody faces
A brief rundown on the actual performances I saw:
- Suicide Note, fabulous.
- Sweet Cobra, fucking awesome, as expected.
I know what you’re thinking. “You went to Dudefest and only watched a handful of bands?” Well first, fuck you. Second, if you were witnessing the amazing craziness and straight up comedy I was, you’d think twice about hastening your hearing impairment as well.
During the hangsesh we had with Mitch from Dance Club Massacre, half of the_Network and random members of Gaza, a grip of random shit happened within the matter of three hours:
- The_Network vocalist Mike celebrated being one year closer to being a member of AARP.
- The_Network guitarist Kevin knocked the fuck out before midnight.
Up next, day 3..
-Sheena, BMA Publicity Assistant
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Friday, June 19
An ode to poo..
It’s day one of Dudefest, yet I’m still not in Indianapolis.
The dozen or so dudes of Gaza and the_Network, who shared the hardwood floors at the Error House, tag-teamed the shower, then parted ways for Indianapolis.
Gas, heart attacks and hallucinations
The_Network stopped for gas right outside the University of Illinois before heading to Indy, which is around $3.98 a gallon, making this Californian say things like, “What the fuck?” and “What the hell were their gas prices before the oil corp. execs decided to rape and pillage?”
You’d think a stop at the gas station would be completely normal. Everyone sits idle while the guy pumping the gas does his best not to wince at the amount of cash burning up in thin air.
But this day, in the matter of five minutes, an old man nearly drug his wife – who was halfway out the driverside door – across the gas station parking lot, while in the midst of what seemed to either be a heart attack, or severe dementia. After the gas station attendant ran out and managed to avoid all common sense by asking, “Should I call 9-1-1?” an ambulance showed up.
Seeing old people die wasn’t the end of it, I mean, that’s what old people do, they die. An average sized black dude on a mini bike drove through the whole scene, diverting our attention from the withered old man being strapped down to a gurney.
But still this wasn’t all.
Another random guy, who looked like one of the only vatos locos in town, strolled by the van doing his best gangster strut, and asked the guys if they were in a band. After answering yes, the guy asked the name of the band. But really, what vato would know who the_Network is? He’d have to be doing time for being scummy, that’s for sure.
But after the guy was given a response from Bennett, he said he’d heard of the band and that a friend from Mass. told him about the_Network. At this point, we were all questioning how PCP got into our drinking water.
Dudefest, Day 1
Here at BMA, we hold the term “fashionably late” with much importance when getting to a venue.
It was about 8 p.m., the_Network and Gaza were already at the Emerson Theater, yet the BMA staff lagged – but after spending the day with a bunch of crusty dudes, a shower had to be in order on my part.
Here’s what I recall about the night prior to heading over to Zanie’s Too:
- Talking about poo with Jon from Gaza
- Getting a dollars worth of nickels in change from the nearby McDonalds, ‘cause dude was too lazy to wait for paper money, and with no slot machines in sight, this was useless to me.
- Following those Utah hooligans of Gaza -- Casey, Luke, Mike and friend of Gaza, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me – back to their van, while they guzzled Bud Light and played catch with a football at the steps of a church.
- Watching only one band, Coliseum – Okay, two when adding the maybe five minutes of Torche (I think).
- Considering taping the repeated response we had to give when people asked us why The Red Chord couldn’t make it.
At Zanie’s Too, there were two bartenders, neither were remotely attractive. And due to their two-pack-a-day voices, neither would even be hired as phone sex operators – that is unless you dig your chicks sounding like a Louis Armstrong and Barry White fusion. That’s pretty much a huge separation from California, where a majority of the time the bartenders are attractive, but then again, alcohol is more expensive and the bars close two hours earlier.
Here’s what the night mainly consisted of prior to the_Network playing:
- Kevin from the_Network and I whooped this guy’s ass in pool, not once, but twice. Apparently three times if you factor in the Kevin vs. guy-whose-name-I-can’t-remember’s first round.
- Luke from Gaza recapping his experience with getting a ride from Scott Hull of Pig Destroyer to the bar.
Stay tunned for Day's two and three..
-Sheena, BMA Publicity Assistant
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
It’s about 6:30 p.m. EST and after a five hour plane trip, I end up in a van with six smelly dudes.
Our destination is the Error House in Champaign, Ill. where the six crusty gents, otherwise known as the_Network, will play with another set of stinksters, Gaza.
The Legend of Maya Angelou
Once we reached our destination, the guys from Gaza proceeded to exchange gifts with the_Network. It was similar to that of a Native American trade, you know, where one tribe gives the other an animal carcass for a day’s supply of tobacco, or maybe some peyote. The only difference in this circumstance is that it wasn’t two tribes, but one set of silly guys, cleverly jabbing another for some laughs.
The black version of strawberry shortcake was handed over from Gaza’s altitude defying frontman, Jon, with a card reading, “To: the_Network; From: Gaza.” The doll was later dubbed “Maya Angelou” by the_Network guitarist Kevin.
Gaza Luke + the_Network Kevin = pure comedy
Alcohol isn’t necessary when these two get together. Even both of them sober in a room will have you on the floor with side-splitting laughter. But it wouldn’t be rock ‘n’ roll if someone wasn’t drunk, and why stop with one person when you’ve got a dozen ready to put down a cold one?
Nevertheless, this isn’t about a rowdy group of beer guzzlers, it’s about a specific pair.
Luke from Gaza and Kevin of the_Network could probably be easily compared to Cheech and Chong, or maybe even two Cheeches, since both equally share the spotlight with their banter. But if I tried to describe some of the shit these two made jokes about, none of you would even laugh. Not because it didn’t make any sense, but because it didn’t come straight from the duo’s mouths.
Here’s a short video of Bennet and Kevin from the_Network and Luke from Gaza doin’ what they do best, having a couple frosty charlies, check it:
Stay tunned for further installments.
-Sheena, BMA Publicity Assistant
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Artist Entry: Destroy Destroy Destroy guitarist Jeremiah Scott doesn't need Miss Cleo to see the future
Are there dragons on Mars?
So I have been thinking about the future lately. Not so much my future, but THE future. It all started when I realized all the possibilities with music these days.
It was only 120 years ago when "recording" was invented. Now we have full quality sound recording and playback, and not just the big studios. People with up to date laptops also have this ability. I can make a record on a freaking gameboy.
So it all started when I was thinking about typing in words into my computer, and having a fully sampled 60 piece choir sing what I was typing. This was not possible a year ago, but now there is a program that allows you to type in phonetically whatever you want a choir to sing. Interesting to me, but maybe not to most.
What about cell phones or the internet? 20 years ago, If you asked me a question I knew nothing about I had to remember to look it up later in a book or call someone who did know.
"Hey Jeremiah, what is the atomic weight of lithium? What year did the first terminator come out? What does Angelina Jolie look like naked?"
All very good questions that I can find out in less than a few keystrokes right now as I sit here with my laptop.
The answers are... 6.941, 1984, and hot as hell. It would have taken me a lot longer to look it up without the internet or computers.
OK, so that's because I am sitting here with my laptop and internet connection. This is possible to do now with our crazy cell phones, unlike five years ago.
My band mates and I can be arguing about who played drums on what record and the argument will be over in 30 seconds once someone Googles it on their cell phone.
What about another 5 years?
So here is my prediction. We all see those blue tooth, dorky earpieces people have. They are practical, but look horrendous. I'd kick my own ass for wearing one.
So lets fix that problem so more people would buy them, cause face it, they are practical. Lets make them small enough to set inside the ear canal, with a battery that will outlast your lifetime. Lets insert a microphone in your mouth, like the permanent retainer holding my bottom teeth inline. Now ask me something and I can voice activate my phone (which is small enough to be implanted somewhere on my body) and with voice recognition I can ask for the answer and it comes back into my ear canal. Information is easily accessible. We can find anything within seconds as apposed to 20 years ago. Very useful, but this convenience will completely scramble the way we socially interact.
Lets fast forward another 20 years. The neurological operations that control our thoughts and brain patterns are composed of electrical pulses, very similar to computers, which operate on on/off pulses of binary 1's and 0's. Our brains are way more complex than these machines. Computer technology has only existed for 60-70 years, which is to say that no matter how advanced we think we are now, it is still in a very primitive age. With our thoughts we can communicate with the computers infused in our bodies to search the Web for information, monitor our heart rate while working out, or check our cholesterol levels.
Any time anyone has ever tried to guess what the future would be like, it seems they underestimate it. Bill Gates once said that by the year 2000 computers will be affordable and can fit into a single room. We all know what 2000 was really like. The same with TVs, radios, and automobiles. The impact made by each of these inventions was extremely underestimated in each case.
This will be a funny blog to read back on when I am vacationing on Mars and I am bored, while my wife picks out gifts for our great grandchildren at a little boutique shop on the Cydonia Mensae region -- all after I check my MySpace of course.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
It was a come from behind victory, something only possible in a horse racing scenario -- or maybe NASCAR. But we'll stick with horse racing. The horse racing analogy is way more intense, because horses don't drive in circles for four hours, resulting in a winner by default, since it's usually whoever hasn't fucked up his sponsor plastered car by then. Still, it's obvious Architect shares one thing in common with NASCAR -- loyal fans.
In true awards show fashion, Architect drummer Ant Michel and guitarist Jay Bailey have some people to thank. But don't worry, we have one of those "Wrap it Up" devices from "Chappelle's Show" if they get too long-winded.
Drummer Ant Michel:
I'd like to thank my mom!!
Guitarist Jay Bailey:
I would like to thank the voters who voted and except the nomination for -- wait, what the fuck did we win?
I have no idea what I'm doing here. It's 4 in the morning and I'm hopped up on adrenaline, lurking YouTube, and Lambgoat, and patiently waiting for our record to be done so I can go back out on tour and destroy the disc’s in my back a little more.
Big thanks to Jason “Jocko” Randall at MoreSound for listening to our insane ideas and actually making them make sense on record. The new record sounds fucking pissed, and I can feel the pain im gonna be in after every show, already. I'm getting fucking old, the back of my left knee is in shambles. My back always cracks and hurts, I whine about politics, I ache, and I'm pissy all of the time. Oh my God, I've become my…..grandfather. I've completely surpassed my father and gone on to my grandfather. That’s fucked up.
I just watched “Steal This Movie” about the life of Abbie Hoffman. The dude named his kid america. Intentionally with a lower case A. What an awesome guy. Everyone go out and get “Steal This Book” by Abbie Hoffman, it’ll fuck you up. Also go to www.crimethinc.com and buy “Days of War, Nights of Love." Read Charles Bukowski, and Allen Ginsberg books. Feel something for once in your life goddammit! Feel alive!
Did you know you can pick a combination lock with a soda can, or pop can, wherever you weirdo’s are from these days. True story. Um….lets see, what have I been into lately. Gas prices are retarded. EVERYONE GO BUY A BIKE! Seriously. FUCK THOSE PEOPLE. We don’t need their fucking gas. Man, back in the days of J.C. we used to walk everywhere, you ever hear of a fat apostle? Uh Uh.
Bush is almost out of office, and the poor person who gets the fucking job has to clean all this shit up, there is NO END IN SIGHT PEOPLE. We have to start relying on ourselves and each other, not these fucking assholes who think they are in charge. Throw your TV out the window, or at least cancel your cable. You don’t really enjoy it anyway, THERES NEVER ANYTHING ON, just “get” movies on the internet. That’s all your TV should be for.
Wanna see a good movie? “Wristcutters: A Love Story” is awesome, and Tom Waits is in it. If you don’t know who Tom Waits is – 1. Hit yourself on the forehead, not hard but stern so you know that your wrong. 2. Go download "Rain Dogs," "Bone Machine," "Blood Money," and EVERYTHING HES EVER FUCKING DONE!
I'm listening to old Machinehead right now. They are good. Cursed broke up and that bummed me the fuck out. Probably my favorite band to come out in the past five years. What a shitty way to go. It's getting warm outside which is good for most people, and it is for me too, but I'm Irish and red headed, I have the whitest skin ever and the sun HATES ME, and wants me to cook so people can eat me. I am the ginger daywalker!
Everyone should go for walks at night. The air is nice and its relaxing not having the sun beat down on you, or people staring at you like you’re an idiot.
Tj and I stressed ourselves out so bad with the making of this record that we had stomach pains, and got shitty sleep at night. I actually had stomach pains in the studio, and Jocko had to take 5 and make me laugh a bit to relieve the tension. Some nights were spent at the studio, some were chasing the sun trying to get home before it completely comes up, and in the end, now that its done for the most part, we are…..
Theres nothing to fucking do. We just took an emotional shit in stereo, and now are sitting in limbo. I don’t even remember what I used to do before I let band stuff take over my life. Fuck this. Bed time.
Cant wait to tour, see you guys when we get out there. Remember…............when the going gets weird, the weird go pro!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Mitch: Here is a video that our good friend Bobby made of us acting stupid, during a drive to a show in Ohio. He will also be filming us in the studio next week while we're recording our new record, "Circle of Death," so expect many more of these!
Monday, June 2, 2008
Why "The Orange Box" has everything a girlfriend has and more...
The Orange Box is loaded with five of the hottest titles around. The OB (I am acronyzing (I made up this word) The Orange Box from now on to hopefully sound more like a tool.) By including Half Life 2, I am already two inches large in the pants area; sure, a girl could definitely accomplish that, but The Orange Box also includes HL: Episode 1 & 2, Portal, and Team Fortress 2. Don't get me wrong, other than the epic acne on my face you could say some girls find me attractive, but I do not foresee me being with FIVE girls whenever I want. This is only one of the reasons why The OB should be considered five extremely hot babes. Now to dive into each game for a strict comparison to any type of lady...
Everyone Likes a Fling: Team Fortress 2
A first person shooter with no strings attached. This game pleases you quickly and leaves you with nothing to think about. You can choose between multiple characters with a hit of the comma button and a left click. It is everyone's dream to just be able to pick and choose whoever they would like to "use." Why is this better than your girlfriend? Choose whoever you want, last short or last long, either way you can cum back and do it again whenever you want with whoever you want.
For the Men Who Enjoy Games and Being Confused by Their Girlfriend: Portal
Basically a puzzle. If you enjoy getting mindfucked by your girlfriend this is the game for you. This game also has a robotic woman's voice that says some funny things. I like a girl with some humor so this is nice. Why is this better than your girlfriend? Along with being confused you also get a sweet gun that shoots portals. SPOILER ALERT!!!!
You also get cake at the end of the game. A bit inside, I'm sorry.
For The Guys Who Want to Settle Down into a Longterm Relationship: Half Life 2, HL2: Episode 1&2
These are all special. Three games that you can sit down with and really commit. There are good times and there are bad times, but with these three games you know you can count on some really good days and stories. With hours and hours of game play in each game you cannot help but fall in love. Why is this better than your girlfriend? You have a great memories throughout the whole game. And if you want to travel back to the good old days just load a saved game and relive the times when things were easier.
The OB could be compared to a release of Roadhouse, Hard to Kill, Cobra, Kindergarten Cop, and Bloodsport all on one DVD. As you have read, the OB has all the things you want in a relationship and more. Other than the sex -- who needs it right? Right. Yeah I don't need it. I'm fine. It definitely has your one night stands, your confusing women, and your long term. I don't know about you, but I am about to head out on a date -- to my PC. I can't help but hope all realize what I have, that The Orange Box is in so many ways five smokin' bittys in one.
From the tool noted above,