"Rocket 69" by Lee Harvey Oswald Band

In the realm where glam rock meets 70s punk meets 80s metal, Lee Harvey Oswald Band is not only King--they might be its only inhabitants. And it’s not because no one else wants to live there. I’d guess anyone who ventured close got shot by megalomania, burned by tomfoolery, and fucked to death by rock and roll. The hard-to-find album Blastronaut contains five of the best songs you’ve never heard and has been rated by other rock anthropologists as “the second best rock album of the Nineties.”

So how is something this good so underrated? Because, again, no one’s fucking heard of it, save for rock nerds. The band never performed live, and released very little biographical information, most of which is as accurate as anything you’ll see on Fox News. The side project of a quiet genius for whom the word “cocksure” was invented, L.H.O.B. created gems like the insanely fun “Rocket 69” and then disappeared into the ether.

“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that--poof. He's gone.”

--Keyser Soze on Lee Harvey Oswald Band

"Beat’s So Lonely" by Charlie Sexton
Charlie Sexton managed to record one of the Eighties' most popular rock songs by the age of sixteen. I was sixteen in the 80s, too. The biggest thing I accomplished by then was a world record 42^nd viewing of Teen Wolf.

By twenty, Sexton had toured or recorded with David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Bob Dylan, the Velvet Underground, and Keith Richards, among others. But his own albums, while critically well received, were lost in the wasteland of hair metal and technopop that had become the late Eighties.

Peaking at #17 on the Billboard charts, “Beat’s So Lonely” surfed the same waters as Bruce Springsteen, but its weird feedbacky edge gave it a New Wave distinction that set Sexton apart from the heartland rockery of the Boss.

A recent (and bizarre) performance with Justin Timberlake on the Hope for Haiti Now album put Sexton back on the charts after 25 years (the second-longest gap between Hot 100 debuts in Billboard history). This gives me hope that my Teen Wolf watching record is ripe for a comeback.

"Love by Numbers" by Ash Wednesday

While you may not be familiar with Australian experimental keyboard nerd Ash Wednesday, you may have heard of some of the musicians he’s played with, like the Models, Nina Hagen or Einstürzende Neubauten. If none of that rings a bell, call up Professor Moog and go back to synthesizer school.

In the meantime, make sure and track down a copy of his solo release, “Love By Numbers.” It’s playful, catchy and you’ll have no problem learning the lyrics. It’s counting. That’s it. It’s fucking counting. It starts at one and ends somewhere around a hundred and three and it never really goes anywhere else, which is kind of its genius. There’s sort of a chorus, but for the most part it’s bouncy keyboard pop with simple robotic counting. It makes no sense, and yet there’s nothing to understand. It’s hard to like and impossible not to love.

"Achoo" by Sparks

The U.S.A. never caught on to Sparks, despite a brief period of notoriety in the early 80s when “Angst in My Pants” and “Eaten by the Monster of Love” made it onto the Valley Girl soundtrack. Brothers Ron and Russell Mael had more of an indirect cultural impact, as influencers of better known bands like Depeche Mode and New Order. With the cleverest of lyrics, impossibly danceable melodies and album covers that belong in the Fuck Yes Museum of Art, the band has been making underrated music for four decades.

It was hard to choose which Sparks song was the most underrated. It’s not Sophie’s Choice hard, but I probably spent more time weighing my options than Sophie did. I decided that “Achoo” doesn’t have the confidence of “This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us” or the catchy alliteration of “Moustache”. But it ranks pretty high on my list, particularly because I like to change the words to “Hot Jew” when I sing along. And that’s pretty under-ratable in my book.

"Your Dump or Mine" by Evil Superstars

I’m not sure how successful Evil Superstars were in Belgium, but in the U.S.A. you are all like, “Who?” And let’s face facts: even the most popular Belgian recording superstar could still be pretty underrated, in general. Two songs, “Your Dump or Mine” and “Miss Your Disease”, from the 1996 album Love Is Okay make it to the top of my list, mostly because they’re the two sung in
English.

But when I say “English” let me be clear: the band’s front man, Mauro Pawlowski, either graduated from the worst foreign language school ever, or has purposefully crafted the world’s most beautifully odd metaphors. For example:

“Excuse me but your pudding it tastes like penguin sweat … ” or “Stars, gnome puke and soap, Your zits kaleidoscope, Your drag racing divine. Tell me what we gonna eat, ah your dump or mine…”

This guy makes Björk look like Dave Matthews.

WHEN Winston Churchill won a seat in Parliament at the age of twenty-six, he grew a mustache to make himself look more distinguished. A woman approached him at a dinner party and said, “Winston, I approve of neither your politics nor your mustache.”

“Ooh,” replied Churchill, “Pretty smooth! How long you been sitting on that one, stupid?” His Parliament friends cackled. He went on to mimic, in a shrill voice, “I approve of neither your politics nor your mustache." The woman retreated in tears.

A FRIEND once asked Winston Churchill about a dinner party he had recently attended. Churchill said, “It would have been splendid … if the food and drink hadn’t been so terrible and if the maid would have had sex with me like I told her to!”

Winston Churchill once found himself in the home of his sharp-tongued political opponent, Lady Astor. Over coffee, she remarked, “Winston, if I were your wife, I’d put poison in your coffee.”

Churchill replied, “Nancy, if I were your husband, I would seriously shoot myself in the head with a gun.”

IN THE FALL of 1940, the first destroyers arrived from America and Winston Churchill went to inspect them with Roosevelt's top aide, Harry Hopkins.

Churchill added, "How I like my whores."

AFTER having a few drinks one night, Winston Churchill ran into Bessie Braddock in the House of Commons. She was very angry. “Winston,” she said. “You are drunk, and what’s more, you are disgustingly drunk.”

Churchill, surveying Bessie, replied, "And might I say, Mrs. Braddock, you’re the disgusting one: You’re ugly, you're a slut, and you don't even have any friends!” He lunged as if to strike her, but his friends interceded and restrained him.

DURING a visit to America, Winston Churchill was invited to a luncheon at which fried chicken was served. Returning for a second helping, he asked, "May I have some breast?"

The following morning, the lady received a beautiful orchid from Churchill. The accompanying card read: "Boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs!"

LATE in life, Winston Churchill paid visit to the House of Commons and immediately the room buzzed with excitement. “They say he's potty,” murmured a member of Parliament.

Churchill beat the young upstart to death with his cane. He later said of the incident, "Sometimes the best quip is a rageful blow to the head."

’m Glenn Beck, the voice of the Real Azeroth. Good to see you. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I want to talk about the Lich King.

This jerk is up in Northrend, sitting on his ice cube taunting us, and what have we done about it? Well, I’ll tell you what we did.

We went and committed millions of gold in deficit spending to something called the Argent Coliseum, which is the largest unnecessary public-works project since those bleeding-heart Night Elves used the opening of the Ahn’Qiraj gate as an excuse to raise taxes.

We should have done the Common Sense thing and applied our overwhelming military power to crush this tin-pot dictator. If we had done things properly, we could have wrapped up the job in Northrend months ago, and gone somewhere warm to celebrate. I tell you, these problems all have simple solutions until the liberals get in the way.

Let me tell you how your tax dollars are getting used up in Icecrown. This will drive you crazy.

First of all, there’s a Frost Wyrm up there called Chillmaw. All it does is fly around, but the incompetent liberal bureaucracy has decided this thing is priority number one. So they’ve put a bounty on Chillmaw; twenty-three gold and two Champion’s Seals to anyone who participates in slaying this alleged menace. Well, I’ve got news for you. It takes about three people to bring down a Frost Wyrm, and sometimes as many as five, so killing this thing costs us as much as a hundred and fifty gold. Your gold, ladies and gentlemen.

But the kicker? This creature has something like a ten-second respawn timer. So, before the so-called heroes even get back to the Tournament Grounds to collect their taxpayer-funded reward, Chillmaw is back again. How can the leadership justify this unconscionable waste? Don’t ask me, I’m just an average schlub, trying to make his way in the World of Warcraft.

Further, we’ve got standing bounties out for various minions of the Lich King. Some of these quests are for "Champions" and others are for "Valiants." But these so-called heroes have discovered a loophole; the ridiculous liberal rules of the Argent Tournament allow an adventurer to be a 'Champion' and a 'Valiant' at the same time!

So, one "hero" can collect a Champion’s assignment to kill fifteen Icecrown Scourge as well as a Valiant’s assignment to kill ten. That means, if he destroys a total of just fifteen Scourge he can collect both tax-funded rewards. And you’re paying for this, ladies and gentlemen. Each time you pay a repair bill. Each time you pay an auction fee. Each time you pay for a re-spec, you’re being robbed by these unscrupulous adventurers and their liberal enablers.

And people wonder how come we can’t afford to have separate Tier 9 models for each character class. Here is your reason, people. And I am pissed off about it.

All this waste, and I haven’t even started talking about the Coliseum itself, mind you. People say to me: “Glenn, at least the Coliseum is creating construction jobs and stimulating the economy.”

Well, I have news for you. The work and the pay for the construction of the Argent Coliseum is not going to hardworking, tax-paying Azerothians like you and me. It’s going to illegal Goblins. This is his how your government is putting your dearly-earned gold to work. I am seriously about to start crying here.

And the rumor around Icecrown is that these goblins are falsifying the records documenting their expenses for building materials and bribing the ‘adventurers’ to scavenge materials from the ruins of Ulduar. That’s right. Your leadership in Stormwind and the Kirin Tor is taxing you so they can pay foreign Goblins to do shoddy work and rob us blind.

But you get what you pay for, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn’t be surprised if, when they try to use this Coliseum, the floor caves in or something.

1998 Toyota Camry
First of all, I don’t want to totally blame the 1998 Toyota Camry for sucking. My parents bought it and they usually buy things that suck. "Caveat emptor" they say in my Latin class (which also sucks). Do you know who Heather Klee is, Toyota? She’s only the finest chick in my high school and a senior and how am I supposed to pick her up to play grab-ass behind the Denny’s when my parents won’t let me use your stupid car because I don’t have a license? So, I snuck out. What’s up! Problem is, the ’98 Camry is equipped with something called a “manual transmission.” WTF? I only made it a block before "The Old Shit Wagon" wheezed, ground to a screeching halt, death-rattled, and dropped a big chunk of metal onto the street and here I am with no date and I’m grounded. And what does that third pedal on the left do? I think you installed one too many. Maybe check on that, too. While you’re busy resolving these issues, I’ll be the asshole riding the bus with the rest of the assholes. Assholes.

So mad I could cut you,
Robbie P.
Nashville, TN

2008 Toyota Prius
Although I enjoy maintaining the moral high ground by driving this eco-friendly roadster, I am at a loss. Nowhere in, on, or near the Prius does there appear to be an Obama bumper sticker. Did you forget it? You didn’t forget the voice-activated navigation system. Or the steering wheel. Or anything else. Please rectify this problem post haste. And although I’ve made a small alteration just to get by, the Dukakis/Ferraro ’88 sticker looks somewhat dated.

Eric H.
Washington, D.C.

1984 Toyota Celica
Toyota, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Thanks to a tragic malfunction in the ’84 Celica’s timing belt, my husband is dead. No, it’s not a problem with connecting the crankshaft and the camshaft, and it has nothing do with the engine valves--I’m talking about experimental love. After removing the timing belt from the bowels of our vehicle, my husband Roger, myself, and the Korean prostitute dispatched ourselves to what we like to call “The Love Dungeon,” i.e., our shed. After Hyun Jung and I secured Roger, dressed in full Napoleonic regalia to an I-beam with the ultimately faulty timing belt, the miniature pony on which he sat spooked and darted off toward freedom, causing my soul mate to asphyxiate under less than erotic circumstances. Why not a safety release, Toyota? Also, when I put the timing belt back on, I think something went awry with the synchronization of the pistons. Every time I turn right, the car vibrates, Hyun Jung and I climax, and the radio plays the “Ding Dong Song” by Günther and the Sunshine Girls until I turn the car off and have a cigarette. My friend Terry said a similar thing happened to her husband, but they couldn’t afford a pony. Point is, it behooves you to look into this. For Roger's sake.

Heartbroken,
Mary S.
Austin, TX

2010 Toyota FJ Cruiser
Well, here I am all excited about the new Cruiser and what do I get? An unwieldy nuisance that hardly fulfills its role as an off-road juggernaut. Moreover, the high-mounted, double-wishbone front suspension you tout is no match for my ex-wife June and her husband Clint’s magnolia tree. You call this a utility vehicle? Where’s the utility in trying to ram that magnolia into the middle of their living room if contact at a mere 45 m.p.h. pushes the airbag into my face and the FJ Cruiser crumples into an awkward heap at the base of the tree? Is the utility in my having to ask the cuckolding Clint, the teetotaling, tan, and infuriatingly capable Dr. Clint, to reset my nose? I don’t think so. Is the utility in having June uncover the array of gentlemen’s pamphletry I’ve got stashed under my mattress in the rear cargo area? Or indeed that I am living in the FJ Cruiser and not with Winona Ryder in the Hollywood Hills, as I initially told her? I don’t think so.
The gross incompetence displayed by your workers in constructing this abortion of an “off-road” vehicle is dizzying. You’ve got ads with the Cruiser roaring around a rugged Martian surface, but it seems the old magnolia tree at 1673 Ivanhoe is a little too tough for the Cruiser (although I do applaud the rear intuitive parking assist function, which proved instrumental in crushing their tasteless yard gnomes).

Isaac P.
Miami, FL

P.S. On a quasi-related note, I should mention that the stock tires on the Lexus IS 300 are nearly impossible to slash. Infuriating, and again, embarrassing.

 

2000 Toyota Tacoma
There are seven cheeseburgers in my glove compartment and one sitting precariously atop the V6. Is this standard? I bought the Tacoma used, so I imagine someone else could have installed this option, but I’m trying to cover my bases here. You see, I love Jesus, but I drink a little.

Confused,
Sarah B.
Santa Fe, NM

1. Dontcha know it got cold when God heard we were worried ’bout the weather gettin' warmer!
   

2. Hey, Washington insiders! How's all that climate-changey stuff workin' out for ya?
   

3. I know global warming ain't real, cos the writing on my hand hasn't melted yet. Take that, TelePrompTerer elitist scientists!
   

4. God hugs some of us closer, but will ya look what he's done to the liberal East Coast élites lately? Coooold shoulder!
   

5. Sweaters are retarded.

-- First off, remember what Dr. Geldman said about judgmental language? I put "creepy" in quotes because I feel that you could have expressed your surprise of my having hundreds of pictures of Robert Pattinson on the wall of the guest room/office in a far more neutral tone.

-- While I also feel it was inappropriate of me to have Photoshopped Robert Pattinson over your and the kids' faces in the pictures on my desk, I was hurt that you failed to notice the quality and detail of the vector mask that I employed. I mean, that is a professional job, and should be recognized as such.

-- I thought we agreed not to bring up the fact that for a brief period of time I made Robert Pattinson the beneficiary of my term life insurance policy. I grant you that it was strange to replace my wife with a Hollywood heartthrob who doesn't even know me (although my endless letters and eventual restraining order should ring a bell with him), but hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

-- I know we have gone round and round about this, but once again I don't see what is so "disturbing" (again, your words) about having pictures of young, skinny boys pretending to be vampires all over my office. How is it any different from your H.R. department motivational posters? Some people have posters of a solitary runner on a beach at dawn with the words "Perseverance" in bold at the bottom, and that's cool. I, however, opt for the July issue of Tiger Beat with a Robert Pattinson pull-out poster. Did you know that we are both Geminis?

-- And yes, thank you. I'm well aware that I'm 38 years old, but frankly, I don't see how that is relevant to the issue at hand. You know as well as I do that vampires are immortal and therefore don't age. They are not hung up on age differences, so neither am I. Perhaps this is something that you could get through that granite slab that passes for your head.

-- Yes, I like to strike that "granite slab" retort. I'm just frustrated that I have to constantly defend my banal side interest of liking hot, ripped male vampires. It's not like I vote Republican or watch sports on television or something. Different strokes for different folks, right?

-- And finally, this conversation about my vampire hobby would not be complete without the whole: "Are you sure that you aren't gay?" thing. Have we learned nothing from all those years of Will and Grace? Just because a man approaching 40 suddenly finds himself interested in the mysterious world of sullen man-boys who live for darkness and do a lot of crunches does not imply that his long-standing sexual orientation should be questioned.

-- Oh, by the way, I TiVo'd Grey's for us tonight.

  CAN'T BELIEVE this day is finally here! The Olympics! I’ve been training for this since I was three years old. You know, I thought when I woke up today I’d be nervous. But I was surprised to find out that I wasn’t nervous at all. Just a little drunk.

I laughed when I realized that I was kind of drunk, because wouldn’t I choose the night before my big day to challenge a motorcycle gang to a drinking contest. "Oh, you’re a card," I said to myself. "You’re a joker." I laughed a little bit more as I remembered the evening. Then I decided that I better get on with my day, what with practice and all, so I asked Chainsaw to untie me.

Time for breakfast. I was thinking of eating the protein-rich meal that my trainer left outside my hotel room, but I found a half-eaten PayDay in the garbage so I just went with that. "They don’t call it PayDay for nothin’!" I said aloud, for no real reason, just to enjoy the cadence of my voice. "No, sir!" I bellowed. I suddenly felt filled with promise for my big day, so I hopped out of bed, threw on some clothes and went outside to chain-smoke.

"Well, whaddaya know!" I said aloud, again, as I pulled out my menthols and noticed that there wasn’t even one left to start the morning off right with. Luckily, a homeless man was shambling towards me, and I guessed (correctly) that he might have a few wise words about where to find some butts. He was a nice guy. A little reeking-of-whiskey-and-urine for my tastes, but a pretty approachable guy all the same. He said he liked the motorcycle jacket I won off Jack Knife last night. "Thanks," I said. He was wearing a garbage bag, so I couldn’t exactly repay the compliment.

As I was searching the sidewalk for butts, I noticed a cute little kid in my sight line walking around with his mom. I was distracted by his adorable waddle-walk for a moment, but then I remembered what I was trying to do and got back to scouring the ground. I found a decent butt, lit it and took a long drag. A couple moments later I heard the kid ask his mom, "Why isn’t that lady wearing shoes?"

That’s a great question, I thought. Most people hadn’t noticed my naked feet, or at least they pretended not to. This kid calls it like it is! I thought. A real straight-shooter. Reminds me of myself at that age. I chuckled as I remembered more about myself at age four. I demanded the best trainers, required handlers to follow a long list of rules about how to interact with me, pushed myself past my breaking point time and again. I was still laughing at this cute memory of my childhood self when I realized--Hey! I’ve spent far too long trying to fish this dollar out of the sewer.

"Forget that dollar," I told myself. I have more serious things to think about! For instance, it was only seven hours until the Olympics, and I still couldn’t decide whether to wear my Lycra-Spandex blend bodysuit with the thousands of sequins hand-stitched on or some old overalls. See, I knew the bodysuit fit me like butter and epitomized beauty and grace, but the overalls would certainly get me some laughs for the big hole in the butt. I keep forgetting to fix it!

I was ambling around downtown Vancouver, weighing the merits of my custom-made 2,000-dollar costume against those ragged farm clothes, when a really unlucky thing happened to me: I stepped on some broken glass. "Oh, shit," I said, trying to pick the shard out of my foot. "I have to do the Olympics tonight."

I was in pain. I have to do something about this, but what? I wondered. Call my trainer and probably go to the hospital? Sit in a boring waiting room, then wait around some more for parking validation? Maybe get treated to a snack while I wait—maybe not?

Hell, no. I knew that I didn’t want to go to the hospital, but I was at a loss as to an alternative. Then I remembered the words of a classic Beatles song about letting things be, and I knew just what to do.

I called Kenny, the guy who I used to buy Oxycontin from in college, and he gave me the name of a trustworthy guy that I could go to around here. That guy set me up with horse tranquilizers, and let me tell you, my mood has brightened wonderfully. Searing pain, schmearing pain!

I’ve got about six hours until my event. I have to fit a warm up in there somewhere, but that still leaves me plenty of downtime. I haven’t seen Avatar yet, but the only showing would only leave me about eight minutes to get to the Olympics. I think that if I can grab a taxi right after I got out of the movie then I’d make it. Yeah, I’d probably make it. I’ll go see Avatar.

But who to invite? I could ask one of my friends or family members who came to Vancouver to cheer me on. Then again, I could just as easily go back to that corner and see what the homeless guy's up to. I bet he hasn't seen Avatar yet. And if I throw him a few dollars, he might even duck out a little early to get the cab. Hey, now there’s an idea!

O, great Kanye, tell us: What is the solution to our energy crisis?
Kanye speaks: I use my arrogance as steam to power my dreams!

O, great Kanye, tell us: With all the evil in the world, how does one find true happiness?
Kanye speaks: I don't know what's better--gettin' laid or gettin' paid.

O, great Kanye, tell us: Will there ever be a cure for cancer?
Kanye speaks: My music isn't just music--it's medicine.

O great Kanye, tell us: Do you really have the power to heal?
Kanye speaks: The Bible had 20, 30, 40, 50 characters in it. You don't think I would be one of the characters of today's modern Bible?

O, great Kanye, absolutely. Your songs are modern parables. There's one I'm thinking of ...
Kanye speaks: "The way Kathy Lee needed Regis / That's the way y'all need Jesus."

O, great Kanye, that's the one. We are so Kathy Lee, and Regis is so Jesus. Tell us: Which character would you be in today's modern Bible?
Kanye speaks: I am the new Jim Morrison.

O, great Kanye, I'm confused. Jim Morrison? How so?
Kanye exposes himself.

O, great Kanye. Wow. Despite the odd format you've insisted on for this interview, it's going to be the greatest video on our--
Kanye speaks: I'm really happy for you, I'mma let you finish, but Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all time!

O, great Kanye, you're a national treasure.
Kanye speaks: My misery is your pleasure.

Written by Me in 1981

Why is the new James Bond movie For Your Eyes Only the greatest motion picture ever made? Because this movie has everything, including:

— Helicopters.
— Submarines.
— Motorcycles.
— Mountain climbing.
— Bobsledding.
— A biathlon that turns into a snow-skiing chase scene with motorcycles.
— Two Lotus Esprit sports cars. One blows up.
— A funny talking parrot.
— Hockey player assassins.
— The chick who plays Bibi, the professional figure skater.
— The chick who plays that hot brunette chick.
— The underwater dive-tank suit thing.
— A fight scene on the side of a cliff.
— A helicopter flies inside of a building.
— A helicopter drops a bald guy in a wheelchair into a smokestack.
— A car chase in a foreign country involving a Volkswagen Beetle.
— A casino scene that uses those big fancy rectangular chips.
— A tense dinner with the bad guy.
— Crossbows.
— Skinny-dipping.
— Big sunglasses.
— Pinkie rings.
— Dune buggies.
— A warehouse shootout.
— James Bond kicks a car off a mountain.
— James Bond throws a guy out of a window and he falls off a different mountain.
— When the two submarines get in a fight.
— When that cool-looking Greek guy uses pistachios to find the bad guys.
— When the one bad guy uses James Bond and the hot brunette chick as shark bait.
— When the supreme Russian bad guy goes to meet the other bad guy to get the high-tech device that the whole movie is about, but James Bond throws it off the mountain, the supreme Russian bad guy just shrugs and smiles and gets back in his helicopter and flies away.
— They say the name of the movie in the movie.