Good Music Friday

I take back every bad thing I ever said about any previous week in my life.
This was the most stupid, banal, ridiculous, arduous, pointless, frustrating waste of a week I’ve ever had, and it’s not even technically over yet.
A lot of stupid shit happened this week, both near and far.
I’m not going to go over it in any meaningful detail, but I do want to note the Trump riot that took place in my neck of the woods last night during his campaign stop. If these idiots running through the streets waving Mexican flags, lighting everything on fire, and throwing concrete blocks into moving traffic don’t realize they are making Trump’s point for him in spades, then perhaps they really are the spawn of third-world dullards that they’re reputed to be.
Other than that, I’m out.
Have a good weekend and get ‘em in double-time.
Fuck knows I will be.
And if there is a loving and merciful God, I will already be passed out by the time you read this.

SONG SELECTION

Sluts In The City
Fifth A Day
Penetration Moon
Burger Records | 1991


Good Music Friday

What a stupid week.
What a useless excuse for a five-day block of time.
Goddammit.
Anyway, we’re going to keep this quite short because I’m up to my viscous in other people’s unmitigated laziness. So in about 22 minutes I’m going to take a page out of that same book and commit some felonious sloth myself.
So what the Hell happened this week?
New York creamed its collective pants over Trump and CLINTON II, which has us shooting about PAR.
The queers are losing their ever-loving minds again because apparently there is no space in public or private life where their morally derelict predilections can be excluded or even unenthusiastically tolerated, because of course indulging the mentally ill and the perpetually adolescent is always the winning strategy. The more this goes on the more inclined I am toward the ISIS policy of throwing them from the rooftops for God to sort out.
That’s horrible, I know, but children and fags need boundaries and the visceral understanding of the consequences for their actions.
What else…
I’ve recently signed up for Amazon Prime, and I’ve been watching The Man In The High Castle in bits and pieces when I can. It’s sort of interesting but I’m having a hard time believing it. I’ve never read the book, so I have nothing to compare it to, but suspending disbelief enough to accept that the continental United States was invaded by both Nazi Germany AND Japan on both coasts, BUT THEN FOR SOME REASON STOPPED AT THE ROCKIES AND LEFT IT ALONE seems preposterous. Maybe it’s Vox Day’s doing with the Epic Beating Of The Dead Horse, but I just can’t swallow it. Also, I can’t accept the premise that the entire reason the US couldn’t compete in WWII is because FDR was assassinated in 1933, PROLONGING THE DEPRESSION AND PREVENTING THE CREATION OF THE US WAR MACHINE.
Okay. Fine.
I’ve had enough.
I’m calling it.
Get ‘em in and have a bitchin’ weekend everyone.

SONG SELECTION

Freedom Song
Fighting
Thin Lizzy
Vertigo Records | 1975


Good Music Friday

Guess what day it is.
C’mon now.
Guess.
It’s not nothing that the theme song to Happy Days slid right on past Friday like it didn’t even exist, because the true horror of the universe, the existential dread that fuels everything from The Tell-Tale Heart to The Twilight Zone is the fact that it’s always Friday, every single day, again and again, even when it’s not. Because what is Friday other than another way of saying it’s THE END?
THE END.
THE END WITH NO DISCERNABLE CATHARSIS, OTHER THEN THE HIGH-TENSION DREAD THAT NEXT WEEK IS ANOTHER BOULDER UP THAT HILL.
Good Luck and Happy Trails.
Out in the world, we’re just about half way through PHASE III of the US Presidential Election, and none of the important issues concerning it have come any closer to resolution. Trump is still in the driver’s seat. Cruz is still in the back seat. Kasich is still being drug along behind by a rope tied to the rear bumper. The Establishment is still making plans to carjack the whole damn thing. Sanders is still a communist, a crank, and more than a bit simple, and the Presumed Felon-Elect still faces potential indictments in an ongoing Federal election while her poll numbers do their best impression of the DOW after some wiseacre spooks the animal spirits.
And yet the people paid to talk about such things instead go on and on about the grim superficialities because it’s simply all they know, so hour after hour, day after day, week after week we get lots of gum-flapping and little to show for it.
I FUCKING LOVE REPRESENTIVE DEMOCRACY.
Closer to home the weather’s been great, I’m been busy teaching myself Selenium Webdriver for some reason, I managed to score a sincere letter of apology from none other than THE FUCKING IRS for their attempts to double-tap that which was never theirs, and I actually managed to make significant progress on the smoker. I’ll throw up picks later. It’s turning out pretty damn good if I do say so myself.
If y’all remember that thing I was trying to write last year about The Decline, well, I’m working on a shortened version that deals with the five primers and a little more in-depth explanation, and I’m aiming it for people like my mother-in-law who don’t really know any of the underlying issues but who have realized in the past couple of years that everything they once knew was a fraud. I think it’ll be about a 75 to 110 page little ebook and I’ll throw it up on Amazon or something.
I had laid out the broad strokes of the primers and the main thrust, and if any of y’all can think of things I missed, glossed over, incorrectly explained or am irredeemably incorrect about, please give me a heads up.
Anyway, that’s all I know right now.
Get ‘em in and have a badass weekend.

SONG SELECTION

She’s Drunk All The Time
High Noon In A Dark Blue Sea
Tim Timebomb & Friends
Pirate’s Press Records | 2013


Good Music Friday

Another day, another dollar, or so they say.
Funny thing though, I don’t feel like I’m a week richer, but I’m sure that’s just a figment of my imagination. I have it on good authority from the highest levels of Government that we’re doing fine. So fine, in fact, that we can bend economic law to our whim to save everything from the trees to the richest poor human civilization has ever known.
$15 an hour to flip burgers and sneer at customers.
The downside is that a lot of part time jobs will disappear.
The upside is a lot of those part time jobs went to people who used to work full time jobs before they disappeared due to the Affordable Care Act.
If I were a cynical man I’d suggest that it’s quite within the realm of possibility that the working poor are being hunted out of existence.
THANK GOD I’M NOT A CYNICAL MAN.
I’ve learned this week that Media Presumed President-Felon-Elect Hillary Clinton is stymied at every turn by the basic machinations of modern life – she can’t pour a beer; she can’t navigate a subway turnstile; she can’t crack a joke; she can’t take a joke; she can’t talk extemporaneously for five minutes without breaking down into an extended coughing jag.
Do they give you cough medicine in Leavenworth?
Oh in these pussy-ass cry-me-a-fucking-river times I’m sure they do, but I do enjoy the daydream where they send her off to a North Korean Labor Camp, and I can kill a good half-hour just playing that through in my mind.
So you can imagine my imminent disappointment even if they do end up indicting her.
On the GOP side, the Trumpenkrieg seems to be tiring, so much so that even Vox Day has seen fit to attempt an explanation. See, he’s so high-energy he just can’t keep up it through the doldrums. Yet he’s heading off to New York where he’s expected to win by more than 50%, with Cruz expected to finish a distant third.
The Train Is Fine.
Other than that, I haven’t heard much of what’s going on out there. I know that each new week ratchets up the aggregate level of insanity and instability in the social mood; this is best exemplified by a police chase yesterday that saw two robbery suspects do donuts, attempt ramp jumps, then end in a ghetto neighborhood at a cookout where the two were invited in – news choppers watched as the two robbers each got plates of food and a drink, and began partying it up, before the cops finally came in to get their guys.
Surreal.
It’s raining here, has been for a couple of days, and it’s supposed to for a few more. It’s a nice respite and gives me a perfect excuse to putter around the shop this weekend. Other than that, there’s not much going on.
Have a bitchin’ weekend and get ‘em in.

SONG SELECTION

Straight To Hell
Combat Rock
The Clash
Epic Records | 1982


Good Music Friday

So here we are.
Just like last week.
Reckon just like next week.
With something seeming like 38 minutes separating all three points.
I EVEN STUDIED TIME, AND I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT IN THE HELL IS HAPPENING HERE.
But that’s fine.
Fine.
I SAID FINE.
The world is crumbling by just about every measure, yet the clumps remain stuck together out of habit or poor hygiene, perhaps both. Given the insanity of recent events, I think I have to up my estimation of how much the social mood plays into the state of the civic order – it could very well be that the whole thing tears itself asunder through shear, cumulative panic; not a panic over resource scarcity, pending invasion, or widespread contagion, but one based solely on how a certain class of person feels about themselves when seen through the dim reflection bouncing off the face of the world, with its gross unacceptance of INTERSECTIONAL FLUBBITYGUMMIT and INSTITUTIONAL FLIBBERTYGIBBET.
WHY WON’T YOU CRETINS HATE HATE ALREADY?
If any generation was ever primed to dupe themselves into a nouveau Khmers rouges it’s the fucking Millennials, and I swear to God and you now if that happens I will wipe every last one of those slack-kneed wastes of human life from the face of the Earth.
Don’t think for a second that I couldn’t, especially in a post-apocalypse.
But not to worry.
We have a lot of miles to go between here and there.
Speaking of extensive mileage, I note that Hillary Clinton is none too happy with the state of things, again, and despite her many protestations to the contrary, her train is not fine. Voters don’t seem to like her, at least not in numbers sufficient to attend small high school sporting events. She is suffering from a number of conditions that are the inevitable result of extended corporeal living. Her opponent who has few advantages continues to steal her fish. Her former employer has ceased its own internal investigation into her many alleged crimes and misdemeanors in deference to a joint FBI/DOJ investigation, of which herself and her top team are the focus. She will soon be interviewed by the Director of the FBI in response to these crimes and misdemeanors. She might soon lose the New York Primary – the state for whom she was a carpet-bagging junior senator penning official senate memos to the characters of fictional television shows on company time – to a neo-socialist crank who, if I were to mirror the man’s life in tooth and letter, I’d still be a year away from my first-ever job. She continues to watch her doddering “husband” shuffle out on the road damning her campaign with faint praise at sparsely attended rallies half-populated with poorly kempt cougars looking to rekindle a little 90s magic with the former President of the United States. Her “husband” obliges a lion’s share of those cougars at every stop.
AND THAT’S JUST APRIL.
On the Republican side, I’m going to slide right on past it and talk about something else entirely. So two things.
First, despite my hardly ever watching television anymore, I have been watching The People vs. OJ Simpson and though it is a bit melodramatic, it’s quite well done. It absolutely captures the mood and feel of 1995, especially in Los Angeles, and does a good job of revealing why OJ walked when hardly anyone could believe it. The short answer is black people are racist, and I am a bit surprised that FX walked out on that particular limb with this show, but they did. Oh, sure, the cops were racist too, but the only thing you can walk away from that show understanding is that a black jury let a black man walk despite all evidence to the contrary, for no other reason than because tribal allegiances demanded it.
Second, I note with some hesitation that this is April Fool’s Day. I will brook none of it. If you won $12 million, had sex with a super model or find yourself on the run driving a beat-up Chevy LUV across the Sonoran desert while fleeing narcotrafficantes, bother me with it tomorrow.
I will not listen today.
Anyhow, the week is a done deal, for better and worse. The weekend brings too many things to do, some worthwhile, some less so. I haven’t had minute one to work on the smoker, so hopefully that gets remedied. Baseball season gets underway Sunday, much too soon. Fuck basketball.
So we drink.
Have a great weekend y’all.
Get ‘em in.

SONG SELECTION

Oh Glory, How Happy I Am
The Apostolic Studio Sessions
The Reverend Gary Davis
Adelphi Records | 1973


Wherein Huckleberry Hates Basketball

Not really, but it’s done now – Our Simple Affirmative Action President gets to ride off into the sunset victorious against me in the NCAA March Madness challenge, and he used my own alma mater to shiv me in the side and take the lead. Many thanks to the Kansas Jayhawks for tanking in spectacular fashion, along with the Virginia Cavaliers for folding like so much cheap laundry when they were ahead by 18 with 8 minutes to go. I can gain no more ground.
If UNC goes on, Our Simple Affirmative Action President gets to run up the score on me; if not, I lose by a measly 10 points. Sure, over the past four years of this he’s only managed to defeat me this one time, but no one will remember the three previous loses, just the win at the end.
Fuck I hate basketball right now.
In other news, shit’s blowing up, people are losing their ever-lovin’ minds more than I ever remember, and it’s barely Spring. Summer should kick shit off to a roiling boil, while the Fall earns its name in spades.
If you have a bunker, now might be an awesome time to give it a run-through and top-off the supplies.
You know, just because.

Good Music Friday

Another week has come and gone, with this being the only post you get.
My apologies.
It’s been busy around here, the weather’s been extremely fine, and I’m up to my ass in three kinds of oranges. Our orange trees have had the best year they’ve had since we bought the place, both in quantity and quality.
Made damn near $150 at the “Farmer’s Market” last night just in baskets of oranges, one type for juicing, the other two for eating.
AND I STILL HAVE MORE ORANGES
Buckets of them.
And the summer oranges are already blossoming, so Heaven help me.
This is going to be a short one, because it’s already been a long day, and I’ve “invested” a healthy portion of the orange-sale proceeds into liquid immolation of my liver, but we’ve got a few things to chaw over.
If the 2016 Election Season doesn’t entertain you, boy, you’re doing it wrong.
Good Lord, each new day presents 100 unbelievable things that in more earnest times would’ve probably convinced the Powers That Be to declare martial law and put a hold on the whole damn thing.
But shit rolls fast rolling down the southern slope of Western Civilization, and there’s no time for that.
Think about it – 50% of the Democratic field is currently under a couple of federal investigations and that’s the most above-board thing currently happening in the race.
Yet like all sugar rushes, the crash from this, too, will come, and it will be a tough one from which to recover. At some point, “meaningful” votes will be cast and tabulated (not to be confused by the meaningless votes cast and tabulated in the primaries that we’ve recently been informed don’t matter at all). This is all going to come to an end with someone becoming President of the United States. And then it’ll be time for everything else to end.
I feel cheery as all Hell, now.
Speaking of Hell, as I said last week with Europe about to kick off, well, it’s kickin’ off.
Always tough when you’re fighting two enemies at the same time. That puts a real wrench into the whole “the enemy of my enemy is a friend” concept, but hey, 4G warfare for the win. Self-professed experts who’ve never grown a damn thing, built a damn thing, or fixed a damn thing keep going on and on about the wonderful post-scarcity world that is surely coming ANY MINUTE NOW without ever realizing that the world of the here-and-now is sinking very quickly into neo-scarcity with alarming shortfalls growing nearly everywhere you look. At a time when the concept of anti-fragility needs to be embraced most emphatically, the average man has never been more fragile – suffering under the tyranny of the complex distribution system and refined model of the division of labor that has been shaved so fine that the machine is no longer comprised of cogs, but of dominos, just waiting to get tipped over.
The contemporary middle class – the one that nearly every instrument of power and influence in the world seeks to wipe off the map – is the most vulnerable from an anti-fragile standpoint both in practical terms and through an underlying fundamental philosophy. They (we?) are too interdependent on a complex system of allocation and distribution for both goods and services, as are all of the producers and distributors in that system. When it does all tip over – and it will – you’re going to have a lot of starving, angry, useless people all pointing fingers and pitchforks at each other. The underlying philosophy is that the entire story of the Western world since the onset of Modernist thought has been to shift the active to the passive; don’t build a car, wait for Water Pump AL6 to roll up to you, stamp and port it EXACTLY like so, then send it along to station 127B. For all of the amazing efficiencies that we’ve developed and that have helped create and shape middle class life as we know it, a life that depends on everything else doing exactly their part EXACTLY like so for it to not fall apart.
I can’t wait for the future.
Unfortunately.
Anyway, I’m out.
Have a bitchin’ weekend and get ‘em in.

SONG SELECTION

Wake Up And Lose
Live Forever Or Die Trying
The Humpers
Epitaph Records | 1996