YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS.
I DON’T HAVE TO TELL YOU DESPITE THE FACT THAT, FOR ALL PRACTICAL PURPOSES, YESTERDAY WAS ALSO FRIDAY, AND TOMORROW WILL ALSO BE FRIDAY, WHICH IS ODD, SINCE TODAY IS ALSO FRIDAY.
IF EVERY DAY IS FRIDAY, IS ANY DAY FRIDAY?
MEANWHILE, I’LL BE OVER HERE, NECK DEEP IN THE SHIT AND PREPPING THE DESERT REDOUBT IN THE FEW SCRAPS OF SPARE TIME I WINNOW OUT OF THE ALWAYS-FRIDAY, YOU KNOW, IN CASE THE DEEP STATE GETS REALLY DESPERATE AND DECIDES TO JUST START LOBBING NUKES EVERYWHERE TO BLAME TRUMP.
I MISS THE 80s WHEN SPY SHIT WAS COOL, INSTEAD OF, BASICALLY, A KLATCH OF BITCHY MIDDLE SCHOOL GIRLS WITH CLANDESTINE SURVEILLANCE CAPABILITIES, WETWORK EXPERIENCE, AND SLIGHTLY LESS EMOTIONAL COMPOSURE.
SO IT’S RAINING. AND IT’S GOING TO KEEP RAINING. PROBABLY FOR EVER. YET WE’RE STILL IN A DROUGHT. PROBABLY FOREVER. EVEN AFTER SACRAMENTO WASHES AWAY DOWN THE SAN JOAQUIN RIVER AND OUT INTO THE EAST BAY.
SO I’M OUT.
WILL BE DRUNK BY DUSK OR HALF-PAST OBLIVION, WHICHEVER SHOWS UP FIRST.
GET ‘EM THE FUCK IN, FRIENDS.
WE’RE ALMOST OUT OF THIS, YET.
Hit The Beach
Year Of The Spy
Rebellion Records | 2007
THERE’S NO TIME TO EXPLAIN.
LITERALLY NO TIME.
SINCE, AS WE’VE ALREADY ESTABLISHED, TIME IS MERELY A STATISTICAL TRICK YOUR MIND PLAYS ON YOU TO RECONCILE THE GAP BETWEEN DISTANCE AND VELOCITY THAT YOU ARE OTHERWISE INCAPABLE OF COGNIZING.
HAVE A BITCHIN WEEKEND AND GET ‘EM THE MOTHERFUCK IN.
I HAVE TO GO DRINK AND PASS OUT SOON.
TUEZ LA RÉSISTANCE.
You’ve Got A Great Body, But Your Record Collection Sucks
More Trouble Than They’re Worth
Nitro Records | 1998
Too wretched of a week for an update, but I do have some hilarious thoughts on psychotic liberals with their hair constantly on fire, the cute, adorable plan for these psychotic liberals to break California away from the Union, and how the the man whom these psychotic liberals describe as the most unpredictable President of our lifetime has in fact been the most predictable President in living memory.
All that, and more, maybe some time this weekend.
Until then, get ’em in and see you on the other side.
Slash Records | 1981
You can’t spell “FRIDAY” without the letters F, D, R, Y, A, and I.
And that’s a fact.
You can also use those letters to assemble an ol’ timey spelling of the word “FRAYED”.
Here we go.
Looks like I’m going to have to spend a considerable amount of the weekend working a job that will probably disappear when this thing streaks across the sky upon re-entry like the Space Shuttle Columbia did about 14 years ago. Yeah, that was about 14 years ago.
In the world, I must note that President Trump has accomplished more for the people that elected him than any president of my adult life has managed to accomplish for their entire administrations combined. Love him or hate him, at least he’s doing what he said he was going to do, which is something a president hasn’t done since, probably, Coolidge. The assholes in the back of the room would insist on Kennedy or FDR, but Kennedy got shot and FDR never disclosed his deep desire to connive the country into WWII.
So fuck that noise.
Trump’s opposition and the Press (but I repeat myself) are not going to survive at this pace. Their nervous systems will simply shut down from the panic-induced stress, and they will either succumb to a form of shock, or their cardio-pulmonary systems will shred themselves from the inside-out from constant endocrine agitation.
I’m good with either.
I’m calling this a little short. I’ve still got fuck-tons to get done by end of day, just so I can spend the first sunny Saturday in three months stuck behind a desk.
Have a great weekend and get ‘em in doubletime.
The Real McKenzies
Fat Wreck Chords | 2012
Slow news Friday, huh?
Nothing at all going on today, huh?
Little of note has transpired today, huh?
So a horrible president is gone, a president that at least speaks to my issues is in, and worse case scenario I’ve got four years of schadenfreude laid out gently before me.
Packs of feral, conspicuously well-fed “protesters” really thought they were going to stop the inauguration by wreaking near-impotent havoc blocks away (oh no they threw bricks through the windows at Starbucks that’ll stick it to those KKKFASCISTS). But aside from petty vandalism incoherent thuggery, the HASHTAGDISRUPTJ20KDSFLSDVKMLKCXZSV revealed the hollow rage and impoverished imaginations that have become the calling card of your government issue Millennials, chapped as they surely must be at the dawning realization that their #RESISTANCE and #DISSENT isn’t even hardly worthy of being crushed.
Life is hard to bear, you cupcake faggots, but don’t pretend to be so delicate.
In other news, it’s pouring rain near continuously for weeks here, BUT DROUGHT, so I’ll be sure to conserve while we all get washed away. Still absolutely swamped with this, the project that just won’t die. Fixing in on an end-of-February re-launch date, so I could be spending St. Patrick’s Day freelancing at home in my underwear.
Other than that, I’m tired, water logged, and yet relieved that Our Simple Affirmative Action President is entirely past-tense. And make no mistake, he was Affirmative Action in every way. The media couldn’t stop fapping themselves into successive comas about how THIS WAS THE BEST PRESIDENT EVER YOU GUYS and SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS BEST FIRST LADY EVER and OMGDLSKNFL:SDF VC:D FIRST FAMILY! and so on.
While I would love to think he’s gone and will quickly be forgotten, the people who think they write the collective pop history books are well on their way to lionizing a lazy, impudent, petulant, simple, dim, dull, aloof, un-American sack of luke-warm feces expelled all over a helpless victim on Chicago’s south side on a hot summer night. This has me questioning most of what’s accepted as conventional historical fact, but that should be a given for all seasons.
So long Barack “The Islamic Shock”, adieu and bonswa.
Tonight, I shall enjoy a celebratory drink or five in the comfort of my office, and for the first time in eight near-infinite years, I won’t have to wonder how this pathetic man will fuck up next.
Get ‘em in and have a great weekend, friends.
Ride Of The Valkyries
Richard Wagner, perf. Wilhelm Furtwangler & The Vienna Philharmonic
Hit the bricks, you effete, effeminate, effusively ineffectual sack of affirmative action virtue signalling.
May you trouble our lives no longer.
Sick as all Hell.
But the best cure for congestion isca stiff drink.
So there’s that.
We’re callin’ it early.
Have a bitchin’ weekend and get ’em in where you can.
A Perfect World
Another Day In Paradise
Fat Wreck Chords | 1994