You want to be king of the wild things. Max, Jonah, you over there in the wolf suit, or its 2007 equivalent, the glow stick tee. As the forest grows, know nonchalance. The wild rumpus is at your bedside. And every seemingly mythical creature you encounter will be quite easily tamed. As long as we’re all on the same page here…

This Shit Is Savage

Because some imaginations/drugs take longer to kick in than others. So nice to see you again.

There’s a cut on my finger that keeps bleeding because I refuse to stop typing to let it heal. That doesn’t beat Gramps’ war stories, but I know he’s proud. So before I pass out on the enter key, gather ’round. Tell that person next to you “Shh, my stories are comin’ on.”

Whoever it was that explained the Soulja Boy dance to me so eloquently at Bleached Black, no thanks. I thought there’d be historical value or marching involved. Instead it’s that “In hip hop, we dance so much better than the rest of you” deal that I find impossible to learn at 1:43 am.

With Soulja Boy out, the throne awaits another. Burger Boy is the new face of populars. He assaults you with his laid-way-back genuineness. It’s game over when you try to cool breeze around this kid. That’s just not going to resonate.

If we’re talkin’ legit, forget what you’ve read or experienced at a Clockcleaner show, or even whether you’re on board with the tunes at all. Sharkey has some sweet with his sour. Let me try again. Sharkey is the most well-mannered motherfucker in Philadelphia and that would make anyone jeal, because when he says the word fuck it sounds like a sugarcube hitting the bottom of a gasoline cup at a Talkin’ Shit tea party. And meanwhile, you’re in a band that is actually good but you’ll never be as entertaining. Balance is a bitch. Make it out to the Sailor Jerry show on Saturday, see what I mean.

Keep on imaginatin’. In case you missed the tiff between Conrad and I over the weekend, I’ll reenact it for you here.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I gave you a black eye?”

“Watch yourself. Paul is standing over there with a camera. I can’t believe people think we like each other.”

“Blogfight? I’ll make your hits go up, chicken head.”

“Let’s just stage the thing. I’m trying not to wreck this fresh tee.”

[photo credit: philthy]

Are there enough turntables in the city for another deejay team? What appears at first to be a boyfriend/girlfriend set-up, which would blow the mind, is not. ‘Cause everybody knows nothing would kill a romance faster. Designer Drugs is a couple, but they’ve got two other guys on deck to moderate, and they’ll be gettin’ loud around here (Bleached Black, plus some other gigs in the works) this October. Have a listen at Big Stereo, which likens their jawnre to “titties come out music”. Turns out the E is still talking.

Everyone I sent to the Mad Decent Mausoleum for Blaqstarr/Diplo (that’s nice, guys, let’s bestow names upon more warehouses so that I’ve always got fresh material), is still sleeping. Did you think the words “Report back” meant by next Thursday? Bitches n’ hos.

DO WANT/DO NOT WANT

Cider/Juice
Unintentional Get-Togethers/Game Plans
Gray/Colors

Scene Points

Master Chief

So you were at Tattooed Mom’s Tuesday night, had probably already put Halo 3 down for a nap, and still found the energy to be social post-game. Are you, what, perfect? Wild thing, I think I love you.

TrendFucking

Pornogami

It’s origami, really, that is in its full-on revival phase, but after you make enough paper swans and unicorns, you get to next levular thinking. This is how we found out about penis origami, and several paper cuts later, we had handcrafted our way into the sex industry. So next time you’re at the strip club, turn that dollar bill into a proper token of affection. As for us, we’re got an erotic origami exhibit in the folds.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 27th, 2007 at 2:15 pm.