Music is not just dead, it has been murdered

Music used to be alive and well, prospering even.  After enjoying decades of progression of sound, style, savagery, the last 7-10 years have been quite a disappointment.  Unfortunately, it has become an evil I have learned to live with.  I have my CD collection (that’s right, fuck IPods) and I am damn proud of it.

Music is not created anymore, all that are created are flash-in-the-pan media sensations the 8-14 year old girl demographic can have blossoming sexual fantasies about.  Oh yeah, and the teenage gyrating girls have the target dempgraphic of 8-65 year old men too.  Basically, those with musical taste are fucked. 

It is no longer about talent, but marketability.  Can you sing and dance?  Marvelous, but if you don’t have a GQ or Victoria’s Secret face, there is no future for you.  Go have some surgery with the assholes on Rodeo Drive, then maybe we can talk.

Whatever happened to giving people like Janis Joplin, Ray Charles, Chuck Berry, etc a chance?  They were all ugly motherfuckers, but who cared?  The ability and passion they showed through their music overshadowed any arbitrary physical negatives.  Their music inspired, and continues to inspire people.  These are timeless artists; those whose melodies and lyrics could transcend generations and still be relevant to your grandchildren.  Let’s see how, “Hit me baby, one more time”, “Dirrrrrrrrrrrrty”, and “Tearin’ up my heart” survive the next 20 years.  Oh wait, you already forgot about those songs and those people?  That’s right, they are all shadows of their former non-talented multi million dollar selves.   

Take a look at the most recent highest selling albums.  I haven’t, but if I have learned anything from TV and USA Today, they are as follows.

1.  High School Musical

2. High School Musical 2

3. High School Musical 3

4. Hannah Montana

5. Solja Boi

Who the fuck are these people?  Useless euthanasia canidates for all I care.

My hatred for contemporary music has been brooding for a long time.  There has not been any new music I have enjoyed in quite some time.  Whatever my disdain is for these Johnny and Jenny come latelies, what I saw today was pre-meditated musical murder.  This, “artist” had to plan, rehearse, and ultimately feel good enough to carry out the act.  According to law, this clearly establishes criminal intent, which is punishable by death.  If America had any balls (which it does not) this person would be put to death.

Who am I talking about?  Fergie, of course.  Viewer discretion is advised, suggested, and encouraged because I doubt you readers can be held accountable for your actions.

Jesus, how off-key do you have to be to get gonged and have a comically oversized hook wrapped around your neck, dragging you off stage in shame.  Apparently, at least 3 octaves.

I’ll give it to Fergie however.  She, or her prop manager (most likely her prop manager) is incredibly clever.  Fashioning a gun on the microphone stand, and having Fergie point and shoot at the audience is a brilliant allegory for the vocal assault upon the audiences’ ears.  Furthermore, if it wasn’t bad enough to have Fergie perform at whatever Bizzaro World venue this was, the promoters had that drunken retarded dwarf Danny DeVito introduce her. 

I can just imagine the pre-concert meeting with all the executives.

“Hey, you know what would make this show great?  If we cash in on the waning popularity of a dancer with no singing talent from an Uncle Tom rap group.”

*yeahs can be heard all around as all the yes men jiggle their turkey necks*

“Snap!  You know what would be better?  Let’s have her bastardize an incredible Paul McCartney song with her cottage cheese thighs laboriously tucked into leather pants gyrating around a stage full of pyrotechnics and over-the-hill backup dancers.”

“Oh yeah, and let’s get Danny DeVito to sing her praises and introduce her.”

“Secretary, draft two blank checks for these untalented non savage assholes.” 

phewww….

i just farted in my cubicle again, but it went through the whole office.  sweet.

Watch, “Flight of the Conchords”

Comcast, in its infinite wisdom, has deemed it necessary to remove HBO from my TV.  Ever since The Sopranos series finale, HBO is only offered to those with digital cable.  Weak.

However, while I still had HBO I saw previews for their new shows, John from Cincinnati and Flight of the Conchords.  Like many people I thought, “Hmm, these can’t be as good as HBO staples like OZ, The Wire, or even The Sopranos.”  Thus, I cast them off because I knew I would not be able to view them once Comcast digitally castrated me.

Last month though, a good friend of mine – who has digital cable, and HBO – asked me to come to her place to watch Flight of the Conchords; she thought I would enjoy it.  And man, she was right.

Let’s get a little background information on these guys first, before I detail the show.  Flight of the Conchords is the name of a folk comedy duo (Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement) from New Zealand.  What’s folk comedy you ask?  It is picking up an acoustic guitar and singing comedic songs, or having comedic banter while picking.  Think of Dmetri Martin when he abandons the oversized pad, and picks up his guitar.  Flight of the Conchords was a huge hit in international comedy festivals, and had their own BBC 2 radio show, that served as the precursor to the HBO show.  They have been around.

 

The premise of their HBO show is, their band has come to New York to make it big.  However, they struggle to get gigs, are constantly stymied by an inept (but hilarious) band manager, and try to cope with New Yorkers who think they’re British.  Sounds like a pretty generic premise.  Well, it is.  Yet, it is pulled of with brilliant British-style comedy, and they incorporate their comedic folk act into the show.  That’s right, they break out into song, rap, reggae, etc multiple times each show, leaving the supporting cast of characters dumbfounded.  This show is also great because they don’t film in any studios, everything is filmed in New York city.

I have been warned by Stoney not to put up too many videos because he is worried it will increase page load time, thusly losing a lot of our readers.  What a Negative Nancy.  Please Stoney, I wrote the Pegasus post, I get some leeway bitch.  Let’s start with some of their comedic folk act, shall we?  Let’s, because it’s business time.

It is songs like that that they incorporate into their episodes.  Don’t like it?  Then you should abandon this post because there is more to come.  Stoney has written some bullshit on NASA, why don’t you check that out.

The Conchords are not limited to folk music, they can “hip up” their act with some rap stylings.  I love the way they bring their songs to life in their show.

Hiphopopotamus vs. Rhymnocerous

They also use some outdated special effects and song genres, which leads to more hilarity.

Are you into it?

The Conchords are also very deep, using metaphors for such complex things as love.

Well I will tried to adhere to Stoney’s warning about too many videos…..pffft whatever.  Knowing him, most of these videos will be deleted by the end of the day because he is a prick.  However, I will leave you with probably my favorite on stage song the Conchords perform.  It is like trying to choose my favorite beer, they’re all delicious and fuck me up.  Except, “you know who”.

You should feel priveledged to view this song because it was not intended for humans.

The Conchords used this song as the closing credits to one of their episodes.  If you would like to see how stand up transfers to TV, check it out.  They changed it a little, but the point still gets across.  The humans are dead, they used poisonous gasses to poison their asses, and BINARY SOLOS ABOUND!

Hopefully you will get to see all these videos before Stoney chops them.  I love Flight of the Conchords, you should too.  They have been picked up already for a second season after they have hit it big, which is a lot more than I can say for John from Cincinnati, Suit.

Konichwa, bitches

Puts everyone to shame.

 p.s. stoney’s a bitch

heading west…

…is a frightening prospect.  pretty worried over here.  what if the moviestars like the oompa loompa are too sophisticated for me?  shit, what am i saying?  more sophisticated than ME?!  ME?!!  i know.  you’re all saying to yourselves, “suit, why are you worried?  you are the classiest mutherfucker since don johnson.”  well, i know.  i know.  i mean, it is my divine providence after all.  i’m like lewis and clark.  except more like clark, cuz i’m not going to shoot myself after i get back home. 

all the same, i’m a little worried.  they might be on a different level of consciousness, and maybe i won’t even be able to communicate with them.  worse yet, i might wreck the rental car or get my wallet jacked at lax.  shit, they might blow up my damn plane  — atlanta to lax.  sounds like a lot of fuel in that boeing. 

no good stressing out, though.  that’s why, with this post, i’ll chronicle some of the main reasons why i’m looking forward to l.a.

1.  crossing the mighty mississippi — never done it yet and am looking forward to it, big time.  a big milestone for a waterman like me.

2.  going to another mlb ballpark — dodgers stadium should be fun.  as long as they sell beer and caps, i’ll be all good.  a mets’ loss (or, better yet, a terrible injury to beltran) would just be icing on the cake.

3.  seeing my ole pal roughtonious — live 2 hours down the road from him and have to go to l.a. just to touch bases with a guy i used to see 5 times every day.  p.s. roughty, i apologize for stealing all those subway station sandwiches from you.  i always blamed in on stoney, but it was really me sometimes.  also, while i’m apologizing, sorry for laughing at you for the sj punch to the grill.  you did have it coming, though…  pffft.

4.  feeling comfortable in another city — when you’re a homeboy like me, you really get confident when you go someplace else and can function like a reasonable human.  not sure if this will happen, but i’m thinking positive.

5.  not leaving my wallet in the bar — stoney will remind me this time after the “off the wagon” incident in greenwich vill.  if not, he’ll have a new permanent roommate.

6.  going to the actual locations where some of my favorite movies were shot — training day, friday, don’t be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in the hood.

7.  going to all my favorite places from 90210 — the beach where brenda met dylan, west beverly high, the radio station where david silver learned about speeeeed.

8.  meeting lady t. — after all the hype, i’m ready to meet the genuine article.  if she can make our boy take nudie pics off the blog, she must be a wonderful person.  —editorial sidebar — yes, i’m kissing ass, boys.  this is what you do before you go and share a teeny living space with somebody you never met before.—

9.  the pacific ocean — another one of those things i never saw before.  should be suhweet, gnarly, bodacious and that hang ten sign you do by sticking out your thumb and pinky finger and jiggling your hand around.  maybe i’ll finally get to see the monster swells like on point break.  i’m paddling out, bra!

10.  smoking west coast rocks — i heard they’ll make you grit your teeth until they fall out.  i already packed up my tire pressure guages and steel wool.  yall know how we do.

most of all, though, there’s number 11. scratching the shit out of my pal stoney’s cd collection — i’m sitting here listening to let it be, and wouldn’t you know it, the shit is scratched right to hell — right in the middle of the long and winding road, no less.  why don’t i take it out and put in something else like the love below?  oh.  that is scratched to shit as well.  oh.  what about all your sublime cds?  you guessed it.  looks like someone ran them over.  bob dylan discs?  fuuuucked up.  broke a cd player with one of them just last week – seriously.  why are all my cds scratched?  i’ll tell you.  it’s this blog’s fearless leader — mr stoney.  it’s almost as though he destructulated my shit on purpose.  oh well, iain’tmadatcha.  all i’m saying is you better hide your shit, holmes.  for real.  i’m bringing some rusty nails and broken glass for the whole collection.

all jokes aside, i can’t wait to see my friends again.  the only thing that would make it better is if dankkkkk could come.  what am i saying?  i know he could come if he really wanted to.  (peer-pressure’s a bitch, muthafuckah.) 

Stonies = Beatles

If we were the Beatles, who would be who? Here’s who…

Stoney– John Lennon. John Lennon invented the Beatles. It’s not all in the name, but he did come up with “The Beatles.” When John quit the Beatles, it was over. John wrote savage, uncouth songs that were unpolished and raw. Not one to think too much or worry about the trim and dressing, John stuck to the essence and focused solely on his message. Stoney, as we all know, made up this retarded blog, name and all, one day at work when he was blazed up and trying to find something more exciting to do. StoneyWageSlave is Stoney’s brainchild, and Stoney is the bombshit heart of this society of internet savages. If Stoney quit blogging, the internet as we know it would crash down, and the markets and economies of the world would probably soon follow. Please, Stoney, don’t ever quit…

Dizzy Miss Lizzy, a cover….

Roughty– Paul McCartney. One word totally sums up the deep relationship between Paul and Roughty: TRUMPET. Paul came from a jazz music background, and he created thick, dense songs with lots of layers, style and arrangement. Note Roughty’s excessive, though dubious, greasy style and ability to string the reader along on merry rides of worthlessness.

“When I’m 64”

Suit– George Harrison. The bitter, sour bastard of the group, George Harrison really had no time for other people’s opinions, and pretty much did whatever he wanted. Musically, Suit is Paul because he sings like a neutered 12 year old boy, and is by far the most impressive “musician” of the group, as opposed to John’s slap-stick bullshit that he just ADD’ed his way into making up. The crux of Suit’s relationship to George is his sour personality. When I see Suit working on a post, I see him hunched over, in the dank basement of some terrible educational institution, searching for funny pictures on Google, and muttering about how hard it is to keep up with me and Roughty’s quality content. I know it’s hard to keep up, sometimes, old buddy, but if you try hard enough, we might let you record your own song on our last LP.

“Don’t Bother Me,” George’s first song, if I recall

Dank– Ringo Starr. And then there was Dank. Ringo was the last member of the Beatles to join the group, after much begging and pleading from the lads. And so it was with Dank, after constant berating, that he joined our merry crew and began telling tales of chivalry and intense video game battles. What Dank lacks in deep thought and originality, he makes up for with classic timelessness. In all seriousness, seriously…Dank is Ringo. There isn’t that much to debate about on this one.

“Don’t Pass Me By”

American Rock = The Blood of the Universe

Before I start, I want to mention that I did not include Pink Floyd in the Brit bands. Pink Floyd is classic, but never one of my loves. Pink Floyd, I forgot about you, but I don’t really care that much. Sorry.

The broad scope of American rock makes it hard for me to pinpoint any one thing, or to focus too long on anything. This is going to be a whambamthankyoumam kind of thing.

First, Elvis. Elvis is the fucking King of Rock and Roll. There is no other king. Chuck Berry is there too, but Chuck Berry is not the King of Rock and Roll. Elvis is the King. Without Elvis, I don’t know what would have happened. We would probably have an Elvis with a different name. Elvis, as a red-blooded American rock student, I salute you.

The 27 Club. The 27 Club is an exclusive club, reserved only for rockers who achieve amazing, superstar status through the exceptional qualities of their polyphonic debris. 27 Club members all died when they were 27, at the height of their fame. Most of the deaths can be linked directly to over-consumption of drugs, or a very closely related factor.

These people did not get rich and internationally famous because of their connections, their pretty face, their money, or any other thing than how badass they were at rocking the fuck out.

There are 5 member of the 27 club. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Kurt Kobain. How many Brits are in this infamous list, the sealed stamp of approval of rockstar god status? 1. Uno. Un. One. The ratio of Brits to Americans in this most critical list is 1:4, and that ratio plays itself out all over the place.

Is it wrong to base my decision on a list of musicians that glorifies a fiery death through rock and roll? No. Rock and Roll is a force of nature, a force unto itself, a mythical beast which exerts an enormous influence on the way people perceive and act upon the world. The thing about rock and roll is, it’s not even subliminal. These people are singing songs to us, lyricizing our deepest fears and desires, using everything that they have experienced to create a new experience for us. And we willingly buy (or steal online) these people’s souls, the product of an extraordinary effort of introspection, and then projection. It is a transcendent experience to listen to a live performance of rock; “a more perfect union” can be achieved, which is not all that different from doing the nasty.

Rock and Roll is a form of art, but it is also a form of religion. I, for one, deeply believe in the power of rock and roll, and the feelings and sentiments the music can inspire. Rock and Roll has changed my real-world actions before, it has pushed itself into my life and into the lives of the people around me. I am better for it, too.

When John Lennon said, “The Beatles are bigger than Jesus,” he was fucking right. There were, and still are, more people creating a more personal, intimate, transcendent relationship with their chosen rocker, than there are people creating those same types of relationships with Jesus. If you go to church and daze off, or do whatever, that doesn’t count, and I know it, and Jesus knows it. When you go to a real rock show, and something hits you in the stomach, you choke up, you tear up…you are having a fucking experience that can never be achieved again, ever, by anyone. It was your show, the band is on for you, and if you do it right, you can come away with something that is more than just a light show or magic show. It is a religious experience.

Now that I have established that rock and roll is a religion, I move on. Every religion needs a sacrificial lamb. The Gods of Rock are not a mellow breed. They do not take kindly to negligence. They need blood, and that’s what American rockers are here to provide. American rockers are the soul of Rock and Roll. Rock and Roll was invented here, Rock and Roll grew up here, and Rock and Roll will die here. The blues are from the deep South, via Africa, and I’m not really sure where country western is from. Mix those fuckers up, and you get some rock and roll.

I could go on. I could list band after band of American rockers, and compare them with British rockers, and see who borrowed what from who, and blabla. I’m not going to, though, because it all comes down to the fact that Rock and Roll is an American past-time, and it always will be. The altar of Rock is built on American soil, and stained with American blood.

I think that the icing on the cake is a club I kinda made up…the 28 Club. Right now, Bradley Nowell (sublime) and Shannon Hoon (blind melon) are the only two I have in there. I’m saving a spot open for Pete Doherty this year; he’ll be 29 next March.

For a sum-up, I chose Blind Melon’s song, “Galaxie.” Shannon Hoon died of a cocaine overdose, a roadie found his body in the bus, right before the band’s soundcheck.

Rock and Roll = Savage

For anyone who has shit to say about glorifying the wrong things about rock and roll, or blabla, I say, “Fuck off.” If it wasn’t about dying in the name of rock, then why aren’t there a bunch of badass rockers, making real rock and roll? They are out there, but they are few and far between. I am not lamenting the end of rock, because I believe in it too much to doubt. White Stripes, Strokes, Pete Doherty, here and there we see glimpses of eternal greatness.

There will be more.

The Strokes: A Dedication

I like my music. Roughty likes posting asinine, stupid videos. Here is an asinine, stupid video about music I like.

The Strokes are one of the defining bands of this generation. Period. Is This It? came out in 2001, and it was fucking nasty. Whether or not you like the strokes, or how they look and shit, you cannot deny the beats and the tunes. It’s like trying to deny Al Green or something, it just cannot be done, all matters of taste and opinion aside. If you are alive and listen to music, you cannot deny the strokes.

Watch this video of Jules, the lead singer. Jules is a fucking savage pimp, and all indie-hipsters who claim such recognition and categorization owe a large percentage of their self-identity and worth to this biotch. Fucking savage.

I would like to note a few things from this video. I only watched it once, and I’m at work, so I’ll try to paraphrase, and keep it fuzzy.

1. Note Jules’ excessive inebriation. He can barely speak. If I had to guess, he is real fucked up on a variety of drugs, which I won’t even try to put my finger on, because my guess is, it’s probably a lot worse than it looks. This guy is a fucking rockstar, and he is totally whacked out of his mind.

2. Note Blu-Blocker sunglasses. No coked-out, fucked up interview would be possible without the strongest, and biggest black UVA-blocking glasses on the market. In the general sense, I apply a simple rule for identifying when rockers are fucked up. The bigger the sunglasses, the more they are hiding. If you are wearing bright yellow, tiny trendy glasses to the show, then you are not hiding hideous, glaring red eyeballs with a black eye to boot. Jules is fucked up, and very much so. Rocker.

3. The guy asks Jules, “Remember that time when you put out Room on Fire, was it really just this huge whirlwind of drugs, booze and sex? Like they say it is? Was it really like that?” Jules goes, “Uhhhh ya.” Period. He’s not bragging about it. He hasn’t slept in days….”remember the good old days when you were a rockstar?”….uhhh you mean like what I did last night and what I’m doing tonight and the night after that? Ya I remember that, it’s called rock and roll, and that’s why you are a reporter, and I’m the star. Next question.

Anyway, I could keep going, but I won’t. This video is dedicated to Roughty, who loves the strokes more than me, and introduced me to this most excellent band.

Julian Casablancas = Savage

Also note, video is in French, excessive use of over-used clips of over-used songs, and again, how fucking wasted is Jules?

Again…am I a rockstar blogger? I like to think so.

Rubber Matches, Growing Up, Other Reflections and another Roll Call

the first category tag i clicked was worthless friday, cuz that’s what i’m in.  it’s fantastic.  finally some time to interact with the tech-junkies, alcoholics and weed-fiends who read this link-laden, anti-american, diaperlicious bloghole. 

has anybody noticed that politics are continuing to play a large role in our blog?!  i can’t believe that shit.  if you knew, (and most of you do), the authors, you’d be as surprised as me.  four years in the burg, and we never talked about it.  now it’s all over everything.  i think that comes along with growing older.  things we never cared about before are starting to look more and more important.  we’re all realizing our global citizenship, and i think it’s pretty encouraging.  now all we have to do is change the minds of all the fuckos in general society *(see stoney’s note about the a&f models on the airplane… these are the dipshits to whom i’m referring.) 

on another very different topic, there’s this issue going on in the baseball world.  my boy john smoltz won his 200th career decision last night.  i don’t need to remind any of you who the braves defeated.  i don’t need to tell you that they beat the metropolitans.  further, i don’t need to explain to any of you that this win brough the braves record against the mets to 6 wins and 3 losses on the season.  no, i don’t need to mention any of these things.  why am i talking about it then?  to hurt your sensitive yankee feelings?  no.  to rub salt into your still-smarting wounds from last october?  of course not.  well, i’ll tell you why.  the braves are currently recruiting new fans, and if you all have been converted over the past few days, just let me know, and i’ll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation.  no guarantees, but it’s at least a 50-50 they’ll accept you.  last night’s prodigious victory over the hated mets was a rubber match.  “what is a rubber match?” all of you except the sport-savvy roughty might be asking yourselves.  again, i’ll explain it for you.  in a 3-game series, if each team wins one of the first two games, game three is the rubber match.  in a 7-game series that’s tied at three games each, game seven is the rubber match.  check out this helpful wiki article on the topic.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubber_match

what’s the point of this discussion? it’s not just to make fun of the sucky mets.  in fact, i want to bring it back to politics.  since i’ve been old enough to think about politics, there have been two presidents.  (during bush the elder’s administration, i didn’t understand anything at all about it.)  these presidents have been billy clinton and george dubya bush — a democrat and a republican.  in 2008, we’ll have the rubber match between these two political powerhouses.  as in sports, this rubber match will play a big role on the way our generation will be viewed.  will our generation be defined by the shitty republicans or the shitty democrats?  lord only knows.  i got a guess, but it’s just that — a guess.  so i won’t even mention it here.  in a baseball rubber match, all we can do is drink beer and root for our own version of the good guys.  last night, my team won, and i was happy.  roughty’s team lost, and i’m sure he drowned on his tears.  in politics, however, we can play the game and get involved.  we can be the shortstop who turns the double play, or we can be the asshole who lets the ball roll right between his legs.  (by the by, what team was he on again?  hahaha.)  either way, in politics, we don’t have to sit on the sidelines.  we can cast our votes and join in the action, right?  here’s the other big difference.  if i make a throwing error, and the winning run scores for the other team, the game is over and i immediately know who won.  if i hit the walk-off homer, it’s conclusive.  i’m the big winner.  with politics, it’s not so cut and dry.  i might cast my vote and be all happy for a couple years after my selected puppet wins.  then, out of nowhere, he blows some country off the map, and my walk-off homer turns into a “you-blew-it” game ending error. that’s why, when this year’s political rubber match comes along, i’ll be drinking beer and watching from the sidelines.  the punchline of this discourse — do yourself a favor and don’t vote.  vote for your favorite amer. idol.  vote for which of the stars dances best.  vote for the best apple pie you ate at the county fair.  don’t vote for the president.  you’ll invariably be sorry!

thus ends the politics of this post.

i’m still going to school.  it still sucks.  i also work at a school.  that, too, is no good.  i am trying to learn about the material required for my degree, but all i keep learning about is that everybody only cares about money.  the only question my peers and superiors ask themselves is, “how can i make the most money off this situation?”  it’s sad to think that this is the world we’re trying to earn membership into.  maybe the solution is to drop out and move to an island and try to grow coconuts for food and decorative brassieres.  my ridiculous boss’s boss’s boss’s boss volunteered me today to take part in some terrible task around the office.  my autonomy is non-existant.  i don’t decide what i do at all.  they tell me what to do, and i do it.  it’s bad for one’s psychology.  you’ve all been there.  i guess the right thing to do is just grin and bear it until retirement… in like 60 years.  one more thing about work, i had to make a presentation yesterday to a room full of suits.  i wore a rainbow colored (ambiguously androgenous) plaid shirt untucked and my oldest, rattiest pants.  i gave a great presentation.  (probably because dank wasn’t there flicking his damned zippo to distract me.)  after this, i got an email from my boss’s boss who told me that i should have dressed nicer.  this is a big old problem in our society.  why in the world do people still judge you based on the clothes you wear?  i’ll tell you.  it’s because they’re terrible idiots who don’t know any better.  and these are the people who i’m scrambling to compete with as a peer…  sad.

well, mr dank nuggets is in, so let the fun begin.  in honor of him, i’m taking this opportunity to post yet another savage roll call.  feast your eyes on the following collection:

most savage cartoon character:  Monterey Jack — he’ll whip your ass and then console you in a lovely aussie accent.

honorable mention:  Nermal — fresh off the boat from abu dhabi

least savage cartoon character:  Rita and Runt — an ill-fated space-filler in an otherwise exceptional show

most savage world leader:  Queen of Jordan — rules with an iron fist and a lovely pair of jumblies

honorable mention:  Stalin — (translation of caption:  respect the moustache.  fear the moustache.  obey the moustache.)

least savage world leader:  Jacques Chirac (someone either just snuck up him, or he was presented with a lovely quiche.)

most savage cereal mascot:  Sonny (cocoa puffs) — this guy has “junkie” written all over his face

honorable mention:  Andy Milonakis (fruity pebbles)

least savage ceareal mascot:  Tony (frosted flakes) — why don’t you find a gayer bandana.  we’re not all convinced you’re a homo yet.

most savage car model of all times:  AMC Eagle (no competition)

honorable mention:  El Camino (the original cross-over vehicle)

least savage car model of all times:  ford tempo (my first car)

most savage blogger:  suityourself (no photo available)

least savage blogger:  you (look in the mirror and recognize your inferiority.)

finally, most savage drugs:  steriods

least savage drugs:  whipits (you’ll freeze your lungs)

They are the Diamonds, they’re here to play football.

This is a video from 1986, who would have ever guessed?  The Diamonds cash in then surpass the Bears’ wildly successful, “Super Bowl Shuffle”.  We always know where we stand with these men.  They tell us how it is; they are the Diamonds, they’re from Glasgow, and they’re here to play football.  Football is their game.  How simpler can it be?

Apparently, all football players from Glasgow are required to sport sinister moustaches, and must live by all 1980’s American fads.  I would also like to note that the Diamonds’ running back has achieved the ability to execute the perfect spin move, leaving all defenders dazzled yet embarassed.  This guy is giving my Madden 07 character a real battle for spin move supremacy.

The Diamonds is a tough name for your team.  I’m surprised there haven’t been any NFL owners who give their squad this name.  I am sure a lucrative deal with the DeBeers people is just waiting to be struck.  Kudos to the Diamonds for now topping my list of “Most Bling Team Names”.  A check is in the mail, direct to Glasgow for your efforts.