TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

They Should Have A Suck-Off

Sodelad Brothers vs. The Immortal Lee County Killers

Even though the later put some serious points up on the scoreboard, the creepy vibe on the tiny, hairy, mewling little dipshit (try to listen to a full song without thinking: did I really just hear a white human being say that?) from the former wins, no contest. If I could tie the Soledad Brothers (or just the singer/guitarist would be fine - I'm not greedy) to some train tracks, and watch a slow moving train slice him into multiple pieces, while he screamed like a little girl, well, that would be the best Christmas Present a boy could ask for. Then I would take his head, tie all his long hair to a pole, and play tetherball with it. That would be for my birthday.

All in all, I would prefer all four, five, or whoever knows how many of them not exist at all, though.

'How can you say that? You don't know him!'
'I don't know Hitler, either, but I still am not fond of the man.'

Now that front 'man' from the Von Bondies vs. the 'Howlin' Wolf, PhD' moron from Soledad Brothers, that would be an epic competition to see who sucked more. It strains the limits of human imagination. Comprehending the limitless fringes of the Universe is easy, trying to think who is the bigger dipshit out of that pair would even cause Stephen Hawkings to scratch his head.

Got home last night at four, in here at nine thirty. My Boss was wearing the fringe jacket, inside. If I was slowly dying of exposure while being shirtless in a blizzard, deep in the Canadian woods and I came across that jacket, I still wouldn't put it on, even if would ensure that I would live, because I have too much self respect. Yeah Boss, that whole Davey Crockett, Boy's Life, Indian Scout thing works really well in our office, you're kind of like an Indian Brave off to battle with the white man, except you're a middle aged, overweight, balding idiot with pretensions to hepsterisms. No, it's not working. I'm not going to think that Keith Richards circa 1968 just sauntered into your Office (nice goddamned Grateful Dead poster, fuckface! Yeah, you're whole non-conformist/rebel thing works really well, you know, with you being a corporate slave deepthroating any company rep from the head office that gets within two hundred yards of our office) before I realized it was you. Got a bunch of smartass comments, 'thanks for staying late', 'good job, Phil', 'burning the midnight oil, eh big guy?', 'look at Phil, there's a hard worker'. Since I haven't gotten a raise or a promotion out of my entry level job in a couple years, you'll forgive me, dear reader, if I take this condensation with a grain of salt.

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