I love Halloween but always wait until the last minute to figure out my costume. In the past few years I’ve been a piecemeal Walker Texas Ranger, an abridged version of The Dance Commander (twice), a shadowy representation your mom, and–when my locks flowed like the mighty Mississippi–a shoddy Andrew W.K.
This year the problem remains the same–what to be, what to be.
Maybe a Steve Jobs zombie? But then the decision becomes which Steve Jobs to reanimate.
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Uncle Steve Zombie?
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or is it….
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Evil Steve Zombie?
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or maybe even….
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Prep Hipster Steve Zombie, complete with Apple belt buckle-wearing Zombie Woz?
Strawberry shortcake was created in 1977 by an illustrator for American Greetings, as in the greetings card people who also brought you Care Bears. During the following five years the Strawberry Shortcake marketing machine pumped out dozens of characters to populate a truly fruity world full of sweet adventures.
These include lovable dreamies like Plum Puddin’, T. N. Honey, Cherry Cuddler, Café Olé, Lucky Bug, Flitter-Bit, Philbert Wormly III, and the putrescent Peculiar Purple Pieman.
Most characters were packed to the brim with sugar, spice, and a pun that was quite nice. However there was one character whose story is truly tragic. Se llamo es Baby Needs-A-Name.
Let’s meet her, shall we?
Hey wait a minute, that's not Baby Needs-A-Name! That's just Hector being a crybaby. Stop scaring away my readers, you big crybaby!
Well who is this masked baby? Why, it's the Phantom Pooper, making stink you wouldn't believe. But you better believe it, brother, because it's here to stay!
Whoa there, Don, this is a family establishment! Put some clothes on and help us find Baby Needs-A-Name!
Geeze Louise, Vaibhav, right out in the open? Finish up and help us find Baby Needs-A-Name!
You too Trish! And while I don't agree with your religious beliefs I respect your right to worship how you see fit, ya big wethead!
You aren't even a real baby, Reborn Rhonda! Just the extremely lifelike representation, or rather idealized fantastication, of some lonely woman! Get a life!
Baby Leroy, are you ok? Baby Leroy? BABY LEROY? Don't worry, we'll come back and check once we find Baby Needs-A-Name. I promise!
Gosh, Tigerbaby, you sure are cute! But I have to find Baby Needs-A-Name, stop distracting me with your vacant eyes!
Hey Baby, aka Birdman, aka Ronald "Slim" Williams, what in the heck are you doing here?! Nevermind, I'm sorry, stay as long as you'd like. Hey, you haven't seen Baby Needs-A-Name have you? Sorry, right, I know...stupid question.
Jesus, Baby Jessica? Wasn't that like 20 years ago or something. This is getting ridiculous. Where in the Sam Hill is Baby Needs-A-Name???
Oh, God, it's...it's ManBaby Steve from the Costco bulk candy department. I, oh God, yeah I threw up a little. Yep, definitely some corn on my uvula. I don't want to look for Baby Needs-A-Name anymore. Thanks Steve. No, I most certainly don't want to play. Yes, I know what you mean by "play." Please go kill yourself.
1) Mick Jagger and David Bowie may or may not have boned. I think all the real proof you need is in the following video.
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2) Mick’s on-stage moves and grooves are thanks in part to the fact that he’s triple jointed. This is an extremely rare condition that affects only .0001% of the population and 95% of Mick Jagger. His knees go this way, that way, and that way…and his pinkies do all sorts of gross, inappropriate things.
Even more remarkable is the fact that his penis has the mobility of an African elephant’s trunk while maintaining an erection that registers a 10 on the Mohs hardness scale.
And it can grab things. Like this following reenactment of a lazy night on the Rolling Stones tour bus.
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3) The Falklands War in 1982 between Argentina and Britain wasn’t a dispute over land claims. Rather, it was Argentina’s response to the Rolling Stones’ blockade of Tattoo You LPs from reaching Argentinian shores. For some reason Mick firmly believed, and still believes, that Argentinians are “a bunch of silly wankers,” and refused to offer them his sweet licks.
The reason for this position is somewhat unclear, but many rock historians site the strong possibility that the stupid half-albino-mustachioed lead singer of Argentinian rock group Serú Girán may have had something to do with it.
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4) In 1977, shortly after creating a space-age lubricant for the Space Shuttle at Edwards Air Force Base, engineers Daniel Wray and Erich Drafahl started work on an even more advanced lubricating substance. It was commissioned by Mick himself for use after his upcoming shows, which would eventually become the album Love You Live.
In past tours, during numerous post-concert lovemaking sessions with girls of questionable moral fiber and age, Mick encountered a serious problem. At the peak of sexual intensity the object of his amorous intent would, time after time, burst into a magnificent shower of fire and fleshy embers. It’s believed that Mick’s elephantine member was simply hitting too many hot spots of the female anatomy. Maybe one day women will evolve to withstand such murderous pleasures. One day.
So, in response, Mick put Daniel Wray and Erich Drafahl hot on the case of solving the dilemma of catastrophic hot crotch. Through these two engineers’ trials and many errors we now enjoy the fruits of Astroglide, which can be found at your friendly neighborhood smut shop.
I must emphasize errors in Mr. Wray’s and Drafahl’s efforts. One clinical trial with an early formula of the lube proved too slippery for even Mick’s willy. Latest reports sighted the unlucky test subject sliding his way through the San Francisco Pass in a stretch of the Andes between Chile and Argentina.
Where he, and his ice rink coin sack, will slide on into next is anyone’s guess.
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San Francisco Pass: Terrain not friendly to the old brain pouch.
This is the first album that’s been uploaded from the monster stack of abandoned LPs I found on the corner of Silver & Alemany in EXCELSIOR, SF, CA. I have a strong suspicion that this disc, along with the hundreds of other derelict bargain discount albums, belonged to the recently deceased owner of Force of Habit Records.
Now, I can’t be for certain on this since my investigation into the last place of residence for “Braindead” Devereaux, which should have correlated with the location of my find, was pitifully fruitless at best. I just feel that anyone throwing out so many records with $1 Force of Habit stickers probably let them go them in a hurry…if you catch my drift.
So, if these were indeed your unsold and unwanted discs I thank you, sir. I will try to give this unsellable record something of a 21 gun salute in your honor.
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So, here’s a short explanation of what this album is for those unfamiliar. Mike + The Mechanics was a spinoff from the band Genesis, who had a few solid hits during the Reagan administration. Their music has little meaning to those born before 1990, but those of us lucky enough to remember Small Wonder will definitely have a piece of memory tied to Mike’s tunes. That’s about it, how’s that for a short explanation.
Here are two hits from this self-titled album. They’re truly a must have for any 80′s lover.
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CAUTION: EPIC VIDEO BELOW
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Of course, there were other spinoffs from Genesis during the 80′s and beyond. Here’s the top five spawn of Genesis, because everyone loves a list of winners.
5) Phil Collins
Phil’s probably the most highly recognized member of Genesis for the casual listener. His hits, such as “In The Air Tonight,” have been featured prominently in recent films like The Hangover. He also has an abnormally tiny bald head, not unlike that of an aging koala, which tends to brand itself within a person’s psyche.
4) Peter Gabriel
This founding member of Genesis found success with the help of John Cusack’s beautiful but not quite young, not quite old, not quite white, not quite Japanese, not quite human, not quite animatronic face. Peter also thrust ridiculous sexual innuendos into the supple, swollen folds of a claymation vessel that red-rocketed straight to the top of the charts in “Sledgehammer.”
3) The Binding and Attempted Murder of Isaac
God and Abraham were real good buds. Well, buds isn’t really accurate. Abraham was kind of God’s little bitch. One day God said, “Hey man, you know what, kill that boy of yours if you’re really mah dawg.” Abraham didn’t really want to, but he didn’t want to be a little bitch either. So, he prepared to do God’s bidding…for God is good.
At least he tried to. After tying up his son and preparing to do a bit of the ol’ stabby stabby an angel flew down and said, “Jesus, Abraham, that old fuck’s really got you whipped, LOL!” And lo, Abraham was punk’d.
Anyway, the angel told Abraham to slow his roll and let Isaac go–God was only playin’. And then Abraham killed some ram to appease God. This made God happy, because Abraham’s god was a fucking weirdo.
Amen.
Glory! Blessed be His word!
Hallelujah!
2) The next Justice album.
Well, it’s either going to kick ass or I’ve just jinxed everything. Either way my dick is in a vice: let’s just hope it’s the vibrating sort.
1) The soundtrack for Pebble Beach Golf on Sega Genesis
This is the only music I’m requesting for my funeral. With these clean, innocent, yet sophisticated MIDI melodies my soul will soar the highest reaches of the Celestial Kingdom. No need for cremation or burial–with this divine electronic symphony my mortal husk will explode into 10,000 butterflies that will travel south on Carlos Slim’s private jet stream…
…only to be squashed by some spoiled 7-year-old kid wearing Crocs on spring break in Puerto Vallarta.
