Way to go, Red States! You sure showed us, huh? Wow. Rarely has such an epic act of unbridled stupidity, ignorance, selfishness, fear and hatred been carried out on such a massive scale. Well played!
The post in which I take a deep breath and try to pull my shit together
Wow. Waaaaahhhhhow. The dude who wrote that previous post was pissed, huh? Daaaaaamn.
Well, look on the bright side: At least we … um … you know … uhhh … there’s always … hmmm … OK, I’ve got nothin’. We’re fucked.
You know that pivotal scene in “The Matrix” when a hairless Neo wakes up in a gel-filled pod and realizes that, up until that moment, he had absolutely no idea just how awful was the world around him, and just how misguided was he about the truth of his own existence? Yeah, that’s me, right now … minus the “hairless” part. (You’re welcome for that visual, though.)
I apologize in advance if none of the words I am about to type make a shred of sense, but I am deliriously sleep-deprived and deeply rattled by the recent discovery that I now exist in an alternate universe where an angry mob of millions just handed the nuclear codes to an abhorrent, vile, vulgar, uninformed, ill-tempered, bad-humored, intellectually challenged, racist, sexist, misogynistic, xenophobic, greedy, selfish, thin-skinned, petulant, pathetic little bully man-child because “Fuck you, you liberal-elites and all your reasonable, logical, tolerant, fact-based book-learnin’!”
This one hurts
I’ve lost musical idols before … and when each of them died, I was sad. What I was not, however, was deeply surprised. They were guys who played with fire for years, and it eventually consumed them.
But Prince? Prince? Prince tells the fire what to do. Prince controls the elements. Prince is an element. You can look it up: there’s earth, wind, fire, water, and Prince.
Interview: Richie Kotzen of The Winery Dogs
Originally published on Dec 15, 2015 at SoundSpike.com
Back in the early ’90s, Richie Kotzen replaced the original guitarist in the band Poison for about five minutes, and if his brief and unlikely stint with that hair-metal outfit is the only thing for which you know him, then you don’t know him at all. In fact, you’ve probably got the wrong impression.
I was going to do some writing, but then A.D.D. and Facebook and WTF were we just talking about?
I’ve been meaning to write something awesome … but then this porcupine ate a pumpkin:
I think we can all agree that that is some critically important shit right there, people … and, if not for Facebook, I might have missed it while squandering my time in pursuit of my greatest dreams and ambitions.
Dear Gene Simmons of KISS, a.k.a. My Childhood Hero: I think there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. Either that, or you’re an overly sensitive dick.
Dear Gene,
I’m not sure if you remember me. It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. Thirty-six years, in fact. Here, let me refresh your memory:
#WarriorDown
I called him “Shep,” like, at least two or three times before finally realizing that I’d misremembered (yes, that’s a word now) his last name; it was “Sam Shelby,” not “Sam Shepard.” It was our first day working together, and there I am, calling him “Shep” … repeatedly … because I’m a douche. Of course, when I finally realized (with no small amount of embarrassment) the mistake I’d been making, Sam merely laughed it off and took it upon himself to make the moment far less uncomfortable and awkward than I deserved for it to be … because that’s just who he was.
