WAR OVER!!!

I’m not saying I’m perfect.  I’m also not saying that I’m not.  I’m not not not saying that I’m not.  Good.  Now that’ I’ve got that all cleared up, lets get down to business. 

As I sit here listening to stolen MP3s on a computer that I purchased with a credit card I’ve since defaulted on; as I hail from a nation built on stolen land, slavery, oppression, and genocide, I wonder if things are not as they should be in the world.

What is the point of a military?  Well, let me tell you what it is today.  The military is a subculture built with the taxes, support, guilt, and pride of the main culture.  It is a career option.  We are no longer a nation who must gather (must + gather = muster*) to defend ourselves from an invading motherland and, when the fighting is done, return to our lives.  No; this is what many people do for a living.  That’s why you get the 25-year retired colonel who wonders why people in the real world don’t give him the same respect he had in the military. “Do you know who I am?!!!???”  ”Yes.  You’re the guy making my sandwich.  I said ‘no onions.’”**

Do you realize that THIS IS LIFE AS WE KNOW IT?  Those of us living right now will NEVER, EVER, EVER wake up to a newspaper declaring “WAR OVER!” like our forefathers did.  Does that not make anyone else’s heart sink even just a little?  We will be aware of our brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons & daughters ‘fighting’ here in the desert for as long as we live.  Or at least until the money runs out…

I have had many arguments with fellow soldiers about this.  Anytime there are budget cuts mentioned or, like several times over the last couple years, government shutdowns threatened, I hear the groans of my comrades.  Let me say; I am not selfless.  I know my goddamn place in this organization.  I am a mercenary – I am in the Army for a paycheck.  It seems many people act like soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines do this for free; there are military discounts, military appreciation, “this-n-that for the troops” organization.  It would seem that some in the public think that we’re all heroes and deserve respect.  If that were true, we wouldn’t have Fort Hood shootings, a suicide rate higher than the national average, guards dehumanizing prisoners at Abu Graib, or soldiers wandering off post and murdering a score of civilians.  Fuck; if it were even partly true, we wouldn’t need an un-necessarily complex uniform code of military justice system designed specifically to prosecute soldiers.

Let me, once and for all, clear this up: WE ARE ALL HERE FOR THE PAYCHECK – EVERY LAST ONE OF US.  I have not met one hero my whole 6 years of “service.”  I am ashamed at some of the things that come out of fellow soldiers’ mouths; things ranging from disappointment with a duty position that doesn’t allow them the satisfaction of killing people to opinions expressing opposition to certain presidential candidates that might reduce the size of the military; something that would threaten their (and my) job.  If I truly wish to serve my country, and cutting the budget – in part, the military budget – serves the nation by helping to relieve its debt crisis, what kind of anti-patriot must I be to prioritize my paycheck over that of the nation?  Why is so noble to be blown up along some dusty Afghan road in an IED blast but not to accept that the nation needs you to return to civilian life?  Why is noble to die for a cause but not live for the very same cause?

Fear.  That’s the problem.  Fear of being on the streets.  Fear of anonymity.  Army, since it is a career and entire sub-population at this point, at least provides a sense of security, worth, and identity.  This also explains why everyone who parts from the military desires as big of a disability paycheck as possible.  I’ve spoken with people who literally become giddy when they find out their hearing is worse because of the Army.  What kind of sick fucks are thankful for hearing loss, bad knees, or back problems?  I suppose it is very Zen to be thankful for everything, good or bad… 

I just wonder what my price is sometimes.  Will I say, “Fuck it; I’m gonna milk this bitch for all it’s worth.” Is it gonna be the Army that pisses me off?  Will it be the American way of life?  Will I succumb to the fear of joblessness and claim PTSD before I get out of the Army to ensure at least a pittance of income each month?  Fuck.

I enjoy the educational advantages of being in the military; and it pains me when I see young soldiers not taking full advantage of their chance to get “free” college.  No, of course; Facebook is more important. 

But there is still hope, I believe.

I think we will come to realize that we cannot be the world’s police.  This will, in turn, make us pull back and choose our wars with a bit more discrimination.  With the advent of the internet and technology, we can hear about global atrocities in seconds and minutes with HD pictures and video as proof.  We will come to realize that tyrants, rebellions, genocide, tribal wars, child slavery, hate crimes, assassinations, torture, and all sorts of malevolence are nothing new; that there was never a ‘peaceful time’ throughout all of history; there was just a technology gap that prevented the world from knowing about the Stalins, Maos, Hitlers, and Husseins of yesteryear to be common knowledge to both the rich and poor.  With our newfound wisdom, we will understand our place in the world a little better.  We will take care of the log in our own eye before we go on a worldwide splinter-extracting spree.  God bless the USA.  But first, change our hearts.

Sorry; I usually try to write humorous posts (not ‘humorous’ like fluid-filled; like comedic) but I was pissed this morning.  Righteously indignant, maybe.  Peace y’all.  Love each other.

*not the actual etymology of the word “muster.”

**I actually LOVE onions.

I’ll Give You A Dollar If You Join My Cult…

It’s pointless to play “I spy” when the answer to “I spy something… TAN!” invariably evokes the response, “EVERYTHING!!!” How about a little diversity, huh, Afhghanistan – IF that is your real name?

God this fucking place sucks. The people smell like curry and the curry smells like camel farts and the camel farts smell… well, surprisingly organic… but that’s not the point. The point is that the last five months have kicked my ass. Don’t worry; I’m not going to become another statistic; that’s far to gauche for my tastes. No. If I die it’s gonna be cool – like a standoff with the FBI while I stubbornly defend my crazy views on God and religion. My three followers will have, of course, already sacrificed themselves for my cause. I’ll take a bullet or two to the chest and as I lay dying I’ll grasp the hand of a dear loved one and declare my last wishes amid spasms of coughing up blood. At last I’ll give up the ghost half-way through a sentence (leaving my attendant wondering, “Orange who?” because inevitably, my last words will be a knock-knock joke).

As I’m looking down at my body that is currently pissing itself and loosing its bowels on the unsuspecting ground, I’ll wonder if it was all in vain. I’ll wonder if I did all I could have – or should have – for society or myself. I’ll ask myself if I lived a good life or a mediocre life. Hopefully I won’t dwell too long on these droll subjects; floating around outside my body is fucking AWESOME!

I think I’ll fly about for a while now and enjoy the wind in my… ghost hair?

Tickle My Chicken Dick

BAM! With a title like that, how could you NOT read this article, right?  I apologize if your work computer has blocked my site.  If it hasn’t yet, I submit to your proxy server a picture of my penis:

Straight-up penis skin, baby! (not baby penis, despite it's size...)

You’d be surprised by some of the weird shit I Google.  Or not.  Whatever.  I’m not paid to surprise you so frankly, I could care less.  However, without fail I will wind up on someone’s blog and after reading the post, I will read the comments.  Occasionally the comments have useful feedback, corrections, anecdotes, testimonials, or even the phone number to a tranny down at Waikiki that said she’d meet me but didn’t because she thought I was a cop because I asked too many questions because I like to play danger safely and that cost me half a tank of gas BUT I DIGRESS…

Anyway, I was on a blog about some guy who shaves with extra virgin olive oil.  I was intrigued.  I’ve been looking for a way to simplify and revamp my hygiene regiment to be more organic and natural.  It was a good article.  But the comments made it great.  So, without further adieu…

Very good journey and experience!

Okay.  A little vague but perhaps still relevant…

nice share, good article, very usefull for me…thank you

Hmm.  Pretty vague AND a misspelled “useful?”

really appreciate YOU — thanks a lot!

Uh, stalker much?  Why the emphasis on “you?”

One again, your articles is very good.thank you!very much

Notice the punctuation and in particular, the punctuation in between “you” and “very.”  I mean, sometimes I type too fast and put one or two letters in the wrong order, but not entire concepts… Okay, sometimes I even put entire wrong order!concepts in the

Thanks for good information that comes out to read.

This is where it starts to get good.  I mean, was it necessary to write “that comes out to read?”  That’s like getting food at a restaurant and telling the waiter, “Thanks for the food that you gave me that I can eat.”  I guess if a majority of the food was burnt or spoiled, you may say it sarcastically…

A thing of beauty is a joy forever

This is not even… This has nothing to do with the article.  Plus the premise is flawed.  Even beautiful flowers die eventually.

Very inspiring place of levy.

Hmm.  I assume they meant to say “levity,” but instead I think perhaps they are trying to wage war?

In turn supplied by all the team is amazingly of usage expert all of us, Thanx to alllllll ….

I don’t even know about this one… When someone says “all,” they would elongate the “a” not the “ll.” This would look and sound weird.  Plus, who even elongates the word “all” anyway? I can’t think of a single instance where you would.  This is when I began to be suspicious…

This is the first time I comment on your site, but I’ve been keeping up with your work for a while now. I admire the passion with which you write the articles and dream that someday I can do the same. Love

Oooh! Whichever bot wrote this comment must have a human heart!!!

I like idea behind your post. I want to read more from you. Your thought process is unique and effective.

Thank you, fifth-grade teacher bot.  Your thought process, however, is commonplace and impotent.

This one is an inspiration personally to uncover out rather more associated to this subject. I need to confess your data extended my sentiments in addition to I’m going to right now take your feed to stay up to date on every coming blog posts you would possibly probably create. You might be worthy of thanks for a job perfectly carried out!

This one is my favorite: just look at all the syntax errors and mis-usage!!! Mmmm it’s creamy and delicious!  I mean, “I need to confess your data extended my sentiments…” PURE FUCKING GOLD.  I invite you to say this one out loud, with feeling.  It’ll tickle your chicken dick.

This blog is terrific. There’s often all the appropriate info at the suggestions of my fingers. Thank you and maintain up the superior work!

Question: What are the ‘suggestions of your fingers?”

Spot i’ll carry on with this write-up, I seriously believe this web site wants considerably more consideration. I’ll probably be once again to learn to read far more, many thanks that information.

Yo dawg, I heard you liked consideration.

Many thanks for developing the effort to discuss this, I feel strongly about this and like studying a great deal more on this subject. If feasible, as you gain expertise, would you mind updating www.chrisinch.com having a great deal much more info? It is very beneficial for me.

This bot is REALLY into shaving with olive oil.  So much so that he is requesting updates as the author gains expertise.  With all the effort needed to be developed to discuss this, perhaps we’ll see a whole series of articles by this man providing us with a “great deal” more information on this endlessly (apparently) deep subject.  You know, if it’s feasable.

 I’m impressed of www.chrisinch.com , I need to say. Really not often do I encounter a blog that’s each educative and entertaining, and let me inform you, you have got hit the nail on the head. Your concept is outstanding; the difficulty is one thing that not sufficient people are speaking intelligently about. I’m very blissful that I stumbled throughout this in my seek for something regarding this.

This man is apparently BLISSFUL about this.  I mean, a good clean shave is nice and all, I’ll admit, but this guy has got hit the nail IN the head.

ZOMG Okay, I had a blast “writing” this.  Well, copying and pasting. Well, pointing and clicking.  Damn.  Nothing is real, is it?

Peace, y’all!

“My Day At The Beach” or “Why You Should Probably Get A New Toothbrush”

Columbia has the highest rapacious mongoose to raped baby ratio per capita of all the 3rd-world countries.  It’s true (It’s… not true).  It seems some mongooses would have had to double-up or share their prey to make this fake statistic true… Or… ***Jase: write something reviling here! Don’t publish post until you’ve offended even yourself… babies with AIDS… meh, keep trying*******

I’m not even sure why I shared the above “fact” with “you.”  Honestly it isn’t even related to anything. But this is also true; Paraguay just passed a law which allows gay marriage after suddenly realizing their country’s name is basically “pair-of-guys.”  This is also not true.

I… I’m sorry.  I have no idea why I feel the need to constantly lie to you: my beloved reader.  Incidentally, I don’t think it’s going to work out; it’s not me, it’s you.  Also, I let the cat scratch his sting ring with your toothbrush after he accidentally ate a whole bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

So I finally made it to the beach today, after having been in Hawaii for just over two months.  I was up in Haleiwa on the Northshore, in what I can only guess was the kiddie-pool part of the ocean.  There were no waves, but for some reason everybody and their used-to-be-hot moms were standing up on surf boards paddling around.  I was going to take a picture of how beautiful it was, but then I remembered Google exists, so for your enjoyment, here’s an image of a beach:

You get the idea.  There’s water, sky, palm trees, and traffic.  Big fucking whoop.  Any dick with even the remotest capacity for omnipotence could make a beach.

A lady walked by me who I would’ve thought had great abs, but I realized it was her spine I was seeing from the front.  You see, around here, and in life in general I’ve discovered, you can’t look too close or too long at anybody or anything: What seems benevolent or benign or at the very least, non-deleterious (you likey? me likey!), turns out to be the opposite; that’s right: non-NON-DELETERIOUS.  I mean, have you ever gone down on someone and really analyzed the smell?  Observe a brief selection from The Vagina Monologues:

“NO, TRUST ME, TRUST ME, YOU DON'T WANT TO GO DOWN THERE,

IT'S VERY DAMP, VERY CLAMMY.

SMELL THE MILDEW, GETS IN YOUR CLOTHES, IT'S HORRIBLE.

NO.”

See what I mean? But later, she proudly proclaims:

“I DON'T WANT MY PUSSY TO SMELL LIKE RAIN!

ALL CLEANED UP LIKE WASHING A FISH AFTER YOU'VE COOKED IT.

I WANNA TASTE THE FISH!

THAT'S WHY I ORDERED IT!”

Well, bitch, maybe if it smelled more like rain, snowflakes, roses, or fuck; even curry (no wait… not curry; PLEASE not curry…) The smell would be easier to identify, less taxing on our imagination (almost wrote im-vagination…), and less deleterious.

And to be honest, I think I’d be more pissed that my fish tasted like veejay.  That’s the type of thing that might make the evening news.

Okay, so by now it’s obvious I don’t know what “deleterious” even means, but I’m going to move self-righteously along anyway, so try to keep up.

AND THE DICK!!! Boys, boys, boys; I didn’t forget about you! Do YOU have any idea what you’re putting your partner through? Dick: Meh, not so bad. It’s easy to keep clean and generally gets plenty of air (around my house, anyway, what with the flappin’ and the floppin’) Balls: Not so much. They have the flappin’ and floppin’ but also the double misfortune of sitting right next to Mr. Stinky AND shriveling up to entrap whatever moisture and bacteria you wish to imagine. They’re pretty much the ugly, pendulous, prolapsed vagina of a dude. Only difference is, you can’t fuck them… Well… for brevity’s sake, we’ll say you can’t fuck them.  I don’t have time to draw diagrams and I’m on public WiFi so I shouldn’t Google images of that nature.  Anyway, this proves that just because you like dick & nuts doesn’t mean you’re gay (it also proves the opposite of whatever it was I just said, I think…). In fact, if you like vagina you’re probably just a closeted nutter butter lover.  Fuck, I could go for a nutter butter right now!

Fuck me; I was telling you about my day at the beach, huh?

So yea, day at the beach, blah blah blah sand blah blah crabs blah birds blah blah… OH! So I had a dish today called an “Acai Bowl.” It’s pretty much one of those frozen paper cans of condensed juice blended until smooth. It was okay, but what I really wanted was pretty much anything else. Well, after paying $9 for my little bowl of fro-yo, the young guy running the stand exclaimed, “Damn, she was hot,” referring to some pair of legs that apparently had walked by. This truly perplexed me. First, there were two beautiful young girls at the stand with us talking about how long their pubes were or some shit. Secondly, when you work at the beach, how are even still sensitive to a concept like a “hot girl?” I only watch a tiny bit of porn and I am completely desensitized to beauty in both sexes, animals, midgets, and clowns. As a side effect, bowling pins make me horny. But I digress… I guess when you’re young and single (or have even trace amounts of testosterone running through your body) you never lose ‘it.’

And quickly, before I forget, Blake Shelton is a liar.  With the motion of the surf, it is impossible to have your ‘toes in the ocean [and your] ass in the sand.’  They’re both in both,  both in neither, or only one in one at a given time; Shelton’s exact combination of body parts in beach components is pure fantasy.  Fuckin’ Mythbusters should have caught this one.  Shit.  That’s the last time I get my science from a drinking song.

Well, lastly before I headed home, I stopped at a tiny restaurant called the Beet Box. It was attached to a small natural food store that had – I swear – three of the same girl working. I ran into dis bitch in every aisle. Since I lack any social skills, I gave her the same retarded smile, retarded head nod, and, retarded “How’s it going?” every time. I’m a retard. And I can’t even smile regularly right now because I‘ve been chewing my bottom lip incessantly lately which makes my lip different colors of red. Here’s a picture of the herply-derplies for your edification:

It’s not quite that bad, but it’s bad enough to make me mad at the Jews.  But then, that’s the lesson of this post, really.

One of my biggest fears is being locked in a small room naked with spiders.

Have a great day!

I’m not white, I’m Cauc-American

Okay, now that I’ve put a shit-eating grin on my own face, allow me to explain.

*wipes shit off face*

I decided to rename my blog because 1) I’m so fuckin9 clever that I thought of “Anti-hyphenationist” and B) I thought of the perfect tag-line: “Don’t Believe The Hyph.”  It was too good not to use.  Plus “Mentology” became less cool once I realized everybody and their gay grandmothers were using it to find in-shape love across the internet.  And If it’s not flamingly obvious, I’m all about the cool factor.  Once that’s gone, I’m outta there.  Another reason I may be absent is that someone snorted up all the coke; either way, I’m gone.  I hope you caught that I used a “9” instead of a “g” up there a few sentences ago.  That, my friends, is how you be cool.  Did that last sentence sound weird to you? It did to me.  Anyway.

Image from a Yahoo! article about fashion disasters; I kinda like it...

I think contradictions constitute the other 30 or so percent of me that isn’t water.  I wear hypocrisy like this lady wears wood-grain.  And may I ask, why is there such a huge gap where her squishy girl bits should be?  I feel like if I tried to kick her in the cunt I’d miss… *sigh, moving right along….

Anyway, I still haven’t fully decided if I’m going to keep the same web address or make a new one; I am trying to decide between “dontbelievethehype.wordpress.com” or “theanti-hyphenationist.wordpress.com.”  The problem with the first is that I still haven’t spelled “believe” correctly the first time around.  I can see that quickly pissing me off.  The problem with the second one is that it’s so long, hyphenated, and a made-up word which invariably will be misspelled, typed incorrectly, or spelled wrong.

Oh well, keep checking back for updates, pointless and vulgar though they may be.  If you try to come to this site and it’s suddenly not here, you’ll know I moved.  Or I’m busy trying to punt this bitch’s snatch.  Okay, I giggled a bit after I typed that last sentence.  Peace y’all!

I’m Officially A Professional Blogger!*

*This is, of course, a lie; you should know by now that I lie to you… A lot. A LOT.

Lately I’ve been plumbing the depths of my soul.

That’s not really saying much, admittedly.  It’s practically as deep as a wishing fountain, only there’s no hope… or money.  I mean, you can literally (not literally) see the bottom; the lifeguard looks bored and they teach kids swimming classes and let the seniors do their water aerobics – basically, there’s an unspeakable amount of incontinence that’s all but discolored the water.  But that’s okay; I don’t drink as much pool water as I did when I was a kid so my urine intake has slowly tapered off to nominal amounts (according to the FDA… I mean, what’s THEIR agenda, am I right? AM I RIGHT?)

So yea, my soul…

I mean, what the fuck?  Am I the only one who sees things the way I do? Wait… I’m told we need to have a word from our sponsors:

Water: You can drink it.

Wow.  Okay, whatever.  Why they would pick my show to advertise on is even more of an enigma than why they would advertise in the first place.  It’s like Pepsi and Coke; WE GET IT.  YOU’RE STILL THERE.  And while I’m at it, why can’t a quotation mark serve as a capitalized apostrophe? I’m sick of typing an angry sentence, trying to be punctuationally correct, then having to go back to replace my quotation with a regular apostrophe.  Maybe we can start a people’s revolution to condense all three variations of “you’re” into just “your.” Then we can simply use “there” for all three of those, too.  Don’t even get me STARTED on “which…”  Okay, now I’m getting off track…

So yea; I’m trying to find purpose in life… Really? Another sponsor’s message? Alright, play it:

The Internet: It’s pretty much kind of like a thing that you can get on and do stuff!

Jeez.  That sounds like something I would have made up.  Oh well, they’re the marketing geniuses, not me. … AGAIN? Okay, another message from our sponsor:

“Punctuationally:” Not a word.

Hmm. I think that was a personal attack; or Google’s ‘adsense’ is just getting GOOD.  Nevertheless… Where was I? Oh yes: existentialism. It’s…

Existentialism: Don’t waste everyone’s time talking about if you’re just a hack blogger.

You know, this is why I wanted to keep this a one-man operation.  But NOooooo.  I had to go and sell out and this is what I get.

Selling Out: Not just for sell-outs anymore!

Okay, that one’s not even real.  I would keep this up but…

Having Trouble keeping it up? Make your dick hard with “DICK-HARD,” the hard dick pill! She’ll be glad your dick was hard.

But I…

Butt: It’s like you back’s crotch.

I just…

Just: When you need a word between “I” and whatever word you were going to say next!

want…

Want: Need’s spoiled little brother!

Never mind.

Ask Mr. Musician #4 (or whatever number I’m up to)

Well! It’s that time again, kiddies!  (incidentally, kids should… uh, not be allowed to read this); the fourth edition of “Ask Mr. Musician” is here!  Are you excited? I’m excited. That at least explains the dot of moisture forming on my $120 Buffalo button-fly jeans… Jeez, it’s just a blog article, you’d think I was meeting Justin Bieber or something.  We had so many questions this week that I decided not to include the names of those who wrote in.  Just imagine your own names like “Jake” or “Debbie” or “Holden McGroin.”

Anyway, as you know, this is the forum for you, the loving and devoted viewer, to ask me questions related to music and I answer to the best of my ability; or at least sarcastically enough that I get a good chuckle before I go to bed sad and alone.

Question: Is a Kardashian an animal, mineral, or vegetable?
Answer: I decided not to answer you.  This is my answer.  Plus I don’t think it’s even related to music.  Damn.  Way to get the show off to a dead start. Fuck me.  If this is any indication of how the show is going to go, I’m gonna go ahead and start drinking the vodka out of my cereal bowl.  Fuck you; like YOU ever do the dishes.  Anyhoo, lets get started! Still excited? I’ve got a raging semi.

Question: Joe Jonas just released a new album and Lil Wayne sings on one of the tracks; In this track, Lil Wayne cusses. WHDFXUP with that?
Answer: Maybe. Oh? Wait… Sorry, I thought you asked a “yes” or “no” question and I was trying to be ironic.  No, this is allowed.  Joe Jonas was saving himself for Lil Wayne.  Thus, the promise ring…  Eh, i can’t even fake-care about this question.  NEXT!

Question: I love Dream Theater, but since Mike Portnoy left, I can’t get into them; what should I do?
Answer: Kill yourself. But not boringly, like with pills or the yawn-a-thon wrist-slitting. You’d probably just do those wrong anyway and wake up in the hospital with another thing added to the list of things you’ve failed at and are bad at doing. No; you need to get creative. If you are going to use pills, Be sure to buy red paint and make your apartment look like a crime scene; sling it all over the walls and floor. Break things and turn your place upside down. Cover yourself in the red paint and tear your clothes to shreds. Write a note from “the devil” that can only be read in the mirror professing your undying love to Nicki Minaj (you know who the fuck she be!) Only THEN should you take the pills; be sure you’re holding a gun as you begin to lose consciousness, too. This will blow the coroner’s mind. But wait! You just took a bunch of tylenol, you dumb shit. Now you have to clean up your mess when you get out of the hospital as well as take OTHER pills the rest of your life to compensate for your fucked-up liver now. Plus, you ever tried to get red latex paint out of white carpet? You’d have better luck getting the black off Oprah.  Well, There goes your deposit. Now THERE’s a reason to kill yourself. Hope this helps. Take care.

Question:Punk music is too easy, but Jazz is too hard.
Answer: That’s more of a thing you should tweet to your depressed, le-memebase-reading, neo-con, emo-hipster friends, not something you should ask a professional musician, but since you did, I’ll respond. Music… is like an old man’s penis: it’s never “hard.” (Only hard-ish when young boys walk by)  It’s also like a hermaphrodite’s genitals: It is what you make of it. It’s like a woman’s vagina: You get out of it what you put into it. It’s like a gay man’s coin purse; always shorn and presentable (below a great set of abs, of course). It’s like a virgin’s right hand: utterly exhausted and calloused… Wait… I forgot your question. OH!! Yea, music… Okay; you ever learned something and thought, “Man, how did I ever NOT know that?” Well, that’s how music is. Once you learn jazz chords, progressions, standard songs, and develop the dexterity necessary to put it all together, they aren’t “hard” anymore. And any good punk music will melt your face off. You ever listened to Rancid? (You ever listened to Rancid… on WEED?)  I don’t care who you think you are… If you think you’re too good for punk; if you think it’s “too easy,” you’re not good enough for punk.  This would be the point where you lose a few pounds, do some sit-ups, and find a comfortable mattress, cause you’re gonna be spending a LOT of time trying to suck your own dick.  NEXT QUESTION!

Question: I’ve bought the videos, subscribed to the magazines, and gone to the classes, but no matter what, I can’t seem to get the ‘moves like Jagger.’
Answer: I wasn’t aware those avenues of learning even existed for such a pointless venture, but since you apparently have gone all-out to waste your life shamelessly, let me offer some obviously much needed help. Instead of buying food, you should buy duct tape and wrap your head in it until you black out.  Huffing paint is also acceptable.  Should you regain consciousness, invest in scorpions and let them roam free in your bed when you sleep (naked, preferably). The thing you don’t get about Jagger’s moves is that Adam Levine has a MONOPOLY on them. He owns the rights. He’s like Wal-Mart is with cheap shit, ugly Americans, fat chicks in sweat pants, and illegal immigrant workers (*cough* I’m looking at you, every Walmart in California). Anyway, whatever it is you’re after can be safely substituted with self-worth, a satisfying career, and a fulfilled love life. Since you obviously have none of the above, I recommend dying of sepsis.  Disseminated Intra-vascular Coagulopathy is all the rage this season.  NEXT!

Question:I’m Jewish and psychic and I’m offended by an answer that you’re about to give in response to a question this week. Why do you hate Jews so much?
Answer: Better question: Why would’nt anyone not NOT hate Jews? Just kidding.*
*Not†
†NOT.* (see above)

Question: Why are you so bitter?
Answer:What makes you think I’m bitter, you Jew-loving, cock-sucking cock sucker?

Question: I notice a common put-down is “cock-sucker.”  Why is this even a put-down?  Isn’t that… a good thing?  I mean, I like getting some hot skull just as much as the next guy…
Answer: That wasn’t music related (unless you’re Freddie Mercury or Rod Stewart…) But that is an interesting question… And while we’re at it, why is “sub-par” a term describing something not very good? These are the things that keep me awake at night; thank you for a very thoughtful question.

Question: Why are there no new classic songs?
Answer: The company that makes classic songs was outsourced to China. Same with classic car makers. It’s hard as hell to get a brand new ’69 Chevy Camaro SS. You’d think they stopped making them or something! Anyway, yes, I’m just as upset as you about this strange phenomenon. How come the Doors haven’t come out with any new hits recently that have been popular for 30 years? Am I right? AM I RIGHT? Douche.

Question: How can I get better at reading music?
Answer: Simple. Stop wasting all your time cutting holes in microwaved fruit to see if your dick fits. This will give you back an enormous amount of time.  Plus you’ll save yourself the pain of pissing after you mistakenly fuck a grapefruit thinking it was a cantelope. Put your glasses on, you dumb shit: citrus = ouch, cantelope = oooh.

Question: I’m a good musician and I want to teach; any suggestions?
Answer: Is it music you want to teach or that thing where you shoot ping-pong balls out of your… Oh it is music? Well, that’s stupid and pointless.  Okay, well, Craigslist is always an option. Come to think of it, Craigslist is good for that other thing, too.

Well I’m spent… Fuck you all; AND SEND IN THOSE QUESTIONS!!! decreebass@gmail.com.