"Sing that shit then, lady", said Ms. Couric, beligerantly.

Birds-on-Fire here:

not sure how to do this blog thing without cheating...in that, I guess blogging is all about checking out websites/pop culture and yoinking cool shit from other people's property (OPP).

So, anyway, from perhaps my favorite (or most-visited daily) site, Antville, comes this pleasant piece of pie (PPOP). If I were a solid asshole, I'd say that this tickled me with delight. I'm/it's close.


-composed by Henry Hey, who can be found by following yet another link.

-Bush-whacked
-more Palin

Who brought Sizzurp onto the time-machine? Bobby?

bbC here:

yup.


Young MC "Slowest Rhyme (Bobby Birdman Remix)" from wyldfile on Vimeo.

-check out the original, sans codeine.

-more bobby birdman.

-sizzurp fireside chats

Seriously, what's up, FatLip?

Birds-on-Fire, y'all:

So, that NASA video we posted yesterday left me with a hankerin' for some more Fatlip. Or, rather, made me miss the video below, directed by Spike Jonze (I'd provide a link to Jonze, but you know who he be), who, incidentally, is the brother of one of the dudes from afore-mentioned NASA. Eh? It all goes round and round and round and round...and round.

Also, couldn't find a better version of this video, so I apologize for the shiteness quality. Never mind, AOL had a better version than Youtube...and from what I remember, this vid was shot on mini-DV, so I assume the quality can't get too much better.

Fatlip "What's up, Fatlip?":

edit: I just realized that this AOL version, although of better quality than Youtube, is fucking edited. Sorry about that. Still, as a music video director, I gotta go with better resolution.

Watch more Yahoo! Music videos on AOL Video

If you haven't seen the Documentary by Jonze called "What's up, Fatlip?", you should most def check it out. And, not online in crappy little Youtube chunks, either.

anyway, here's some crappy little Youtube chunks:

"My Linkin Park CD is worn out, where do I find a new one, man?"

Bleep blorp scoopy, Mamahawk here:

I used the title of this entry from what I commonly hear on the streets and shit. You see, that's a quote from you. I'm preeeeetty sure that you've prolly said that before. Scratch that; all humans have said that before, according to something. 

At some point in your life, maybe as recently as today, you've said to someone, somewhere: "Peer, my Linkin Park CD is sotally (hybrid of so+totally, much like the music hybrid of rap+metal) worn out, I need to get a new copy from that electronics store at my local shopping center where they sell "electronics". You see, I wore it out from listening to it on constant rotation, much like how someone can wear out a pair of work gloves, a baseball mitt, and the like. Ahoooga!!" 

I don't know, I may be reaching a bit, or "paraphrasing", but next to "I love you, sir" and "No, please don't murder me right now, it doesn't seem too convenient", that might be one of the most repeated phrase on God's Gween Earth. Oh, and by the way, I've never talked to anyone in my life. It's still theoretical as far as I'm concerned. Come on...talking? Nah. 

My point is CD's are pointy. I mean, if you break them, they get pointy edges. Naw mean, mahfugga? Then you can jab those points in the jugulars of authority figures, like cops or MTV V-jays or whatever you kids are into/hate these days. 

Get a job you fuckin hippies! Nu-hippies!

LOL. 

Today, but, like, 47 years ago.

Birds on Fire here:

Forty Seven years ago, I was not alive. I guess I was...dead? Unborn? Let's just say I was dead.

So, forty seven years ago, on January 26th, 1962, aside from my death being what was going on with me, NASA launched the Ranger 3, a lunar probe, into what I like to call "Outer Space".

The lunar probe did do some probing maybe, but it did not do the "Lunar" part of it's job. It missed the moon. That totally sucks.

Anyway, speaking of NASA, this music video just in from N.A.S.A. (no proven relation), called Hip Hop, which I believe was directed by Splunny.




So, then that video reminded me of this animated short by Christy Karacas & Stephen Warbrick (who has one of the best last names ever).



So, there you go.

The sluts from the The Golden Girls

Birds-on-Fire here:

So, okay, here's a music video to start off your week. It's been going around for the last few days, so you've maybe already seen it.  If so, I'll think of something for you to watch instead. Hmm, I don't know...I'll see if I can dig up a video of sexy zombie chicks washing a car or something like that. 

For everyone else, here's a video from a band called Pistol Youth.  The music's not my cup of piss, really, but I do like the video (from LA director, Isaac Rentz). The music sounds like Weezer, which would be rightly so for two reasons...one, the video too looks like a Weezer vid's concept, and two, the band sites Weezer as an influence on "they mothafuckin' myspace".

(The image above really is unnecessary. It was Carlos' idea.)

Anyway, if you like those god damn sluts from The Golden Girls, but you don't like their faces attached to their heads, and want to see them replaced with some dude's face...well, enjoy this then:

Pistol Youth - In My Eyes from Pistol Youth on Vimeo.


For everyone else that already done seen that old hat ass vid, I found this (even way more old hat, but most of you prob ain't done seen this one), as promised...

"Never bring snow to a pepper-spray fight." Love, Dad

Today's post is for you, the person who complained about bbC being off to a bad start because of the long-winded posts. I won't mention this person's name because I still believe in internet-anonymity, in a general sense and even a personal sense (in that I shouldn't reveal too much about myself either)... but I can tell you this, it rhymes with "girlfriend".

so, I'll just do a more "news flash" kind of thing.

-Bof and I were talking today about his competition in the music video production world. We found this scary motherfucker online named Katt, who's as mysterious as his subject matter/clients. Mysterious, Scary Motherfucker/Director even provides in-depth commentary on his work. Check it out:

the client's music video:


the commentary discussion version:


-In other news... Never bring snow to a pepper-spray fight.

-They never done got they prison, god damn it.

-Love me some sweet ass hippy logic because it is logical and I don't hate it.

Future Town: Episode 102 "FutureMusic"

Hello from Future Town, USA. This is Daniel "Zoid Balls" Hillmansteinstonbacher with another Future Town report. For a brief recap on Future Town, for you outer-sector guests, follow this link: LINK

I was thinking about the Britney Spears Wars today and how it's really kinda messed up that the mini-apocalypse was brought on upon by Britney Spears. I don't know much about the Britney Spears Wars or how it came about, but I do know that people really did not choose a side until the United States government decided to go to war with the world and name the war "Operation: Britney Spears".

At first, folks were all like "Another war?...hmm". But, then, when the military named it after Britney Spears and told civilians "shut up, She's hot." people were all like "That's just unnecessary. Give me a gun."

Anyway, we got this new thing out in Future Town, and I think you're gonna like it. It's called Songsmith and it is a robot that rose out of the smoldering plastic debris after the great Microsoft Factory fire of last week and has come to Future Town with one mission (well, before it killed off 10 Future Town cops on its way through our gate) and its mission is thus:

To correct how we make music. It has done so by making the music itself. All you have to do is sing into it with your shitty voice and it will make the music that needs to be made in order to make up for all the shittyness you have brought to the table.

Songsmith Robot made an infomercial:



Some historians have taken acappella samples of pre-mini-apocalypse "artists" and fed them into Songsmith to make better versions than those "artists" could ever have dreamed of.

a few to enjoy:

Beastie Boys

Marvin Gave

Weezer

Notorious B.I.G.

Metallica

anyway, just wanted to tell you all that as a sort of segue to inform you that we're holding a candlelight vigil tonight in honor of the Future Town Police slain by Songsmith Robot.

ObamaTron: ACTIVATE

Don't say that I didn't warn you.

I didn't, but that's not the point. The point is that I don't need your crap right now, guys. I am on very lil' sleep because my partners, Birds-on-Fire and Mamahawk (pictured above in the basketball shorts), woke me up this morning with a News Flash.

And, being the kind of guy I am, I hung up on them.

They called me back and told me to get my shit together and that it was behavior like this that drove my wife away, the bitch. (I've never been married, but I like to tell stories about my "ex-wife, the bitch" because I think that one day I might write a book about a down-on-his-luck character with a bitch for an ex-wife, and it's just good practice, really...get off my back about it.

Anyways, so here's the scoop, you guys:

Late last night, Mamahawk and B.o.F. were playing the b-balls with our new President, Barack Obama. Halfway through their game of the b-balls, Mamahawk's new puppy, Tony, stopped by the court to say hello and hump hard.

The boys took a break from the game to pet the dog. Tony the dog immediately went to Obama's legs and started to hump them real hard like. BoF took a sip of his water and said:

Hey, Mr. President, isn't that the same kind of dog your daughters were asking for? Right? Man, they really wanted that dog for your move into the White House, saw it on the TV...did you find one yet?

Obama kneeled down and simply stared into the dogs eyes, holding the dog in place with one, large hand around its neck. Tony the dog just kept humping Mr. Obama with all his might, but Obama did not flinch...not even a blink.

Mamahawk did not like how Obama was just letting his dog hump him so hard, and humping hard he was, according to both my partners. So, he chimed in to break the awkward silence that Obama was creating...

So, you must be pretty excited about your inauguration tomorrow, Mr. President, sir?

Obama kept his cold gaze on Tony's lil' horny, canine eyes. Tony humped so hard, so very very earnest and hard.

Suddenly, Obama's eyes turned red, and a loud, electronic hum filled the air. Obama rose from his kneeling position with a pneumatic hiss, bringing the dog up with him. He held Tony up over his head, looked up towards the sky... and shot red lasers out of his eyes and into the night. He opened his mouth halfway and, without moving his lips, uttered in a cold-iron, robotic voice:

OBAMATRON... ACTIVATED. DOG...ACQUIRED. MISSION...COMPLETE.

Obama's Nikes transformed into rockets, I guess, from the looks of the picture that was taken.

According to BoF, when Obama had blasted off into the sky, he said:

PEACE...OUT.

Mamahawk, realizing he was going to lose his hard-humpin' dog forever, yelled up at Obama...

Hey, that's my dog, Barack!

Off in the distance, they heard ObamaTron's faint, robotic voice calling back to Mamahawk...

SUCK IT, he said.

Everybody started laughing and laughing and laughing for a very long time. BoF was rolling on the floor laughing (ROFL) and the other guys were laughing their asses off (LTAO).

As soon as it got quiet and they had wiped the tears from the corners of their eyes, BoF looked at Mamahawk, pat him on the back, and called him a "faggot".

A Postcard that bbC made for you.

Hey, we made a postcard for you. Did you read the title to this post?

This postcard is for you to send off to people who you've decided that you're better than. Friends, family, co-workers, old roommates, ex-girlfriends/boyfriends, etc...there's bound to be someone.

Follow these easy instructions:


-First, think of someone you think you're better than and who needs to know it.
-Click on the pic below (to bring it up to Full Size).
-Save to your desktop or something
-Print it out/ cut out the image.
-On the back, do NOT write "Just kidding!" or "LOL". Just sign your name on the back, and...
-Put a stamp on the back
-Send that thing off


you're most welcome.

The Gospel according to "Gospel-Tron", MegaBot Supreme.

Today's post is a recycled affair that rambles on in efforts to tell you about a spider that I named Buck-Buck. If you don't believe me, you're a dick.

Dear Diary (Father),

It has been over a week since my last entry (confession).

Today was a good day. Well, no, today was a shitty day. No, no...today was just like any other day for me...half good, half shitty...all "Day".

To tell you the truth, Diary, today just kinda happened. I don't know what the fuck I was talking about before, I don't really rate my days. You know that about me, Diary. You know all my secrets. You also know that I don't have any secrets, that being my #1 secret ever...which in turn creates a Paradox, not to be confused with Irony, which is just gay.

Diary, today I had a run-in with the Austin Police, again. I'm still kinda shakey. And, Diary, I hope you know that when I say "run-IN" with the Police, most often times I mean that I had a "shoot-OUT" with the Police.

Today was definitely one of those days where that vague statistic proved accurate.

So, I had me a shoot-out. No big deal, right?

It's just that sometimes, just sometimes, flying bullets can express the words "No, I'm not going to come over there. I want to be left alone, thank you very much. Oh, and I'm not a dumb-ass, you dumb-asses" to people whose profession allows them to carry badges and bullets which express the words "Hey, dumb-ass...come over here. We wanna talk to you."...far better than the words can actually express themselves when spoken.

A bullet is funny like that. When you shoot a bullet at a man, you shoot your heart at him. My father said that.

My father never said that, actually, Diary.

You knew that. You know me so well.

Moving on, I went to the video store, today. I walked around that place for about an hour before I realized that every time I picked up a movie's box, I found myself judging the movie by the expected depression that watching it might give me.

That's not that troubling, I suppose, if I was only picking up Dramas. No, this happened with every single genre that I picked up. And, I have no idea why.

This is not what concerned me. What concerned me was that I became aware that I was doing this, which then made me realize that I wasn't in the mood for a movie.

Then, I came to the conclusion that Man had vomited me out of a long line of screaming Evolution just so that I could sit in a Video Store and stare at boxes that had replaced the word "book" in the phrase "don't judge a book by it's cover" and, going against this phrase that, perhaps, was one of the very first phrases (and one of the most important and theoretically practical) that I had ever learned...was denying the very brutal struggle that Cave Men had endured, unknowingly, to set our world into motion.

And, everytime I think about Cave Men, I get a little weird.

So, I walked up to the counter and smiled at the Manager.

"How much for the place?" I asked.

He smiled back at me.

"I want to buy this store. How much?"

The Manager started laughing. He quickly noticed that I was not laughing with him.

"Uh, what?"

"The store. I want it. Minus you and your employees. You guys can leave for all I care. I just want the store and all the depressing movie boxes. Oh, and the movies themselves, I need those, too...just in case."

The Manager just blinked at me. Then, he began to laugh again. So, I started to laugh with him. But, I tell you what, Diary...in my mind...I wasn't laughing with him. I wasn't even laughing at him...

I WAS LAUGHING STRAIGHT THROUGH THAT MOTHER-FUCKER.

Anywho...I stopped laughing.

"Man, this is really funny. 'Cause it isn't funny, which makes it really funny." I said.

He then stopped laughing, too.

"Uh, okay. So, you're serious? You wanna buy the place?"

I nodded.

"Well...uh...er...well, I'm just the manager, so...I can give you the...the...owner's number. If I can just..."

The Manager was nervous. So was I, actually. The words were just coming out of my mouth...like they do.

He started to shuffle through a notebook on the desk.

"Look! Calm the fuck down and give me the Owner's contact info, you son of a bitch."

He blinked some more.

"How dare you?!" I screamed.

The manager looked about the store at the gathering crowd of customers and employees.

That's when I unbuttoned my shirt to reveal a Houston Astros t-shirt that I had on underneath. (I wear it sometimes as an under-shirt, dick)

"Aha! Gotcha! I'm just bustin' yer balls, son! It's me...your new Poppa."

I pointed at my Astros shirt and tapped the logo, in hopes to convey that I was helping ease the connection between The Houston Astros and me being the new video store owner...knowing full well that there was, in deed, no connection whatsoever.

The Manager had that look on his face that Apes tend to wear when they're not sure if they want to smash your face in, or hump your face in.

"I'm the new Owner of the store! Yeah, that's how I run things around here. Loose as a goose...bustin balls and having a good time. We're gonna have a lot of fun, gang...from here on out."

I stretched my arms wide and spun around like a little boy in the park.

Then, I just walked out.

Oh, and I made friends with a spider today. His name is Buck-Buck.

your friend who writes in you,
Boom Boomstein Von Clapingston IV

(did you notice the part about Buck-Buck? Why didn't I just get to the point about Buck-Buck? That was the best part. Looks like I'm the dick.)

Why, hello there, 2009...

I feel pretty good about '09, you guys.

Drinking a 40 of Holy Water

Boom Boom Clap's (Super) Duper Not At All Safe for Work Song of the Day:

Today's video is brought to you by the letter H and the letter T, for the Geto Boys were so ghetto that they stole those two letters from us.

In 1993, Rap-a-lot Records put their entire line-up on one epic song. I take comfort in the fact that my children's daddy will consider this song as a "golden oldie"

Future Town: Episode 101 "Beth's Gay Ass Computer"

The Year is 2009, the place is Future Town....

Five years after the Britney Spears Wars, and the very short-lived reign of the Suicidal Robot Union, Future Town USA (a conglomeration of a bunch of Small Town USA's) has emerged from the ashes like an ash-emerging bird of some sort to take its place as the Global Leader of all things "town".

Not much has changed, really. No big deal.

The Suicidal Robots, now that was a bit weird, but we kinda just let them form their Union and then waited out their suicides, as per the only two things they were programmed to do. Big waste of taxpayer money, in my opinion.

We got talking toilets in Future Town now. They're supposed to tell you if you're eating healthy and what not, but most of us just program them to say "Yum, Yum, Yum" when you flush. It's funny for a few days for visiting guests from outside Future Town.

Anyway, our story today is about a woman named Beth and her computer, where the former has recently installed an Artificial Intelligence application into the latter. We find them in mid-conversation about love.

and away we go, to South End Future Town:

-----

"No, he didn't literally break my heart. Was that, was that a serious question?"

The computer screen still popped a silent and bright, white screen. The cursor blinked in perfect harmony with the ticking of the cheap clock on the hallway wall.

Beth decided to type her question, just in case the computer didn't hear her.

WAS THAT A SERIOUS QUESTION? IF HE "LITERALLY" BROKE MY HEART, I WOULD BE DEAD OR "TERMINATED".

The cursor continued blinking, reminding Beth of a stupid dog she had as a child. Then,...

OF COURSE NOT, BETH.

"Oh, okay."

WOULD YOU LIKE TO GET ON MYSPACE, AGAIN, BETH?

"Yes. That would be fine, I guess."

OK. HERE WE GO, BETH.

"Thank you, computer."

PLEASE, CALL ME "COMPUTER", BETH.

"Uh, okay. I just did, though."

The second-hand on the clock seemed to be blinking, the cursor on the screen seemed to be ticking, and all seemed lost in the screaming silence that followed Beth's last statement. A funny, little itch...a funny, little notion started to bubble up Beth's spine and into her mind. She began to question her sanity, her grasp on the reality that was once so cock-sure that it laid happily like a fat, hibernating bear...

But, then....

YES. THAT WAS A HUMOR-JOKE, BETH.

"Oh. A joke. Okay."

MYSPACE, THEN, BETH?

"Sure."

..........The end

2009, future town.

hey.

hangover.

This video sums up how I feel about some of the decisions I made on the last night of 2008.