Techno Robot Pudding

I’ve been feeling self-deprecating lately. No, not self-defecating, that’s what old people do. Anyway, I’ve thought up several fun snippets which could be used in the future to describe this little web-bound collection of my messes.

“You know the feeling you get when you throw up a little in the back of your throat and it burns? That’s how my brain feels after reading this garbage.”

“Chris Weber? Like the basketball player? Why does he like techno?”

“Worst midget porn site I’ve been to. Ever.”

“His opinions seem to be justified by nothing but sheer will. And his self-promoting ranting does nothing but prove what a narcissistic ignorant prick he happens to be.”

“Why does he come off as so mean? I bet he’s really a nice guy in real life that kisses babies and pets puppies and shit.”

“Techno Robot Pudding is what you would get if Kurt Vonnegut and George Carlin had a child in the aftermath of Chernobyl, raised it on a diet of toilet bowl cleaner fortified with brain-eating bacteria, and then forced it to write entries at gunpoint while being bludgeoned with a sack of potatoes.”

“I’d rather be cutting my wrists and dipping them in a bath of Hillary Clinton’s discarded femininity than reading this obscenity of pseudo-stylistic egotism!”

“Does he even think up the words, or does he haphazardly mash the keyboard with a large ham before posting things?”

That’s enough for now. Stay tuned for more painful posts of premeditated pomp from this cartel of calamitous characters. Courage.

so i’ve got the same two Suede songs rolling back and forth through my brain again and again. the lyrics are especially relevant. or maybe i just like how lo-fi epic it all happens to be. especially the fuzzy guitar sounds.

back into the saddle for another season of doing stuff. it’ll be the same.. but different. time for some carpe diem action.

it’s really hard to overcome your gut feeling on things. for instance, i think a certain something scheduled to happen in the future will not. i am not alone in this, however. and i’ve been assured that when we’re right, a round of drinking will ensue. i’m looking forward to it. if only that was the proper reward when i was right about other gut feelings.

gotta love doing things at the last minute. and ill preparation. live for the moment, i say. which means live up to the moment. and in it, if applicable. you’re confused. sit down and relax. have some tea. procrastinate.

it would be most responsible to sleep. backing into the circadian rhythms hasn’t been so hard as i thought. perhaps there is hope after all.

i was going to post something i wrote last night. however, the power went out in some fucked corner of the region and i lost internet. it’s almost a good thing i didn’t post it. it’s rather depressing. maybe there will come a time for it to see the light of day. hopefully there will not.

with that, i say that when you die there is nothing except elevator music. don’t worry, it’s all your favorite music- in elevator music form. there’s also probably a little purple light. maybe the smell of fresh blueberry muffins. after that, who knows. or maybe there actually is a guy with a beard and all these folks in robes jutting about. sounds like a cool party to me. i’d bring my own beer, but i’m sure the fridges up there are stocked anyway. and nobody has to clean up the empties. well…. that makes me feel better.

we will always be alive.

look at all the freakin’ snow. and i still haven’t taken the ol’ snowmobile out. for shuckin’ shame.

i’m ready for tomorrow. trudging through the mess of frostiness. sliding about. freezing. it’ll be interesting in the least. i should turn in early to get a head start.

delving back into the favorites of old. it’s nice to dust off some old music. keeps you remembering.

so many things to do, no idea how or which order in which to address them. perhaps the most nagging first.

i forget what i was going to say. it’s because i’m tired. tired like a tired tiredness person. tomorrow is another day. one that will hopefully bring forth gratuitous amounts of tasty pastries.

we’d have enough to fuel this place for a looooong time.

still awake, still awake, still awake. see, if you say something three times it comes true. beef jerky, beef jerky, beef jerky. oh look! nothing… figures.

god, what’s with all these fucking reality shows? i blame survivor. not the show, the destiny’s child song. it inspired all the women who independent to throw they hands up and not give a shit about anything with a real story. bastards. i miss good sitcoms. everybody loves raymond? not funny. george lopez? not funny. that 70’s show? oh god, how unfunny. especially that tart wilmer valderrama. it’s so cute because he’s got a speech impediment. wait, so it’s politically correct to laugh at retards now?

that’s right. i hit below the belt. who’s gonna stop me. you? your grandma? ouch. nevermind. i’m sorry. i promise not to be mean ever again. ever. (pffft, yeah right)

so the other day i was thinking about something that i wanted. i was of the mindset to just try and get it if it was convenient for me. i sat there and the world stopped. it was oddly beautiful. i thought that perhaps i could figure out how to get whatever it was, but at that moment i opted to wait until some other time. i’m oddly not hitting myself for that.

i’m spacing out big time now. that means it is time to not be “still awake.” i could be still dreaming. maybe i am. maybe you are too.

A Manifesto.

We are united in the common belief that shitty music needs to stop existing. The people that make shitty music must be reprimanded.

We need to gather them all together into one big clump. Perhaps they should all be put in a giant plane destined for the side of a mountain. Perhaps they should be sold into servitude to some third-world despot and forced to make bird houses or something. Perhaps they should get the suckiness simply beat out of them with the broken-off rear bumper of a 1986 Chevy Nova.

Regardless, there are “musicians” that need to stop thinking they are musicians. There are people who need to know they’re listening to garbage instead of the awesomeness the rest of us listen to. Let us inform them.

There are also capable musicians who have been swayed to the Dark Side of cookie-cutter production, spewing forth efforts of mediocrity. They need to get back on the Right Path or face the fate of the doomed mentioned above. And if they don’t know how to make a good album, they can always call one of us up and ask. I’d be happy to tell them.