Thursday, March 31, 2005

Beach Boys Love You!

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If you can find this synth-driven recording by the mid-70's Beach Boys, you'll be very surprised to find they anticipated many of the sounds that later groups like Wilco and Flaming Lips would feature on their "break-out" albums Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and The Soft Bulletin.
Uncle Torture commands you to go find the real deal, once again.
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Sunday, March 27, 2005

Life's Rough

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Wednesday, March 23, 2005

The Unlikely

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The Unlikely shakin' some action at The Sports Time Pub!
Overheard at the bar: "When are these faggots gonna finish so we can play darts?"
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Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Alas, Tai Is Dead

The Hip-Hop world will be wearing their baggy pants at half-mast today (that means even lower than usual) as word spreads that one of their most celebrated stylists, Tai the Hip-Hop Guy, is no more.
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He didn't really die, since he never existed (actually the network administrator got wind of Tai's dubious nature and deleted his ass). Of course, if justice prevailed, most all MySpace.com accounts should be deleted because if honesty were a requirement, a lot of people would be in serious trouble. Image Hosted by ImageShack.us
Anyway, I don't want to seem like sorehead because even morons need a place to hang out. Death to Tai and Long Live MySpace.com.
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Saturday, March 19, 2005

Tai Must Die!

The idea of playing God has intrigued mankind for centuries. From Prometheus to Frankenstein, humankind has had a keen interest in upstaging the master. I, of course, am no different. Why do you think I teach college? For the academic pursuit of an absolute truth, a Platonic ideal? No, it's so I can lord it over a bunch of 18-year-old retards who must kiss my ass to get a grade. Well, not really, but the 18-year-old retards probably think so.
However, the problem with playing God is that you can never control your creation. Case in point: the hip-hop loving, break dancing dipshit Tai.
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This fucker is really pissing me off. You'd think that, as his creator, and therefore, God or deity or whatever you want to call it, the bastard would show some respect. Like invite one of his whores to be my friend, I mean, he's got enough of them. How many whores do you need? The little shit gathered 15 of them in one week, who knows what would happen if I let this go on any longer.
Which brings me to the point. Tai, you are going down my friend. Oh, yes. The end of days is coming for you, shitheel. You had better watch your back, Loverboy. As your Lord and Creator, I can bring down any wrath I wish. It could come right in the middle of an air baby with you thinking you look mad sweet...and BAM! I'll pop your ass straight to hell, boy!
Oh yes, it's only a matter of when and where my little MySpace whore. When...and... where.
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Friday, March 11, 2005

Why I Hate MySpace.com

Like everyone else I guess, I checked into the MySpace.com thing to see what it was all about, and I quickly realized that, for the most part, I didn't like it. On the plus side, it's a cool way for bands to post their mp3s and show dates and connect with other like-minded souls, but I just despise this whole "hook-up" aspect. And what's with all the pop-ups? And who the fuck are all of these beautiful people? Are ugly people not allowed on MySpace? Everyone looks like an American Eagle model and has 4000 "friends." I have a sneaky feeling that this is just bullshit. Here's the typical male MySpacer:
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He of the chiseled good looks and the spiky cool hair who calls himself D.J. Delicious or Loverbutt
or some silly name stolen from a character on a WB network program.
Here's his real photo which Uncle Torture Magazine was able to scoop from a reliable source:
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Yes, ladies, your dreamboat is actually Fred Durst's even uglier brother.
As for the women, there are basically two types of girls usually found on MySpace.com. Either the pseudo-pornstar wannabe:
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Or the cutesy-pie sorority girl:
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Either way, she will probably turn out to be one of these two women:
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Or in fact be this man:
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Okay, so I know some people like MySpace.com because they can keep in touch with their "peeps," and that is important, but do we all need to be in on the action? It's kind of like some asshole yelling into a cell phone in the middle of the mall: I don't want to hear that shit! And I don't care that some 18-year-olds are going to go out and kick it on Friday night and want to give a shout out to their other middle-class, white suburban gangsta nigaz! It's like some gigantic, country-wide episode of Elimidate.
Still though, I'm not convinced that any of these people are actually real, so I've decided to conduct an experiment. This afternoon I changed the MySpace.com account I set up a few weeks ago to become the new account for Los Angeles' newest playa. In just a few hours, "Tai" has already acquired 5 new whores, I mean "friends," who apparently responded to "Tai's" status as a swinger or his amazing ability to be just 18 and already make over $200,000 a year. Or possibly it's his cavalier disdain for normal spelling or grammar. Now, I know I probably should be ashamed of myself for my deception of the poor, innocent youth of America, but I don't think I'm the only one pulling the proverbial wool over anyone's eyes. Anyway, after a week or so, I intend to give "Tai" a nice soap opera ending and have him die in a freak breakdancing accident. So before any poor girl can fall in love with this "hunk," he'll fade away from internet memory like so much deleted data.
So go visit "Tai" while you can and become his friend, you won't regret it.
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Thursday, March 10, 2005

Sayonara, Rob!

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A little while ago I was sitting at the Stoned Lion having a beer with Jenn McSpadden, and she said, "Let's call Rob." The Old(ham) Boy is leaving for the Land of the Rising Sun on Thursday morning, and I'm sure he couldn't be more excited. So Jenn gave him a ring, and we interrupted his packing, but it was good to say "Sayonara, Motherfucker" in, of course, the most affectionate manner.
Besides, I'm sure Stacy won't mind having a bit of breathing room. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. Or is that Absinthe, I forget! Anyway, Domo Arigato,, Mr. Roboto. See ya on the return! For Once into the East!
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Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Winner of Amy Pohler Look-Alike Contest?

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Once again Indygirl leads me to something hilarious. And now we have: Jail House Babes! What's with this preoccupation with inmates? Here's part of the personal ad:

I have 6 children & am looking for a pen pal & serious friend. I am here til Jan. '07 for forgery and drugs. I am very funny & open-monded & need financial help.
Here is a joke to loosen you up!

In the beginning God created the Earth and rested.
Then God created Man and rested.
Then God created Woman.
Since then?

Huh? I don't get it.
I'll bet she's really "open-monded" when it comes to using other people's money to go on week-long, meth-fueled sex marathons. That's where the "financial help" comes in. "Yew don't think crystal meth grows on trees do ya? That shit's all involved like to cook up. Yew gatta hayuv all them grediants, an a shitty hotel room to cook it inyun."
And SIX kids? Yikes! Gee, I'll bet they're proud.
Better hurry, fellers, before this one gets snatched up.
Normally, one must go to a bowling alley to meet a girl of this caliber.
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Saturday, March 05, 2005

Scealf Finally Snaps and Kills Entire Population of Chattanooga for not "Rockin'"

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No, not really. This is a still from the low-budget ($600 to be exact) indie horror film Anti-Horror which stars the legendary Eric Scealf. Chattanooga film maker Don Benjamin helmed this grusome little ditty and it's picking up some good reviews as well as possible Hollywood distribution. Think of the possiblities: crazy rock'n'roll shaman Eric let loose on an unsuspecting Hollywood! Paris Hilton declares "Eric's HOT!" Eric gets the B.A. Baracus role in the big-screen remake of The A-Team("Hey ya'll, I pity the fool!"). Weirder shit has happened, trust me. I say take it all the way to the bank my friends, Uncle Torture's behind ya.
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Friday, March 04, 2005

David Horowitz Demands Equal Time In My Classroom for Conservative Students...Fuck 'Em All I Say

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Conservative students are apparently demanding equal time in college classrooms across the nation. They are demanding that their liberal, pot-smoking, cable-knit sweater-wearing, sexy co-ed screwing, atheist, communist, vegan, lesbian, punk rock, anti-social, pro-humanist, hippie, anarchist, free-thinking, crawdad-smoking, literarte, book-reading, non-SUV driving, socialist, poem-writing, human-rights advocate, women's choice sponser, homosexual college professors refrain from pushing their agendas on such sensitive, patriotic, gun-toting, NRA-backing, rational, hate-mongering tools of the Bush Regime students who feel put upon by a an organization which systematically denies the basic human rights of all American, freedom-loving, Thomas Jefferson-supporting, Democratic...whoops, I've gotten confused. Just who is the enemy here? Shithead! Read this crap.
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Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Someday...

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usI love this man. He's a god among mere mortals. Look upon his visage and weep. You can only hope to reach the heights he has reached. Next time, by god...next time. Here's what Jeff had to say about the election:

"Brian, all the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies...sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. That's when I'll be there to pick up the pieces."

Right on, baby. Right on.

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