Sunday, October 28, 2007

Stupid asshole comment of the month.

Last night was The Booty Bassment in San Diego. Around 1:15 am I had just gotten through playing a set of bass, eighties, and Baltimore Club and decided to slow it up. So I play Let It Go by Keisha Cole because we all know that the ladies love it, and I like it too. This dildo comes up to the booth and makes sure that I see him. I am in the middle of picking out my next record and getting it ready to mix, so I'm putting off talking to this guy, mostly because I know he's going to say something stupid. Call it intuition. So after I get set, I address him. He says, "Do you think you could move away from this sound?" I said, "What?" He says it again. I say, "DO I THINK I COULD MOVE AWAY FROM THIS SOUND." "Yeah." So I says to dis fuckin guy, I says, "I am not a jukebox. I play what I want when I want." So he says, incredulously, "Do you want to play this?" I reply, "YES." So this goddamned waste of oxygen stomps off, grabs his girlfriend by the hand and pulls her off the dancefloor to the front door. Good riddance to bad trash.

Last night was weird. All kinds of wack people were there. These old washed up pervs showed up halfway through the night completely shitcanned and started taking pictures of all the girls and trying to breakdance. I immediately rushed out on the floor to put a halt to their shenanigans. There will be no middle aged crackers breaking up the dancefloor with their feeble attempts at emulating "urban culture". Not on my watch. These idiots were crashing into people and slathering the unwilling with sweat in a futile effort at dancefloor acrobatics. At the end of the night I made an announcement, "Just for future reference, there will be no breakdancing allowed at The Booty Bassment." Some people starting booing and staring at me in disbelief. It was great. Ikah got on the microphone and elaborated saying, "Last time I checked, dancing was a couple's activity. Man and woman, woman and woman... It's not something to do AT somebody." Oh, it was rich, I tell you. A bit of character cleansing never hurt anybody, did it?

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

This week in thought.

I live in San Diego. Perhaps you have heard of it? The place with all the fire. I won't cry about it, because I haven't been evacuated from my house, and none of my family or close friends have either. I do feel very badly for all the people who have been effected by this terrible event, but at this time I merely want to recount a couple of observations I have made in the last week.

First off, I have noticed a lot more birds of prey in the air as of late. On my drive to work yesterday, I saw three very large hawks or some such bird hunting along side the 5 freeway. Maybe it can be attributed to the land that was burned. I guess the animals need to go somewhere, but I just never see large birds like that in the beach areas. Speaking of which, I have been seeing flocks of crows all over San Diego, which I never remember there being until this last year. Very odd.

Secondly, the asshole drivers seem to be driving with even more disregard to courtesy and general traffic laws than ever. Is this a result of the fires? Has the smoke damaged the part of their brains which allow quick decision making? I don't know and I don't like it. I really want to know why it is soooooo difficult for people to use the goddamned blinker before changing lanes or making a turn. Does it really take that much energy for these people? Maybe they should eat some Wheaties before they hit the road. V8? Whatever.

With that being said, I would like to let you know that we will be accepting donations for victims of the fire at The Worst Music Ever on 10/25/07 at The Zombie Lounge and at Booty Bassment on 10/27/07 at The Whistle Stop Bar. Non perishable food items, water, clean bedding and clothing, toiletries, baby supplies, toys, etc. as well as money that will go to The American Red Cross. Come out, have a good time, and give freely. Thank you.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Hungary: The future of popular music?

First off, I would like to thank Rocky for the lead on Speak, The Hungarian Rapper. After viewing this masterpieceofshit, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of Hungarian artists who's efforts beg attention. Ye come on. Thas righ. Check.

Gaston Willig and his amazing brain.

In commemoration of the 2007 Hawaiian Islands Tap Dance Festival, I must tell you all about my favorite new TV show: America's Most Smartest Model. This shit is ridiculous. If you like to ridicule people who seem to have a lower intelligence than you even though you are watching VH1 and not reading Dostoevsky, then this is the show for you.

The plot: they take a group of models who claim to be smart and prove they are not by asking them to participate in several competitions all directed by Ben Stein and some chick who worked at Vogue or whatever, including a spelling bee with words such as emaciated or Tommy Hilfiger. IT IS HILARIOUS. The best part of the show that I saw was during the runway competition, where the models were given a subject they had to elaborate on while doing their walk down the runway. For instance, the model approaches the runway and the lady that worked at Fashion Week or whatever says, "Things that are round." The model then walks the runway (hopefully in style) while naming off things that are round... "Balls, balloons, the nucleus of an atom, etc."

So this guy named Gaston comes up. He's this skinny, typically model-attractive type Argentinian that makes lewd comments to every female he comes in contact with ("You two should rub your boobs together.") He looooves himself (see picture attached). Ben Stein gives him his subject: things that smell bad. After a moment of contemplation, Gaston begins his strut, and he comes out the corner swingin... "Armpit, fart, shoes..." He stops, pivots, makes his way to the other side of the catwalk... "socks, dirt..." He turns and heads back up the runway, turns around for his last look at the audience with a dead pan glare, and says it... "Dirty penis." I fucking lost it at that point. Gaston turns back around and leaves the stage. Just like that. POWER.

I don't give a fuck about any other bitch on that show, Gaston wins because only a genius would come up with an answer like that. But of course, the goddamned a-holes win again and cut him from the show. What did Gaston have to say about the matter? "Dirty penis stink, right? If they don't like my answer, they can suck it." My sentiments exactly. Another added bonus to all this mind blowing entertainment was that all Gaston's lines were subtitled to make up for his sheik Argentinian accent. GREAT SUCCESS, GASTON, GREAT SUCCESS. And now to celebrate Gaston's amazing acumen, I have made my own short list of things that I find olfactorily offensive. Enjoy.

Swamp ass, infected gangrenous leg, rotten tube steak, dead snow leopard, Chinese market, my Great Grandmother's 1974 Toyota Corona (which later became mine), rave, burning marshmallow bag in the bonfire, the bathroom at Peet's Coffee in Hillcrest, the hallway by the bathroom at Peet's Coffee in Hillcrest, homeless, Haight Street hippie, Haight Street crust-punk, Asiago cheese, the cattle ranch located right off the Interstate 5 in Central California (also known as Cowschwitz), free condom from Planned Parenthood, wet cat food, rotting pug tooth, Old Spice, old library book, old person, The Beach Boys.

The End.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Feckin' A, man.

After an overwhelming outcry by you, our adoring public, we decided to make The Worst Music Ever a monthly occurrence. Yes, you will now be able to hear all Earth's aural atrocities on the 4th Thursday of every month at The world famous Zombie Lounge. You are so stoked right now.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007


This time, I am on my own. Ryan will be on vacation in Argentina and New York. I'm totally jealous and sad I won't get to hang out with him until November, but I'll survive. Anyway, come dance for me because I'll be djing all night by myself, so I need to see you WORK! SWEAT! And maybe come freak me for a minute. It wouldn't make me mad.