Lucha Libre Rules in Nashville

Tonight is the big Senate election in Alabama. You will have read more and better analysis about this elsewhere. The results pour in slowly and I grow anxious. For the purposes of tonight, I’m going to take a moment and think back to this weekend and an exciting event that I attended.


Aro Lucha put on its’ first TV taping at the Nashville Fairgrounds Sports Arena this Sunday, with luchadors, wrestlers from Lucha Underground, former WWE and TNA stars, and. . . midget wrestling. Because what would a lucha libre show be without midgets.

And calling them midget insults is not an anti-PC slur, especially when one of them is Mascarita Dorada who is one of the most incredible high-flyers regardless of size.

Mascarita Dorada was on the show, as were a few former WWE stars like the Hurricane and MVP, and some Lucha Underground stars like Johnny Mundo and Taya.

Then there were Rush and La Mascara, two of the founding members of Los Ingobernables, the wildest bad guy gang in Mexican lucha and Maximo, the famous kiss-stealing exotico hero who fans cheer for by chanting “beso, beso, beso”.

I can’t neglect Pentagon, Jr., the infamous and beloved luchador who is so secretive and mysterious that even his name is unknown which is practically unheard of in this era of wrestling openly breaking kayfabe.


A face a mother could love… if Pentagon’s mother even knows what he looks like now.

Speaking of mysterious, I almost forgot Rey Mysterio. Who is only. . . I dunno. . . one of the greatest wrestlers full-stop of the last thirty years? I mean. . . we’re talking about a 5’6″, 180-pound Latino-American who has lit up every promotion he ever worked in, ascending to the top of WWE in the thirteen years he worked there? He smashed through the glass ceiling for smaller wrestlers in WWE which was and still is a notoriously big man centered promotion.

Only an incredibly talented and gifted once-in-a-lifetime talent could do what Rey Mysterio has done over the course of his nearly-thirty-year career. And by God I got to see him, in a Fairground shed that held no more than a thousand people, wrestling in the main event in a tag match with Pentagon against Johnny Mundo and Rush.

A lot of credit to the Aro Lucha staff who made the inside of the Fairgrounds Sports Arena look incredible. The show was being shot for a TV pilot and it looked like a classy affair. The wrestling ranged from good to great and the crowd was incredibly enthusiastic and I was there in the fourth row. I got so excited I fell out of my chair like a dope. So if you were there and you heard a big thud right before the women’s tag match and wondered what it was, that was me crashing to the floor.

Yes, I was embarrassed. No, I don’t care.

One more thing: because it was a lucha libre show, it was a mixed crowd between mostly Latinos and whites with some African-Americans as well. Aro Lucha sold tickets at three Mexican groceries in town and most of the advance tickets were probably Latinos while white people like myself probably did the walkup deal. All the tickets were $20, general admission. Wrestling is the thing that unified us all, no matter our race or political beliefs. We all love to watch wrestling and have respect for the athletes who put their bodies on the line to entertain us.

I’m reminded of the words of Sanshiro Takagi who said “There can be no peace on earth without pro wrestling.” I believe him. It’s a beautiful world when we all watch together.



America Is Lonely And Depressed

I wish I were Gil Scott-Heron.


I wish I were someone who people listened to when I say that America is lonely and depressed.

Not that it matters what I think.

It’s just that the evidence is all around us.

You can’t look at this world and not tell me it’s not lonely and depressed and also sexually repressed.

No matter where you go, there’s ways and means and symbols to let you know. Panic attacks. Can’t breathe. Got the weight of the world on your chest.

In a cool dark room, taking Xanax to breathe. Got a beer in your hand and it’s still no relief. Blood pressure through the roof and the truth is mankind was not meant to deal with this stress.

America is lonely and depressed.

Maybe someone can come over tonight. Fire up the phone. Swipe left, swipe right. Get a match, hit ’em up. Netflix and chill. Netflix and therapy. Netflix and pills.

Tinder won’t fix it. Grindr won’t fix it. Isolation’s how we got Donald Trump and Brexit.

It’s anecdotal evidence but most people lock their doors and close the blinds but enough people in this world close their minds.

So you end up with anti-gay politicians smokin’ dust with teenage rentboys in a fleabag motel. I could go on with more examples of the same hypocritical mind-think but why bother dragging us down even further. My examples are just more of the same. People are unhappy and believe their neighbors are to blame.

More tensions that we have Facebook notifications which is a whole different situation and source of frustration.

To stay connected to people you never see anymore. To be held up like stock on a factory floor in somebody else’s warehouse and picked what feels like random to be placed in an online shopping cart.

But I do the same thing.

Five thousand friends when I only need ten. I’m reminded again and again and again of how much I am lonely and depressed.

I have always been the All-American boy and I am the thermometer of the nation. I am overheated. My reserves are depleted. I and my constituents feel disenfranchised and defeated. Obsolete, deleted. Laid off, no longer needed.

I represent America. I’m closed off. Petrified.


Anxiety Variety (No Talk Thingy)

I have forgotten to talk to people.

I come from nowhere. I go nowhere and stay there. I throw these little chunks of writing out into the world and that is how I communicate.

I forget to talk to people. I forget to stay in touch.

I don’t have conversations very often. The ones I have tend to be short and awkward. I feel cold and distant from everything around me. Is this my choice or by circumstance?

I haven’t had a real conversation since Thursday. I’ve gone a whole four days without a real conversation.

I live alone. I don’t have a roommate. No one to annoy, no one to annoy me. No one to split bills with. No one to worry about if the bills are going to be paid or not. No one to talk to.

I go to the store. I say a few words to the clerks. Nothing major. All small talk. Pleasantries. I nod my head and say thanks. I want to get out there as soon as I can.

Home is the bunker. Home is peace. Home is life. No pressure at home. Just the loneliness.

Tuesday I will have to go out for a while. I will probably end up in a conversation whether I want to or not. I want to talk. I don’t want to forget how to do it.

After midnight postscript: I went out into the world on Tuesday like I said I would. I had two doctor appointments. I spoke with the doctors. They were doctor-patient conversations. Do those count? I’m just glad I spoke to somebody anybody no matter who or what about.

My temperature was taken, my pulse and blood pressure was checked. I was given a flu shot. It was the most intimacy I’ve had in ages. I expect to be alone. I’m resigned to it. I don’t know how to demand more. In order to love myself, I must give myself a chance to open up to people.

It’s not like I haven’t done it before. 🙂

After Midnight, The Throat-Cutting

I have a question that I wish someone could answer. But first. . .

After midnight on Dec. 2nd in the east, the Senate is preparing to vote on a tax reform bill. It is nearly 500 pages and much of it is literally written in the margins like notes on a school test. Since the bill passed through the Senate committee this week (by a party-line vote) there have been NO meetings, no hearings, no attempts to reach across the aisle, nothing.

It is an attempt to ramrod through a piece of legislation that is not only unpopular but mostly unseen by the Senate itself. What we do know is that it will add a trillion dollars to the deficit. Many poor and middle-class Americans will get a tax hike as a result. Who will benefit from such a bill? I give you two guesses.

They might actually pass the bill and then finish the draft of the bill afterwards. There were literally giant “X”s across whole pages of legislation. Can they do that?

Let me reiterate: THEY ARE GOING TO PASS A BILL THAT THEY DON’T HAVE. THEY DON’T HAVE A BILL. THEY JUST HAVE THE NOTES THAT WOULD MAKE UP A BILL. THEY JUST HAVEN’T PUT IT ALL TOGETHER YET. If you turned this in to a teacher for an assignment, they would give you an “incomplete”.


Senator Jon Tester (D-Montana) holding a page from the GOP tax bill with notes in the margins added last second.

Also, I should reiterate that THIS BILL WILL CAUSE TAXES TO GO UP FOR NEARLY EVERYONE, KICK MILLIONS OF PEOPLE OFF MEDICARE, MEDICAID AND SOCIAL SECURITY and that’s just the tentpole problems with this collection of words and scribbles made to resemble a bill.

So here’s my question. . .

If we are in a class war, how do we fight back?

Seriously, the Republican majority is voting to raise our taxes, add a trillion dollar deficit and enrich the most wealthy families in the country. The bill cut the corporate tax rate from 35% to 20%. We are targeted. What are we supposed to do? We can’t fight them. I mean, we’re not supposed to.

What if we stopped? Stopped working with them and for them? Do they need us more than we need them? Stop serving them. Stop protecting them. Stop providing them services. Stop helping them.

How about we go full Lysistrata on the bastards?

In ancient Greece, the women sought to end the Peloponnesian War by denying sex to all the men of the land, forcing negotiations of peace. This is the plot of the play Lysistrata by Aristophanes.

It wouldn’t be enough to ask the women to stop having sex with the men of Congress (or the closeted, shame-filled men on Grindr or Daddyhunt). What if everybody got in on it. We all deprived them of goods and services. What if we just stopped working and went indefinite leave? Could we bring the whole thing to a halt if only for a few days? Could we force them to reconsider what they are doing to us? Could we make the government and big business scared?

They are about to give $1.4 trillion to people who do not need it. Something horrible is about to happen.

Economic chaos is about to be brought into the room.

Postscript: I wrote this as the bill came up for a vote after midnight on the 2nd. It passed 51-49 in a nearly party line vote with only Bob Corker of Tennessee defecting from the Republicans to vote against it. The near-unanimous backlash to this bill should give the GOP pause.

And maybe that’s the whole point. Because now the Senate GOP and the House GOP have to negotiate a new bill. The House and Senate bills are different and perhaps such that they cannot meet in the middle. The Senate bill may not work for blue-state Republicans who have to run for office in eleven months. The House bill may not have enough corporate concessions in comparison to the Senate bill.

My prediction/hope/fervent prayer is that the two houses of Congress attempt to reconcile these bills and fail miserably. And then blame each other in a way to save face. They fail to reconcile, therefore the bill fails to come to another vote, therefore the deranged fake President can’t sign it.

It’s almost genius when you look at it that way.

Contrary To Conventional Wisdom, The Show Doesn’t Actually Have To Go On

Suggested listennng: “Let’s Get It On” – Freddie Mercury

What did I say? I think I said something along the lines of “This is a bad idea”. The optics of Bryan Singer directing the Queen biopic were not good. Listen, if Bryan Singer wants to shit up the X-Men or Superman it’s not my business. You know why? Because the X-Men and Superman are comic book heroes and can be rebooted at a moment’s notice. In my lifetime, the Spiderman franchise has been rebooted fifteen (estimated) times. If a real creep musses one of those up, someone else will come along with their take on it.

Freddie Mercury is not a comic book hero. He was a person, a living being who walked, sang and strutted all over the Earth for forty-five amazing but all-too-short years. There will not be a reboot of Freddie Mercury with a different director and actor five years from now. Remember that Notorious BIG biopic from years ago? That one sucked and there won’t be another one even if the movie had been any good (the guy playing Biggie nailed but that was it).


This photo is way better than the movie will ever be.

As a result of director Bryan Singer’s “unexpected unavailability,” production on the Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody has been temporarily put on hold.

In a statement to EW on Friday, the studio behind the film said: “Twentieth Century Fox Film has temporarily halted production on Bohemian Rhapsody due to the unexpected unavailability of Bryan Singer.”

The reason for Singer’s absence, according to a report first published by the BBC and confirmed by EW, is “a personal health matter concerning Bryan and his family” and that the director hopes to return to the film after the holidays.

If Bryan Singer has a “personal health matter” then why, why, WHY is it dragging an entire production to a halt for more than a month? Read that again, he hopes to return to the film “after the holidays”. If I read that correctly, that means after Christmas and New Year’s Day. I don’t know what the shooting schedule was, though I assume they would have taken a break for the holidays. If you’re generous and assume they would have broke on Friday the 22nd, that’s still over three weeks of shooting out the window all because of the director’s unavailability.

This is not the first time Singer took a break from a film production, but this is the #metoo era and famous men in power are being dragged down by credible allegations of sexual harassment, abuse, and various misconduct. From Harvey Weinstein to John Lasseter to Brett Ratner to James Toback to Kevin Spacey, more and beyond, and that is just a fraction of the Hollywood elite who have been subject of well-sourced articles documenting their vile past of violations against multitudes of people who didn’t have the agency or resources to fight back. Singer is a big-time director and a member of the Hollywood elite. Anything is possible now.

Before last week, no one could have guessed that Matt Lauer would be fired by NBC for sexual harassment and impropriety. The untouchables are now becoming more easily touchable. Or the chickens are coming home to roost. Is a story about Singer coming out soon? If so, what outlet will print it? Variety, the Hollywood Reporter, the New Yorker, the New York Times? Will there be multiple outlets competing to break the scoop first? Any outcome is possible at this point. Or is it something else?

Unrelated but many rehab clinics offer twenty-eight day programs. (Ed. note: remember to delete this before posting)

I hope either one of two things comes out of what could be a oncoming scoop about Bryan Singer’s proclivities: that either the Queen biopic is left unfinished or that Singer is fired and replaced with another director. That won’t make the film any better but it will clear the conscience of a lot of fans who don’t want to be anywhere near a project Singer touches.

(Update, 12/4: Singer has been fired from the Bohemian Rhapsody production, 20th Century Fox announced. A report from Deadline states there were two weeks left in principle photography, which means that Singer (or his cinematographer) oversaw the vast majority of filming. More analysis later…)

Smashing Everything With A Bat

Venting is good when you’re in a safe space to do it. This website is mine. I am about to do some venting after this shitstorm of a news cycle.

Don’t mind me. I’ll be over here smashing the windows with an aluminum bat.

A Bosnian war criminal drank poison in court today and that was the most sane thing that happened in the news.

Right now I want to get laid, smoke some crack and punch a dog. Not all at once, obviously.

Question: what do Matt Lauer, Garrison Keillor and Geraldo Rivera have in common? For one thing, they all suck in the areas of their so-called expertise. For another thing, each of them have been credibly accused of some sort of impropriety with women. Matt Lauer and Garrison Keillor both lost their jobs today. Geraldo decided this was the hill he wanted to die on and defended Lauer, but then a clip emerged from the ’90s where Bette Midler told Barbara Walters that in the late ’70s Geraldo and his producer pushed her into a bathroom, forced her to sniff amyl nitrate poppers and groped her breasts.

Geraldo Rivera has been a pathetic wreck of a public figure for longer than I’ve been alive and when he finally croaks the people who can’t stand him won’t be bothered to celebrate.


Dear sweet Ishii, I hope you are as pure as the driven snow.

Leeann Tweeden alleged that Sen. Al Franken groped and sexually harassed her on a USO tour in 2006. At first I thought it was bullshit ginned up to take everyone’s mind off the Roy Moore shit going on in Alabama. Then three other women alleged some impropriety. And he keeps apologizing and claiming he’ll do better. I don’t know what’s going on. I know that Rep. John Conyers is not apologizing. He’s defending himself over three allegations of sexual harassment and at least one settlement.

Sexual impropriety and abuse of power is not a partisan issue. Hypocrisy is caked on the walls of Congress like shit against the stalls of a freshman dorm bathroom. It’s like both parties are saying, “Look, what our guy did is not good but you should see what their guy did! That’s the real creep over there!”

To be fair, nearly every Senator on both sides of the aisle has condemned the actions of Roy Moore and say they believe his accusers. And yet, the outcome of Alabama’s special Senate election remains in doubt.



The biggest creep of them all is sitting in the White House going batshit crazy and tweeting like a madman. It’s hell to look at this crazy person and think he is the leader of the free world. He’s a star so he can do whatever he wants. He can grab women by the pussy. That’s fine, apparently.

Why is it the people who are in charge of making legislation are the least accountable people in our country? Don’t you just want to grab them by the collar and go “WHY ARE YOU ENABLING THIS? IT’S ROTTEN! IT’S FUCKING ROTTEN!”

What if we all went to a Senate committee meeting and drank a bunch of poison and then the Capitol Police had to drag our corpses out? If you gotta die, do it in style. I read that in the Bible, near the back.


The Female Alan Partridge

I just read the dumbest, funniest article. Seriously, I needed this. Thank you, Vogue. The article in question is a list of forty things to know by the time you turn forty. The writer is someone named Molly Guy, who appears to be the female Alan Partridge (the Steve Coogan character, not the XTC frontman).

Why was I reading a Vogue article? Well, it was on Twitter and I spend a fair amount of time on Twitter. This article is from February but I’m only reading it now because I’m not in Vogue’s target market. I’ll turn forty next March and I’d like to discuss her points as someone who lives in flyover country.

Things to do every day: Meditate, call your mom, say thank you. Hold open the door. Help carry a stroller up the subway stairs. Give up your seat. Give a Clif Bar to a homeless person. Drink water. Have an orgasm. Do 25 jumping jacks. Write a postcard.

True story, my cell service went out the other day. I went to the post office to fetch a postcard (long lines, amirite?). I searched around for a homeless man and when I did I gave him the postcard with directions to my mom’s house and a Clif Bar (230 calories) for motivation. Then I took the subway home and orgasmed twice while thinking about the power I exerted over the homeless. By the time I got home, my cell service returned and I forgot to meditate or do jumping jacks.

That British rock star with the blond shag and blue Mustang from the Whiskey Bar who ripped your heart in half at the age of 18 will one day be a thinning-haired has-been who calls at two in the morning from his East Village walkup weeping: Come fuck me, where’d time go? I blew it, I blew it, I blew it.

Don’t blind item me, Molly. Spill the tea. Ooh and fancy you for getting into a drinking establishment before age twenty-one. You minx.

   Pressing snooze is never a good idea.

After that long day of taunting homeless men with Clif Bars I’m going to need to sleep in. Not only is the snooze a good idea, it’s necessary.

Learn to code. Learn Photoshop. Learn InDesign. Learn another language. Learn to play pool. Learn to change a tire. Learn chess and stick shift and American history and how to stuff a chicken. Learn to upholster a chair. Despite what your left-leaning liberal arts education instilled in you, reading, writing, and creating is a luxury not a right. Entitlement is thinking otherwise.

Choose life, choose a job, choose a career, choose a family. Choose a big fucking television. Choose a big fucking computer. Learn Photoshop, learn to code. Learn Ruby on Rails, invest in the railways, conquer your enemies, become Jane Galt.

Smoking cigarettes is the stupidest thing you can do.

Even worse than hitting snooze?

 Cocaine is not cool.

But it’s not as bad as smoking. Smoking killed John Belushi.

 A bar of goat milk soap makes a good gift.

Sure, if you want to lose friends. Otherwise, get “Goats Head Soup” by the Rolling Stones. That’s the album with “Angie”.

 When one of your friends from fifth grade develops stage four Hodgkin’s lymphoma and spends Christmas in quarantine, quit bitching about your problems. You already have everything. Take stock. Give thanks. Real wealth is health.

If you have the time to count calories, then you have too much time on your hands.

I don’t know if you know this but everybody has a daily calorie needs, depending on whether they want to gain weight, maintain weight or lose it. Bodybuilders might want to gain mass, fat people like myself want to lose it. Counting calories is a smart thing to do. What are you burning when you do those jumping jacks? Calories!

I’m beginning to think you’re a bad friend, Molly.

When you laid out at Johnny Depp’s pool. When you were invited but declined (idiotically) to attend seder with Gwyneth. When Axl Rose said you had pretty eyes. When David Spade called you from the green room at Letterman. When Madonna, pregnant with Lourdes, looked you up and down at the Beverly Hills Barneys. When you saw the movie Trainspotting with Leonardo DiCaprio. When Julian Schnabel swung by to say hi. When you drank lychee martinis with Liv Tyler. When David Blaine levitated in the parking lot. It was all fun and games for a good minute, wasn’t it, and every old party girl has some stories up her sleeve. One day you can compile some in a small paragraph for a few people to read.

Oh fuck off already.

Wait a minute. . . how come you didn’t say the name of that British rock star from earlier? Is it because it might actually reveal something about you? “I almost went to seder with Gwyneth. I drank martinis with Liv Tyler. I got kick-fucked by a member of Def Leppard.” Not as glamorous, I guess.

I apologize to Def Leppard for bringing them into this debacle.

Contrary to what your mid-20s, intoxicated, star-fucking, smeary-eyelinered self might think, the warm, worn body you have now is beautiful. It has housed and fed two humans who like to lie on your lap and legs like furniture.

Wait a minute. . . you’re a mother? How do you have time to raise two kids with all this other stuff you’re doing. What with the helping moms up the stairs and totally avoiding cocaine! Have your kids ever tripped over the names you drop or does the nanny pick them up?

By the way, my mom called me and she said a homeless guy came by her house saying I had sent him with a postcard to give her but when she got it there was nothing on it. Drat, I forgot to put a note on it!

During Hurricane Sandy, nurses and doctors from NYU’s medical center carried 20 premature infants from the neonatal intensive care unit down nine flights of pitch-black stairs, each one swaddled in blankets and a heating pad, manually squeezing bags of oxygen into their lungs. The floor slippery and wet beneath their feet. Secretaries and security guards lit the way with their cell phones. Not one newborn was hurt on the way.

Seriously this is a heart-warming story but I don’t know what it has to do with what I’m supposed to know by age forty. Perhaps this is part of a bigger list of bad things that Molly has scratched out.

  1. Smoking
  2. Babies in ICU wards dying
  3. Cocaine
  4. Snooze buttons
  5. Counting calories

Is everyone on board here?



Too Old To Rock ‘n’ Roll: Too Young To Die

I wonder how alone the average person feels in their life. As Thanksgiving nears its’ ugly gray head, I feel increasingly lonely. My give-a-damn is at a low level.


“Will you love me?”

Life changes and yet it stays so consistent year to year. The state of the world may change but nothing is as evergreen as that internal feeling of dread and impending collapse.


Sometimes your feeling of impending collapse is reinforced by outside forces.

The mail piles up in the box. I can’t bear to go get it. Walking is good exercise. I can’t bear to do it. I’m not in pain. It’s not too cold. I just can’t. My therapist tells me to journal every day. I just can’t right now.

As so many go back to revisit their families and old hometown friends, my world grows small. I will spend a few hours with my family on Friday evening. That will be it. Some people make multiple trips on Thanksgiving because they have in-laws and such. Not me. I have the family I left behind. I see them twice a year tops, on Thanksgiving and Christmas.


“He wishes you were his real dad.” “Yes. This I know already.”

I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger if I just stayed in touch more often. But I don’t want to. I don’t know what to say or how to relate. I’m the blacksheep, the only child my mother had. Her sister had three children. Two of them had children. The other one moved to Texas this year. I’m the eldest of the four of us.

Solitude is good and even necessary at times, but the holidays curdles my solitary instincts and I’m reminded of who I am and the choices I’ve made and the path I’m on. I question all the wandering I’ve done. There is no going back. My life’s choices and circumstances have brought me to this point.

Donald Trump

“Will you be my father?”

Years ago, I tried to make my persona larger-than-life. I did it because I felt smaller than life. Only now do I understand that. What creates this insecurity in us? And what we do to chase to fill the void within. Look at the man in the White House. The void within him may very well be viewable from space.


So many troubles in my life could have been avoided if only I had learned how nice it is to be life-sized instead. Is there such a thing as ‘better late than never’ when it comes to lessons like this? Dear sweet Gob I hope so.

I guess my two main points are: 1. You’re never too young to rock ‘n roll and 2. There’s a little bit of Donald Trump in all of us.*

(*I didn’t mean that in a gross way)


Sleeping On The Sidewalk (I’m Too Broke To Buy All These Reissues)

Suggested listening: “Sleeping On The Sidewalk” by Queen (vocals by Brian May)


Every band eventually turns into Kiss if they have enough success. Cash-ins, repackaged content in new or old formats that are suddenly fashionable again. Box sets, coffee table books, overpriced tickets to amphitheatre shows to hear soundalike renditions of the classics. Greatest hits, greatest zits, tits, fits and your very own Monopoly game.


I always wanted proof no one wanted to spend time with me.

Some of these tchotchkes are endearing. Maybe the best thing Kiss ever did was their innovations in the pinball machine industry. For years, the Flaming Lips sustained the gummy bauble industry.

But it’s all tchotchkes. Kiss pinball machines, Queen Monopoly games and books of 3D photography, Flaming Lips gummy brains, Lindsay Buckingham and Christine McVie charging Fleetwood Mac ticket prices for a tour with no Stevie Nicks, while Stevie charges likewise for a solo tour, Revolver and Pet Sounds on 180-gram vinyl at your local shoppe for $25.99 or six concerts with a near identical setlist on a thumb drive with a shitty costume packed in. They’re all tchotchkes in the end. If only Malcolm McLaren understood that, then he’d have died on a bed of gold bricks.

Kiss may be the most cynical, cold-hearted group to wring money from a fanbase but they are far from alone. There’s a big market for cashing in on fan nostalgia or the idea of the past for those who weren’t old enough to experience it the first time and Queen is eager to get in on that. Some of the biggest fans of Queen were born well after Freddie Mercury died in 1991. Queen stopped touring in 1986 and their last US concert was in 1982 and yet the Internet has made and kept they and their late singer relevant.

Which pair of guys would you rather have lunch with if you could choose? Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons from Kiss, or Brian May and Roger Taylor from Queen? Unless you’re a sado-masochist (that is to say, a hard-core Kiss fan), you’d probably choose Brian and Roger. And it’s not because they’re better people, but they are far better at the soft sell. Something about amiability and grace. You couldn’t imagine either of them being banned from Fox News for hitting people in the head with their book or saying a new stupid thing at least fifteen times a year like Gene does.

(I have no idea if Gene being banned from Fox News speaks ill of him or is a sort-of badge of honor considering that FNC was home of Roger Ailes and Bill O’Reilly for decades. I can’t believe they didn’t offer him his own show.)

I get bitchy because I can tell when my favorite bands are not being straight with me. It’s all part of the great r’n’r swindle, folks. You want me to pay through the nose? It’s your price, you name it. I guess I’ve had it with hype. I hate hype when a new artist comes in with a load of it so when it’s a rehash of old stuff that was bought already it’s even worse. Just don’t burn me too often or too hard. You suck my wallet, you blow my head.

Anybody got that 40th anniversary News Of The World package yet?

We Didn’t Start The Fire, Pt. 2

Obviously there would be no “We Didn’t Start The Fire, Pt. 2” without the original by the late great Billy Joel so let’s take a moment to pay respects to him even though he admitted this was far from a good song.

I started part two in 1999. Part one ends in 1989, so if you want a recap of 1990-1998, you’re on your own because this song is only five minutes long and I didn’t even mention the Enron scandal or any of the Patriots victories in the Super Bowl.


Billy Joel, still alive

First verse:

Bill Clinton, Britney Spears, Star Wars episode premiere

Phantom Menace, Yankees pennant, Napster is here

Bill Gates is getting rich, Slobodan Milosevic

NATO, Kosovo, new kinds of techno

Time Warner, AOL, Dot-com, what the hell

Bush-Gore, earthquakes in El Salvador

9/11, 9/11, 9/11, 9/11

9/11 Never forget ELIAN GONZALEZ


We didn’t want this bullshit/No we didn’t want it but we fuckin’ got it/We didn’t want this bullshit/No we didn’t make it but we gotta take it

Second verse:

Tiger Woods, race riots, Anthrax, Patriot Act

Shoe bomber Richard Reid, Homeland security

Friendster, freedom fries, No Child Left Behind

Big Fat Greek Wedding, Euro currency

Soldiers back in Iraq, Kobe Bryant teamed with Shaq

Lebanon, space flight, Hussein war crimes

Dave Chappelle’s Show, but Chappelle is a no-go

Spacecraft Columbia, ELIAN GONZALEZ

Repeat chorus

Third verse:

Myspace, Live 8, Kanye West, Janet’s breast

Everyone forgets to blame motherfuckin’ Timberlake

Britney married K-Fed, Paris is an airhead

Simple Life, Simon Cowell, Guy Fieri’s Flavortown

Filipino mudslide, Asia is destabilized

US torture ban, redeploy Afghanistan

Truck bombs, Barry Bonds, reality TV

Daily Show, Barbaro, Chris Benoit’s family

Repeat chorus

Fourth verse:

Facebook doing well, Stock market goes to hell

Vladimir Putin, Guns ‘N Roses back again

PC, PS3, and the Nintendo Wii

Or I could get a Mac, my President is Black

Oxycontin, HD, King of Pop RIP

Kardashians everywhere, why am I supposed to care?

Repeat chorus

Fifth(!) verse:

Twitter, Reddit, Instagram, Pinterest, Snapchat

Social media crap overtaking lives

Wikileaks, Fox News, sexual harassment suits

Gamergate, the Fappening, everything is happening

Race riots in the States, everyone is full of hate

Cops wearing cameras now, not guilty anyhow

Podcasts, legal grass, bitcoins, hashtags

ComicCon, Donald Trump, Earth is a fuckin’ dump

repeat chorus