Lately there has been a lot of hype around this idea of “ketamine therapy”—apparently scientists claim you can therapeutically inject ketamine to treat serious issues like trauma and depression. This is great news, especially since some of us have already been using this method for years: all it takes is going to your mandatory therapy session and already being on ketamine. Tell that to those fancy scientists over at Harvard!
They say you want your dose to be therapeutically administered by a doctor, so today I loaded up on 500 milligrams, a dose therapeutically administered by Doctor Me. Hell yeah!
Apparently, some people can be nervous at first when they take their medicine, which explains why I got those come-up jitters and then passed out for three and a half hours.
As further evidence for the benefits of this healing method, Dr. Hoffman himself confirmed I am making real progress. “You seem like you’re doing great these days,” he said. “Also, I am a couch cushion who just wants to party!”
Another awesome session in the books with Dr. Hoff—or should I say Dr. Couch Cushion.
Now, when I started my ketamine therapy journey, did I necessarily know I was ahead of the curve on modern medicine? Admittedly, no. But did I feel my way towards something great? That’s a yes, which just goes to show you don’t need fancy shmancy research to back up your healing methods. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear it here first when in a few years they also come out with ketamine eating dinner and ketamine going to your best friend’s wedding.
How’s that for holistic healing?
Okay, fine. You really want the truth? I just take ketamine because it’s awesome. You got me. I had no idea about “ketamine therapy” when I started this whole thing twelve years ago in my mom’s basement. Yes, my depression is mostly gone, but I also never had depression in the first place. I’m in therapy for issues related to pathological lying and drug abuse, if you can believe it. But hey! I still think it’s great that modern psychology has removed the stigma around drugs, and it will totally not be undermined by addicts writing columns on the internet.
An engineering prodigy who is absolutely clutch when it comes to getting the Joes across a body of water, but unless he could have designed an airplane-proof World Trade Center there’s very little Tollbooth could have done to stop 9/11.
We honestly have no idea how effective a soldier Cross-Country is, all we know is that he wore a rebel flag until 1993 and that’s way, way too long. You’re supposed to be one of the country’s most elite defenders, not one of the Dukes of Hazard, dick.
Yup, Grunt. This guy’s specialty is that he’s a prime example of your typical, run-of-the-mill prick soldier. He probably wound up on the Joe team due to a clerical error or something. Since the actual U.S. army is made up of over a million people literally identical to this guy, we’re gonna go ahead and say Grunt could not have stopped 9/11.
I’m sure his skills were absolutely essential to G.I Joe’s intelligence back in the day, but he’s kind of dated now. This guy still specializes in landlines. Maybe if he was called, like, Burner Phone he would have been useful, but by September 11th, 2001 it was already time to put this pony out to pasture.
Sci-Fi’s specialty is that he shoots a laser, which is also the specialty of every single other G.I Joe, but he also looks like a huge dork which apparently counts for something?
Apparently, America’s most daring, highly trained, special mission force is not immune to nepotism. Falcon is an arrogant, talent-less insubordinate jackass who gets a pass because he’s Duke’s half-brother. Call us crazy, but we think it would be best if the war on terror wasn’t being run by legacy hires.
Not only does he rival Snow Job for the least appropriately named Joe, Beach Head is the only member of the Joe team who, canonically, smells terrible. He claims that perfumed products like soap and deodorant could give away his presence when doing covert missions, but you know what else is probably a dead giveaway? Smelling like whatever a dude named Beach Head smells like.
He looks a lot cooler than he is. Tripwire’s specialty is that he carries around a metal detector. Well, they already have metal detectors at airports and a fat load of good that did us.
A Harvard and Johns Hopkins-educated medic, Doc is an essential member of the Joe team in the field. Unfortunately, his pacifism would have prevented him from making much of a dent in the villainous Al-Qaeda network. Also, if you’ve followed the state of medical care for military personnel and veterans over the last few decades, you’ll know it’s getting harder and harder to see Doc.
Much like Bazooka, Zap specializes in the use of Bazookas. Unlike Bazooka, Zap is named Zap. This is the exact sort of confusing governmental intelligence redundancy and disorganization that allowed 9/11 to happen in the first place.
A lot of these snow-based guys are going to find themselves on the bottom half of this list for obvious reasons, but Snow Job ranks the lowest based on his name alone. It is, plainly and simply, a play on “blowjob.” If we didn’t call oral sex a blowjob, no one would have ever thought to name him that. You’re supposed to be the best of the best Snow Job, show some damn decorum.
If Osama Bin Laden wanted to attack the World Trade Center with boats, this is the guy you want running defense. Sadly, this was not the case. The closest Shipwreck could have come to stopping the terrorists would be poisoning them en route to the States with his notoriously bad cooking.
Blowtorch is from Florida, and like most Floridians, he is an expert in flamethrowers and other fire-based weaponry. Unlike most Floridians, Blowtorch takes a “safety first” approach, going so far as to sleep next to a smoke detector every night. He has seen fire’s awesome power and dedicated his life to learning everything he can about it. He probably couldn’t have stopped 9/11, but he could probably put the whole “jet fuel can’t melt steel beams” debate to rest any day now.
Viewed as kind of a prick even by drill instructor standards, Leatherneck doesn’t come in very high on our list. The closest thing he has to a friend is Wet-Suit, so it’s pretty safe to assume he lacks the networking skills needed to infiltrate a terrorist organization.
As a computer expert and electrical engineer, Flash could have been invaluable in dismantling the elaborate electronic networks Al-Qaeda used to move its money around. The only reason he doesn’t come in higher is because he looks like a tool.
Yup, another ice guy. Pretty much the only reason Iceberg exists in the first place is because army guy toys look cool when they wear all white. He probably would have fallen short if tasked with preventing 9/11, but damn would he look cool not doing it.
ACAB, including this low-rent knockoff of Mutt & Junkyard, who are featured more prominently on this list. With his background as a Texas police officer, he and his German shepherd would probably be too busy finding bogus reasons to pull over and harass Black people to help prevent 9/11.
You’ll never guess what this dude’s specialty is, it’s gonna blow your mind. Oh, you guessed diving? Yeah, that’s it. Wet-Suit is a scholar of military tactics, but only military tactics that involve being wet, so he’s pretty useless in the desert.
Don’t let the cowboy hat fool you, Wild Bill is a country singer who likes to tell tall tales. Okay, I guess you could just let the cowboy hat fool you. It’s G.I Joe, not G.I Surprisingly Nuanced Characters. As a hard-to-take-down pilot, he could have been useful if he were actually on one of the planes, but that’s about it.
Okay, now we’re getting to some useful skill sets. As his name implies, Recondo is an expert in gathering intelligence on the field. Unfortunately, he has this whole jungle-man shtick going, so he probably wouldn’t fair well in the harsh desert climates of Afghanistan.
Just when you thought we didn’t need any more songs of armor or devotion, Strung Out came along and gave the people what they didn’t ask for. There are a few highlights on this one, but it just doesn’t hit like the others. Though to be honest, it’s one of the better album covers in their discography. That’s something.
Hate to judge an album by its cover, but what is going on in the artwork for this one? Almost had to deduct rank points for that alone. The record feels softer than many of their others. Not necessarily a bad thing, but when we’re used to getting sick licks upon sick licks, it feels like you’re not getting your money’s worth.
“Another Day in Paradise” is an excellent prequel to later records, but you could tell they were really trying to figure things out here. They worked out the kinks almost immediately following this release, but there are a handful of awkward parts that they would probably write differently today. For instance, there’s a brief four-second ska part in the song “In Harm’s Way.” When I listen to Strung Out, I don’t want to be encouraged to skank.
Really wanted to put this one higher because there are a lot of classic Strung Out tracks contained within. But there are a few rare misses too. Emphasis on rare. Nonetheless, it’s still an extremely satisfying Strung Out release that is a nice continuation of their EP “The Element of Sonic Defiance” (2000). Singer Jason Cruz once said that the album cover was originally supposed to be “a lot more fucking gnarly, but we had to change it because of 9/11.” Sounds like the terrorists won.
Don’t get me wrong, “Agents of the Underground” is a great record. It checks all the Strung Out boxes and if you’re a fan of their other stuff, it will not disappoint. On the other hand, if you made AI listen to all their discography and then write a Strung Out record, it would likely spit out this one. Only it would mess up all the solos. We all know artificial intelligence is shit at guitar.
Would love to be in the room when Strung Out writes an album. Only because I don’t believe that a group of human beings can keep up with writing such excellent music for decades. Like, if you told me Strung Out was developed in a lab, I would absolutely believe you. Perhaps they’re even transfusing blood with 18-year-olds to stay instrumentally fit. Someone should get to the bottom of that.
This one leans heavily on the metal side. I mean, get a load of some of these song titles: “Her Name in Blood,” “Lucifermotorcade,” “Vampires,” and “Skeletondanse.” This could almost be a Misfits or Rob Zombie album based on track titles alone. The only thing this album is missing is “Teenagers From Mars” and “Dragula.” Perfect otherwise.
No one ever told Strung Out that you only need three chords to write a punk song, not 28. But here they were completely reinventing the wheel and making sonically precise music. Starting with this record, Strung Out went through a brief 20-year phase where they only wrote incredible music. This one solidified them as a force to be moshed to.
If you’re going to write a skate punk album in the ‘90s, you might as well write one of the best ones. “Too Close to See” is quite possibly the greatest opening track of all time too. You can fact-check me on that claim, if you want. This was also the last album with late bassist Jim Cherry, who evidently had a big part in writing their songs, making Strung Out the only band to allow their bass player to have any input whatsoever in their music. Truly diverse musicians.
Safe to say GG never flushes, and we’d somehow have to buy toilet bowl cleaner weekly instead of our usual once every four years.
Proud Boys are notorious for not doing dishes because according to them, “that’s a woman’s job.” Plus, he’d have Fox News on in the background all day long and always try to get me to storm government buildings with him. I simply do not have the energy for all that.
Morrissey would call a nightly house meeting to air his grievances but always cancels at the last minute. Then he’d ask where we all were for the meeting. Listen, if anyone’s going to gaslight in this household it’s going to be me to the electric company.
Bono would hang one of those “in this house we believe” signs on the front lawn before pleading with the county to get the affordable housing unit to be built two towns over instead of down the street. Plus, he’d always be asking me to sign weird petitions.
Don’t ask me how I know but this man does zero chores.
Jack White seems like he would give me a very demand-y tour rider before moving in. But I just don’t have the time to cut the crust off of his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for him. I’ve got TV shows to catch up on.
It doesn’t matter how many Post-it notes of my name are on my leftover meatball parmesan sandwich in the fridge, Fat Mike is going to finish it without my consent. Then he’s going to complain that it wasn’t very good and that I should’ve gone to the place across the street instead.
Rob would always be asking to borrow money because he just has to have some rare prop from “The Munsters” TV show that he’s currently bidding on. While I agree that the Eddie Munster suit looks would go perfectly with the Lily Munster gown collectible he already has, is it really worth $15,000?
Tim wouldn’t believe someone would throw out a perfectly good mattress he found on the sidewalk. Only to realize three days later that the stained Serta is infested with bed bugs that, according to him, will “probably work itself out.”
Henry would be a total nightmare during board game night. I don’t even want to envision the tantrum we would have to endure if he lost at Settlers of Catan. He’d also somehow know rules for games that aren’t even in the instructions.
Billy just seems like he would never let me turn the heat on in winter and remind me that I forgot to shut off the kitchen light after I left. Just let me drain my bank account on basic utilities in peace.
Julian would always be leaving hair in the sink. Not the bathroom sink. The kitchen one. We all know strands of hair belong in the shower, not the sink.
He’d be fine roommate-wise, but I wouldn’t be able to bring Dave anywhere because he’d always ask to see the manager at every establishment we visit. Our weekly Dave and Buster’s visit is going to be completely ruined by this guy.
John sang a lot about love, so he would definitely be the kind of person who would hang a “Live, Laugh, Love” sign in every room. He’d swear it just goes well with his “But First, Coffee” sign in the kitchen.
Anthony would put the toilet paper roll on backwards and call that “California style.” I’m not rearranging my entire life for any member of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Maybe Flea.
Trent seems like the kind of guy who breeds dogs on the side. He would of course do this in the living room when I’m trying to watch “Succession.” All I ask is that I don’t watch animals procreate while Brian Cox is on the screen.
The lead singer of Rush is for sure a sword guy, which means he’ll be late on rent again this month because he just had to get the Game of Thrones replica Heartsbane Damascus imported from Iceland. Can’t you just get the store-brand one?
Ian is the most straight edge person in existence, which is totally cool, but he’s probably going to give me a stern lecture for taking Advil to relieve my headache. I prefer not to hide my ibuprofen dependence from the people I live with.
Chris seems like a very sensitive person. That’s totally fine, but there are only so many times I can hear about how he thinks he pissed off the Rite-Aid cashier because he asked if she could break a 20-dollar bill. I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, Dashboard.
Sure, he’d get annoying pretty quickly since he would call me a yuppie every time I had to go to my job at the warehouse, even though he doesn’t work at all, but he could probably talk a home invader out of stealing my laptop while we were tied up. Or at the very least, irritate the crap out of them until they flee.
A bad Smoking Popes album is hard to make, but after a decades long hiatus the boys in SP finally reunited and managed to create one craptastic piece of forgettable schlock. I’d like to say that “Stay Down” has its moments, but even after relistening to this album an hour ago I cannot recall what any of them were. So here it is – the bottom of the barrel. Don’t worry it gets much better after this.
“Return to form” is not a strong word because, if you look closely, it’s actually three words. But still, “This Is Only a Test” is a strong return to form for a band that clearly had some shit to work through (*see above entry for reference*). It may not have the same charisma as some other SP records, but the sound and the feeling you’re familiar with is right there, and that for sure makes this album a respectable offering.
“Get Fired” sounds like the feeling of wanting to punch your guidance counselor who is right about you. It sounds like the high school breakup that at the time seemed like everything but, in hindsight, could have been an email. It sounds like if Jawbreaker hadn’t gone to college. You get it – it’s a good album and you should absolutely experience it, but rest assured that better things await you later on.
Technically, this is a studio album. However, it’s only a studio album because Smoking Popes needed something to get out of their Capitol Records contract and quickly shat out a handful of unreleasable (until years later) covers to fill out their contractual obligations and give a middle finger to the label execs, which personally I respect a lot. So for that reason, and the fact that most of these covers are actually really fucking solid, “The Party’s Over” gets an honorable mention.
This album is kinda fucked up. Not in a bad way, but it’s definitely got a different feeling than any other Smoking Popes album. It sounds heavier, and longer, more intricate instrumentation augments the band’s iconic “woe the fuck is me” lyrical mentality. Ultimately, it feels like they took a big gamble on “Into the Agony” and we can all be grateful that they pulled it off.
The title “Destination Failure” feels like as much a description of the band’s own self-image as it was a prophecy of their musical future. In this way the album could almost be heard as the last, experimental death cry of a band who could feel control slipping away from them and decadent to turn fully into it. Much like a tour bus crash “Destination Failure” is tragic, beautiful, reflective and, in hindsight, completely unavoidable when you steer into the skid.
Without “Born To Quit” soundtracks for ‘90s coming-of-age comedies would be nearly nonexistent. “Tommy Boy,” “Angus,” “Boys,” and “Clueless” all include at least one Smoking Popes from this album, making them the Smash Mouth of mid-nineties movies that tell teenagers it’s okay to be themselves. Fuck, you could put that seem distinction on punk rock as a whole – and likewise, “Born To Quit” encapsulated that ideal perfectly.