BATON ROUGE, La. — The ghost of Winston Batts, a cobbler and hobbyist clarinetist who died in 1944, is finally inspired enough to begin work on his first big band jazz album, skeptical angels reported.
“I never wanted to start composing music until everything felt perfect, and I’m finally settled enough in Heaven to begin,” stated Batts, who was infamous in life amongst friends for scoffing at any live musicians and claiming he could make better tunes. “What’s the point of being an artist if you have to force it? That’s what I always said to myself while I repaired shoes for decades. Now that I’ve been dead and rotting for nearly a century, it’s time to start writing some songs to get the young people doing the Charleston.”
Descendants of Batts have reported frequently seeing Winston in their dreams as of late.
“I had a dream last night that I had to shoot my kindergarten teacher in the face to save a pallet of babies, and right as I pulled the trigger, I heard the voice of my great grandfather whisper ‘Big things happening soon’ in my ear,” said Addison Batts, great granddaughter of Winston who first family member to notice his otherworldly presence. “That dream made me realize that I’ve been way too passive with my creative aspirations. So I am going to begin my path towards becoming a sculptor. Soon. Like next week. Or, actually, probably after I get back from vacation in August. But watch this space!”
Mediums say that unfulfilled artistic expressions are one of the most common forms of regret for the deceased.
“I talk to the dead all day every day, and one thing far more pathetic than shitty art or embarrassing lyrics is never actually making anything at all,” said Lydia Trumbull, local medium and successful vintage furniture reseller. “The spirits of the afterlife mostly all wish they had tried painting, written poetry, or auditioned for a vaudeville act. So let this be a lesson to the living–either start today or shut the fuck up about it already. Don’t come crying to me after you die in a six-car rush hour pile-up that you didn’t ‘try your hand at stand-up comedy.’”
As of press time, Batts hasn’t actually started composing anything yet, but has created multiple music-related accounts on Heaven’s social media network Christagram.
It sucks ranking one of a band’s most beloved albums last on a list. For one, it implies it’s bad, even if that’s not the case. And secondly, we here at The Hard Times understand the giant burden we have of being the voice of not only a generation but actually every generation, everywhere all the time. So it gives us no joy to rank Ozma’s “The Double Donkey Disc” as their worst. And truthfully we’re only doing it because out of all their albums, it is the worst. It’s not a bad album at all. But if one were ranking their albums, from worst to best, this one would be the worst. And while you may not know it, that’s actually what we’re doing. We’re ranking Ozma albums from worst to best. So compared to the other albums by the musical rock group Ozma, “The Double Donkey Disc” is the least good, otherwise known as the worst. Forgive us.
The thing about “Boomtown” is that as a rock album, it’s great. Stays interesting, good songs, nice vocals, etc. As an Ozma album, it’s just ok. Artists should always be allowed to evolve, so the fact that this album feels like the least-Ozma, Ozma album isn’t that big of a deal. But it’s not a big swing. It’s just a relatively down-the-middle rock album. And when one of those is written and performed by Ozma, that’s still a great album. But something is missing. Not everywhere though. The first and only song that’s sung solo by keyboardist Star Wick, “Nervous” hits all the marks. The final track “Never Know” also harkens back to some of the epicness they attempted in STOTBL. The added piece of this possibly being the last Ozma album makes its mid-ness a little bit harder to take. The band might totally make new music, but this is their most recent release and it’s a decade old. So we’re not holding our breath. That said, this album does get better on subsequent listens and over time could move up the list if it stays motivated, puts in the hours, and commits to the grind. Go team.
In our memories, this album was the high point in Ozma’s output. And while it showed they weren’t just Weezer clones, a fact that anyone who actually already listened to them knew, it has one major flaw: it has some of their most memorable tunes, but also some of their most forgettable ones as well. While the album opens with an absolute banger, doing all the things we want, the next 3 tracks are all snoozers. Literally all three. Everything is relative, so an Ozma snoozer is still better than anything Anthony Keidis has ever been involved in. But the second half of the album is so good, it makes the first half seem out of place and immensely skippable. “Curve in the Old 1-9” is the heaviest song Ozma has ever released and kinda makes us wish they’d put out a more metal-influenced album. Like, what happened? Tracks 5-12 are untouchable. Not to mention Ozma’s best song, “Eponine” is right in the middle of those tracks. And yes, it is their best song, and that’s why it’s on two different albums. And while it might seem harsh to rank an album at number three because of only 3 tracks being a problem, the next two albums have no skips. Also, we’re a punk satire news site. If our album rankings make you angry, maybe take a step back and reprioritize your life a bit. Also, we’re always right.
The band’s debut is an absolute classic that ultimately holds up. While for many Ozma’s appeal is that they’re “more Weezer than Weezer”, this album is really Weezer and The Rentals mixed. While Matt Sharp was off in Europe getting into Britpop, and Rivers was having a crisis about nobody liking “Pinkerton,” Ozma did the thing that everyone actually wanted: a Weezentals album. And for the record, this isn’t a boring copy of those bands. This is the result of being influenced by artists, and also understanding that the originals don’t always put out the best versions of themselves. Lucas isn’t make the best “Star Wars” content, Stan Lee wasn’t making the best Marvel stuff, and Weezer and the Rentals were passed by Ozma as to who was making the best Weezer and Rentals albums. The musicality of the band is on full display in the first seconds of the album with an opening melody in “Domino Effect” that is both full Rivers worship and also something he would never dare write. A few tracks drag, and more than a few get a little whiny. But when you’re young, and still feel things, it’s perfect. We sort of remember feeling things. It was great.
To be honest, we ourselves were surprised this album was number 1. But first off, there are no skips. It is perhaps a tad unfair to put this album ranked first, as two of the eleven tracks appear on other albums. And one of those songs is “Eponine” the previously mentioned best song in the Ozma catalogue. But that doesn’t change the fact that dollars to Dunkin Donuts, this is THE album we wanna put on when we wanna listen to Ozma. The production feels like it finally embraces not only the heaviness and the electronic pop of their sound but also the grandiose Queen-like stadium rock that’s been hiding in their sound. The instrumentation, as always, goes beyond any of their peers. The lyrics are clever and smart, and do the thing that His Holiness, Rivers Cuomo, seems to genuinely struggle with as he gets older: they rhyme, but not to the detriment of the song. While not adverse to the occasional easy and quick rhyme, Ozma clearly prefers to avoid the usual “I felt glad, and now I’m sad” type of stuff that so many in the genre and adjacent genres fall prey to. One of the album’s best tracks, “Incarnation Blues” is a perfect example:
One look at the rebel flag belt buckle tells you everything you need to know. Cross Country teaches abstinence only.
“Your sex-ed teacher’s name is what now?!”
You’re going to see a lot of sexually suggestive Joe names on the bottom of this list. We need kids to take this stuff seriously, and we just don’t see a bunch of snickering teenagers paying attention to a sex-ed lesson from someone named Airtight. It certainly doesn’t help that as the Joe’s chemical weapons specialist his main job is literally filling all the holes.
Grunt’s specialty on the Joe team is not being special. He’s the only Joe that’s just your typical run-of-the-mill army grunt. That lack of fine skills and personality coupled with the distraction of having sex-ed with someone named Mr. Grunt would probably make him the wrong guy for the job.
What’s worse, having your kids try to learn safe sex practices from a guy named Beach Head, or having your kids learn about sex from a guy who smells like shit? Well, with Beach Head, you get both!
We just have a feeling he would blow it.
He’s the Joes metal detector guy. You ever talk to a metal detector guy? They have a lot of weird ideas about what can and can not get a girl pregnant. And who really shot Kennedy. And like, everything.
No one with “blow” in their name is going to fair well teaching sex-ed to teenagers. Blowtorch is a safety-first kind of guy, which would be helpful, but he’s also from Florida so he would never be teaching sex education in the first place. He considers it a form of grooming. He’ll stick to fire safety and intelligent design thank you very much.
No parent wants a sex-ed teacher telling their children about all the cool hidden tunnels in town, and for good reason!
Snake Eyes is a man of few words, and you can bet those words aren’t going to be “Check your balls and shaft routinely for bumps, sores, and growths.”
As a computer expert Flash is super plugged into youth culture, which you would think makes him an ideal candidate. Unfortunately, he takes a hard line with the helmet, refusing to take it off during class. STDs just aren’t as scary when you’re being told about them from someone who looks like such a dork.
Two things that have absolutely no place in a sex education classroom—a cop and a dog.
Also disqualified for the dog thing, but ranked higher because Mutt isn’t a fucking NARC!
Virgin.
She’s one of the most elite Joes with mastery over every martial art, every weapon, and every language in the world. In other words, she knows what you little shits are whispering, and she’s about to teach you a very non-sex-ed lesson. Get ready for your new codename: Crutch.
Look at the guy. He’s got “Sex is better without a condom” written all over him. He was fired on day one during his lesson “How to grow, groom, and maintain a quim catcher.”
He was nearly taunted to suicide when he opened his class by stating “I’m the guy the Joe team calls when things get wet!”
Maybe he would be great at it? We really don’t know. He doesn’t even get to say the second part of his name before the head of hiring at every school says “Thank you, but we’ll be going in a different direction.”
There’s nothing sadder than a high school teacher who gets wrapped up in the kids’ drama and gossip. He would start by earnestly trying to warn kids about the dangers of pregnancy and STDs but as a reconnaissance expert, Recondo just can’t help himself. “Alright class, I know last week’s intelligence had Cindy and Brad back together, but according to Whitney, she caught him making out with Jessica in the art closet. Terrance now’s your chance, but we have to act fast!”
Spirit’s skills as a tracker, lazy-’80s-stereotype shamanistic abilities, and proficiency in bird training will do little to help him show inner-city youth how to put condoms on vegetables.
There’s no doubt about it, our boy Quick Kick can kick fast! Picture the fastest kick you’ve ever seen like in a movie or something. This guy can do that but for real! No camera tricks, no bullshit, just earnestly very fast kicking. He would not do a good job of approaching the subject of sex with a class full of teenagers in an upfront, mature manner, but damn, you need something kicked fast, you’re gonna wanna call this dude!
Growing up, Low-Light was afraid of the dark. Then one day he got lost in the middle of the night on a hunting trip. He was found 3 weeks later with his gun and a huge smile on his face. He is known for his ability to stand still for hours on end and for sneaking up on people. Call us crazy, but we prefer a sex-ed teacher who is less “acquainted with the night.”
The first and last time Ripcord was allowed to teach a sex-ed course he brought an entire class of 8th graders onto a plane and instructed them to jump, rationalizing “If you can pull a chute you can put on a condom!”
He’s a rude mechanic from New Jersey, you might as well have The Situation in there. “Wear a rubber or she’ll take you for everything you’re worth, class dismissed, YOLO.”
Oh hell no. Absolutely not. I mean yeah, if you want your kids to learn about the shocker, sure, give Rock n’ Roll a call. If you want them to learn about the dangers of herpes, maybe try literally anyone else. It’s amazing his toy doesn’t come with a removable cold sore.
Let’s get the big one out of the way. Before you do the Rocky run up the museum steps like the shameless tourist you are, remember that there’ll be some Pennsylvania suburban dad at the top who just sat in traffic for two hours with a bad back and screaming kids only for some jackass to bug him for a picture with a bronze Sylvester Stallone. So do yourself a favor and take a selfie or find yourself back at the bottom with fewer teeth. (And yes we know the statue isn’t at the top of the stairs anymore, save your comments.)
Fuck yeah, science! Named after patriotic science lover and lothario Benjamin Franklin, this children’s museum is a must-stop for STEM enthusiasts. Hands down the best experiences are the planetarium and observatory, where visitors can learn about (and see) the cosmos. Pluto lovers need not apply, as the FI strictly prohibits any sympathizers of the excommunicated planet and will sick their hired goons on anyone caught making any smartass remarks.
It’s a question that’s torn families apart: Pat’s or Geno’s? While this debate has probably led to physical altercations (9th Street does make a cool backdrop for a Tekken-inspired scrum), the best cheesesteaks can be found at Dalessandro’s. But regardless of where you go, know that you have exactly two seconds to tell them your order lest ye face the wrath of the drunk college bros in line behind you.
No trip to Philly is complete without visiting the exact spot where we told King George to piss off. If you’re lucky, you may run into some local reenactors portraying our founding fathers and boy do they take their job seriously. Visitors from the UK should keep an eye out for the guy who plays Thomas Jefferson, as he’s liable to beat you with a stocking full of D-cell batteries if he overhears you speaking the King’s English.
Once you’re finished with all the boring colonial history crap, swing by a much cooler cultural landmark. But this being a magnet for tourists, there’s like a 95% chance you’ll get mugged while you’re distracted taking a selfie.
The venue isn’t technically a destination to bring the family but we saw Pissed Jeans there in 2017 and they kicked ass, so to us it counts as a culturally significant landmark. You really can’t go wrong with any punk band that comes through here, so expect an errant foot to connect with your head if you’re in the pit.
While you aren’t likely to be assaulted by an irate Italian for pronouncing “prosciutto” incorrectly, the delectable smorgasbord of local meats and sandwiches will give your insides the ass-kicking of a lifetime. Even Prilosec can’t save you now.
If you venture a bit west of the city, you’ll be delighted by the flora of this gorgeous botanical garden and its intricate fountains. Made up of six separate districts, there are many views to enjoy depending on your tastes. There is of course that one seventh district that’s off-limits, if you’re brave enough to look for it. Urban legend has it there’s an enclave of feral Philadelphians who cut off all contact in 1975 and believe the Flyers are the reigning Stanley Cup champions.
You couldn’t ask for a better public space to get in some fishing, have a picnic, or toss the ol’ pigskin around. Speaking of which, visitors should be aware that the park is directly adjacent to the sports complex where all of the city’s professional teams play. If Philadelphians even catch a passing glance of you in an opposing team’s colors, your life is forfeit. Sorry, we don’t make the rules.
Fun fact: this picturesque cemetery is the final resting place of everyone’s favorite seamstress Betsy Ross, along with many other local Pennsylvania legends. It’ll also be your final resting place if the locals catch you taking dumbass selfies on the graves of Union soldiers. It’s still too soon for Gettysburg jokes.
Philly isn’t all cheesesteaks and hot pretzels. It’s actually home to a surprising amount of award-winning fine dining experiences, and this chophouse is arguably the best of the best. So before you start asking for substitutions, don’t. Most of the James Beard Award-winning eateries in town will happily throw your ass out onto the street before bending over backwards for your fake gluten allergy.
Listen, we know she voted for Trump but she’s letting us crash at her penthouse apartment in the nicest neighborhood in the city, and we told our Hinge date that we lived here. Do NOT blow this for us or you’ll be going headfirst into the Schuylkill River – sorry, something about being here just makes us see red. Must be something in the wooder. Shit!
If the nightlife is more your taste, you can’t go wrong with this top notch cabaret club. It’s practically identical to the tantalizing performances you’d get in Vegas, with one additional catch: Saturday nights are fight club night, and like the movie, you have to fight if it’s your first time visiting. The biggest difference is that you’ll be wearing a gimp mask in a cage elevated above the dining hall while Pennsylvania’s business elite place bets on your survival. Trust us, it’s fun.
So yes, Eastern State is patient zero of today’s prison industrial complex, but come Halloween this place becomes the best and scariest haunted house in the country. Like any haunted house, the actors aren’t permitted to touch you, however there is a clause written into their contracts they can legally drag anyone who brings up the 1993 World Series to the depths of hell.
This multi-use pier gives you a perfect vantage point of (checks notes) Camden, New Jersey. But more importantly, this is where the beloved anarchistic Flyers mascot Gritty makes his nest. Unlike the other local wild card Philly Phanatic, this orange agent of chaos has diplomatic immunity and will exercise it freely to satiate his bloodlust and the locals won’t bat an eyelash. Just keep that in mind when enjoying the farmers market.
