Six Songs We’re Listening To This Week To Escape The General Malaise of Modern Life

Posted on by Corey Montgomery

Yet another lifeless week has passed you by without fanfare. While you’ve tried to keep a cool head about it, you feel your relevancy and cultural intelligence fading fast. You might not know what to do about it, but we have an idea. It’s called music and literally dozens of people are listening to it right now, blissfully unaware of your tasteless and boring existence. We can’t stand to see you get left behind, so we’ve compiled six new tracks for you to cram into your earholes this instant. Give them a listen and send us a thank you card when your friends start speaking to you again.

Los Campesinos! “A Psychic Wound”

Earlier this week, Los Campesinos! shocked fans with the release of their first new song in almost a decade. As if that wasn’t enough, they doubled up and released yet another certified banger, ‘A Psychic Wound,’ just a few days later. We had a whole thing written up for their previous single, ‘Feast of Tongues.’ We were going to scold you for your English degree and make fun of you for not being able to dance. At the rate LC! is releasing tracks, though, we decided to stay on the safe side and save the A-material for when they drop ten more singles next week or something.

Another Michael “I’m Your Roommate”

If our roommate was even half as dreamy as Philadelphia’s dream-pop duo ‘Another Michael,’ we probably wouldn’t care as much about the fact that they never do their dishes. We might also forgive them for owing us nearly 4,000 dollars. Until they get their shit together or we gather the courage to kick them out, we’ll have to listen to the aforementioned band’s latest single ‘I’m Your Roommate’ and pretend we never answered that Craigslist ad several years ago.

White Reaper/Spiritual Cramp Split

Though our dirtbag roommate is currently three weeks late on rent, they’ve been in an exceptionally chipper mood lately. This is because White Reaper and Spiritual Cramp released a split single this week. We’re not gonna say it doesn’t rip, but we are concerned with how much our roomie has been singing lines like ‘suck the life out of the oxygen’ and ‘things are getting pretty bad.’ At least both songs are catchy as hell, we guess.

Dear Francis “Touchdown (4-Track)”

Jennifer Calvin of Mika Miko and Bleached recently announced her solo project ‘Dear Francis’ and released a bedroom recording entitled ‘Touchdown.’ With its wispy vocals reminiscent of Elliott Smith armed with more sports metaphors, the track offers a subdued version of Calvin’s more brash offerings in her respective bands. Imagine if your voice memo song ideas were actually compelling and you’ll have a good idea of what this sounds like.

The Blood Brothers “Trash Flavored Trash”

Throughout the week, 911 calls rose by about 1000% as EMS crews worked tirelessly to free well-meaning but aged citizens from their skinny jeans and youth medium tee shirts. The rise of dangerously constrictive clothing incidents probably has something to do with the fact that The Blood Brothers announced their first tour since their brief reunion in 2014. If you plan on catching them out this fall, maybe don’t tell your therapist.

Too lazy to make your own playlist? Yeah, we thought so. That’s why we’ve taken the time to do it for you. You’ll find these songs and countless others by clicking here. Be sure to give it a follow or like or whatever Spotify is calling it now so you always have a way of tricking your loved ones into thinking you finally have good taste.

“I Like the Strokes” and 10 Other Neutral Statements for When You Don’t Really Wanna Reveal Anything About Your Taste

Posted on by John Adkins

When you’ve got weird-ass taste, sometimes it’s easier to just go with the flow and try to get along with the teva-wearing normies at the backyard BBQ you reluctantly attended by keeping your opinions about Marquee Moon to yourself. To help you out, here are 10 neutral statements that’ll keep you from opening the can of worms that is your taste:

“Mmmm Yes I’ll Have Your Local IPA”

IPAs used to basically scream, “holy shit, this dude is like a bread-water sommelier!” but thanks to Peaky Blinder-lookin’ Father John Misty fans, they were ruined a long time ago. So now, an IPA reveals nothing about your taste except that you like to get drunk faster than your friends. But hey, if you wanna get funky with it, you can even chuck around the word “hops” to describe your IPA. Cuz what the fuck is a hop? No one knows! And if you’re talking to someone who ACTUALLY knows, you should probably get the hell out of that convo.

“Yeah, I Had a Radiohead Phase in College.”

Here’s a spiel (feel free to copy it word for word) in case you wanna provide any details about that super unique and special phase of your life: “What? Yeah. I WAS an English major. Switched to Psych and sociology though. My favorite Radiohead record? Oh for sure it’s gotta be “Kid A.” WAIT! “In Rainbows.” Gotta be “In Rainbows.” Yeah. And wow, Johnny Greenwood. That dude is GOOD at guitar. And he does music scores! Have you seen *insert any Paul Thomas Anderson movie*?”

“I Played Soccer Growing Up”

This is the kind of neutral statement you can drop into a conversation like one of those “grow-a-dinosaur” things that you plop into a glass of water. But instead of a limp, soggy dino, you get a limp, soggy conversation about childhood sports. Which is pretty much the same thing.

“I Buy All My Records at Barnes & Noble.”

The Barnes & Noble record section might be the last (and first) bastion of curating neutral taste. Plus, who doesn’t love buying a Lana Del Rey record with a frosty Frappuccino in your hand? And look over there! It’s a whole wall of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumours!’

“I Mean, Come On, it’s The Beatles”

The ultimate “yeah, duh” of music. The only way you can mess this up is if you happen to be listening to a song that’s NOT the Beatles. In which case, you’re a stupid idiot person. Of course, there’s the off-chance that you run into a Beatles-hater. And in that case, you’ve entered a conversation with someone who enjoys the sound of their voice over pretty much anything else––buckle up for some hardcore listening!

“I Bet They’re AWESOME Live.”

Works for literally any band. Why? Because even if a band DOES suck live, no one wants to admit that they wasted their hard-earned moolah on a ticket to a Limp Bizkit cover band show where Bud Light seltzers cost 40 bucks a pop. So yeah. I bet they were AWESOME live.

“Man, They Totally Crushed the Mix on This Song!”

You don’t know what you’re talking about. They don’t know what you’re talking about. Ignorance is bliss, baby.

“Yeah, I DID Listen to All of Andre 3000’s Flute Record”

Chances are, you’re probably talking to someone who isn’t even aware that this album existed. All they know is that Andre 3000 sings “Hey Ya” from that video game “Just Dance 2” and that flutes are an instrument. And never the two shall meet. But they did. And If there were ever two things to cancel each other out, it’s Andre 3000 and a goddamn flute.

As Rick Rubin Says, “an Idea is an Idea”

While this might not be a REAL Rick Rubin quote, we’re pretty friggin’ sure that this is the kind of thing he would say in a podcast clip that ends up on your buddy Jeff’s Instagram story with a “mind-blown” emoji (and also a syringe emoji, quite inexplicably). But the point is, this quote is SO neutral that it might stop the whole conversation altogether. “An idea is an idea?” Where do you go from there? NOWHERE, DAMMIT! Unless, ya know, someone wants to talk about Rick Rubin and in that case, get ready to be even more confused.

“Haha yes! This IS a Nirvana T-Shirt. Good Eye!”

You know the one. The one with the smiley face and the tongue and the X’s for eyes. The one that’s permanently on sale at Target. Wait you’re telling me this is actually a Blink-182 shirt? Fuck.

Baby Boomer About To Give donotreply@homedepot.com Some Hard Truths

Posted on by Casey Smith

HOUSTON — Local 68-year-old Harry Wilson is reportedly about to fire off another sternly worded email to donotreply@homedepot.com to complain about the store’s lackluster service, and supposed deals, embarrassed family members confirmed.

“These assholes simply refuse to listen, so I let them have it” Harry grumbled, pointing to a stack of printed emails he has sent to donotreply@homedepot.com over the past decade. “I fondly remember cussing out employees in person before the computer age made everyone a snowflake. I’m guessing ‘cancel culture’ also means I can’t call out a bogus BOGO deal when they see it. I’ve written multiple letters to my state representative as well, and I’m going to get this whole damn operation shut down.”

Home Depot Customer Service agent Eliza McCaskel, who he directly blamed for “a total bullshit lawnmower sale run by Obama voters” several years ago was the first to discover the expletive-laden emails.

“More often than not, we’d find ourselves quoting him or searching for ways to shoehorn his catchphrase ‘the goddamn rake’ into any conversation we have around the office,” McCaskel chuckled. “For Halloween, the office dressed like what we thought he’d look like in person, but the real winner was Gary, who wore a poster board of Harry’s LinkedIn profile after pulling extensive online research regarding our muse”.

Sociologist Wayne Provost, Ph. D., author of “Beyond The Lead Paint: Making Room for The Baby Boom,” has seen many cases such as Mr. Wilson’s in the past and addresses a few of their common issues in his book.

“Many Boomers have a sense of entitlement that has never been seen in any previous or subsequent generation, no matter how aggressively wrong they are,” said Provost. “With many boomers thinking the ‘customer is always right’, they’ve developed an attitude that firmly plants them in the center of the universe. Yes, the same generation that will claim previous generations are getting ‘participation trophies’ believe they deserve special treatment no matter how awful they’ll treat others.”

At press time, Wilson cut the interview short by noting he’s been on hold with the Publisher’s Clearing House Prize Patrol for the past hour.

Aw, Shit: The Poser at My Job Just Told Me He Listens To Hardcore Punk

Posted on by Jose Balderas

The one nice perk about having a soul-crushing office job is casual Friday. Especially when it’s cool enough that I can wear my leather jacket with my carefully curated pins of bands nobody at my work has ever heard of. It makes me feel superior, it doesn’t matter how much they are paid, they have never been exposed to Drain. But the worst fucking part of my job is Travis. After spotting a few of my pins he had to quietly whisper to me that he’s into “hardcore punk” but it’s not something he wants to let everyone know because everyone would be shocked.

No, they wouldn’t, Travis. Because no one believes you. After being interrupted every time I ask what band he’s into he keeps saying “just some hardcore stuff, man. Like, really hardcore. You wouldn’t believe it. I look like this here but I listen to crazy stuff” Ok, untuck your T.J. Maxx tie and shirt set and fucking spill it, asshole. I’m just trying to fill up my water bottle that has a Bad Religion sticker and all you did was point and go “That’s wild, man.” And I can tell shit is getting awkward because I keep asking you to give me a band recommendation and all you reply with is “think of the hardest song to play on Guitar Hero and stuff like that.” Bro, the hardest stuff in Guitar Hero was either Comic-Con metal shit or “The Devil Went Down To Georgia,” while that song fucking rips it isn’t what you want to classify as “hardcore punk”.

Travis bragged “all the shit I listen to was from Warped Tour 2018.” When I asked if he saw Knocked Loose play that year he said “no, but I saw some pretty hardcore stuff that year but I forgot their name because I was in the moshing pit all day with the moshers.” I’m about to call the cops for stolen valor, Travis Studebaker. I’m very close to it, as un-punk as that is. I think we need the justice system to properly hold him accountable.

You know what? Who gives a shit. If he’s into “hardcore punk” then let him be into it. Whatever he thinks it is. But I’m absolutely sending HR an anonymous tip after he said that the best bassist of all time is “the guy from that emo band, NOFX.”

Guy Who’s Always Wanted To Learn Harmonica Excited For Lengthy Jail Sentence

Posted on by Joe Rumrill

CREST HILL, Ill. — Newly convicted felon Silas Deane Highway is reportedly looking forward to his 6-8 year prison sentence because he’s always dreamed of mastering the harmonica, sources confirmed.

“Hell, if it means it’ll afford me what I can only assume from old movies and television is a crash course in harmonica performance and theory, consider me glad I committed all that arson,” said a beaming Highway as he was being handcuffed. “By my estimation, prison is mostly eating, sleeping, and balefully playing the harmonica as you consider the choices you’ve made, and very little else. People keep recommending I watch ‘Oz’ before I go, but those Judy Garland songs seem a little tough for a beginner like me. I think I’ll start with something simple like ‘Love Me Do,’ y’know? Oh boy, I hope my cellmate has a good singing voice!”

Longtime employees of the prison are used to their facilities being used for musical purposes.

“‘I’ll say this for the bastard, he’s got the right idea. Every notable harmonica player from Little Walter to the Blues Traveler guy has intentionally kicked a cop or robbed a liquor store in order to get a few years behind bars to get a free master’s degree in the mouth harp. It’s theoretically the quickest way to learn, plus you save on tuition. Well, the taxpayers don’t, but they do,” said Stateville Correctional Center warden Randy Pfister. “I’m not a very emotional man, but I’ll admit it, when I hear a guy finally cracking Stevie Wonder’s ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ after a few months of solitary, I have to let out a few tears of pride.”

Common as the practice is, some harmonica hopefuls overshoot the initial crime needed to enter the prison walls.

“Boy, was my face red when I found out all the serial ax murdering I did would put me in here with way more time than I needed to learn not only harmonica, but pretty much every orchestral instrument there is. A few of ‘em I can play at the same time, one-man-band style!” exclaimed multiple life-sentence holder Jack Kelsey Gingham while twirling a bassoon in his fingers like a drumstick. “Heck, I’ve been in here so long that I’ve moved on from music and gone right on to figuring out open heart surgery and DNA splicing. Hey, whatever passes the time. And if it’s one thing I got in here, it’s time.”

At press time, Highway was dismayed to find, upon inspection of his anal cavity, that he accidentally smuggled in a kazoo by mistake.

Ten Underrated Sub Pop Albums That Could Bring Back the Seattle Supersonics

Posted on by Scott Waldman

Lots of crazy stuff happened in 1986 via the wacky Washington worlds of arts, politics, entertainment, and horticulture: Rick Moranis’ “Little Shop of Horrors” hit movie theaters and subsequently changed mantras for all nerds/oral surgeons moving forward till eternity, The Windy City, New York City passed its first lesbian and gay rights legislation, proving the paradox that NY is both ahead/behind the times, a show that would not have been approved in 2024, Emmy Winning/accent stealing “Perfect Strangers,” launched its first of many TV seasons, and Sub Pop formed by Bruce “Not Prichard” Pavitt, and Jonathan “It’s A” Poneman. Not too long after the label’s inception, a trio of young lads from Aberdeen came along and would soon chang the music landscape, and Sub Pop joined uncool dweebs’ vocabulary along with Jem, who was truly outrageous, truly, truly, truly outrageous. We listed the top ten most underrated Sub Pop albums below.

Chixdiggit! “Self-Titled” (1996)

We want to state one ground rule about this top ten underrated Sub Pop album piece in alphabetical order: Power bottom acts like Nirvana, The Postal Service, Soundgarden, and Falling In Reverse are not mentioned below as no one believes that they are underappreciated. Well, the toilet seat’s coming down for the conservative/beautiful Calgary, the Trump-loving city in Alberta, Canada’s Chixdiggit!. Not only is said band approved by heroin but Fat Mike also vouches for ‘em, but not entirely as they weren’t good enough for his main label, making it impossible for the members of Chixdiggit! to quit their jobs. This self-titled album is the tits, and Sub Pop put it out.

Dwarves “Blood Guts & Pussy” (1990)

Let’s keep the punk energy flowing like King Cobra Premium Malt Liquor 40-ounce glass bottles with some blood/guts/pussy from the “Blood Guts & Pussy” LP. Dwarves have album covers/titles that make ‘em the 2 Live Crew of aggressive music, flesh tantrums, whatever “Sfvd” stands for, and nice rhyming hymns about helicopters and butterflies. Blag Dahlia? He who cannot be named? The Suburban Nightmare? Like the aforementioned Chixdiggit!, Dwarves eventually released music via another punk rock mega label with street cred in the suburbs, this one being Epitaph “We Put Out The Matches’ “Decomposer” & Matchbook Romance’s ‘Voices’” Records. Back to Sub Pop: SP put out the monumental fourteen minutes over the course of thirteen songs and you need to go revisit it right now.

Fruit Bats “Mouthfuls” (2003)

Make it so, make it so, El Capitano, Eric D. Johnson with those sweet ass Laurel Canyon fingerpickings, gorgeous by definition vocal harmonies, melodically melodic melodramatic melatonin sensibilities that echo The Decemberists. 2003’s “Mouthfuls” is enough to land Fruit Bats, an obviously unwelcome picnic act, to the Sub Pop party consisting solely of bleach in circles. While 2011’s LP “Tripper,” also released via SP, reached the Top 15 of Billboard’s Heatseekers, most Audioslave fans like you have no clue who Fruit Bats are. No archers of loaf will infect this day tripper and McCartney/Lennon’s longings about a one way ticket, yeah, will permeate through Johnson’s words/musical framework. Some things are just slow growers, and we hope that these veggies rival the Empire State Building/state of mind.

Green River “Dry as a Bone/Rehab Doll” (1990)

Betting on Green River’s inclusion here was a certainly safe bet for Professor X but likely not for Person Y: Swallow your pride if you don’t support this and relisten to “Dry As A Bone/Rehab Doll” in or outside of this town. Seattle, Washington’s Green River are often called the first grunge band but we aren’t really sure what that even means at this point. Were they the first to tie a flannel shirt around their waist while playing a show? Tough to say, but hey, Green River features members of Pearl Jam, so that’s something.

LVL UP “Return to Love” (2016)

Five men on the ridge, an overabundance of pain, the band GORILLAZ, and a band inspired by the NES classic Dr. Mario, Purchase, New York’s LVL UP grew via orchards and boundaries over the course of their 2010s career and “Return to Love.” Fans of cooler music than you LOVE this band, and fans of worse music than you don’t exist. And liking music is supposed to be a competition, LVL UP can help you dominate your friends if you just give them a chance.

Orville Peck “Pony” (2019)

Possibly the most successful album in this piece, we affirm that the Orville Peck and specifically “Pony” deserves their flowers in this piece and every single subsequent one about popcorn. Screamo teen sensation Willie Nelson approves quite brazenly of the Orville, so why shouldn’t you? You think you’re cooler in ANY way than Willie or Woody Harrelson? Think again, Buck-O and/or cowboy! A small town don’t like it when somebody falls between sexes and a small town don’t like it when a cowboy has feelings for men, but Warner Records does. Stampede coming soon, ladies/germs, and Peckheads must unite about this inclusion!

Seaweed “Four” (1993)

Tacoma, Washington’s Seaweed is a more straight up alt-rock grunge/punk adjacent band here, but that is NOT a bad thing; it’s just something that we noticed after cutting through the sand with our metal gazer. Still, we’re pretty sure that a band name like Spook & the Zombies would or could exist today, but those are just the thoughts in our head. Leopards and Geico both concur that your head needs help and that Seaweed is good for it! Kids like candy, and, in fairness, card tricks. Something you all need to know: Producer Jack Encino is one of the unsung heroes of the Pacific Northwest and Sub Pop, and murdered behind the boards for the album “Four,” and the marijuana of the ocean, Seaweed. Get it? Like “sea” for “ocean” and “marijuana” for “weed”?

Tacocat “This Mess Is a Place” (2019)

Easily the best band name of all time next to Washington’s other export known as Anberlin, Tacocat, the palindrome act in a sea of Madamimadams, provided a hologram of mid-’90s femme icons Juliana Hatfield, Veruca Salt, The Muffs, and Etta James new world influences on 2019’s “This Mess Is a Place,” the feline act’s first full-length studio effort for Sub Pop. Tacocat is rad because they sound like a paradox of what’s current AND a throwback, and that’s nearly all we have to say about that; it stops existing. Let’s build a bridge to Hawaii with unintelligible oozin ahhs and mindless chatter. You’re a cliche, useless in every way, so stop taking up the whole sidewalk.

The Vaselines “Enter The Vaselines…” (1992)

Rockabilly icon Kurt Cobain said it best during Nirvana’s live version from the super deluxe version of “Nevermind,” and not their game changer “Live from TRL” LP, “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me For a Sunbeam,” so we can’t beat him, but we won’t join him, “This song is written by a band called The Vaselines, they’re from Edinburgh, Scotland, and they’re very punk rock.” Don’t expect us to cry. It’s never too late to discover their gem of a record that contained very likely the longest time period ever creating an album title, “Enter The Vaselines…”. Never. Too. Late. You think you’re a man, but, man, Rory rides YOU raw. Also, it’s difficult to find too many better opening album songs than “Son Of A Gun,” which starts with tremors and other noises falling into 50s-esque guitar sounds, builds into a splendor of beauty, and completes with an epic fadeout, bitch.

Velocity Girl “Simpatico!” (1994)

Let’s give it up for the last of ten Sub Pop albums, “Simpatico!” to be alphabetically ranked in a non-subjective article: The movie film “Clueless” wasn’t, uh, clueless about Silver Spring, Maryland’s Alaskan Crabs known as Velocity Girl, but your second cousin Tricia who works for a pyramid scheme like Cutco Knives sure is. Velocity Girl owes Primal Scream a few thousandth of a penny’s royalties for several streams and we will forever lie in a sweaty yet sensual sea(weed) of impatience and unrest until said Distrokid balance is transferred to your savings account via the unproblematic Zelle, as it is automatic and stupid dumb dumb PayPal takes fees. Sorry again, diamond jubilees! SIMPATICO!

5 Easy Tips To Turn Your House Into a Home, Then Into an Unlicensed Drinking and Gambling Establishment

Posted on by Doug Kolic

Hurray! You’ve finally saved enough money working your shitty nine-to-five and numerous side hustles to afford a house. Your dad always said you were a loser and would probably end up dying alone in that basement apartment you rented by the freeway, and you were really starting to believe him, but you made it.

Owning property is only the first step. Here are five easy tips to transform those four walls and roof into an actual home, then into an illegal drinking and gambling establishment that you’ve wanted more than those kids your girlfriend pressured you into having:

Repaint:
The most cost-effective way to turn a cold house into a warm home is to give it a fresh coat of paint. Updating room colors to match your favorite design trend is a great starting point that can lead seamlessly from your living room into your hidden pub and cockfighting ring that the authorities know nothing about.

New furniture:
Adding furniture to your new space can elicit happy feelings. A comfy couch or a breakfast nook are great pieces to add right before you spend the lion’s share of your cash on bar stools made from blackmarket rhino horns that you get from your shady Eastern European connect.

Make it smell like a home:
Fill your new home with scents that bring calm to your life. Always displaying freshly cut flowers or strong scented candles are great ways to bring inspiration to a dormant house, which is also important to mask the odor of those gamecocks ripping each other apart. You’d be surprised how bad rooster blood smells.

Meet your neighbors:
Being surrounded by people you trust is important for feeling comfortable. Meeting neighbors can fill the void if you miss your old neighborhood, and also can play an important role if one of them ever thinks of ratting your new boozecan out, so you’ll know who to target for revenge.

Host a cookout:
Inviting old friends and new neighbors over for a classic American BBQ is a great way to make fresh memories. And now that you have a pretty good idea it was Rick from across the street who’s been snooping around, you’ll have the perfect opportunity to pull him aside and calmly threaten to show his wife the photos of him passed out with that prostitute that you staged after drugging him, if he doesn’t shut his dumb trap up.

Mannequin Wearing Ed Hardy T-Shirt Starts Fight With Customer at Goodwill

Posted on by Mike Maher

HARTFORD, Conn. – Goodwill shopper Davis Canal suffered minor injuries during an unprovoked attack by a mannequin modeling the once-popular alpha male apparel line Ed Hardy, multiple sources who refused to step in and help confirmed.

“I was browsing the used DVDs for ‘Scrubs’ season 3, just minding my own, when I suddenly felt eyes on me,” Canal said, rewatching the incident on WorldStarHipHop.com. “I look up and see this mannequin with a shirt two sizes too small, just mean-mugging me. Out of nowhere, the display comes to life, calls me a bitch, and starts throwing wild haymakers. The last thing I saw before I got knocked unconscious was a Siamese tiger with dragon wings. I’m not sure if it was the punches or the Dior Sauvage that gassed me out, but I still can’t get the spray tan off my skin.”

Manager Andy St. Jean claims the mannequin has been trouble ever since he started wearing the Ed Hardy garment late last week.

“That shirt was actually dropped off with the owner still wearing it,” St. Jean said. “Apparently his girlfriend had enough of his bullshit, so she dumped his ass in the donation bin, then ran off with some dude in an Affliction shirt. We kept the Ed Hardy tee, while the boyfriend stole a girl’s ten-speed to chase after his ex. But I gotta say, that shirt is bad juju. When I opened the store this morning, I found Tiesto CDs scattered everywhere and women’s undergarments missing. I can’t even give this thing away. I mean, what the fuck does ‘Love Kills Slow’ even mean?”

Professor of Neuroscience at Yale Leslie Templeton explains the psychological effect of different types of clothing, taste, and trends notwithstanding.

“The douchebaggery Ed Hardy instantly evokes, even second-hand, doesn’t surprise me,” Templeton said. “Certain outfits have an effect known as ‘enclothed cognition’ on the wearer’s psychology – man, mannequin, or otherwise. Bright colors make you happier, more energetic. Darker colors de-stress you. I’m 76 years old and 98 pounds wet, but you put me in Ed Hardy streetwear and I will put you in a rear naked choke so fast you will have to hope you have time to tap. Then I’ll piss in that flower pot, roofie your Celsius drink, and punch a police horse in the dick just for kicks. It’s basic science.”

At press time, Canal said things would have been much worse if a pair of True Religion jeans hadn’t sprung from the racks and submitted the Ed Hardy mannequin with a leglock.

The Next Cinderella? I Let Some Rats Give Me a Makeover

Posted on by Matt Husser

I was looking through some mail I stole when I saw an invitation to the NYC Prince’s Ball, and realized it was tonight! I knew I was going to need a miracle if I was going to get ready in time—but I don’t got miracle money, so I went on Craigslist and found an ad for the ‘Turnpike Fairy Godmother’ who instructed me to meet her by the glowing dumpster behind the Rite Aide.

She checked my bag to make sure it contained the pseudoephedrine, handgun bullets, and seagull skeleton she needed for ‘the ritual,’ and told me to close my eyes. She opened the dumpster lid and I was immediately swarmed by rats who began tending to my hair and makeup. I felt like I was floating as a flurry of rodent paws got to work, cleaning my cuticles and applying a coat of nail polish.

I was introduced to my rat hairdresser for the evening, Gustavo, who delicately matted my hair into exquisite plaited dreadlocks. He was brilliant, weaving in chicken bones to give my hairdo some ‘oomph,’ and the grease gave my hair extra luster for the evening. I’d let him ratatouille me any day—in fact, I think I can still feel him rummaging around up there. That’s my Gustavo, always a tireless worker.

Now the rat that did my makeup, Quentin, I don’t know where he went to beauty school because he couldn’t blend for shit with his little rat feet. He scratched one of my corneas trying to do my eyeliner, and if it looks like there are rat tracks all over my foundation, that’s because there is. Three million rats in New York City, and I get the one rat that can’t contour? I still love you Quentin, say hello to your 700 children for me.

But my troubles all melted away when the rest of the rats returned, dragging my spectacular evening gown out of a sewer grate. “No,” I thought, “could it be?” It was! Lady Gaga’s meat dress from the 2010 MTV Music Video Awards! Now my hater-ass step sisters will tell you it’s gray and rancid, but they simply lack the taste to appreciate culinary-fashion fusion. You’d normally pay a fortune for a vintage, dry-aged statement piece like this.

Well, I must be off—my raccoon-drawn chariot is here, and I’ve got to pick up my glass slippers from a fishmonger who stole them off a corpse they dredged up in the harbor.

‘90s Punk Fan Wondering When It’s Going To Be Cool To Mindlessly Hate Jawbreaker Again

Posted on by James Knapp

OAKLAND, Calif. — Damien Pocket, a longtime “fan” of early ‘90s proto-emo outfit Jawbreaker, recently began wondering when it’s going to once again become accepted practice in the scene to viciously detest the band against all sense of reason or genuine feeling, needlessly outraged sources confirmed.

“I’ve been a huge Jawbreaker fan since the very beginning, which is why I’m starting to get confused about this new direction they’ve taken–the one where people don’t scream and spit at them at every opportunity,” explained Pocket with an expression on his face like that of a confused golden retriever. “Back in my day we used to go to Jawbreaker shows just to yell ‘sellout!’ a few times then go smoke Chesterfields outside of the venue. But kids these days are actually enjoying this music and not, in their words, ‘being petty bitches.’ That is not the scene that I remember.”

Jawbreaker guitarist Blake Schwarzenbach appeared oddly nostalgic for a time when he was actively hated by most people he met.

“Alas, those were the days. You just never feel more like a true artist than when you’re having misery and self-doubt hurled in your face on a nightly basis,” reflected Schwarzenbach. “But, of course we’ve put those days behind us. Oh sure, being reviled was all fun and games when we were spry young anarcho-beatniks. But we’ve got too many responsibilities now. Being hated is a full-time job.”

Clancy Rumlets, scene historian and author of the bestselling book “Sell This Out, Fuckface!”, detailed how vitriol towards artists can get refocused over time.

“There are always going to be people who are mad at bands they claim to love. We call this condition ‘being an obtuse dick.’ Let me know if you need me to sub that out for a non-sciency sounding term,” began Rumlets. “Odds are it’s never going to be cool to hate Jawbreaker again, but don’t you worry. There are always going to be places for people with no information and severe rage issues to vent that disdain. Shit, that’s Fox News’ entire business model.”

At press time, a bored Jawbreaker announced that they were thinking about recording a reggae album just to see if that stirred any shit up on Twitter.