I Took the Skinheads Bowling and Now I’m Banned From the Milford Family Fun Center

The local scene gave a lot to me growing up so I try to give back. I volunteer at the skatepark and I donate to all the Gofundmes and Kickstarters I can afford, but I’m always looking for new ways to contribute. Anyway, I was listening to SiriusXM 1st Wave and heard “Take the Skinheads Bowling” by Camper Van Beethoven and that seemed like a fun DIY Big Brothers/Big Sisters thing. Well, now I’m banned from the Milford Family Fun Center and looking back I should have seen this coming.

When I pulled up to the Milford Family Fun Center I saw a couple of Vespa scooters covered with Oi band logos and too many rearview mirrors. As I approached the front door, I found them blaming each other for giving skinheads a bad name.

Things got worse at the shoe rental. The very idea that they would have to leave their precious boots as collateral for bowling shoes made them furious. I suggested maybe they leave one boot and keep the other with them. Somehow that worked. Unfortunately, I had forgotten how important the color of shoelaces is to skinheads. I suggested just swapping out the laces but “Lace Code” is apparently a sacred text. After several violent minutes, I learned black laces are fine with everyone.

Next up was the snack bar. One skinhead named “Porky” demanded they put the Tottenham/Newcastle match on, but the bowling alley’s cable service did not carry English Premier League soccer. Meanwhile, another fella named “Rook” was demanding a proper pint of Guinness. I intervened, explaining they only had Guinness in the cans and if he wanted a pint, it would have to be from what they had on tap. He replied “True skins only drink stout!” as he begrudgingly chugged the can. The lone female skin, “Dinah,” was the most manageable, as she just stood in the corner, obsessively flicking a lighter.

Once we got to our lane, I attempted to get to know everyone. Turns out they were all on parole. Dinah for arson, Porky for kicking someone with a spiked book, and Rook for attacking someone with a machete in the parking lot of this very same bowling alley. That’s when I decided we’d only bowl one frame and end it.

But the second I turned to roll my ball, all hell broke loose as all the skinheads began attacking each other over who was the most “skin.” I’m not sure if that’s even a thing but they were pretty wasted at that point. Plus, this group didn’t have the tightest grip on logic to begin with, so I kept my mouth shut.

I tried to keep the other bowling patrons and staff out of the fray as Porky and Rook tried to shove one another’s head into the ball return. I broke them up as they threatened to finish the job once “their boys” got there. Behind me, I saw the league trophy case up in flames, with Dinah using shoe spray as an accelerant.

In the aftermath, each of them pointed to me as the responsible party so now I’m banned for life and was fined $19,000. So much for giving back to the scene.

Group of Unemployed, Single, Childless, Band Members Who Live Together Still Can’t Find a Practice Time That Works For Everyone

FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. — A fledgling desert rock band that has yet to settle on an official name recently confirmed that they remain unable to commit to a regularly scheduled practice time, despite every member’s complete absence of any semblance of personal or professional obligations.

“When we first decided to work on this project together I knew it was going to take us a little while to build up some momentum. So it’s understandable that there be a few bumps in the road while we figure out logistics like who is playing what instrument,” began potential bassist Doug Ramblige. “Me? I’m all in for this band. I got laid off from Panera and my girlfriend dumped me for, in her words, ‘wearing too many condoms,’ so I got plenty of time, except for Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, weekdays in general, and sometimes Saturdays. I’m just not sure what the rest of the guys are always so busy with.”

Landlord and potential drummer/percussionist for the hypothetical band, Daryl “House Dad” Williams, detailed the band members’ living situation.

“I have no idea what everyone who lives here actually does with their day. Seriously, almost no one ever leaves their rooms unless it’s to fight over whose Doordash driver it is that just showed up,” questioned Williams. “I thought this band would help me get closer to my renters, but every time I send our group chat a message about having a band meeting I get left on read for three days before someone sends something back like ‘sorry. crazy wknd.’ It was fucking Wednesday!”

Teresa Booker, an amateur music expert, gave some background on the scheduling difficulties that bands just starting out face.

“I’m very familiar with this sort of issue as someone who’s always wanted to tell people that they were in a band. Now I’m like the rest of these assholes trying to figure out why we need someone with a van to move shit when [the other band members] are literally down the hall,” bemoaned Booker, who is also apparently a part of their debacle on and off as a second guitarist. “Whatever. This band is mostly just a way to get my ex’s attention again so whether we ever actually practice or not means fuck-all to me. I guess it was kind of cool that we almost wrote a song that one practice we had last year.”

At press time, the band was already on an indefinite hiatus.

$20 LED Strip Transforms Dank Studio Apartment Into Enchanting Fuck Dungeon

NASHVILLE, Tenn. – Residents of a SouthSide apartment complex were awe-struck when one of their neighbors used a single LED strip to completely revamp their drab apartment into a place for forbidden fornication, lonely and easily impressed sources confirmed.

“This LED strip really ties my whole vibe together,” said Barker as he hung up a beaded curtain in place of his bathroom door. “When I bring somebody home, I want them to think that his place screams ‘party.’ And for $20, it’s a steal. Being able to sync a pulsing magenta light to darkwave music while I slow bone a shorty after a night out on the town is a total game changer. The last time I was this confident was when I bought that Glade PlugIn, the vanilla scent was like raw pheromones.”

Barker’s most recent sexual partner Gwendalyn Roberts was less enthusiastic about his decor choices.

“I made the mistake of going back to his place the first time we hooked up and I’ve learned my lesson,” said Roberts. “When I entered his apartment, and those neon crimson lights filled up the room, I felt like I was about to become the subject of an eventual true-crime documentary. I don’t have the heart to tell him that the last place I’d like to have an intimate encounter is on the futon he’s also eating all his meals. The lights also amplify that oddly shaped stain he has on his beige carpet, but I don’t even think he has a pet.”

Resident interior decorator MacKenzie Rush weighed in on the delicate balance between intent and execution.

“Mr. Barker is right to think that his cheap LED setup is a major step up,” said Rush. “I’m an avid photographer, and I know firsthand that the sensually glowing hue of a darkroom sets the mood. But with great lighting comes an even greater responsibility to make sure your bachelor pad isn’t a totally dank shithole. Next time he has an extra $20, I recommend that he picks up some Carpet Fresh and a Brita Filter because God knows his water tap may look like a neon spout of wonder, but I assure you that he’s drinking brown municipal sludge.”

At press time, Barker was spotted at Sharper Image looking for a machine that produces rainforest sounds to cover up the sound of the leaking toilet in his bathroom.

How to Tell the Older Sibling Who Got You Into Punk That They’re Too Old to Go to Shows

There comes a time in every person’s life when they need to give a harsh truth to an elder loved one. Unfortunately, it’s often the best thing to do when that loved one is unaware of their situation. Especially, when their situation has become embarrassing or potentially dangerous. It may be painful and difficult to even find the words, but remember you’re doing this because you love them.

Here’s our guide to telling the older sibling who got you into punk that they’re too old to keep going to shows.

We understand how hard this is for you. This is the person who got you into the music, fashion, and subculture that your youth was built around. Plus, they’re related to you and that matters to some people, we guess. More importantly, they burned an Against Me! CD for you in 2002. Now it’s time for you to return the favor by informing them how ridiculous they look wearing a battle jacket in public at forty.

Plus, they didn’t just introduce you to the genre. They showed you the ropes! They snuck you into your first show at a bar underage, they lifted you up for your first crowd surf, and they taught you how to get into a mosh pit without getting your block knocked off. But if you don’t have the tough talk with them, they’re going to break a hip out there.

After you deliver the difficult news they may show anger or confusion, so you’ll want to prepare some alternatives to soften the blow. Perhaps suggest going to a punk-themed trivia night. Or, if the funds are available, show them a pamphlet for a VFW hall they can retire to for countless early bird dinners and dollar beers. But make sure it’s clear they have to leave before the show starts. You have a reputation to protect, after all.

House Full of Unemployed Artists Calling Self a Collective Now

NEW YORK — Twelve so-called artists living in a dilapidated former textile factory are now referring to themselves as The Stuffed Crocodile Collective even though they don’t seem to be producing any art, theater, music or contributing to society in any tangible way, neighborhood residents confirmed.

“Those of us that had soul-sucking day jobs have quit them so that we can all collaborate on creating art,” said Egiga Goramen while trying to bum cigarettes outside a bodega. “The ethos of our collective is that we don’t adhere to the idea that artists should be required to make art. Just existing is art and that is what The Stuffed Crocodile Collective is all about. We also threw in some bullshit about commitment to community or something. We don’t expect anyone to understand, but we want to make it clear that nobody should expect anything from us.”

Raymond Sharp, the property’s landlord, doesn’t see it the same way they do.

“Depending on the day of the week they are either a theater company or a circus troupe, but they don’t seem to be anything but a dozen people who smoke weed and listen to Frank Zappa all day long,” said Sharp while drafting up an eviction notice. “I am happy to support local artists, especially if they are happy living in a building with multiple code violations and a slight super-rat problem, but this ‘collective’ as they call it don’t seem to be anything more than squatters. Unless you consider spray painting giant hairy phalluses all over the walls ‘art.’”

Artistic career coach Mabel Lewis believes we have entered a new era of artistic expression.

“In today’s post-career society, if a person considers themselves a writer then they are a writer. All they have to do is claim they’re an ‘author’ in every social media bio and people will have to respect that, even if they never write a single word,” Lewis, who has no credentials to be a career coach, explained. “This collective exists outside of the box society has created and, for that, I applaud them. Not producing any tangible art is, in itself, an artistic statement on the corporatization of the imagination.”

As of press time, The Stuffed Crocodile Collective has filed for 501(c)(3) charity status once they are done binging “Twin Peaks.”

Review: Japandroids “Celebration Rock”

Each week The Hard Times takes a look back to review an album from the past. And maybe you recently woke up from a coma and decided it was time to check out Japandroids, we have you covered.

Oh, yeah. Here we go. Japandroids’ second album, a bonafide modern classic with the heart of “Tim” and the fury of “Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash.” And, most of all, the album to forever teach us that invaluable lesson: Dudes rock.

Well, here’s the thing. I just listened to “Celebration Rock” for the first time in a few years, and at no point do they ever say “dudes rock.”

I swore this was where “dudes rock” started. I even misremembered the album title as “Dudes Rock” and was getting annoyed it wasn’t showing up on Spotify. Then, I thought maybe one of the songs was called “Dudes Rock.” Nope. So, I figured it must’ve been in the lyrics somewhere. But it turned up in none of my searches.

Now, don’t get me wrong: “Celebration Rock” is still a great album. But it seems like if any album should be called – or at least feature the words – “dudes rock” it’s this one. Hell, in any of these songs, you could drop Brian King and David Prowse shouting “dudes rock!” Wouldn’t that make the end of “Younger Us” even better?

I don’t know when or if a new Japandroids album is coming, but if they want to use “dudes rock” in any capacity, the clock is ticking. Maybe they could surprise-drop a single called “dudes rock” in the next couple of weeks.

We can help them with it too. The lyrics can be about wanting to stay up all night and party, but like, not in a douchebro way. And it can have fuzzy power chord riffs and energetic drums mixed at incredibly high volumes. Oh, and maybe they could throw in some “oh oh” choruses too.

Actually, their next album could just be 8 songs called “Dudes Rock.” I bet that’s worth at least an 8.1 from Pitchfork, but their reviews are worthless. Don’t read them.

In conclusion, dudes rock.

Score: 10/10 dudes. 10/10 rock. 9/10 dudes rock.

Underperforming Slipknot Member Sent Down to Mushroomhead For Conditioning

DES MOINES, Iowa — Slipknot percussionist Shawn “Clown” Crahan was sent down to Mushroomhead for a 10-show conditioning stint in hopes of getting in better shape for an upcoming tour, the band’s general manager confirmed.

“Shawn is a founding member of this band and he isn’t going anywhere, so let me put that to bed right now,” said Slipknot GM Jay Dumas from his office that overlooks the Iowa Cubs minor league baseball stadium. “He’s on a one-year contract and can’t be assigned to Mushroomhead without clearing waivers. Shawn has trouble recovering from back-to-back and double header shows. That’s the only reason he was sent down. We expect him to be ready for the Texas road trip at the end of the month, he just needs to get back into game shape by playing some tune-up shows in front of much, much smaller crowds.”

Slipknot singer Corey Taylor confirmed that Crahan would be unavailable for this weekend’s string of shows.

“Shawn will be just fine, the press always make a bigger deal of things than they are,” said Taylor as he stood shirtless in front of his locker with a towel draped over his shoulder. “He’s just down in Mushroomhead to get some more reps in. He had Tommy John surgery on his elbow last year, as you know. He’s lucky that he wasn’t forced to retire like a lot of guys have to. But ever since Shawn came back he’s been doing some of the best banging on metal barrels of his career.”

Nu-metal historian and former minor league baseball player Victor Somoza weighed in.

“Getting sent down to Mushroomhead is not an issue, believe me,” said Somoza while being interviewed for the next chapter of the Ken Burns’ “Baseball” documentary series. “Some players spend time in Mushroomhead on their way to the big leagues. For others, Mushroomhead is as far as their nu-metal career takes them. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Mushroomhead has long been considered ‘the best of the rest’ in nu-metal circles. But make no mistake, Shawn is a big leaguer through and through, and there will always be a spot on the roster for guys who dress like a demonic clown at the highest levels of nu-metal.”

At press time Crahan was reported to be extremely thankful that he hadn’t been sent down to Mudvayne.

Cop Wins Creative Writing Award for Recent Police Report

RENO, Nev. — Local police officer Konrad Klusky was given an award in outstanding creative writing following the release of an almost entirely fictionalized police report, Reno Police Department confirmed on Monday.

“I was just doing my job, that’s all. If recalling events in a police report the way I in particular see them is worthy of an award then the entire precinct should get them too,” said Klusky while holding his four-inch trophy from the Organization of Gifted Raconteurs in Enforcement (OGRE). “But I’ll admit, it feels good to be recognized. It’s not easy writing a story where the hero beats the ever-living shit out of an unarmed person because they were jaywalking. I sometimes get the details mixed up with what actually happened but hey, that’s why I want to thank all the editors in my life!”

The inspiration for Klusky’s report, local musician Miles Fredrick, confirmed just how different this piece was from the real-life events it was based on.

“Yeah, none of that shit happened,” said Fredrick from his bed at the Northern Nevada Medical Center while enjoying a cup of apple juice with his jaw wired shut. “Almost every detail was changed to the point that it was like looking into an alternate universe. I might as well have been reading ‘Dune.’ Like, if that cop said a giant sandworm showed up and told me to ‘stop resisting’ it would’ve actually been more accurate.”

Representatives from OGRE further detailed their decision to bestow Klusky with their annual “Outstanding Creativity in Policing” award.

“We receive millions of submissions every year from around the US, but ‘Reno Police Department Report: Incident #0122346-X’ stood out as a masterpiece of fiction,” said OGRE spokesperson Jolene Tibbits. “Klusky created a world so divorced from our own, so truly alien, that it must have required a profound imagination to conjure. Officers, take note. THIS is how you fabricate a police report! We might have a modern day Charles Dickens on our hands.”

At press time, Klusky was put on a paid suspension for an unrelated internal investigation and now plans on publishing a collection of mostly inaccurate short story reports of his career to date.

Help! I Can Only Afford Therapy This Month if That Podcast Offers a New Discount Code

Well, I finally found a therapist I like. They have all the qualities I need in a therapist. For instance, they don’t cringe whenever I start talking about my crypto addiction. That’s pretty much it. Anyway, now I can only pay for another virtual session if this podcast does another promotion for 20% off BetterHelp.

I’m beginning to think there might be something fundamentally wrong with healthcare in this country.

Of course, I wasn’t planning on vastly improving my mental health when I first started listening to “Gilmore Hurls,” the podcast where the hosts review every episode of “Gilmore Girls” while drunk out of their minds on jug wine. I just wanted to hear three dudes scream over each other into a busted iPhone for an hour. But after they offered that discount on virtual therapy if I used the codeword “JugBarf” at checkout, how could I keep ignoring my issues?

Yet now they’re just gonna move on and start hocking electric mattresses or whatever while I’m right on the cusp of a breakthrough about why I’m physically disgusted by masturbation. I have come to rely on those promo codes for my emotional well-being. Help!

I’ve even tried listening to other, non-alcohol or Gilmore Girls related podcasts, but all I’ve ended up with is discounts on meat subscription boxes and a membership with Amnesty International. While these have been helpful in their own ways, they have not helped me uncover the root cause of my chronic hooting every time I hear the song “My Sharona.”

So where do I go from here? Is there another way I can continue to progress on my emotional journey? I don’t know if I can handle going cold turkey on this the same way I did with my bleach addiction. Or does anyone know a therapist who is willing to work on me in exchange for twenty-five pounds of ground pork giblets? That meat subscription really does pile up fast.

Think You Have It Hard? Back in My Day We Had To Know the Difference Between the Hives and the Vines

These kids today just have no idea how easy they have it. Oh, what’s that? There won’t be anything left of the planet by the time you hit forty, no one can afford to own a home as a result of corporations buying and hoarding them, and school gun violence is so out of control that you feel vulnerable and helpless because those in authority positions won’t do anything to address the problem? Oh please. Back in my day we had to know the difference between the Hives and the Vines. That shit was way more difficult.

You see, things were way different back in the early 2000s. First, we had regular 9/11. Then there was the other 9/11, which is the day these two bands appeared to debut simultaneously and no one seemed to be able to remember which one was which. For all we knew they were the same band that kept switching their identities back and forth to confuse the general public.

I guess we could’ve used our phones to confirm the IDs of each band online. But by “use our phones,” I mean we had to physically connect our landline to “dial-up” the internet and use Yahoo! as our search engine. I have PTSD just thinking about it.

It was also an era in music that was dominated by the “the” bands. The Hives, the Vines, the Strokes, the Eminem. You try keeping up with that sort of naming convention homogeneity in culture. One time, I even downloaded an MP3 titled “Hateto_Say_I_toldYOUso_THE_VINES” from Napster. Turns out, that one was done by the Hives this whole time. And to think, Napster file names had been so reliable up until that point.

In short, there’s just no way you have it harder today. Confirming bands is easier than ever. And don’t get me started on the whole My Bloody Valentine versus Bullet For My Valentine chaos we went through back then.

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