LOS ANGELES — Hardboiled detective Rex Lawson intends to solve a murder conspiracy involving wealthy elites, and possibly the city comptroller, just as soon as he gets more yarn from his local Joann’s Fabrics.
“I’m convinced Mrs. Shaughnessy murdered her husband in order to get her mitts on his family’s apricot farm. But as much as I’d like to buy that dame a one-way ticket to Sing Sing, I just can’t fully connect the dots until I pick up another ten or so bundles of nylon yarn,” said Lawson. “People think detective work is all late-night stakeouts, sleeping with beautiful femme fatales, and pinning seemingly incongruous pictures to your wall and connecting them with yarn. But no one ever sees the hours spent pushing through the old ladies at the local fabric store’s clearance bin to stock up on police supplies.”
Retired school teacher and Joann’s Fabrics regular Marianne Bennett had no idea Lawson was working a case, or even in law enforcement.
“I wasn’t sure what to make of Mr. Lawson when he first came in out of the rain, trenchcoat soaked, half in the bag, and asking if mohair would be too gauzy for a summer shawl. Turns out the perpetual five o’clock shadow and gruff exterior were just red herrings, and Rexy is a complete sweetheart,” explained Bennett. “The detective thing is surprising. The only time I had seen him do anything even close to resembling police work was when he interrogated a cashier for refusing to honor his expired President’s Day coupons.
Following an internal investigation, Los Angeles Police Chief Angelo White fired Lawson for insubordination.
“We became suspicious of detective Lawson when a deputy discovered a hand-knit alpaca fur trilby in his desk,” said White. “An authorized search of the detective’s home revealed absolutely no leads or evidence related to the Shaughnessy murder or even the Cerle Le Rouge jewel heist, but instead every wall of his home was plastered with articles from Knit Crazy Quarterly and printed Facebook memes from an online crocheting group.”
Lawson has since been convinced the police chief, Mrs. Shaughnessy, and the night manager at Joann’s Fabrics are conspiring to frame him. As such, the disgraced gumshoe vows to exact revenge just as soon as he figures out how to knit two pounds of cashmere wool into a working snub-nosed revolver.
Voting season is upon us and even though I don’t vote, this year’s Election Day is probably the most important one of our lifetimes. Therefore, it’s never been more important to ask yourself what you’ve done to contribute to preserving freedom and democracy. Are you registered to vote? Have you done your research? Has your voice been heard? Will you be on the right side of things when the dust settles? Have you ever seen Rage Against the Machine live?
Not all heroes wear capes and not all leaders vote. Some of us do our part in ways that you won’t see covered on CNN or MSNBC. As for me, I’ve been working the front lines since the 90s. I’ve seen Rage Against the Machine in concert over six times. I served in Vietnow. I battled in Los Angeles. I was a part of a revolution, man. I even served under a group of Prophets for a few years, while General de la Rocha took some time off to heal his battle wounds.
I haven’t voted since 1992 but I think what I’ve done is equally important, if not more so. I’ve slept in the fire. What have you done?
Have you ever been in a pit? How about a pit at a Rage show? I have. Rock is Hell, but it’s beautiful. I love the smell of mohawk sweat in the morning. We live to fight the power. Fight oppression. Fight hypocrisy. And we won’t stop fighting until we get true freedom. If it takes forever, we’ll fight forever. Even if we have to sit through lackluster side projects and weird solo albums.
I may never vote again. But you can’t blame Rage Against the Machine fans. We’re out here every fuckin’ day trying to change the world! I bet I’ve gone through at least a thousand tank tops in the midst of this 30-year war. And it’ll all be worth it when the world is right again.
LOS ANGELES — Megadeth frontman, and only remaining founding member, Dave Mustaine was shocked to discover he was kicked out of his own band by members of Metallica, outraged fans confirmed.
“The decision to fire Dave from Megadeth was a hard one, but ultimately the right decision for the group going forward,” noted Lars Ulrich, drummer and founder of Metallica, while soaking in his cryotherapy machine. “We fired him pretty quickly after forming Metallica, and look how great we’ve done! Dave was clearly holding them back. We just don’t see a future for him in Megadeth, it’s nothing personal. Well, it’s kind of personal. We want to wish him good luck in any future bands he takes part in before we fire him from those projects too.”
Megadeth guitarist Kiko Loureiro was stunned when he heard the news of his band’s roster shakeup.
“I was notified by email, which I thought was kind of impersonal and cold, to be quite honest,” admitted the accomplished Brazilian axman. “The message was straight and to the point. It said something like, ‘Dear Megadeth, please note that Mr. Mustaine will hereby no longer assume the role of vocalist and guitarist of the above-stated band, as he is and always has been an annoying, stupid, crappy crap head who is also lame. Best, Metallica.’ Their ability to hold a grudge over nearly 40 years is quite impressive and terrifying.”
Former Megadeth frontman Dave Mustaine vented about the sudden ousting from his own band.
“Classic dickhead move from my former and way less talented band Metallica,” sulked Mustaine. “Why do they always have to pick on Dave Mustaine? Why can’t they pick on Slayer or Anthrax for once? Well, one thing is for sure, Dave Mustaine will not take this lying down. Dave Mustaine will start a new band and show them who the true master of metal is. But first, Dave Mustaine is going to eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and throw darts at pictures of James and Lars.”
At press time, Metallica revealed that Mustaine would not be allowed to form another band for at least 18 months, and the new frontman for Megadeth would be chosen through a series of TikTok competitions.
Are you waking up every morning feeling like a shitty idiot? Then you need to do what I did and work on your “sleep hygiene.” This means improving your nighttime routines and environment to boost the quality and quantity of your sleep. Within no time you’ll wake up feeling like a regular idiot!
Speaking as someone who read half a Buzzfeed article on the subject, got bored, went to the bar, drank myself into a stupor, and woke up in my bathtub feeling surprisingly okay, I am uniquely positioned to give you the definitive guide to leveling up your sleep game without leveling down your “being a total fucking legend” game.
Here are my tips for winning at sleep:
Keep a consistent routine
Don’t have eight beers one night and twelve the next. It’s much better to have ten every night so you’re not constantly throwing your body out of sync.
Avoid screens before bedtime
You can achieve this by accidentally dropping your phone in a puddle on the way home from the bar.
Sleep where your body tells you to
If you’ve arrived home and are nodding off mid-piss, don’t fight the urge to flop into the nearby bathtub. Your body knows best.
Sleep in the correct position
Just as the bathtub cleans you on the outside in the daytime, it stands to reason that it can also clean you on the inside overnight, given the right sleep position. Lie face-down, head on the taps, spine curving gently in the wrong direction, and let the contours of the tub naturally cleanse your sleep particles or something.
Create a relaxing sleep environment
Run yourself a bubble bath and float some tea lights in it. It goes without saying that you’ll need both a snorkel and a fire extinguisher if you’re going with this method.
Get a noise machine
A soothing wash of high-frequency sound can be helpful, but don’t be suckered into buying a white noise machine. Be like me and just have tinnitus.
Easy! What you will lose in friends, romantic partners, and career prospects, you will more than make up for in alertness and a new outlook on life. Unfortunately, that outlook is due to the 45-degree crick in your neck.
CHICAGO — Local party animal Abraham Cane regretted getting so drunk that he ended up getting a tattoo removed last night, confirmed sources in between swigs of Pedialyte.
“I’ll never drink ever again for the rest of the week,” said Cane before Googling whether he needed to put plastic wrap over the removal site. “I can’t believe they would even allow someone to get a tattoo lasered off when they’re that hammered. The last thing I remember was walking into the ink removal shop to ask if getting rid of one actually hurt. Next thing I knew, I woke up with my beloved tattoo completely gone. I’m really going to miss that image of a panther’s face surrounded by a couple of cool swords on my arm. I mean, I have this damn thing removed for life. I might be regretting that decision when I’m 75.”
Cane’s longtime friend and drinking buddy Craig Sizemore saw firsthand what happened.
“We were several beers deep when he started talking about how badass people without tattoos looked,” said Sizemore, before suddenly realizing he left his debit card behind the bar. “I tried talking him out of it, and even recommended he sleep on it first. But then we ordered more shots…long story short, we ended up getting matching tattoo removals instead. There’s $400 I’ll never see again. Though the procedure itself was still surprisingly cheaper than a night out drinking.”
Tattoo removal specialist Tawny Leckington of Ink Be Gone has seen her fair share of intoxicated clients.
“A vast majority of our revenue comes on Friday and Saturday nights, as well as any special occasion that involves getting shitfaced with your friends,” said Leckington while updating the shop’s menu. “We actually see a fair amount of customers come here directly from a tattoo studio during a bender. It’s like they hit the sauce, get some ink, immediately regret it, and come here to undo it. We all know alcohol leads to poor decisions, but it also leads to regret. That’s basically what our entire business model hinges on.”
At press time, Cane decided to lean into the incident and developed a whole backstory of its meaning.
Every Sunday The Hard Times likes to take a trip into its extensive music vault, pick out a classic album, and review it for a modern audience. This week we look at the Guns N’ Roses classic “Use Your Illusion II.”
When I was handed this assignment I asked my editor “will I understand ‘Use Your Illusion II’ if I haven’t listened to ‘Use Your Illusion I?’” My editor laughed and with tears in his eyes he said ‘good one, I’m going to miss this,’ and then walked back to his office, drew the curtains, made an announcement over the office intercom saying “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.” That’s when I heard a single gunshot. I had no time to investigate–I had an assignment.
The first thing I do whenever I review an album is press play. And right from the start, I knew I was in trouble. “Use Your Illusion II” starts with a sound clip of a man talking about “a failure to communicate” and then Axl Rose starts whistling. This is when I knew I was absolutely fucked. I had no idea what was happening. I kept thinking that this must be a plotline from “Use Your Illusion I” and I’m just sitting here looking like a meatball trying to piece together this complex puzzle.
That’s when I went back to my boss to ask for help. He had locked his door and wasn’t answering no matter how loud any of us yelled. I kept thinking maybe he couldn’t hear us because that gunshot messed up his hearing. After a few hours of kicking at his door, it was time for me to go home. I didn’t sleep that night because I kept thinking about this review looming over me. I called in sick for the next four days so I could clear my head, and that’s when everything changed.
When I got back to the office it smelled like the Devil shit in his hands, put it on a George Foreman grill, and then glazed the shit with the smell of low tide in Boston harbor. I asked some of my coworkers what the smell was and they had no idea. Long story short, it turns out my boss killed himself, his decomposing corpse stunk up the joint, and I’m still forced to review an album I listened to less than 37 seconds of. If you like soundbites from old movies and whistling this album is for you.
RALEIGH, N.C. — Local “Game of Thrones” enthusiast John Linden was overjoyed as he unwrapped what he described as a “fully functional and historically accurate” blade, which immensely annoyed sources report comes at the expense of his share of the rent.
“This is an exact replica of Longclaw, that’s Jon Snow’s sword if you didn’t know,” said Linden while visibly shaking with enthusiasm. “But not only is it an exact replica, it’s also one of a kind. I had this custom made by a local blacksmith. This isn’t some factory manufactured blade we’re talking about here. Yeah, it didn’t come cheap, but some things are more precious than money. And before you even ask, no, you can’t hold it.”
Linden’s roommate Dave Trahan, who watched helplessly as Linden announced he would be late on rent while striking various poses with the sword, expressed his concern on the impact this could have on their housing situation.
“I don’t want to know what he paid for that thing, but apparently it was well over a thousand dollars and he mentioned a four year payment plan,” said Trahan. “This isn’t the first time he’s done this. Last year when he bought Anduril, which is from ‘Lord of the Rings’ or some shit, I had to dip into my savings to cover rent. It took him six months to pay me back. I don’t have that kind of money this year, so he’s on his own. If I get evicted over a sword, it’s going to be hard not to use it on him.”
Upon seeing pictures of the sword on Linden’s “Game of Thrones” fan blog, revered author of the series George R.R. Martin also criticized Linden’s decision to purchase it.
“That looks nothing like Longclaw. To be fair, you can’t expect him to know what it looked like in my imagination, but it doesn’t even look like how it did in the show,” said Martin. “The hilt is all wrong, and it looks way too heavy. There’s no way you could take down a White Walker with this thing. What do you even do with it, just hang it on your wall? Sounds like he may not even have a wall to hang it on soon.”
At press time, Linden was seen recording a video featuring his new toy for his YouTube channel, while Trahan was frantically searching for studio apartments on Craigslist.
Buying that Funeral For a Friend hoodie are ya? But did you come to this show as some casual bandwagoner or do you truly appreciate them because you also know loss? Go ahead kid, name three of your friends whose lives were tragically cut short. Feel free to get descriptive. I call posers out a lot and I’m weirdly into hearing about and sharing my own experiences with grief.
Even if you’ve lost a friend or two, were they really your friends? Or were they acquaintances who all of a sudden became your friends after they died? Maybe you go to the funeral because you like the attention that comes with grieving. Or maybe you’re like me and you secretly don’t mind funerals because it’s the one place you’re actually allowed to weep openly in front of other men.
If you’re such a die-hard fan of FFAF, you would’ve found them by kneeling over your friend’s open casket and googling “funeral for a friend music” to help you in your time of need. But no, they probably came up on a Spotify playlist. Pitiful.
And, okay, so most of their songs aren’t about losing a friend but you’d get a lot more out of them if you’ve been to as many funerals as I have. I don’t wanna brag or nothin’ but I’ve lost a lot of friends. And, no big deal, a few cousins too.
So keep rockin’ that hoodie. Advertise your fandom. But I bet you didn’t know that they’re from Wales. Or that they got their name from a song by the band “Planes Mistaken For Stars” and that the loss of a friend didn’t actually inspire the band name. Man, the world really is full of posers.
PORTLAND, Ore. — Breweries across the Pacific Northwest are faced with barrel supply chain issues forcing them to utilize a piece of furniture known as a “table,” confused sources confirmed.
“Our barrels have to be replaced every couple of months because, believe it or not, decorative barrels aren’t a sturdy product. But now with these supply issues, we’ve been forced to switch back to pedestrian tables like some sort of low-rate Italian restaurant,” said Irvin Samuels, owner of the brewery Military Industrial Hop-plex. “I tried to keep a similar vibe by throwing a big piece of plywood over some saw horses, but it’s just not the same. Every time I look at those four-legged abominations I break down in tears… because without inconvenient thematic seating, we’re just a taproom.”
Patrons at Samuels’ brewery also seemed deeply upset by this harrowing situation.
“Between the Edison bulbs, tulip glasses, and those 30 taps, I thought I was at a craft brewery,” said Michael Carmel, a customer who inexplicably brought his three children with him to have a beer. “But it can’t be, because I tried to put my drink down and I couldn’t find a single barrel to set it on! Luckily I didn’t wind up having to sit and stop for a second anyway, because I thought my youngest was going to throw something at me, but he was just taking his pants off.”
Industry expert Anderson Maytag is sounding the alarm that this could spell the end for the craft beer industry.
“Barrels may not seem like a big deal to some, but they represent the very innovation that swanky, overpriced micro-breweries are known for,” said Maytag. “We went from tables to barrels, IPAs to double IPAs, double IPAs to triple IPAs. Moving back to tables stifles that sort of outside-the-box thinking. Now we may never have a brewer creative enough to take us from triple IPAs to quadruple IPAs. Yeah sure, the environment is important, but do you really want to live in a world where we may never see a septuple IPA? That’s the bleak future that keeps me up at night.”
At press time, Samuels decided that his only option was to abandon his brewing business and convert the space into a table-themed cocktail bar.
Once you’ve been inside the proverbial “Cathedral of Sound” that characterizes the Shoegaze genre, life is never quite the same again. It’s better than sex, or what I figure sex must feel like.Besides, for the thousands of Shoegaze fans that “”fell through the sex-tree without hitting a single branch”, the sensuous, throbbing, euphoric sounds of My Bloody Valentine, Ride, and Slowdive are all we need.
Here are 6 iconic Shoegaze albums that provide all of the tension, release, climax, and afterglow without any of that “engaging in the quintessential human activity” nonsense.
My Bloody Valentine: “Loveless” (1991)
Simultaneously the archetypal Shoegaze album and somehow also its own separate genre, “Loveless” proved that standing still and looking down at a bank of guitar pedals did not preclude a band from creating vast, palpitating sonic landscapes. In many ways, “Loveless” is actually the epitome of sex music: surging, undulating swells of sound that could have perfectly soundtracked two bodies writhing in an orgiastic symphony of pleasure – but in my case, didn’t.
Lush: “Split” (1994)
The vocals of Lush’s Miki Berenyi and Emma Anderson are often described as “angelic”, but this is selling them rather short. In comparison to the pair’s transcendent harmonizing on tracks like “Undertow” and “Light From a Dead Star”, the average angel sounds like Tom Waits vomiting into a tuba. Adding these divine vocals to that 90’s cathedral of sound took my impressionable teenage heart and whipped it up into a quasi-religious fervor. God forbid in those days if you had tried to tell me how sexy Miki and Emma were – I was such an earnest little zealot that I would’ve thrown holy water at you and then fainted into a pile of cushions.
Despite stubbornly refusing to give himself a spicier stage name – perhaps Druggi Sexxx, or Ricky Penis – German synth wizard Ulrich Schnauss is nonetheless capable of some pretty heady moments, not least the pulsating wonder that is “On My Own”. Without a rock band structure, the Shoegaze classification is superficially not so obvious, but “A Strangely Isolated Place” is certainly steeped in the oeuvres of My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive. And whilst subsequent albums continued to build his decently-sized fanbase, we are left to ponder what heights he might have scaled had he ditched his accountant-sounding name and called himself Das Fück Maschine instead.
Curve: “Doppelgänger” (1992)
Make no mistake – whatever the fate of their fans, all the bands on this list definitely fucked. Curve in particular had the swagger of a band that got theirs whenever they wanted, probably somewhere in between inventing the template for Garbage and stealing Ride’s lunch money. The still-astonishing “Horror Head” is emblematic of their approach, pairing tempestuous Shoegazey guitars with a thrilling, punishing rhythm section. However, given vocalist Toni Halliday’s preference for sending icy glares directly into your soul rather than sheepish glances down at her feet, the purist in me must deem that Curve are in fact only a pseudo-Shoegaze band. (Incidentally, using this opinion as a pick-up line at Curve shows ensured that I always went home with my “purist” status intact).
Asobi Seksu – “Citrus” (2006)
As we headed into a new decade, a new crop of bands influenced by 90’s Shoegaze emerged – and with them a loosening of the sexual dogma. To my horror, it started to become culturally acceptable for dorky, reverb-loving virgins to find and hook up with each other – encouraged by the connective power of the internet, and the sunny, sexy take on Shoegaze exemplified by bands like Asobi Seksu. But could those second-wave fans really have been appreciating the nuanced brilliance of songs like “Thursday” and “New Years” with their senses dulled by sexual satisfaction? True shoegaze fans with their “still mint in the box” genitals are unanimous in concluding “no”.
Serena-Maneesh – “Serena-Maneesh” (2005)
So, in this new landscape where Shoegaze fans are allowed to bang each other, what happens if you find yourself staring down the barrel of a sure thing, drawing ever closer to “putting the nine-volt in the Big Muff” with a winsome Nu-Gaze hottie? If you need to put the brakes on fast, you could do worse than an impromptu analysis of this unclassifiable classic from Norwegian band Serena-Maneesh. Sure, the sounds are pretty sexy – but it’s also brimming with opportunities for blasphemous hot takes that will send your suitor packing. Try telling them that the tiny section of “Sapphire Eyes” between 3.26 and 3.55 is a better My Bloody Valentine song than anything on My Bloody Valentine’s 2013 comeback album, and watch them run for the hills! (You have my personal guarantee that this will work.)
