Punk Instinctively Sneaks Into Free Show

Posted on by Bobby Korec

CRAIG, Colo. — Local punk Kenneth Dieter instinctively snuck into a show despite there being no cover charge to enter, sources who urged him to read the show flyer more carefully next time confirmed.

“You mean I spent weeks studying the venue’s elaborate air duct system as well as that one scene from ‘Die Hard’ where Bruce Willis shimmies his way through a ventilation shaft to learn how to successfully sneak into the building for nothing?” said Dieter before adding that it’s not as easy as they make it look in the movies. “What can I say? My dad used to say that I have to earn everything. And let me tell you, I work my butt off sneaking into shows without being caught. That being said, I didn’t realize this one was free. Hoo boy, do I have egg on my face with that one.”

Joey Bronco, the venue’s bouncer, sees guys like Dieter all the time.

“You wouldn’t believe the lengths people go through to sneak into a venue,” said Bronco before approving a library card as a valid form of ID for a 21 and over show. “Whether it’s three dudes stuffed in a trench coat approaching the door or someone digging a huge hole just outside the venue in an attempt to tunnel their way into the basement, you have to admit that their efforts are probably not worth saving five bucks in entrance fees. Starting to wonder why no one just sneaks through our unlocked and unguarded back door. That probably makes more sense.”

Experts warned that these mischievous habits could develop into more serious offenses.

“Sure, now you’re just sneaking into low-level punk shows for the thrill of it,” said counselor Lisa Tralkall. “Next thing you know, you’ll be formulating elaborate plans to break into famous band practices and you won’t get the same kick unless you’ve successfully kidnapped Dave Grohl, disguised yourself as him, and secretly tour the country as the lead singer of the Foo Fighters. Crimes like this usually start small and end with trapping Dave Grohl in your basement dungeon.”

In related news, Dieter pointed off in the distance and said “what’s that” to the merch guy to distract him long enough to swipe a completely free sticker from the merch table.

Photo by Jana Miller. 

Review: Greg Puciato “Mirrorcell”

Posted on by Krissy Howard

Former Dillinger Escape Plan frontman Greg Puciato is back with his third solo record “Mirrorcell” and we learned pretty quickly this is not the same Greg Puciato that said they could get us weed in eighth grade but just ended up taking our $10 and then making a bunch of bullshit excuses.

The year was 1998. I was in eighth grade and almost ready to start dressing myself and definitely ready to get into music that wasn’t a two-song tape of those dogs who bark to the melody of “Jingle Bells,” but I needed something to give me that edge that I clearly lacked. When I saw a couple kids from my homeroom class smoking weed at the far end of the parking lot one day, I knew I’d found my place. I walked up, stood there smiling silently, and handed Greg Puciato and Danny Czekala $10, which I never saw again.

So you could imagine my surprise and delight to see ‘Mirrorcell’ on the list of albums this week, which a certain you-know-who was assigned to review.

You listen to me Greg Puciato—I am drunk with power, and also drunk on Malibu, and I am going to shit all over this piece of shit so hard you’re gonna think your computer has Crohn’s disease and will suggest it start considering laying off the high fiber fruits and vegetables, fuckhead.

First up is “In This Hell You Find Yourself,” which is exactly where Greg Puciato is going to be when reading this. “Reality Spiral” is next, which sounds like if my ears were a butthole and someone stretched it out all huge and then barfed into it and then my ear shitted the barf out and burned it onto a limited edition, splatter-painted double LP.

And then ther—oh shit.

Oh wait.

OK.

I’ve just been informed by my editor that this Greg Puciato did not grow up in central New York, never wore three chain wallets at once, and is not the same person I’m thinking of. He also informed me that this Greg Puciato has big muscles and ADD, which means who knows what the fuck he’s capable of doing in procrastination-induced blackout rage. Fuck.

SCORE: In light of recent developments, we’re gonna give this album an 8 out of 5 sincere apologies, and 1 out of 1 resignations, effective immediately.

/**/

New Studies Show That All Injuries Past Age 25 Are Permanent

Posted on by Lana Kim

RICHMOND, Va. — Several medical reports released early this morning state that any and all injuries sustained after the age of 25 will be with the person for the rest of their life, according to apologetic sources.

“Most people don’t realize this, but our studies indicate that once you turn 25 your body basically decides it’s had enough with trying to fix the things you keep wrecking,” explained professor of internal medicine Gillian Schumaker, MD. “As an aging individual, people should be taking extra care of their bodies and limiting their exposure to risk-taking activities and behaviors, which, right around 30, can include anything from attempting to tie your shoes while standing up, sitting with your knee bent for too long, and simply sleeping weird.”

People from around the country who thought they had until they were at least 60 until this sort of shit started happening are disappointed, yet relieved to understand the studies’ findings.

“I only bent down to pick up a few of my son’s loose Hot Wheels and my spine made a new and unfamiliar sound,” stated 31-year-old mom and person who now regularly Googles “glucosamine chondroitin benefits,” Lauren Hughes. “Now if I want to sleep on my back, I have to shove a pillow under my ass in a very specific, folded up position or I wake up the next day and my spine feels like a fucked up slinky. I’m like, barely thirty, and I need a chiropractor after every grocery trip, but I guess that’s how it goes. Why doesn’t anyone tell you this?”

Despite such findings, some people who still “feel young at heart” are quick to dismiss the facts.

“My doctor says that a man my age should start thinking about changing hobbies, but I really don’t think that’s necessary,” said 37-year-old climber and regular stimulant consumer Greg White. “I’m working on no-feet bouldering, so it’s actually super helpful that I can already pop my shoulder in and out of its socket, which is good for staying flexible if you ask me. Plus, if anything went wrong I knew a guy who has kratom, so I should be able to bounce back in no time.”

At the time of her interview, Dr. Schumacher mentioned that if patients were going to be in a near-fatal accident, then they should try to do so before they hit their late teens, or at least while still covered by their parent’s insurance.

Men Agree: Best Time to Switch Positions Is When She’s About to Come

Posted on by Dom Turek

The votes are in, and the verdict confirms what we already knew: the best time to switch positions is when your partner is on the brink of an orgasm.

In a unanimous survey, 457 men agreed that when a woman says she’s close, it’s time to switch things up and try out some new moves. None of that “consistency is key” stuff. Flip her over like a pancake and fuck her with the syncopation of an experimental jazz album.

Any idiot worth fucking knows intercourse is a marathon, not a sprint. The intensity of the female orgasm is only as strong as the build-up, so take your time getting there. The longer you prolong her climax, the better it will be. Sex experts suggest about 40 minutes, but I like to drag it out it for days, or even months.

Women are timid ethereal creatures by nature, which leaves you responsible for decoding cryptic phrases like, “yes, right there” and “just like that, don’t stop.” Despite her best efforts to elude you with her secret love language, this is your cue to pull out and ask if she wants to 69 or try the inverted pincer. If I learned anything from my last few marriages, it’s never to take anything a woman says at face value.

Check in with her now and then by asking if she’s close, and follow up with, “how about now?” every 30 seconds or until she abruptly remembers a “birthday dinner” she’s supposed to attend. Don’t get discouraged. The body has a threshold for the amount of pleasure it can tolerate before maxing out. I once made a woman feel so good she left my apartment mid-coitus and never talked to me again.

The most important part of helping your partner reach orgasm is being receptive to her needs, unless her needs include bringing a sex toy into the bedroom. Sex toys are training wheels for men who don’t know how to pleasure a woman with the God-given sex toy dangling between their own two legs. A vibrator is just an eight-letter word for virgin, and I haven’t been a virgin since my high school reunion.

Stray Piece Of Thread Floating in the Air Actually Kate Bush

Posted on by Sarah Feliciano

EUGENE, Ore. — Roommates and known stoners Lilia Huerta and Sam Khan reportedly witnessed Kate Bush in the form of a stray piece of thread floating through the air on a balmy yet pleasant Spring day, according to sources.

“We were sitting on a blanket outside debating how to pronounce the word ‘patron’ when Lilia noticed a lavender-colored thread loosely twirling through the air and heading toward my shoulder in movements that were kinda short puffs, yet somehow still effortless in their movement, which was so weird,” Khan recalled. “Right as I was plucking it away, we heard a crescendo of kick drum and synths, followed by a distinct ‘running up that road, running up that hill.’”

Huerta confirmed the loose ethereal thread sighting, adding that the pair didn’t question its origins for a second.

“We were like ‘oh yeah, that’s English singer-songwriter Kate Bush,’ you could tell by how the thread was like, solid color but then when it caught the sunlight it sort of sparkled like the way water in an oil slick does,” she said. “She was ⅔ of the way through ‘Hounds of Love’ when a second thread we suspected to be Bjork also contorted by us, faintly whispering like a Siren’s call, but our cat swallowed it before we were able to make out any bells, so who knows what that was about.”

UK-based physicist Dr. Ram Basu has been closely studying the growing phenomena, reporting that this isn’t the first occurrence of Kate Bush mystically appearing as inanimate objects.

“I’ve seen instances of her as an iridescent bubble in Brazil, an accidental squirt of lemon in a guy’s eye in Peru, and even a shimmery glass of water that was so cold the condensation slid it across a table in Milwaukee,” said Dr. Basu. “The scientific community is torn up by whether these are stops along a surprise world tour or just a casual outing for the singer. Either way, the shared experiences of sparked feelings of whimsy and introspection lead me to believe that they are, in fact, the same person.”

At press time, the thread went wide-eyed like a feral animal and lept away as it started singing the first verse of ‘Babooshka.’

She Said “Shut Up And Dance With Me.” Here Is Why That’s Not Okay

Posted on by John Danek

I don’t typically go out much these days. But last weekend, my D&D group/polycule decided it was time to go have some fun at a club. The first hour passed uneventfully. I was bobbing my head near the bar when Walk the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance” came on. The song sounds like if U2 never once gave a shit about a war-torn country; big, toothless arena indie rock, yet catchy.

A sultry woman in an orange dress sauntered up to me, and in perfect timing with the chorus whispered in my ear “Shut up and dance with me.”

What she didn’t realize is that her statement unleashed a whole host of dance-related trauma stemming from my early 30’s.

I turned 31 in the year 2011. LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem” was a behemoth of synthesized earworm madness storming the charts. I never learned how to dance beyond imitating one of the unnamed Peanuts kids in their dance sequences. But I always wanted to recreate the impressive moves I was seeing on the internet and on Ellen.

So I began practicing in my living room. I recorded video of my practices and uploaded them to my YouTube channel in the hopes of getting some encouragement. Quickly, I realized I wasn’t getting any better so I hired a teacher.

Linda was mean. Real mean. There was no positive reinforcement. She would point out my every flaw and misstep, which would cause me to start to cry because my parents never once told me anything I did was less than perfect. Anytime I made a whimper, she would yell “SHUT UP AND DANCE!” which made me cry harder.

But I thought I owed it to my meager YouTube following to keep uploading the videos, even of these ill-fated practice sessions. Soon after my last session, someone edited all the Linda + crying videos together.

Without going into too much detail, the video has been one of PornHub’s top “humiliation fetish” videos for years. Coworkers found out. So did family. Most people in my life left. The only ones who accept me are my fellow adventurers/polycule, mostly because their porn fetish choices are far more esoteric than simple humiliation.

I hope it stays that way.

Punk Forced to Purchase Cocaine Instead of Huffing Gasoline

Posted on by Antonio Cruise

PALMDALE, Calif. — Local fuel sniffer, Seth Carr, purchased several grams of heavily cut cocaine in response to historically high gas prices and the need to avoid sobriety, sources who couldn’t stop rubbing their gums confirmed.

“I’m a man of simple pleasures. I like to go to shows, grab some gas station taquitos afterward, and then fill my can. But none of that Valero bullshit. You gotta spring for the top-shelf gasoline. Techron straight fucks me up,” explained Carr. “But after gas prices pushed six dollars a gallon, I realized this wasn’t going to be financially viable long-term. It was clear after a cost-benefit analysis of some illicit substances that I had to make a transition to coke. So I got myself an eight-ball to get started and the rest is history.”

A member of the Palmdale Sheriff’s Department, Sergeant Angel Ramirez, noted a recent encounter with Carr.

“Mr. Carr was detained and later released along California State Route 14 after his vehicle was searched for suspicion of narcotics possession. A Replacements cassette, Chevron credit card application, and trace amounts of white powder were found. Mr. Carr was very adamant about his gas huffing days being over, and I’m glad to hear it,” Ramirez said. “He’s had some run-ins with law enforcement in the past, most recently at a Bass Pro Shop in Rancho Cucamonga a few months ago. He was found extremely agitated and seated in a canoe wearing a fishing bib, swinging an ore at employees who attempted to remove a boot that had become stuck on his head. I think this new habit will be best for everyone.”

Paula Johnson, Carr’s girlfriend, is happy with his recent change.

“You know, I wouldn’t call Seth an active person. I’ve talked to him about his laziness and tendency to neglect household duties. It’s created some friction in our relationship. But ever since he started doing blow regularly the apartment has been spotless. I can’t get the guy to stop sweeping,” Johnson exclaimed. “Seth’s little beer belly is disappearing too. Don’t tell him I said this, but I’m starting to find him more attractive. He just has an air of confidence to him. It’s so different from when he was paranoid that the Michelin Man was following him around town.”

At the time this article was written, Carr was seen cutting coupons for Children’s Robitussin with a razor blade.

Is It Just Me or Is Satanic Mass Just as Boring as Catholic Mass?

Posted on by Jose Balderas

I was in need of some faith, but I’m also not some dork who pretends their Lord is made of crackers. My friend Karlo was super into Satanism so after a phone call he invited me to check out his temple. I can’t deny I was stoked and I even busted out my “for-shows-only” Ghost shirt. But let me tell you, Satanic mass was the most boring shit ever.

First off, everyone’s super theatrical. They try to talk slow like they’re a thousand years old. I don’t have time for some NPC exposition. If I wanted that I would have stuck with Catholicism. When you say “Satanism,” I think flaming demon heads and fishnet stockings. Sure, everyone was super chill but where were the sick-ass metal riffs? And why isn’t everyone wearing goat skulls?

The lady that greeted me at the Satanic temple/rec center also asked me if “I do what thou wilt” and I didn’t know what to say so I just said “Hell yeah,” which felt appropriate. Ugh. My mom’s Catholic church had ushers too and they were also fucking annoying.

Ok, so Satan equals bad-ass face-melting music right? Well not here. It was some CD on a loop of bells and a chorus track that sounded like a bunch of pre-pubescent boys. No screaming guitars. No drums that would make you think Mordor is erupting with orcs. Also, no orcs. What the fuck are we even doing here?

Worst of all, I expected our Warlock or Wizard (or whatever leads this thing) to be like fuckin’ Danzig. But the dude in charge was like 63 and I’m pretty sure he’s my dad’s mechanic.

Honestly, I could forgive all the old people, Latin, and lack of good music but at the end, they had the audacity to ask for a donation to “The Church.” I can’t think of anything more pathetic than the Prince of Darkness handing me a basket, even if it was made of black wicker, and asking for some change.

Also, there’s no way I’m joining the post-service orgy with anyone I saw there.

Crowd Not Sure if Drummer Engulfed in Flames Part of Show or Not

Posted on by Doug Kolic

TORONTO — Concert goers were left baffled last night when drummer Gareth McGibbons of mathcore band Hyde Index burst into flames during the band’s second song, confirmed fans who were unsure if they were watching part of the high-octane show or witnessing a fellow human burnt alive in front of their eyes.

“Nobody knew if we should cheer or scream in horror as the smell of burnt hair and flesh filled the room. I’ve seen Hyde Index a few times and they always do something crazy, so when the drummer started running around the stage waving his arms after a large flame effect set him ablaze, we didn’t know if he was trying to hype up the crowd or gesture for immediate medical attention,” stated long-time fan, Amanda Turnbull. “The next thing we knew, he was lying on the ground as the band continued to play around his motionless body. It was right in the middle of a huge breakdown so nobody could get anywhere near the stage with a fire extinguisher.”

Hal Perry, the venue’s lone security guard also expressed his confusion about the scene.

“Hyde Index has played here a few times and the drummer always does a dumb-ass stunt. Like the time he jumped off the full stack with his snare drum and injured six people. Another time he got shot out of a burning cannon onto hundreds of live scorpions and when I rushed out to help the lead singer got pissy and said I ruined the climax of the song,” said Perry. “Ever since then, I hang back until I can figure out what these morons are up to. All I know for sure is that skinny ass drummer did suffer third-degree burns to his entire body, but was smiling the entire time, so who the fuck knows.”

Though none of the other band members were available for comment after the show, the heavily bandaged McGibbons was tracked down at Cedars-Sinai Burn Unit and offered his take on the night’s events.

“Was the stunt planned? Maybe. Maybe not. Or was it an accident caused by the recklessness of the other band members who constantly force me into dangerous situations because they think it’s funny and they believe I’m easily replaceable? I guess we’ll never know,” said McGibbons while fully wrapped in gauze. “I’m just a little upset that this happened on the first night of our tour because I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive being lit on fire another 27 times.”

At press time, McGibbons was being prepped for another painful skin graft, asking anyone who’d listen if his bandmates ever showed up to check on him.

Southern Drug User Refers to Every Amphetamine As “Coke”

Posted on by Corey Montgomery

BIRMINGHAM, Ala. — Southern woman and recreational drug user Darlene Abbot reportedly refers to every amphetamine or stimulant simply as “coke,” citing cultural norms and ease of conversation.

“That’s just how I was brought up. Poppers, cocaine, bennies, speed, crack… you name it. If it perks ya up, we all just call it ‘coke’ down here. I don’t really know why people want to complicate it so much. Life’s hard enough as is,” explained Abbot. “That’s just how things are in these parts, I suppose. Since before I was even a pup we ain’t had much use for all them fancy drug terms. Gets in the way of what we’re here to do: get high.”

Local drug dealer Jimmy “Slim” McGovern admitted that he experienced frustration with this particular cultural quirk after relocating from Cincinnati, Ohio last month.

“It’s so fucking confusing, man. Just the other day, I had a customer that kept telling me he needed coke. I pulled out almost everything I had to offer, and he just kept shaking his head and saying, ‘No. Coke,’” recounted an exacerbated McGovern. “It wasn’t until he pulled out an empty pill bottle that I realized the dude just wanted Adderall. Honestly, I’m probably just going to make a picture chart of all my uppers to avoid the hassle moving forward.”

Noted linguist James Clint explained that this regional phenomenon is actually quite common.

“It’s kind of like how most people have a tendency to call every tissue a ‘Kleenex.’ When cocaine first hit the South it became quite ubiquitous,” Clint stated. “As similar drugs began to hit the market, it was hard for southerners to shake the cultural impact of cocaine, leading to most stimulants and amphetamines being labeled as ‘coke.’ Me? I’m more of a ludes guy. Believe it or not, I used to think all sedatives were called ludes until I got my Master’s.”

Abbot was last seen at a local Dairy Queen where she frustrated workers by ordering a Sprite.