Is He Telling a Story About His Entire Record Collection? A Woman’s Guide To Leaving His Apartment

Posted on by Alexandra Johnson

Honey, we have all been there. You wore your Modern Baseball t-shirt with the full intention of using it to get laid. The intended pipeline was for him to compliment it and then take it off. Unfortunately, he noticed the shirt and proceeded to bust out a milk crate filled to the brim with poorly maintained records. Or as he will constantly correct you, “vinyl.”

Did he start with a detailed story about finding his Sonic Youth 1992 original Dirty record thrifting in high school with his old skate friend Danny? Did he pull out “The Bends” by Radiohead and inform you that it was a gift from his ex, but made sure you knew not to be jealous because Jenna was totally fucking crazy? You know he is seeking praise for his extensive collection but that is beyond your investment in this Tuesday’s Tinder match. Fortunately, we’re here to give you a woman’s comprehensive guide to getting the fuck out of his apartment.

The Mirror: Yay, it’s finally your turn to talk! Start by speaking loudly over him about his interests and then do not shut up. Just plow him with your own antidotes until HE kicks YOU out. He did not invite you over for you to say anything, after all, so this tactic has a great success rate!

The Patriarch: Say you have to go grab a pack of American Spirits Light Blue from the store. Do not come back. Soft block him on Instagram. Continue to avoid eye contact every Saturday at your neighborhood bar.

The Shawshank: While he ultimately tries to fix his broken record player, use the rock hammer in your purse to dig a tunnel behind his “Dark Side of the Moon” poster and crawl out of his place.

The Sleeping Beauty: Unable to drive home but also feeling safe around this boring dork? Just pass out! Studies have found that it might take 15-20 more minutes of him talking about himself before he realizes you are asleep and goes back to posting his dumb opinions online.

The Irish Goodbye: A real classic. It is a fast-moving world, especially in the dating scene, and you can not always think of a good excuse quickly enough! He can put two and two together when he hears your car speed out of the driveway.

Punk Marks Own Hand With Sharpie to Cover Up Night of Staying in and Getting Good Sleep

Posted on by Russ Bizaro

PHILADELPHIA — Local punk Andrew Fetzer attempted to deceive friends by crudely marking his hands with a sharpie to hide that he’s been relaxing at home and getting a healthy amount of shut-eye, worried witnesses report.

“I used to go out to shows all the time. They called me ‘Rowdy Andy,’ on account of all the rowdiness,” said Fetzer while weaning a comfortable pair of pajama pants and settling in for another episode of “Guy’s Grocery Games.” “Then as I got older, the loud noises and lack of comfortable seating really got to me. I found myself hoping the bands weren’t any good so I wouldn’t have to dance or applaud. Nowadays I just want to stay home, treat myself to some dark chocolate, and recharge my batteries. Sometimes if I’m feeling like I need to let ‘Rowdy Andy’ out I’ll put some music on my Bluetooth speaker, but I don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

Friends have started to become suspicious of Fetzer’s nightly activities.

“Andrew tells me he’s been going out until 2 a.m. every night, but I often catch him fresh as a fucking daisy and in a good mood in the mornings. He pretends like he was at a show the night before by making a big scene of washing off the stamp on his hand, but it never looks right. It seems too fresh, like dark and wet, it even smudges when he shakes hands,” said friend Max Kemp. “It’s terrifying to think that one of my close buddies is getting three full REM cycles every night. Things got serious last week after I discovered a sleepy-time tea wrapper in his trash can. Oh God, I hope he hasn’t been getting into that stuff. Next thing you know he’ll be dropping melatonin gummies and waking up early to do yoga.”

Scene historian Bryan Carty believes this to be a common trend.

“We see it all the time– people feel shame for taking a step back so they lie. We’ve lost many greats to the tragedy of comfy couches,” said Carty. “It always starts small. First, they’ll recommend going to matinee shows. Then they’ll become more interested in the TV behind the bar with a random episode of ‘The Office’ on mute and say, ‘Oh man this is the one with Kevin’s chili.’ And finally, they’ll just lie. Others have lied in similar ways, like buying counterfeit paper wristbands, or faking tiredness with excessive yawning and tapping their mouth like a cartoon character.“

At press time, Fetzer was having custom rubber stamps made with the logos from every local bar.

Photo by Anthony Hook.

Help! I Thought Caring the Most About My Band Would Make Me the Leader but It Made Me the Secretary!

Posted on by Jay Wells L'Ecuyer

In the early days, before we even landed on the name “Xylophile,” nobody was taking charge. That’s why I stepped up and snatched the throne. Getting to feel better than everyone was great but after getting off a two-hour call with a particularly self-important promoter, I told the guys all the logistics for the show tonight but they were just like, “Cool man, whatever.” That’s when it hit me. They don’t see me as the leader. They see me as the secretary!

Ya know, looking back at all those interviews, none of them ever thanked me for coordinating rehearsals around everyone’s work schedules or for printing setlists and taping them to the monitors. The interviewers never even specifically asked me questions, even though I’m the one they’ve been emailing with. This is just like all those class projects where I did everything while those lazy seventh-grade losers just fucked around but still got the same grade as me.

Sorry I care more about the band than everyone else. If I didn’t step up, none of these idiots would know when to be at which specific entrance for soundcheck. Or how much time we have for lunch before we have to be back on the road. I tell them practice is at seven, then I get there at 6:45 and just shake my head at them as they stroll in all willy-nilly around midnight. Great, now we’re running late.

I thought taking charge of the administrative duties of the band was the only chance for a rhythm guitarist to be in the center of a band photo for once. I envisioned everyone in the crowd whispering, “I know it looks like he’s just strumming along off to the side, but he’s actually running the operation.” I know when I see a band, I’m thinking, “I wonder if the venue provided those water bottles or if the leader had to run to the store for a case.” But no, interviewers only care about, “What’s your creative process?” How am I supposed to know? I don’t write anything!

Ya know what? I don’t need this shit. If these guys can’t appreciate my sacrifices, I’ll quit and make that gigantic leap to road manager. Those guys get all the glory.

Black Sheep of Nu-Metal Family Can’t Grow Soul Patch

Posted on by Chris Bowen

BOSTON – Middle child and walking disappointment to his Nu-metal family Trevor Briggs Jr. is the only one in his family who doesn’t have the genes to grow a proper soul patch, sources close to the family have confirmed.

“My inability to grow a tiny strip of hair under my lip is causing my family so much disappointment that I barely ever come out of my room,” said Briggs Jr. with frustration in his voice. “They know I’ve tried so many times to grow one and I actually went so far as to crazy glue some dog hair on my face to try and pull it off. And truthfully I’m just not comfortable with it. I feel like the simplistic, pseudo-edgy image that goes along with Nu-metal doesn’t mesh well with my real aspirations of furthering my education. I mean, would you trust a Powerman 5000 fan with your beloved pets? Not likely.”

Father and singer for local Nu-metal band Downward Lyfe, Trevor Briggs Sr., weighed in on the unfortunate lack of genetics.

“I still love my son,” said Briggs Senior while briefly looking down, clenching his head in both hands. “My wife and I have done everything possible to steer him down the right Nu-metal path. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear the Tripp pants we got him for his sixteenth birthday or the ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ arm warmers we got him to wear at his first Marilyn Manson concert. At least we still have his baby sister to carry on our legacy. And at 7 years old, she’s already sporting a patch I didn’t have until at least 13!”

Dr. Richard Volk, a Harvard professor, and geneticist first identified the Nu-metal gene in 1997 and has studied the mutation ever since.

“Young Trevor’s situation is most certainly an anomaly. Nu-metal genes are extremely dominant, and whenever two parents possess it, the child will eventually be a full-fledged Sully from Godsmack,” Dr. Volk explained. “There are, however, several state-of-the-art treatments like those we give patients wanting Wayne Static hair. Personally, I believe Jr. dodged a bullet by not inheriting the genes. That Nu-metal shit died just as quick as its birth.”

At press time, witnesses reported Briggs Sr. was seen trying to untangle his multiple eyebrow piercings from a decorative fish net at Legal Sea Foods.

Oh No: This Animal Rights Activist Is Exclusively A “Men’s Animal Rights Activist”

Posted on by Sam Eardley

Punk lifestyles and animal rights activism have gone hand-in-hand for decades. When The Hard Times heard about a guy called Brent Crenge making “big waves” in the fight for the ethical treatment of animals we went out to meet him the first chance we got. Turns out we should have done a little more research!

It turns out Crenge’s way of shaking things up in the animal rights world was by incorporating a bunch of insecurity based misogyny into his activism. He’s not the sort of man who’ll let good people gatekeep a good cause. His determination to bend the issues into a vehicle for his own misplaced anger would be an inspiration if it was aimed towards, like, literally anything else.

Evidently despised by the rest of the collective, we found him in a side-room addressing half a dozen intense young men. And for a few minutes he did almost seem like the real deal — talking about male calves in the dairy industry, and male baby chicks in the egg industry, both of which get killed by the thousands soon after birth. But it didn’t take long for him to make it super weird!

“Young male animal lives are deemed worthless because of institutional gynarchy. What are the feminazis afraid of? A whole generation of powerful young male animals growing up to fulfill their destiny as studs?”

We assumed an animal rights awareness meet run by a local anarcho-punk collective would be full of selfless angels fighting the good fight. Turned out to be more or less a 4-chan message board irl.

The creepy weirdos lapped this wet catshit right up. After the talk they were keen to tell us all about Crenge’s concerns about under-supported pregnant male seahorses, which “actually made a lot of sense”. And there were his views on hermaphrodite animals, which “needed to be aired”, and the “deliberately overlooked” issue of female octopuses strangling their mates after sex.

Admittedly we did almost buy one of his t-shirts, a praying mantis with the word “Murderess” stamped across its face. It looked cool! But knowing the context kind of ruined it for us.

He requested, well demanded, that we reprint his 20 page manifesto about how male penguins are being cucked by their lovers, but we decided to decline. I mean, it sounds funny, but then it’s 20 pages about cuck penguins. Pages we can’t unread.

Doom Drummer Studies for LSAT Between Snare Hits

Posted on by Tim Graham

LITTLE ROCK, Ark. — Local doom metal drummer and law student John Hennion used the extended gaps in between snare hits to study for the bar exam while playing a show last night, confirmed multiple witnesses.

“I love being in this band, but I’m also a pragmatist,” said the Witch Skin drummer while breaking down his kit after a recent show at The Whitewater. “My mom always said to have a backup plan, so I applied to law school at her urging. Luckily for me, with this band I’m only using my hands like three times a song and the songs are 18 minutes long. Suppose we’re playing ‘Howling Sacrament.’ There’s a long stretch where I’m just doing this plodding kick drum beat, so I’ll put my textbook on the snare and review some sample test questions or bone up on tort law or something.”

Hennion’s bandmates are accepting of his use of time during their performances.

“I think it’s cool that he’s so ambitious,” said guitarist Trent Gardner. “Good for him for trying to better himself. Honestly, sometimes when I’m just holding a chord until it degrades into a dense wall of pummeling noise, I’ll get in a little reading on my phone. I keep it on top of my amp, so the audience figures I’m bringing the guitar close to the speaker to get really sick feedback. While that is true, I’ve also managed to get halfway through ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’ so far on this tour.”

This kind of multitasking is not totally unique in a metal genre that relies so heavily on the space between the notes, according to Kate Geissler, author of “Loud, Slow and Heavy: An Oral History of Doom.”

“I remember speaking with the bassist of sludge band Ritualistic Abuse, who happens to also be a biologist,” said Geissler. “Some of their songs only require him to play one or two notes per minute. When he first started with the band he used his downtime to learn to speak Spanish. After becoming fluent in at least two dozen foreign languages he moved on and would use that spare time to work on simulating protein dynamics. The man is now one of the most respected scholars in the west. Frankly, it seems like a waste not to take advantage of that free time.”

At press time, doom guitarist Archer Velázquez was set to receive a National Book Award for his debut novel, the majority of which was written between chords on stage.

Review: Descendents “Enjoy”

Posted on by Bobby Korec

Each week, The Hard Times travels back and reviews a notable album from the past. This time around we’re taking a look at Descendents’ third studio album “Enjoy!”

This classic album has it all. Punk riffs, catchy hooks, and even scatological humor. One could say it is the perfect album. Until, of course, you take a closer look at the album cover art. Sure, at first glance it may seem like an innocuous image of a full roll of toilet paper ready for immediate use. But then you realize that the toilet paper roll is on backward. Backward, right!?

Now, we all know that the Descendents are notorious for taking controversial stances in their work. Look no further than their positions on not wanting to grow up, everything sucking, and something called “bikeage.” Clearly bold statements in their own rights.

But with “Enjoy!” the band is telling the world that everything you believe to be true about staging household goods in your bathroom is horse crap. Turns out, my shithead roommate Kevin also believes the same thing about which direction the toilet paper goes. That makes our apartment pure anarchy. I hate that guy.

Like, do the Descendents also believe in eating my leftover roast beef hoagie that was in the fridge and clearly had my name on it that I was really looking forward to the other day, like Kevin clearly does? Well, do they!?

Then instead of doing the dishes yesterday, Kevin just tossed them in the trash. Who throws out perfectly good Solo plastic cups? You can reuse those for all of your drinking receptacle and party game needs. Kind of relieved the Descendents didn’t comment on dish culture in this album.

Long story short, Kevin would probably love this album cover. Classic Kev.

Anyway, if anyone needs a new apartment, I’m looking for a new roommate just in case Kevin has been getting my passive-aggressive hints that he needs to leave. My only requirement is that my new roommate is on the same page about which direction the toilet paper goes. So, if you’re a member of the Descendents, you need not apply.

SCORE: 5 out of 5 for the music and 0 out of 5 for the triggering cover art.

/**/

Bartender Must Not Be Aware He Cutting Off Bar’s AC/DC Pinball High-Score Holder

Posted on by Patrick Crooks

LINCOLN, Neb. — Local drunk Peter Brooks was outraged to find that despite holding the high score on the bar’s AC/DC pinball machine bartender Ben Kirby still refused to serve him any more alcohol, barely coherent sources report.

“Ben! Get me another, I’m not fucking drunk, just get me another drink or I’m going to beat the piss out of you and your father,” the incoherent lush slurred when asked for comment. “What? Oh, the pinball machine, that’s me. That’s why they like me here. Hey, bro! If your tab’s open, do me a solid and get me a beer, this trifling bitch at the bar says I can’t order no more. I’m good at the machine there though. ‘Shook Me All Night Long’ that’s a fucking banger. But it was the dude who wasn’t on the album before that, so I don’t know if the score counts. Hang on, I gotta bleed the lizard.”

Kirby confirmed the existence of the AC/DC pinball machine, but disputed the tanked loser’s version of events.

“Yeah Pete comes in here all the time, pounds Schlitz, and is usually pretty harmless,” an exasperated Kirby reported. “He keeps talking about how he holds the world record on our only pinball machine like that gives him clout here. I’ve lost count on how many times he told me how his first concert was AC/DC. I bet that was a great show, but that doesn’t really give you a free pass to puke on the pool table. If I weren’t such a nice guy, I’d Venmo him for all the cabs I’ve forced him in. I don’t think he has anywhere else to go though.”

Experts note that bars with regular clientele have to deal with patrons who overstate their worth to the bar’s community.

“People who’ve not done much with their lives feel that impressing the patrons of their regular bar is an adequate substitute for actual accomplishments,” reported cultural expert Miles Klee. “Bars have their own internal lore and, it would seem, Mr. Brooks wanted to have his proverbial jersey hanging in the bar’s rafters, but that’s usually done with more respectability. High pinball scores are normally only admired by people who the staff and regulars like, not some juicehead who’s threatened to stab most of the staff and refuses to leave at last call.”

At press time, sources reported that Brooks was being calmed down by other patrons outside the bar as he promised to take on all “ you punk ass motherfuckers.”

There Is Only One “Short King” And His Name Is Jesus Christ

Posted on by Zach Hudson

Short men are having a well-deserved, and long overdue moment. We are seeing more men of short stature represented in Hollywood, Tinder screenshots of taller men sticking up for their shorter brothers are going viral, and “Short King Spring” has officially taken a season.

We need to talk about that term, though. Lately, it seems that every man under 5’9 is being labeled as a “Short King.” While I appreciate the increased respect men like myself are getting, I find it deeply troubling, for there is only one “Short King” and his name is Jesus Christ.

I realize that this term is meant to be empowering, and don’t get me wrong, I am happy to see my short brothers beginning to hold their heads up “high.” I must disavow the term “Short King,” however, for that title belongs to the Son of God alone. Jesus Christ likely stood between 5’1 and 5’5, historians believe, which would make me about as tall as him.

For short white men like myself, it’s incredibly empowering to be able to say “Christ looked like ME.” And that should be enough for all of us.

As short men we must recognize that through the truth that Christ was short lies our salvation. Was Christ publicly humiliated and crucified for being short? It’s not the only reason of course, but it probably played into it.

Being a short man in today’s society is a lot like being hung on a cross. Whenever a woman on a dating app ghosts you after asking how tall you are, whenever your step-brothers jokingly suggest you put the star on the Christmas tree, know that Christ is there with you, giving you strength.

For far too long men of short stature have been the butt of jokes, rejected by women, and been made to feel inferior by a society that values height. Will this newfound respect for short men last? Probably not. But we will all be of equal height in the Kingdom of Heaven. Christ is the one true “Short King” and I am his most loyal Short Disciple.

Record Exec Accidentally Says “They’re Gonna Sign It, They’re Gonna Sign It, Holy Shit, I Can’t Believe These Idiots Are Gonna Sign It,” Out Loud

Posted on by Robert John Scucci

NEW YORK — Local Band Twice Forgotten is ecstatic in their naivety after negotiating their first record contract despite the fact the executive clearly said “they’re gonna sign it, they’re gonna sign it, holy shit, I can’t believe these idiots are gonna sign it” out loud multiple times, exasperated sources confirmed.

“You always hear people talk about how record company people are the devil, but Earl is the most down-to-earth guy I’ve ever met,” said frontman Jimmy Dot while signing away four years of intellectual property without thinking twice. “I’ll be first to admit I’m a bit inexperienced, but that’s why we need him! After his retainer fee, we still have some money leftover in the band fund to finance our album! He said we can see hundreds of new monthly listeners on Spotify in the next six months to three years. Sure, he was laughing a lot, and rubbing his hands together, but we know he was just excited. Things are looking up, and we’re glad to have a label behind us!”

Record executive Earl Scaggs acknowledges his “little slip,” and assures sources it will definitely happen again.

“Most bands are so desperate to say they’re signed that they don’t care who signs them, and this contract is proof,” said Scaggs as he choked back laughter. “They hear ‘global distribution,’ and they don’t even consider that I’m just using a $20 a year Distrokid membership while robbing them blind! Sure, I may have slipped and called them total fucking morons to their faces a few times, but you’d be surprised how badly these kids want to slip phrases like ‘my label’ into a conversation.”

Local loan-shark Gavin Parsons admires the audacity of Scaggs, and offers words of encouragement.

“Scaggs is basically Sallie Mae in human form,” scoffed Parsons. On one hand, he’s got the $3,000 ‘startup fee,’ and on the other hand, he’s operating entirely out of his car. He doesn’t even have a fucking webpage! The ‘70/30’ deal he has with them is amazing. Sure, the band is getting the higher percentage, but that’s where all the expenses are coming out of. To so blatantly take advantage of a group of teenagers is completely unethical and wrong, and I want to know how I can get in on the bottom floor.”

At press time, Scaggs was seen receiving a signed, blank check from Twice Forgotten for “green room snacks.”

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