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It’s always nice to see a big dog getting taken down a few pegs. People have reveled in stories about rockstars that earn internetisms like “epic fail” and “pwned” and “that guy is like the Hitler of writing really successful and profitable songs that I dislike because his style doesn’t fit into my very limited and largely uniformed field of preferred music so I will vent at his perceived misfortune by equating him with the most notorious mass murdering fuckhead of the 20th century.” Comments like these are ubiquitous on message boards because people love to revel in the misfortunes of others. Well, if you are someone who likes to see a group of big-headed jerk bags getting a much deserved sock in the face from a fist made of shit sandwiches, you’re going to love this story. That’s right, a band we’ve all been wishing would get a fat dick-kicking has finally received that Fred Flintstone foot to the place where the pee comes out. Men At Work. Those Aussie fucks have been proven to be the frauds we always knew they were by an Australian court that ruled they had stolen the flute riff in their biggest hit, “Down Under.” The court decided that the part was stolen from “Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree,” written by Marion Sinclair in 1934. The amount of compensation has yet to be determined but it could reach 60% of income from the song. A lawyer on the winning side said, "It's a big win for the underdog," to which I ask, are you sure, because they might just be paying 60% of the income of that song. Oh, wait, you’re saying your clients are the underdog. Which means Men At Work were the big mean overcat? The band that hasn’t had a hit in 15 years? The band that made a name for themselves on the backs of Vegimite? And where the fuck have you been since 1983? Did it really take you this long to put it together? And if so, I have to really question whether they swiped your 80-year-old flute song. If it takes you 27 years to go, “Wait a minute. That sounds familiar,” I think they maybe didn’t use as much of your song as you claim. Isn’t there a statute of limitations for this? Like if you can’t see fit crack off some time from polishing your flute to file a copyright infringement suit after 20 years then you don’t get to sue. And don’t give me this shit about, “Maybe they didn’t hear it until just recently.” The is Men At Work. IN AUSTRALIA. IN 1983. You couldn’t take a dump without the backwards flowing toilet water trickling out that tune. And 60 percent at the time would have sucked but at least they could have paid it. Those guys have blown through all their “Down Under” money a long time ago. This kina blows.
Good news for you Them Crooked Vultures fans but bad news for anyone waiting for anything new from the Foo Fighters, Dave Grohl has announced that the band is already working on new material and will have their second album before the fall. Former Zeppelin and current Vultures bassist John Paul Jones says, “We’ll do a second album this year. By the end of summer, something like that.”
And finally, speaking of Zeppelin. Plenty of people have covered Zeppelin over the years to varying degrees of success, but most have avoided one very epic song in the catalogue. I’m not going to say that “Stairway to Heaven” is uncoverable, but I will say that you are almost certainly setting yourself up for disaster by trying. The massive scope of the original makes in very hard to pull off a cover without sounding like a parody or pale in comparison. That will not be stopping Mary J. Blige though. And she’s heading what could be the biggest WTF collaboration of artists since Conan O’Brien’s cover of “Free Bird.” She's teamed up with Blink-182 drummer Travis Barker, "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson, master of the whiddly-wah, guitarist Steve Vai and former Michael Jackson touring guitarist Orianthi. This would be the latest in a string of rock covers. She released a duet of “One” with Bono and sang “Bridge Over Troubled Water” with Andrea Bocelli at the Grammys.
You know how after a certain point you almost blame the wife in an abusive relationship? After years of taking him back knowing full well that the next time he so much as washes his hands with an alcohol based disinfectant that he’ll start raining fists down on her head like a monsoon made of Mike Tyson, you start to wonder if she actually wants to get beat. Obviously women in this situation don’t WANT to get beat, but after getting her nose caved in for the fifth straight time and still finding a way to justify taking him back, from an outsider’s perspective, it sure seems like someone likes the taste of bloody knuckles. Well, I’m starting to think that the few remaining Guns N’ Roses fans that haven’t utterly given up on Axl’s prima donna bullshit are really just battered women all too eager to take back their man. Because no matter how many times he drops a fat mushroom print on their foreheads they come back again and again. Take for example all the times Axl has made his fans wait an hour or an hour and a half for him to cram himself into his track pants and totter out onstage. And he did it again last Thursday when he made fans wait two hours. At 11:30 he finally came out on stage in a wheelchair giving some cryptic explanation about getting “carried away jumping off shit last night.” He then hopped up and started the show, most of which had to be cut due to time constraints.
“Mom, I have to ask you a question. Do you douche?”
“I sure do, sweetie. Because my ham wallet smells like a Chinese food restaurant dumpster in July.”
“But what do you use? Massengil? Summer’s Eve?”
“Oh, no. Those products can’t deal with a stinky cooch like mine. They’re just vinegar and water.”
“What do you use then?”
“I just hit play on my John Mayer playlist and cram the iPod up the old fish pipe. The fire hose of pure, unfiltered douche from John Mayer’s mouth pressure washes my snatch clean.”
“Gee, thanks mom!”
John Mayer, he cleans out your stanky twat because he’s a douche.
And once again, if you have a not-so-fresh feeling emanating from between your legs, if your cat licks its lips and meows while looking at your crotch, if the dog passes up a chance to roll in road kill to throw itself on your used panties instead, then direct your computer speakers or ear buds toward your rotting clam because I have another story about John Mayer. John says that Tiger Woods’ problem was that he got married, to which the rest of the world said, “No fucking shit.” He says, "If Tiger Woods was single and he texted a girl and said 'I wanna wear your ass like a hat', why would that ever hit the news? I write a lot of dirty text messages to girls, and you've never seen any of them. Why? Because if a girl brought a dirty text message from me to the newspapers, they'd say 'I don't have an angle here. Someone wants to wear your ass like a hat? Big deal. He's 32 years old. He's a single guy. If John Mayer has a wife and sends dirty texts, then we got a story.” No, John, the reason why we haven’t seen those text messages is that women don’t want the world to know they’re screwing John Mayer. Do you think anyone bragged about getting drilled by Joseph Mengela? Of course not! And yes, I did just compare John Mayer to the Nazi Dr. Death. Speaking of women ashamed of having sex with John Mayer, Taylor Swift is refusing to admit she’s going right to the fountain of douche even though they have been inseparable lately. The relationship was confirmed by Kanye West who publicly apologized for kicking in the bedroom door when Swift and Mayer were humping it out and yelling, “Yo, John Mayer. I’m happy for you and Imma let you nut but Taylor Lautner pounded those guts better than anyone.”
Let it be known that the Russians will not suffer a fool. That’s right, you heard me. If you are a fool or even a fool-like person, your hogwash shall not be suffered! It appears that the reputation the Russians as cold, calculating creatures that spend their free time wresting bears naked in the Volga River with while wearing flippers made of blackberry vines and contact lenses made of molten steel is a well deserved one. This nation of toothless automatons (toothless from crushing rocks in their teeth so that they may be regurgitated into the waiting and hungry mouths of their infants) has proven three things again and again. 1) They will not be invaded from the west by arrogant French midgets or racist lunatics. 2) Nothing can be done in this world that couldn’t be done better shirtless and flexing. And 3) Fools. Not suffered. The latest example of number three comes from Pete Doherty, who you will recall has been getting a fair amount of press lately because he’s junkie fuck bag on the run from the cops in Britain who would like to speak with him about the overdose death of a woman living in an apartment he owns. The police don’t think that he killed her, or at least didn’t until he bolted for Russia the second someone mentioned his name. They say they just want to ask him a few questions like, “Do you happen to know where she got the drugs,” and ”why are you so fucking stupid,” and “come to think of it, why are you even famous?” But Doherty is avoiding such a grilling in Russia where he played a show last night. And this is where the non-suffering of fools comes into play in the form of airborne baked goods. See, Doherty, being the junkie fuck bag I mentioned earlier, overslept and left the crowd of Russians waiting for about an hour and a half before eventually shambling on stage. It was at that point that the crowd rushed the deli counter grabbing as many bagels as they could wrestle away from the black bear running the cash register and started hurling them at the Doherty. And while the bagels all bounced harmlessly off of the oblivious singer, the Russians felt better about themselves and decided to go outside and flex at the clouds to see if they could make it snow, which they did. Doherty played most of the show sitting on the drum riser with his eyes shut, which I’m sure was pretty awesome for the people in the crowd who paid between $70 and $1500 for the tickets to get in that night. He capped off the evening by throwing a glass of vodka in the face of a female journalist who dared ask him about the dead girl and why he ran.
And I can tell you that the one frustrating thing about being a parent is the absence of really slutty clothes for my daughters to wear. I mean, what happens when they turn 8 and all they have in their closets are frumpy kid clothes with Hello Kitty and Disney Princesses on them? That’s not cool. You know what is cool? Flashing your vag when crawling out of the backseat of a Mercedes. But much to the disappointment of my daughter, not to mention Mr. Wriggles down the street who we just met last month when he made his court-ordered rounds through the neighborhood to inform us that he’s a predator (which I just laughed off because he can’t even do the Predator sound, not to mention that his mandibles were pathetic), my daughter’s vag is hidden beneath several layers of bulky pink and purple colored fabric. Well thanks to Miley Cyrus’ little sister my daughters can finally let their girl bits be photographed by paparazzi, just like all of their heroes. That’s because Emily Cyrus is releasing a line of kid’s lingerie. Emily, best known on the internet for dressing like a dominatrix for Halloween and working on her stripper moves on a brass pole (I’m not joking about either of those) is working on a clothing line for little girls, to the great joy of sex offenders and Chris Hansen alike. Emily’s fashion sense seems to stop just above the crotch, which as it just so happens is also where most he skirts end as well. The clothes line is called Ooh! La la! Couture. According to the company’s website the styles are
“trendy, sweet, yet edgy feel, reminiscent of Emily’s true personality. She is collaborating with Ooh! La, La! Couture designers to create versatile styles that can be worn with sweet ballerina slippers, funky sneakers or paired with lace stockings and boots for more of a rock and roll look. Emily’s collection will appeal not just to little girls - the line also has an exclusive Teen Collection available to a size 14."
Guess we know what Steven Tyler has been doing to pass the time in rehab. Apparently he’s been catching up on his shitty mid-nineties Stallone action flicks. He started with Stop Or My Mom Will Shoot, then to Cliffhanger and watched Demolition Man three times (but at least two of those times were just to marvel at Sandra Bullock’s ass). But none of those movies inspired him the way the capper on his Stallone-a-thon did. Steven has been seen strolling around the rehab center in a Tupperware bowl as a helmet, jock strap, knee pads and high boots shouting “I am the law.” Apparently Judge Dredd made such an impression on him that he’s taking the lessons he learned from it to the real world. So, upon hearing that Billy Idol is the latest singer rumored to be filling his spot in Aerosmith and realizing that could actually be pretty cool, he intensely dropped that bowl on his head and said, “I am the Aerosmith.” And that’s what he had his manager convey to the rest of the band. In a statement Tyler’s manager said, “Can you imagine the manager of the Rolling Stones calling for the replacement of Mick Jagger? Steven is Aerosmith. He’s the guy the public knows. He’s the singer.” It should be pointed out that he’s also the junkie that tottered off the side of the stage at Sturgis, he’s the guy who looks like geriatric Olsen twin and he’s the guy who said that he was going to spend the next couple of years as a solo act.
And in further proof that Courtney Love was using Kurt as a lottery ticket that dripped other baby-shaped lottery tickets and didn’t in any way understand the man who she claimed to have loved, she thinks that Kurt would have loved seeing his image exploited and distorted in such a way that people think that he was actually the lead singer of Bon Jovi. Yes, apparently I, a man who never knew, met or really ever liked Kurt Cobain all that much when he was alive, knew him better than the talentless skank-whore-junkie that he married. That’s because, just based on what I read about the guy in People magazine, I could tell you definitively that he would in no way find the unlocking of his character in Guitar Hero so that he could be used as a Flava-Flav avatar to be humorous. But Courtney does. She said, "What pisses me off the most about it is I think Kurt would be fine with having five Kurt Cobains singing the (Spice Girls) song Wannabe, like, 'Tell me what you want, what you really really want.'... I think he'd find that really funny.” But always the victim, Courtney finds away to get in a little boo-hoo-poor-me in the course of the interview as well. She says, "But at the same time it's gross what they did. Gwen (Stefani) started the lawsuit. I have really good lawyers now and will join that lawsuit. There was this grey area and they fucked the lot of us. They didn't fuck Jack White, but they fucked Gwen, fucked Johnny Cash and fucked Kurt... It's just gross. This is the rock 'n' roll business, this is what people do. They are sleazy; they do sleazy things." Yeah, it’s sad how you got so screwed over, Courtney. The way you signed the papers that allowed Activision to use Kurt’s image and the way you didn’t get your Lawyers to specify the limits to how they could use his image, and how you probably turned that advance check into dope before you even left the Activision foyer. So sad. Poor, abuse, misunderstood Courtney.
Pete Doherty is like the UK’s Courtney Love, although he looks more like Robert Pattinson after getting run over by a bulldozer made of homelessness and heroin driven by Marty Feldman. He’s the poster child for being a fuckup. If he and Amy Winehouse hooked up they’d snort each other into a yin and yang of sunken eyes and body odor. So it’s never a surprise when this dickbag shows up in the press for doing something really stupid in connection with drugs, although this certainly does reset the bar for personal stupidity. While appearing in court on a charge of reckless driving in December, he apparently decided to give the cops a sneak peak at what he had planned for New Years and let a baggy of heroin fall out of his pocket. While leaving the courtroom he dropped about $325 worth of the drug. He was immediately arrested and charged with possession. And because it’s England and even the queen has to slam a few lines just to get out of bed and deal with yet another day of being English, Pete was fined about $1500 and that’s it. The judge pointed out, "Either this was sheer stupidity or a ploy to get more publicity." Doherty's lawyer said, "Pete has a great many items of clothing-- suits and clothes going into the hundreds. There were residual drugs which he had left in one coat pocket. He didn't necessarily choose the coat for himself." For future reference to any of you kids out there planning on making a name for yourself in the media by tooting lines off toilet seats and spraying rivulets of vomit on the front row of fans at your concert, leave the dope at home when appearing before a judge. Or if you really can’t be without it for five minutes, kiester it like any good addict. You never know when someone’s going throw you in jail so it’s always a good idea to keep a Lightning McQueen Mylar balloon full of black tar heroin in your rectum. And now you know… (GI JOE!)
And the great thing about South American countries is that you never know when the army is going to show up and start spraying bullets into a crowd. There you are in line to bungee jump from a Mayan pyramid with a chainsaw so that as you swing down you cut vast swaths of rainforest that will be turned into log boats at Pablo Escobar’s Poverty Land amusement park, when all of a sudden a couple of army transports pull up and the soldiers start pouring out of the back and spray the crowd with lead tamales. So it was actually a nice change of pace when the army in Chile only used water cannons on the crowd of Metallica fans. Now, it could have been because thousands of fans tried to rush the gates without paying, or it may have been because they were Metallica fans and, by definition, could probably use a shower, but either way the kids were repelled by the fire hoses. About 120 people were arrested and turned into Chicklets.
