Archive for the 'rock & roll' Category

Fuckin OZZY dudes!

Hang On to your open containers kiddoz!


OzzFest ’07 is free.


Yeah & ya know what? I’m so there dudes!!

& we’re flying high again

To think! Just days ago Michael over @ Algorhythms & I pulled the plug, as it were, on the rock & roll fantasy. Arena rock, we reckoned, was in a persistent vegetative state; not precisely dead but it smelled funny.

“Barring a miracle,” Michael lamented in a recent post, after he shelled $200 to see his favorite 70’s rocker band, “the next time I hear Old Time Rock & Roll in concert, it’ll be a bar band playing it.”

Concurred. “The rock & roll wave,” I waxed in epitaph, “That swelled beneath the Stones & Beatles — and crested smashingly halfway through track 11 on Paul’s Boutique — has broke & rolled back for good.”

Barring a Miracle.


The wave breaks both ways.

The Prince of Darkness works miracles. Amphetamines cure hyperactivity.

The world is topsy turvy. What can I say?

Fuckin Ozzy!

I used to sneak into Phish concerts most nights every week. Stand in the crowd. Mill forward. Find someone skinny. Hover, nonchalant, until the moment they hand their ticket to the taker then slip, eyes-first, in behind them.

Reappear inside the concert hall. Dance ferociously.

2 easy!

One time I got caught by the ticket dwark. He grabbed my arm but I didn’t stop. He pursued. Caught me — a few crucial feet from his post. Several fellow ticketless patrons shrug-shoulder strolled through the unattended hole in the dwark-gate. When the dwark turned to chase them — futilely — he promptly lost track of me.

A higher than drugs moment; or I should say higher than the drugs alone could take me. I thought I was so cool. A hero.

Like Ozzy.


Or is the Ozz-man sneaking everyone into OzzFest so he can be cool like me?

I bet he’s doing it for that stupendously higher-than-drugs feeling.

Also because OzzFest ’07 will, for all involved, be a positively devastating big money smash.

Free OzzFest is like if you want to have a Huge Disco Kegger of some kind. And Pabst Blue Ribbon provides the keg, party gratis, plus pays $1000 cash for the privilege. For Promo. Dig? A chance to market their beer directly to the people most likely to drink it.

Free Beer Courtesy of Pabst Blue Ribbon. PBR is yo’Daddy! Who’s yo’Daddy?

Provide Fun Fuel to a bunch of Fun Fools and they’ll reciprocate briskly. A genuine gratitude will drive them to drink! Benders will be embarked on. Jobs lost. They will buy & drink Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in the morning. Best of all: they’ll apply peer pressure and buy more for friends who’ll be drunk on PBR before noon despite their gravest misgivings.

That’s what OzzFest’s sponsors intend. Fun is the strategy. The sponsors will tell you they are so cool because they paid for your good time. You will agree. 2 cool!! Free Ozzy??


Festival patrons will reciprocate briskly with their discretionary funds. Seek to spend, post-festival, just to say thanks! Dudes. For a real good time. I buy fun things. What do you sell that’s fun?

Yeah. Like:

badvertisements! Powered by Ozzysense.

One wonders about the role dynamics between Ozzy & his wife Sharon played in the business model’s development. I am a terrific admirer of this scheme. I say again: one wonders. Yeah, wonder. Like wowzers dudes! Whoever swung the brainwork on this job: you’re my hero.

Should win the Nobel Prize for Economics.

Very exciting. Thank yooz!

Now I’m goin off the Rail like
a crazy train
I’m more addicted than Jane!!
& when I say
I’m Ok ya know they LOOK’et me kinda strange!
Cause I’m goin off the rail like a crazy train

Sugar Bombs TNT & Scooby Snacks


Think I’ll wrap this lil’ Office of National Drug Control lambaste we’ve had here up by takin ya’ll Back.

How far back?

Way the fuck back.

I’m talking cartoons on Saturday morning. Wonder Twin powers. Sugar Bomb cereal & make-believe Scooby Snacks.

Back to the early 80’s Gateway Drug dayz.

Sugar is the Gateway Drug. In my case the Gateway to Ritalin. Next thing you knew I got a mailbox on my bumper & a stolen front tire. Traded those heapin bowls of imitation processed Sugar Bomb breakfast food-style substitute in for a for a real nice psychiatrist who prescribes me my Adderall.

So there I was one Saturday with a head full of sugar & animated TNT and suddenly the TV-add wanker squawks off about the evils of fried eggs.

DUDE!! But that’s like…I mean actual breakfast!

*Mike E says Say WHAT!?*

I could go on and on but think I’ll just let the TV-add douche eater squack for himself.

So here it is ~~~ Hang on to your Open Containers there kiddoz ~~~ The first shot fired in the War on Drugs. The cracked egg heard ’round the World! Let’s make some NOIZE people for your BRAIN-ON ->drugz!!!


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WHEW! Gives me a hankerin for a cold can of Mountain Dew.

Know what: I say bring back the Drug War!

Know why?

Cause it was hallucinated oodles more fun than the War On Terror and we were winning.

Wow. If I could convert blog-posts like this into their smokable form I could bag it up & sell ’em. This is the best fun I’ve ever had writing.

Thanks in no freaking small part to you folks down there on Planet Earth who hang around this crappy joint with me. Who incidentally are, by my good estimate, a handful of the best & most exciting up&coming writers in the Cosmos.

You kids are a genuine spectacle. And so good to me!

I just remembered something: why I ever stayed awake for so long to begin with. Wasn’t because I had nowhere to sleep. Nope — I plain didn’t fuckin Wanna! What if I missed something shazammin?

Dig: I like the Feeling!!

So I’m off with it. groove:On. Do me a favor ya’ll: drive fast Stay Strange & swing yourselfs loose with a chuckle.

ps To the Googler who wanted to know: do they check for shrooms in drug screen…  Nope. Hot damn! They sure don’t.

See ya on Pluto fellow traveller dude!

Last Stop before the Promised Land


BoomTown: the last exit in Nevada before Interstate 80 climbs the Sierra Mountains & hurtles on over the Bay Bridge & into San Francisco.

I feel nostalgia thinking about it. A big ol’ honker Pang. Matter of fact: I need a drink.

I know for a fact Pippi blew by BoomTown a few dozen times at least and if she never stopped it was for a good reason: Pippi was on her way to see the Grateful Dead in California.

So she had better things to do.


But she remembers it was there. I’ll wager she does. Good old BoomTown: Last exit before the Promised Land!

Gotta quandary: I want to explain the Grateful Dead to readers who weren’t there. And do Justice for you kids who were. But that’d be like trying to describe how it feels to slurp your own brains up through a cocktail straw. Dig? It’s tricky. But I say! That was one cosmic & curiously strong Drink.

The Dead threw the Best Party Ever on Planet Earth.

Oh and it was Awesome dudes!

For fun on Grateful Dead Tour we used to butter our toast with dripping gobs of raw crystal LSD — the original Grand Slam breakfast! — at Denny’s on our way out of town. Just for something to Do (besides drive) on days when the band didn’t play..

Holy shot!! Ain’t that illegal?

Sweet Memory: Eugene Oregon’s Autzen Stadium back in ’94. The shows where Ann Coulter found Jesus Christ — but that’s another story…

Cool thing about Eugene was the way the cops for once weren’t allowed to run us off like kicked dogs after each show. So we made a weekend of It. Pitched a tent maybe & then got wasted on drugs until it jolly dang-well pleased us. Fuck yeah we did.

Sweet Mother Earth knows we did.

It rained for the first gig of that 3-show ’94 Eugene run. During set break everybody just kind of splashed around & smoked weed & got wet. Who cared? I guess even then we knew Jerry wouldn’t live forever. Little rain? Shit. We went on & had our fun anyway.

Far as I know football stadiums don’t melt in the rain — but we had plenty of good acid. Yeah we wanted Autzen Stadium to melt.

It didn’t. It is still there. But we tried.

Plus there was a giant duck:


And that made the difference between us just Gettin By & doing so in fine Style.

It rained a little longer. Then the Grateful Dead came out to play.

So LONG suckaZ!!

One time me & MG Tank were driving out to a Phish show in Rochester NY. Flipping dials on the FM radio. Suddenly the announcer was like News Flash!! Phish are coming to town — along with what the local police chief described as the Phish band’s notorious Drug Problem.

My jaw dropped. MG Tank’s eyes lit up. I Laughed riotously. Let out a one-word gasp:


MG Tank stammered excitedly and finally said ‘DUDE!!!’

Then both at once: ‘That’s me & YOU!!’

Wow. Notorious?

That’s right. Alert the Youth! We are the Drug Problem & we’re coming to your Town.

We’ll help you Party Down!!

Just then we saw a cop about a quarter-mile back & closing fast in the passing lane. He pulled alongside & eyed us suspiciously. I looked at MG Tank & noticed his eyes were clasped fearfully shut behind his sunglasses. I knew it was my job to Jedi mind-trick the cop since MG Tank was busy driving.

‘We are not the Drug Problem you’re Looking For.’ I said aloud. MG Tank opened his eyes. Flipped his sunglasses onto his forehead. Then turned & winked at the cop. Nothing to see here.

Couple’a rock & roll fans is all — with a borrowed station wagon & enough dried alien turds to make a medium-sized village laugh literally until they puke.

Oh yeah — and a homemade bumpersticker that says I Am Your Brain On Drugs ASShole!!

Problem? Shit we’re the solution.

The cop sped suddenly off & dissolved into the horizon. Why? I guessed for quantum reasons; perhaps because though we both traveled down a Thruway on Earth we in fact inhabit different planets entirely.

MG Tank had a different theory:

‘I think he went to go eat a used douche.’

We were both right more than likely.

Gets me to think on the time in Nebraska on Fall ’95. Now…Tank & me got away with It. But the one dude in Lincoln got away with It in style.

All I saw was two cops storm him from behind. Wanted to search his backpack. On the probable grounds that he seemed to prefer that they didn’t. A commotion ensued as the cops salaciously groped the kid — I call him the Quarterback — & barraged him with dumb questions.

Like: BOY! What kind of Drugs you got on you??

I don’t know what the dude had on him. A big old honker pile o’Whatevers I bet. God bless him if he did. I know for sure he had a glass marijuana pipe which he kept in a sewn padded pouch. The pouch was about the size of a football. It flew through the air like one too. Spiraled just overhead of the concert-goers who were crowded along the sidewalk.

Why not? That glass marijuana pipe was Evidence. And evidence is always better off hurled 20 feet down the way least ye Quarterback get sacked. Especially when not one but both cops haul off & chase the evidence down the street.

The Quarterback split smartly & laid low until he was safely inside the show. I never knew his name. But I’ll never forget how he made those two cops look like butt-wipe stooges in Lincoln.

The evidence was caught by a random admirably alert passerby; the Wide Receiver.

The cops got to the wide receiver. But what could they do? In front of a hundred witnesses the pouch fell into his arms out of the clear twilit sky.

Or did it?

‘Watcha Got There boy??’ The cops demanded.

The wide reciever smiled & shrugged. Held his hands palm-open. Turned his pockets inside out; patted his head & rubbed his belly.

‘Not a damn thang.’ He said. ‘I swear on Jerry’s grave.’

It was true. The pipe-pouch was gone. Poof. Hand-off maybe. Who knew?

The cops lurched idiotically this way & that. Someone politely suggested they check the Lost & Found. And the people all watching enjoyed a good laugh.