Late night, mildly drunken tomfoolery.

God of Thunder: Best song written by Kiss?

Discuss.

Hey guys?

My eldest nephew, who is all of thirteen, has told me that he and a friend are starting a band. They said they want to play something "loud and rocking" at their school's talent show next year. He has confided in me that he hopes "to freak some people out".

This sensation down in my stomach..is this what pride feels like?

Rants in the Pants

In this month's issue of Rolling Stone, they made their list of "100 Greatest Guitar Songs of All Time". Of course, with their list, Rolling Stone once again proves they know sweet fuck all about music.

How in the blue hell could Born to Run (or anything by Springstein, for that matter) place better than Freebird, Maggotbrain, Crazy Train, Little Wing, or Born Under a Bad Sign, on a list of guitar songs?

Also, the song Black Sabbath (which Springstein also placed higer than) was the only Sabbath on the entire list. No Paranoid? No Iron Man?

Smoke on the Water wasn't on the list at all, which irritates me in ways I can't even put to words right now.

At least Rolling Stone had a brief moment of clarity, and put some Link Wray on the list.

Horny Old Woman Night; or How to Survive a Cougar Attack.

The past couple of months. i've been spending my Friday nights doing karaoke at a local place. Yes, there is a difference between screaming in a death metal band, and belting out some Danzig (which people tell me i do well), but anything to keep my voice from falling into disrepair.

This one night, there was a woman there. An older woman. Ordinarily, that would be like kryptonite, as i have a thing for older women. Just something about them that just...just...damn, but I digress. In this case the term "woman" is used in a strictly academic sense. She was human, and female. If you've spent any amount of time in bars, chances are you've seen one of them. The kind of woman who looks like a gnarled and worn leather handbag, wrapped around a human skeleton and shoved it into a mini skirt. A very mini skirt.

As the night goes on, my friends and I are having a grand old time. I get done with a song, and head towards the bar, as it was my turn to put down for a pitcher. Out of nowhere, comes the Leather Woman. Honest to god, she ambushed my ass.

She looked me in the eyes, her raspy breath reeking of menthols and bourbon, she asks me: "Where's your girlfriend?"

"I don't have one."

"Are you sure?"

Hmm, I must ponder this. "Yes."

"Are you really sure?"

At this point, i'm starting to feel uncomfortable. There was something in her eyes. I started to feel like she was sizing me up and getting ready to pounce. However, gentleman I am, i answer: "Yes."

"Do you want to dance?"

"I..." Enter the fight or flight response. Panic. "I..have to piss."

That answer seemed to have stunned her, for she paused, and I took full advantage of the situation. I ran. I ran so far away.

A few days later, I was regaling some friends with the story. As I started to talk the crazy look in her eyes, one of said friends pointed out. "Dude, she probably just wanted to rock your world."

Perhaps. But you know what? Those eyes were fucking predatory, man. And I'm the slow guy with the gimpy ankle. If anyone is getting culled from the herd, it's probably going to be me. So, the survival instinct kicked in, and I fled from her presence the way a gazelle would flee from a hunting lioness. Just without the speed and grace. More of with a lurching, slightly drunk stagger.

Regardless, I live to frolic upon the savannah once again.

From the spam folder files.

I was emptying my spam folder, when i saw a mail with the title: "Penis theft panic hits city."

Mental image: A dastardly looking fellow, with curly mustache, cape and tophat, leaping over a fence and absconding into the darkness with a large sack full of dongs slung over his shoulder.

Sometimes, it's way too easy to entertain me.

I cut down trees, i wear high heels, suspenders and a bra...

The other day, I realized that despite being rather young, i've led an interesting life. This sudden realization was based solely on the fact that I could say "It was four in the morning, and I was eating pancakes in a diner full of transvestites" and be telling the truth.

I've shared this epiphany with Taco, and he decreed that the story must be told. So, I share.

It was after Shotgun Sodomy had played a show. Our bass player and drummer split early, so it was up to our guitarist, a roadie, and myself to bring the gear back from the club to the practice pad. By the time we got done with that, it was almost four in the morning. The three of us were tired as hell, and just as hungry. So, we decided to go to a nearby diner which was open twenty four hours. This diner was near an area where there are a good deal of bars and clubs that cater to homosexuals and transvestites, so seeing a tranny or two there in the wee hours wasn't unheard of.This time was different. The place was packed with trannies. Transvestites as far as the eye could see. We had to give pause, because face it; it isn't every day you walk into a diner full of transvestites. Apparently, one of the bars had some sort of exhibitionist ball or some-such, and this was the after crowd.Ultimately, it was no big deal, so the three of us got a table. Roadie and guitarist got omelettes and I got a plate of pancakes. Over the course of the meal, a tranny came to our table and asksed if she could sit with us. Being the genial folk we are, and really too tired to care either way, we said sure. She said we looked like interesting people.Now, this is where the story goes from interesting to borderline surreal. We have a conversation with her, and we tell her we're in a band and all that jazz. She asks us the usual questions, "What's it like being in a band?", "Do you have a lot of fun?" etc, and we answer. She then tells us she's a performer, who does sex shows. She then went on to tell us that her performance at the show earlier that evening involved dildos and anal play. Roadie is giggling like a schoolboy, because he's the type who can't help but laugh at dick and fart jokes. Guitarist is just giving me a "please, not while i'm eating" look. I, however am absolutely enthralled by this transvestite exhibitionist's story, and tell her to continue. I'm chowing down on my pancakes all the while, and her story of assplay isn't phasing me for a few reasons.

1. I'm not easy to gross out.
2. The story is absolutely interesting.
3. I love pancakes.

I don't think i've ever publicly expressed my love for them, but if ever there were a food to take the brunt of this fat guy's wrath, it is pancakes. If you have a plate of pancakes, and I have a plate of pancakes, and I have a fork that reaches all the way across the room to your plate, I begin to eat your pancakes. I. Eat. Your. Pancakes. NOM NOM NOM. I eat them up! But, I digress.

And so it went. We finished our meals, said goodbye to this really interesting person -Cindy, was her name-, and we all went home.

Some things:

1. Throughout the world, struggling musicians who possess genuine talent wake up in a cold sweat, gibbering madness.

2. I think I'll see *ACTUAL* Chinese democracy before I see a free can of Dr. Pepper.

3. I try to avoid large chain music stores as much as possible. Why, you ask? Because those people are either idiots, soulless, or soulless idiots. I don't expect the people selling the music to know everything about music, but some degree of knowledge is nice. And also, good taste in music (the definition of which is up to my discretion). The last thing I want is music recommendations from some jackoff who thinks Avril Lavigne is like totally the best thing to happen to punk rock, like ever. May you die choking on petulant donkey dong, in the back of your beloved Hot Topic.

4. Bands I've been listening to a lot lately:
Give up the Ghost
Some Girls
Dax Riggs
Agoraphobic Nosebleed

That is all.