Warped Thoughts And Heartfelt Thanks
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Have you ever gone through a phase where you so passionately loathe a person that you can’t even describe how you’re feeling you’re so worked up over it? Like, if you came face-to-face with the person you might just lose your shit and let fly with every horrible thought and insult that has been accumulating in your brain? That’s pretty much where I find myself today. Except I can’t decide if I would rather have the opportunity to verbally rape this person or not. Part of me wants for it to happen. The sick part of me, obviously. The deranged part. By the way, did I just create a new thing with “verbal rape”? I know that’s a harsh term and all, but I really can’t think of another label for it. My violent outburst would literally consist of me forcing the person to hear every disgusting, offensive thing I need to say to them. Against their will. There might be a threat or two involved. I don’t know, I can’t predict what exactly I will say. By the way, is that a crime? If it’s not it probably should be.
Maybe a Mekong Delta Blues vile-spewing rampage is in order…
My murderous rage is being held in check right now only by the grace and kindness of Sue Randall, who sent me an advance copy of the Hendrickson Road House CD reissue. It arrived today, and lo-and-behold there’s a little personalized Thank You to me in the liner notes! How cool is that!? Isn’t she the kindest, most considerate person ever? Eh, I don’t care what you think. I think it’s pretty cool. I think Sue is an awesome woman and a good friend. For those of you keeping score at home, I’ve received a Thank You (well, Swan Fungus did) in Scott’s book, a Thank You in the liner notes for the HRH album…I guess from here I only need to get my name to appear in the credits of a TV show or a movie and then I’ll be as successful as The King Of All Media, Howard Stern. I wonder if that episode of Toddler’s & Tiaras is going to bill me as a member of the cast even though I just stood in the back of the room getting really drunk and catcalling at all the pre-teen girls who walked by me.
Two weeks from tonight I’m flying back east for a week. I’ll be in and out of New York and New Jersey between the 12th and the 20th. My sister and I have tickets to see The Book Of Mormon (and I just found out a former high school classmate of mine is in that show, which is pretty cool), and also my father’s 70th birthday (Jesus Christ he’s old!) falls on one of those days. I don’t remember which one. I’ll just show up with a gift, wait until I see my sister hand him hers, and then I’ll know which day it is. Oh, and my sis is throwing her annual Welcome Home Evan party at a bar in the city. If any of you reading this want to get drunk with your favorite blogger on his home turf, let me know. Last year Michael from Brooklyn stalked me at the record fair and weaseled his way into an invitation (just kidding Mikey!). I think he wound up dating a girl he met there. He also got soused and tried to bike home when he couldn’t even walk straight. I don’t know how he made it. This year you could be the new Michael. All you have to do is show up. Contact me for details. Of course, your attendance requires you buy me one beer or one shot of whiskey. Which one depends how wasted I am when you get there.
And that’s all the news I have for you today. I’m going to meet a friend for a drink or two in Hollywood. Tomorrow I’ll post something more interesting than an angry rant, a self-absorbed pat-on-the-back and a boastful paragraph about flying home for a week.
By the way, what are you people waiting for? Why haven’t any of you voiced your opinions on how amazing that kid I Photoshopped for yesterday’s mix tape is? That picture is insane! He looks like the T1000 did at the end of Terminator 2 when the Terminator throws that metal pipe at him and it splits his body in half. I’ve already gone and made my creation the default 404 Page Not Found image for this website. It might be the best Photoshop accident I’ve ever had. Look at his frown. It’s perfect. It’s like he knows just how retarded he looks. And the sound of my constant laughter is starting to piss him off. It’s the best possible facial expression for a little kid whose head just exploded. I think his name is Justin. I think I love him.
Nick Cave – Your Funeral My Trial
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