Hater Tuesday

Dear Kanye -

Life is NOT a rodeo. Please stop wearing bandanas.

Thanks-
Funkybitch.

P.S. Pharrell called and he wants his look back.
P.P.S. He also wants to know why you didn’t call him back. He’s not gonna wait around in pain anymore. Like Ghost says, you DON’T get a Nigga back like that.
P.P.P.S. Know the code, speak in pig latin….they might be tapin’ Are you trying to tell us something Kanye?

pics from crunk and disorderly and kanye-west.org

Yeah, yeah, I skipped last week. Shit happens. You’ve heard the excuses before so just apply them all here. When one of you assholes starts running a company more or less by yourself then and only then do I want to hear any bullshit about “late posts” and “what happened?” Besides, I’m on rap time baby, your lucky I post at all.

I don’t really get Christina Millian. She sings alright, she’s cute, but she’s pretty forgettable. Well she was until I saw this image in Blender. I’d like to draw your attention towards Miss Millian’s crotch. Is it just me or does it look like a big ol’ Barbie crotch. It’s all puffy and weird and round looking. I figured for the sake of science I would do some research and ask some boys. The first boy I asked said, “Whoa..is she wearing a pad?” Which was followed quickly with the sentence, “They make those still right?” I laughed and said, “Hmm maybe” and “yes, yes they do, but only Grandmas and virgins wear them.” The second boy I asked responded with “I’m not looking at her crotch, but now that you point that out - it does look a little suspect.” Fair enough. The third boy I asked offered the most insightful and logical explaination, “I think Miss Millian may have been suffering from a serious case of the deer foot, the camel toe, the moose knuckle if you will” He went on to point out where such a camel toe may have been carefully photoshopped out. So now I ask you fair readers of Hater Tuesday to offer your insight on Miss Millan’s doll crotch. Does she have angry monkey? Or is there some other explaination? You be the judge.

Slayer Fucks Up And Gets Old:
When I found out that Slayer was kicking off thier first tour in like a million years on 6.6.6 I yelled “FUCK YEAH” hella loud in my office. I mean for fucks sake we are talking original line-up here people starting on 6.6.6. That shit only happens once in a lifetime. I was so fucking pissed that the 6.6.6 show was in San Diego, but I researched and saw they were gonna stop in San Jo so I immediately started making plans for my own personal Slay-Out. About 3 weeks ago, they announced two warm up shows, one of which was scheduled to take place in Chico. CHICO! AT THE FUCKING SENATOR THEATER. If you are saying, “where the fuck is Chico” I don’t blame you. It’s a shit hole town in the middle of nowhere. The only shit cracking there is the college and a shit load of cheap booze. I spent 7 glorious years there “getting an education” translate “drinking my life away.” The point is Slayer was playing my second home town - one of two shows that were not going to take place in massive arenas. The ultra bonus is that it was scheduled for 6.03.06 — that’s 3 days before anyone else gets to see Slayer. The Senator holds maybe 800 people, so I’m sure you can see where I am going with this. I spent about oh, .3 seconds considering why I couldn’t go and bought a fucking ticket. Fast foward to last week, when I recieve an email with a press release that reads “Unholy Alliance Tour Postponed! First show moved back to 6.10.06!”
My response, “WHAT THE FUCK!” I proceed to read the rest of the press release so that I can get some fucking answers. I’m sort of anticipating something really fucking metal like “Postponed due to pending legal action from local religous groups protesting the concept of the tour and in particular the moral ramifications of the kick-off date” or “San Diego too bitchmade to provide the necessary wattage to support Tom Araya’s stacks.” Sadly the reason proved to be quite the opposite. Evidently ol’ Tom had to have his gall bladder removed and was advised by his doctor to “take it easy” and “avoid heavy lifting” and “strenous activities” As I read sentence after sentence describing Tom’s “ordeal” my heart sank. To further bum me out the press released stated that as a means to appeal the anxious masses a very special EP would be available exclusively at, gulp - Hot Topic!

Gall Bladders, Hot fucking Topic - what the fuck is going on here Slayer? I understand we all need to get paid but fuck me if these two things are not the complete antithesis of metal. Are you trying to tell me that you can’t sack the fuck up for a few fucking hours to regin in blood on 6-6-MUTHERFUCKING-6? You need 4 more days to tickle your balls and rest up? What the fuck? What happened to being a fucking machine? What happened to at least putting a gorey metal spin on the truth? I don’t want to hear about your fucking gall bladder okay. I want to hear about you needing more time to channel Belzelbub, fucking and then sacrificing 666 virgins using a bejewled dragon handled dagger, draining thier life blood into a ritual goblet and drinking it all while smoking from a giant hookah filled with Chocolate Thai unearthed by Jimi Page and Robert Plant from Aleister Crowley’s private stash hidden behind a wall in his study. That’s a fucking reason to cancel an epic tour date!

I’m entirely too pissed off to even begin to speak on the Hot Topic bit. I’ll just say this. If it’s being sold at place where once can purchase a complete “metal”, “punk”, “rave” or “hip-hop” look all at one time. It’s not fucking metal. Back in my day you had to actually go to the show to get the shirt. You had to actually wear your jeans and to get the knees to split open. You had to steal your boyfriends favorite flannel shirt and or jean jacket with the Samhain logo on the back if you wanted to have a real “look.” You didn’t just stoll down to the fucking mall and get a pair of steel toed boots. Them shits were special order. But I digress.

I guess ultimately I am upset because all of this makes me feel older. Slayer’s MySpace profile lists it as “53 year old male” which is sadly true. My dad is 53 but fortunately for me even in all his hippy splendor he is more metal than Tom Araya. After his last heart attack (he’s had 3, or is it 4?) he checked himself out of the hospital two days later because “you can’t smoke weed in there” and the “nurses were fucking cunts.” And no I am not exaggerating.

I’ll probably still hold my Slay-Out but it will be significantly less demonic than I originally had planned. And I will be goddamned if I step into a Hot Topic to cop that EP. I am going to break my own rules and do it real metal and fucking download that shit from some asshole kid who posts it on Limewire.

Player of the Week:
****
Dude with these fucking boots

So I was walking behind this dude on my way to a meeting last week in complete amazement. Never in my life have I ever seen shoes like this. They are not quite moon boots, not quite ski boots and really not even quite boots. My only assumption is that he is a part time resident of Degobah and these boots provide his young padawan toes the vital protection he needs from the dingy swamps and those pesky Mynochs. I also sorta wondered how long it took him to find a safe place his Big Wheel. Parking is a real bitch in this neighborhood.

***This small photo does not do the monstrosity of these moon boots justice. Please take the time to click the links above — they each go to a different much larger image!

So I promised some background on last week’s players so here we go:

Mi Vida Loco

This is in fact not my dad, but my long lost Tio Nacho. Tio Nacho has lived his life by the “rules of the road” since the late 70s. He was last seen in this very outfit driving into the sunset on his Honda chopper sometime around July 1976. Everyone thought Tio Nacho had met his maker or finally got thrown in San Quinn for his “entrepreneurial” ventures. If you were smoking L’s in San Jo anytime between 1972-1985 the brick and the PCP probably came from Tio Nacho’s gas tank on the Honda Chopper. He was king of the game ranging from Baja Califas to San Jo. Rumor has it that Cheech Marin stole his whole schtick from Tio Nacho. Tio used to sell him L’s back in the day when he rolled through East L.A. Tio says Cheech had “no ganas” but always had girls around who were “firme hynas” or ” lindas con muchas nalgas”

At any rate, Tio has hit rough times. Evidently, he is stuck taking the dollar cab around town because as he says, “my Pony threw me” and as a result the bike and his hip were damaged. He got the hip replaced but the bike or “his pony” just wasn’t able to be salvaged. He still abides by the “way” or “rules of the road” and also takes the whole “smile now cry later” saying quite seriously. He’s since left the dope game but he still has “KING CALIFAS” tattooed across his stomach above a fantastic rendering of a plate of actual nachos. The detail on the jalapeno rings is amazing. He got them both in prison during his first stay 1980-1986. He got caught because his “stupid ol’ lady called the pinche cops.” He’s living down in the Mission district now but might have to move deep into Bay View with “the pinche negrits” because his rent is too high.

It was good to see Tio Nacho again. It’s been so long.

Size 21 Jump Suit

There is a party at a club here called Planet Big. It’s held monthly at a place called The Stud. Ol’ boy here was en route to The Stud that night. He had on his best fits - a form fitting jumpsuit that showcased his “woofy” belly. There was an old school dance competition planned and dude was practicing his game face. If ya’ll think a big boy can’t pop and lock, do head spins or the electric slide you are trippin. Dude crab walked down the stairs and right into the club. It was amazing. You can’t do that type of shit in a two piece fit….got to have the jumpsuit.

Choke That Bitch

My pal and I got tattooed a week ago on a very spontaneous whim, so we had to sit around a while and wait our turn. Like any other stoner would, we passed the time by sitting in her car, smoking weed until the kitchen staff at the Black Muslim Bakery noticed and started shooting us looks of death from the kitchen window that over looked the parking lot. To maintain the peace and preserve our rights to eat bean pies, we decided to go back to the tattoo shop. On the way back, we noticed this poster in the back of a parked car. I was amazed and mystified. Hence the photo. Once back in the tattoo shop, we noticed there were 3 lesbians, talking shit and watching their friend get a birthday tatt of some sort. I think it was her name on the inside of her wrist, but the evil femi-nazi-wanna-be-lesbos in us pretended she was getting the word “CUNT” inked instead. It also goes better with my story. I like to think the signed belonged to the lesbians. They originally made it to root on their girls at the roller derby but it since has become a valuable traffic weapon. If I had a car I would make one too. I really appreciate the artistic rendering of the Choke-A-Bitch equation.

Mainy Individual Part 2

THIS IS MY DUDE. I see this guy almost everyday on the bus. He sits all day in the sun at the Cal Train station sunning his belly. Literally. He lets about 4 inches of it peek through as the pigeons land near, on or around him on the benches out front of the station. He’s always got that bag and he is always wearing those clothes. Even on the hottest day he is sunning his belly with a down parka AND a flannel shirt. Only the shirt gets rolled up and no more than about 4 inches. The amazing thing about his belly that you cannot see here is, he is so fat his belly button has turned inside out and gone flat. Yes,flat. Normally fat people just have a deep well of a belly button. It’s like this black hole where you can store things like extra Cheetos or napkins. But dude has broke the mold and now has a flat uninterrupted belly that just sits there distended and hard like those kids from Ethiopia you see on National Geographic TV. The up shot is he doesn’t smell as bad as he looks like he would. He drools a lot and grinds his jaw mumbling things that sound almost prophetic to make up for his lack of odor. His bag is of particular interest to me. It appears to be full of crushed up plastic bottles, newspapers and old coffee cups. However, it is always the same shit in there. As opposed to a rotating stock of those items that gets turned in for cash at some point. There has been a Sierra Mist bottle poking through one of the hand mended seams for like 3 months. I’ve got a personal bet with myself on when it’s gonna poke through and when a new patch will appear. I’ve got 5 bucks on the new patch showing up by the end of May and the same Sierra Mist bottle will be just pushed back into place. I’ve made up a back story on this dude. I think he ran a very profitable dot com at one point before the great crash of the early ’00s. Instead of coming clean to his wife, he continued going to work, staying out late for “dinner meetings” and generally not telling his wife that he lost everything. He went on a multi- week long bender and spending all his remaining loot on booze and steak dinners to make himself feel better. She finally found out one day and kicked him out on his ass. He put his shit into two bags and headed out to the pier where his boat was docked only to find out that she sold that shit already leaving him with no where to live. That was the last straw of his sanity. I think he’s been mentally and physically stuck in SOMA at the Cal Station, the closest thing to his office he can remember, sort of like Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day ever since.

Old Milwaukee

I left my office for lunch last week and saw this sitting on top of the garbage. It struck me as funny because that shit was just sitting there, lonely. A sole can. No signs of other cans. Usually people pound beers at their cars before they go up to SBC Park which is like 2 blocks away so littered beer cans is not uncommon. But a lone Old Milwuakee? A beer that I didn’t even know existed anymore just sitting there? I went to toss it in the recycle bin but when I picked it up I realized why it was there. IT WAS FULL OF FUCKING PISS. LITERAL PISS. The irony was not lost on me. I was proud and terrified at the same time. Needless to say I made sure to reach down and wash my hands in the puddle immediately after*.

(*inside joke for HT regulars, remember the rain puddle hand washer? i still can’t get over that shit. of course i really washed my hands in an actual sink with soap and stuff)

Overbin display shelf in the R&B section at Ameoba Berkeley

Dear R&B -

Stop putting everyone in slightly tilted fedoras, newsboy caps and or floppy brimmed hats on the covers of albums. It’s boring. We know you are sexy. The hat is not “preserving your sexy” it is in fact “obscuring your sexy” and making me think you have bad hair or a large zit on your face that needs masking. New concept please. Thanks.

Player of the Week:

Homless Cell Phone User
I’m still pissed I didn’t capture the act on digital film, so what you see here is an artist’s rendering of the situation so you can really have a visual of what I saw. The squiggly lines represent foul odor!

Sunday morning White Paul America, G Pek and I woke up hung over and in dire need of a cheesesteaks. We rallied up and dragged our asses down to Berkeley around 11 am to see what it do with that joint down by Ameoba. We parked in the garage and as we came out onto the street we see the most amazing thing ever, a drunk, smelly homeless dude on a cell phone that is plugged into a random electrical outlet on the brick wall. Dude is just laying there stretched the fuck out with some drank next to him gabbing away like it’s nothing. White Paul America turns to me in awe and goes “WHERE’S YO’ FANCY CAMERA PHONE…YOU NEED TO GET THAAAAT!” and points over his shoulder to dude. I shoulda went back and took a pic, but I was too hung over and really needed a cheesesteak. I can’t help but wonder though was he really making a call? Or was it just some random dumpster find and dude is on some “fake it, till you make it” type shit? Who is he calling anyway? The shelter? Job prospects? God? Bottom line is cell phones are so ubiquitous, even homeless dudes have them. Metro sales must be off the hook. No wonder the Mayor rides so clean.