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A County by any other name...

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:51:58 -0800

So allegedly, on this day, November 7, 1908, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were killed in Bolivia. I am led to believe they literally went out “guns blazing,” but what would you expect from guys with names like that? Okay, okay, nicknames. Turns out Butch was really named Robert Leroy Parker and the Kid was named Harry Alonzo Longabaugh. Not exactly screaming badass right out of the womb, eh?

But that’s the point of a nickname. It’s generally earned at some point in your waking life as a result of SOMETHING you did. It could be good, like “Old Hickory,” tacked onto Andrew Jackson as a recognizing of his inherent toughness in battle; “The Great Emancipator,” applied to Abe Lincoln even though his emancipation techniques were dubious; or “Buster,” given to one Joseph Frank Keaton IV, after taking a tumble down a flight of stairs as a kid and not crying or showing pain (p.s. Harry Houdini gave him the name. Look it up, asshole!).

Then there’s obviously bad nicknames, too. “Chemical Ali” from recent memory. “Fighting Dick” Anderson, a Confederate General during the Civil War. “Fatty” Arbuckle strikes me as particularly cruel.

Then there’s a lot of middle ground (read:cool as fuck no matter what)nicknames. A lot of these coming from, of course, the United States of America. “Scarface” Al Capone, “Machine Gun” Jack McGurn, Stu “The Grim Reaper” Grimson (hockey, not mob), Mordecai “Three finger” Brown (baseball), “Baby Sweet,” “Bones” and “The Guvnor” all graced the marquees of Jazz Music Halls in the past.

Nicknames can condemn you to a life of childish name calling, a legacy of hipocrisy and overall shittyness, or an unending cavalcade of credit being given to you, long after you’re dead. Hell, the best nickname could even inspire a pro wrestler to twist it a little bit to use as a stage name, and no matter what anybody says, pro wrestling is still totally cool.

So considering Moon County as a collective is PRETTY FUCKING AWESOME, I have taken it upon myself to assign nicknames to all parties of the Confederacy, for proper, awe inspiring purposes:

Aaron Waltke: Tall, refined, tends to make me laugh the hardest with minimal effort. Drops his middle name, John, a lot, but c’mon, we’re going to call the Godfather of Moon County A.J.? Get real. Oh, I got it! “The Godfather!” No, that is pretty stupid sounding. But “Uncle Aaron” has a good ring to it. It implies friendship, familial love and respect, and the guy who sneaks you a beer or two at your grandparents’ Christmas party because that fuckhead your mother married never lets you have any fun. Sorry, I got a little too into that. Also, “Uncle Aaron” allows for the rest of Aaron’s name to be filled in, if the news reporters or he wishes. Yeah, I’m going with that: Uncle Aaron Waltke.

Joe Rogan: Joe hails from the Munster, Indiana area, and this lends itself to myriad puns, but we need something better than that. And Joe is a hell of a name, able to be adapted really to anything. “Broadway Joe,” for instance. You see, the problem with Rogan is that he’s a really nice guy. He does play league soccer, though, so I can’t pass up a sports-type nicknaming possibility. He also lives on Quebec Av., so imagining his surgical precision with his midfield passes and taking the street route, “The French Connection” would definitely sound cool coming out of a play by play announcer’s mouth. I’m going to go with The French Connection, although it should be noted Joe already occasionally goes by JoRo as it is, and that has a nice ring and far fewer syllables.

Kyle McVey. Now if anyone needs to be named “Broadway,” it’s McVey, the handsome, babyfaced surfer manchild from…suburban Indianapolis? Well, Indianapolis is the hardest city in America, so he’s got some street cred. But man, what a ladykiller. Oh, he’s also got arguably the dirtiest mind in Moon County, so nicknaming him “Dahmer,” might actually work. Hm, no….no it wouldn’t. Hmmm….McVey, McVey, another great part of name-hood that begs to be nicked. Oh shit, I got this. You combine the birthright hardness of Central Indiana, his employment directly related to horse racing (and gambling) and his plush living in the “Miracle Mile” area of L.A., and you got it: K. McVazy (rhymes with Swayze).

Phil McLaughlin. Phil’s big. Height wise, he keeps in pretty decent shape otherwise. And he’s got INarguably the dirtiest mind in Moon County. He wrote “The World’s Smallest Obstetricians,” among others. Sketches that freaked me out, and I’m soulless. Phil also makes really good costumes and stuff, for shows we have or otherwise, so you could say he’s good with a needle. Calling a dude 6’5” “Needledick” probably isn’t even an insult, but I digress. Phil,..Phil,…he’s a great pal, a good drinking buddy. If I ever had something worth confiding in anybody, it would probably be him…he’s like a brother…and Phil and Philadelphia, well you know, Phil in the blanks. And he’s sometimes kind of epic and serious like a monk. How about “Brother Phil?” Or better yet, Brother Mac. Hell yeah.

Joey Reinisch. Joey’s our cartoon guy. He’s also married, so any nicknames need to be able to fit on 4th of July Barbeque invitations, or monogrammed towel sets, or whatever. He’s got “Reich” right there in his name, but that’s, y’know….. I can’t get away from the cartoon thing, he’s really good at it, and he games a lot too, I think with those headsets where he can talk shit to some 12 year old in Iowa while blowing the back of his character’s head out on some Halo ship or whatever. Using the onomatopoeia of cartoons from the golden age, and knowing Joey will soon need another Left4Dead Live handle, I’m going to nickname him Crash Boom Reinisch.

Paul Straw. Straw and I go way back. In fact, I think he’s the first guy I met who would eventually go on to be in Moon County. And we live together, so you’d think I’d have some good material here. But think about it, when you spend a significant amount of time with someone, the mystery and uncertainty of their legacy kind of goes away, leaving most nicknames jokey and sarcastic. But I’ve got one. Paul’s weekly post is called the Last Straw. And I know he’d love a name that could potentially be a comic book character (is already?). So I’ve chosen to nickname Paul, as in “The Last” Straw, Omega.

Nick Allen. It’s been said time and time again. Nick and I have a special friendship. It was his relatively half-assed invitiation to an audition in college that effectively started my friendship with elements that would form Moon County. We drove out to L.A. together, seeing the Petrified Forest, Grand Canyon and majestic Oatman, Arizona together. But a nickname cannot be too personal, so let’s look at some of the facts. Nick used to be an IU cheerleader. Nick is from Newburgh, IN. Nick edits for his day job. I can’t not give him a mafia sounding nickname. Since in editing, you “cut,” and I think I’ve seen him move his arms in a swinging motion once or twice on Branch McCracken Court, I want to call him Nicky Chop Chop. With a nickname like that, he’s obviously the muscle of the organization.

Eric Cahill. Cahill’s the spectral tenth member of M.C. In a way, you could say that he’s shrinking. He used to be a “healthy,” beer-swilling, cheeseburger slamming man made of America. But now he’s actually healthy, sips water and eats,…something besides cheeseburgers. He’s probably the only guy I know who looks the way God intended for every living male. So he’s fit as hell and could probably punch a hole through my less than firm abdomen. How do we nickname that? Smokin’ E? Not bad, but a little homo. Hm,…there was an old sketch someone wrote in college called Mt. Eric or something. And I was thinking, “hill” is already in his name. And he’s now as strong as quarry limestone. So why not name him The Crag? Fuck you, Nickelodeon.

Matt Loman. Matt is of Chinese and Italian decent, so right there we’re begging for another mob nickname, but let’s think about this. Matt’s also into comics, and gaming, and lately, I don’t know, he could be making a jump to MMA or something, so we need a truly epic nickname for such a good guy. Well, his last name sort of sounds like “No man” as in No Man’s Land. But if you rearrange the letters, you could spell “No mal.” “Not Bad” Loman? That wouldn’t fly in MMA. No Man’s Land, no one can touch him. Don’t fuck with him, you want to keep him “no mal,” keep him happy. Keep him merciful. Matt Mercy Loman.

Me. Everyone knows you can’t give yourself a nickname. I used to be called Johnny Ballgame, which eventually turned into Ballgame, J.B., B.G., and then Johnny Nutsack. (?) And then Johnny Python. Either way, my last name sounds so cool, it’s almost like a nickname in and of itself, so call me whatever, I’m one of the few who has a nickname quality name on my birth certificate. Or leave a suggestion in the comments. -DRUSKA.

The Last Straw

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 10:58:00 -0800

Brief post today. But if I could inform you of two things.

One my friend and former roommate, Joe Avella, has his short film Wheel Chair Werewolf in The Midwest Independent Film Festival. Which as a note is a fest that I used to volunteer with back in my Chicago days. So great people all around.

Anyways please vote for his short here.

But if you feel the need to actually see what you’re voting for first (commie’s) then go ahead and take a gander.

Also this Sunday at 11pm, the very funny all female group Tang has a fundraising show at the IO west for their trip to perform in the Toronto Sketch Fest. Moon County as well as many other funny groups will be putting up sketches in what should be a great night of comedy. Please join us, only $5 for the whole evening.

Thursday...Because without it....things would be awkward..

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 05:00:00 -0800

What in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks is Going On, Hollywood?!

by Nick

Friends….I’m going to be honest with you. It’s about 2 am as I’m writing this and I’ve still got hours of “work” to go. For this week I’m on night shift. Which means I work all night so that big execs can see their precious dailies the next day after shooting, then I go home and attempt to sleep….but when you live in LA fall just simply doesn’t exist. It’s so hard to sleep when your house has no AC and your room window acts as a giant magnifying glass when the sun hits it. Sleep is impossible during the day.

BUT There is something that is keeping me going….and that is my outright RAGE against the future of American Cinema.

Apparently…they plan on remaking “Short Circuit”,

a movie I enjoyed watching as a kid when I pretended to be sick to stay home from school. What the hell, Hollywood? Have we honestly run out of all the ideas and have to go to recycling movies? Didn’t we just have a robot movie?

Ok, well maybe they’re thinking that no one will remember “Short Circuit” and so it will seem fresh. ;a nb, jjgjkgdfhhghddrjndfhgdhrehtreht hertherh dfhgh rhrhghhbvddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddhvcxhdfg

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…I’m sorry…

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WOAH. Sorry. Happened again.

That time I had a dream. It was a pretty weird one. Where was I? OH yeah. You guys see X-Men Origins: Wolverine?

Jeez, wasn’t that the biggest pile of shit you’ve ever seen? Oh…it’s not?

Oh yea…that’s right…Kingdom of the Krystal Skull…right. Got ya.

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]WOAH. Sorry….just woke up again. You know what’s weird? That time I dreamt that I was a dog, chasing after a rabbit….weird huh.

I guess I also did what dogs do when they dream. According to what I typed I was moving my hand like a paw, starting around the “y” key then moving away from my face to the “enter” key. ….interesting….

But anyways, the last good movie that I saw in theaters was District 9, man I loved that movie. Intense. I saw Zombieland but that was more of a fun movie with no serious gravity to it. Yes, people…you have to learn how to watch different genres of moviesl; a’lksjasdffffff dasffffddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

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HUH!

Ok. That dream was even weirder than the other one. **You guys ever dream of an old girlfriend that for some reason is serving at Mother Bears in Bloomington

and she also has a haircut that’s almost exactly like Cleopatra’s from HBO’s Rome?**

No? I guess it’s just me then.

Well it’s a decent show. Apparently they had to re-edit the UK version because the general British population have a bit more knowledge about the history of the Roman Empire than the stakl;jskjlllllllllllllssfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffdsd

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Okay. I’m sorry that this keeps happening. …but at the same time I’m astounded at how the keyboard represents the dreams I keep having. Want to know what I dreamt that time?

Well it’s a little embarrassing but in my dream my hand was on a boob. Now ….if you’ll look at the numberpad that’s on the right side of the keyboard and then look back to what I typed during my last nap…you’ll notice there’s no “5”. 5 would be the nipple.

I know! Astounding right?

Where was I on the film discussion? Oh yeah,

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oh shit. That dream was freaky.

I broke the keyboard. I’m sorry, in my dream** I was throwing grenades…………

……..at airplanes……

……….Japanese airplanes…….

………Japanese WWII era airplanes……….

………..that were bombing my hometown…….

……….of Newburgh, Indiana………

………..and yes….

I realize now that I’m awake that tossing grenades at airplanes probably caused even more damage and had no affect whatsoever on the Japanese bombers.**

But damnit, I had to do something….Look at my keyboard.

Well…with my keyboard broke. I couldn’t possibly blog anymore. Who knows if the “a” key would work, or even the “b” key, let alone the “c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y and z” keys. Nope….can’t finish at all. I guess that means I can’t work as well. Well…better just go home and wait for the Thursday yard crew to come along at 9 am to wake me up with leaf blowers, weed wackers, and trumpets….I feel the trumpets are unnecessary.

I’m sorry that this has been an insight to somewhat of an insane person but… See ya next Thursday…because…you know you like it.

~nick

** = real dreams I’ve had.

Click here to go back to the Moon County website,

Dear Celebs: Part Infinity

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 07:34:57 -0800

I’ve been without internet for like a week and half, and had no ideas. So you get this. Sorry. Really, really sorry.

*-*-*

Dear Avril Lavigne,

Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re dating this douchebag?

Why? Because his dead eyes and greasy hair and skin are such huge turn-ons? This is the guy who dated Lindsay Lohan near her prime and called her a “firecrotch,” on top of talking tons of shit about her.

What makes you think this guy is trustworthy or shouldn’t be immediately drowned?

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard your lyrics, and you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, but, really? Fucking really?

It’s not even that I’m worried about you as an artist, I just think that that guy should be chemically sterilized or thrown off a bridge or something, and I can’t write to him because I don’t know his name.

Matt

*-*-*

Dear Giada DiLaurentis,

So, I couldn’t help but notice that you cook a lot of Italian food. And that you like to wear tight, low cut tops.

I happen to enjoy Italian food quite a bit, and am a huge supporter of women who need to showcase ‘the girls.’

So. What are we going to do about this?

Are we steady’s or what? Do you have a date for homecoming?

Baby, get at me.

Matt

*-*-*

Dear Jon Gosselin,

Holy shit, you are stupid. You had the entire world on your side because everyone realized that your wife is a control-freak-attention-whore. All you had to do was shut up, sit down, and let all the truth come to light.

And you blew it in perhaps the greatest fashion since Dubya’s went from his post 9-11 approval ratings to the worst in RECORDED HISTORY.

I mean, let’s look at all the ways you failed.

1.) Ed Hardy shirts - Who the fuck keeps buying these things? They should be sent overseas to developing nations so that when they ask for money to donate to these countries we can see impoverished kids wearing tribal tattoo shirts next to other kids in shirts declaring the Cardinals the winners of the 2009 Super Bowl.

2.) Smoking - I don’t smoke, but I will admit; it does look cool most of the time. You somehow fucked this up. You’re doing the smoking equivalent of chewing with your mouth open/sneezing/soiling yourself. How hard is it? James Dean and Humphrey Bogart did all the work for you. You just have to show up.

3.) Cheat Up, Stupid - If you’re going to use your fame to bang dumb chicks, at least nail the hot ones. Don’t get me wrong, I understand where you’re coming from; we’re both part Filipino men, and, let’s face it, Filipino men aren’t exactly setting the panties of straight women on fire (is that a mixed metaphor?), but exercise some restraint. Show some fucking patience, Grasshopper.

4.) Not Shutting the Fuck Up - You are not a bright man. Look who you married, look at your show, where you’re filmed existing and nothing more, and look at all the reasons I pointed out above. You needed to just fucking fade into the background while people that you paid to handle this, handled this. But, no you had to go out, and go to Vegas, and go shopping. You couldn’t bang skanks at TGI Friday’s?

God, you’re a fuck.

Matt

*-*-*

Dear Gina Carano,

Baby, I’m begging you, please, stop doing things that might get you punched in the face.

Movies, color commentary at MMA events, tampon commercials, I don’t care; I’ll buy whatever product you endorse, but please stop letting mannish-women try to pummel you.

Think of our future kids.

Matt

*-*-*

Yeesh. See you guys next Wednesday.

The Dancing Pickle...

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 08:00:00 -0800

FROM THE DEPTHS OF HARDDRIVES PAST.

THIS GEM WAS MADE FOR MY OWN AMUSEMENT IN THE SUMMER OF 2003.

AT 4 IN THE MORNING.

IN MY BASEMENT.

IN THE DARK.

ALONE.

Actually, now that I think about it. Not much has changed.

Such humble beginnings…

Huh

Anyways… I’ll post for real next week.

-Joey

MONDAY PUNDAY!

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 17:53:25 -0800

-First Impression-

Happy Halloween (or is it)?

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 17:36:20 -0700

When you’re a kid you go trick or treating. You are Superman (in my case, the Flash) and you get to spend time out in public way later than you are ever allowed, and you get CANDY. POUNDS AND POUNDS OF FREE CANDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When you’re a teen, maybe you wreak some havoc in the hood, smash a couple pumpkins, toss some eggs, steal some candy from youngsters (I, for the record, did not ever do this sort of thing. I’m serious. Fuck you, don’t look at me that way). But there was always CANDY. POUNDS AND POUNDS OF FREE CANDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When you’re an adult, people throw parties. You’ve been to Halloween parties before, and adult parties before, but not an adult Halloween party as an adult. There’s beer. Guys dress in hilarious costumes, girls dress in slutty costumes. Maybe a few brave souls dress in hilariously slutty costumes. But there’s still CANDY. POUNDS AND POUNDS OF FREE CANDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, and pussy.

But Halloween is not all fun and games. While I love it, and I think the reason I love it so is because it was so fun, every year it’s ever happened, for many different reasons, but let’s not forget what Halloween really is: The One Day a Year the Dead Walk Amongst Us (TODAYtheDWAU). It’s evil. It’s unholy. It’s the night we all embrace our dark sides a little more willfully. And just to give you a good mindset before you go out tonight, whether it’s for the candy, the ultra-violence or the themed beer pong, I present to you SHIT THAT’S REALLY SCARY:

October 31, 1917. World War I. The Battle of Beersheba. This has been called “the last successful cavalry charge in history.” Think about that. It’s the twentieth century. There’s machine guns and tanks - tanks! - surrounding you. You’re in the midst of the single bloodiest conflict in the history of the world, the war to end all wars, The Great War, and you’re riding horseback? Successfully? Those guys were probably scared shitless.

October 31, 1913. The Indianapolis Street Car Strike and Subsequent Riots. I can speak from experience, Indianapolis is the hardest town in America. Hell, when a child is born in Indianapolis, it’s terrifying. So imagine a riot between blue collar Hoosiers in charge of running giant metal worms, and freak out a little more genuinely. This thing had martial law, political implications, a decent body count and it happened in INDIANAPOLIS, THE HARDEST TOWN IN AMERICA. Change your undies before you go out.

October 31, 1876. India. Monster cyclone kills 200,000. Tornados are scary enough. But they wipe out a few towns in Texas every summer, and no one really cares, right? Not so for cyclones. I have a feeling that, along the same lines of Absinthe and pure heroin, America gets dealt a short hand when it comes to swirl-shaped wind anomalies. 200,000 people?!?!?!?!? That’s like 25 H.M.S. Titanics each carrying a “Fat Boy,” colliding into each other on the Cambodian Killing Fields. That’s scary shit.

October 31, 1864. Nevada. Exists. Yeah you heard it here first. Nevada was admitted into the Union on Halloween. And it’s home to “Sin City.” And Groom Lake (that’s what intelligent people call Area 51) is there. All that shit is creepy and evil. Yeah, that hooker you dropped three hundy on? Clearly an agent of the devil, if you weren’t already thinking that. SCARY!

October 31, 1963. Indianapolis. State Fair Coliseum Explosion. You’re enjoying a fine day at the auditorium watching some Ice Skating with your happy family when faulty wiring ignites a propane tank, ripping a massive explosion through the place, wounding over 400 and killing 74. All your family. Moments earlier, your daughter asked to sit on your lap, but you were juggling a beer and said no. You manage to escape unscathed. Terrified yet? (All right, I made up the last part, but I was adding a human element to the story.)

I also think pedophiles are scary, and they’re out and about every day of the year. Not being a kid, maybe you’re not that scared of pedophiles. But think about it. Every time you don’t care about pedophiles, some kid’s getting touched. Freaked out yet? Good. That was the point.

NOW GO HAVE A HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!

-Count Druskula

The Last Straw

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 14:04:00 -0700

Well it’s the day before Halloween, so it’s probably about time for me to start thinking of a Halloween costume.

I have been particularly poor at deciding costumes in the past. My normal choices tend to skew from obscure to overly creepy to “little to no effort”. My past costumes have included: Frenchie from The Boys; a faceless hooded jason mask wearing man, petting a small puppy; nerd cowboy; and shirtless Paul.

So I’ve narrowed it down to three ideas:

1) Charlie Brown as a Ghost

It originally was just ghost but I realized that you throw a rock in a pillow case and suddenly it’s a reference based costume not just a lazy based.

Pros: Super easy; old school

Cons: A sheet, even with a hole cut out, inhibits the drinking abilities; sack with a rock very weapon like

2) John Druska

My dear roommate. Put on a Chicago Jersey (old school Blackhawks), a hat and shave my sideburns to look like Wolverine. Spend the rest of the evening drinking and making grandious speeches while drunk.

Pros: Another easy costume to put together; Going to a party with many common friends so it won’t be unrecognizable; costume allows for ease of movement.

Cons: Probably can’t drink as much alcohol as require (the man’s a beast) and frankly can there be more than the one original John Druska. Probably not.

3) Phillip Seymour Hoffman in Boogie Nights

Tank top, boom mic, and go around asking everyone if they want to see my car. Brilliant.

Pros: Everyone says I look like PSH, despite my disagreement, so I’m either looking at instant recognition or confirmation that I don’t look like him. Either way it’s a win.

Cons: I’ll have to shave my beard to do this properly.

Vote: What do you think?

-Paul (www.twitter.com/gourmetemu)

Paul also does Polls every Tuesday for Sam Proof’s Podpocalypse, The Straw Poll

Return to Moon County

Thursday...Because Friday could just really use the company right now.

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 12:52:00 -0700

Herro.

For those of you that don’t know, Matt and I live in the same house. So if you ever wanted to kill two birds with one stone you could burn down our house, or just shit on our porch like our friendly (?) neighborhood homeless guy, or I don’t know…BREAK OUR FUCKING INTERNET….you could. Although I’m a sucker and pay more for different/faster/up-until-now-more-reliable internet but that was gone too. The point of the story is I couldn’t get on the internets, which is not a great excuse to have something prepared. But that’s where the 80+hours a week of work come into play.

I think I already used this, but it must’ve been a year ago when the world was a much happier place.

There ya go. Yes…I did make a movie in college about my two Pokemon slippers doing it. and Yes…I thought the procedure would result in the creation of more Pokemon slippers…sigh *sad face*

Anyways, back to “work”.

Baby….I’ll make it up to you next week. I swears it. I swears it on my precious.

~Nick

F-ck Halloween

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 12:24:05 -0700

Yo, my house has been without internet for a little while so I had no time to do all the usual bells and whistles for my blogs. I know you all come here every Wednesday expecting swear words and motion captures from the movie “Predator.”

Due to factors beyond my control that won’t be happening this week. Sorry.

*-*-*

Oh hey, everybody, it’s Halloween. The official holiday for everyone who felt alienated and picked on in high school.

It’s important to note that most of the people who obsess over this holiday have a romanticized recollection of their high school days. Nostalgia tinted events where they, the oppressed outsider, was misunderstood by mouth-breathing peers, but surely gained character to carry with them the rest of their days.

In actuality, most people just ignored them.

Which is what I kind of wish we could start doing with Halloween.

The things I like about Halloween are simple: candy, slutty costumes, Fall weather (note: does not apply in Southern California), and candy.

I’ve got a car, a job, and a CostCo card, so getting candy is not a huge issue. I predict that in the next five years we’re going to finally banish the last of the Puritan tendencies passed down to us by our forefathers and then shit can start getting really freaky. Hopefully ladies can start slutting it up full time.

I don’t get fall weather, so that’s a moot point.

And I know I mentioned candy twice, but candy’s awesome.

Lately, Halloween has become shorthand for letting the world know how different you are without actually having to do anything like consuming art or literature different from you may normally prefer.

Not to mention, Halloween is the most crass and consumer driven of “big holidays” which is saying something considering the big holidays also include Christmas and Pre-Christmas, aka, Thanksgiving.

Christmas originally started when the Catholic Church tried to convert Barbarians to the east (basically Germany) so they tied in the birth of Christ (which probably wasn’t in December) to the winter solstice (or equinox, whatever) traditions of barbarian tribes which included decorating trees with precious metals to commemorate battles or huge events.

Granted, it got gobbled up by companies trying to sell people stuff, but at it’s heart it started as a way to remember important things across a religion or a tribe.

Thanksgiving has also gone corporate, but it is, at it’s heart, still a commemoration of an event that marked the beginning of a new nation, a hundred years before it knew what it was.

What the fuck is Halloween? It’s a celebration of what, exactly? Scaring people? Goth kids? Twilight dorks? Cure fans?

Does Tim Burton really need his own day?

There’s no religious undertones, and no memorial for any event, which leaves no other basis for it’s enduring existence.

I’m not saying you have to be into religion to celebrate holidays, but religion is the reason that these holidays and traditions lasted so long to evolve into their present form.

Halloween has no backing like that. So who pushed Halloween? (go ahead and look up Halloween on Wikipedia. There’s some crap about Celtic tribes. Whatever, I can just make stuff up, too)

That’s right, Whitey.

So let the man win if you want. I’m going to eat a shit ton of candy on October 30th and November 1st. And tacos. Day of the dead on the first, and all that.

However, I’m going to church on the 31st. Because I’m punk as fuck.

*-*-*

Yeah, so that sucked. See you next weekend.

Matt

General Mills Accidentally Unveils New Product --

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 09:48:00 -0700

October 25th, 2009 : 8:00AM — Golden Valley MN - General Mills HQ

General Mills public relations was sent into a panic early this morning as news broke of the accidental unveiling of a new Cheerios brand offshoot. Being one of GM’s most popular cereal brands, the delicious toasty oats have seen many iterations in the past, ranging from Honey Nut, Yogurt Blast, Multigrain to the Y2K tie in, Millenios. A brief investigation by GM’s research and development team concluded employee Steve Shankington has involuntarily broken his confidentiality agreement when he accidentally boxed some of the new experimental Cheerios brand cereal with the original Cheerios cereal.

Dubbed “Cheeritubes”, this new Cheerios offshoot is essentially a longer, tube shaped version of the regular Cheerios recipe and was still in it’s product testing phase. Chief Cheerios R&D Spokesman Rich Wheathouse expressed his dismay at a press conference this morning that his newest creation debuted unceremoniously before it was properly backed with advertising.

“I had great hopes for this new product. It saddens me that my creation could have done so much for the brand and now all is ruined.”

A brief question and answer session followed:

Q: Does the tube shape actually change the taste of the cereal?

Wheathouse: No, it’s actually the original Cheerios recipe, in an elongated, cylindrical shape.

Q: What is the main benefit of Cheeritubes versus the original recipe?
Wheathouse: Our research has found that the tube shape is much more preferred over the original design of the cereal. The original reminds consumers of donuts.

Q: Do you think it’s a good idea to compare your healthy cereal to donuts?
Wheathouse: I was merely making a logical argument for why my new cereal is a good…

Q: How much did GM spend developing this new product?
Wheathouse: Well we’ve been in development for several years …

Q: Do you actually get paid to think up new shapes for cereal?
Wheathouse: ….

Q: What’s the point of reshaping your cereal if it tastes the same?
Wheathouse: Fuck You.

Wheathouse then ate a handful of Cheeritubes out of the display bowl next to him on the podium, flipped off the crowd and yelled “CHEERITUBES!” before fleeing the stage.

Cheeritubes was slated for launch early next year, but after today’s events, the project has been put on indefinite hold.

Prof. Wheathouse’s whereabouts are unknown.

- Joey
Cartoosday@gmail.com
Twitter @jreinisch @mooncounty @destructobox @LOLjoeyANDkyle

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Monday Grab Bag

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 10:33:00 -0700

Welcome to “Monday Grab Bag” where we throw up random things, videos from friends, or just anything to spice up our relationship with you, the internet viewer.

Today’s selection is from one of my co-workers, Aron, who on the side makes mash-up video trailers for two different movies. Here’s “You’ve Got Served/Wizard of Oz Trailer”.

If you would like to see more of his stuff, go to http://www.youtube.com/withonea

Enjoy.

Happy Monday.

~(Nick)

Sunday Punday

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 19:00:50 -0700

DEAD PREZIDENTS (o.k., 5 are alive)

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 13:36:42 -0700

Y’know what I was thinking the other day? What the hell is George W. Bush up to? For myself and most people around my age, whether you agreed or disagreed with him, you can probably admit that in our lifetime, no president…possibly no person, has been more reviled or hated or questioned. Sure, Clinton caught his fair share of criticism and contempt (fucking guy was IMPEACHED. You know the last time that happened? Well,….I’m getting to that, stick with me here), but when you compare the relatively misinformed mobilization of armed forces against a couple extramarital beejers, things fall into perspective. I mean people HATED Bush. And now what is he doing? Dick Cheney pops up now and again to voice his opinions on how to stop the war he started, even old man Bush is kickin’ it Chi-Town Stylie with the O-Bomb, but Jr. is nowhere to be seen. Sure, there are plans in the works for the obligatory G.W. Bush Pinball Emporium, er, uh, I mean Library, but where the fuck IS this guy?

The point is, wondering about Bush II got me thinking about all Presidents…about where the position started, where’s it’s been and where it’s going. And all the weird shit associated with and implicated with and simply ABOUT the highest office in the land.

Before we lived together, Paul Straw and I sat around one night trying to name all the Presidents in order. We were pretty good. I was convinced (correctly) that Franklin Pierce was No.14, and Paul filled in a big miss with accurately calling Millard Fillmore No. 13. You know who got us, though? The guy preceding Honest Abe. Probably for the first time since he ran for President even though he didn’t want to and then promised in his inaugural speech to not seek re-election, one JAMES BUCHANAN had befuddled American citizens, until we wiki’d that shit and moved along.

Presidents are weird. Nowadays, we are well aware that they hold the nuke codes, can’t even jerk off without some Secret Service fellows hanging around and have probably [definitely] seen some alien bodies from Roswell. But back in the day, Presidents were just sort of,…guys. Andrew Jackson (No. 7 (actually, when you think about his determination to develop Tennessee and his order of Presidency, he should be called “Old No. 7”)) opened up his White House to the public the night of his inauguration, and the carpets had to be replaced because there was so much chewing tobacco spit on them. Abe (who may have been more hated than Bush) regularly walked around D.C. unaccompanied (In fact, it wasn’t until Lincoln’s assassination that the Secret Service was established, and when they were established, they had nothing to do with Presidents, they were to investigate counterfeiting (in fact, it wasn’t until an attempt was made to degrade Lincoln’s body years after his death that the Secret Service got involved in protecting Presidents (in fact, it was only because some of the perpetrators were formerly counterfeiters))). Grant was an open boozebag. Wilson was a raging asshole. Many,…most?…all?….were racists. Nowadays, our Presidents are criticized for their form throwing out the first pitch at an opening day of Major League Baseball ceremony. What the fuck happened?

Who cares. Obama appears to be the man, everyone loved Reagan, but Presidents don’t have the same coolness factor that they used to. So, without much of a point, but a love of American History flowing through my veins, I present to you the MOON COUNTY AMERICAN PRESIDENT FUN FACT LIST:

IMPEACHED (by the House of Representatives, acquitted by Senate and maintained office): Andrew Johnson, 1868; Bill Clinton, 1998.

DIED IN OFFICE (Natural Causes): Zachary Taylor, gastroenteritis, 1850; Wm. Henry Harrison, pneumonia contracted at inaugural speech, 31 days in office, 1841; Warren Harding, food poisoning/stroke/complications, 1923; Franklin Roosevelt, complications from polio/old age/crushed by the weight of America’s hope and promise, 1945.

ASSASSINATED: Abe Lincoln, via John Wilkes Booth, most famous actor of the time, 1865; James Garfield, via Charles J. Guiteau, pretty much just a bitter asshole, 1881; Wm. McKinley, via Leon Czolgosz, Polack Anarchist, 1901; John Kennedy, via Lee Harvey Oswald/Dutch Schultz/Che Guevara/Xenu, 1963.

BROKE THE LAW AND WE COULD PROVE IT: Dick Nixon, 1974 (God, how I wish I was alive at this point in time just so I could actively HATE someone with everybody else.)

NOTABLE VICE PRESIDENTS: Thomas Jefferson ran with Aaron “I killed a motherfucker and no one said shit about it” Burr, and then some guy named George Clinton.

Lincoln ran with Andrew Johnson in 1864, but in 1860 ran with some guy named Hannibal Hamlin. I wouldn’t fuck with that guy, would you?

Bush I ran with Dan Quayle. Remember that goon?

At one time or another for a fairly significant amount of time, these Presidents DIDN’T HAVE A VICE PRESIDENT: James Madison (twice), Andrew Jackson, Franklin Pierce, U.S. Grant, Grover Cleveland, William McKinley, Theodore Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, Calvin Coolidge, Harry Truman, Lyndon Johnson, Dick Nixon and Gerald Ford, including Chester A. Arthur, Andrew Johnson, Millard Fillmore and John Tyler, who NEVER HAD A FUCKING VICE PRESIDENT THEIR ENTIRE TERM(S).

8 YEARS AND BEYOND: FDR is the only guy to get elected more than twice, but it’s worth noting that Teddy Roosevelt was the first guy to run for a third term.

OH, AND SPEAKING OF TEDDY ROOSEVELT: Where on God’s green earth do I start with this guy? Well, considering there probably wouldn’t be a patch of fucking grass in North America if it wasn’t for him, I’ll start there: Everybody’s going “green” nowadays, giving a shit about the environment. Well, ahead of the times as usual, Teddy Roosevelt was going green before there was a neat little catch phrase to describe it. National Parks, anyone? Teddy. Soul-crushing monopolies of industry? Teddy busted that shit. Daily White House press junkets? TR. Oklahoma in the Union? You’re welcome, motherfuckers. I could go on and on but possibly the coolest thing this dude ever did was after his Presidency when he WAS SHOT IN THE CHEST AND DELIVERED A SPEECH IMMEDIATELY THEREAFTER WITH THE BULLET IN HIM AND BLOOD SOAKING HIS SHIRT. You can go weep quietly while reflecting on your own uselessness now.

WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT GOT STUCK IN A BATHTUB ONCE: That’s it. That’s the entire entry.

WHO’S KILLED WHO?: People claim Clinton doled out mob-style hits left and right, but realistically, probably the last guy to kill someone, in my book, is George Bush. Guy was in WWII and ran the C.I.A. for a while. The only question is, did he blow some Japs away with a cannon from a battleship or quietly snuff out a Soviet agent with dental floss?

HOOVER GOT SCREWED: Poor guy takes the fall for the Great Depression, even though he was barely in office when it happened. Yeah, he’s got a Dam named after him, but he’s also got shanty towns in Central Park (Hoovervilles) and pockets turned inside out (Hoover flags) to go along with it. Just sucks, is all I’m saying.

NEPOTISTIC MUCH?: John Adams and John Quincy Adams, father and son; William Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, grandfather and grandson; Bush I and Bush II, father and son; TR and FDR, some sort of cousin, but really, who gives a shit? Turns out Matt Damon and Ben Affleck are distant cousins. No one gives a shit.

FUCKING POINTLESS: 2000 was the only time two candidates ran against each other with four letter last names.

WHO WAS THE 21st PRESIDENT?:

Yeah, you know this one.

TOTAL BULLSHIT FAVORTISM: Virginia has produced 9 Presidents, Ohio 8. These are the states the guys ran from, not necessarily were born in.

LIES MY TEACHER TOLD ME: I consider Illinois my home state, but just for the record (again), Abe Lincoln was born in Kentucky and spent a fair amount of time in Indiana. Oh, and that house in Springfield? That’s not his real house, you idiot.

And finally…

IMPRESS YOUR FRIENDS WITH THIS ONE: William Howard “I got stuck in a fucking bathtub” Taft is the only man to be President and then, following his term, a Justice on the Supreme Court.

Now, go read a book or something.

-Druska

The Last Straw

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:12:00 -0700

First things first in memorial of the passing of Soupy Sales I would all the children reading this to go into their parents wallets or purses and please send anything green, paper or money-like, then email Paul at mooncounty@gmail.com and I will give you the address to send it to.

Secondly, perhaps my biggest crush as a child, Jodie Sweetin of Full House is going to being writing her memoirs.

While it will unfortunately lack any Paul and Jodie action it will detail her plunge into alcoholism and drugs. And not just your run of the mill-taken lightly pot variety drugs, we’re talking full on-breaking bad meth head.

Despite her past indiscretions the girl is Full House On hot! (see what I did there) She also has a kid, which qualifies her for MILF status as well.

Just like Lori Laughlin, who I presume wants it. (note: from me)

Seriously though if that’s how good she’s gonna come out looking, maybe there’s no truth to the notions that drugs will ruin your body.

Thirdly, Wednesday was Moon County’s own Phil McLaughlin’s birthday. What a jerk.

-paul

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Thursday...Because Wednesday is for the birds.

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:49:00 -0700

My Karaoke is Sex

Chett Bosner

Behold! The Corner Bar.

There is no doubt in my mind that this good ole watering hole is the gem of the West Side. No where else will you find a more complacent group of degenerates.

It may not look like much most of the time but on Tuesday nights it transcends into a cutthroat battlefield of lyrics. Karaoke night.

That’s right. I fucking own this place. I am the king of the West Siders and I’ve got the voice to prove it. Not unlike the gladiators of ancient Rome I come here to protect my honor with the weapon of my choosing. Over 500 songs.

And just like the Roman warriors, I reap the benefits of victory…with sex. Dudes…chicks totally dig guys that can kind of sing. Just like how they dig guys that can kind of play the guitar. You a white guy? Own a baseball cap and a guitar? Well learn 3 chords and turn that bitch sideways and BAMM, honeys be all over you.

Tonight…my target is that hot little number there at the end of the bar.

That’s right…the one slurping down a $3 quart of beer. Oh she doesn’t even know that she’s going to get it. That’s it , baby…look around and act like you’re too good for karaoke. But then I’ll draw you in. You’ll turn to your friend and say, “Who is that stud? I’ve never heard Safety Dance sung with such fortitude before.” Baby, prepare for an eargasm as the sound of 100 angels voices stream forth from my larynx.

Now….what should I start with? Carry on my wayward son? No…everyone will be singing along. They need to shut the hell up so I can make this broad fall in love with me.

Mr. Big’s To be with you? Nah. That’s too strong too fast. I want her to fall in love with me, not drowned in her own juices.

Tenecious D? No…however fun the songs are to sing they are ineffective. Chicks don’t go home with the funny guy. Just look at that Nick guy. He sang Cecilia but instead of “you’re breaking my heart” he said “you’re breaking my fart” and then proceeded to make fart noises.

No. let’s not travel down that road.

How about some Prince. That gets girls going. Oh wait..i don’t have the range.

Oh shit. I better hurry, she just got another giant beer. I don’t want her to get too drunk or i’ll just fall into the ambience.

Journey? Not in the mood.

Dashboard? Fuck no.

OH wait. Maybe I could sing a song that’s by a chick so when I sing it it’s all different and cool. I hope they have “Still the one” in here. DAMN.

Fuck….no ideas…..all my sex will be wasted again. Wait. Sex. ….Sex BOMB. Sex Bomb, by Tom Jones. Hell yes. It’s almost too perfect. Sit up baby and pay attention, there’s some serious melody being slung your way. Open those ears and those pretty blue eyes, cuz i’m going to send you to heaven before I take you home….and send you to more heaven.

God I love the corner bar. It’s where a king gets to be a king.

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Pantsless O'Clock: Point/Counter-Point/Counter-Counter-Point/Police Blotter

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 06:42:00 -0700

Point: There’s Literally No Reason to Wear Pants in Our Own Home

by Robbie McKlasky

Guys, this is fucking ridiculous. This our house. The house that we’re paying rent on, which make it ours…so long as we remain fiscally solvent.

No, stop, I’m getting bogged down in the details. This our house, me and Pat lived together for two years in the dorms, we have no secrets, and Sarah has made it clear, abundantly so, that she has no desire to fuck me or Pat, so what the fuck?

We’re not trying to impress each other, and if no one’s over, why in the fuck do we have to wear pants at all times?

Dishwashing? Better sans pants.

Vacuuming? Better Sans pants.

CSI: Miami? Better. Sans. Pants.

I’m not saying we make it weird or dangerous, like deep frying food sans pants, or working out on the weight set downstairs, or sitting on the roof and drinking beers sans pants.

Okay, I might be saying that last one, but the point still stands. Done responsibly, and in moderation, pantless o’clock is not only fun, but giving freedom of movement with unrestricted groin access, and increasing the oxygen flow to our various rods and holes can only be good for us.

My boys need to breath, Pat’s boys need to breath, and Sarah, it’s time to let the box out of the box.

Counter-Point: This is Ridiculous…Heeeeey, he does have a point…
Pat Mulligan

Esteemed members of the Roommate Congress,

I won’t lie to you; I came here to argue against Robbie and his Sans Pants Initiative.

It was a change, and that change frightened me. But now, as he stands before us, headstrong and cocksure in his Thundercats boxers I see a boy, who became a man, a loose cannon turned into a leader.

You know what other historical figure went from rogue to respected general and leader of men? That’s right, Han fucking Solo.

Yeah.

In fact, my only problem with Pantsless O’clock, is I don’t think it goes far enough. The backyard is included in our rentalship of the house, is it not? What about the front yard?

What about Father Bear’s Pizza, a pizzeria, might I add, that is only in business because we frequented it five or six times a week during its lean times, allowing it to prosper now so it can engulf nearby businesses and expand its empire?

Were we not the Vanguard of that movement? Like the Bolshevik’s storming the Winter Palace, we were there; the movement is a part of us. I don’t think it’s a stretch to consider us owners, in the spiritual sense. So I think we can be pantsless at our own pizzeria.

And what about the Digital Saloon? Our favorite bar, where everyone from the bartenders to the busboys to the bouncers all know us by name; surely they would understand the need for us to be declothed betwixt our loins.

To hell with it! Let’s take our movement to the streets! Just like the actual Bolsheviks! With less murder of Royal families! Or maybe more! Let’s play it by ear!

Counter-Counter-Point: Morons.
by Sarah Roanoke

Shove your pasty legs into a pair of pants right now. You inept shmucks couldn’t inspire shit to do fuck. No one wants to see your hairy thighs, or underwear with holes in it.

Cartoon underpants don’t make you endearing or child like. They make you retarded. Not ‘look retarded.’ Straight up, power retarded. If you want to lounge around your room in your underwear, fine, whatever, but no way in hell am I going to be cool with you guys letting it all hang out when I’m trying to watch Weeds.

It’s not happening.

It’s pretty obvious that your penis isn’t accidently falling out of your boxers, and there’s no such thing as a touchdown boner, so stop ruining Sunday Night Football.

Hey! Where, are you going? We’re not done discussing this!

If you’re going to go outside, for the love of God, put on pants!

Police Blotter: Local Morons Arrested for Public Indecency, Lewd Conduct, Attempts to Incite a Riot, and Failure to Incite a Riot
By Campus Police

University juniors, Robert McKlasky and Patrick Mulligan, were arrested Thursday for a litany of charges stemming from being pantsless and the madness that follows such acts.

The two were first reported showing up at Father Bear’s Pizza near 2nd and Pippen where they tried to order pizza. After being refused service the two began to take pizza from other tables. Witnesses say the pizza was too hot and when they spit it out of their mouths, it fell onto their bare legs. Upon contact, the two let out a sound that manager, Sam Martinez, described as “high-pitched” and “woman-like.”

The two disappeared and reappeared at the cafe in the University’s Union. They had a flag which depicted a vagina and anus, with arrows pointing from both orifices to the words “peens go here.” The flag appeared to be written in blood.

After entering the cafe and ranting about “the tyranny of pants,” the two tried to incite some kind of sexual riot by McKlasky screaming, “this is fucking boring! Let’s turn this snoozeville into a gang fuck!”

Mulligan punctuated this odd order with another hearty, “GANG FUCK.”

It’s unclear if the two meant everyone was to gang fuck them, find someone else in the cafe to gang fuck, or if they simply didn’t know the word “orgy.”

Sensing danger, or perhaps just easy targets, all 64 students in the cafe rose as one, and beat the pair senseless, before returning to their drinks.

The police were notifed four hours later by janitors.

The pair havebeen charged with public indency due to not being properly attired, and lewd conduct when forensic teams linked the duo back to semen left in trees, mail boxes, and birdhouses trailing from their homes to the Union.

They were also brought up on charges for attempting to incite a riot, and for failing to incite a riot, an allegation that comes from the city’s little known and rarely used “do the things you say” law.

The hearing is set for Monday.

*-*-*

See you guys next week.

Matt

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THE BRO GUIDE TO LIKING PARAMORE

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 06:00:00 -0700

by Joey Reinisch

For those that do not know, Paramore is (now) a 5 Piece rock band from Tennessee featuring the vocal stylings of “Gwen Stefani” in training, Hayley Williams. The band’s popularity has grown rapidly in recent years, culminating in Paramore writing the original song, “Decode” for the film Twilight last year.

If you have listened to Paramore, you know they are really catchy pop rock group that is the chosen vessel in which Hayley’s love notes are able to travel straight to my ears from her heart…but I digress.

While Paramore is more assuredly aimed at the tween demographic, their infectious pop knows no prejudice. For any man unfortunate enough to have suddenly caught a bad case of the Paramore, I present the following: A code of laws I wrote to help those battling with their secret love/addiction to the band.

PARAMORE LAW #1 - If you heard of Paramore for the first time due to their involvement in the “Twilight” soundtrack, you are not allowed to like Paramore. No amount of laws, rules or justification will be able to combat the stigma surrounding your new favorite band’s discovery.

PARAMORE LAW #2 - You are never allowed to sing along to Paramore while another human being is present. You are only allowed to sing along in your car, with the music turned up too loud to hear you trying to mimic her gorgeous voice with your high pitched falsetto. No matter how good you think it sounds.

PARAMORE LAW #3 - You are never allowed to see Paramore in concert. While it would be sweet to stand 2 feet above your fellow 12 year old concert go-ers, your ears will never recover from the pre-pubescent screams of the crowd that will echo in your brain hours after the show ends.

PARAMORE LAW #4 - Never hide the fact that you like Paramore by saying it’s about the lyrics. This will give you away immediately. It is a proven fact that Paramore’s lyrics are terrible. Several songs actually repeat both verse and chorus multiple times during the song. But god damn it’s catchy.

PARAMORE LAW #5 - If you are over the age of 25 you are not allowed to comment on the attractiveness of the lead singer.. Hayley is only 20 as of this writing..plus she’s not allowed to have any other boyfriends.

PARAMORE LAW #6 - You are only allowed to buy their albums for your girlfriend/wife or sister. You then “accidentally” buy two copies of the album and then subsequently “accidentally” lose the receipt so you can’t take them back. If your girlfriend/wife or sister does not like Paramore, you then have a second copy for when your first wears out.

PARAMORE LAW #7 - You can only wear your Paramore shirts underneath shirts for your favorite metal bands (i.e. Metallica, Every Time I Die, or The B-52s). This way it balances out.

PARAMORE LAW #8 - Never dye your hair “Hayley” red. Trust me you can’t pull it off.

PARAMORE LAW #9 - DO NOT, under any circumstances, write a letter to Hayley and send it to every address in Nashville hoping it’ll get to her….it’s too expensive.

PARAMORE LAW #10 - Never write articles talking about ways to get away with your secret love of Paramore.

-Joey
cartoosday@gmail.com
Twitter @jreinisch @mooncounty @destructobox @LOLjoeyANDkyle

Munday Punday

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 10:10:59 -0700

I regret not posting yesterday. I could pull the “I’ve been sick for three days” card, but I already did that to get my girlfriend to cook and clean for me and feel that card only works so many times. Instead, I post Monday and pull the “better late than never” card, which has indefinite pull-ability.

Here’s a favorite from my personal blog, which very few of you read so I feel okay re-posting.

I present: Negative Stereotype:

ZEP SESH

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 11:30:04 -0700

Par La Bete:

Do you have a functioning human brain? A valid question this day in age. But there is one easy way to tell if someone you are talking to has a working mind, or at least the functioning capacity to evacuate their bowels in the proper place. Ask someone the relatively simple question of what is the hardest rocking band in the history of the world. If their response is not “Led Zeppelin,” then they are braindead and should be tossed off an overpass or into a cauldron of some sort.

There is no argument here. Listen to a live Led Zeppelin song. Say, “Rock and Roll” into “Celebration Day” off of The Song Remains the Same motion picture soundtrack. Shit is epic. “The Rain Song” live? “No Quarter” LIVE? These are slow, pleasant/creepy tracks that still emit an actual visible shockwave of power from your speakers when they are played. Even the 14 second intro on the newer triple disc How the West Was Won called “L.A. Drone” is fucking cool as hell. It’s a quarter minute of feedback. It doesn’t matter. It’s Led Zeppelin. It is rock.

But that’s live. Let’s discuss the studio recordings. Led Zeppelin rocks so hard that they made a song about Viking conquest, intending for it to be taken seriously, and it was. A song about sacking and pillaging by Vikings was appreciated, sung, played and consumed unironically in 1973, because it rocked harder than Thor’s axe-handle. And that’s just one song. Let’s look briefly at the albums themselves. Zeppelin I is an unflawed piece of music. Zeppelin II is almost as perfect. The Untitled fourth disc has more epic in it than all of World War II. Well, the Japanese theater, at least. This band rocked so hard that when they made their fifth album, Houses of the Holy, there was so much rock on it that the song called “Houses of the Holy” had to be left off the album and put on the subsequent sixth album, which itself rocked so God damned hard that its rock spilled over into a double LP. Rock.

Look, I could go on and on, but the facts are there. Black Sabbath is the only band that comes close to matching Zeppelin’s power. Hendrix was the best guitarist ever, but if you throw his crew up against Pagey, Jonesy, Bonzo and Plant, they won’t get very far. Every stereotype of “rock stars” today was made so by Zeppelin. Every caveman behind the kit is a direct descendant of the John Bonham school of domination. Every brooding arrangement made by some guy who doesn’t want the limelight even though he might be the most musically proficient in the group is channeling John Paul Jones. Every shredding guitar solo with a cigarette dancing precariously on your heroin soaked bottom lip is an imitation of Jimmy Page at Knebworth. And every self-absorbed pretty boy with pipes who penetrates girls with a mudshark owes their bizarre sexual tastes to Robert Plant. Oh, and their music is more beautiful and meaningful then when the Germans first sang Silent Night in that town because the church bells were broken or whatever.

SO, since we’re in agreement, another question is raised. How, in a reasonable and fair way, do we pay homage to this epic quartet? Well, instead of getting lit on shitty hippie weed and acid and forgetting an entire concert of theirs (which one of my teachers once claimed was the case), there is a better way. Of course Zep can be listened to cruising in a car, or working out, or while you’re sacking and pillaging your neighbor’s yard, but the true, best way to appreciate and honor Led Zeppelin is with a little ceremony called the ZEP SESH.

First, the GENERAL GIST: A Zep Sesh is a casual, comfortable active listening session. Certainly some conversation over the music is allowable, but in general (although not a formal rule), the convo typically is along the topic of how awesome the song or band is. The best way to achieve a Zep Sesh music selection, is, regrettably, on a computer or iTunes like program, where songs from various albums or epochs can be dragged and aligned in a specific order. Some songs are picked out, usually some sort of chemical treat is consumed during the Sesh, and the good times roll. Or should I say, The Good Times, Bad Times roll? Hahahahahahahaha I’m so witty.

TERMS: You should first be aware of who is participating in the Zep Sesh with you. The only pre-requisite for participation is simply the vaguest of knowledge about Led Zeppelin. Everyone participating in the Sesh will have to make anywhere from 2 or 3 to 7 or 8 selections, so just don’t invite over someone who spends all their time jamming to Chumbawumba or Aqua or NickelBack. Oh, no deaf people, either.

Decide amongst yourselves what type of selection process or order you’ll go in. It’s a good rule of thumb to go in a determined order but have each person make several selections each turn. Maybe a 2-2-2 scenario. Or switch it up. Maybe 2 songs the first two turns then a lightning round robin where everyone impulsively picks one song at a time for several more turns. Often times, pick an original six or eight tracks, and then, as they certainly will, once a song has inspired you to listen to another song, throw that one on, bulking up the list as you go. This will inevitably happen depending on how much and what kind of chemical treat you choose to consume, if any.

And even though by the end, people are throwing “one last song on,” decide early and officially how far exactly you want this thing to go. 16 tracks? 20 tracks? Call it at midnight? This is important.

Also, technically, the host of the shindig typically gets the right to throw the last song on. Stick with tradition.

WHAT MOOD ARE YOU IN? Of course you want to rock, but Zep rocks in so many ways you never know which way they’ll take you. You want to start off guns blazing? Throw on “The Song Remains the Same” or “Black Dog.” Want to ease into the rock? Can’t go wrong with “Dazed and Confused,” or “Over the Hills and Far Away.” Or maybe you’re in a cinematic mood and want to imagine walking somewhere in slow motion? “Kashmir” or “When the Levee Breaks” have two of the greatest drum tracks of all time. Heartbreak? “Going to California,” “Tangerine,” “The Rain Song,” “That’s the Way;” I can keep going here.

So in your first couple decisions, play what you want, but as I said, it’s nice to let the Sesh develop as the songs go. Maybe someone throws on “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp,” and that tickles your pickle for “Hot Dog.” Just like the band, allow some breathing room for improvisation and weird, new directions of consciousness. And banging with dead fish.

This may seem like a big long diatribe essentially to sum up the thought, “Zeppelin rocks. Go get high and jam on some of their tunes.” But I don’t give a shit. For those of us who truly appreciate the band and pioneered the soon to be worldwide phenomenon of the Zep Sesh, we take our Zep very seriously. I am simply passing on my knowledge and wisdom to further the cause of Zep. Try out a Zep Sesh of your own and let us know how it goes. Oh, and one more thing:

.nataS teews ym ot s’ereH