Kneel at the Church of Fudge: 1 Priest 1 Nun Review

I am by no means a pious man. My church goings have stemmed merely from being skull dragged to primary school functions, or consequential by-products of passing Hare Krishna’s in the street. Does that count? Regardless, my relationship with the man upstairs has not been well kempt. But how often is he dropping by my house for coffee and a chat without wanting something in return? It’s always me, me, me with God; pray to me, bow down before me, on your knees for me. The foundations of any good relationship are based upon equality, and I’m sure there would no suggestion of so much as a reach around with him in the bedroom. It’s all assless chaps, butter and yak appendages, none of the eye to eye and pillow talk I so desire… I guess that’s why I haven’t been able to consign myself to a Church yet; I need one which truly loves me back.

That is, until last night.

I gaze into her big blue eyes, radiant in the moonlit night, encapsulated by skin of porcelain. I know I have finally found my house of worship, to which she is the keeper of the key. I want to reach out and stroke her hair, let her know everything will be ok. “Sister”, I whisper, just so that she may taste my breath. Her reassuring smile tells me I need not speak, she knows what must be done. She descends sanctimoniously to her knees before the priest, and shuffles close.

“In the waste of our fathers we are born”, she reorients herself, shambling behind him, “and in the waste of our fathers we are reborn.” Delving deep into a dark abyss, she entrenches herself for her God, seeing eye to eye as I always imagined. She is reaffirming my desires for that reciprocated love that religion, nay, that LIFE should embody.

“Let the evil pour from you” she murmurs tantric.

With that, the priest’s evil runs from his body, alleviating his iniquity unto my dear nun, her pale skin being stained a wicked brown. An abhorrent task which she dutifully accepts, for in the Church Of Fudge, relationships are based on equality…

So although the man upstairs may not be too keen on sacrificing some of himself for the sake of parity, not all deities are so selfish. Any church where my God is willing to take a steaming load of shit in their mouth for humble apostles is the sort of church I want to be a part of.

But before the pillow talk, could you brush your teeth? 

Fuck Ravers Lets Dance!

Dazzling and dancing across my subconscious, notes link and interweave in a cacophony of bliss. Melodies harmonize with rhythms, folding into one another; back and forth, back and forth… As the crescendo comes to a culmination, my fingers wrap the steering wheel tighter and tighter in an amalgamation of the metaphysical; my right foot growing heavier as it presses through into the canal of Hades. With each blasting riff I cry for more, more, more! Not all too soon, the frenzy subsides and I am brought back down, a setting sun, from my pious voyage of mind and body, only to be reunited as the next song clicks through.

That is with my music.

Whenever I drive with friends and they take the helm as DJ, the whole experience cannot be described so eloquently. It is more like one of Dr Mengele’s sick experiments, testing just how far the human body can go, my ears straining for solitude from the relentless bass and gratuitous eighties movie one liners. “Let me out,” I scream, “I can’t take any more!” However, my friends remain stead fast with their torture, only escalating my frustrations by singing along with the “lyrics”. Turning the bass up, I begin to feel sick. I pray for forgiveness from all the deities I had blasphemed, or at least that they crash this car and kill me before I suffer any more. Oh shit; it’s an essential mix. Well Bloody Beetroots, if I go down, at least you’re coming with me.

How is trance music so popular? In the mid nineties, trance fans were much easier to spot. I liked it that way, anyone over twenty sucking on a pacifier with a glow stick in hand would make for an easy target down the barrel. Today, trance fans blend in with normal society, dressing like you or I in an effort to spread the Pro Tools plague. Unfortunately, it seems to be working. It’s like agent Smith in the Matrix, reproducing trance fans perpetuating the lifespan of this disgusting trend. Luckily for us, Neo had a chain gun.

Now, in no sense am I condoning the massacre of these sort of p….. Hang on….. Yes I am! I think I may need to give Keanau a call and see what sort of artillery he has lying about the prop room. I’m not too sure how down for the cause he would be though, his trench coat sunglass ensemble screams “Pro Tools Junkie” to me. I’ll give Samuel L a call, he’ll help me out. Regardless, when I am accepting my Nobel Peace Prize for the hailed Stereo Sonic Massacre, I will let the people know, “Don’t turn to me, turn to the Matrix.”

“Toddlers & Tiaras” Review: From Conception to Perfection

There is plague upon our screens people. Frivolously flaunted by America, undoubtedly unbeknownst of the Catholic Church, and now broadcast across our airwaves in a bevy of social depravity.

“Toddlers & Tiaras”.

All in the title, this show documents the trials and tribulations of baby Miss America contestants and their oh-so supportive parents, from conception to perfection. When I was two, I wish my parents were this supportive of their… I mean MY desires to be jabbed with collagen and plastered in Vaseline for sweet, sweet gold. I’d be a hell of a lot wealthier that’s for sure. I wouldn’t win, I probably wouldn’t even crawl my ass on stage, but I hear those child molestation charges can pay out big time! Is it wrong for parents to secure a child’s financial future at the expense of one poor pensioner’s indiscretions? Ewwww…

But regardless, this show would be much more palatable if they got rid of that damn “thwap thwap thwap” sound bite coming from the judges table.

“Toddlers & Tiaras” gets one Pope John Paul stamp of approval out of ten. I would have used a Michael Jackson stamp of approval, but that would just be in bad taste…

BITCH BE COOL!

Do you hate it when your wallet is full of change? I don’t, it makes me feel as though in case of an emergency, I’m always well prepared. It’s like my equivalent pocket knife. Or at a party, I’ve always got coins to pretend I have a manacle with, or to play quarters with, or to pretend I can’t spare for junkies. I have given only one junkie money, only one. When I was in Kelowna in Canada some cracked out fiend had burn marks all over his hands from cooking up meth, so I gave him money because it was obvious what he was doing. If my money can support the decline of Canadian society, I’ll do my bit eh? How aboot he try sell me some maple syrup? Anyway, he got my change, but he’s the only one. So yesterday I went to get coffee, and naturally pay with eftpos as to keep my change bundle.

“One double shot cappuccino thanks” I say jovially.

“Would you like it sitting” the waitress asks.

“No, standing thanks” I reply with the devils smile. I see the gears in her head turning over… I hand her my card to pay, and BAM!

“THERE IS A TEN DOLLAR MINIMUM EFTPOS CHARGE!!! THAT COMES TO A TOTAL OF $3.90!!!” You’d have thought I’d tried to hand her an aborted foetus! It was like that scene in Pulp Fiction with Yolanda and Samuel L. Jackson. “BITCH BE COOL! TELL THE BITCH TO BE COOL!” However, there were no guns, I’m not black, and I sure can’t yell like Samuel L.

So reluctantly I empty the contents of my wallet, count out the overpriced charge, and hand her the money. I should have thrown it at her in disgust! Here’s your money you’re so desperate for! Now dance! HA HA HA!!!

Anyway after this whole debacle a friend informed me of the waitress’s cyber whereabouts, and I added her on Facebook, and the ensuing conversation was too hilarious not to share.

Waitress: Hi, do i know you?

Me: I know your eftpos charges a $10 minimum

Waitress: ahhahaha oh yeah now i know who you are.. lol

Me: you should definitely make your eftpos unlimited minimum charge

Waitress: well you had the money anyway lol

Me: yeah luckily, if i’d been gang raped and my cash taken before though, and i needed my caffeine fix, i’d be not so lucky

Waitress: lol this may be true.. the bank although it only about 20 metres up the road. lol

Me: yeah, but the rapist robbers have started robbing the bank! so i can’t get money out, what then???

Waitress: RUN!! lol

Me: but my ass is too sore from being raped! and i am so fatigued without my caffeine, would you let me get a free coffee if i was in this conundrum?

Waitress: depends.. might think about it

Me: where is your last name from?

Waitress: Germany

Me: See, so is mine, I’m German, so you have to help me!

Waitress: you dont have blonde hair and blue eyes

Me: my last name is Trubenbacher with an umlaut, what more proof of germanic descent do you need?

Waitress: true blood german? or half?

Me: 100% german, i’m a german citizen

Waitress: well your more german than me then,. im only exactly half.. half dutch half german

Me: Argh a muggle! see, let your german half take over, and give me some free coffee when i get raped, don’t let the dutch rule you!

Waitress: lol i hold more dutch traditions though

Me: like not giving in to the Deutsch and giving us free coffee?

Waitress: somehting like that

Me: what would i have to do for free coffee/lowering your eftpos minimum charge

Waitress: lol can you make coffee?

Me: like a pro, but i want it made by you!

Waitress: nar im serious.. we need weekend staff that can make coffee coz i cant work 7 days a week

Me: i move to NY in 3 weeks though

Waitress: wow the high life

Me: NY’s at sea level though

Waitress: well merimbula is only 20 feet above isnt it? well not even that.. how was the coffee today??

Me: really good, see thats why i want to be able to pay for it on eftpos, in case one day i have no cash!

Waitress: lol..

Me: maybe i can rack up a tab there and when my tab reaches $10 i pay it off?

Waitress: i will ask the boss lol

Me: i like the cut of your jib

Waitress: huh?

Me: i like your style, but more nautically themed

Waitress: in the cafe?

Me: no, by asking the boss. like, thats a really good idea, like a boss in fact!

Waitress: lol

Interview with Driftwood Drones

When I first heard Driftwood Drones, I eargasmed all over the place, shooting shoegazer ectoplasm everywhere, they really are just that good. The dream pop quintet from Sydney are just about to release their long awaited EP, so I had a chat to lead singer and guitarist Sam Wilkinson.

Me: Sam, thanks for taking time out of your busy work schedule to have a chat.

Sam: You’re welcome Kane; my job is at the bottom of my priorities.

Me: What do you even do when you’re not gazing at your shoes?

Sam: I spend a lot of time with wine and people who inspire and excite me. Then at home late at night I study records and make loops of vocals and guitar noise. That’s the whole myth of the so called shoegaze genre. Most bands lumped into that tag usually spend alot of time looking down because they use a tonne of effects pedals to create lush and obscure guitar noise. People think they’re all bummed out when really they’re tap dancing between foot controlled sound effects to create the wall.

 Me: I saw a tap dancing bear on YouTube once; do you think he could join the Driftwood Drones?

Sam: I suppose, we could put him in front of lots of pedals and hope he can hit the right ones appropriately. What would we name him? 

Me: If I had a bear I’d name him Pilgor, but that’s just me. You’re pretty hairy though so having two bears in the band could be cause for PETA to get onto you… How’s recording the EP been going?

Sam: Well Rhys our drummer is also well rugged so maybe we could form another band the 3 of us, Pilgor and the Persians. Recording has been an exciting and slow experience. But the time spent on it has helped the songs come out of their shells so it’s been positive mostly, aside from a brief halt due to funding issues. The aim is to launch on the 25th of June.

Me: Good to hear. Is the next step producing a DIG! style documentary with “The Laurels”? You could do little Anton role plays!

Sam: Haha. That’s a crazy idea; I don’t really know those guys. But they seem to be on the forefront of any shoegaze happening in Sydney.

Me: That’s only because one little hipster told another little hipster at Oxford Art Factory that they were good and so on… Not that I’m trash talking or anything. Do you write your songs on acid?

Sam: Not really no, I don’t use psychedelics too often anymore. I had written from LSD experiences before but actually writing is pretty hard for me with a head full of kaleidoscopic junk.

Me: Please don’t go starting a straight edge shoegaze movement on me though, ‘cause I really like you guys.

Sam: Straight edge shoegazers haha. I think we’ll be fine.

Me: How’s your side project “The Fractal Reflection” going?

Sam: Quite well, I plan to release a DIY album later in the year. Hopefully I can find the right girl to do some vocals for me. In the last few weeks I’ve had more material for this project than Driftwood.

Me: If Lady Gaga came to you and offered up her vocals for The Fractal Reflection would you capitalize?

Sam: I’m not sure she’d be able to catch the vibe. But she could help with the rent I’m sure.

Me: You would be paparazzi swamped! When I first heard The Drones I’m pretty sure I fell deeply in love with you. Does that happen often?

Sam: I’d love to say yes, but it’s not often no. I need to meet some of your mates I guess.

Me: As soon as you have one teen girl fall in love with you the rest will follow. Tell me a weird story to do with the band. You know, like something that will go on your DIG! movie.

Sam: What if I object to a dig film?

Me: Then your story will go on untold and float about the ether. Which sort of suits a dream pop band I guess…

Sam: Well… Early on with this band we played a lot of shows locally with a band… Who shall remain unnamed. Anyway they asked us to support them at some faraway place we’d never heard of for 300 bucks so we thought that might cover petrol costs. Anyway we got there and they had cancelled without telling us, it was footy night and we were playing during the match. The night ended in our tambourine player punching some 40 year old footy fan in the face. Who then proceeded to apologise and buy us all a beer.

Me: Haha that’s amazing!

Sam: Yeah it was interesting; we got paid more for playing alone too

Me: I think we just discovered the most positive thing about football! Ok, any shout outs or thank you’s you want to send out so I can let you get back to work?

Sam: I am back at work, I just made 17 lattes; fuck. Horrible. Just thanks to The Prayer Circle, Justin Cetinich relating to recording the EP and the punters keeping this dying music business somehow afloat. Thanks Kane.

Me: Grind that coffee baby, grind that coffee.

Sam: Eeeep. I hope not to do this for much longer. I gotta call Centrelink.

check them out at http://www.myspace.com/driftwooddrones

Product Review: Bremenn Labs Boob Job In A Box

I have a friend who is head over heels in love. Seeing her rocking back and forth pining for her love makes me sick, looking like some withdrawing junkie on the floor of a methadone lab. It’s like those lyrics “watching a train wreck in slow motion”, but instead of guitar backing, it’s supported by a hollow wail. It hurts for me to see my friends in any sort of state in which they cannot properly support me. After all, I am a fragile flower.

I have been putting in many hours lately consoling her, patting her on the back and trying to make her feel loved by someone. But really, no one loves a whinger. So like a good parent, I now let T.V. and food console her, nursing her wounds which are growing exponentially with her ass groove in the couch. I wonder if her boobs will grow as she gets fatter? I know that those fat girl chicken fillets don’t count as big boobs, as they are really secret hoarding spots for ice cream and other deliciousness, but what if? What if my friend had bigger boobs, would it give her the confidence to go and hunt for that special someone? More importantly, could I finally have my old sounding board back instead of having to listen to constant problems which don’t involve me, and as such aren’t interesting in the slightest?

So here is my plan. I am going to buy some of this “Boob Job In A Box” formula and start massaging it into my friend at night. I don’t really care if it works. If it doesn’t work, I will still be getting some action. And if she catches me, I will be all, “Look how much I care, trying to give you the confidence to go out and snare your true love that I consoled you endlessly over.” She will put the knife away, and realise this is the start of something beautiful… 

tattoos

I was speaking with a girl the other day about the idea of getting a tattoo. Naturally, her answer was the same as any other teeny bopper girl, the sort of answer that takes minimal thought and provocation. “Ooh, as long as it’s something meaningful, like a tribal thing or something.” First of all, tribal tattoos mean about as much to my German heritage as getting a cheese sandwich tattooed on my forehead. Why does a tattoo have to mean something anyway? I wish I was back in the day when your tattoo only meant you were certain of getting hepatitis from the dirty needle.

“What’ll it be Jack?” the tattoo artist would ask me.

“A cheese sandwich, right on my forehead.”

“A skull it is!” he would reply ripping into my flesh, carving away like a drunken sailor. After all, he would be just that. After he’s scribbled out what looks like the half rotted face of Barbera Streisand, he will spit shine her clean and send me on my way. And I would look down at my arm everyday and remember, I am not of tribal descent, and my tattoo doesn’t mean a thing. I mean, my name isn’t even Jack!

Gorilla Dick

The other day I discovered the most amazing fact. A gorilla has a penis that is only one inch long! I know right, what a shock! This discovery prompted me to jump on to Wikipedia post haste and find out everything I could about the sexual anatomy of a gorilla. I would have always guessed that a gorilla’s penis would be gargantuan, dwarfing your run of the mill porn movie Johnny Studd. At least they have the chest beating going for them, without that what do you have? Maybe Asian men should start beating their chests around Ho Chi Minh square? Anyway, I began learning of the gorilla’s perplexing sexual habits.

Did you know that whorace female gorillas solicit sex from male gorillas, while having sex with another! They give them those “come fuck me” eyes while already being come fucked! Gorillas have clearly not been made aware of oral/anal sex. Otherwise, we would be seeing a hell of a lot more crowds at local zoos. I for one know I would pay at least double, maybe even triple normal zoo prices to catch a peep show of a gorilla three way. Is that weird, that I dream of a world where any blue collar Joe such as myself can enjoy the primal primate pleasures of a simple gorilla gang bang? Surely not I hear you echo! There have been many predecessors on my train of thought, so many so that you can blame your scrotal scratching for! That’s right, common pubic lice, crabs, were spread initially through sex with gorillas; which describes one hundred percent how David Schwimmer and the cast of “The Jersey Shore” came about. If I was David Schwimmer I would march on down to HBO and demand my own Osbournes style TV series, where he lives in a gorilla cage, throwing faeces at his ape family when he doesn’t get his ample banana feast.

Maybe that’s why gorillas eat bananas, compensating for their one inch penis? I sure know where the dildo came from, a bunch of disgruntled, displeasured female apes with a bunch of bananas.