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The Ralph Wiggum Of Hollywood

February 27th, 2017

I watched the now-infamous clip from the Oscars last night. The La La Land crew come back out and say that Moonlight actually won the award for Best Picture. One of the producers rips the envelope out of presenter Warren Beatty’s hand and shows the inside of it to the camera, showing Moonlight to be the proper winner. And when I say “rips” I mean this guy is trying with all his might to not have a screaming breakdown in front of Warren Beatty, legendary actor and guy who couldn’t read the inside of an envelope correctly apparently.

 

Oh, this isn’t painful and awkward. Noooo…

How hard is it to read the card? Apparently, Warren Beatty can’t do it. I would have called him a bunch of names if I were standing out there giving back an award that he incorrectly gave me, live on national television.

 

I put myself in that guy’s shoes. The producer who yanked that envelope from Warren Beatty’s fossil claw hand. What would I do if that had happened to me? If, say, I had been nominated for a Grammy. Album of the Year. And all the way up to the awards, a bunch of music buffs go, “Mike is really overrated. You watch, he’s totally going to win. It’s so not fair. So many better albums last year.” And then somebody, I dunno. . . David Crosby or whoever, gives out the award and says my name for some reason.

 

I would be on cloud nine. Even though I really have never been one for the Grammys, let’s be honest. . . it’s sour grapes. I’ve seen what gets nominated and what wins and it’s not for me and never was. But it would be boost my ego to have some sort of vindication! A real “how’s it taste” moment. Giving a heartfelt speech. I wouldn’t even have written a speech out because I didn’t actually think I was going to win. Everybody wanted Beyonce to win and expected her to win. Can’t believe Kanye didn’t run up to grab the award before I got there. I’m slow, it takes a while to get from my chair to the stage.

 

Then I get offstage and the producers of the Grammy telecast are telling me that there was a major snafu. “You weren’t supposed to win,” they say while showing me that David Crosby or whoever grabbed the wrong envelope and read the wrong card. Why is my name even in a card anyway? I didn’t win for anything other category even though I was nominated for fourteen (!) different categories.

 

I guess my album did win an award for Best Packaging or something but I was sniffing butane in the cast before the show and they didn’t give it out during the telecast. So I guess Crosby was given that envelope instead.

 

Then I gotta walk back onstage and hand the damn Grammy back to Beyonce. I have to walk to the podium like a complete and utter moron and give the award to Beyonce, the proper winner. Meanwhile, there’s fucking Crosby standing behind me sheepishly like “I dunno, man. Things happen. Almost cut my hair.” Fuck you, Crosby.

You know this motherfucker could ruin my life even by accident.

 

Then I become a meme, which is the cruelest type of fame imaginable. My soul leaves my body. People on social media, “well, yeah. . . Beyonce deserved that award anyway. Mike’s not as good as she is.” People are reenacting the Simpsons scene where Bart freeze-frames the screen to show Lisa where exactly Ralph Wiggum’s heart breaks. That’s me. I’m the Ralph Wiggum of the Grammys.

 

“I mean. . . whoever heard of Mike Farmer, anyway?”

Disruptions

February 20th, 2017

Before I was old enough to understand it, the Iran-Contra affair was exploding in the news. Oliver North was a major figure at the time. I saw classmates walking around with “OLLIE for President” shirts on at school and though I knew he was in the news, I had no idea what he had done, whether it was good or bad and whether he was good or bad.

 

I was old enough to understand the implications of the Clinton investigations. Bill Clinton, that is. Kenneth Starr, a special prosecutor, moved on the then-President over covering up an affair with an intern. It seemed like it would never end. Like the Republicans had decided they would not let a few blowjobs slide in the least bit. Even though quite a few of them cheated on their wives or did worse. . . (see Dennis Hastert, former Republican Speaker of the House). It was fascinating until it was irritating and headache-inducing. When would they finally just drop it already?

 

And then Bush vs. Gore and that whole debacle. It all happened in front of us and the Democrats just let the pigs fuck them out of a victory. With that a whole lot of things that get fucked that can’t get unfucked and an entire generation loses hope. . . until 2008 when a skinny black guy from Illinois comes in on a platform of “Change” and we needed it.

 

I rooted for Obama to succeed, but eventually things went back to normal. Which is when the pigs started plotting, because evil doesn’t rest. Turns out Obama wasn’t the beginning of a new chapter. He was a prelude. One man can’t bring all the change himself, even if he’s the President. If we want change, we’re going to have to work for it ourselves. And it is work, not so much a fight. A fight is short. Work takes a long time.

 

The election of Donald Trump to the highest office in the land is the biggest case of player-hating in modern history. But you know that. That’s sort of what his campaign was all about. It takes a lot of love not to go crazy right now. Love and patience. Self-love. Love of your fellow man.

 

Or alcohol and drugs. That might also help.

Swastikas On Parade

February 19th, 2017

(aka the best Christmas present ever)

 

(aka Did I just give Nazi paraphernalia as a gift)

 

I gave Mary a copy of The Residents’ The Third Reich ‘n Roll as a Christmas gift. The album cover is a drawing of Dick Clark from American Bandstand dressed in Nazi uniform. The album artwork is covered with swastikas. The music is relatively inaccessible, especially if you have no experience with the Residents whatsoever. Which Mary does not.

 

Explaining who the Residents are and what The Third Reich ‘n Roll will take far too long than I feel like writing. It’s an entire album of 1960’s bubblegum pop songs played very badly on purpose, mashed up and beaten to a pulp with a tire iron. Oh, and here’s the album cover.

 

 

Did we listen to this abomination last night in mixed company? You bet we did.

Was it disconcerting to nearly everyone in attendance? You bet it was.

 

At one point, a very nice girl named BB wandered in during the playing of this album and said “it sounds like demons” before making for the nearest door. There were a lot of nice people at this little get-together. This was not the album to inflict on them.

 

Legend has it even ol’ Dick Clark had a copy of the album in his office as a joke, seeing as he’d been immortalized on the cover in Nazi regalia while holding a carrot. Another fact I learned, Germany has strict laws regarding Nazi imagery, which means that this album couldn’t be sold in that country what with all the swastikas on the artwork. Same thing with Kiss when they go on tour in Europe they can’t use their typical logo in Germany because it looks too much like the SS logo the Nazis used during the second World War. So they have a custom German Kiss logo that scraps the thunderbolt “S”.
Did the Residents make a video for The Third Reich ‘n Roll. Of course they did.

Is it strange? You bet it is.

This album is what it sounds like inside my nervous system at all times.

 

Calling America

February 19th, 2017

I want to tell you about something that happened on the phone earlier today.

I called the office of Rep. Jason Chaffetz (R-Utah), who is the chair of the House Ethics Committee, and asked if he had any intention of calling for investigation into the Flynn calls to Russia and any contact between the Trump campaign/administration and Russia in the last year.

 

Rep. Chaffetz with Liza Minnelli.

This is the same guy who spent $7 million or so on Benghazi investigations about Hillary Clinton. Keep in mind, last night there were news reports of a Russian spy ship thirty miles off the coast of Connecticut.

The assistant/intern/whatever on the phone told me that “Rep. Chaffetz is interested in an official inquiry”. I’m paraphrasing.

Interested, eh? I couldn’t help but laugh as I said, “Well… could he please, y’know… get on it already? You know what I mean?” Like even the guy on the phone had to know that the official statement was totally stupid but that’s his job.

I’m glad the dickhead is so interested.

A Dark Night That Lasts Years

February 16th, 2017

A dark night of the soul. Nights of spiritual despair. Moments where you cry for relief only to find none coming. Prayers that can’t be answered immediately, if at all.

 

I have been extremely depressed lately, and not just for political reasons. Just so happens that the political stuff is the easiest to talk about since it affects us all. But we all get depressed from time to time, right? Even if you’re not given to chronic depression and anxiety like I am.

 

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day, a day for lovers and the love-struck. Not for me, it’s not. It’s just a day between February 13th and 15th. I wish it weren’t so. I wish I had a love to call my own.

 

Who will comfort me in these uncertain times? Who will tell me I’ve been spending too much time on Twitter, please come and spend time with me instead. . .?

 

I don’t talk about my personal life on this space for a very good reason: I don’t have much of a personal life. Not that I would go around blabbing like an informant every time I went on a date. . . it’s just that there aren’t very many dates.

 

I’m relatively new to Whitesville. But I’m not a social person. I’m sensitive and self-conscious. Making a connection seems nearly impossible.

 

Maybe I can’t handle it. Maybe it’s just too much pressure. I’m like one of those Japanese men who have stopped trying to find a mate. Maybe I should get a pillow with a manga babe on it to be my girlfriend.

 

Maybe this is my life. Maybe I’m alone because I’m with the only person who can stand to be with me.

“Could you be loved?” – Bob Marley. Evidently not, Bob.

 

By the way, I finally got a hair cut last week. I figured it would be good to look less like Hagrid from Harry Potter. I’ve halfway shaved this fluff on my face into a somewhat organized look as well. I’m almost presentable.

The USA/FM/MKUltra Conspiracy

February 13th, 2017

Guys, it’s Time For Some Game Theory

1967 – The Six-Day War in Israel, Syria, Jordan and Egypt.

1967 – Race riots in Cincinnati, Detroit, Milwaukee, Buffalo, Cambridge, Maryland and Plainfield, Michigan.

1967 – Fleetwood Mac formed by ex-John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers Peter Green in London, England, named after fellow Bluesbreakers drummer Mick Fleetwood and bassist John McVie (Green’s favorite rhythm section). Fleetwood, McVie and guitarist Jeremy Spencer fill out the group.

1968 – Martin Luther King, Jr and Robert F. Kennedy are assassinated in April and June, respectively

1968 – Richard Nixon wins the US presidential election.

1968 – “Albatross”, an instrumental by Green, becomes Fleetwood Mac’s only #1 song in England.

(l to r) 1969: John McVie, Danny Kirwan, Mick Fleetwood, Peter Green (front), Jeremy Spencer (behind)

1970 – The Beatles break up.

1970 – Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix die from drug-related complications within weeks of each other.

1970 – Four students killed by National Guard at Kent State in Ohio.

1970 – Ted Cruz born.

1970 – Peter Green leaves Fleetwood Mac, the band he founded.

ARE YOU SEEING WHAT I’M SEEING?

1971 – COINTELPRO, a covert (often illegal) FBI surveillance program, is exposed after stolen dossiers are passed to news agencies.

1971 – President Nixon takes US dollar off the gold standard.

1971 – Fleetwood Mac releases Future Games, their first of five albums with Bob Welch as guitarist/singer.

(l to r) 1974: Bob Welch, McVie, Fleetwood, Christine McVie

1974 – Richard Nixon, engulfed in Watergate controversy, resigns as US President

1974 – The UK is engulfed in shootings and car bombings, as the British government attempt to negotiate a cease-fire with the Provisional Irish Republican Army.

1974 – Guitarist Bob Welch quits Fleetwood Mac, to be later replaced by Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham.

 

1977 – Fleetwood Mac releases Rumours, their best-selling album.

1977 – The deadliest accident in aviation history when 583 people are killed in the Tenerife disaster.

1977 – The NYC blackout, 25 hours long, results in looting and disorder.

1977 – The US Senate holds hearings over Project MKUltra, a dissolved CIA program that specialized in experimental and often illegal mind control procedures and techniques.

1977 – The first Chuck E Cheese’s opens.

1977 – David Berkowitz, the “Son of Sam” serial killer, is apprehended in Yonkers.

1977 – “Dreams”, written and sung by Stevie Nicks, becomes the only Fleetwood Mac to top the charts in the US.

1977: McVie, McVie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood, Lindsey Buckingham

#ASKQUESTIONS

1979 – Long lines form at gas stations because of the US oil crisis.

1979 – Fleetwood Mac release the double-album Tusk

1982 – Great Britain goes to war with Argentina over the Falkland Islands in the South Atlantic.

1982 – The first computer virus infects Apple II computers

1982 – Fleetwood Mac release Mirage, a chart-topping return to form after the experimental and relative commercial failure of Tusk.

 

1986 – Space Shuttle Challenger explodes shortly after takeoff.

1986 – Uprisings in Haiti and the Philippines force respective despotic leaders “Baby Doc” Duvalier and Ferdinand Marcos to flee the homelands they once lorded over.

1987 – Fleetwood Mac releases Tango In The Night. Shortly before a world tour to promote the album, Lindsey Buckingham quits the group. Rick Vito and Billy Burnette replace him.

1987: Rick Vito, McVie, Nicks, Fleetwood, Billy Burnette, McVie

1987 – Black Tuesday: International stock market crash

1987 – Mick Fleetwood has a supporting role as a resistance leader in Arnold Schwartzeneggar’s The Running Man

#Resist #Resistance #FearNothing #MickFleetwood

 

 

1995 – Eazy-E dies from AIDS-related illness.

1996 – Tupac Shakur shot to death in Las Vegas.

1997 – Notorious B.I.G. shot to death in Los Angeles.

1997 – Fleetwood Mac reunites (the Rumours lineup) to release live album The Dance, which goes on to sell over six million records and top the charts (the first for Fleetwood Mac since Mirage). The accompanying tour will gross over $36 million.

 

WAKE UP, SHEEPLE! #RESIST

1997: “The Dance”

2003 – Space Shuttle Columbia explodes upon attempting reentry of Earth’s atmosphere.

2003 – A coalition led by the US invades Iraq to depose leader Saddam Hussein, who is accused of holding weapons of mass destruction.

2003 – Fleetwood Mac releases Say You Will, their first without Christine McVie since 1970’s Kiln House

2003: “Say You Will” without Christine McVie

 

CONNECT THE DOTS!

SAY YOU WILL… WHAT EXACTLY?

THAT’S JUST IT! THEY DON’T TELL!

#ASKQUESTIONS

#ASKQUESTIONS
#ASKQUESTIONS

#MICKFLEETWOODISTHEILLUMINATI?

 

 

 

Mac Headroom

February 10th, 2017

I’ve been listening to a lot of Fleetwood Mac lately. Not something I would normally do, but I’ve been in mourning since November last year when. . . you know.

 

How much Fleetwood Mac, you ask? Great question. The Buckingham/Nicks era? Of course! The Peter Green era where the band started as an English blues band? Indeed. And all the other weird albums in between those two eras. Peter Green left Fleetwood Mac in 1970, Nicks & Buckingham joined the band in 1975 and if you go on Spotify, you would think the band evaporated from the face of the earth for the intervening years.

 

So Spotify and Fleetwood Mac, where the hell is Then Play On? And what of the Danny Kirwan era, to say nothing of the Bob Welch era, nay the brief Bob Weston interlude. Just put the stuff up there so I can enjoy the progression from blues band to California corporate pop/rock, ‘kay? Thanks.

 

There he is, playing a guitar that looks like its made from cardboard.

The history of the Mac is so ridiculous and amazing, I feel compelled to state a few facts because the drama is not confined to Rumours-era Mac, although that’s also enjoyable in a soap opera sense.

  1. Christine McVie’s birth name was Christine Perfect. Christine fucking Perfect!
  2. Before she joined the Mac, Christine was in a band called Chicken Shack. Not to be confused with Jimmie’s Chicken Shack from the 90’s. But I could see how you might screw that up.
  3. Christine McVie still goes by the stage name “Christine McVie” even though she’s been divorced from John McVie for over 40 years, been remarried and divorced again.
  4. The first THREE Fleetwood Mac guitarists all quit the band after having a terrible mental breakdown.
  5. The band’s manager formed a fake Fleetwood Mac after the band cancelled a US tour. The fake Mac attempted a US tour which was cancelled after the band’s real road manager hid the real band’s equipment.
  6. #5 happened because Mick Fleetwood found out that guitarist Bob Weston was having an affair with his wife.
  7. Fed up with the all the band drama (what with inter-band cuckolding and fake band tours and lawsuits), Bob Welch quit the band. He was replaced by. . . Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. After that, the drama tapered off.
  8. Jeremy Spencer left the band in the middle of a tour to join “The Children Of God”. Google them if you want your skin to crawl. Hint: they’re not a band.
  9. Mick Fleetwood is eight-feet-seven inches tall.
  10. Lindsay Buckingham plays a weird looking miniature acoustic-electric guitar because he’s not insecure in that way.
  11. In the photographs for Tusk, Lindsey Buckingham looks like anorexic Ian Curtis, whereas in previous years he looked like Sexy Cat Stevens.
  12. Apparently, John McVie has been standing there the whole time.

 

And let’s not even get into the Stevie Nicks stuff.

I’m Not A Friend, Never Will Be

February 9th, 2017

Dear Tom Scharpling,

Congratulations on your Best Show Patreon launch. Wow, over 2,000 followers pledging over $22,000 a month to keep The Best Show going. That’s going buy a lot of Snackwells. I remember the year before when you were trying to sell off old books and DVDs just to keep the show going. Hopefully you’ll be able to do all the things you wanted to do now that money is coming in. Pay your staff, upgrade your studio, the whole lot. Congratulations.

 

I would love to join in as a listener for what will be an exciting new era of The Best Show but I won’t be because I think you might be a total jerk. Tom, I called your show and got hung up on and embarrassed single time. And while I was initially hurt by the embarrassment of being mocked by you, I think what really messes with me is how you can turn on a dime emotionally. One minute, you’re gracious and accommodating and the next you are bringing the hammer down on someone’s head. I’ll admit, sometimes that’s the appeal. You would let a caller go into a long-winded one-sided conversation, interject to keep them going and then fade up “Bad Company” until it was full volume and hang up on them.

 

You managed to get people excited to hear a Bad Company song in 2016, for which I commend you. But it’s no fun to be on the receiving end of your mockery. I used to look forward to The Best Show but now I feel like listening to you mess with callers thinking “At least he isn’t doing it to me” wouldn’t be a good time. I don’t need to seek that out in my entertainment.

 

Fans of The Best Show are referred to as FOT’s or “Friends Of Tom”. I am still friends with some of them on Twitter, but I am no Friend of Tom. I’m still following your assistant producer. Maybe in person, you’re a nice guy and we’d have a laugh about all this. But maybe you’re not, and what if other people start to feel the same way. What if the number of patrons goes down, and with it the amount of money pledge to Patreon?

 

Why am I writing about this anyway? Well, last night a friend on Facebook asked me if I had any connection to you, so that reminded me. That’s my connection, you hurting my feelings.

I Hope Tom Brady Gets Cancer

February 5th, 2017

I hate the Super Bowl. I hate 2017. I hate America. I hate Lady Gaga, who played the halftime show of the Super Bowl in 2017. So you can imagine just how happy I am right now.
I am utterly miserable right now. Any country that could consider Lady Gaga an artist and Donald Trump a President is no country I want to be a part of. And yet I’m here. Can’t leave even if I want to. Fuck this place. I never want to see another football game again as long as I live. I hate Tom Brady and I hope he gets prostate cancer.

 

The fucking Patriots scored twenty-five unanswered points to beat the Falcons in overtime. I hate life. I hate the Patriots. I hate God. There is no God. Life is terrible.

 

I want to tear Lady Gaga’s mansion down with a giant crane. What did she do? She sang “God Bless America” with a shitload of drones behind her and then did a medley of her hits. Nothing crazy. Nothing controversial. No special guests. No one to upstage her. No one to share even a glimmer of limelight with. Fuck her and her silly music and her safe-as-silk image. She’s as outrageous as bubble wrap. She’s as feminist as Trump is because the only thing on her mind is her and herself. Trump’s thought process is “me me me me” and don’t tell me she’s different somehow. She’s fake as a three-dollar bill tucked between falsies.

 

The Patriots win, which makes POTUS happy as a pig in shit. Fuck life and fuck him and fuck his happiness. I hope Tom Brady gets an inoperable brain tumor. I hope Bill Belichick gets arrested for possession of child porn. I hope Robert Kraft gets another Super Bowl ring stolen by Vlad Putin (he took his 2005 ring, no joke). These people are happy which should show you that storybook endings belong in a trashbin.

 

God is dead and hopefully soon we will be too. Let the monkey hit the button that sets off nuclear armageddon. I’m ready to die. I’ve seen who this world rewards and who it condemns and I don’t think we can be saved.

I Will Never Forgive You For This

February 3rd, 2017

I didn’t want to be “woke”. I wanted to be having a good time. I wanted to go on my merry way in the 21st century. I had things to do. For example, I wanted to take erotic pictures of strange women. In the woods. But I don’t have time for that right now because I’m too busy resisting the obvious gaslighting and authoritarian hell-house Das Trump is intent on turning our country into.

 

Our feeble-minded dummy-in-chief has screwed up relations with Canada, Mexico, Australia (HOW), his minions have him sign a shitload of executive orders that cause havoc and disregard federal law. The man has open white supremacists in the White House advising him. His press surrogate goes on TV and talks about a massacre in Bowling Green, Ky, caused by radical Iraqi refugees. . . one that never happened and we’re trying to laugh about it through our tears. Four in ten Americans already support impeaching him.

 

The guy has been in office two weeks.

 

To the sixty-two million plus who voted this guy in, I will never forgive you for this. Some of you are now starting to understand what kind of idiot you put in the White House and already regret this decision. There’s no way an election like this should have ever been this close. I will never forgive you even if you come to regret your decision. You gave him unchecked power. And he is shitting in your nests in return.

 

Nobody gets the government they deserve. Not this one certainly. I made a very clear decision in November when I voted. A vote for Hillary, to make the bad man go away. And the majority agreed with me but because we have an electoral college, that didn’t work out. This happened twice in my adult life and I’ll be damned if it happens again. Not kidding. It drives me crazy. Even though no one deserves this shit, I will never forgive those who voted for this fucking guy.

 

Do you like stability? Me too! That’s why I voted for Clinton. This guy makes instability. He is unstable. This was the easiest call in the history of calls and over 62 million of you fucking blew it. You fucked up so hard and now we’re in this mess together.

 

I hate being right and it not mattering a damn bit.