Archive for February, 2012

Terrible Song Of The Day: The Boss

February 29th, 2012

Since it’s Leap Day, I figured I owed it to you to flip the “Song Of The Day” format into something different. For this occasion I have chosen “Blinded By The Light”.



Originally written by Bruce Springsteen and recorded on his debut album, Greetings From Asbury Park,  N.J., this is the opening track on the album. This opening track is the very first salvo that the Boss chose to fire in his would-be Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame career. ANNNNDDDD. . . it’s a piece of shit.



This terrible song was made even worse by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band, who managed to take the song to the top of the charts in 1977. The only redeemable feature of the Manfred Mann version is the vocal from Chris Thompson, but that’s still one more good thing than Springsteen’s version. On the negative side, they add two minutes to the song length.


Even worse, it added to the mystique of Springsteen. The song came out in the yawning gap between Born To Run and Darkness On The Edge Of Town. Not to mention, Thompson’s inability to sing “deuce” properly on the line “revved up like a deuce” made people think he was singing “douche” and people still joke about that to this day. On top of that, other bands having hits with Springsteen’s deep cuts is a Bob Dylan move and Lord knows we didn’t need to have another Dylan, let alone this one. No, this terrible song did more for Springsteen’s career and ego than he possibly needed (and this was after the time Time and Newsweek put him on the cover in ’75) because it reaffirmed his art and it emboldened him to make more and greater successful music for decades more.


And that, friends, is why “Blinded By The Light” is the worst song of the 70s, and today’s terrible song. You are welcome.



Yo! I Think I’m Normal!

February 27th, 2012

Aww man! I think I’m normal, yo. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with this. But apparently I’ve been ready for this for a while since I’ve been normal for a while and didn’t know it.


Check this out: some normal shit happened to me this afternoon. I went to the post office to mail out some packages and the lady behind the counter tried to charge me $28 for something that should have cost $15 to mail out. So I asked her about it and she checked it out and we got it straightened out. Then I went to the grocery store and whatnots. I was wearing my Bears Zubaz and that was normal too. Man, I’m fucking normal, yo. What the fuck. When did this happen? Why didn’t somebody tell me?


Look at this mothafucka being normal and shit.


This whole time I’ve been wanting to be normal. Turns out I’ve been doing normal shit this whole time. Normal shit doesn’t become weird just because I’m doing it all of a sudden. Like telling people I love them, like my family and friends. That’s not fucked up and weird now that I do that, but I thought it was. That’s some normal shit.

An Open Letter To Meryl Streep

February 26th, 2012

Dear Meryl,

I don’t need to tell you what a legendary figure you are in the world of cinema. You have three Oscars and eight Golden Globes, perhaps the most decorated actress in modern movie history. You’re on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame, you’re a Kennedy Center Honoree. You have played iconic characters from Kramer vs. Kramer all the way to The Iron Lady. You were the Devil who wore Prada and you were awesome as Julia Child in a shitty movie about some modern chick who tries to learn how to cook. Silkwood. I mean, Silkwood. C’mon.


But you have never done a porn film. Listen to me, don’t click away. . . YOU HAVE NEVER DONE A HARDCORE SEX SCENE IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIA CHILD!


It’s not too late, Meryl. You’re sixty-two. You’ve continued to create great work where so many actresses have been dumped into the trash pile. It’s a double-standard, Hollywood and life in general. Men age gracefully and continue to get work and women can’t get good work on screen after they lose their white hotness. It’s not fair but you beat the system because you’re good. You’re so good at what you do that you’re practically untouchable. And I think that your career would not at all be damaged by doing a HARDCORE INTERRACIAL SEX SCENE WHILE IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIA CHILD.


Spread-eagled? Awww yeah!


Let’s be honest. Julia Child deserves a biopic, not the “Julie and Julia” crap that Hollywood tried to sell us. You nailed Julia Child. Like a boss, like Rick Ross even (he’s a rapper, that’s a cultural reference, ignore it ma’am). And now it’s time for a full feature about Julia Child.


I carry a mallet 'cause I love to bang!


But there should be one scene where Julia Child has sex. You can even keep most of your clothes on. I just think it would be funny and awesome if you whinnied like a horse while getting drilled, some guy hunched over you while on all fours. Let’s keep it artistic, for the squares.


Should you decide (and you won’t) that this is worth exploring, please do not ask Penny Marshall to direct.

The Elderly Battle Remote Controls

February 26th, 2012

If you live with an elderly person, as I do, you will experience their struggled with the latest in home technology. Specifically, the remote control.


My grandfather is eighty years old and still calls me over when he hits a wrong button. It’s the INPUT button that goes from the cable to the DVD to whatever else inputs we could plug into it (so far we haven’t plugged in anything but the cable). He asks me to figure out what he did wrong and I know he hit the INPUT button and I tell him to keep hitting it until he sees the cable channels again. But we go through this at least once a week.


Today, I slept through a call where he wanted me to go to his friend’s house and figure out why channel 61 on the TV didn’t come up when he hit the channel up from channel 60. Instead, it looped back around to channel 2 or 3 or whatever. Fortunately, I was napping but I’m sure I’ll have to get to the bottom of this like a NASA engineer tomorrow.


What a drag it is getting old, as the Rolling Stones song goes. Thankfully, we haven’t had to deal with the Internet as that would be a completely different bag of hell. He stays off it, much to my relief. Otherwise, this computer might have melted while he tried to access pictures of naked ladies. Hell, I’ve almost killed this computer downloading a Sasha Grey scene and I knew what I was doing!


Which brings up the bigger question: why am I downloading anymore? Because sometimes I’m not finished with those scenes. A good scene might be fifteen to thirty minutes and there’s no way I (or most people) will need the majority of that. So I like to go back and revisit.


Of course I would start a blog about my nice grandfather having problems with remotes and end it with talking about my weird pornography thing. That’s what we call a twist in the literary world.

Appropriate Moments For Yelling

February 25th, 2012

Earlier this month, you may have read about my debacle while performing a solo set at Bowling Green’s preeminent clown-shemale hookup market*, The Twisted Tap. That was an occasion where I had to yell, and last night was another such occasion.


Technology Vs. Horse had a show in a dive bar in Evansville, Indiana. While not a clown-shemale fuckfest, it was still a dingy place. But we’ve played there before and we’ve come to expect things like old ladies taking off their shirts at the video poker machine so they can get some air to their large chest rash. That sort of deal. Oh, and ex-Nazis sometimes. Believe me when I tell you none of this is bragging.


Last night, a hobo bled on me.


Perhaps “hobo” is a strong word. But he certainly was an old hippie and he was waving around a pocketknife while trying to get me to smoke weed with me. He said something about “extracting DMT” and had teeth that evoked images of National Geographic films. Anyway, the man was in my personal space and I noticed some blood on my arm after he walked away.


It turns out he cut himself while fiddling with the knife and being drunk didn’t think to clean himself so he dripped blood on the floor and my arm and God knows what else. It’s not fun to see blood on you and know it’s not yours. So there was some yelling. And last night, as there was at Twisted Tap Shemale/Clown Fuck Palace Emporium, I had a moment where this message flashed in my head: THIS IS THE APPROPRIATE TIME FOR YELLING.


So I did. Because Lord knows there have been so many times I have yelled when it wasn’t appropriate. Like when a child was walking for the first time or someone was getting married or when my granny was taking her shot. There is a time for yelling, and I’m learning to do it when it’s actually called for instead of just all the time. You would have been proud of me.


However, if I end up dead soon because of a mutant hippie Hepatitus no one has discovered yet, you now know why.


(*I should mention that not only is it not slander that I say the Twisted Tap is a great place for clowns and shemales to mingle and cohabitate in a carnal manner, this information is actually advertised on said establishment’s Facebook. )

Finally, An Excuse To Leave The House

February 23rd, 2012

For you as well as me.  Evansville, get ready to reacquaint yourself with Technology Vs. Horse.


I See What I Want To See

February 18th, 2012

If you read the previous post, I talked about getting my hopes raised by a girl. The convo went something like this…


Her: What are you doing Saturday?

Me: Oh, nothing. Band practice during the day and nothing after that. Why, what’s going on?


That happened on Tuesday or Wednesday, I can’t remember. Today, I discussed this with one of my wisest friends and he put it like this: had she continued the conversation and been completely truthful, it might have went like this…


Her: Well, I was looking for something fun to do, and I was hoping you had something I could jump in on. But since you don’t, I’ll find someone or something else to occupy my mind.


I didn’t read her initial request as trolling for some fun. I thought we could create our own. We are young, creative people (or she is young and I am creative). In any event, I sent her a text today asking her if she wanted to hit her up when I got done with practice. She replied that she already had made plans to leave town. She was going to a thing.


Well, that’s a fine how do you do. I saw what I wanted to see. I thought she wanted me to keep my Saturday night clear. Maybe she wanted me to bring the fun instead. Like I keep all the clowns and an open bar in the trunk of my car and a karaoke system in the backseats or something. Boo-hoo.


I always end up blaming myself for this sort of thing.

You Can’t Get My Hopes Up Like That

February 17th, 2012

You suck, you know that?


You know who you are. You, who sends me a message the other day asking me “what are doing Saturday” and I would drop all my plans to do whatever you wanted. I would totally do it.


You can’t get my hopes up like that. You can’t send me that message and then not reply after I send you my reply. All I said was I had some stuff to do during the day but that’s it. And then. . . poof. Nothing. You’re flying by the seat of your pants and that’s fun for you maybe but not me. I’m dangling. Like a marionette gathering dust on a coatrack. Maybe that’s what I am. Tell me what’s going on. Follow up. I’m begging you here.


I shouldn’t just let you have the strings whenever you want. That’s my fault.

Night Song: “Josie”

February 15th, 2012

Tonight’s song is “Josie” by Steely Dan. It has been a long minute since I’ve done the Song of the Day/Night Songs feature on Kyprophet dot com.


I never paid a lot of attention to the verses in this song, treating them as an excuse to get to that chorus again. . . but I looked it up for funsies and boy are there some doozies in the second verse.


Jo would you like to scrapple, she’ll never say no.

Shine up the battle apple. We’ll shake ’em all down tonight, we’re gonna mix in the street.

Strike at the stroke of midnight.

Dance on their bones ’til the girls say when…


I had to look up “battle apple” and here’s what Urban Dictionary had to say on the matter:

A large mace-like weapon used by street gangs in small town America in the Fifties and early Sixties. The battle apple works most efficiently when buffed up to a fine shine with a shammy cloth and a dab of saddle oil.


Yikes. That Josie is a dirty bitch! Hitting cops with a steel club. Cops? Yeah, I assumed she’s gonna hit cops because “scrapple” is a meal of ground-up pig. Everything but the snout. I had to look that up, too. Apparently, it’s a Pennsylvania thing I’ll never understand. Scrapple, not beating up cops.

I Am A Dummy Hedd

February 15th, 2012

I don’t know what I’m doing this with this website.


I don’t think I’ve gotten the hang of it, even a year later. I still can’t figure out how to do a pageview thing. Someone suggested Google Analytics and I went on there and signed up and the whole thing boggles me. This is not my wheelhouse.


I just write things and they show up when I save and press the blue publish button. Can’t that be enough? If the text is too small, please increase the size on your browser to 125% or 150%. I know it’s dumb. I feel like I own a house and still haven’t been in every room in it.


I am wearing a pig snout in this photo because I am a dummy head.