Monday, April 30, 2007

BJORK: Unspeakably Hilarious. SAD KERMIT: Not So Much.

The moment that Bjork hangs by the neck just as she opens her feral yap to sing at the end of 'Dancer In The Dark', is, for me, sheer comic genius (albeit unintentional...maybe). I LOL-ed and LOL-ed and then coughed up popcorn mash as hipsters sniffled all around me at The Anjelika.

It's not that I dislike Bjork and wish for her execution, it's just that every single thing about the woman strikes me as choke-on-your-own-tongue hysterical. MadTV's Alex Borstein does Bjork better than Bjork does Bjork. For the most part, her music is shrieky, faux-art nonsense (except for 'Earth Intruders' off of her new release 'Volta'...pretty catchy...thanks again, Timbaland!) and her acting/dancing/whatever skills are negligable but when I spied her marching down Rivington Street on The Lower East Side years ago in militia-friendly stilettos clutching a great big hairy purse I about shat myself! Genius! If she didn't exist, 'South Park' would have to make the bitch up! I so love/hate her!

I just plain hate the YouTube phenomenon that is Sad Kermit's version of NIN's 'Hurt'. Maybe I'm a soft-touch but I don't consider fallen muppets very funny. Big Bird hawking up a lung after puffing on a Marlboro on a Sesame Street corner is just cheap, not funny. Oscar The Grouch is the nihilist, not Big Bird. The Muppets do self-satire better than any jaded pretender to the throne ever could. But because I' m a fan of free speech and also because I'm an Judge for yourself.

Much funnier is The Rebel L ("po-la-la-lice!"):

Thursday, April 26, 2007

I Can Has Morphine And Die Now Plz: The Rise And Rise Of Kittah-Speak.

The beauty of 'Kittah', an internet-born-and-bred pidgin language so fuct that no one can actually speak it, or if they tried, they'd be clobbered fast and hard and then quite probably find themselves ass-raped over a sawhorse behind the nearest Shell that it makes perfect sense. Why? Because our monkey-brains think in 'Kittah' (think Cartman saying the word 'kitty') when we want something immediately. Example:

"I Can Has Tax Refund Now, Plz, Thx."

But 'Kittah' is best expressed starkly outlined over cute kitty/doggy pics or photoshopped fuct-upedness cadged from the internets. Example:

Anyone who has ever engaged in a flame-war on The Webs has probably had a LOLGay or a LOLKitty fired back at them, and if your virtual-nemesis was twelve or under you've more than likely been 'pwnd!' as a photoshopped sniper-kitty picks off victims from a bell-tower or Dallas Book Depository. Bill O'Reilly's 'No Spin Zone' should be transcriped in Kittah for his mentally-challenged fanbase, because nothing shuts down a thoughtful discussion quicker than Kittah-speak("douche plzkthx.") and/or a sniper-kitty wipe.

If you find yourself craving more exposure to LOLCats and LOLGays, go here:

If you would like to participate in a LOLCat or LOLGay "discussion", go here:

Hating Kittah is like hating Dada, Warhol or Nancy Grace because, in the end, you know what? You can't unring a bell: It's out there, it's happened. Deal with it.

I blame Paul McCartney for all of this. Note his declension of "Mademoiselle Kitty" in his long-forgotten stab at glam rock: "Venus And Mars Rock Show".

"Madmwahzell Kitty...Kittay...Kittah...A-Ha!"

I has never liked Paul McCartney anywayz.

P.S. - Kittah 101: Translate Alec Baldwin's loving paternal voicemail to German (via Babel Fish Translator...Google it) and then translate it back to English and you get what looks like Kittah Basics:

Once again, I have larva ate OF on myself trying tons of GET tons of A phone. You have larva ate out ME OF on for the read time. Three letters: ABA. A, Always, B, A, Answering. Always answering. Always answering. AIDA. Attention. Interest. Decision. Action. Attention. DO I have your attention? Interest. Acres you interested? I know you acres ' cause it's pick UP the phone or GET your ate straightened out. You to who or you GET hit with A brick. Decision. Have you larva your decision tons pick UP the phone? And action. AIDA. Pick UP the goddamn phone. You got A call coming in, you think I larva it because I've got emergency-hung better tons of DO? I could shouting shit RK random people on the street, but I'm calling you. I don't care that you're twelve or eleven or more whatever, acres you pig enough tons pick it UP? I'm A good more father, and you're A pig. I don't give A shit. Good more father. You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you thoughtless pain into the ate? AIDA. GET WAD you daughter OF A bitch. GET WAD. You know what it takes ton to who my call? It of takes brass ball ton to who my call. Go and DO likewise. The phone is ringing, you pick it UP, it's yours, you don't, I got NO sympathy for you. I'd wish you good luck, but you wouldn't know what tons of DO with it if you got it. You more better ready Friday the 20th ton meet with ME. Pig. Oh, thus, tell your mother I said "Go fuck yourself." This is Dad, ring ME bake when you GET A chance.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

From DJ Satisfaction Pony's Stack Of Stuff: U2 Jumps Shark, A Squid, Some Skates And An Archipalago Off The Coast Of F*cktardatia.

Spring is most definitely here...I can tell because everything's just the tiniest bit off. First and foremost, there's a mouse corpse a-moulderin' away in my wall. Its sickeningly sweet ass n' roses, gramma-fart tang has usurped my appetite (Shit!) and as a result, I've lost a pinch of belly-fat (Right on!). Secondly, I'm addicted to both The Mets and action movies which I can't explain at all because at heart I'm a great big 210 lb., frilly-knickered, Nelly Olson, sausage-curled girl...The strangeness goes on and on but as I'm re-reading what I've written I'm finding it all very dull so I'll just move on...

Nine Inch Nails' new release 'Year Zero' will forever remind me of the Virginia Tech massacre because that's what was dialed up on my iTunes when I read the news on ("The Warning" specifically, I'm not making this up). I have a rich history of musical co-association: I can't hear Bryan Ferry's 'Taxi' without experiencing 9/11 all over again; the languid melancholy encapsulates the entire lost month of September, 2001. And The Thompson Twins takes me right back to the Space Shuttle Challenger explosion of January, 1986, because that's what was playing on the student union jukebox as UW-Eau Claire undergrads piled into the TV room to watch as the realtime horror show interrupted 'Guilding Light'. I could piece together a totally unlistenable sick n' twisted TragedyTime Playlist for myself but that would only serve to recontextualize and thus neutralize the baggage these evil little soundtracks have earned. But here goes:

"Groove Line" - Heatwave (I read traumatizing 'Helter Skelter' for the first time, Summer, 1975)
"Watching The Wheels" - John Lennon (Lennon's murder, 1980)
"Doctor! Doctor!" - The Thompson Twins (Space Shuttle Challenger explodes, Jan., 1986)
"Sweet Thing" - The Waterboys (I learn that girlfriend was brutally raped in India, 1989)
"NaNaNa" - Royal Crescent Mob (Tiananmen Square, 1989)
"Whirlpool" - Seal (Rodney King Riots, Jack-In-The-Box around the corner from my apt. trashed and pillaged, Seattle, WA, 1992)
"Mayonnaise" - Smashing Pumpkins (I read my mother's response to my coming out letter, 1993)
"Like A Motorway" - Saint Etienne (Heard news of very young local prostitute's murder, sickening, very Jack The Ripperesque, Madison, WI. - April 11, 1997)
"The Night I Heard Caruso Sing" - Everything But The Girl (The day I learned I had Congestive Heart Failure, cried for hours, 1997)
"Taxi" - Bryan Ferry (The Eve of 9/11)
"The Warning" - Nine Inch Nails (Virginia Tech massacre, April, 2007)


But back to Nine Inch Nails' 'Year Zero'...I'm feeling like "In This Twilight" will be gracing car commercials any time now, if it isn't already. It's beautiful and highly exploitable. 'The Warning' is the stand-out track. I love the 'Pictures Of Matchstick Men' call-to-arms, slash-and-burn guitar line and of course the message couldn't be more prescient. The rest of the cd is standard-issue Reznor-whispered "Fuck-Me-I'm-Angsty" high drama set against a soundscape of blips and bleeps framed by a thundering drum machine, which is not a bad thing by any means. Some sci-fi thematical claptrap apparently unites the piece but I could care less about any of it. Faith No More's masterwork, "Angel Dust", tackled Reznor territory (Compromised White Male Rage) way back in '92 but with much more poopy-pants humor, some sampled cheerleaders and an orchestra's worth of pretty strings and piano: Sometimes 'Year Zero' sounds like a more earnest version of Mike Patton's vision...but then along comes 'God Given', which is sheer dancefloor savagery. Can't wait to play it at 'Oink!', the stoopid pig party I spin for on Wednesdays @ Cattyshack.

Welp, looks like U2 is officially out of its fucking mind. I used to stand behind U2 through thick and through thin (although 'Rattle & Hum' was a great big red flag) but now I totally agree with Amy Winehouse that Bono should "shut up" once and for all. By now, he's so beknighted and ethereal he's finally fully qualified to breed beatified Saint Angelina Jolie and co-parent a home-brewed army of righteous, priveleged little blobs alongside Holy Father Brad Pitt. These three are so self-important, so high on their own ass-vapors that they're virtual parodies of themselves.

And now U2 is writing the score for a Broadway musical version of Spiderman 3. I am in no way opposed to U2 writing a Broadway musical, in fact, I think they absolutely should. But a jazz-hands version of 'Spiderman Three?'

That just reeks of ego-fuelled greed. Obvs. Bono is a corporate shill, but THE EDGE??

I guess no one is invulnerable.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

'Grindhouse' Is Making Me Sick!

I'm blogging this as I'm watching 'Grindhouse' because I need a break...after all the film itself is, like, as long Quentin Tarantino's melting, snot-runner of a zombie-cock in the 'Planet Terror' installment of 'Grindhouse' and that's pretty fucking LONG...but I just have to share the fact that as I'm watching this box-office disappointment I'm giggling myself SICK!

I almost passed out during inter-feature Prevues Of Upcoming Attractions they were so deliriously hilarious.

Anyway...go see the movie. Rose McGowan alone is worth the price of admission.

Ohforchrissake, This YouTube Nonsense Isn't So Damned Hard After All...

By now, you've seen this at least five or eight times courtesy of our viral-friendly blogospherical interwebs, but I have such newfound respect for ol' cryface Alanis Flathair that I'm going to go on record as endorsing this superbly rendered work of glibliciousness. Maybe Alanis should consider a career as Will Ferrell femme-fatale foil/Frat Pack Little Sister because this shit is simply laugh out loud hilarious. Why? a) 'My Humps' is Number 2 on my list of Top 3 All-Time Musical Atrocities, I mean the lyrics alone...gee, what to say about those lyrics...basically it all comes to: "Hey ! Get Over Here And Fuck My Hump!" and b) Drama. It's about time that that all-purpose hip-hop warhouse was clarified, once and for all.

And also the dudes in this video are freakin' retarded-sexy.


Thursday, April 12, 2007

Jagged Guitar Lines And Lovely Ladies...

I've been listening to Maximo Park's 'Girls Who Play Guitars' every 20 minutes or so because I can't seem to get enough of it...of all the bands out there who are aping early-80's Gang Of Four, Maximo Park comes closest to getting it absolutely right. They get it so right that I get all nostalgic for 1982, when me and my best high school buddy, Scott, would hole up in my jungle-themed room and listen to the latest, most exotic British chart-toppers...Duran Duran (before 'Rio'), Au Pairs, 'Movement'-era New Order...and we'd talk about girls. Yes, I'm gay, but I miss objectifying girls. They were all so mystical, so un-haveable (because I was sort of a loser), yet so fun to talk about.

So now I'm gonna put in my iPod buds, dial up 'Girls Who Play Guitars' and I'm gonna write about girls I'll never, ever have. I'll never, ever look into Jennifer Connelly's unearthly green eyes, I'll never smell her Watermelon-Twist Trident Gum scented breath, I'll never make her laugh, I'll never get to kiss her neck...nor will I ever look into Bryce Dallas Howard's unearthly green eyes, I'll never smell her Watermelon-Twist Trident Gum scented breath, I'll never make her laugh, I'll never get to kiss her neck...but I'll always get to listen to Maximo Park's 'Girls Who Play Guitars' and that's just about enough.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

The Ponyster Is Feelin' The Doolittle.

I will not front. I don't think American Idol has 'ruined' American pop music at all. In fact, I think the show has raised the live performance bar of sheer showmanship; folks like Chan Marshall (aka Cat Power) may have taken the cue from 'Idol' (I strongly doubt it, but I'm just trying to make a point here) and may have actually amped up their presentation thanks to Randy Jackson's dawgdafied helpful hints and Paula Abdul's alcohol-fueled Tuesday night affirmations.

Yes, I regret that Carrie Underwood bested Bo Bice a couple of seasons ago, because she has no discernable personality, but her hits are sweet little cornpone throwbacks to the days of blow-dried ingenues like Connie Smith and Barbara Mandrell, so I don't mind that she's charting, touring and presumably enjoying her transitional Clive Davis enslavement. I just wish she wouldn't shill for Skechers is all (maybe she needs the money?). Kelly Clarkson has yet to prove herself as anything more than a tool but 'Since U Been Gone' is #1 on the Satisfaction Pony request line so maybe there's something there that I'm not yet seeing. She's collaborating w/ proto-grunge, indie-rock god Mike Watt so maybe she's about to pull a rabbit out of her hat. Ruben Studdard, Clay Aiken...drawing a blank here...Fantasia has loads of potential but she's got to take complete control of her ghetto-fab, babymama gestalt and write her own material or she's gonna find herself domesticated and frumpdafied a la Patti LaBelle way before her time. Collaborating with Andre 3000 and Missy Elliott was a good send-off but now she needs to find her own voice.
Taylor Hicks is a sexless drag niche-marketed for the Michael Buble crowd and Daughtry doesn't have much to say for himself...yet...but then again Jennifer Hudson broke free from AI lockdown and won herself an Oscar so who knows? My feeling is that that nasty little Arista Records contract obligation holds a lot of these folks back from realizing their true voice. Or maybe Simon is right and they're just a bunch of arrogant, entitled no-talents.

But Season Six' Melinda Doolittle is The Stuff. Man, do I love to watch her do her thing. She is so in the moment and she's just so Damned Happy To Be There that it takes me back to when I discovered Otis Redding singing live at Monterey on the B- side of my worn-out copy of Jimi Hendrix Plays Monterey. I was an early convert to soul and funk but I got to that place by way of rockfolk like The Stones and Hendrix. Melinda Doolittle has that quality: No bells, no whistles...just living the song as she tells it. Sure, Blake Lewis is a sweet piece of plaid-clad ass but it bugged me to watch him wrap his lipless mouth around 'You Keep Me Hangin' On' and suck the urgency right out of it. He's a nifty gimmick, a superb mimic, but not much more than that. By the by: I pretty much think he's straight but I'm fairly certain he's one of them sexless hets who "haven't found that special someone" quite yet. I know plenty of these guys and they crack me the fuck up. I, Satisfaction Pony, have eaten more pussy than these ego-whipped fops AND I'M A GAY!!! And Blake, dawg, please leave the white-trash comedy to Jim Carrey.

As far as the whole VoteForTheWorst/Sanjaya PonyHawk phenomenon is concerned: I think America loves a good train wreck and Lord have mercy but Sanjaya is right up there far as I can tell there's no precedent...hold on...I'm thinking he's an original...but not really 'cuz there's plenty of near-misses who are D-list famous for being sex-neutral and utterly without talent (William Hung represented American xenophobia in the flesh and laugh-deprived Hollywood Square Wally Cox pressed a whole lot of homophobic buttons): Kind of like Paris Hilton and a dozen other celebutards! But what grabs me about Sanjaya is that I think he gets it. I suspect he knows he's a freaking fluke and he's got a month or so to spook Middle America and he's gonna do all that without breaking a sweat. He understands: Apparently America has a hard-on for accidental celebrity so So Fucking Be It. He's gonna bring it.

Check out how perfectly Melinda Doolittle embodies every nuance of this thematically complicated Aretha song. She's a natural. Pure and simple. But don't compare Melinda to copper-afroed Aretha as she effortlessly touches zen perfection with her jazzed-up version of 'Oh Me, Oh My (I'm A Fool For You Baby)' on Soul Train...because that's just not fair. Aretha positively radiates in this clip and her cool, earthbound confidence signals that she must have been in love at the time of the taping because I've felt like that for one hot second (once, a long time ago)and I recognize that centeredness.

Also Melinda Doolittle would resemble my neice if she were a 14-year old white girl with braces.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Spring Is In The Air, Robbed By A Locksmith.

Merry April Fool's Day, DJ Satisfaction Pony! Watch in horror as Mr. Locksmith breaks your door and charges you $300 for his services! Swallow your tongue as Mister Freakshow Locksmith follows you to an ATM whereat he breathes through his mouth over your shoulder and demands even more money than the original figure claiming 'travelling fee'!

Consider having 'Hi, I'm a great big putz' tattooed to your forehead, save everyone else the 30 seconds of figuring it out for themselves!