Tag Archives: music

The Year In Re-Doo-Doo

I ain’t got the time or the inclination to make another year in review video. Maybe next year. Until then I’m recycling this garbage from two years ago. Use your God-given powers of imagination and relive 2014 Shouts From The Abyss classic moments like these:

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Emperor OS

sneaky-computerI gave my computer some instructions and walked away. Bad move. Does not compute. Syntax error. Non sequitur.

“How dare you show your back to me!” the computer raged indignantly but passive-aggressively. That must be why it remained silent. It knew damn well what it was doing.

Working. Commit. Execute. Hey, little girl. Wanna see my update?

I don’t know why my computer calls me “little girl” but whatever. I kind of like it.

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King Macklemore And The Game Of Thrones

macklemoreThe #poop tag comes back with a vengeance. –Ed.

You just can’t invent stuff like this. King, a county in Washington state, released a music video imploring the public to not put anything in the toilet except “human waste.” Swoon. I may have found a new home. Their song is a parody of Macklemore’s smash hit Thrift Shop.

I admit I’d never heard the song Thrift Shop. I admit I’d never heard of anyone named Macklemore. Is that his first or last name? Or is this a single-name-situation like Madonna, Prince, Sting and Digit?

In an urge to write a post about this parody song, I turned to Google to find a suitable image to adorn my writings. What? Macklemore also did a song about toilets?

Holy shitcans! Sometimes life can be funny. Behold, Simba, the circle of life! Everything goes full circle. Like water swirling down a drain.

But wait. The circle doesn’t end there. This circle has got levels replete with layers, yo.

As far as I can tell, Macklemore is turd. Turds go in toilets. That’s exactly what King County wants you to know. Further, their parody song riffs on the word “fucking” by replacing it with “flushing.” Yes, a government did this. And, finally, to bring it all back home, in his spare time, Macklemore raps about toilets.

Circle. Full. Flush. Repeat.

No crap about it, this could amuse me all day long. And, in an ironic twist of fate, some have criticized the $123,000 spent on the music video as governmental waste. Cover Oregon had their own famous example of this. Has the King of Waste finally been dethroned? (Reportedly $2.9 million was spent on the Cover Oregon TV and radio spots.) Rocky King, the former executive director of Cover Oregon, said that urgent time frames drove the need for the expensive campaigns. They didn’t have a lot of time to get the word out. Yes, King. (No relation to the county.) I told you this was all connected.

You can’t spell “crap” without R-A-P. Kick it! It’s time to tell you busters all about it!
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From Russia With Bloodhound Gang

bloodhound-flagUnder my crusty shell, what is there? A creamy gooey center. Obviously.

It’s only 8am and twice already I’ve used the word “gooey” to refer to myself. Is social media great or what?

Besides the goo, you might also see the creepy place where I have some strange likes and dislikes. One of those is the Bloodhound Gang. No, do not google them. Do not look them up. They are offensive as hell. NSFW.

And yet I still enjoy their music. They make me laugh. Yes, I’m shaming myself right now.

Puerile. Juvenile. Disgusting. Vile. Sexualized. The guys do things like spend a lot of time trying to come up with rhymes for the word “vagina.” (Spoiler alert: North Carolina.)

Have you ever been clubbed over the head by a piece of music? There I was, hanging with my son in his room, and he was playing his “music” like tin foil on metal guitar strings while some talentless hack screams indecipherably. That’s not “music” in my book. Oh how he loves that shit.

But then, I became aware of something else. A song reached out and grabbed hold. The lyrics were beautiful in their simplicity. “I hope you die.” Wow. This was different. Such elegant simplicity. This was good stuff. I was hooked.

And thus began my journey of exploration of the Bloodhound Gang.

The guys recently made a “splash” on their Russian tour. Break out the Stolichnaya and play the Russian flag drinking game with me, won’t you?
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Too Many Words

Like Mozart with his “too many notes” I have been shamed by the assertion that my heretofore writings contain, and I quote, “Too many words.”

The charge, bitterly leveled by my otherwise serviceable spouse, had placed me in the uncomfortable position of scheming the proper retort.

Thus quote the author, “.”

finis

It Was Almost Like A Song

I'm not going to lie to you. This image has nothing to do with this post except it will one day be framed and placed in front of a funeral home.

I’m not going to lie to you. This image has nothing to do with this post except it will one day be featured at a funeral home in place of my face for my Wake Me Up Before You Go Go. I will remain anonymous to the bitter end.

Nothing too heavy today…

And, regarding my beloved chemical suit, I leave that to … what? Are you kidding me? None of you get that. I’m taking it with me. Bury me in it!
The Last Will and Testament of Tom B. Taker, Chapter 1, Section A, Article 1

As most of you know, I have been busy most of the last few decades planning my wake. A wise man in a Stephen King movie once said, “Get busy living or get busy dying” and I took to that advice to heart like a leading a guru to tequila and telling him not to drink.

Of course this planning primarily took the form of picking out songs that participants (guests? attendees? celebrants? wakers? invitees? z-list celebs?) would, at least once, get to enjoy my eclectic taste in music.

I thought it was a pretty good plan. Besides, nothing pleases me more than the thought of people coming together to remember my life and having to listen to some random songs while they are left to ponder, “What the hell is this crap supposed to convey to us about Tom?” Ha ha ha! Suffer!

Then, this week, in the name of research, I attended the memorial service for a gentleman I knew and I thought to myself, “See? This is what happens when you fail to plan and allow your loved ones to pick the music on your behalf.”

Actually, I didn’t really know the man that well. He was the father of one friend and the husband of another. After attending the service I have to say I regret not knowing him better. He was a great guy, the kind who would give away the shirt off his back, always with a warm smile at the ready, and the sort who could cheer people up even when the chips were down.

I also knew him from the liquor store where he seemed friendly enough as he handed me bottle after bottle for several years before he got sick. See? We just went full circle. From tequila to the liquor store and back again. That’s what this guru calls the circle of life.

This post will document the set list that was used to send this soul on its way back home.
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Moved

Car-Bluetooh-speaker-1“You’ve got a keen eye, my man. This baby is hot.”

The salesman had seemingly materialized out of thin air. Suddenly he was saddled up and comfy cozy with the customer, on his elbow, and so shoulder-to-shoulder they were actually touching. The customer, in awe of a shiny object, missed the intrusion, and in so doing, a tiny layer of self-protection had been peeled back inside his brain.

“Nothing else can touch her,” the salesman boasted in a silky-smooth voice. Suddenly the object was personified with a female pronoun. We’re all just friends here and getting friendlier every moment. Desire in the customer imperceptibly kicked up another gear.

“Bluetooth ready with seamless integration for all of your devices. Phone, calendar, and email, of course. But also Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, and our latest innovation: hands-free texting. She generates her own wifi hotspots, too.”
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