10 Random iPod Joints

I have decided to also do the stupid 10 Random iPod Joints thing like Mike did, because I feel inclined to write something, but have no real direction right now, as I’ve not been drinking much and all my drunken mind misfires have been stifled by sobriety. Which means I’ve been reading too much. I just read a whole bunch of bullshit about the future of virtual reality and Second Life and all it did was make me crazy and want to shoot people. Actually it made me want to stay on my property, never leave, never pay bills, and then wait for people to come and try to make me leave or check on me or whatever, and then shoot those people. Unless I liked them, then I would talk frantically and hand them cryptic manifestos I wrote on an old Brother word processor.
Anyways, I don’t have an iPod, but my wife does because I bought her one a couple of Christmases ago. She was always the type of person who stuffed seven CDs into one jewel case, with none of those seven being the one that was supposed to go in there. Me being a music nerd who at one point had 10,000 records organized by self-created genres and then alphabetically within those genres, this would bother me worse than watching people rape fetuses to not get AIDS anymore. So I got her an iPod. But she doesn’t do computer nerd stuff (which saves me a lot of clear historying, you know), so I have to load all the bullshit into the little robot music machine for her. I try to sneak some stuff I like, but mostly the only things I sneak are things she’d like too, because frankly, fuck an iPod. I will not waver on that fact. My oldest kid wants a lavendar shuffle now too, and I’ll probably get it for her birthday next month, but I do not want one. Fuck them bitches. iPods are for girls, that’s why they make all those fruity iPod covers with fake diamonds and pink boxes with anime smiley faces and shit to carry around your accessories.
I will also skip any long mixes or non-music things, like Mike, although I might not as well if I feel it necessary. Also, I will force myself to listen to the whole shit, even if I hate it, which I imagine will happen about half the time out of ten. Her 60 gig iPod is about half full, and half of that is shit, in my opinion.
#1. Queens of the Stone Age - You Think I Ain’t Worth a Dollar but I Feel Like a Millionaire (off that Songs for the Deaf CD): Yes, this was my doing, but my kids and wife like good rock-n-roll that’s not too annoyingly stupid rock-n-roll, which has led me to sneaking in some various notables from the “stoner rock” genre, which is the stupidest made-up name for a genre of music ever, especially since most of these stoner rockers are faggot college kids who grew a beard after getting a 3.8 GPA in Philosophy with a minor in Religious Studies. I like the QOTSA Josh Homme dude a lot though, becauses he’s a nutjob, and he scared stupid Blag Whatever from the Dwarves so much that Blag got a restraining order out on Josh Homme, which is about as unDwarvesy as you could possibly get. But I also read a book that Blag dude wrote last year for a magazine I do book reviews for, and his book was like 13-year-old fat goth girl fiction, so I imagine he scares easily, stage image aside.
#2. The Cure - The Snakepit (off of some bullshit called Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me): See, I knew this was going to happen. My wife and I diverge wildly on our formative years. I listened to the hardcore rap and the thrash metal. She was into the shitty alternative bullshit like The Cure that I always stereotyped as part-and-parcel with the sheltered pussy ass private school white people, who were a different breed entirely than my poor ass white people lineage. Sure, those white people were good for getting blowjobs from girls that had money to buy all the things you’d need to waste another small town weekend night, and those dudes were the perfect recipients of me buying a quarter bag, cutting it into one normal eighth for myself and two skimpy ones for others and selling the skimpy ones to. I have never understood this type of music, and to be honest, all things Morrissey/The Cure/Depeche Mode/etc. are not even in different categories... that’s how little I understand it. It all sounds like gay anal sex foreplay trickery to me, and I am entirely uncomfortable with making the rule I said above that I’d listen to the whole song. This one has already gone on for three-and-a-half minutes, and it only seems to be halfway done according to the bar time graph at the bottom of the display screen. I think I’m gonna have to waste the next three minutes playing that game where you slide the stick along the bottom to bounce the ball up to blow up rectangles, thinking the ball is this song’s faggotry, the stick is my unwavering heterosexuality, and those rectangles are colorfully condomed up dicks that want to fuck me. I will take this faggot song and smash those hard penises to oblivion, and maintain my straight up bro sexuality. Oh shit, there’s two purple dicks left in the far corner and the ball’s bouncing too fast and too much sideways... I think I’m fucked. And there’s still 30 seconds left. I am being lulled into stupid.
#3. Ani DiFranco - Napoleon (from her Dilate CD): Man, my wife used to pump mad Ani DiFranco when we dated the first time, which was crazy because the first time we dated, I was a degenerate bastard that was cheating on her with two other women, living a life of debauchery in a house where there wasn’t a surface in the place free of knife holes or pornographic images or blood splatters or vomit or something. Seriously, there were three of us there and that place was fucked up. The dude who sings in Lamb of God moved in after us, and the place was like rehabilitated gentrified with him living there. I guess tons of coke, scat flicks, and early 20s mindframe sociological experimentation will do that. It was nothing to come home and have a chick handcuffed to the table. One time I fucked this chick and we were laying there in the middle of the night (my room was basically a closet with an egg crate and sleeping bag on the floor and some clothes in a milk crate) and my roommate starts yelling, “YOU FUCKED A CHICK AND YOU ATE THE LAST PORK CHOP! YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!” and busts open my closet door buck naked, holds a sword to my throat and says, “I’d fuck you up if she wasn’t here,” then walks off. The chick, who was supposedly punk as fuck, is visibly shook, and goes, “Should I leave?” I was like, “Nah, he’s always like that.” Anyways, now that I’ve grown and am not a total dick towards all humans without penises, I have come to enjoy Ani DiFranco’s early reverse misogynist work as memory-filled happiness. My wife, back then when we were dating, would play this shit to passive aggressively get at me when I was obviously fucking shit up in terribly assholish ways, so I guess it reminds me of when she was young and firm and so damned cute. I don’t go out of my way to hear any fucking Ani DiFranco by any means, but if she comes on the system when I’m drinking beers (probably PBRs but maybe Tecates) at some hipster douche bar, I’m not gonna be all, “Oh fuck! Not stupid Ani DiFranco!” or anything. My favorite jam by her is “Untouchable Face” though.
#4. The Grateful Dead - Big River (from One From the Vault disc two, which is probably actually like 7000 from the vault): My wife was on Dead tour back in the days when Jerry died man, so she’s into their shit. Or was I guess. There’s lots of it on her iPod, but not as much as you’d expect. I think we both got older, and once the drugs weren’t in our system as often, the Dead is one of those bands that really really really sucks in more than miniscule amounts. Most Deadheads refuse to admit this ever, but most Deadheads also never stop smoking really chronic weed that clouds your judgement. I guess if I had to have a Dead song, “Big River” is not the worst. I got a belly tattoo at this shop in town, and the guy who did it was a Deadhead working hard for three months before he flailed up his life again to go follow Disco Biscuits or Humphry McGees or whatever the fuck is the fake Dead group of today, and he had an iPod with NOTHING but Grateful Dead live shows. Man, it was rough to stomach. But he liked me because we both had bad southern accents, my Snuffy Smith passed out drunk tattoo was hilarious to him, so he cut me a big deal on my tat (haha, I know) and showed me pictures of his favorite weed he ever grew before, like it was his child. He was pretty heavy handed with the needle too, so part of my LOUNGIN’ has almost a camo effect to it, as he faded it from black to white bottom to top. I never understood why he did white. I’m already white; why the fuck would I want white tattooings?
#5. Ani DiFranco - Out of Range (from a s/t CD): Oh god, this is more into the really angry wife was my girlfriend days, riding around in her Maverick so she could bitch at me because when she came to that party last night I was already incoherent from taking too many painkillers and drinking tall cans. And then she’d talk about what an asshole I was when she took me to the bar, and I was internally thinking, “We went to a bar?” but even though I was a womanizing piece of shit to her at that point, I would somehow weasel my way back into her life once the hurt wore off, as I’d straighten up enough to be decent, and my rugged charisma is undeniable, not to mention my ability to give orgasms in various ways. I remember days like that, waking up in her bed, not knowing how the fuck I got from some point like eight memories ahead of reality, and thinking, “Wow, this chick really must like me to take care of me when I’m this fucked up. And she’s got nice tits. I wonder if she’ll buy me breakfast.” And she would. That’s why we’re married now. At least part of the reason.
#6. The Allman Brothers Band - Melissa (from some hokey greatest hits shit): Haha, I was loading all sorts of shit from my youngest stoner sister’s collection onto my wife’s iPod last month, but all I could find at her crib was her second-tier CDs. She kept all the good stuff in her busted up Escort. So that’s how this got on there. I do not mind admitting growing up a rural white piece of shit, I have a certain amount of classic rock tolerance that most people lack. Like the Steve Miller Band is not an automatically terrible thing in my opinion, believe it or not. I had this song on the original Brothers and Sisters LP and it’s one of my more favorite Allmans records, so I can’t diss on it, even though I feel almost compelled to pretend I don’t like it since this a gay-assed internerd blog and I should probably be too wacky and subservient to ever enjoy the R&B by way of the white man’s Georgia noodlings of Duane Allman. But I do, so fuck you. I also like watching freight trains rumble by, and seriously, if it was warm enough, I’d totally be catfishing right now, using raw chicken livers for bait and keeping my beers in a Carolina cooler, which is a supposedly derogatory term for just leaving the 12-pack in the brown bag they are required by law to stuff your shit into. Except they put it in stupid clear plastic bags nowadays because the world’s gone too shit. “Oh sweet Melissa...” I should mash-up this shit with King Diamond.
#7. Prolo - Welcome to the World (off of a comp called Subliminal Soul Sounds): Props to my wife because she has all sorts of music I’ve done over the years on her iPod, which always pops up on the randomizer and forces me to deal with my lack of self-worth and how I hate the sound of my voice. Lucky this is just an instrumental intro Boogie Brown hooked up for some old Prolo shit, with none of my stupid offbeat white man rhyming on top, and double luckily I’m wearing headphones. Brown was in his “let me smoke a ton of weed and do weird shit with the Ensoniq EPS 16-plus that only someone in a similar mindstate could hear with headphones on” stage of making beats. We’ve still used this track as an intro track for playing live, but you wouldn’t give a fuck about all that.
#8. Yellowman - If You Should Lose Me (You’ll Lose a Good Thing) (off his King Yellowman CD): My wife likes some reggae, and I am thankful that rather than one of the 9000 Bob Marley tracks the iPod randomizer could’ve spit out at me, it gave me some Yellowman. I have always respected the fact that Yellowman made songs about being a sexy motherfucker, when he’s probably the ugliest dude ever born. Although, with Shabba Ranks and that Mavado dude out now, it seems Jamaican music has a strong history of really ugly assed dudes getting plenty of boots from those women who do that rapid ass twitch thing in front of tin buildings in alleys, if BET Island Vibes (or whatever it’s called) videos have taught me anything. You know one thing I’ve always noticed in a faggot music nerd way but have never remembered to mention somewhere where other people might notice and realize I made an important realization is, when you listen to Yellowman you can hear a lot of what influenced DJ Quik. Quik, when on point (not that bullshit he did last year called The Fixxxers or whatever), is one of my favorite producers. But he’s got that tweaked out semi-dub style that Yellowman ran shit with, with his albino ass.
#9. The Stray Cats - Rev It Up & Go (off the Runaway Boys retrospective shit): I simply cannot fathom purposely listening to anything associated with rockabilly at this point in my life. When you go to the magazine racks in book stores nowadays, there’s a whole set of like 12 magazines dedicated entirely to that weird hot rod culture run by rockabilly dorks, where everybody has either a card suit or dice tattooed on them somewhere, and the chicks all look like malnourished aliens with magnetic metal dots sticking out of their face got an extreme makeover to look as much like Betty Page as they possibly could. I can’t stand that shit. They all get made to look cool, but seriously, I went to an artsy ass urban college and met a number of rockabilly type dudes - none of them ever was cool. In fact, I’d bet that one in three of them was secretly a wannabe child molester, and that’s a conservative number. Like the only way being a rockabilly fag would be cool is if you could somehow bleach your body and clothes of all color and you were just like a black-and-white holograph of yourself like those really old hot rod movies where Chuck Connors would be the pissed off dad and Jack Nicholson probably had a bit role in there somewhere as well. But even then, after seeing the B&W rockabilly fag once or twice, you’d think, “Oh shit, here comes that rockabilly fuckface. He thinks he’s so awesome because he’s in black-and-white in a colored world. Let’s go stomp his ass and steal his grey Cadillac to see if it’s pink or not.”
#10. Ani DiFranco - Talk to Me Now (off her self-titled CD): Seriously, I think there’s like four CDs worth of Ani DiFranco shit amidst 2500 songs, so I have no idea how three songs came up at once. Perhaps the psychic energy of my wife is reminiscing back to those days since she just popped out our third kid - all daughters - and although I’m a committed awesome husband/dad type dude, I’m still a little drunk around the edges and lack the motivation to live to my full capabilities. But fuck, I was born a piece of shit, not someone who listens to The Cure, so I don’t know any better. To me a good day is blowing off work to go down to the river and drink a shitload of beer while freestyling personalized lyrics to the Marshall Tucker Band’s “Can’t You See”. I’m just me, and if we fall behind a month or two on the mortgage and the lights just barely missed getting cut off, it’s alright, because I’ll hit a lick here in a few weeks and everything will be tight and we can have gingered tuna steaks for dinner on a Friday night and she can drink her Sammy Smith Nut Brown Ale and I can guzzle some Millers in blaze orange cans and we can sit outside on the five acres we motherfucking own - so long as I don’t fall another month behind on the mortgage - and live larger than fuck. Shit is good right now, so fuck all this Ani DiFranco angry bitch nonsense. Isn’t there some Michelle Shocked on here too?