Can you take me higher, Scott Stapp?

Creed is reuniting this summer. I presume that your genitals have exploded after reading that sentence, and will give you a moment to clean up. I was thinking of going to the concert to conduct some research, but like my idea to go to the 2009 Gathering of the Juggalos, I realized it was too much time and money spent to, let’s be honest, troll some dorks. There’s a lot I would like to learn from a 2009 fan of Creed, though – for example, how can they reconcile Scott Stapp’s alcoholism with his love of Christ? Do they prefer the imagery in “My Sacrifice” or “Higher”? Do they consider Alter Bridge to be a post-Stapp project on par with Van Hagar? I’m almost choking on my liberal rockist affectations and wishing I could click the voice recorder on right now!!!

Tickets start at $25 for parking lot seats and run to $90 for so-close-you’ll-lick-Scott-Stapp’s-forehead-sweat spots, and at that I’m a little appalled. The guys in Creed have to realize that anyone seeing them in the 21st century really has to be a huge fucking Creed fan – honest folk looking for an honest rock concert. How $100 after Ticketmaster fees is justified for that I will never know. I mean, just look at what one North Carolinean fan, “tjardon,” says on the Live Nation website:

I have seen Creed 4 times! Every show was unbelievable! They sound even better live! I can relate to their music and 1 CD got me through one of the toughest times of my life! I even got a Creed tattoo! I would recommend seeing them at least once live…you will want more…trust me!!!

If you are Scott Stapp, this kind of dude is the only person you have left. No one else will have your back; not even the bassist with the power goatee and certainly not P-Nut from 311. So why would you make this guy empty his entire wallet just to hear your voice? Anyone who is going to the blink-182 concert obviously has a ton of money to blow (I for one may be road tripping to St. Louis just to see them with Weezer, because I literally have nothing better to do) but Creed fans are older. They have more shit to worry about. Scott Stapp’s 2009 income is coming from the ghosts of missed car payments and torn socks incapable of being replaced.

I don’t have a punchline to end on because the situation makes me sick. How can you sleep, Scott Stapp? How can you spit in the face of all your fans? Would Joe Strummer charge $100 for a concert ticket? You are grinding your heel in the spine of the working man.

MEOW?

I don’t know if “the jig is up” is even an appropriate phrase to use here, it’s kind of one of those Jason Stathamisms I end up barfing out at all the wrong moments, but WHATEVER, it’s fucking happening:

Shoemaker Crocs widened its loss in the first quarter, sending shares plunging more than 20% in after-market trading.

During the quarter, the company recorded a loss of $22.4 million, or 27 cents a share.

Quickly now, moms; put all your terrible Crocs brand extension products on eBay while you still can! That includes the dog bed, the boots, the mary janes, the cell phone holder, the key chain, and the “garden kneeler” (whatever that is — doesn’t it look like it’s meant to hold two breast implants? Why would you ever want to do that?)

That is so much terrible.  How did we let this happen?  I’m already having this horrible image of Starvin Marvin & co. receiving a giant shipment of multicolored Crocs bullshit after the company goes bankrupt, and a bunch of I Love the Millenium people being all “Remember that? boing boing boing!”

There’s only one answer, and that’s to melt down all the Croc rubber-foam-eco-whatever, eliminate any evidence that such a phenomenon (or should I say, phe-mom-enon? No, I mustn’t) ever occurred, and remold it into a really big waterslide that dumps out in Tijuana.  Wouldn’t that be an exciting ride? I’m ready to accept pitches for VC funding, but you’ll have to get down on your last garden kneeler.

Just two adorable Easter bunnies eatin' matzo.

Why a video? Well, it’s simple. We love Passover, and we think Easter’s cool too ’cause bunnies are cuddly.  We enjoy the festivities and the universal cheer of springtime.  And we enjoy the way we feel after we stuff a tall stack of sheets of dry matzo in our mouths. We also lie about that last part.

Watch and you’ll understand.

So here’s wishing you a Happy Both. (BRB sprinting to the nearest patent stand so we can make a fafillion dollars printing that on springtime-themed greeting cards for years to come and hang our genius over Hallmark’s big stupid crowned head. Love those patent stands, mmhmm.)

Weak? You're not doing it right, bro.

Our apologies. It’s been a busy week of finals and working on school stuff and a bunch of boring shit you don’t really care about; BUT, we will be updating soon. Here’s a funny thing I came across while Googling “marijuana smell” to use in the introduction of an article I’m writing.

Was this really the top answer? Does no one have a more accurate, less vom-inducing description of what pot smells like? Then again, the best word I ever heard to describe the smell was simply, “Farts.” As in, “The better your weed is, the more they smell like farts.” Amen to that, I guess.

Things that smell better than “weak skunk pee”:

• The inside of a hobo’s stomach
• The underbelly of an inbred horse
• A bowl of whore’s milk
• Lil’ Wayne’s dreads
• A comic book from 1972 wrapped in a sheath of cat hair
• The rotted sack of skin better known as Madonna

Coming soon: What does cocaine smell like? How can I identify it without getting the urge to listen to Fleetwood Mac?

A Gentle Disclaimer: there are no trained actors in this video, so don’t get judgey.  Also, I’m aware that the smugface is among the most unflattering faces I’m physically capable of making, and similarly, I suspect Jeremy is aware that his smugface is not a far cry from his normal expression.  Anyway, don’t let that stop you; onwards!

Taintbrush presents: SMUGFACE from emmy blotnick on Vimeo.

Steve Vai is a man not many of you should care about. He’s a guitarist’s guitarist, which means he’s a slash wizard who can out-shred the fuck out of 99% of musicians on the planet, but fills most listeners with nothing but pyrotechnic dread; his biggest group of fans are guys who still blast the first few David Lee Roth albums, and while I can’t fault them, it’s not really my bag. What is the value of these so-called “guitar geniuses” who are incredibly proficient at their instrument but can’t make an album that interests anyone? It’s not as simple as saying they suck just because they can only shred… but what’s the point? A question for another day.

Anyways, the reason you are skipping to the three minute mark of this video (THE THREE MINUTE MARK, 3:00, Youtube’s time stamp won’t work with embedding) is because Mr. Vai is playing some concert decked out in Splinter Cell headgear with some kind of Mandarin ring getup on his hand when the lights go off in the arena and his body comes alive. Notice the LEDs on his guitar? How they light up his fret board so he can see them in the dark? That is nothing compared to his hand: HIS HAND EMITS LASERS. Check it out for yourself. Every ring seems to be a laser pointer, so that when he shreds, lasers shoot out of his fingers and shine wildly.

Vai is probably not an idiot. He knows who this appeals to: Thirteen-year olds who are discovering Led Zeppelin for the first time and think that technically skilled rock is the best kind of rock. For that reasons, playing with goddamn lasers on his hands is a brilliant marketing move. On the other hand, maybe he just thinks lasers are awesome. This is also true!

My point: If you are going to play guitar, you should consider wearing lasers on your hands. Do I really need to deconstruct this? Do I really need to snark about this? Maybe you will read this and give me an F for effort. However, the man is playing with lasers on his hands. Deconstruct that, Einstein.

Behold my fort of virginity.

Just kidding, anime sucks. It’s easy to love Akira and whatever cuteness Hayao Miyazaki craps out, but anime culture is probably the worst thing next to metal culture in terms of creepiness/devotion/love of furries. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta let the anime flag fly, which is why this guy took a yearbook photo – check the name and year in the corner – posing with all of his Dragon Ball Z VHS tapes.

There are a few things wrong with this photo.  One, it’s 2007 and this guy is repping a show made for hyper 8-year olds and fat kids. I haven’t watched DBZ since it was on Telemundo when I was 9, and I quickly figured out that it was just a lot of macho grunting and homoeroticism. It’s the 21st century, and this guy don’t get it.  Two, they’re VHS tapes.  VHS tapes of anime. Is he too poor for DVDs?  Maybe he has both, but the DVDs don’t make as good of a fort of nerdiness. Third, check out how smug this guy is. Look at that cocky grin!  What does he have to be smug about? Being the co-chair of the Japan club in high school? Getting a sweaty handjob from a homely Asian girl in the bathroom at Dragoncon? Living with his parents until he’s 27 and they kick him out? Goddamn.

Have strength, my little cabbage. By the mercy of NKVD Order No. 00447, we have been chosen for Resettlement. We will show the tin mines of Kolyma the true power of the proletariat.

Just when we started thinking the Internet had run out of caption-and-animal photo pairings, they go ahead and unleash the Iron Curtain-inspired Rolcats on the free world.  What’s more adorable than animals and crumbling oppressive regimes?  Nothin‘ you turkeys!

Where Lolcats often paralleled humans’ barest and most simplistic desires (see: cheezburgers, companionship), their Russian language counterparts bear weightier topics, not limited to societal castes and political hardship.  Our very own Fidel would be proud if not embarassed to admit that animals are cute.

What's that smell?

I’ve been using e-mail for as long as velociraptors have freely roamed the earth, and I’ve seen it all.  I’ve seen the rise and decline of gran-dad AOL, the now-hilariously outdated movie You’ve Got Mail, the sluttiest of Hotmail account names, Fwd: upon Fwd: upon Fwd:, the most poorly targeted spam combated by the most refined spam filters, devices that make your lonely drunk ass do arithmetic to grant access, hackers, haxz0rz, and countless other dinglehoppers.  For every trend, for every shred of progress or breakdown, one thing is left in its wake: assholes.

Over my illustrious history of e-mail experience I’ve come to develop a highly discerning nose for these types.  I’m an expert, I can really sniff out the assholes. (Looks around at uncomfortable, silent audience and horrified family members, slowly walking off stage backwards.)

As Supreme Court justices are with hardcore pornography, I am with e-mail assholes: I know them when I see them.  These days, thanks to the de-anonymization and de-sketchification of the Internet, the asshole archetype has somewhat evolved.  They’re no longer sending you massive chain e-mails (hey, that’s what reblogs are for!) or cloying e-cards, rather, they’re overusing their signature as a means of expression.

Granted I think all premeditated e-mail signatures are pretty bad, but adding these little features will give you a two-handed shove into the Land That Stinks Mightily of Asshole:

1. The overly detailed job title: If we’re in e-mail correspondence, chances are I have at least a soft grip on what you do for a living.  If you want to shimmy in a short reminder, well, whatever.  But if you exceed five words, guess what you smell like?  If you answered “asshole”, you’re absolutely correct, Mr. Chief Deputy Counter-manager of Cantaloupe Services, Counterstrike Retention, Senior Foreplay Management, the quick fox jumped over the lazy brown dog Association and Associates Affiliates Assassins, LLC.

2. Colors, cute fonts, and weird characters: Those are fine.  Just kidding, sadsacks, it’s 2009!

3. The inspirational quote: Did that philosophical Gandhi quote really hit you hard?  I’m sure he’d be spiritually satisfied to know that with every appointment confirmation and customer service inquiry you send, he’s in there too.  Listen, I hate to say this, but there is not an inspirational quote in the entire world that you could possibly amalgamate to your signature that will move me.  It just won’t.  At the very least, steer clear of the red flags of e-mail assholes that are constituted by the Jacks: Jack Johnson, Jack Kerouac, and Jack Nicholson in The Bucket List.  Quoting any of these three will distinguish you as an odorific brownstar of note.

4. The “Save paper — don’t print this e-mail unless you need to”: Yeah, well when I print this e-mail and it goes onto the second page just because you included that…

5. The link dump: What’s this?  Your ex-boyfriend’s band’s website, coworker’s startup, and sister’s wedding photos come free with this deal?  If only you’d included an “unsubscribe” link this would be such a jackpot.