Reverend Guitars

Reverend Guitars is now a part of the family! Bobby Calabrese officially shreds on a Reverend Sensei RA, a great addition to his arsenal.

Check out Reverend Guitars: www.ReverendGuitars.com

This thing is weird and I like it.

My luck is strong. My luck is unique. I believe that everything I've worked towards has led me up to this day in time. Everything I've strived for has subconsciously guided me to this beautiful entity, this shrine to human awe and wonder, this terrifying thing:

Picked this little fucker up in Dallas, TX at a super-mega-toy-store. One of those stores that sells everything that was once covered in kid boogers and drool or certainly will be in the near future. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it lying there, pink and grinning. Between the Star Wars junk and the mess of forty-thousand loose MOTU figures was this thing just waiting for me. JUST BEGGING.

Four dollars later, I'm now the proud papa of a flesh colored, dildo with a face.

Turns out it's an alien from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." I vaguely remember a shitty bored game based off the film, but if you're anything like me, not only are you shocked that this even exists, but that they even bothered to base toys geared for children on a movie that showed little more than Richard Dreyfuss playing with mashed potatoes and a few freaky fucking aliens for a split second near the end. Which, now that I've talked myself through it, makes total and appropriate sense. 

Do they have a Richard Dreyfuss bendy, too? EBAY EBAY EBAY

And it bends! Did I mention it bends? Dear God, it bends. Completely ageless and timeless, this is the bendy toy of the most nightmarish space creep to ever grace cinema. Let me explain:

YES. You can argue the idea that there are, technically, scarier and more grotesque looking aliens in film. But what this provides is an even more delicate terror than, say, the forever-perspiring alien from "Alien."

This guy doesn't wear clothes. He has zero body hair. The limbs are longer than normal and it's head is the size of a watermelon, which sits on a thin and smooth neck. And behind it all lies a pair of HUMAN EYES. Even in toy form, they gave him doll eyes that, when prompted, twinkle in the sunlight.

He's even more fucked up looking in the bag. I guarantee you this is the ugliest sumbitch alien you've ever done see. And, coincendetally, the funniest fucking thing, too. Seriously, does this not make you giggle? Like, every time you look at it?

It's an unnecessary question, but it begs to be asked:

What does it all mean? How can this thing be so awful and amusing at the same time? (well, it does look like a dick, I mean, c'mon)

Where does life begin and end? Is this one of those ying and yang thing? Why does this toy alien make me...feel this way?

Why?

:/

"GIMME WAR" [OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO]

Bobby: “Gimme War’ is all out, loud and heavy. Very bare bones, but that’s the way I like it. This is the song that wakes you up in the morning when all you have to drink is decaf. We filmed in a junkyard during one of the hottest days of the summer, which I think helped the intensity of the video. We even did it in a single take. How can ya beat that? Crank your speakers to 11 and get fucking wild!”

What's the deal with In-N-Out Burger?

What's the fuss about? What's the big deal? What's up?

I've never eaten at an In-N-Out. The last time I stepped foot into one was ten years ago after a Strokes concert, and that was only because I wanted to impress my friends with worldly knowledge. "Sure, I love this stuff! Been eatin' it for years!"

Everyone talks about it like it's a burger smothered in edible gold. They act like the fries don't taste like any other fries from any other fryer. THEY ACT SO HIGH AND MIGHTY.

I figure that's why I've steered clear. Because, don't get me wrong, I can always get down with a good burger. As soon as hype starts creepin' in, I'm instantly turned off. Or maybe it's my inherent nature to disagree with anything anyone has to say. Just 'cause it's fun and I'm bored tee-hee.

This is my first time trying In-N-Out Burger. I can't wait and wonder any longer! Curiosity has a firm grip on my bony shoulders. And it's shaking me hard and my neck hurts. "Eat it! Eat the food! Eat the Goddamn In-N-Out!" (that was curiosity speaking, btw)

I never realized everyone dressed like old-school burger flippers. I like that. Because if I had to work at an In-N-Out, I'd much rather be dressed as a retro-dork than an actual dork-dork.

There's a certain calmness to it all. The bright lights, the color scheme. It feels (and looks) like a McDonald's but way less hepatitis-y.

I'm already thrown off by the menu. Look at the prices! Look at the minimal selections!

I always remember a specific episode of Kitchen Nightmares, where  Gordon Ramsey was berating a restaurant owner about their menu. Apparently, they had way too many choices and options, causing the customer to become confused and flustered. "There's too many items! Keep it simple!" (that was G. Ramsey speaking, btw)

In-N-Out Burger totally must have seen that episode, too!

BECUZ THEY BARELY HAVE ANYTHING

And that's...good. It's actually good. It's legitimately smart. That episode of KN sooo paid off. 

Sure, they sell more than just hamburgers and fries. They sell shakes. And a choice of cheese on your hamburger. But when you're a fast food joint that mainly sells hamburgers and fries, you might as well just sell some damn good motherfucking hamburgers and fries. 

So the ante is up. The bar has been raised. Will they make the grade?

...but wait!

Along with ketchup, you can load up on peppers! Little, juicy peppers. Everyone knows them as peporoncinis, but I hate writing that word out because blogger always demands that it's spelled wrong.

I also wonder if the owner is such a big fan of the things that they specifically cut out mustard to only offer ketchup and peppers. "Who needs mustard when you have peporoncinis? I'll change the way the world thinks!" (that was the owner speaking, btw)

Well, it looks pretty good. I'm not a stickler, nor am I a snob when it comes to cooked meat, so I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like it. That and because I'm a pig. A dirty, rotten pig.

Overall, really good. I'd take another photo of it but I fear getting hamburger-juice on the phone more than the Devil himself. I already hate how my fingers smell like secret sauce and I swear one of those peppers dripped on me.

It's good, though. Trust me.

I'm gonna take a shower now.

The Story of Elvis Busts and Saved by the Bell.

Do you remember the episode of Saved by the Bell where Screech's mom is leaving town so the gang decides to have a party at his house? And his mom is really into Elvis? And has an Elvis bust? And they end up dancing and going crazy and knocking the Elvis bust into a million pieces? Of course you do!

All actual details aside, I've always wanted an Elvis bust because of that episode. Because of that show. Because of Screech's mom.

It's odd. But I know I'm not alone in this, either. A quick Google search and you can tell other people obsess about this weird, minute detail in television history, too. Hell, where do you think I stole this screen cap from?

So, there it is. Singing, smiling Elvis Presley. I think what I like more about it this is that it's placed on a really nice, golden pedestal. Screech's mom has a golden shrine dedicated to Elvis in their grape colored living room. How cool is that?

I've kept my eyes open for an Elvis bust (and a golden pedestal) throughout the years because of Screech's unusual ability to influence and dictate. Sure, I love Elvis as much as the next guy, but that scene really sealed the deal. I want that statue. I need that statue.

Fortunately, I've seen 'em come and I've seen 'em go. There are dozens of incarnations of this specific Elvis entity -- lamps, cookie jars, everything ranging from the outrageously detailed to the crudely painted, etc. Depending on the jerk seller, I usually see these bad boys priced at over a hundred bucks (fuck!) and, unfortunately, anything under forty bucks is usually 3/4 chipped or the size of a pine cone.

I once tried to weasel an awesome Elvis lamp from the owner of a bar in Erie, PA. I offered him cold hard cash for the treasure, the good stuff, cabbage, dinero, legal fucking tender! Sadly, he told me to fuck off. I wholly understand, it was definitely a nice piece. As it turns out, the bar doesn't exist anymore, so...I won?

This ol' dog always comes out on top, though.

YEAH BOY I GOT ONE

It's not the one, but eh it's close.

This is nice because it's "Hawaiian Elvis," and that's OK with me. Say what you will, but that was a fine time in Elvis History. Jumpsuits, colorful leis, endless buffets, the works.

The quest was fortuitous, though. I got this for a clean fifteen dollars and it's the size of a desk lamp. Someone must not have seen Saved by the Bell Season 2, Episode 5: "House Party" and accidentally didn't price this accordingly. What a loser.

Look at those sideburns! Those eyebrows! That smirk!

Kiss me, you fool.
xoxox

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

The gang's all here.

Watch a gross movie, carve a rotten pumpkin, eat a razor-blade disguised as a Snickers, etc. Do what you gotta do -- it's only once a year we can all collectively run around in monster masks to stalk the streets and cause mischief. It always helps to steal little kids' candy and to trip old ladies for looking at you funny. Always gets me in the Halloween mood.

Have a good one, ya creepy weirdos.

5 Random Posters That I Really, Really Like.

I really like posters. I like the posters that I currently own. Some of these I'm about to show you have been hanging on my walls for longer than a high-schooler. They're influential, sentimental and just really pretty to look at. In no particular order, here are 5 Random Posters That I Really, Really Like and here's why I like them:

DANZIG

This used to belong to my big brother, Jimmy, way back in the day. It's been passed down so many years ago I'm unsure on the actual date, but I'm guessing it was during my formative teenage years when an older sibling had the power to influence my every musical decision ever. And I thank him for that, because Danzig is the absolute shit and yes this poster reveals that absolute shitness.

Danzig rules. Danzig has always ruled. The band is the perfect incarnation of The Doors, Elvis Presley and bluesy metal. It's everything I love rolled into one, so yes, I'm a fanboy and I can't stop gushing over this shirtless photo of Danzig and crew. The black, shadowy atmosphere and uncomfortable bible verse about lust really make for an excellent poster moms will surely love!

And just in case they're reading: John Christ, Eerie Von and Chuck Biscuits made that band. Without them, those first four, perfectly executed albums would not exist. So kudos to you, dudes.

The Misfits

What can I say? I love The Misfits. It ain't no mystery, baby.

YES JIMMY GAVE THIS TO ME TOO

So it's an original poster, whatever "original" even means. I'm really just trying to say that it's really fucking old. When did this poster exist? I do not know. I'm guessing it was during that early 90's era when The Misfits started gathering steam from having their t-shirts worn by famous rock stars, thus introducing "Collection 2" to the world, thus introducing all sorts of cool, new merch. My historical interpretation is shoddy at best, so this probably all made up by me and that shoddy memory of which no memories exist. All I know is that it's old and wrinkly and I have it framed and I love it.

This, along with the Danzig poster, were always hanging somewhere in my brother's room, which was eventually passed down to me, and which I shall pass down to the next in line (probably my firstborn son or, preferably, a clone of myself). This poster duo has served as a sort of shrine to rock and roll, to what I should adore and worship for the rest of my life. Well, I'm sure glad the music is awesome because yeah I'm a Danzig fanatic wheeeeee

"Army of Darkness"

This one's a bit of a cheat. And of course, once again, it involves my older brother, Jimmy. It's safe to say that he shaped my weak, grossly uninformed mind for the better. If he wasn't schooling me on the infinite wisdom of Glenn Danzig and The Misfits, he was letting me in on the biggest secret of any young boy's life: disgusting, bloody horror movies. Specifically, Sam Raimi directed/Bruce Campbell featured horror movies.

I figure that this is a cheat because he once gave me an original "Army of Darkness" poster (the one with Ash in superb masculine form, with babe at foot) during his years working at a video rental store, which has since deteriorated and melted over the years (the poster and the video store) and which I've since lost and have replaced. We hung the original on every wall conceivable way too many times that it died in a papery, hole-y mess. In honor of that poster, and in honor of this being the fucking greatest film ever ("Evil Dead" and "Evil Dead 2" make the cut, too) I had to get a new one to display. To stare at. To gather strength, power and fury. This is that original poster even-though-it's-not-that-original-poster.

I love you, Sam and Bruce.

"The Empire Strikes Back"

Everyone needs a poster of "Star Wars" in their house. It's essential. Even if "Star Wars" has become some kind of sexy-cool, go-to staple to bang chicks at comic-con, it's still one of the raddest films to ever have been filmed.

I chose "Empire" because it has the best imagery, poster wise. And I guess film-wise, if you wanna get down to brass tacks. I dig them all, but there's something inherently cool about the deeply dramatic tone to the second part of this trilogy. And don't you dare fucking tell me this is actually part five blah blah fuck that

This poster is exceedingly large, too. So much purple. So much Wompa.

Freddy Krueger Looking Especially Terrifying

I have to include this because...why not? Freddy rules. Robert Englund rules. I'd be lying if I said that "Nightmare on Elm Street" was a series I actually gave a shit about, though. I think the love spawns from the idea that Freddy Krueger, with his chicken-skinned face and his demonic claws has, and still kinda does, absolutely scare the pants off of me. When I was young and this shit was in theaters, Freddy Krueger ruined my life. So many sleepless nights, so many nightmares of being chased and tortured by a dude in a striped sweater and dirty fedora. I was scared before I even saw the first film! All I saw were screenshots in magazines. All I heard was that dreadful sounding last name: krooogerrrrr. My keen ears hear something that sounds like a mash-up of crude, booger and rape. I can guarantee you that all three of those words are not fun and that is how they came up with "Krueger."

It was terrible. It haunted me. It ruined me. So, of course, I had to get a giant poster of that bastard's ugly face.

I believe I got it at a dusty, old comic book shop out here in Arizona. It's one of those places that specializes in everything, as long as you look hard enough.

Well, that's about it. Next up will be a list of my five favorite chairs, welcome mats (the list is about four welcome mats short) and ballpoint pens. But the colored ones. Like blue. And red.

Stay tuned!

MOAM?

Last week I finally saw one of my all-time favorite bands, Man Or Astroman?

Yeah, this is gonna be weird because their name does include a question mark, so trust me when I say I'm not supposed to sound confused every other sentence?

OH GOD I DID IT AGAIN

Ah, Man or Astroman? Where do I even begin? The furthest memory I can drudge up is sitting in my brother's room back in Illinois, staring at this marvelous, colorful album cover. CD's were pretty cool back then, way more advanced than the current, dinky cassette tape, so I guess there was a lot of charm in this album art being so huge. Well, my older sister had a bunch of shitty new-wave records at the time, so, uh, those don't count because those suck.

I liked everything about it. Robots either mining for gold, building a base to destroy Earth or simply working out, who knew? All that mattered was what lie beyond the front page and into the meat of the matter...the music.

Oh, and really, the name "Man or Astroman?" is just so inherently weird and cool you couldn't fuck this one up if you tried.

The music is great duh

Surf-rock with an outer space flair. Throw in a bunch of sci-fi movie samples and you've got a pretty good idea but you don't because there's so much more to Man Or Astroman?

They're better than all other surf bands. They've exceeded by somehow turning a pretty laid back, goofy genre into really kick-ass shit. Not trying to hate on the classics, jus' sayin' is all. Jus' sayin', bro.

I'm gushing, aren't I?

"Destroy all Astromen," specifically, is my favorite album. Actually, I like a few other albums more but this one was my first taste -- it's hard to forget the soft caress of your first lover's touch. This is the album that would hook me for, oh, twenty years, and would help me form my own playing style as a guitarist. I owe a lot to these stinkin' goofs.

They stopped playing years ago, so I pretty much threw in the towel when it came to ever seeing them live. I've accepted my forever bummed-out-ness. Once Youtube rolled on in, I finally had access to see what they even looked like. It only pissed me off more. And fascinated me. So many grainy clips from so many grainy shows. Who were these guys? The mystery remains and shall always remain I've missed my chance fuck!

So imagine my surprise when I found out that Man or Astroman? was once again playing shows and was coming to Phoenix, AZ, my back-fucking-yard. The joy! The excitement! I said to imagine my surprise, did you imagine it? There's a lot of it!

Everything was perfect and in harmony at the show. The Crescent Ballroom is quite posh for a venue, and since their house beer is "Luchador Lager" I've committed to the idea that I will one day move in and live under the stage. Plus, most of Man Or Astroman's? fans are so specifically Man Or Astroman? fans, so it was just a bunch of nerds in glasses and old dudes. It was pleasant.

I'll spare you the details (code: I'm lazy) but the show was killer. Sadly, a few original members have been replaced for the night's festivities (where the fuck were you, Coco?!) but all was negated once the guitars were humming and the drums were pounding. I dunno, man, it was pretty kewl.

Speaking of the drums, Birdstuff, who was very nice in hearing our excited claims of eternal fandom, was unstoppable. He played quick, fast and sparse. Small drum-kit but BIG sounds, it was incredible. He even broke a tom and instead of just, ya know, not using it, he took it off his kit and wore it over his head. Are you not entertained?

And then the show ended and he did this really crazy thing and stuff. 

COOOOOOOL

It's art! From outer space! They called it a night by stacking every instrument into a pile of throbbing, bizarre noise. I can only imagine the clean up, which makes it all the more impressive.

100% satisfied. Thanks, MOAM?

Ghoulies in my bathroom.

I love a great bathroom. With all the years I've spent traveling, I've come to appreciate a good toilet with a secure door that doesn't leave the participant in a world of fear. I hate what I've become, but I've learned to embrace my new outlook on life. In fact, I have a list of requirements:

I like it when there's toilet paper, of course. I like knowing there's soap available. It offers a glimmer of hope and makes the process a little less stressful. It's as if the crime as a whole can get however crazy it wants, as long as there's that light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, I also prefer paper towels over the blow-dry fan things (can double as second tier toilet paper paper when the occasion arises) and the more stalls the better. In fact, the bigger the better the bathroom the more vast and anonymous it can become. I like anonymity. AND IF THERE'S ON THING I hate the most it's when someone is right outside the door and are really, really impatient.

I don't know how to swing this back around to what I'm trying to say but um just get a "Ghoulies" movie poster and put it above your toilet i like bathrooms

"Ghoulies," for those unaware, is a 1980's horror film about a gang of troll-demon-turds that are summoned by the wicked ways of black magic. Some guy is in a house with his wife or something, and he goes into the basement, maybe reads a book and hey yeah there ya go. I can't remember how or why any of this took place, but I think it was because...why not? Wouldn't you read creepy, Latin passages from a dusty old book?

It's an awesome Halloween flick. You can't go wrong with this and it's many sequels. It's dumb fun and entirely enjoyable because of this. There's a whole lot of silliness and little monster dudes running around, which is entirely up to the viewer whether that's good or bad (of course it's good) but I can assure you that we, as a whole, HATE that the ghoulie featured in the movie poster is not in the film.

Not even a toilet is shown! We demand a ghoulie wearing red suspenders! We want it all and we want it now!

It doesn't really matter. Even if the movie is jumbled and confusing and red-suspender-ghoulie-less, this is THEE best decoration one can use to spice up that boring room you poop in, guaranteed.

This fits my mood. It fits the aesthetic. I am one with The Toilet and now I can show my appreciation by framing and hanging a picture of a little, green turd-monster jumping out of the can.

It excites! It invokes! It tickles! I stare deep into his eyes and he looks right on back.

Now my bathroom rules. In fact, I might invite friends over just to show them where I keep my toothbrush and zit cream and HEY LOOK AT THAT A GHOULIES POSTER DONT YOU THINK ITS COOL GUYS?!?!

Yeah, my bathroom rules.

Carpet Displacement Theory.

There's a lot of things that bother me. I can't help it -- I just absolutely get annoyed by nearly everything. Well, not everything. In fact, if I were to whittle down the list of things that I worry about, it would fall under the category of inane and pointless. Because most everything I dream about, think about or concern myself over is pretty stupid. The dumber the better. I can't help it. It's like an OCD with ADD and a dash of OMG.

So, what's bothering me now?

Carpet wrinkles. Ugly carpet wrinkles.

OK, here's the thing: it's really not that big of a deal. I get to live under a roof with a toilet and a kitchen and I get to watch TV and strum a guitar and occasionally eat food. It's not a bad gig, really. Griping over a few inconsistencies in a cheap, poorly installed carpet is pathetic even for me.

But it's my blog so oh well suck it!

I've always wanted wood floors, to be perfectly honest. Creaky, classy wood floors. It would eliminate any carpet suffering! Destroy all sadness! Every time I turn around it seems like everyone's got wood flooring (fake or not) and the jealously overrides. Again, not that big of a deal but fuck that would be nice. Clickin' and clompin' all over creation. To dream!

What I'm currently involved in is a carpet with weird, bubbly pockets scattered throughout. I suppose they make decent ramps for Hotwheels, but don't help in keeping up with the Jones'. I know the Jones' have faux wooden floors. Those pretentious fucks.

Here's one of the main offenders. A camera literally does not do this justice because I very well know there's a wrinkle there but you clearly cannot see a wrinkle there. It's that black line. If you squint. And imagine with your heart.

FINE FINE

Here's a closer, lower angle. You get the idea, it's jacked, it's there, I obsess. Take my word for it. All that aside, what am I gonna do about it? Why did I call you all here today?

WELL I've come up a theory. An idea. A blueprint. A fool-proof plan. I have a curiously odd proposal on how to amend this carpet treason.

I call it "Carpet Displacement Theory."

My hypothesis is that one area will and SHOULD give way to fate, invention and really heavy things. The plan is to leave hefty objects on said wrinkles in an attempt to flatten them out. The wait of these objects would displace the wrinkles and bubbles and allow me to sleep better at night. Hence, "CARPET DISPLACEMENT THEORY." So grab yourself a small TV, a toolbox or a stack of comics...it's time to get busy!

I like to use a laundry basket. It's inconspicuous, unobtrusive and if questioned, no one can fault you for doing your laundry. 

Now, to leave it overnight for twenty-four hours!

Again, pictures don't do it justice. But then again, it didn't do anything so whatever. My theory, sadly, is just a thoery. And in practice totally fucking sucks. In a way, it DOES kind of work, because the area, to the well trained eye, kind of looks flattened and corrected, but I'm guessing it's only because a certain area of carpet is smashed up so yea of course it looks different duh

Did we learn anything today? No. Not at all. You kind of caught a glimpse into my neurosis, which is kind of cool. Wait, is that even the definition of neurosis? What's neurosis? Oh, God, I'm having a panic attack.

yay see ya next time

49397793 bottle caps

I have so many bottle caps.

A lot of bottle caps. What do I do with these bottle caps? They're beer bottle caps and there's a whole hell of a lot of them. Mexican, American, German, cheap domestics and douchey microbrews. Why is there so many? "What in the world have you been up to?"you ask. Well, you condescending jerk, don't assume this is all from, say, a week of collection. What makes you think I could do that? Drink that many, I mean. Well, what makes you think I can't drink that much beer in a week? What an asshole! GET OUT OF MY FACE

Wait wait wait. The cold, hard slap of reality has just hit. You've done this to me, you've opened my eyes. Is this my Swan Song? Are all these beer bottle caps the treasure map to my death? what have i done?! what does my liver look? did I really drink all this beer I take it all back I'll go start drinking water and pomegranite stuff and i'll do that juicing thinging everyone's into!!!

WAIT WAIT NO. This is a collection from the last year. Yes, that last year. In fact, I remember clearly now: the first bottle cap opened and saved was FROM AN EXACT YEAR AGO no that's not really true. I have no idea. But it's been a year. About a year. Give or take.

What do I do with these? I don't want to make beer bottle cap frames with hot glue. I once saw that online. It looked good but kind of cheesy. What about tying them up like popcorn on a string? How long would something like that take? What would I even do with a massive string of bottle caps, anyhow? Hang laundry? Hang laundry specifically cleaned because of beer spills? Yay or nay?

OH!

I got it! I know what to do! I can start "The World's Largest Beer Bottle Cap Collection!" Maybe even open a museum! Well, I'd hate for people to be near me so forget that last part. Don't they have online musuems? I can charge a dollar NO WAIT FIVE DOLLARS. With that kind of money I can get more beer! Which brings in more bottle caps! I'vce done it! I'VE DONE IT I'VE SOLVED IT!

yay tuesday

Quick and Crappy Coffee Review: Kona 13 Coffee & Tea

I went to Kona 13 Coffee & Tea and it's got coffee and it's good here are three things why it's good:

1. The name of the shop uses the word "Kona."

The word "Kona" is fresh, it's vast and it's exhilarating. It instantly brings to mind the sandy shores of Hawaii, luaus and pigs roasting over a fire. It's a great word, a solid word, the perfect word for use in any business. I'm not even really sure what "Kona" even means, but it's hooked me so there ya go.

2. The previous coffee shop before Kona 13 Coffee & Tea sucked, so by default, Kona 13 Coffee & Tea is already a winner.

Before Kona 13 Coffee & Tea came into existence, another coffee joint was in it's spot. It was a place called "Baristas" and it was the silliest little thing you ever done see. In a nutshell, it was a Hooters for coffee. Their idea was to have their female employees sell coffee in lingerie, giving you thrills and chills and all sorts of tinglies. If the regular, ordinary consumer of a fine cup of Joe is anything like me, they'd be too embarrassed to order anything in a joint like that so uhhh yeah. It's just too much pressure. Too much hype. Too many pervy vibes floating around at eight in the morning.

Which is all just a calculated guess as to what's going on inside -- I've never even set foot in the place. I've only driven past it a handful of times. Alright, I was in the bushes. With a telescope. Ten miles away.

They went kapoot so whatever.

3. I was tagged as a spy for competing coffee companies.

My skills in undercover photography have been weak at best. My skills in regular, every day photography suck ass, too. WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY is that I'm terrible at taking photos, especially when I'm supposed to look like I'm not taking photos. It's my ultimate Achilles Heel. It's awkward. It's frustrating. Because it's awkward and frustrating it never isn't awkward and frustrating. If that makes any sense. god this is so frustrating you're making me feel awkward

So I got caught taking photos. I got bold and snapped one of the inside area (it's more of a "stand" than a "shop") which was outrageously ballsy, even for me. It might have tipped the scales because yes I got caught red-handed. By the guy running the show. He asked, "So, what are the pictures for? Am I gonna see this online?"

I would have been totally fucked if he did it in a sinister way. It was more of a wink and a nudge type deal, which helped formulate any type of lie I was about to bust out, it allowed for more breathing room.

"NO IM JUST A REGULAR GUY," I said.

Which I guess worked. Probably didn't. I then decided to tell him that I recently purchased a new phone and was merely testing out the new phone's camera taking abilities. Like, duh! So obvious! The more unnecessary details the more convincing the lie!

If the lies and deceit didn't work, it's alright. I'm just hoping he'll somehow see this post down the line and it'll be even weirder somehow. "Why would he lie?" he'd wonder. "BECAUSE" I'd reply.

Oh, and the coffee's good.

I mean, c'mon. It's coffee.

DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES?

Well, do ya?

DO YA, PUNK?

ALTAR BEAST

He's here! He's here! He's really here!

He's green! He's mean! He's got a purple chest?

HE'S GOT A PURPLE CHEST!

That is Altar Beast. A sewer-colored demon wolf with small parts, not for children under fourteen. The fine folks at  MonsterWorship.com were kind enough to hook me up with an Altar Beast figure at HorrorHound Weekend, which was great because I do like beasts and I do like candy-apple green colored beasts, too.

They must have known that I'm a big fan of the art toy revolution. There's a certain smell about my person. The seedy underbelly of producing, trading and colleting artsy molds of all sorts of weird shit is...like, really cool. My pheromones are in overdrive just thinking about it! Whatever you want = you make. I like how it's so DIY and unique and colorful. And super fucking expensive but let's not go down that road and ruin the buzz ya know yeah

I'm no expert, but this one is good. Really good. Even the name is good. "Altar Beast." So tough. So beast! The way he stares, the way he struts, the way he's a LIME GREEN WEREWOLF.

I like this pose, too. They sculpted it just right. The "hands above the head" look works in many ways. He's either extreme in attack/scare mode or ready to body-slam the shit out of the entirety of Castle Greyskull. It looks like he moves at the waist but I can neither confirm nor deny this for I refuse to take it out of the package hahaha just kidding YOLO

I love it. My new favorite thing ever. Feels all smooth and slick. Looks even better out of it's cage. Looks highly chew-able, too. Probably tastes good, too. Looks like it belongs in my mouth, is what I'm trying to say.

The only thing that would make this better would be to give it the face of a bee so you can call it "Altar Bee-st." So it would be like a killer bee, but still hold elements of it's wolf-beast form. I dunno. I just really like puns.

ALTAR BEAST OUT

I really like bar mirrors.

I think it's because...well, I like bars.

We play in bars all the time. I'm constantly in bars. I couldn't escape a bar if I tried. Even if I absolutely hated bars, I still couldn't fight my natural attraction to low lighting and a place where the lone intent is to get fucked up. So I'm stuck liking bars.

Whenever we go on tour, whenever we play a wacky bar in the middle of no where, I always entertain the idea of swiping something off the wall for my own collection. Nothing too big, nothing like a giant cow skull or a chalkboard, but something minor and inconspicuous to take home and to help build my arsenal of weird, dumb shit. You know how some bars are just littered with dumb shit? Moose heads, cheesy beer posters, whatever. Stuff like that. 

It's bad, I know, but it's my dream. It's my calling. Naturally, I'm too much of a puss to actually do this, so I'm left with accomplishing the goal in my own, legal fashion. Wait, what's the goal again?

I dunno. To make my place look like a bar, I guess.

There's comfort in bar culture. I like bars. I like the way they look, feel and smell. Over the years, I've become so accustomed to the inside of these damn places that I want my damn place to look like those damn places.

SO BAR MIRRORS

I don't know how I got it in my head, but I really like bar mirrors now. They're just really...cool. Classy, maybe? I don't know. Now, I've seen quite a few radical bar mirrors in my time (Elvis themed, that really cool Coors Light Beer Wolf thing, etc.) but most, unfortunately, are insanely overpriced. Who knew a mirror you can barely see yourself in would be so expensive? So you gotta understand my plight. You know the lengths I would go to (petty theft, irrevocable guilt, etc.) but I'm a bar-bum on a budget. And where do bums shop?

And so enters eBay:

It was cheap, which is good. It was one of those rare and exciting occasions where I actually won what I was bidding on. I figure no one gives a shit about flimsy, dirty Pacifico mirrors like I do, so the celebration seems a bit overzealous. Extra points because Pacifico is delicious BTW.

And I dig the way it looks! Wood frame, clean glass, every one's happy. While doing the shitty dishes, I can imagine that I'm on a beach with the sun above, the wind gently wafting through my hair while a raucous, two-on-two volleyball tournament takes place in the near distance. Winner takes home bragging rights and the hottest girl in school! Just imagine!

Believe it or not, I found this next piece in the dumpster. The fucking dumpster. I'm not one to knock the ol' occasional dumpster dive, though. In fact, I encourage it. Fantastic things can be found in dumpsters! Like a slightly dirty, possibly diseased Dos Equis bar mirror! Touch of paint a bit of elbow grease and she shines like a diamond. The mirror is so reflective you can make out every nook and cranny of that popcorn ceiling! 

That's about it for now. 

Of course, the hunt continues. 

The obsession grows.

American Rebel Death Riders

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

CALABRESE - Believe in Rock and Roll!

im addicted i can't help somebody please save me

WHERE HAVE I BEEN

WHERE AM I GOING
WHAT AM I?

video games, man, video games.

long story short, as soon as we got back from tour i melted into a pile of bones and skin and goo in front of my television. it was disgusting, weird and morally irresponsible but i didn't and still dont care. whenever we're offered time in between tours, i really like to go balls out with the most lazy, inconsequential bullshit known to man. netflix has always reigned supreme, but only recently have I dusted off my poor and lonely ps3 have I truly descended into a brand new era of madness.

i should have never touched the fucking thing

theres this game, this really crazy game, it's called "farcry 3" and it's really crazy. Our buddy, Luke, who occasionally goes out on tour with us to sell our fancy shirts and girly underwears, is a definite video game devotee. he likes video games as much as i like hot coffee and potato salad. which is a lot. there's no time to explain the pototo salad thing JSUTS GO WITH IT

you see, he told about this game, he told me about a lot of games, he told me stories and exciting tales of other worlds and lush adventures and all this good shit.  i was hooked.  there's a whole lot of time to kill on the road so my mind wandered to these magical realms.  i remember the good days of ps and ps2 and now ps3. the days of yore and all that shit. no life but fuck it, those were some good times!
ive always been addicted to video games, if we're being honest.  only in the last few years have I truly eased off since ya know ya gotta get some tail amiright???.i've even scoffed at the idea of someone playing video games. "what a dork!"  "get a life!" i'd say from my bitchin sports car.  ya know like how right after hardcore smokers who've quit get butthurt when others smoke around them. it's pure hypocrisy. what I'm saying is that i'm a hypocrite. or wuz or something. and that i wish I could smoke a video game.  cuz i love video games again and i love it so much and i can never stop oh godd ojfjgosfjdkc
dc
dc
d
cccc

even right now i'm typing this while i adventure.  im literally on my phone and playing this fucking game.  i can feel my brain doing something weird and my body is hurts its fucking sick man. i'm ignoring all punctuation and grammar and hygenine and natrual sleep but i don't give a shit. ahhh that's not totally true. it still kind of bugs me that stuff aint capitalized and my im covered in grease oh crap SOMETHING IMPORTANT IS HAPPENING hold on a sec




OK im back waht was i saying?

ya there's this really coool video game where you get to shoot people and and hunt aniamls and skin them too if you really like. you can use shark skin and shit to make napsacks and ammo pouches and all that jazz. isn't that neat? youre like a GUY BRO who gets abducted by a group of crazy dudes after you parachute onto the wrong motherfucking island. like...your not ACTUALLY THE GUY but you're playing one, know what i mean?? you get to ride all sorts of cars and boats and shit and do some crazyass maneuvers on some dudes, like sneek up behind people and slash there throats and even theres a part where u take some drugs and start tripping like holy hell man it's fucking tiiiiiiiight

im almost near the end there's a few more things to do this is probably my favorite game i've played so far and believe me i've played a lot of games does your head hurt to? my head reallyl hurts i feel funny


yah, theres this really cool game i'm playing right now soooooooooo

so ill have to get back to you later oK?



OK.

bye ttyl

XMAS HAUL, 2013.

What, what did ya get?

Oh, that's great!  You really needed that, too.  It's definitely gonna come in handy.  And I always heard the life warranty on those things were fantastic.  So that's great, yeah.  Oh, what did I get?  Well, not much, this and that...a few little things to tide me over into the new year.

JUST KIDDING I GOT A KEURIG COFFEE MAKER.

The greatest and quickest way to make a single cup of freshly brewed coffee.  This is the Lazy Man's Brew.  This is modern technology!

For years I've scoffed at the notion of a Keurig.  Extra emphasis on the "eu" part, accentuating it's pretentiousness.  Actually buying expensive little plastic cups to brew expensive little plastic coffee?  Who do you think I am?

"It's ludicrous!" I'd shout.  "It's wasteful and tacky and lame!" I'd proclaim.  I've since succumbed to BIK (Believers in Keurig) because this is the best cup of coffee brewed in under forty-five seconds.

My mom has one, and I've always liked using it because you could make a single cup of Joe without the fuss and muss of grounding up beans or scooping out grounds from a tin can.  AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON FILTERS.  Unless you're using a French press or heating up water for instant, the whole damn thing is an exercise in exhibiting patience.  Yeeeeah I'm literally over blowing the whole thing because it really doesn't take that long to warm up a standard pot of regular coffee.  So then what the fuck is the point of a Kuerig?

Well, it is quicker, but it's also maddeningly convenient.  You know how you waste a full pot of coffee when all you wanted was a single cup?  Those days are gone, my friend.  Sure, it's definitely more expensive and there's probably a lingering chemical taste in each serving (the whole thing is a boiling machine of hot plastic) but it's totally worth it.  I'd assume this is great for single people or anyone who updates their Facebook with Bitsrips.  Because you're probably single.

It's good stuff.  It really did taste like burning plastic at first, but a dozen or so run-throughs and the stank is nearly non-existent.  Hell, I use so much half-and-half it really doesn't even matter what I'm drinking.

The only negative is strictly ridiculous and of my own accord.  I suppose I like the sight and smell of a Mr. Coffee drip.  A steaming pot of coffee is just so classic and vintage it reminds me of movies that take place in police stations and drunken late night trips to Dunkin' Donuts.  You don't get that with a Keuring.  But it's still cool.  Like, really cool.  This was a good Christmas.  I love Christmas.

See you next year!

Christmas Shopping Sucks.

I'm done I'm done I'M FUCKING DONE WITH CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.

Over the years, 

I still don't understand why it becomes so hard for me to buckle down and buy something for anyone.  It's not that I don't like purchasing gifts for friends and family, it's just that I gotta leave the house and really think about what people want.  And that's hard.  I could know you for ten years and still have trouble buying you lunch.  BUT I THOUGHT YOU LIKED GYROS.

I'm shocked that I wait until the day before Christmas Eve to do the brunt of all my shopping.  It's legitimately shocking.  I actually I'm completely shocked and aghast and disgusted with myself.  I mean, what's my problem?  I must be so lazy and demented and unsound that this actually seems like a good idea.  Because, truth be told, there's not that many people I have to buy for.

In my family, we've decided that you will buy something for the parents.  You don't necessarily have to, but it's unwise if you didn't.  You will also have a choice in purchasing goods for the younger generation.  This is also a choice.  Whether you want to be Bad Ass /Aunt/Uncle is entirely up to you.  And since there are so many siblings and in-laws, we've decided to each pull a name out of a hat and only worry about that single, lone person.  So what was once a shit-storm of gift giving has now been reduced to spending about twenty bucks on an older sister you barely see.  That's it, that's all, now worries and no mess.  You're in, you're out, happy new year.

BUT THIS IS STILL IMPOSSIBLE.

I can't think straight, there's too much pressure, I've got a headache and the smell of people is making me feel weird.  Someone brushed against my shoulder I think I'm gonna die!

And, of course, with blowing any wad of cash in one sitting, I instantly feel like I'm in financial ruins and will need to declare bankruptcy in the next twenty-four hours.  I don't even know how to do that or what that even means but yeah I spent a shit load of money.

OF COURSE there's a silver lining.  I wouldn't deck the halls with balls of holly and not get myself something, now would I?  I did all the dirty work so now I demand a treat.  The madness of a single Target the morning before Christmas Eve warrants delight.  I want a present, too!

Total impulse buy.  Waiting in the checkout line and thar she blows -- Topps' Garbage Pail Kids Sticker Cards.  A total classic, a time honored treat, a the light at the end of any tunnel.  I wanted to melt into the ground and disappear into nothingness at this point so the welcome sight of disgusting babies doing disgusting things calmed me into solidity.  I remained one mass.  I did not ooze.

I would have went nuttier.  I should have went bigger.  I would have bought something really dumb and useless, but time wasn't on my side and I really wanted to get back into my pajamas.  Stickers of gross kids popping zits and committing suicide is nothing to complain about, though.  I hate shopping and I hate buying things for other people but I sure do love these.  I finally feel calm and at peace during this joyous holiday season.  My Christmas is saved!

The usual suspects in a mess of mucus and pus.  I feel at home with Garbage Pail Kids.  First and foremost, I like how these things still exist in a modern world, secondly, I really like how these double as stickers.  Such barf-filled fun can be shared with the simple slap of a heavy hand.  That was just a fancy way for saying you can totally fuck up your friends' car windows with these things.

The search is still on for a "Bobby" Garbage Pail Kid for my guitar, but I ain't cryin'.  The hunt is way better than the catch.

Christmas shopping still sucks, but this Monday night I am at peace.

I'm calm.

I'm cool.

Oh, yeah.

BREAKING DOWN ALL CHRISTMAS BARRIERS.

I don't have a Christmas tree.  And do be honest, I don't even really want a Christmas tree.  Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas and if somebody bought and constructed a Christmas tree specifically for my living room then yeah, sure, I'll take a Christmas tree.  But actions speak louder than words because uggggh I don't want to go through the trouble.  Call me lazy.  Call me a Grinch.  Call me hesitant on putting up a hundred dollars worth of a big hassle just to tear it back down in a week.  That's kind of my fault, though, since Christmas is, like, practically tomorrow.  My bad.

Buuuut, if I can assemble something specifically for the holidays that can be used year round without question...why, that would be keen!

And so enters the Christmas Palm Tree.

I like this idea.  I like this look.  I've seen a lot of people do this over the years and it always seemed really cool and chic and hip.   There's an air of simplicity and nonchalance about decorating a palm tree instead of going the classic route with a big ol' pine.  To me it says, "I care...but I really don't."  BUT PLEASE UNDERSTAND that I do care.  I totally dig Christmas.  Besides, we live in the southwest so no one gives a shit about a palm tree just chillin' in your house.

The lights!  The magic!  Everything twinkles and sparkles and shines.  I've got eight-thousand "A Christmas Story" themed ornaments I've been dying to use, so I'm pretty stoked on that.  Throw a few hastily wrapped DVDs under the thing and BAM let's call it a day.  The DVDs will be for me, so I'm thinking "Cyborg" with Van Damme and "Men at Work" with the Estevez brothers.

I figure I can leave it up year round.  This is the catalyst for greater things to come.  There's nothing stopping me from turning my place into a den of total beach relaxation.  As you can already tell, my walls have been painted yellow in an attempt to recreate sunshine, happiness and fine, Mexican restaurant luxury.  All I need now is a hammock and a six pack of Dos Equis.  My older sister thinks Dos Equis tastes like tires but I disagree.  I can't formulate an answer that can properly deny this claim, but I certainly don't think it tastes like tires.  I highly recommend a slice of lime and salt to heighten the flavor, Older Sister.  Makes the world of difference.

Now, I'm thinking I wanna cover my couch in lobsters and king crabs but I figure that would be too much.  Anyone who would come over to hang out and have a seat would eventually move them and disorganize the entire setup and that wouldn't quite jive well with me.  There's a certain placement with this kind of thing, a definite feng shui to the underwater wild.  But I suppose that I don't want to get into too much of an underwater theme to the place -- no one likes SeaWorld that much.

I think what I have going is a good thing.  I watch TV and my eyes divert to the corner where the palm tree stands.  A warmth fills my body.  If that isn't Christmas cheer I don't know what is.  I hope your holidays are filled with merriness and good tidings and all that other shit.

All that good shit.