Coconut Water Tastes Weird.

I've been hearing about the benefits of coconut water for a while now.   Everything from profound claims of extreme re-hydration to making your entire insides a perfect, moving machine, one might think this was the untarnished solution to all of life's problems.  Every one's problems be damned.  All I care about is one thing:

Apparently, coconut H20 is really fucking awesome for a righteous hangover.

We all get the Hangover Blues.  It's an essential part to drinking, and one must truly understand and acknowledge the ying and yang of this exchange to overcome this obstacle.  I'm at a point where anything can give me a headache or an upset stomach, so once I throw booze into the mix, it's game over.  But I understand this.  I accept this.  I take full care and extra precaution in avoiding the shitty yang to my happy time ying.  And so enters coconut water.

I've tried it.  I hate it.

Yes, there is a semi-distinct flavor of coconut, which, by all means, should equal deliciousness.  Unsure if it's the fact that it's composed of water, too, that dilutes the taste or that I've never really had true and blue coconut before.  It's such a shock to my delicate pallet.  I'm confused, embarrassed and mentally beaten.  Is this what every one's been raving about?  Could this actually be the almighty Water de Coconut?

One of the worst attributes of coconut water is that it's absolutely the weirdest and grossest color I could ever imagine a drink to be.  For the love of God, for all things holy...the damn thing is milky.  Never shall a drink be called "milky."  Never shall that adjective be brought up in any conversation ever, now that I think about it. 

If you can get over that, though, you've won.  You win the coco-contest.  You rule!

All cons aside, let's focus on the pros.  Does it actually hydrate more than, say, Gatorade or actual water?  Does it beat all competition in the impossible hangover category?  It's hard to say, or to really judge, because I don't want to be a grump.  My gut reaction is to answer "HELL NO IT DOESN'T WORK," because, well...hell no it doesn't work.

But let's not be unfair.  The hangover is a tricky beast, and we all pretty much know there ain't no solution, so yeah...there's that.  Buuuuut I still want to whine:

Because this is coconut water!  The savior of us all!  Am I doing it wrong?  I'm probably doing it wrong.  Maybe I should have drank two?  Three?  Poured in a little bit of vodka, V8 and topped off with a stick of celery?  Would that have helped?

Well, fuck it. I'm led to believe that it does something, by God, so I'm going to drink it.  Even if it does taste like dirty water and looks like jizz.

To my surprise, a trip to 7-11 has confirmed my belief in that all good things good come to those good and those who whine.  Is that the phrase?

This couldn't be more right for me.  Coco Café brings us a "cafe latte coconut water espresso."  All the superstitious notions of otherworldy and powerful benefits of coconut water combined with coffee!  The magic juice that doesn't taste like poop!

More importantly, it ain't milky.  In fact, it's the color of a chocolate milkshake.  Hell, it tastes like a chocolate milkshake with a hint of coffee.  And I like coffee, so, yeah.  This is good.

Real good.

I like coconut water now!

Wacky Wall Walkers!

The search is endless.  The treasure unattainable.  There was a time in my life, a simpler time, of all things wacky, wally and crawly.  Where has my life led me?  Whatever happened to you, Wacky Wall Walkers?

Wacky Wall Walkers were an instant hit in my household growing up.  It's not hard to understand why, once you factor in the main selling points:  One, you get a sticky octopus that can fit in the palm of your hand.  Two, you get to throw it at a fucking wall.

We always seemed to have a never ending supply of the damn things, or at least a constant flow of varying incarnations of the idea.  At the time, every company seemed to have their hand in the "sticky thing that tumbles down walls" pot, so it was only fair we snatched up every single thing that would do the trick.  As long as we got to watch something hang from the ceiling for a few seconds, we were golden.  When will it fall?  How long will it stay up there?  The suspense was maddening, let me tell you!

Wacky Wall Walkers, I believe, were outstandingly popular.  I only say this because I didn't know a soul who didn't own eight-thousand of 'em.  They were cheap, fun and shaped like a baby octopus.  I don't know how to put more emphasis on that.  That bulbous, brightly colored head is just really cool. 

An octopus.

There.  That'll do the trick.

Throughout my life, I've been attracted to that moment in time where the plain joy of pitching an underwater sea creature against your closet door was the greatest show on Earth.  I crave for that wonder.  I've been craving for it, and today, things have whirled into a cacophony of bright, new opportunities.  I've found my wacky, walky Holy Grail.  I'm on the brink of personal salvation.  I'm primal!

Introducing Creepeez! 

Sticky, tumbly fun!  We're here!  We've made it!

Yeeeeah, there already exists a thousand of these things today.  I'm sure the trend has never let up, and in fact, a quick Google search has guided me to sites that sell retro, easy to buy versions of the original beast.  So he (she?) never really left my life.  I just haven't really cared until...well, right now.

But that's alright!  I can't let the energy come to a grinding halt!  I can't undersell these exclamation points!  It's too late to turn back!

The packaging has dubbed him an "Outlaw Alien."  He ain't no octopus, but he comes close.  Harboring six legs, two of which are really teeny and cute, and a single, leering eyeball, he certainly can pass as one of you squint just right.  The eye is a nice touch, though, which seems to be looking up.  Perhaps he's scared of heights and this is his trick to overcome his fear.  I'm in the same boat, pal.  Fuck heights.

I even like the idea of this guying starting off as an innocent eyeball ripped from some one's innocent face, thrown into a vat of mutant goo and transformed into a walking, crawling monster from space.  Maybe he was originally an astronaut.  A scuffle ensued, things went sour, eyeballs were snatched.  I think I've done over thought this thing.

I like how he's green, too.  If you're a bug, you should be green.  They've excelled in this requirement.

So soar, my little friend!  Stick to the surface of my kitchen cupboard!  BE WACKY!

Pictures don't do it justice, but he crawled.  It was actually pretty cool, and brought back a lot of memories.  It's hard the explain why I care, and what Wacky Wall Walkers mean to me, so you'll have to excuse the gushing.  Wacky Wall Walkers and the like are good natured fun, unbeatable in their ability to turn something pretty stupid into an enjoyable experience.  If you weren't there, you don't know, man.  You just don't know.

So go out and buy one.  Feel what I feel.  Check the end sections of Toys R Us and the cheap-o toy area of Target that sells plastic dinosaurs and crappy puzzles.  Buy it and don't look back.  Revel in it's stickiness, marvel at it's...whatever.  It's a bug that walks down your walls! 

No regrets, baby!

Auto Outfits.

Auto Outfits.  Auto Outfits?  You betcha.

The idea is easy enough, the execution an exercise in costuming simplicity.  Car meet costume, costume meet car.  Basically, the Auto Outfits company provides a cutesy costume for your boring ride during Halloween, or for when you want to look like an even bigger asshole during the other eleven months that don't host Halloween. 

Unsure if they come in different varieties, but mine is a kit to transform your vehicle into a giant, spooky bat.  So you get two bat wings.  Two glorious bat wings.  These are bat wings for your automobile.  See how easy this is?

They're fuzzy, too, and if we're being totally honest, kinda adorable.  I think an old lady on her way to the grocery store during the last week of October would look great with these pinned to her car.  Or a group of kids being chauffered by mom to Little League practice.  But definitely not you or I.  We'd look like idiots.

My loving, caring parents gave this to me for Christmas.  Instantly, I wanted to hide them under the nearest bed, but I'm glad I've held on to them.  The shame and embarrassment has dissipated, and I've been reformed.  I've judged these wrong!  They're so gaudy and loud and perfect and weird.  The "weird" stems from the idea that these are specifically meant to bring your Volvo into the Halloween spirit (is that possible?) and that my parents would ever believe I'd use these in any way, shape or form.  I know it's probably meant to be a gag gift, but I don't know, parents.  You're still weird.

Fortunately, knowing that I've misjudged these, we can move on and start fresh.  It'll be a mini-Christmas in late March.  And as a sidenote, I don't even know what a "Volvo" is.  Cars are weird, too.

Yes, there's a happy ending to all of this.  Somehow, in some way...this gift is actually pretty cool.  They'd be a hell of a lot cooler out of the box, but, well...ya know:

I don't have the time.  I lack the energy.  It was an odd moment in my life to realize I didn't have the will power to push through this obstruction, but life's made up off odd moments.    I've learned a lot about myself since writing this post.  I've learned that I really can't stand those twisty-tie things.

Honestly, they're a hassle.  One could even say that, when given a tough go, they'd even hurt your fingers, too.  I know I've really dug into these things before, so it's not an entirely possible claim.  I'm looking out for you guys.  Mostly me, but you guys, too!

But just imagine them out of the bag.  Big, fuzzy bat wings are now at our disposable.  What can we do with them?  Besides the obvious intent of dolling up your Nissan (is that a car name thing?) it wouldn't be to crazy if...

1. You wore them.

Excellent for raving, clubbing and those creepy "fetish balls" with loud dance music and people hanging from hooks.  I can only imagine you'd fit right in with a set of these wings, firmly strapped to your back.  Chicks wear them, dudes wear them...why not you?  I have no firsthand experience with this culture, but I do know that if you're looking like a go-go dancing fairy from Candyland, you're fucking golden.  So go on, give it a shot.  Trust me, you look great.

2. You can, like, use them as a pillow enhancer.

They're soft, and the button-nose portion is a squishy little ball of cotton.  It's a bit of a stretch, but I wouldn't mind adding them to my collection of couch pillows.  Throw it in the mix of blankets and crumbs and grandma's lovingly knitted throw.  Come movie night, when you've got your big bowl of popcorn and are snagging reinforcements for a comfortable viewing, I'm sure you'll be using a baseball sized bat nose to prop up your head in no time.

3. You can use them on anything BUT YOU DAMN CAR.

Put them on your computer screen.  Tape them up to your bookcase.  Put them on the damn elliptical machine collecting dust in the back room -- just don't use them on your automobile.  The Dork Factor is so unbelievably high with this that it would spin the heads of those over at the Cool Factor offices.  Believe me, they're a tough nut to crack, and this certainly doesn't help the matter. Unless you're a mom, a little old lady or just absolutely just eccentric enough to pull this off...don't do it.  Cut them up into tiny pieces, sauté them in a nice glaze and serve them to your friends, family and loved ones for a warm, candle lit dinner.  JUST DO ANYTHING ELSE WITH THEM PLEASE.

Or not.  I don't care.

:)

Sneak Peek at the Upcoming "Coffin of Ruins" Music Video!

So this is our script:

Over the weekend, we'll be filming a music video for "Coffin of Ruins" in a sweaty, stuffy warehouse building.  We have the song.  We have the ideas.  We have a lot of green makeup.

Now, to explain the above.

We figured actual story boarding and general direction was too much to handle, so instead, we're simply following a crudely drawn collage of everything and anything.  Ideas, characters, scenes and props, all mashed up into a singular mess of shit.  I figure we'll print a bunch of these up, paste them throughout the set and refer back to it when needed.  Kind of like a road map to our destined success.  It can even serve as a type of inspirational poster, if you so prefer that inspirational junk.

To figure out what goes first, who fights what and who dies where, we'll throw darts at the thing.  However it hits, however it shall be filmed.  There's a certain brilliance billowing here.  I know you can feel it.  You can feel it, right?

On Saturday (assuming we ain't too bombed) we'll keep you updated over Facebook, Twitter and tumblr with silly anecdotes and revealing photos, so be sure to follow along as we adventure forth to musical Mordor.  Imagine that eagle's eye view shot of the Hobbits walking along mountain terrain.  That'll be us.  Cue the soaring musical score.  Cut to tough grimaces.  Oh, yes.  This is gonna be good.

Can't wait!

Blue Beast Blue Beast Blue Beast.

Oh, my.

You're blue.  Very blue, actually.  If one were to categorize your physical features, one might consider you to be a little "too blue."  Your blue-ness is shocking.  It numbs the senses.  You're a bright, shining star in a sea of infinite, never ending darkness.  A sparkling jewel in a pit of a thousand black holes.  You are just fucking blue, man, and you are everything I need right now.

UGHH YOU'RE SO BLUE AND I LOVE IT. 

I can't explain the caps.  I can't explain the grunt.  There's no explanation for me to give on anything right now.  You're just gonna have to play along.  You're blue and beautiful.  Be loud, be proud.

Why are your eyes yellow?  Have they always been yellow?  Are you sick?  Don't mean to be rude, but it seems to throw off the blue.  I don't think I like it.  I like your belt, though.  Wear did you get it?  Abercrombie and Fitch?  Macy's?  That weird hip hop store?  Hot Topic?  I really hope not, 'cause I'm afraid of Hot Topic.  Too many tattoos, too many stretched earlobes.  I feel like an outsider, an outcast, a socially stunted...beast.

Wow.

We're like one in the same.  But you're blue.  And I'm not.  So fucking jelly about that, man.

Why are you so blue? Wait, don't tell me. I don't need to know. I just need to feel. I want to eat you.  You look like candy.  You resemble a Jolly Rancher.  The blue one, of course.  You blue, Jolly Rancher, you.

What color is your blood?  Don't you dare say it ain't blue.  It must be blue.  It needs to be blue.  IT WILL BE BLUE.

Sorry for the weird photo angle.  It was quick and, sadly, outcome = odd.  So much crotch.  It's deafening.  At least your crotch-pouch is blue, too.  A different, darker blue, but blue just the same.  I wonder what you'd look like in blue jeans.  Would it still look like you weren't wearing any pants?  How do you get your thighs to be so big?  As a whole, your muscles are really quite extraordinary, if I may be blunt.

Do you like blue cheese?  Do you get the blues?  Do you blew your nose?

Mondays ruin me.  How's your Monday?  Mine sucks.

Goodnight.

March, 2013 Update! Rock and Roll Pick Power Deal!

We're back from tour and, boy, do we have a lot of stories for you! Firstly, we'd like to thank Wednesday 13 for taking us on the road with them, and for Cold Blue Rebels rocking the stage with us, each and every night. Thanks to our fans, friends and family! Secondly, we'd like to mention/herald/congratulate that one guy who got really drunk, then used one of those orange street cones and a tube of toothpaste to...oh, you had to be there to truly understand!



Oh, and hey!  Snag yourself a double-dose of rock and roll guitar picks (personally sweated, blooded and spitted on by Jimmy and I) with any order over twenty-five bucks over at www.CalabreseRock.com!

Kidding about the blood, spit and sweat, if you were wondering.  There might be a small trace of pizza grease, though, but that's to be expected.  C'mon!  What's a matter you?

"Ghostwolves!"

Please, whatever you do, don't venture out into the desert by yourself. Without any food. Or water. Or a natural sense for direction and general survival. Because shit gets weird when the moon reveals itself.

Watch your back! Watch your front!

It's time to get wild with "Ghostwolves!"