OK, ladies and gentleman, we will start today on the sad, sad story of a poppy musician trying to act rock and roll. One John Popper........

who looks all the world like he is prepared for the afternoon chores at the Popper farmstead. No doubt with a large joint in his right hand under the camera line. It makes you wonder what those Popper boys are growing down in that valley. I believe you can make out the shape of a Hackysack in his left pocket but thus far such speculations have been unconfirmed.
Now, apparently unhappy to with his wholesome image, J-pop has decided to switch gears and go wild man of rock and roll.....or possibly wasteland survivor.
Clocked going near 111 mile per hour the Washington State patrol pulled the portly professional blower over and found, on top of the marijuana you would expect to find on your average successful hippy, a collection of guns. It has been reported that in hidden compartments in the vehicle that the blues must have been traveled in they found four rifles, a Taser, night vision goggles, a switchblade knife and nine handguns.

In a statement released to the press the Patrol says, "Popper indicated to troopers that he had installed these items in his vehicle because (in the event of a natural disaster) he didn’t want to be left behind."-CNN.com


Now who the fuck would I be to critique another mans end-times preparation. And you have to give the man credit for sensing that the end of the world as we know it might be on it’s way. One of the main signs of this.................
John Popper getting pulled over with an arsenal the Branch Dividians could respect.

Now let me be the first to say, no, this does not make him cool. He is a harmonica player that peddles his cd’s of to middle age soccer moms to help them feel hip and makes videos that metaphorically comment on the plight of the overweight musician in being accepted by the mainstream.

And we all know that to hear any Blues Traveler on the radio you would have to dig through obscure and underground radio markets hoping to find one with enough balls to actually play the blacklisted music. The mainstream, as it usually does, turned a deaf ear.

But in a stranger twist a friend of mine swears to have been threatened by John Popper when he got behind on some money he owed his drug dealer. He tells me that John Popper is little more than an assassin, hired by big wigs in the drug trafficking business to "rub out" individuals who have become "messy or unnecessary". He also speculates that he was on his way to Canada to take out a small group of BC Bud backpackers that where trying to smuggle in some of that powerful shit, completely bypassing the areas boss, Donny Jacket. If this is true then the brave actions of the Washington State Patrol have saved the life of a small group of college drop outs with large collections of Phish concert tapes and exceptional video game playing skills. More on this later.

Next up it appears the "Barbie Bandits" have been apprehended. The fashionable team that had robbed a Bank of America last week were identified as two local strippers who worked at a pristine local establishment called "Scooters Alley". Their stage manes were "Adrienne" and "Charlie" which led to a response by a stripper I know in Dallas called "Mercedes" to remark, "What shitty stage names.".

They can be seen in the surveillance tape laughing about such things as boys, cloths, and of course, boys and cloths. After the robbery it has been reported that they went shopping at a Gucci store and "got their hair did".

This story I find the saddest since, if they had just had a little more patience, they could have just as easily made the money off of drunk and depressed losers who where often seen in their place of employment giving away large quantities of money to naked woman. They at least could have manipulated some older rich man into some form of blackmail that would have been less public and more lucrative in the long term. You can only blame the public education system for not giving them the tools they needed to really enjoy being young, hot, criminals.

A report on CNN.com had a witness who remarked, " It looked like they spent more time planning their cloths than planning the actual bank heist". Which lead me to remark, "Really? Planning out outfits and the best you two can come up with are those two tacky tops. And a U neck. Are you serious? You might as well have been wearing Jenco’s ."






And of course the whole event reminded me of my favorite Barbie from the late eighties.



Chipmunk Barbie.
You think they got any meth?

And new on the genius front..........


Coldplay has announced that their new album will include "that one song" that all bands dream of making. Chris Martin, the lead singer of Coldplay and a constant reminder that the record industry is ran by those who douse themselves with pig blood and guzzle GHB from bottles attached to their fanny packs, has called the song a song that eveybody should experiance "before we die."

He then went on in a Zoolander’esq way to state, "I can’t tell you about it, but it is basically genius".

I don’t have anything to even say here. Mothers hold your children close tonight and men, make sure your guns are loaded. The geeks will be rampaging at any minute.

Update from the house of filth.

I have been out of the public eye for a while now and haven't talked to or seen many people good goddamn time. I assure you all I am alive and well. Or at least still alive. Anything else is just an argument of opinion.
I am sitting right now in the house of filth also know as my apartment. It has been developing original smells for months now and is finally settled on the scent of complete despair and regret. Its odor actually forces an emotional reaction out of those who experience it, usually a reevaluation of the smellers life and an immediate hatred of whoever could have created it. It is a fragrance that seems alive, independent with its own set of goals and values, and lingers like a dull sweat on anyone foolish enough to come in contact with it. A scent that would terrify Charles Manson. I have been trying to figure out a way to bottle it and sell it to goth kids as a cologne but all attempts so far have met with failure. It resists. Willfully.
And anyone who thinks it might just be the week old Burger King tacos I found one the table this morning is wrong. I threw those in the dumpster this morning and the smell hasn't subsided. It seems almost smug.
But time waits for no man and there is more in life than the smell of your home. However repugnant it might be.
So what has been going on? Brittany has gone the way of Dr. Evil and Anna Nicole has died. An exciting time for all those deep into the soulless pop-culture for this country. Even the inmates in the asylum are beginning to question the wisdom of their revolt. The wolves don't even enjoy butchering the sheep anymore.
And if you are quiet enough on a cold Texas night you can still hear the sound of Twinkie soaked weeping coming from trailer parks throughout this fair land. The passing of their sugar gobbling, pill popping queen Anna from her mortal coil has been a jarring experience for them. Only slightly less jarring than living in a trailer part to begin with. It is a dark time. The only hope offered to those poor afflicted folks is that Arby's appears to be sticking with it's five for five policy.
It's the little things that keep us all going.
So the mourning for the Trim spa queen continues. Anna, an idol to woman everywhere who don't want to actually get a job to become rich. A goddess to the hopelessly uneducated masses of young girls who find math distasteful but find the concept of spreading their legs apart for emaciated half-dead men with money in the bank and death clutching their heart perfectly agreeable. She was the patron saint of the small town whore. She sold double-wide dreams.
America loves a whore. Especially a dead one.
But make no mistake about it....she earned her fucking money. To whore herself out to such a cadaverous old mongrel takes a certain strength and a can-do attitude. I would have been hard pressed to do a better job. And would have looked nowhere as good in the lingerie. And the old crow knew what the score was...why do you think he spent all of his life making money? It sure as hell wasn't to leave it to his bratty badger minded children. He wanted to see beauty in his last hours. If possible wearing as little as it could. It was a legal exchange. A modern day beauty and the beast.
On her best days they say Anna Nicole looked like the modern incarnation of Marilyn Monroe.
On her worst she seemed like the illegitimate love child of Elmer Fudd and a manatee that drank during pregnancy.
Meanwhile, here at the house of filth, it is 2:00 P.M. on a Tuesday and I am already getting drunk. My hair has become so unruly that a German scientist would rush to the barber with disgust. And my ash tray fills with cigarette butts at a speed that would make the busiest VFW take note. It makes one thank god for the little things.
Like masturbation.
And naps.
And mall pet stores, which are like the poor kid's zoo. Full of little starving traumatized puppies.
And that guy who does the voice for Whataburger commercials. I don't know what is about his voice, but it makes me feel good. And hungry.
And so it goes....just like it always has..........as starving children look up to the heavens for solace.....