Friday, January 13, 2012

Trust Issues (A Rant)

Before I start ranting, something has been brought to my attention: since I started this blog, there has been something slowly corroding its insides, turning them to a viscous, jelly-like substance and making a general mess of things. I am of course referring to the one pixel wide red dot that has been hovering over the letter m in "Coma" up above.

You bastard.

It's gone now, but the terrible memory will remain and forever haunt the darkest recesses of my mind. Good riddance I say.

Now the rant: Let's talk about trust. I have a small, tight-knit group of friends that I would trust with my life. In the last month, that group has decreased by two. Strangely enough, my band, Sinistry, also broke up in the last month. I wonder if those two events are related?

Up until November, things were going great. We were touring a small, three-county-wide area, vanquishing the foes of rock, and generally kicking ass in every direction. But most importantly, we were getting paid to do something we loved doing. Not a lot mind you, but we would've done it for free. 

Now, this is where it gets dicey, and to protect the names of the accused those involved, I'm going to use their band nicknames: America Jane, and The Norwegian Jackhammer.

Mine was Falcon. And I was graceful!

These two band members moved roughly an hour away in late October. That was all fine and dandy though. We still found time to practice and weren't hindered very much by it. Until they started insisting that I and our bass player (let's call him The Bassman) drive an hour to practice there. Every. Single. Time. 

I'm the drummer. He's the bass player, and he also owned the PA system. Everything: the PA, my drum set, his bass and amp, all of it was at Bassman's house-- only five minutes from me. The only thing America and the Norwegian Jackwagon had at their place was the guitar and amp. So Bassman and I were forced to haul 80% of our equipment in my tiny ass car to every single practice. If that wasn't okay with us, that was cool: we just didn't practice. And they didn't even offer to give us gas money for a little compensation.

Plus, I don't think you realize just how awkward it is to transport all that equipment and two people in my car.

About this awkward.

This was irritating, but Bassman and I dealt with it because, hey, we love making music. But then we found out that America had been taking all of the band money and spending it on God knows what. All we know is that it disappeared. This was a problem, since that money was supposed to be spent on band things like replacement drum heads, guitar strings, or I don't know.... transporting band equipment.

But that's all trumped by the Craigslist ad that I found in December. America and The Norwegian Douche-Hammer placed an ad looking for a new drummer. I only found out about it because they were stupid enough to link the band email that I had access to with the Craigslist ad. Hell, maybe they wanted me to find out that way. Maybe that was easier for them than confrontation. 

But here's the shittiest part of it. They weren't going to tell me until they found someone else. I waited a couple days, and the band kept gigging and practicing like usual-- and scheduling even more gigs. All without telling me they weren't planning on having me in the band any more (which is bullshit since I was around longer than two of the other members).

I talked to Bassman about it and we both abruptly concluded "Fuck this," and quit. America "I'm A Huge Cunt" Jane and The Norwegian Cockhammer (my anger isn't showing-- is it?) even had to cancel a gig that they had lined up, which felt fantastic.  I won't even try to deny that their pain brought me pleasure at that point.

Pictured: Me immediately after finding out about their evil plans.

I'm just glad that period of my life is over now. I had some great times in Sinistry, but now it's all tainted by that shit that went down at the end. Bassman and I are working on some new stuff with another friend of ours, and Dr. Cocktopuss and the Anal Jackhammer are presumably working on their own thing as well. Whatever. I don't care.

But whatever they do, they had better name their new band Dr. Cocktopuss and the Anal Jackhammer. It definitely suits them.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

A Peculiar Cemetery

For those of you that have read my recent Cracked article The Most Mindblowing Things That Can Be Found Underwater, you'll be pleased to know that there is a little bit more where that came from. I present to you the entry that was cut from the final list, in all its glory (pictures courtesy of

A Cemetery

The "official" reason for creating the Neptune Memorial Reef is to promote the local marine life, but here at Cracked, our first thought at the idea of building an underwater cemetery is: "Thank God someone is taking precautions to make sure our dead stay dead." And if those precautions include the ever so slight risk of creating zombie sharks-- well, scuba diving was never for us anyways.

The reef is the largest man-made reef in the world,  and the cemetery thing all started when questions about funding arose. Then someone had an idea: people paying to be buried there. And the rest is history. We hear it's to dive for.

The layout is remeniscent of a traditional cemetery, complete with benches so that you can take a load off when those fins get tired.

Just don't sit on uncle Ted.

There's a bunch of choices for after your cremated remains have been mixed into the cement: you can be cast as arches, columns, and other marine life statues.  According to Stephen Ziadie, the Chief Operating Officer, "The most popular are the marine placements. Everyone wants to be a shellfish or a starfish or a brain coral.”

That's right: any type of marine life. Also lions.

The Neptune Society website even has a video tour. A tour that is narrated by someone who is way too happy. It's creepy:

Apparently burial at sea is a hot commodity because it currently has enough space for 850 bodies, but the Neptune Society wants to expand to 125,000. The reef aspect of the project has also been a huge success. Marine life in the area has gone from almost zero to thousands in the span of two years! Thousands of confused fish, mind you.

"Do you smell humans?"

Friday, January 6, 2012

Christmas and Everything After

It's been a month since I've posted. Sorry about that. Christmas, writing for Cracked, and work have all been vying for my time, and far too little was left to work on my blog. But the desire remained, festering deep within until it grew too large to contain. Then it burst out. Or to explain it in Alien terms:

Everything should be explained in Alien terms.

In other news, the New Year is here: the last year, if you believe that Mayan voodoo mambo-jumbo. I haven't made any New Year's resolutions-- not because I can't better myself in any way, but because, hey, when do those EVER pan out? I'd much rather just take life as it comes, and if that means my teeth rot out of my head because I practically inhale Mountain Dew, so be it. I could try and stop drinking so much, make it a New Year's resolution if you will, and revert back to my old habits in a month or two. So why not just skip all the hassle and keep right at my bad habits?

Let's rewind a bit. Christmas went well for me. We got a television so big that when I watch the Walking Dead, I can see every last skin cell on Daryl's wonderful, wonderful face.... I mean, every single drop of blood with forensic precision. Yes. That.

He's even dreamier than he was in the Boondock Saints.

(I'm not gay. I swear.)

As for the other things I got for Christmas: a veritable mountain of candy, several video games that I wanted, socks and underwear (gotta love the classics), and a 32 inch television for my bedroom. I would have gladly traded the television for a new laptop. Typing 2, 5, o, p, k, and using backspace is hard for me. But whatever. The TV has it's advantages, and I don't use -k that much anyways.

This is the actual keyboard for my laptop. Note the missing keys.

I've also stared watching a new TV show recently: Dexter. For those of you that don't know, it's about a serial killer that works for the police as a forensic blood spatter expert. He isn't a madman though. He only kills people that actually deserve it-- which is seen as wrong by some and vigilante justice by others.

A lot of people have opposed this show because it "glorifies murder" and blah, blah, blah. I stopped listening at "will make young people think murder is ok." I'm sorry. Bullshit.

To these people, I say: "I know where you live. And Dexter has trained me so well. Maybe you'd best keep quiet."

TV's chief exports are violence, boobs, sex, and Dora the Explorer-- though not necessarily in that order. Anyway, for those of you that realize that television is television and has one main purpose: entertainment, give Dexter a watch. It was surprisingly good. I promise it has no ulterior motives, such as corrupting and brainwashing our youth. It's just good TV.

TV with.... murder.