Posted: July 30th, 2009 By: Oedipus Red | Under: dismissed | Tags: Celebrity, cute is what we aim for, Douche, douchebags, emo, hipsters, indie music, lame bands, limp bizkit, Music, stupid assholes
These band names totally rule.
Okay, so as a metal-leaning person I’m only writing about (mostly) more recent indie-ish band names that have left me wondering why most of the guys in these bands have larger fallopian tubes than I do. I’m not even touching the metal genre, really, because we all know that metal is kind of the origin of some of the most ridiculous band names ever (hello….Anal Cunt? Cannibal Corpse? Cattle Decapitaiton? Yeah, it’s been covered already).
And by the way: when I say ‘gay’ or ‘faggy’ it does not mean homosexual. I would never insult the gay community – as a culture that can appreciate a nice, big penis (on the boy’s side, at least) they would whole heartedly agree, I believe…
Scary Kids Scaring Kids
It’s just…gay. What the fuck does this mean? I’m so totally NOT scared, nor do I think this belongs in rock n’ roll. Anything with ‘kids’ in the band name is generally not something that your parents are going to ban you listening to. Which means it’s worthless.
Actually, maybe this is brilliant. It does describe the sound of the band fairly well. And MAN is it stanky.
Cute Is What We Aim For
You have now succeeded in your ‘aim’ to not only be the faggiest band name ever, but you’ve also pronounced yourself as the band least likely to have big dicks and scare mommies. And dudes: you all have the most awful haircuts in emo. And stop whining, for Christ’s sake: we already know how horrible it is to be a young, white, skinny, well dressed, suburban, vanilla, middle-class douche, okay?
Does puke work as a styling aid? I'd love to help them out.
I probably do not need to even explain by now, but at least the band was honest enough when they looked down their collective saggy, urine-soaked pants and decided upon a band name that fit both their music and their impotent talent. Except for that one guitar player who wore the weird makeup and tried to be kinda cool. Kinda, yeah.
It just sounds like something that comes out of your ass after eating 2 double chili cheeseburgers with jalapenos and drinking five 40’s of Olde English. Phheeuuww.
The Devil Wears Prada
Seriously…you’re supposed to be this bad-ass band, and you name yourselves (ironically, you might say?) after a reality-based book on the high fashion industry written by a trendy, romantically inclined completely mainstream chick who loves Jimmy Choos (these guys know what this means) and that was also made into a movie starring Meryl Streep that mothers and grandmothers and girls who wear tons of lip gloss went in droves to see a million times over? Gay, gay gay.
Every Time I Die, For The Fallen Dream, Here I Come Falling, Shadows Fall, Bless The Fall, Every Bridged Burned, From Autumn To Ashes, All That Remains, etc etc etc.
In the age of the internet, it’s astounding to me that someone in any of these bands didn’t do a quick Google search to see if their name sounded like or was similar to any other popular band that was out there. How many times can a band use ‘Fall’ in their name and be on the same tour with another band with ‘Fall’ in their name? Or have to have the same number of syllables as every other band does in their little scene? However, I do think the singer from Shadows Fall has bitchin’ dreadlocks.
Panic! At The Disco
What does that mean? And why are they in rock magazines? Did the band form because they wanted to shock everyone at discotheques with their absolutely bland music that didn’t even have enough rhythm or style for a goddamn disco? If gold lamé and hairless, ball-less music had a name…
Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
Band meeting: “Hey, let’s come up with the catchiest band name ever…for people who suffer from that disease that Rainman had”. “AWESOME!!!”
Minus The Bear
Band meeting: “Let’s have a band name that really showcases how absolutely cool and weird we really think we are so that everyone really knows how absolutely indie and cool and fucking smart we really are”. “Nah, I’m too high. Let’s just go to that gay club that you always hang out at”. “But, I’m really in the mood for a Bear guy tonight, that club doesn’t attract those types”. “Well, maybe tonight you’ll just have to have a minus-the-bear night, for once”. “Oh shit, wait a minute……”
Jimmy Eat World
I like some of this band’s songs, but what the hell were they thinking? Not Jimmy EatS World, but EAT world. Huh?
The Academy Is…
Is what? And what is the Academy? And what does this have anything remotely to do with rock n’ roll, dudes? Pop another Ritalin and get back to me when you’re working at Kinko’s.
VHS Or Beta
Really now, this whole 80’s revival thing has gone WAY too far.
Sounds like a name that some kid wanting to be famous makes up for himself in the 1960’s. He has freckles, wears checkered high-water pants, a bow-tie and gets his salad tossed by fake directors wearing handlebar mustaches in seedy Hollywood motel rooms. Poor Billy, he’s now living in an attic in Watts earning his living as Mr. T’s secret, white-boy gimp.
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Posted: April 24th, 2009 By: Oedipus Red | Under: dismissed | Tags: big trucks, calvin & hobbs, cars, douchebags, FORD, gay, GM, jesus, john travolta, rednecks, scientology, tom cruise, urination, white trash
I love horror movies. Even the cheesy ones. But one of the most horrifying things that I must constantly be exposed to and appropriately recoil in terror from are men who drive those huge trucks that are totally lifted with the tractor tires, with the ear-splitting race car engines & custom paint jobs – often wearing those awful, popular-in-the-80’s wraparound mirrored sunglasses.
Huge tires = huge penis? I think not.
Boz, you gave us so much: those sunglasses, that hairstyle, nightmares...
I think to myself: Is this a well thought-out moving vehicular paen to mullet culture from days gone by? Or, perhaps, are they all somehow related to a pro-wrestler? Maybe they’re on their way home from jail after serving 5 years for spousal abuse or a DUI/gang rape after an out of control kegger party? I don’t know, and I probably never will. And come to think of it, these are also the same trucks and people that sport those repulsive Calvin-peeing-on-things stickers.
Lurleen - this is NOT going to look good in divorce court, ok?
Calvin urinating on a Dodge emblem. Calvin urinating on a Ford emblem. Calvin urinating on a Chevy emblem. Calving urinating on Osama Bin Laden. Calvin urinating on France. Calvin urinating on Iraq. Calvin urinating on gun control. Calvin urinating on Nike. Calvin urinating on Spam. Calvin urinating on Satan.
But then, conversely, you’ll see the opposite sticker (maybe on the abused wife’s car) of Calvin knelt down before a big Christian cross. Now, what the hell is the connection between a slightly devilish imaginary cartoon character boy, poor urination habits and a devotion to Jesus? I’d like to have been in that marketing meeting…
“Chad, get Bill Watterson on the line…you know, the comic nerd who draws those Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. I’ve got the most groundbreaking idea…it’s going to impact our entire culture and change the way Americans express their aggression towards enemies as well as their deepest, most cherished religious beliefs. I thought of it in the can while I was reading one of those free Gideon bibles that I stole from Doubletree Inn during my last business trip to Tulsa. USA! USA! USA!”.
I do not want to know where that thumb has been.
If they really wanted to expand their marketing empire, they’d create a sticker of Calvin urinating on a Scientology symbol. Tom Cruise would be so mad that he would go on national television blasting the stickers all the while creating massive exposure and sales for them.
Well, he’d go on television AFTER John Travolta had finished urinating in his mouth. You see, he’s only mad because HIS sticker will never come out.
Anyways, back to the trucks…and speaking of said trucks, often they usually have another frightening aspect: the girl that is sitting in the middle of the front seat, right next to ‘her maynnn’.
Why do I want to kill babies when I see this? Because I’m afraid they will grow up to be one of these vacant slabs of white scroti.
'Yeah, me and my shirtless man-friends go out in the woods for days at a time, alone with each other, no women allowed'.
Besides, what’s the purpose – is it for this homophobic, uber-masculine specimen to prove to his friends that he’s really not gay? And… these are usually those dudes who whistle and yell at girls walking down the street or just walking by wherever they are. Tell me….does this ever REALLY get you laid? Or is it just some outdated male bonding thing to prove that you like girls instead of your friend with the nice thighs sitting next to you? Oh wait, that’s your GIRL sitting next to you. You were daydreaming about Chuck again, weren’t you?
Better cruise down to West Hollywood tonight and beat down some fags to prove that you don’t really watch Rachel Ray or secretly think that guy from the show Tool Time was kinda cute with his scratchy, trimmed beard and flannel shirts and all….Or, maybe you could just urinate on a picture of Chuck, right? NO! Wait – that’s still giving you an erection! Hold on…you could just buy a STICKER of a comic character guy peeing on a symbol of your hatred! Don’t worry, I’m sure that there is a Calvin-peeing-on-Clay-Aiken out there somewhere. Much easier, less thinking, aroused homo thoughts gone…Time to wax the trucker (oops, I mean truck) and polish the tires.
Now get the fuck out of our mainstream culture, you’ve been dismissed back to the cretinous swamp you originated from. Don’t forget to trim the webbing from between your toes before gittin’ into the swing of things again.
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Posted: February 18th, 2009 By: sweet tits | Under: Automobiles, Clothes, Douche Bag Uniform, Politics, Style, dismissed, fashion | Tags: bike messenger, classic cars, coffee, cute little matching hats, death monsters, douchebags, fixed gear, san francisco
I know this is probably redundant, because dismissing you is so obvious it hurts, but OH, for the love of GOD, you fixed gear bicycle riders in the city. You’re so tough…defiantly helmet-free, death wish in your pocket, NO FEAR. Playing chicken with cab drivers, flipping off anyone and everyone who dares get in your way, sneering through your Ray-Bans at the pathetic city bike with the handbrakes (psshhh, so ’98) stopping next to you at the signal (when you can be bothered to obey traffic signals, that is). Read the rest of this entry »
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