Finally, A Borderline Sociopathic Spiderman Movie **COUGH**
He’s a drummer, natch.
And Today’s Entry In The International “I Love You, Man; Let’s Fight” Sweepstakes Is From Trashcanistan. Take It Away, Trashcanistan
I’ve been inebriated. Drunk, actually. Really drunk. Totally drunk. Wasted. Drowned my tonsils and my sorrows alike. Been three or four sheets to the wind. I’ve been banjaxed and blasted, tight as a tick and tanked, too. But I’ve never been that drunk. Trashcanistan drunk.
Apparently, Switzerland’s Biggest Sport Is Watching Truck Drivers Deliver Giant Pretzel Rods To The Top Of A Mountain. Who knew?
Repaint, And Thin No More
Ever listen to a metal song, only not a recording? Death, Thrash, Speed, whatever; they’re all the same. Play one on a Spanish guitar, and sing it in your best “Happy Birthday-grade” voice. They all sound like nursery rhymes.
Let’s examine the phenomenon of context in music:
Works backward, too.
(Thanks to Interpal Julie for sending the painting video along)