Thursday, August 29, 2013

Boring/Loudmouth PGA fans

Fans who attend professional golf exhibitions are normally known for exhibiting courtesy.  It's an upscale audience.  They tend to be mild-mannered and respectful. 

However, there's always some bozo in the crowd who yells "GO IN THE HOLE !!!"  Sometimes it's even a shot where there's no reasonable expectation of making it.  It could be a tee shot on a par 5 or a layup from the deep rough.  This guy (most likely an uninspired meathead drinking an $8.00 Bud Light draft) thinks he has cornered the market on golf humor.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's just not funny anymore.  Maybe it was 15 years ago, but nowadays... meh.

Here's an idea that would be vastly more comical.  How about yelling out the name of your favorite rock'n'roll album?

Think about it.  Right after a golfer hits the ball, you yell "Master of Puppets!" or "Song Remains the Same!"  Heavy metal songs would be the best choice.  Personally, I'd go the Slayer route.  So many gems... "Angel of Death", "South of Heaven", "Chemical Warfare", "Haunting the Chapel", I could list these song titles all day, all night.

You might be wondering - Saf, the thoughts that enter your head... Exactly how do these ideas originate?  Where do they come from?  Is it something in your DNA (delivery of nonsensical aberrations).  To be honest, this one's not entirely my own.

Back in the 1998-2003 time frame, there was a fan in the audience of many a Leftover Salmon show.  During a brief pause in between songs, the applause would dissipate and this guy would yell at the top of his lungs, "PLAY SOME SLAYER YOU FUCKING PUSSIES !!!"

This man was Ken D.

The bootlegs still exist.  And so could the famed footage from Augusta, GA (The Masters), Pebble Beach, etc.

Let us modify this vision and extrapolate a new path forward.  It would likely catch on quick.  I guarantee it would be a ratings boost.  And it would be great fodder for the casual viewer.  All around, it's a win-win.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Cheap Trick - an inexpensive reality (Pittsburgh, Stage AE, 8-21-13)

Gigi scored us a couple freebies for Cheap Trick so we made the routine trek on down to Stage AE.   I'm starting to think that if you pay the $10 or $12 parking fee, you're a complete bozo.  The best spots are along the main drag of Heinz Field.  I think you just have to wait until after 6pm.  I say park on the street and bring your chairs into the lot.  Or you can do an inverted, illegal backdoor entrance a la G Max.

The whole area outside Heinz field is starting to resemble some kind of a TSA/Dept. of Homeland Security steel-gated labyrinth.  In fact, we found out last night that the main lot (what was formerly the Southeast corner of Gold Lot 2) is going to become a "Toby Keith" restaurant.  Only God knows what they'll call it.  Probably the "Grub and Go" or the "Eat and Beat it."  If the thought of ordering a "rump roast", "chilly willy dog" or "Bad-Ass Super Nachos" at the mess hall ain't bad enough...

I guess with Kenny Chesney denouncing any future tour stop at Heinz Field, someone needed to step up their game.  And that someone is Toby Queef.  I actually wrote a semi-inspired blog about this cunt-tree douchebag back in ott-7.  I may decide to launch a protest during the grand opening.  I can see the headline now...

Local Atheist Intolerant Jew Protests Grand Opening of Brand-Spanking New Country Restaurant

My sign would read - People with two first names SUCK.  I've always disliked single syllable first and last names - Bill Todd, Ned George (I actually know him - nice guy), Mary Joan (I know her too - famous Krishna/Palace of Gold representative), etc.

So just as Gigi backs into a tight parking spot, our buddy "Tim the Scalper" is pulling out.  He waves me over and gives us an extra ticket.  "Sell it if you can.  This whole place is worthless."  I gladly accept it and would eventually sell it for $20.  Then, I snagged a couple more freebies from a dude that resembled a heavier version of Nascar driver Jimmy Johnson and sold one of those for $20.  Just as we were heading in, "Ranger the Scalper" engaged us.  Ranger is the second best scalper in the Burgh.  Tim easily owns the heavyweight title.  Anyway, I told him I had one more extra and he suggested I GIVE the ticket to him (which I did).  Instead of "paying it forward," I call this new phenomenon "scalping it forward."  So we ended up +$40 on the night.  Not bad for no effort whatsoever.  Huzzah.

So we skipped the opener - some guy named Freddie Nelson.  You could hear him well from outside.  He was a solo acoustic performer that seemed overly bent on playing cover songs.  I despise those types.  I suppose it could have been worse.  He could have had a harmonica (the scourge of rock'n'roll).  In my mind, harmonicas are the musical equivalent of the bubonic plague.  Well, with one exception.  That being Neil Young.  Trust me on one thing - if Dan Quayle is no John F. Kennedy...

then needless to say, Freddie Nelson... you're no Neil Young.  Secondary huzzah.

It's crazy to think that Cheap Trick was headlining arenas in the late 70's.  I wonder if that's because of the quality of their music OR was it just because of a lack of major draws (15,000 - 20,000).  If you think about it, there were only so many Aerosmith's and AC/DC's back then.  The crowd last night was probably about 1,200 tops.  We heard they gave away 1,000 comp tickets.  Maybe it has something to do with this outlandish instrument.

Rest assured, he brought out that monstrosity near the end for the "Surrender" encore.  But Stage AE ain't the Houston Astrodome circa 1989.  Ohh, how the might have fallen.

They used to reference that stadium as one of the "7 Wonders of the World."  In retrospect, that's kind of amusing.  I think I liked the Titans better when they played in Houston.  Always despised their head coach Jerry Glanville.

Even worse was Bum Phillips.

What is it with all those 80's NFL head coaches wearing cowboy hats?

Though I must say, Bum Phillips has a snazzy look in that "goated-fur."  If Jeff Fisher (with the mustache) was still with the Titans, he could probably sell it in the here and now.  The Steelers may have had a rough ride during the Mark Malone/Bubby Brister decade, but it was always inspiring to watch them beat the piss out the Oilers.  Yee-haw.

Regardless of that Tex-anecdote, I've always been an admirer of Cheap Trick.  For a bunch of guys in their early 60's that have been playing since 1973, they sounded pretty damn good.  Clean, crisp and surprisingly very loud.  In fact, I vaguely remember reading an article that classified Cheap Trick as the "loudest" rock band on the planet.  It stated that the decibel level was the equivalent of a 747 taking off.  Next loudest on the list - Gigi's churning dishwasher.

Another nice thing about Cheap Trick - if you don't like any of their songs... well, it's Gonna Be Alright because each one only lasts 3 minutes and 12 seconds.  Tertiary huzzah.

Gigi and I each scored 2 guitar picks.  Not a major challenge as the lead guitarist was literally throwing out handfulls of picks at a time.  Reminiscent of being in the "throes of throws" at a Mardi Gras parade in N'Awlins.

Red and Green.  You couldn't ask for a better combination.  Now it's time to glue each pick to my festivus poles in the living room. 

I will label this dual creation a "Cheap Trick on the rest of us."  Pictures forthcoming.

Friday, August 09, 2013

Git the Skids

Last night, I created a theme, a template if you will, for a pop country music song that could take the world by storm.  Well, maybe not the world.  Just the Kenny Chesney yee-hawing dumbshits which have gained quite a stranglehold throughout the nation.

The song is entitled "Git the Skids."  It's all about how when your life goes to absolute shit... it's time to git the skids.  When your woman fucks your best friend, when your dog gets hit by a teenager texting in her brand new Volkswagen Cabriolet, when your lawnmower won't start, when the Nascar race gets rained out, when the Walgreen's runs out of Skoal long cut wint-o-green dip...

Any of these incidents could result in a decision to "git the skids."  You see - when life HITS the skids, it's time to GIT the skids.  Then, you and your confederate pals will take a journey out the crick or down some navigable holler and torch the fuck out of a dozen skids.  The blazing of the skids becomes an emblematic ritual.  It's a cathartic act - a hootin' and a 'shootin good 'ol time.  You just succeeded in drowning all your sorrows (as the pile of philanthropic wood descends into a heap of rusty nails and tetanus-related staples).  Kudos.

Okay, let's focus on the structure of the song.  A bunch of bad shit just went down and you're feeling sad or pissed off.

The song jumps right out with a sing-a-long style refrain.  Think in terms of The Beatles "She Loves You."  Right outta the gate.  Very authoritative and well-suited for cowboy style deep-throated acapella.

When you hit the skids
You gotta git the skids 

When your truck blows a tire and you ain't gotta a jack
When the Bud runs dry, but the Jack comes back

great lyrics - notice the dual meaning of the words "Bud" and "Jack."  At first, you might think Bud means reefer, but it's actually a reference to Budweiser can - the all-consuming worst choice of cheap domestic beer.  In the second verse, the second "Jack" refers to Jack Daniels (the preferred liquor choice for 4 out of every 5 inbred whiskey drinkers).  The multiple dual meanings instantly give the song an allure of sophistication.  Country music fans ain't as stupid as everyone thinks. 

The next part of the song deals with the actual acquisition of said skids.  Just where we gonna find 'em?  Well, there's a few options.

Tried down at the Texaco station
Cuz it's part of our proud nation

Instant shout-out of faithful allegiance to the oil industry.  Plus you work in a subtle Texas reference.  This is always a winner.  Follow it up with some low-brow patriotism. 

Found a few here, found a few there (background female singers)

Stopped behind the Piggly Wiggly
Where the GIRLS all get giggly

All pop country songs have that one part in the video where the girls show off their daisy duke, cut-off jean shorts.  This part is critical.  You've already touched on patriotism.  Now it's time to turn your attention to the young Southern hotties.  Show these honeys what they're missing.  You might be temporarily down on your luck, but you're still willing to stick your dick in anything with a pulse.  Hell, maybe they could spontaneously jump in the back of the pickup and head on down the road.  Now it's a party!  Best of all, it's in keeping with the established "honky tonk ba-donk-a-donk" tradition.

chorus refrain:

When you hit the skids
You gotta git the skids

When your truck blows a tire and you ain't gotta a jack
When the Bud runs dry, but the Jack comes back

But we still need more skids... and maybe some guns.  Shotguns that is.  Yep, you guessed it - more sophisticated dual meaning is on the way.  Here, here!  Shotgunning a beer is the preferred way to strut your stuff, or as I like to call it, hit your shit.

Sip it through a straw, YEE-HAW (this is how the women-folk drink their beer)
Shotgun Shotgun.  BANG BANG!  BANG BANG! (multiple shirtless fatsos simultaneously shotgunning beers). 

Upon completion each one yells "bang."  Followed by actual gun shot explosions of "bang, bang."  This encourages anyone who graduated 2nd grade to stand up and shout "Bang!  Bang!"  Makes for that very easy-to-comprehend singalong moment for bar patrons and tailgaters across our great land.

Found a few here, found a few there

We're part of the rank and file
We're doin' it country style

"Rank and file" denotes absolute, unwavering support for any aspect of the U.S. military.  And then you tie it together with what constitutes the "country style" (some Levi-wearing, bandana-clad, chaw-spitting, crew-cutted fuckhead). 

Guitar solo section - also, throw in some random stuff, washboard solo, cowbell clanking, goat uttering "baaah," horse going "hee-haw, hee-haw," rooster crowing "cock-a-doodle doo," etc.  This is where the country subservient offspring get to sing along and make the obligatory barnyard noises.  See, it even becomes educational.    Tyler, Austin, Dallas, Houston - any little kid named after a city in Texas gets involved.  And this is how the real memories are made.

And finally, one last stop on the skid acquisition, douchebag expressway.  The token reference to Jesus or anything Christian/godly.

And if you think that no one cares
We'll give a shout-out to the man upstairs

Remember, this song is about being down on your luck.  It's in keeping with the "my wife left me, teen daughter is pregnant, the bank repossessed our trailer, just lost my job and the dog ran away" vibe that is so integral to the foundation of bad pop-country music.  This way, the song becomes about something bigger, something more majestic and heavenly.

Plus, it segues nicely into the final stanza.  You've been driving around aimlessly in your quest for "all things skid."  Then, all of a sudden, you see a giant stack of skids next to a port-a-jon.  It's a god-given miracle!  Only a gentle and caring god would bestow upon us this mega-allotment of skids.

Did you see what god done did?
Yeahhhh, he gave us that big 'ol skid.

Found a few here, found a few there.
Found a few here, found a few there.
Found a few here, found a few there.

As the song starts winding down, the background music starts to slowly fade.  You begin to hear random sounds of laughter.  Maybe someone revving a motorcycle.  People are kickin' it up.  Hootin and hollerin around an old-school skid-style campfire.  Maybe even throw in a Sweet Brown excerpt, "Oh lord, it's a fahr!"  Just to show a little unexpected racial tolerance and afford the last opportunity for musical connaisseurs to chime in.

I've never really thought much about crafting a country music song.  Certainly not one that could be the biggest thing since sliced bread.  But think about it - it's MORE than just some shitty song.  It's a mode of conduct and it's a way of life.  Almost a call to arms.  When you're down on your luck and life hits the skids... YOU GOTTA GO AND GIT THE SKIDS.  It's just who we are.  It's how we're gonna do it.  It's just what we do.  Country folkdom worldwide would have their passion ignited.  Burning skids day and night - it would become the hip new national trend in all things "country-cool."

You git the skids and then you throw a big redneck, shit kicking, stinky horse manure smelling, mother fucking pajama jammy-jam.

I give all the credit to the millionaire country fuck who sings that new song "Chew tobacco... spit, spit.  Chew Tobacco... spit, spit."  I don't know his name but he is my inspiration.  I heard it on country WOMP-FM a couple months ago.

One more thought - when performing the song live, you actually have a roadie throw down a skid in the middle of the stage and torch the fuck out of it.  The fans would go bonkers-hillbilly-ape-shit.  Maybe even come up with some kind of dosey-doe, hoe-down, line-dance move that revolves around the burning skid.  Something the masses could easily mimic which requires absolutely no talent.  It would captivate the hearts and minds of the mongrel horde! 

And just a final observation - nobody has EVER written a song about burning skids.  It's a niche that's literally crying out.  This blog may have started out as a joke, but the more I contemplate, the more I reflect, the more I analyze... THIS SHIT IS A FUCKING WIN-WIN!  Somebody better step up. 

Gotta git the skids!

Steelers vs. Giants game tomorrow night.  Sure it's preseason, but it's the fucking New York Giants... and it's nice to get in some warm weather games before we all freeze our asses off.   And it's nationally televised.  And the risk of a stampede is probably around .003%.  F'in A.