5 - L** Ya**el Says "Pu**y" During "El Toro"
The concept is simple, classic even. Let the band (may I humbly suggest one called Buttsex?) play a riff so cliched it borders on racism. When the riff stops, and it is your turn, say something funny. House favorites are inside jokes, but anything goes.
Was "pu**y" the first word you thought of? Are you wearing an AC/DC t-shirt? Thanks for reading, L**!
4 - The Major Briggs Trio Replaces Bill B At Keyboards
Mainly this is shocking because I am one of the worst musicians ever. But I am an honest and expressive soundsmith and a good listener, which was exactly what a band dedicated to making fun the poor lyrics of someone with a man crush on Morrisey needed at the time.
Two important points:
1) I took the name "Salty Miss Clairol" for the stage at this juncture.
2) Bill B would, in an event that can only be described as both "outrageous" and "Rock And Roll", get a bj from my girlfriend, who was living with her ex-girlfriend at the time. Read that last sentance again. Also, good effing LORD.
3 - David Bowie's Return From Berlin With Fascism On His Mind
This happened in 1976, the year of my birth. And for good measure Boy George was waiting for him in the train station. One of the few ways you can be linked to Bowie and Boy George without the use of male genetalia and/or cocaine.
2 - Tie: Anal Conan Presents "Destroyer"/"Grow the Hair Past The Heart"
One withou the mighty Ray Gun, one with. Maybe not my best showing, maybe so, but certainly my favorites. Te outrageousness is derived from the fact that I did ok on each.
1 - Gentlemen Prefer AIDS
The lost albums, coupled with "D**k My F**k", are my best showing. A cry for help. Rock and Roll without a doubt, and outrageous in it's own right. Hooray for Rock, be it dead or alive.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
How Brave Was The Major Briggs Trio Today?
-- At the Mazzio's Pizza buffet, I ate a piece of pepperoni pizza with a piece of chocolate chip pizza on top of it. This is brave because 1) I have a serious, heart-stopping neurosis about dinner and dessert needing to be on opposite plates, never mind not touching ever; 2)the pizza bordered on being so unedible as to not be considered food; and 3) if the appearance and actions of the other diners were any indication, a less-germ-sharing-intensive act than handling the serving tongs would have been fellating the handle of the bathroom's urinal.
Speaking of which. . .
-- At the bathroom at said pizza joint, I peed in the urinal. The urinal about a foot off of the floor, with no walls and right next to the sink and the door with full view of the dining floor (Who designed that setup? Lance Bass?).
This is not some sort of social phobia baby step for me. Remember that scene in The Matrix? That jump? Remember that scene from Carrie? "They're all gonna laugh at you"? That one? If those two scenes had a baby, it would be nodding it's head in complete understanding.
Many of the patrons (and by "many" I mean "the three that I remember with frightning clarity before the defense mechanisms of my brain started to clean house up there") might remember a nervous man with his wang unabashledy exposed peeing with a slight, audible stutter in the stream as they entered the restroom. Not that I remember how people pee, but surely they realized, too, that this was a special occasion replete with bravery. Some clapped. Some openly wept. Others washed their hands.
-- I talked on my cell phone to some employees while I was on the toilet, and totally kept my cool.
Speaking of which. . .
-- At the bathroom at said pizza joint, I peed in the urinal. The urinal about a foot off of the floor, with no walls and right next to the sink and the door with full view of the dining floor (Who designed that setup? Lance Bass?).
This is not some sort of social phobia baby step for me. Remember that scene in The Matrix? That jump? Remember that scene from Carrie? "They're all gonna laugh at you"? That one? If those two scenes had a baby, it would be nodding it's head in complete understanding.
Many of the patrons (and by "many" I mean "the three that I remember with frightning clarity before the defense mechanisms of my brain started to clean house up there") might remember a nervous man with his wang unabashledy exposed peeing with a slight, audible stutter in the stream as they entered the restroom. Not that I remember how people pee, but surely they realized, too, that this was a special occasion replete with bravery. Some clapped. Some openly wept. Others washed their hands.
-- I talked on my cell phone to some employees while I was on the toilet, and totally kept my cool.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Random Review Day!
"I Would Be Your Slave", from David Bowie's Heathen
I never knew my place, I never know my place. Rarely, if ever, do I feel a sense of being invited. Not sure why it's even important that I feel that way. The facts are, lucky for me, what they are.
Who: me, you, Mod Girl
What: getting back in your car after another radio show of yours, handing the cd through the space of the seats, suggesting the track with Pete Townshend first. We got drinks? We got food?
When: 2001?
Where: in a parking garage the same color as your Ford Taurus. On campus. In Fayetteville. In the car where conversations gestated, lived and breathed, died. The full impunity of your car to shelter my insecurities, broadened to the point that I'm afraid to suggest a song on an album.
Why: I wanted to share, and I did, and then immediately felt like I overstepped some boundary.
--------------------------
I'm a sucker for the drumming on this track; it's an understated shuffle that chugs along with nary a change (not like Charlie Watts' best moments where he's trying to do something interesting on another too-disco tune) until the "B" section of the song. But the second half of the section starts shuffling along again, this time with some added punctuation to close the song out.
Bowie's vocals are broad, nearly vunerable, with a vibrato just this side of controlled. Lyrics that start out as a longing for company turn slightly chastising for not opening up, slightly paranoid about the way others percieve the speaker.
The backing band? Some string sweeps, arpeggiated guitar, keyboard glistenings, and a slight undercurrent of techno-ish drum machine.
Ultimately there's a coldness to the music. Maybe it was cold when we heard it first.
I never knew my place, I never know my place. Rarely, if ever, do I feel a sense of being invited. Not sure why it's even important that I feel that way. The facts are, lucky for me, what they are.
Who: me, you, Mod Girl
What: getting back in your car after another radio show of yours, handing the cd through the space of the seats, suggesting the track with Pete Townshend first. We got drinks? We got food?
When: 2001?
Where: in a parking garage the same color as your Ford Taurus. On campus. In Fayetteville. In the car where conversations gestated, lived and breathed, died. The full impunity of your car to shelter my insecurities, broadened to the point that I'm afraid to suggest a song on an album.
Why: I wanted to share, and I did, and then immediately felt like I overstepped some boundary.
--------------------------
I'm a sucker for the drumming on this track; it's an understated shuffle that chugs along with nary a change (not like Charlie Watts' best moments where he's trying to do something interesting on another too-disco tune) until the "B" section of the song. But the second half of the section starts shuffling along again, this time with some added punctuation to close the song out.
Bowie's vocals are broad, nearly vunerable, with a vibrato just this side of controlled. Lyrics that start out as a longing for company turn slightly chastising for not opening up, slightly paranoid about the way others percieve the speaker.
The backing band? Some string sweeps, arpeggiated guitar, keyboard glistenings, and a slight undercurrent of techno-ish drum machine.
Ultimately there's a coldness to the music. Maybe it was cold when we heard it first.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Revelations After Having No Internet Access Day!
1. Only nine e-mails.
Which is fine, really. Only one of those was legitimate (note: if the others were legitimate, my apologies for all those slutty teens. I hope you are swallowing multivitamins, and nothing else. Please resend your e-mail with a title that will keep me from deleting your correspondence. Like, "Te3ns_Luv2 Swa**0 Centroo0Om Slvr NOT_SPAM_OK?)
I am disappointed that the Grand Wizard Glick did not respond. I knew he would not. I am still disappointed. This is the stupidest way people die, seriously.
But who did? . .
2. Grand Wizard Lonecub's oral surgery went terribly wrong.
There's nothing funny to say (but I'm gonna do it, for supportive reasons).
To find out how drugs are supposed to affect you, I asked a sweet girl we know, named B. How did I find her? Easy! I got into my car and unbuckled my seatbelt. Then I died (I tried to contact Keith Richards, but he was to busy openly masturbating to a Puffy Amiyumi cartoon. And he was twelve feet away and too high to contact).
Well, B told me a funny thing: drugs are supposed to make you not feel pain. Sometimes the pain is the sweet ache of having run out of drugs, true, but whatever your pain is, it gets fixed. The Wiz's pain was in full effect. The drug they gave to paralyze him, however, worked fine. Kids, don't do drugs. Doctors, please do drugs right. Keith Richards, please do drugs and rock me senseless and climb a palm tree (palm tree?) and then fall out of it and then STILL FREAKING LIVE. I think he did some group sex with Rasputin, Jason Voorhees, and Wolverine, and caught some weird disease.
3. Two Presidents Died on Independence Day.
I watched Headline News all day. No dice.
4. Now That I have High-Speed Internet Access, TV Is WORSE!
There is no joke there. I'd watch Food Network to see Good Eats and the cute "Ham on the Street" guy, and that's it. Look at the cherry tree I just cut down, television. And, you blow (that presedential reference was brought to you by freedom!).
5. Doing the Freedom Forth Dance Is The Greatest.
1- Drink a Rolling Rock.
2- Light up a snake pellet.
3- Get drunk watching your neighbor's fireworks.
4- Try to get the courage to call someone.
5- Fail.
Be sure "Ferdinan the Imposter" by The Band is playing!
Which is fine, really. Only one of those was legitimate (note: if the others were legitimate, my apologies for all those slutty teens. I hope you are swallowing multivitamins, and nothing else. Please resend your e-mail with a title that will keep me from deleting your correspondence. Like, "Te3ns_Luv2 Swa**0 Centroo0Om Slvr NOT_SPAM_OK?)
I am disappointed that the Grand Wizard Glick did not respond. I knew he would not. I am still disappointed. This is the stupidest way people die, seriously.
But who did? . .
2. Grand Wizard Lonecub's oral surgery went terribly wrong.
There's nothing funny to say (but I'm gonna do it, for supportive reasons).
To find out how drugs are supposed to affect you, I asked a sweet girl we know, named B. How did I find her? Easy! I got into my car and unbuckled my seatbelt. Then I died (I tried to contact Keith Richards, but he was to busy openly masturbating to a Puffy Amiyumi cartoon. And he was twelve feet away and too high to contact).
Well, B told me a funny thing: drugs are supposed to make you not feel pain. Sometimes the pain is the sweet ache of having run out of drugs, true, but whatever your pain is, it gets fixed. The Wiz's pain was in full effect. The drug they gave to paralyze him, however, worked fine. Kids, don't do drugs. Doctors, please do drugs right. Keith Richards, please do drugs and rock me senseless and climb a palm tree (palm tree?) and then fall out of it and then STILL FREAKING LIVE. I think he did some group sex with Rasputin, Jason Voorhees, and Wolverine, and caught some weird disease.
3. Two Presidents Died on Independence Day.
I watched Headline News all day. No dice.
4. Now That I have High-Speed Internet Access, TV Is WORSE!
There is no joke there. I'd watch Food Network to see Good Eats and the cute "Ham on the Street" guy, and that's it. Look at the cherry tree I just cut down, television. And, you blow (that presedential reference was brought to you by freedom!).
5. Doing the Freedom Forth Dance Is The Greatest.
1- Drink a Rolling Rock.
2- Light up a snake pellet.
3- Get drunk watching your neighbor's fireworks.
4- Try to get the courage to call someone.
5- Fail.
Be sure "Ferdinan the Imposter" by The Band is playing!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
The Letter F Is Dirty!
The dentist said, "I'm gonna' give your mouth a good flossing!"
OR
The dentist said, "I'm gonna give your mouth a good effing!"
"Could you fix that?" she said, pointing to the hole in her pants.
OR
"Could you eff that?" she said, pointing to the hole in her pants.
Carl forgot his neighbor's son at the Easter Egg hunt.
OR
Carl effed his neighbor's son at the Easter Egg hunt.
Paul fisted the hobo's useless rectum.
OR
Paul effed the hobo's useless rectum.
Please refrain from using the letter "f", unless you are married or have been baptized (full immersion, NOT sprinkled).
Sincerely,
The Major Briggs Trio
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Who Did The Major Briggs Trio Meet Today?
-- two old-fashioned chauvinists from the Carolinas. They still exist, apparently. Sorry ladies!
-- the waitstaff of Far East, a new Chinese food joint near my new store in Rogers. I have to walk through the parking lots of a tattoo parlor and a vet clinic to get there. The attentive nature and slight nervousness of the crew was relaxing and charming. Hang in there!
-- a transient that smelled like that one mugshot of Glen Campbell looked.
-- a pretty girl named Alisha behing the counter of a Pilot gas station. She knew that I was going to dump my Sugar Free Red Bull into the Gatorade. Good call.
-- the ghost of the time I tried to cut my own lips with my pocket knife. Hang in there!
-- the waitstaff of Far East, a new Chinese food joint near my new store in Rogers. I have to walk through the parking lots of a tattoo parlor and a vet clinic to get there. The attentive nature and slight nervousness of the crew was relaxing and charming. Hang in there!
-- a transient that smelled like that one mugshot of Glen Campbell looked.
-- a pretty girl named Alisha behing the counter of a Pilot gas station. She knew that I was going to dump my Sugar Free Red Bull into the Gatorade. Good call.
-- the ghost of the time I tried to cut my own lips with my pocket knife. Hang in there!
Monday, June 26, 2006
Review A Random Song From My Computer Day!
"Bow Tie Daddy", from The Mothers Of Invention's We're Only In It For The Money
We had this whole album re-conceptualized, with different members of the music faculty of the university we attended doing different tracks (for those considering college, imagine thinking up things like that last sentence; getting crushes on blossoming lesbians; and poisoning every organ of your body, including your skin, with clear alcohols mixed with Welch's Strawberry soda. Sault.). I can't remember who was picked for this little ditty, but my current choice would be Henry Runkles. He'd be in a white dinner jacket with a blue silk shirt, one lit Winston in his hand, nineteen more bulging out his breast pocket. This is probably how he'll look in his coffin, too (Good Lord, did I write that? ).
What makes this song work, if not the whole album, is it's sincerity. Yes, the whole album is a parody of the different cultures co-existing in California. Yes, Zappa probably despised Tin Pan Alley-type wooing tunes. Zappa had, however, 1)broad influences throughout his youth, and 2)musical ability to pull the essence of those types into his own style.
The prelude to this track, "Telephone Conversation", involves someone, apparently a father, ready to "bump off" Zappa. Two paranoid ladies chat about him, trying not to get too freaked out. And then "daddy"'s music comes on, with the appropriate timbre but lyrics that paint the "bow tie daddy" as out of touch and somewhat hypocritical. Also an out-of-place guitar part doubles along with the vocals, nearly drowning out the more suited backing track. Poor daddy, perhaps, but mommy gets hers next, with "Harry, You're A Beast", a song about out of touch and hypocritical women (Zappa loved this song so much, he would later fill his catalogue with about twenty billion more tunes about out of touch, hypocritical women).
In conclusion: Daddy is a beast. Mommy is a beast. Harry is a beast. Harry Runkles, however, is a saint. He was going to play piano on an arrangement I was going to do of "Duke of Prunes". He even sang a bit of it! He would have been perfect.
We had this whole album re-conceptualized, with different members of the music faculty of the university we attended doing different tracks (for those considering college, imagine thinking up things like that last sentence; getting crushes on blossoming lesbians; and poisoning every organ of your body, including your skin, with clear alcohols mixed with Welch's Strawberry soda. Sault.). I can't remember who was picked for this little ditty, but my current choice would be Henry Runkles. He'd be in a white dinner jacket with a blue silk shirt, one lit Winston in his hand, nineteen more bulging out his breast pocket. This is probably how he'll look in his coffin, too (Good Lord, did I write that? ).
What makes this song work, if not the whole album, is it's sincerity. Yes, the whole album is a parody of the different cultures co-existing in California. Yes, Zappa probably despised Tin Pan Alley-type wooing tunes. Zappa had, however, 1)broad influences throughout his youth, and 2)musical ability to pull the essence of those types into his own style.
The prelude to this track, "Telephone Conversation", involves someone, apparently a father, ready to "bump off" Zappa. Two paranoid ladies chat about him, trying not to get too freaked out. And then "daddy"'s music comes on, with the appropriate timbre but lyrics that paint the "bow tie daddy" as out of touch and somewhat hypocritical. Also an out-of-place guitar part doubles along with the vocals, nearly drowning out the more suited backing track. Poor daddy, perhaps, but mommy gets hers next, with "Harry, You're A Beast", a song about out of touch and hypocritical women (Zappa loved this song so much, he would later fill his catalogue with about twenty billion more tunes about out of touch, hypocritical women).
In conclusion: Daddy is a beast. Mommy is a beast. Harry is a beast. Harry Runkles, however, is a saint. He was going to play piano on an arrangement I was going to do of "Duke of Prunes". He even sang a bit of it! He would have been perfect.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Gay Kafkaesque Short Short Story Day!
The Toilet Crows
It was a Friday, and Brother Samuel, along the cool wrought iron fencing outside the synogauge, finally succumed to the visions his aunt was having. Having circled his birthmark with a poultice and fancy ladies rouge from a Turkish merchant ship he frequented made no difference.
As the dense black wave of feathers rent him clothesless and comfortably molested, he shouted out, that his echoes might reach that open window on Lymon Street.
"My crows! My salvation! My stinkhorn of blood!" Samuel lamented.
"The stuff! The stuff!" demanded the crows, full of flesh and ball oil.
It was a Friday, and Brother Samuel, along the cool wrought iron fencing outside the synogauge, finally succumed to the visions his aunt was having. Having circled his birthmark with a poultice and fancy ladies rouge from a Turkish merchant ship he frequented made no difference.
As the dense black wave of feathers rent him clothesless and comfortably molested, he shouted out, that his echoes might reach that open window on Lymon Street.
"My crows! My salvation! My stinkhorn of blood!" Samuel lamented.
"The stuff! The stuff!" demanded the crows, full of flesh and ball oil.
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