Just in case you were wondering, the garage sale kinda sucked. It was rainy, but I sold a bunch of cassette tapes, including the entire Bon Scott saga of AC/DC, ultra-deck Kraftwerk Autobahn, and an ultra-rare Final Descent by Samhain (you're welcome). Kevin got mad at me for soiling his radio-control car in the torrential mud, cherry Kool-Aid was served, and when we commenced to sippin' the beer, we all got our respective swerves on, or whatever. And, while most people might think it strange to call your friends to sell them your crap that you've deemed crap enough to put in the crapper and not have anymore, it is a solid, if not crappy business maneuver. I must have sold $35.75 in unwanted crap to my friends who crapped by. Fuck yeah, friends are royal suckers for crap. With my extra cashflow, I was able to download some rockers from the internet music service of my choice and just push that shit out...push that shit out, mang. So here's what I got from the garage sale.
Mouth For War- Pantera
Ok, I know what you're saying. He must have seen the Pantera Behind The Music right after he watched Ratt Behind The Music on VH1 this weekend and gotten into Pantera like three days ago. Totally, except the extent of me "getting into" Pantera has thusfar been limited to spending one dollar on a sweet jam. I mean, I've always thought that wit
h a band name like Pantera, you had to be awesome in some facility. Although, I have been let down before- bands with seemingly great names that just kinda blow, i.e. Sportsguitar, Fudge Tunnel, Gogol Bordello, New Riders Of The Purple Sage, and Herman's Hermits (oh, no he didn't!). There's also the matter of having some of the worst album covers ever in the history of worst. However, there are only a few other band names like Pantera that conjure such strong anthropomorphic/cryptozoological awesomeness: Archangel Thunderbird, Lightninghawk (a fictitious creature from the made for TV movie, Monsters & Mazes, I believe), Pumaman, Sabertoothica, Beholder,Nazghoul, Hawkwind (what is it about hawks?), and Hasslehoffica. I think there's some heavy metal equation that has something to do with your band name being based on an animal, subtracting a consonent, and adding an 'a' to the end, or adding the origin of an animal to the end (although, this eqaution seems to only work well for Pantera and Tigers Of Pan Tang). Or I suppose you could just take a word and look for it in a different language- Pantera is Portugese for 'stretch pants'. No pero un las panteras! Pantera's music works on various levels- most of the levels have something to do with cock, while the others rely heavily on smoking weed and getting your face punched-in by some dick also on the weed. Pantera's brand of extreme guy rock is more akin to a Rollins Band release, minus the jazz chord interludes, bad spoken-word poetry, and protuberant gayness. That's not to say that Phil Anselmo's lyrics are good by any stretch of the imagination, but they're delivered in the same kinda hunched-over, wearing-black-workout- shorts kind of way. You know, lyrics about not fitting in, some oppressive, malevolent antagonist referred to as "you" or "they", prison references, gross anatomy, and pseudo-political musings with a couple 'fucks' thrown in there to keep it real. Not to mention the best thing ever-the occasional "putting everyone on notice" through interviews: 'We put everyone on notice that we don't fuck around. Our fans know we're true right down to the fucking core.' - lead singer Phil Anselmo. All you have to do to be fucking hard these days is put everyone on notice. So, like, I'm gonna do that more often, so y'all know I'm not fucking around.The Troggs- Night Of The Long Grass
First of all, you all are on notice- so deal with that. Secondly, Wild Thing isn't the only jam the Troggs wrote. While people who have actually bought an album in the last 40 years are well aware of this, oldies stations all over the US want you to believe that the
Troggs were one-hitters. Fuck that, they were more like a 2-foot double-chamber titanium skull-splitter ice bong with a go/no-go switch. When's the last time you heard "6-6-5-4-3-2-1," or "Give It To Me," or "Girl In Black," or "Hi, Hi Hazel," for that matter! All of them hits- in the Rubin Kincade sense of the word, I say! All of them! You can get like 9 Troggs minor hits on the 20th Century Masters (The Millennium Collection) CD, but fuck that. According to Universal Music, every piece of shit band that ever put an album out is deserving of the title "Master" of the 20th Century- hence, Animotion, Ozark Mountain Daredevils, and Rupert Holmes' inclusion in this atrocious series. The sweetest thing about the Troggs is that all of their songs are essentially retarded; so remedial that even I can play them on guitar. I think the only one I had a problem with was Little Red Donkey. But then I took my problem to a guy named Terry S. at the Guitar Center and before he gave me a HOT DEAL, he showed me how to play the extremely tricky A minor chord on a Gibson Les Paul Vintage Mahogany that brings together old and new Les Paul features to create a unique and special guitar. This fucking thrasher has the round warmth of a carved mahogany top on a mahogany back with the added vintage edge of Gibson's Alnico 5 BurstBucker Pro humbuckers, Tune-o-matic bridge with stopbar, and trapezoid inlays. Fucking guitar shreds. Monster tone, a total fucking monster, especially when you're fucking bustin' some Smoke On The Water, blazing some of Terr
y's cherry-red chronic brick bud with no seeds, and runnin' it through a Crate CA125DG Telluride 125W Amp with DSP. Needless to say, the chord wasn't the only thing Terry taught me, and I have to thank him for that. But what's the fucking deal with Guitar Center, anyway? Hands-down the most fucking annoying mail list to be on ever, next to Citi Cards. OK, we get it. There's a fucking "sale" at Guitar Center every fucking weekend. Really? There's an "event" going on at Guitar Center? Drop everything. You mean if I go buy two dozen sets of drumsticks, I'll get 6 dozen for free?! Start the prowler!I got some other songs, too.
Ok, so by the apparent lack of interest in soup ( you dicks know you eat it), I'll not do another soup review until it's absolutely necessary. This week's soup is...gotcha! I wish people were more into the "gotcha!"thing- it's one of life's little freebs- like padiddles and the stick your finger in the hole game. I also wish it were easier to surprise and startle people with writing- I mean it's pretty hard to type "boo" and have someone actually get startled. You kind of have to think ahead and try to push your sentence just far enough to force the reader's eyes to the next s BOO!- Did I getcha? No. Because it's fucking impossible to scare someone with a word. And before you say something about possibly using bold typeface to establish emphasis, I suggest you retire your nib. Bold just draws more attention to your scary word, thereby warning the now suspecting reader. My friend Dave used to creep me out by writing gross sayings on his white cordless telephone with magic marker (Of course, he also would write "The Who" and "Rude Boy" on his dog, Barky). And while the words never startled me, they did creep me out and make me feel uneasy- sometimes even eerily macabre. I think the horror-type font helps make words creepier, but you have to pretty much know how to use photoshop or be in the Misfits to do that on the internet. Dave used to write words like "gross worms," or other crazy scary shit all over. Man, I get a chill down my spine just talking about it. Let's talk about garages.
Springtime in the city means one thing and one thing only- garage sales and barbeque. Throughout history, garages have been used to keep cars in and in some cases, "sportsbarrels." Garages have been used for making babies and ending lives, as well. Many garages have "garage doors," which are bigger than most other doors, and can be opened and closed with something called a garage door opener. If I were an observational comedian, right now I would start riffin' on why they're called openers instead of closers, even though openers are closers, too. And then I'd bring the house down with my irreverent catchphrase, "Bullshit!"( you have to stretch it out for it to be effective- buulllllshhiiit!)
But I'm not an observational comedian, so disregard that last hilarious passage that would have killed( I tell ya, killed!) Garages have historically been the site of tons of kick-ass fires, household chemical laboratories, homemade fireworks displays, crystal meth labs, and probably served as that Sean guy from high school's Anarchist Cookbook rehearsal space. Garages also have served as a place where music dudes can fucking "jam." Garage bands and their music (and the women who blow them) are woven into the fiber of American popular culture- so much, in fact, that around the turn of the century- not that one, the other one- shitty bands from Detroit actually got record deals, coke habits, and regional obscurity from their popularity. Garages in America are used primarily for garage sales. Garages in Germany are, apparently, used by sexually confused teenagers who like to drink Jagermeister, tingle-wrestle, zap dicks, and puke at places like Shmiddi's. 
Ever since the dawn of garages, there have been garage sales. It's sort of like the Which Came First? question, except you could probably actually figure it out. I'm gonna take an educated stab at sales coming first. The popularity of the garage sale really started to take off in mid-17th Century , whenThe Ottoman Empire captured Crete from the Venetians after the Siege of Kmartia and they were forced to have a jumble sale (Europe/UK) because the traditional 2-horse stalls (found throughout the suburbs of the Empire) were too small for all that fucking shit. They first tried to get away with hanging "Bless This Mess" signs on local stalls, but ultimately had to price everything to go. Some 50-clam swords and tartans went for a shocking 89% markdown. In case you were wondering, yes, Kmartia was the first soverign nation to adopt a "blue flame special" during statewide garage sales. How they got the blue flame is a touchy subject if not effectively buffered by a skillful comedy powerhouse such as Rusty Warren (of knockers up fame) or Carrot Top. Later, in 1950's America, people w
ent post-war garage crazy. America's hard-on for a bargain reached fever pitch. There was no longer a need to "pitch a tent," as the shelter of a garage would suffice for a weekend of hawking baby clothes, chandeliers, and Jodeci boots. Today, the popularity of the garage sale has spread to include such sale types as the Yard, the Multi-Family, the Neigborhood, and the Subdivision! Even with such a wide variety of sales, the results are usually the same: a Crock Pot, a Precious Moments figurine, and a VG++ vinyl copy of Hooked On Classics and/or a shitty copy of that one Gino Vannelli record (with I Just Wanna Stop). 
Garage Sale Pricing. What can I say about garage sale pricing- it's cheap. The concept behind most garage sales is this: I have a bunch of shit sitting around and I would rather get a quarter for it than throw it away. And I can get a quarter for it because people are essentially cheap fucking assholes who are easily duped and wouldn't sneeze if I sold them a toaster without a cord for $2.00. I am also too fucking lazy to be bothered selling crap on eBay. And garage salers who use eBay as a pricing guide are missing the point completely. There's nothing more annoying than mustached "antiquers" who try to sell they shit at market value. It's a fucking garage sale- not the Antiques Road Show, Richard. Don't get me started on the whole baby clothes garage sale syndrome. Which brings me to my point.
We're having a Garage Sale this Saturday 9AM-4PM, 1645 W. Hancock St. Detroit, MI- Look for the signs!
GET THERE EARLY IF YOU WANT THE TOASTER (needs a cord).
It's not often that you get to read a good soup review, so I thought I'd take a slurp at it. Ha! Slurp at it. Get it? Knock Knock. Who's there? Pulit. Pulit who? Pulitzer fucking prize, Mary. When I look at my stash of magazines- all titles available at Target, perv- I think to myself: WTF, no news on the latest soups? And then I'm all, WTS, AIAFI? BFM if I'm gonna ever spell out another FPOTB. AIK is that WFTP when you can get the bacon from the store? BTW, I'm NEFK. This week's soup is a Chicken Noodle varietal.
Name: Progresso Chicken Noodle
Subtitle: with Roasted White Meat Chicken
Net Wt.= +/- 15.25 OZ(432g)
Distribution/Region : Progresso Foods Division, General Mills Cereals, LLC, Minneapolis, MN
Website: www.ProgressoSoup.com
OVERALL RATING: 2 (out of 4 stars)
While the hot-shitter set of 20-something Souperzzi at Progresso were busy concocting a hearty varietal of chicken court bouillion featuring noodles and grilled chicken, they must have just about shit a collective brique when they realized they could make the can into a bowl (a hip spin on Colonial pocket soups). I know I would have. I had an idea of that calibre once- it involved a little 3-legged plastic piece that kept pizza box lids from touching any of the pizza's cheese surface. Then, after it's initial use, you could use it as a little mini patio table for a ladybug tea party (perhaps attaching a drink parasol on effulgent summer days). I never did get the patent on that fucker, so here I am- blogging about soup. I'm such a fag.
Anyway, I do enjoy the styro wrap-insulated cupbowl- it beats the hell out of ancient canning technologies. Plus, it doesn't hurt as much as a can when you whip it at someone's head. I was baffled and somewhat humbled by the metal rim that for some science reason, didn't spark in the microwave. Then I found out it was a field trip to the pony ramp. If you microwave it without the plastic cover, it will arc like a motherfucker. So much for your dragon-scale alloy theory. Let's just say that when the guy who figured this trick out dies, he won't be getting the broken wand ceremony (drat!) 
All good soups start with good broth. Progresso starts off with your basic Court Bouillion, but modify it to a kind of rogue Bouillion de Poule. So much modification, in fact, that it just ends up being a Pot-au-feu with some slightly oaky-charcoal-y undertones. The broth's finish is both fatty and, dare I say, playful, once the carrots are infused. But just when you think you have Progresso's number, they slip you the tongue and squeeze your ass in the form of Peruvian Armador Celery. Most companies would stick with the less-hip and strangely rigid Utah Matador variety. Progresso has something to prove to the Ikea crowd. What this small variation does is offset the richness and viscocity of the broth with a fluid efficiency found only in Mrs. Grass' Private Reserve (2004) or a Todd Oldham for La-Z-Boy Bernie Sofa. It's sort of like when you mix some water and corn starch together- it'll get all over your shit if you lighlty tap it. But your shit keeps clean if you slap the shit out of it. Hence, Progresso's Chicken Noodle Soup is best severed slow (this also makes it a great soup for films).
I know what you're saying. What does it taste like? Well, it's sort of like a mixture between Campbell's Chunky and early Heinz Select (UK). While many statesiders may not be familiar with Heinz's line of, are you ready for this? "tinned" soups, the ketchup king made a horrifyingly terrific chicken soup- that could easily be coerced into being a bisque if it were less creamless. Progresso is very 
strong in the roased white meat chicken department. And it would be foolish to unerestimate the influence the roasting has on the soup's joi de poule.
Fuck you, pay me. I can go on for pages about the broth, but this is a chicken soup with noodles. Progresso uses egg noodles that unfortunately offset the divine broth. I was under the impression that noodles were made from simple shit like eggs and flour and ferrous sulphate. Progresso ups the ante by adding Niacin, Thiamin Mononitrate, Riboflavin, Folic Acid, and Claus the Moron's semen. This just kinda throws a Masked Magician into the whole equation- what a fucking spoiler. The noodles contaminate an almost pristine chicken broth which gives the whole experience a serious Love Canal feel.
In summation, Progresso's attempt at a cutting-edge chicken noodle soup for the iPod set falls short of hip-soup glory. While both the broth and the container had a strong showing, the noodles ultimately make this soup poopingly average.
h a band name like Pantera, you had to be awesome in some facility. Although, I have been let down before- bands with seemingly great names that just kinda blow, i.e. Sportsguitar, Fudge Tunnel, Gogol Bordello, New Riders Of The Purple Sage, and Herman's Hermits (oh, no he didn't!). There's also the matter of having some of the worst album covers ever in the history of worst. However, there are only a few other band names like Pantera that conjure such strong anthropomorphic/cryptozoological awesomeness: Archangel Thunderbird, Lightninghawk (a fictitious creature from the made for TV movie, Monsters & Mazes, I believe), Pumaman, Sabertoothica, Beholder,Nazghoul, Hawkwind (what is it about hawks?), and Hasslehoffica. I think there's some heavy metal equation that has something to do with your band name being based on an animal, subtracting a consonent, and adding an 'a' to the end, or adding the origin of an animal to the end (although, this eqaution seems to only work well for Pantera and Tigers Of Pan Tang). Or I suppose you could just take a word and look for it in a different language- Pantera is Portugese for 'stretch pants'. No pero un las panteras! Pantera's music works on various levels- most of the levels have something to do with cock, while the others rely heavily on smoking weed and getting your face punched-in by some dick also on the weed. Pantera's brand of extreme guy rock is more akin to a Rollins Band release, minus the jazz chord interludes, bad spoken-word poetry, and protuberant gayness. That's not to say that Phil Anselmo's lyrics are good by any stretch of the imagination, but they're delivered in the same kinda hunched-over, wearing-black-workout- shorts kind of way. You know, lyrics about not fitting in, some oppressive, malevolent antagonist referred to as "you" or "they", prison references, gross anatomy, and pseudo-political musings with a couple 'fucks' thrown in there to keep it real. Not to mention the best thing ever-the occasional "putting everyone on notice" through interviews: 'We put everyone on notice that we don't fuck around. Our fans know we're true right down to the fucking core.' - lead singer Phil Anselmo. All you have to do to be fucking hard these days is put everyone on notice. So, like, I'm gonna do that more often, so y'all know I'm not fucking around.
Troggs were one-hitters. Fuck that, they were more like a 2-foot double-chamber titanium skull-splitter ice bong with a go/no-go switch. When's the last time you heard "6-6-5-4-3-2-1," or "Give It To Me," or "Girl In Black," or "Hi, Hi Hazel," for that matter! All of them hits- in the Rubin Kincade sense of the word, I say! All of them! You can get like 9 Troggs minor hits on the 20th Century Masters (The Millennium Collection) CD, but fuck that. According to Universal Music, every piece of shit band that ever put an album out is deserving of the title "Master" of the 20th Century- hence, Animotion, Ozark Mountain Daredevils, and Rupert Holmes' inclusion in this atrocious series. The sweetest thing about the Troggs is that all of their songs are essentially retarded; so remedial that even I can play them on guitar. I think the only one I had a problem with was Little Red Donkey. But then I took my problem to a guy named Terry S. at the Guitar Center and before he gave me a HOT DEAL, he showed me how to play the extremely tricky A minor chord on a Gibson Les Paul Vintage Mahogany that brings together old and new Les Paul features to create a unique and special guitar. This fucking thrasher has the round warmth of a carved mahogany top on a mahogany back with the added vintage edge of Gibson's Alnico 5 BurstBucker Pro humbuckers, Tune-o-matic bridge with stopbar, and trapezoid inlays. Fucking guitar shreds. Monster tone, a total fucking monster, especially when you're fucking bustin' some Smoke On The Water, blazing some of Terr
y's cherry-red chronic brick bud with no seeds, and runnin' it through a Crate CA125DG Telluride 125W Amp with DSP. Needless to say, the chord wasn't the only thing Terry taught me, and I have to thank him for that. But what's the fucking deal with Guitar Center, anyway? Hands-down the most fucking annoying mail list to be on ever, next to Citi Cards. OK, we get it. There's a fucking "sale" at Guitar Center every fucking weekend. Really? There's an "event" going on at Guitar Center? Drop everything. You mean if I go buy two dozen sets of drumsticks, I'll get 6 dozen for free?! Start the prowler!
