October 21, 2009
Turns Out I’m God
You know how sometimes when you wonder something aloud and your question is answered the next day and you start to think that maybe you are in fact the center of the universe? Well, guess what, you’re not. I mean, do you really think the universe would chose a guy with skidmarked undies, a pot belly and a receding hairline on whom to hinge itself? Hell no. The vast expanse of space and time, the cosmos and beyond does not bend to someone as insignificant as you. It bends to me. And I have proof. Just yesterday I wondered aloud why Zombie even bothered to make his latest record, especially while trying to make the latest Halloween installment and putting the finishing touches on his animated flick, El Super Beasto. I suggested that he chose between movie making and being a rock star. Be one or the other, but not both. Well, as a clear response to my completely unique opinion and further proving my ability to bend the universe to my whim, Zombie responded to the question saying that he made this record because he was obligated to Geffen and that this could well be his last. He says, “This is the last record that I owe Geffen. My contract is up. Whether or not I re-sign, we haven’t had that conversation, but this is the last record I’m obligated to make. I mean, I’ve been on the label now for like 19 years. So I don’t know.” He went on to give me a shout out addressing me a His Royal Benevolent Overlord and Master of All Thing Seen and Unseen, then sacrificed a three toed sloth in my honor. As reported yesterday, Zombie’s new record has been pushed back from its release date here in the next couple of weeks to some undetermined time in 2010, which may in fact turn out to be never.
Coke Heads Need To Stop It
Coke-heads, you wanna toot a few rails and dry hump each other in some dance club pumping Rhiana remixes, by all means help yourself. You want to stick your face in a pile of Bolivian and spend the next 36 hours writing self involved beat poetry detailing every vein on your schlong, neato. But once you decide to ruin a perfectly good Floater show by running into the center of the floor and challenging the all comers in the crowd to a no-holds-barred death match, you’ve gone too far. But apparently that’s what just happened in San Francisco. Here’s how Floater recalled the evening.
“Before we could get to the end of our set I could see the sound guy signaling me with the universal sign for “it’s over,” the finger drawing a line across the throat. I didn’t know why the show was over, since we couldn’t see any problems and it was nowhere close to last call. Then we hear the house music coming on. So we head out to the bar, a bit confused. And that’s when I am asked one of the rudest questions I have ever had the displeasure of hearing. The bartender asks me, “What is it about you guys that brings out the cokeheads?”
It turns out that out of the hundreds of people at the show they had some a–hole who was coked-up and trying to fight with people. They kicked him out and he got in a fight with a security guard in front of the club. So, for this, the show was ended and I had to endure Floater being rudely and falsely labeled.