"Cunt" is such an ugly word.
See, in America (the greatest fucking nation in the history of the world, you dickless anglophilic piles of offal) we reserve the use of the word "cunt" for only the most venomous verbal attacks. And frankly, since my bile doesn't quite rise to that standard, I will try to refrain from simply calling my list's detractors "a fetid gang of stone-eared cunts".
No, in America, we have a very special word to describe the kind of person who prefers Ultravox to Black Sabbath. A very delicious word, with a perfect cadence to express it's utter contempt. It has nice, firm consonants on either end, not unlike "cunt", but with a nice soft arc of vowels through the middle to give it a little more flair than the one syllable bludgeon, "cunt".
That word, in it's glorious verisimilitude, is "Douchebag".
Douchebag. Doooooooshhhh-bag. Say it to yourself. Douchebag.
Whisper it. Now say it loudly, with just a good bit of contempt, and a healthy amount of scorn, and maybe a tiny sprinkle of derisive laughter. Put some emphasis on the "oo". Elongate it. "Dooooooo-sh-bag". Put just a tiny bit of spittle behind the "D". "DUH-hoooooooo-sh-bag".
Ahhhhhhhhhh. It feels good, doesn't it? Just saying, "douchebag", makes me feel all skoonchy inside. Yum!
Now, find the nearest mirror. Do you look like this?
Because that's what I see when a person tells me they love Bauhaus, but feel nothing when Sister Rosetta Tharpe tears into that Gibson SG. (And fuck yeah I promoted myself without shame, and I feel no shame now so, stuff it.)
That's what I see when a person tells me the blues isn't relevant to The Cup and then praises a list with Howlin' Wolf on it.
That's what I see when a person says they won't vote for a list that isn't 'Britcentric' enough.
That's what I see when someone tells me they wouldn't put the sound of a person having an orgasm in their list. Do you know what my first thought was after I read that bit of joyless nonsense?
I could make it through the first round, at least, using a list which features NOTHING BUT ORGASMS!!! HOW FUCKING HORRIBLE IS YOUR LIFE!?!
BUDDHA'S ALL-ORGASM CUP LIST
The Chakachas - Jungle Fever link
Buzzcocks - Orgasm Addict link
Sylvia - Pillow Talk link
Rhianna - Birthday Cake link
Guns N' Roses - Rocket Queen link
Love to Love You - Donna Summer link
J'Taime Moi Non Plus- Serge Ginsbourg and Jane Birken link
Berlin - Sex (I'm A) link
Marilyn Chambers - Benihana link
Kiss Kiss Kiss - John Lennon and Yoko Ono link
Hell, I bet that list, as is, would've done better than mine, and the reason why is because it appeals to the largest voting block in The Cup: The Douchebags.
Of course, the medical definition of a "douchebag" is is "a device used to introduce a stream of water into the vagina for medical or hygienic reasons". I want you to think about that for a second. Think about it real hard, because I'd like to take the metaphor a little further.
Imagine, if you will, that this place, BCB, is a giant, smelly, yeasty minge. I know it's a stretch, but just work with me here. Now, some of you think it's your personal duty to spray vinegar everywhere to mask the dank rot, but in truth, you're only masking the symptom. The real infection, which is a syphilitic devotion to Scott Walker (et. al.), is, I think, a perfect metaphor for my ouster, because anyone who chooses Jaques FUCKING BREL over Sun Ra and claims to have good taste is a FUCKING DOUCHEBAG!!!
FUCK!!!! SERIOUSLY? Jaques Brel?!? That sweaty FUCKING FLEM?!? That fucking buck-toothed Gippo SPROUT?!?! You FUCKING DOUCHEBAGS!!!!! GODDAMMIT!!!
You see, Machuki informed me last year that my blind spot was the punk/postpunk niche. And he was right, a winning list must contain some of that putrid garbage. My selections amount to pandering of the most heinous sort, and I dont give a fuck, 'cause I want to win this bitch. But now I realize that I have another, even greater blind spot, and that blind spot is, for lack of a better term, "douche music". I'm not familiar enough with it yet to define it, as I only like non-douche music, but, like pornography, I know it when I see it. It has that certain…douchey…smell to it. I'm going to have to do some research on it, but next year, I promise, I'm going to load my list up with Bauhaus, and Fairport Convention, and The Queefs, and someday, some fucking day not far off, I'm going to win The Cup.
And when I do, I will be your God.
And my first act as your usurper God, lo, who loveth KISS, and thinketh Ultravox are a bunch of preening, poofy douchebags, will be to fucking epically flounce. Because I don't hang out with douchebags. So fuck off. Go listen to Townes Van Zandt and cry in your tea. I'm going to start concocting my super-douchey-anglophilic-as-fuck-Cup-winning-list RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!
See you next year, cunts.
Freak out. Far out.