Rants: Round 1 / Match 3 - Kath out

The best rant is...

Total votes: 13

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Davey the Fat Boy
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Rants: Round 1 / Match 3 - Kath out

Postby Davey the Fat Boy » 24 Sep 2007, 14:19


Fuck you Brett Michaels: A love poem.

That’s right Brett Michaels. Fuck you. Fuck you hard with a jagged, rusty dildo. I’m not kidding about that – but let’s come back to it. Okay? You, Brett Michaels, serve absolutely no purpose. Even a mosquito has some utility in the scheme of nature. They are a food source for several invertebrates and even for fish, frogs, bats and birds. They even serve as pollinators of many wildflowers. All you’ve ever tried to pollinate was the occasional road skank, and even then you probably sprung for an abortion, bought the skank a used mobile home and went on to the next skank. Even mosquitoes think you are an asshole.

Brett Michaels you are of no use to anyone. You are nothing but a greasy looking, puffy, middle-aged dumbshit ex-rock star.


Of course there are many greasy looking, puffy, middle-aged dumbshit ex-rock stars out there in the world, but most have the good sense to die. Not you. No, you haunt my tv screen like a painful case of electronic herpes via a reality show that makes Flava-Flav’s tv career look like Edward R. Murrow’s. Who was it that wrote that little bit of Shakespeare you use as a catch phrase? “Will you stay and rock my world?” That must have taken your reptilie brain months. I suppose you consider your show educational. You really wanted kids to know that ex-strippers with visable implant scars are in fact willing to pretend they can stomach the idea of sexual intercourse with your walking corpse in order to get on tv themselves. Well done – lets make it required watching for junior high schools everywhere. And while I will admit the show is artistically a step up from Poison, it’s a huge step down from making the second most popular porno tape with the human inflatable love doll known as Pam Anderson.
And even she thinks that tape would have been better without you.

Okay. Time to get back to the jagged, rusty dildo from before. Do you recall me telling me to fuck yourself with it? You do? Great. That wasn’t just rhetoric. I actually want you to actually do it. Please insert it anally and repeat a swift fucking motion. Every rose does indeed have its thorn, you shirtless, bandana wearing cock. Now you know how it felt for all of us having to hear that song over and over again back in the day. In fact why don’t you play the video while you stroke that thing in and out Here it is on YouTube…don’t stop stroking now…


Okay..now keep your eyes on the video Brett Michaels. I hope you have to watch it on an endless loop in hell. That would be at least some level of justice. But nothing can repay you for that bit at the opening where you get out of bed with your bikini briefs in our face. Just for that let’s add another dildo back there. No Vaseline. Okay…double time.

Now start singing Brett Michaels. I want to hear you singing while two jagged dildos have a fiesta with your rectal cavity. C’mon now. SING!

“Was it somethin' I said or somethin' I did”


“Did the words not come out right”

LOUDER ASSHOLE! AND HARDER. Why don’t you imagine that one of those is C.C. Deville back there! And the other is Rikki Rocket. Just like old times, eh? Oh yeah…and while you are reliving the early days, Why don’t you tell us your actual birth name, C’mon you little bitch. What’s your real name? Is it Bret Michael Sychak? Could that be Mr. and Mrs. Sychak’s little Brett with the dildo pulling chunks of meat out of his precious little rectum? Aw....I bet they are so proud.

I hope this is painful Brett Michaels. I hope you understand that this is how it feels for us whenever we have to hear your "music" or see your simian face on our television screens. You are hereby kicked out of show business. Call up Charlie Sheen and tell him you can’t pretend to have a production company with him anymore so he’ll have to write off all the hookers on his own expense account from now on in. In fact while you are at it, ask him if he ever banged this one:


I think we all know the answer to that.

In summation: Fuck you Brett Michaels Sychak. I’m really not sure if I can be any clearer on this point.



I have a friend, a rock critic by trade. As if that weren't fucking bad enough, every so often he goes off on his Lennon-is-Jesus speech. He spouts the same, predictable words other misguided saps use to describe the man: Poet. Philosopher. Innovator. Revolutionary. Social Satirist. When he does this, my first impulse is to shoot him where he stands, right after I ask him for his autograph. I content myself with reminding him that his mouth shits like a goose. I counter his Lennonphilia with two words: Double Fantasy.

Could there be a more catastrophic coda to any artist's career? Yet the album remains a critical darling, a beautiful boy, a return to former glory of a now-apronbound, introspective husband and father. Yay, the critics cheer. Bravo, John. You've made it through the traumatizing lifestyle of a Beatle, maybe even (gasp) the Biggest Beatle!! You've survived the adoration and pocket change of untold millions. You've beaten a harrowing drug addiction and come out of the other side in a golden aura of domestic fucking bliss.

I for one think he needed more needles. If I should ever get in the mood for listening to the diary of a pussywhipped, yenpecked, diaper-changing fuck, I'll drive to the corner store and rent Dr. Phil Takes It Up the Ass.

You don't even need to listen to a note of this album to know you'll need a barf bucket before it's done. The track list is enough, with such gooey, oozing titles as (Just Like) Starting Over, Kiss Kiss Kiss, Cleanup Time, Beautiful Boy (Darling Fucking Boy), Yes, I'm Your Angel, Woman, Beautiful Boys, Dear Yoko, Every Man Has a Woman Who Loves Him, and Hard Times Are Over.

The few songs on the album that aren't the sonic equivalent of knitted doilies and Flinstone Chewables can't hold up to the weight of such widespread sappy sentimentality gone sour. "I'm Losing You" is the only track with any kind of testosterone (surprise, surprise: it's *not* about domestic fucking bliss.) One of the biggest songs on the album, "Watching the Wheels", seems promising at first. Oh good, we think. The wry, cynically-detached observer of mankind's mean machine has returned at last, to offer us a few philosophical gems ~~until we realize fast that we've reverted back to the playground to go "riding on the merry-go-rouuu-ouuuuuuund" of life. Merry-go-rounds always did make me puke. Chrissie Hynde shows more cojones when she's watching her clothes go round.

Why couldn't he have made a soundtrack for a new Tigger movie and be done with it? In fact, why did he have to make a record at all? Why couldn't he have been gunned down just a few years earlier, when he still had a reputation and a pair of nads intact??

Sure, we all know Time is a cruel buttbugger. Many artists turn into mush as they age. Others turn into mush the second they breed, or perhaps I should say, the second they breed with the so-called Woman they truly Love. (Poor Julian. It took another Beatle to recognize his existence in song. At least Paul didn't turn into a fucking pansy after he had children with Linda. He was always a fucking pansy.) What is it about fatherhood that causes even the cockiest of rockers to calcify? Apparently, even if your kids die young, you can't escape a life of pablum and honey. Just ask Clapton, the man who proved conclusively, once and for all, that some babies don't bounce.

Of course, it doesn't take a fucking Einstein to know who was really calling the shots behind the album... who was wearing the pants in that relationship, and who was the happy nigger of the world, willingly letting his cod get shaved. Of the fourteen tracks on the album, half are Yoko's, and she closes the album. The stress falls in her allegedly fertile lap. This may make you *hope* the Yoko numbers can save you from her manbitch's perpetual limpness. Maybe she can offer a little starch in an otherwise hard-times-are-over universe. Maybe she can transform a double fantasy into a sweaty ménage a trois in the studio.

Think again. Yoko is... well, Yoko. (In Japanese, the name yoko literally means yikes, rotting stork.) She seemingly wields her power by out-badding the rest of an already bad album.

I guess such is the nature of role-reversal. When I think about it now, the start of the earlier song "Happy Xmas The War is Over" was a sign of what was to come: Yoko speaks the words, "Happy Christmas Yoko" while John says, "Happy Christmas John." The switch is all the more blatant on the cover of Double Fantasy. We get the blissful couple kissing, we get the diamond heart around Yoko's neck: the usual symbolic syrup you'd expect from any greeting card. At the top, in bright yellow as if to emphasize the point, we get John's name over her head, her name over his. I suppose the switch is meant to even out things, to represent equality at the Lennono household. Hm. Equality has never smelled more like stale sushi.

At least Two Virgins had balls. And I don't mean Yoko's.
Last edited by Davey the Fat Boy on 26 Sep 2007, 16:59, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 3

Postby sloopjohnc » 24 Sep 2007, 14:43

Now these are rants.

I loved both, but pick B because it convincingly goes after an icon, although going after Lennon's last album is kinda like shooting fish in a barrel.

Brett Michaels is even easier a target, however.

But I love how the rant goes into his self-delusion. Perfect.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 3

Postby The Modernist » 24 Sep 2007, 17:12

Brevity is obviously severly undervalued in this competition.

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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 3

Postby toomanyhatz » 25 Sep 2007, 03:51

Much, much better. These are actually rants!

Both well-written, these are also the first two that are actually properly bilious.

I'm going A in a tough call because, though both are easy targets, I have a very similar reaction to Mr. Michaels and a not-so-similar one to Lennon. And because there's real promise in the notion of counteracting the mythologizing of Lennon, but it never really gets around to it.

I wish these two weren't up against each other, they both easily beat what's come before. Now we're ranting! I sure hope there's more to come.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 3

Postby bixhenry » 25 Sep 2007, 19:19

Though B is funny, A actually had me wiping tears and wishing for a Depends. Fucking hilarious, and it will be mighty tough to beat.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 3 - Kath out

Postby Davey the Fat Boy » 26 Sep 2007, 17:02

A wins. The author is requested to send an entry for round 2 by Sunday nigh.

P.S. Special note to Kath - clearly you would have won any other match-up. Excellent job.
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Re: Rants: Round 1 / Match 3 - Kath out

Postby kath » 26 Sep 2007, 18:34

thank yew.

it may've died an early death, but i had a blast writing it all the same. mwhaha.