The Mozart Makes Us Classy

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-CLT

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The Amphetamine Logic of Lester Bangs (Colossal Detour Edition)

Lester Bangs, suffering a rare moment of clarity.

Now, I realize that this piece I’m about to share with you is old. 30+ years old, in fact. But I figure if I just came across it recently, many of you haven’t read it either.

Not only that but I’m actually encouraging you to head elsewhere and read someone else’s writing. Lester Bangs to be specific. It’s a great piece detailing  a completely different angle on Lou Reed’s unlistenable “masterpiece,” 1975’s Metal Machine Music.

Plenty of theories have been offered to explain Reed’s decision to offer up a double-album(!) of brutal white noise and head-splitting feedback. Most of these revolve around Reed’s antagonistic relationship with his label (also Reed’s “default” mode with most of the world’s population). Many view MMM as some sort of “Fuck you” to his label, either out of contractual obligation or Reed just aggressively resting on his laurels.

Lou Reed stands proudly in front of his masterpiece in what is undoubtedly an airbrushed-in stock photo.

Lester Bangs looks at this completely differently, using for guidance, of all things, Reed’s own liner notes. His theory is that Reed made this as a love letter to the speed freak crowd with the atonal corrosiveness acting as a reasonable facsimile of being completely wired.

In his excellent liner notes, Lou asserts that he and the other speedfreaks did not start World Wars I, II, “or the Bay of Pigs, for that matter.” And he’s right. If everybody took amphetamines, all the time, everybody would understand each other. Either that or never listen or bother with the other son of a bitch, because they’d all be too busy spending three days drawing psychedelic lines around a piece of steno paper until it’s totally black, writing eighty-page letters about meaningless occurrences to their mothers, or creating MMM.

Bangs ties this in with his own life, going into gratuitous detail and generally making a very entertaining mess of the whole thing.

Love is silt. Anybody who has ever taken Quaaludes and wound up loving the rest of the human race so much they ended up in bed with a human turnip knows that.

Now, I’m not here to worship at the altar of Lester Bangs (mainly because there’s always a line at the altar, filled with skinny-jeaned journo students armed with composition pads or whatever the hell it is kids use these days, iPads probably, and ironic shirts busily penning pieces about Vampire Weekend, mainly bits of character assassination detailing Ezra Koenig’s combination of well-heeled mannerisms and boy-next-door looks, which when set in front of a bunch of stolen African influences that still have Paul Simon’s name written in felt tip on the waistband, prove to be altogether Too Much and must be deconstructed until nothing stands out but his predilection for carelessly worn Oxford button-ups and $500 deck shoes which tends to cast a pall of uneasy juxtaposition over the whole fucking mess, especially, ESPECIALLY because he wears this Kennedy-offspring ensemble out LIVE.

Yes, this look screams "Rock Star," but more as a frightened warning than a self-evident statement.

Unfortunately, any direct attack on Koenig is deflected by his subdued intelligence, which presents itself not so much as a strand of $20 words but rather the nagging feeling that he could mentally eviscerate you without flexing a brain cell, which all would be annoying/disconcerting if he didn’t just seem so gracious in person, always checking on whether the recorder is picking up everything ok or shooting you some unreleased demos on a USB drive shaped like an emperor penguin. And now, NOW goddammit, he’s completely undone your hatred, which, to be fair, was entirely preconceived based on his upper-class looks and media omnipresence, which really isn’t his fault at all if we’re honest and slightly drunk.

So now you’ve got a distended piece with no clear focus and a deadline and an editor looking for something crippling and you’re wondering whether it might be possible to pull a McInerney, jettison half the narrative and switch the whole fucking thing into second-person about seven paragraphs in, thereby adding the reader as an accomplice and soulmate in co-damnation, a comrade-in-arms who will truly empathize with your angsty (and that’s really what it is, isn’t it) distaste for this over-exposed band and be fully complicit in your shift to grudging respect for VW (’cause you’re now on nickname terms with the band), riding literary shotgun as even the grudging itself is shed like last year’s virginity by the end of the piece.

But it’s Bangs’ willingness to dive headfirst into the cesspool with his subjects that makes him so visceral, which no one is really doing these days because not only have the mags themselves gone clean as their numbers have dwindled but, with rare exceptions, rock stars are no longer living like rock stars but are instead writing op-eds for the New York Times and appearing on Sesame Street.

You scrawl quicky in your margin something about “how fucking something [check thesaurus for word other than “cool” or “tight”] would it be to tour with Lemmy” because love him or hate him, you weren’t going to ignore him or stay anywhere near sober for however long he let you (you!) ride shotgun on his tour of sold-out dives and half-filled civic centers. “Shit yes should go fucking do that.” Wait. Another quick note: “Wiki Lemmy. If still alive, contact management. Forward VampWkend piece for ref.”)

… but he did write some amazing stuff and left a slime-like trail in his wake, most likely due to personal hygiene issues. But hey, that’s rock and f’in roll for you. Those who can’t, write. (And help themselves to leftover drugs and groupies. Or did. Those days are probably behind us now, much to the eternal dismay of the second-person journo above.)

Go and check it out. Let me know what you think. (Especially you, O/O.)

-CLT

Life’s Little Lessons Vol. 4 – Shoplifting:My Anti-Drug

Look at these freshly-scrubbed, well-lit demographics!

Being a teen and/or tween in today’s society can be tough. Between the pressure of school and the pressures of Todd (who one day hopes to run his own comic book/porn shop), today’s youngsters often find themselves turning to the incredibly comfortable embrace of drugs.

Good for them, I say! You don’t want to spend the rest of the “best years of your life” stressed and closed-legged. You’re only young once! Live now while you still have your whole future to destroy!

But remember, each one of you is very different in very similar ways. Some of you are natural-born leaders, willing to lead the pack down the various dark alleys and cul-de-sacs that make up life.

Others are the pace-setters who establish the speed the pack will run, neither leading or following, but rather, middle-managing.

Still others will cull the herd, picking off those without proper clothing, musical taste or an older brother who can buy them beer.

The rest will run with the pack, nose-to-anus, following blindly. They are still an essential part of the whole, like pawns in a chess match or civilians in a war-torn but heavily televised country.

With all these essential pieces forming an inseparable and indistinguishable whole, it’s easy to forget those who take the “road less travelled.” In fact, it’s incredibly easy to forget them as you most likely will never see them again until you’re delivering Pepsi to their multi-store retail chains or detailing their Jag while they get a blowjob from your girlfriend at the nearest Holiday Inn Express.

Signage courtesy of the newly-enacted "Winona's Law."

There are some people from all walks of life (Note: “all walks” = ages 13-19) for whom drugs are not the answer. Surprising, I know, what with all the enhancements, side effects and crippling withdrawal that drugs have to offer.

For some, the thrill comes from skirting the law. It may start with random jaywalking or curfew violations. From there they may move on to cheating on their finals or entering false information on their Census forms, always seeking a new “high” or “rush” or other co-opted drug metaphor.

Before they know it (which is most likely before you know it, especially if you’re the victim), they’ve fallen into a life of petty crime, filled with illegal football pools and un-itemized deductions. It’s as if they can’t stop themselves. Soon their auto insurance has lapsed and they’re carelessly smoking well within the confines of the 200-foot “No Smoking” zone.

If this goes unchecked long enough, these no-goodniks, these “Goofi” will have clawed their way to the top of the criminal heap with the most heinous of misdemeanors: shoplifting.

It’s now a very dim future for these malcontents as they travel down a lonely, but heavily populated, road to ruin.

Watch for these warning signs:

• Heavy clothing during warm months.
• Heavy clothing during cold months.
• Heavy clothing during promiscuous, meaningless sex.
• Sudden increase of small items and knickknacks with no verifiable income increase.
• Sudden detainment for shoplifting.
• Incessant humming of Jane’s Addiction’s hit Been Caught Stealing.
• Father’s Day gifts include caseless DVD, 16 Bic lighters, a laser penlight, 12 assorted packs of unpopular gum and a deck of cards.

It’s not too late! Grab your teen/tween (gently and appropriately, of course) and set them back on the drug path, with its relative safety in numbers and proven track record of lazy ineptness and occasional home invasions. Remind Grandma to put the Oxy-Contin in the gun safe.

Remember: You can’t prevent drugs from being the problem. You can only prevent them from being the solution.

Up next on Life’s Little Lessons:
The Third-Person Miracle of Childbirth: Renting Out Your Uterus for Fun and Profit.

-CLT

The Fancy Plans Guide to Illegal Drugs

In an effort to educate, divert stoner pageviews and retain our title of “Enabler of the Year,” we at Fancy Plans present our well-rounded guide to illegal drugs. Please note that the editors of this site encourage drug use, especially among teenagers, whose disposable income levels are fast approaching the baby boomers.

In the issue of balance, we would also like to point out that there are several reasons not to take drugs, but we can’t really think of any at the moment.

Another smuggling attempt gone horribly wrong.

Cocaine
aka: Blow, Coke, Snow, Yayo, Nose Candy, Baby Laxative, White Man’s Burden

First discovered in the 1980s by stockbrokers, cocaine has been the go-to drug for jet-setting youngsters and jet-setting oldsters, who wish to reclaim their youth with a combination of poorly cut product and occasional heart failure.

In its heyday, cocaine had a drawing power unrivalled by other substances, thus ensuring the men’s room was at least as crowded as the ladies’. Coke is also handy for generating “big” ideas, perfecting conspiracy theories and removing unwanted septum.

Pros: Energy; hooker “bait”
Cons: Nose bleeds; insta-death

How marijuana reproduces...

Marijuana
aka: Weed, Pot, Chronic, Mary Jane, Crepes Suzette, Medicine

[Note: Also known as the “gateway drug,” as possession of this substance, which has been tried by an estimated 102% of the American public, will earn you a quick trip to the “gates” of your nearest federal penitentiary to serve a sentence on par with lesser crimes like armed robbery and involuntary manslaughter.]

Easier to obtain than pseudoephedrine and only slightly less illegal, marijuana is much like Kevin Bacon: only a few people away. Grown in the wilds of Mexico and Canada and domesticated in a million basements and walk-in closets around the U.S., marijuana is one of America’s most popular drugs.

Perhaps the most social of social drugs, marijuana can create an instant party. Like cats around a can opener, all it takes is the sound of fire igniting cannabis to fill your house with acquaintances, well-wishers and “friends of friends” who are only too happy to smoke your weed, drink your beer and empty your pantry before vanishing the moment the bowl is cashed.

Recently an effort has been made to legalize marijuana due to its medical qualities, which acolytes believe can cure several ailments, from the legitimate (cancer, glaucoma) to the dubious (rickets, chlamydia, male pattern baldness, boredom).

Be aware that heavy users will often clockwatch until late afternoon, when an impromptu (and hazy) celebration will break out as the clock hits 4:20 (also known as “giggle o’clock”).

Pros: Relaxing; sociable; inspiring
Cons: Scooby Doo; whoever the hell that is passed out on the couch

"Well, it made a lot more sense when I was tripping..."

LSD
aka Acid, Trip, Tabs, 13th Floor Elevator, Fun

LSD is a psychedelic whose sole purpose is to “fuck shit up” perceptively speaking and provide lazy music critics with a go-to analogy. (“Band X sounds like band Y. On acid.”)

Based on what I’m informed is personal experience, LSD derails spatial awareness and thought processes to a point where it can take up to 1.5 man hours to collect cigarettes, lighters and ashtrays and take them to a hopefully non-flammable area. For this analogy to hold true, said band “on acid” would most likely resemble this:

or this:

Pros: Makes everything more fun; pitch the occasional no-hitter
Cons: Lots of stuff shouldn’t be that fun; flashbacks (regular and ‘Nam)

"Let us get you the help you need to abuse crystal meth properly. Today."

Crystal Methamphetamine
aka Crystal Meth, Meth, Dental Damn!, NOS for Rednecks

One of a small set of truly American drugs (crack, Oprah), crystal meth is harvested year-round from its natural habitat: trailer park bathtubs.

A fast-acting and smokable amphetamine, meth provides users with a potent combination of energy and insomnia which allows them to “power through” such diverse activities as cramming for a shop class final, sorting the change jar chronologically or making more crystal meth.

Pros: High amounts of energy; made from common deadly household products
Cons: Hockey Players’ Mouth; Camaro ownership

"Would you please keep your fucking heroin picked up? I think I broke my ankle."

Heroin
aka Smack, Horse, Dope, Junk, Kentucky Fried Chicken (regional dialect – Manchester), Cliff Richards

Originally developed as a dietary supplement, heroin has been used for over 40 years to develop lanky, Kate Moss-ian supermodels. As supermodels began dating rock stars, heroin’s influence spread. It reached its peak in Seattle during the late 90s when it was crossed with coffee beans to develop lanky, suicidal rock stars.

Though not generally known as a social drug due to its side effects of vomiting, unconsciousness and death, junkies (as they like to be called) are usually large-hearted (and weak-veined) individuals who are always willing to share their needles.

Pros: Hits like a motherfucker; methadone “gateway” drug
Cons: Randomly fatal; second only to Joe on Blue’s Clues as the leading cause of soul decay

For added uncomfortable fun, replace Grandma's Tums with these.

Ecstasy
aka E, X, Disco Biscuit, Dolled-Up Speed, The Unscrupulous Club Owner’s Best Friend

 Originally developed as an empathy drug for therapy, ecstasy soon headed for the underground after therapists discovered it turned their patients into ovulating cats, constantly rubbing themselves against textured furniture, each other and anything emitting a low-frequency pulse. There were also numerous complaints that it made the patients “really thirsty,” which the therapists responded to by selling water at 8$/bottle.

Having escaped its legitimate usage, ecstasy threw caution to the wind, left its inhibitions at the door and worked its way through several other metaphors on its way to clubland. Once there, it was ingested by clubgoers seeking to enhance their night, which often included such activities as applauding someone playing other people’s records and getting anonymously pregnant.

Pros: Cheap and readily available; makes you really horny
Cons: Inconsistent product; increased horniness tends to make the user “cheap and readily available”

-CLT

Fancy Plans Guide to Homicide Investigation

Homicide detectives are particularly proud of their special-issue "Mickey Mouse" gloves.

Hi. I’m Detective James Morniwheg, Homicide.

I have some information to pass on to the newest members of our precinct. As you know, we field our fair share of homicide investigations. The world is not a pretty place and you’ll need to get used to it real soon. As quickly as I can, I would like to hand out a few pointers on how to handle a homicide investigation.

First of all, you need to have the proper tools. Every detective should be prepared for a homicide call. Here’s a list of items you should have on you at all times:

• Gloves
• Evidence bags
• Ballpoint pen (for picking up empty casings; occasional writing)
• Notepad
• World-weary cynicism
• Desire to help people (rookies only)

Optional

• Unlit cigar
• Sunglasses
• Pet theories
• Desire to hurt people

Evidence
Every crime scene you deal with will contain all matter of evidence. Some criminals, especially drug dealers, will have thoughtfully pre-bagged some evidence for you.

Mark any evidence appropriately, for easy identification. For example:

• “Ditch weed”
• “Black tar”
• “B.C. chronic”
• “Ragweed”
• “Baby laxative”
• “To be planted”

Most forward-looking police departments have realized that it is most efficient to have individual policemen secure evidence in their own homes, storage units or bus station lockers. This leaves the evidence in an area where it can be easily accessed as needed, rather than at a central location staffed by an officious and nosy prick.

If you find yourself with a surplus of evidence, especially during Internal Affairs’ investigations, feel free to ditch some of it at your current crime scenes. The other responding officers will appreciate your generosity and it may help take the case in a surprising new direction.

The Smoking Gun
The most famous form of evidence, the smoking gun can often refer to other things metaphorically. We will be dealing only with the literal interpretation.

If you find a gun on the scene, pick it up and sniff the barrel thoughtfully. Has it been fired recently?

If it hasn’t or is still “undetermined,” go ahead and fire a few shots into the wall or available corpse. Try out some creative angles to confuse the boys in forensics. Mark gun as “recently fired.” Place in evidence bag. (Allow time to cool.)

Be sure to indicate, when asked, that the gun was fired “circa the time of death,” rather than, “shortly after I got here.”

Officer McCloskey prevented anyone from entering the rent-controlled apartment until his deposit check cleared.

Shell Casings and the Importance of Pen Selection
Choose your pen carefully as it will be serving a greater purpose than dressing up your shirt pocket or staining your shirt pocket.

The main purpose of your pen will be to pick up empty gun shells at the crime scene. You’ll want to have a thin pen with a low center of gravity. This act is harder than it looks. You may want to practice at home, using any of the “evidence” guns you have secured. Fire a few rounds into the wall or available corpse. (This will also help you get the sense for the “recently fired” smell.)

Once proficient with this maneuver, you should be able to pick up casings in one smooth move.

(Important note: never use your hands to pick up shells, gloved or not, as this will probably “tamper” the evidence. It is a serious crime scene faux pas. This is a “rookie mistake,” and you will be the butt of jokes in the precinct for months to come.)

Dealing with the Coroner
As someone who deals intimately with death, day in and day out, your average coroner will often be a pasty, emotionless, wise-cracking weirdo who will insist on eating something no matter how gruesome the homicide.

He will often use phrases and ask questions full of words you won’t understand. Just nod and ask occasional leading questions, such as:

• “Any signs of foul play?”
• “What do you think for a time of death?”
• “Would this ‘recently fired’ gun have anything to do with it?”

If stuck for words, you can always defer to the responding officer. A second tactic is to remove your sunglasses and chew on them thoughtfully while gazing over the scene, perhaps guesstimating the wholesale price of the Persian rug that is now completely ruined. I know this tactic sounds ridiculous, but do it in front of a mirror a few times and you’ll see how “thoughtful” it can make you appear.

Distracted by some rowdy urban youths, Officer Carlington was unable to remember whether she was on the outside or the inside of the crime scene.

Dealing with Responding Officers
Your normal, workaday cop will most likely be the first responder to a homicide call. They are often unimpressed with your position and will try to undercut your authority at every opportunity.

Send them out to “knock on doors.” This will keep them out of the crime scene and thus unable to show you up with their “attention to detail” and “logical conclusions.” Also, their street smarts will clash badly with your world-weary cynicism/desire to help people.

Motives & Suspects
You will often be called on to draw a bead on a most likely suspect and motive. In order to get the ball rolling, observe the crime scene, victim and neighborhood. You should be able to get a “jump” on some conclusions by following these simple guidelines:

Black victim/Lousy neighborhood – “Gang-related”
Possible suspect: Gangbanger

White victim/Mainly black neighborhood – “Possibly gang-related;” “Wrong place at the wrong time”
Possible suspect: Gangbanger

Black or white victim/Drug paraphernalia – “Drug deal gone bad”
Possible suspect: Tony Montana

White victim/Upscale neighborhood – “Crime of passion”
Possible suspect: That guy whose wife you’re banging; local retard

White victim/Influential parents – “Accidental”
Possibly due to: “Ingestion of two .38 bullets in the back of the head”

The First 24 Hours
90% of homicides are solved in the first 24 hours.

Whether this is actually true or not doesn’t matter. Everyone already believes that it is, so act accordingly.

This would seem to indicate that you will have a hectic day (and night) beginning with the homicide call. Look at it this way: you only have to look busy for 24 hours before you can return to your normal schedule of playing computer solitaire and ticketing your ex-wife’s vehicle.

If you can make it past those critical hours, you are out of the woods, so to speak (even if your victim hasn’t even made it out of the woods yet). Label the paperwork “Cold Case” and throw it in the precinct fridge for some cheap laughs.

Coming up:
Advanced Taser Techniques – Your Quickstart Guide to Subduing the Handicapped and Elderly
Your New Partner – How to Deal with These Goddamn Conscience-Ridden Little Go-Getters
The Last 24 – Making it to Your Retirement Alive

-CLT

DJ AM: Today We Mourn a Non-Entity

The shiz that put Crazy Town on the map: DJ AM.

[Tip of the hat to RF Interference who first informed me of DJ AM’spassing, and in turn, his existence by asking, “Are the pacifier brigade in mourning?” (Or words to that effect.) A further tip of the hat to Tannerleah over at Stop Annoying Me for bringing my annoyance with the past existence of DJ AM bubbling back to the surface.]

The world is suddenly abuzz with news of DJ AM’s overdose. “Who?” some of you are probably asking. “Whom?” others of you are asking, more properly and possibly with a British accent. I asked myself this same question.

As a follower of electronic music and DJs in general, even I hadn’t heard of him. Turns out I was travelling in the wrong circles. DJ AM was known best for his squiring of such luminous figures as Nicole Richie and Mandy Moore. A professional celebrity DJ.

Crazy Town signalled their craziness through various neck movements and refusal to line up single-file. Also, they had a DJ for no apparent reason.

Here’s a little more background on DJ AM:

DJ AM’s (a.k.a. Adam Goldstein) first tenuous claim to 15 minutes came as the “DJ” for “his” “band” Crazy Town, a band as edgy and threatening as a temporary tattoo. You may notice that I have multiple sets of quotation marks in the previous sentence. It’s no mistake. Let’s go ahead and diagram the hell out of it:

“DJ” – Meaning AM was the jackass in the back, fiddling madly with the turntables and mugging for the camera during his allotted 10-20 seconds per music video. His contribution is unknown. Perhaps the “band” felt its street cred would rise above “lunch money donor” on the musical playground. All anyone asked of their DJs is that they stay in the back and shut the fuck up.

“his” – Crazy Town wa no more his band than the Beatles were Pete Best’s. He was one of those added features that several bands of that era (Papa Roach, Limp Bizkit, etc.) deluded themselves into thinking was essential. So they all got a DJ and who’s heard anything from those turntablists recently? But nevertheless, there it was. Have band, need DJ. As de riguer as the loud-quiet-loud dynamic, faux-rapping and the “I’m singing from inside an old-timey radio” vocal effect.

“band” – Crazy Town was a band in the sense that they all played instruments (except DJ AM) under one name as a somewhat cohesive unit. Much like Scary Movie 3is a film, in that it’s shot on film and played on a projector. Still no one’sgoing to confuse it with other films, like The Godfather or even Mobsters.

That’s the backstory.

On August 28th, DJ AM is found dead in his apartment of an apparent “accidental” overdose. The tweet goes out and is soon answered. Here’s a few of the fringe celebrities and would-be rock stars, who were among the first to max out their vocabularies, building deep thoughts out of 140-word sentences: Pete Wentz (Fall Out Boy), Paris Hilton, Perez Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Mandy Moore, John Mayer, Ryan Seacrest, Jordin Sparks, P. Diddy.

Let’s take a peek at some of their incredible eulogies, presumably iPhoned in during a rigorous workout/massage/blowjob:

@johncmayer I really want to use words right now but I can’t get em.

THX, John. I really want to not beat you with your own guitar, but English is hard.

@solangeknowles I hope people don’t taint his legacy…..because there isn’t any concrete proof yet. That guy was a walking miracle.

Wonderful, whoever-the-fuck-you-are. He died of drugs surrounded by drug paraphernalia, so I’m guessing “concrete proof” is just an autopsy away (and there is one). Also, Jesus would like to inform you that miracles seldom include dying, at least not if you can’t shake it off in 3 days. Also, also: an ellipsis is three dots, not however the hell many you want. You’re working with a 140-character limit. Don’t use it all at once.

@BonnieFuller DJ AM DEAD & SO SAD! I wonder if the poor thing was suffering from survivor’s guilt after that terrible plane crash

Awesome. Thanks for the amateur diagnosis, BF. If this is “survivor’s guilt” then get a 24-hour suicide watch up at Travis Barker’s place. He “walked” away from that crash as well, and these things always come in three’s. (Someone find a third person to tie into this. I can’t have my pet theories continually crushed by your speeding Buick LeSabre of logic.)

These are the people whose lives he touched. Presumably. All of them bemoaning the “tragedy” and the “why god why” of a relatively young (36) starfucker cut down in his prime, by his own failure to do correct maths while drugging himself up.

Nowhere in this outpouring of shallowness is there a single twit (they liked to be called this) pointing out that suicide is the selfish chickenshit’s way out. Or that he was only batting .500 against life’s tough pitching, having failed to make a gun do the only thing it’s supposed to do in his first attempt. Or that he died committing a crime* and, therefore, deserves no more eulogizing that the thug who gets killed holding up a liquor store.

*We can debate the stupidity of the Drug War elsewhere, perhaps in the comment thread, but at this point, drug possession and use are illegal. And usually treated more seriously than liquor store holdups.

Unfortunately for DJ AM, the NCAA is posthumously stripping him of this key victory over the odds.

And now they’re going to do an autopsy? What the fuck for? Looks pretty open and shut to me. Lifelong drug abuser dies surrounded by drugs, having used his last moments to use drugs. Previous suicide attempt on the rap sheet.

Why? Can’t be the parents. Apparently, Daddy AM was an abusive asshole who is currently dead. Mommy AM sent him to rehab, so she may have a stake in this.

His friends? God help me, I really want to put the largest set of quotes ever made around that word. Friends. Nothing but a bunch of ready-made has-beens clinging to each other in the hopes that somehow they’ll matter, at least to themselves. The fuck do they care? They’ll move on. Their memories are as short as their careers and as lasting as their talent.

Maybe they’ll start a memorial fund, dropping cocaine-tainted $100’s into a lockbox from some teen rehab facility. Maybe not.

Is someone out there hoping the toxicology report will somehow turn the c-list sinner into a saint? A martyr for the privileged starfucker way of life? That he somehow OD’ed on “life”?

In a (very) brief memoriam, let’s take a look at DJ AM’s contribution to the music world:

• Crazy Town – The Gift of Game
• DJ AM & Travis Barker – Fix Your Face (Vol. 1)
• DJ AM & Travis Barker – Fix Your Face (Vol. 2)

One album with a one-hit wonder and two compilation albums that were apparently released by his label, Street Corner Trunk Sales. No wonder he was beloved by fans of music and DJs alike.

R.I.P. DJ AM. The light that burns half as bright gets extinguished by the slightest breeze.

-CLT

Our Sincerest Apologies: Retractions and Corrections

The Fancy Plans Mailroom - where the "magic" happens, as Juanita will find out, shortly before filing a sexual harassment suit.

Over the past seven months, we at Fancy Plans have made over 300 posts, most of them riddled with errors, false statements and speculation. Whether this can be chalked up to laziness, stupidity or ignorance remains to be seen. One thing is for sure: our mailroom is starting to fill up.

In an attempt to clear the slate heading into the back half of the year, Fancy Plans would like to issue the following corrections and retractions:

Our slogan is: “You’ve got questions? We’ve got answers.” Not: “You’ve got questions? We’ve got questions. Wanna fuck?” (Radio Shack)

Arizona and Indiana are not the freak states, despite their refusal to join the rest of the nation’s proud, but outdated, tradition of Daylight Savings Time. A joint statement issued by representatives of both states reads: “Not only will we not show up at work at the wrong time twice a year, but when the revolution comes, you know who will be ahead of the curve. That’s right, baby. The “freaks!” I think. Unless the revolution starts in the spring. And in the fall… I guess we’d be arriving at the same time… Viva la revolucion!” (The Freak States)

ASCAP and its worldwide associates are not solely comprised of “thug-like shakedown artists, whose dispassionate soullessness allows them to finally empathize with lawyers (even patent lawyers).” ASCAP points out: “We also have lawyers.” Touché. (ASCAP)

Snapple points out that, while they are “made of the best stuff on earth,” most Snapple drinks do not include elements of “titanium, platinum, uncut diamonds, black tar heroin, really fucking good acid, vegemite, Krispy Kreme donuts, weapons-grade plutonium, additional brain cells, pixie dust, or the sperm of several Nobel Prize winners.” (Snapple)

Dirk Cussler, unlike Jimmy Carter, can “fart and chew bubblegum at the same time.” Video evidence was provided, but required the installation of RealPlayer. So you’ll just have to take our word for it. (Dirk Cussler Trust Fund, LLC.)

Our art department would like to apologize for being "too literal" when bogarting retraction photos.

The estate of Jim Morrison would like to point out that his nickname was not “Van” as previously stated several times. It was “Jimmy,” like all good American boys. His mother would also like to point out that she “does not believe that Jimmy ever showed his penis in public,” and that she “was only propositioned once or twice by Jim, at the most,” blaming it on his absinthe usage. (Estate of James “Jimmy Van M” Morrison)

Nietzsche did not coin the phrase: “Say it with flowers.” (FTD)

At no time, in the New Testament or Old, does the Bible refer to God “laying his pimp hand down.” (Strong’s Concordance)

Clive Cussler’s middle name is not “Fucking.” It is “Eugene.” (C. F. Cussler’s Adventure Novel Mill)

ASCAP does not consider the statement, “Sure, other people can hear my music, but I can guarantee they’re not enjoying it,” to be a legitimate denial of wrongdoing. (ASCAP, again)

Printing someone’s unlisted address and phone number is not a victimless crime, according to lawyer Joseph Merritt, who lives at 3431 Placid Terrace, Ft. Lauderdale, FL. The best time to reach him is after 6 pm (EST) at his home number (805) 421-1991. (Stevenson Law Firm of Ft. Lauderdale)

General note: the pants have rarely matched the plan. Sorry for the confusion. (CLT)

Chad Kroeger (Nickelback) has apparently won several fights with kiddie pools (and other inanimate objects) despite earlier reports. Also mentioned in this retraction request: Gwenyth Paltrow v. mirror, Keanu Reeves v. folding chair and Scott Stapp (Creed) v. “Pull” door. (We Can Smart Anti-Defamation League)

President Barack Obama has not “gone one toke over the line.” (Office of the President)

Smoking, drinking and drugs are not cool, despite all evidence to the contrary. So go to bed, kids and give mom/moms/dad/dads back his/her/their computer and paraphernalia. (D.A.R.E.)

Neither is all that excessive swearing. (Mom)

WordPress.com would like to point out that we do not actually have a “mailroom” and should drop this conceit as soon as possible. (WordPress.com)

The art department also thought this would be "clever." They have since been told that they are not paid to think, or at all from this point on.

Eric Clapton’s nickname is not “Pimp Hand.” Please refrain from using this or any other derogatory terms when referring to His Holiness, God II. Also, you already used the pimp joke earlier. (Clapton Publicity, LLC. aka “Voice of God”)

My blog may not contain the exact address of my Bacharach Men’s Fashion store, but I have left several clues like “Vernon Hills” and “Cubs game.” In fact, I’d like to think my site combines the visceral thrill of reading ad copy with the blustering excitement of a round of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (Phil Alper:4U2C)

Your continued refusal to purchase medicine at outposts and general stores will greatly increase the chance of a party member dying of dysentery. (Oregon Trail Historical Society and Event Generator)

Help! I’m stuck in your spam filter! (Ramblin’ Rooster)

-CLT