with DeadSun

You've seen him in Fan Speak all around the antiMUSIC network, now DeadSun gets his big show as the host of his very own talk show,  The Not Quite-So DeadShow ! Forget Oprah and Dr. Phil, DeadSun knows how to liven up a talk show. 

disclaimer for lawyers and dumbasses: Please read the disclaimer before proceeding with this article. the disclaimer is included here-in by reference.

If you are under the age of 17, this article is not meant for you so please bugger off. For those too lazy to click what follows is parody and celebrity assholes are impersonated

Usually, I do not use my monthly column to rant. Suffice it to say, that the time has come for a fresh change. 

It's true that I poke fun, and make with the occasional bit of crass satire, but I avoid the direct strike, generally because although I find certain things irritating, I can always crack my jokes and then turn the other cheek. Live and let live, right?

Not when it comes to Jimmy Buffet. This joker--- along with his heavenly host of blubbering, cretinous fans--- constitutes one third of the Unholy Musical Trinity, co-conspiring with the other two Great musical banes of my existence, "phriggin" Phish, and the Grateful Dead. 

I simply cannot fathom how this tropical fruitcake has amassed the veritable empire that he has. And off of WHAT, pray tell? It seems like everybody on God's green earth thinks that the sun itself shines forth from this music, and I swear to everything that is holy--- I don't get it. It's lousy and inane. Oh, I see--- you're just a "cheeseburger in paradise". Eat me, jackass. This bozo in Birkenstocks has his own line of "Margaritaville" tequilla, "Margaritaville" margarita mix, "Margaritaville" shrimp, a friggin' "Margaritaville" cookbook, and a handful of obnoxious theme-restaurants--- from TWO GOD DAMNED SONGS! Can you think of any other instance whereby two feeble songs have spawned so much insipid pop-culture enterprise? 

The whole premise of the Jimmy Buffett thing, or whatever the hell you would care to call it, is an exercise in abject repetition. The guy has thirty-plus albums worth of frozen drink and island paradise thematics. That's it. The same sh*t, over and over again. We get the picture, Corky. It's like someone took Rain Man, slapped an ugly shirt on him, gave him a Caribbean travel guide full of pictures, a guitar, and told him to have at it. Three decades of this sh*t is ENOUGH, damn it. 

The shows: a gaggle of balding, beer-gutted buffons in grass skirts, proving to all women present (and the world for that matter) exactly where the stereotype of white men having NO business on a dancefloor is derived from. They say "it's a Margaritaville state of mind". I say "it's a bunch of sh*t". Look, ten thousand flakey persons, fannying about in a tacky Hawaiian shirt, with a friggin' stuffed BIRD plopped on top of their heads, and pretending to be consummate beach-combers, should NEVER be considered "a concert". That's a cult, damn it--- and a fruity one at that. Those are the worst kind. 

Jimmy Buffett is the business man's Phish--- soulless, tragically unhip, white collar business drones, throwing on some sandals and a pair of Bermuda shorts, in a desperate attempt to deceive themselves into believing that their life is once again "mello" and "groovy". Piss off. More f*cking reconstituted leftovers from the Baby Boomer generation. The proof is in the tunes, my friend. Soft, safe, and horribly lame. Margaritaville? It sounds like ELEVATOR MUSIC: drippy, impotent, twangy crooning, swishy maracas, and the coup de grace--- that annoying, twinkly xylophone. Every time I hear it, I want to snap that xylophone across somebody's esophagus. How is this "cool"? IT ISN'T. I don't know about the rest of you, but everytime I hear it, I feel like I'm trapped in isle four of some grocery store in a sleepy town. This is what these persons LIKE? Tropically themed lounge music? 

I hate it, the whole bloody lot of it. It's even worse here in New England, too. Because we only get three solid months of hot weather, these anus brains have to CRAM their slab of "Parrot Head Fever" into a three month window. He's all over radio, TV, and print. I've got Jimmy F*cking Buffett coming out of my eyeballs, and the next time I hear any of that stupid, twinkly, tra-la-la-la crap, I'm going to torch the first rack of Hawaiian shirts that I come across. 

Searchin' for your lost shaker of salt?

Some people claim that there's a woman to blame?

Blow it out your suckhole, fruitcake.

This is your brain: (+)

This is your brain on Jimmy Buffett: (-)

Any questions?

See you next month,

DS
 
 
 
 

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