Three Things

1.) Townes van Zandt. Just wiped my kitchen floor with Converge (sorry Deathwish) for the title of Best-Jams-To-Kitchenize-By. Even if Rico didn't have a Townes tattoo, motherfucker loved Colorado and did not generally fuck around when it can to a.) music and b.) the party. Bottoms up to you, TvZ.




2.) The new Doomriders album, Darkness Come Alive. This shit kills (see, Deathwish, you get yours...) Part tragedy, part Danzig, part High On Fire, this tickles every dysfunctional, grumpy, pissed off fiber in my being. If winter had not recently descended on LA, this album could have taken over my soul and sent me on a violent dancing/maiming spree down Hollywood Blvd. Fortunately, it is cooling off here, so all that Nate and the boys are making me do is "drink" and "dance" and "blog". I am indeed the modern man. "Bloodsucker" gives me hope for 20/30 something assholes like myself who just don't have the good sense to give it up. Bottoms up to you, Doomriders.



3.)The Albertson's bathroom. Seriously, this was the craziest thing I have seen in a while. Yesterday found me (don't ask why) in the restroom at my local Albertson's, where, little did I know, I was about to get my shit rocked. Aside from the Sharpie drawing of a hairy penis/scrotum combo with the caption Vons= Rape ( talk about brand loyalty, fuck...) there was an extra seat. That's right, not only did the stall contain the obligatory lidless porcelain throne, there was another chair. It was about 8 inches by 8 inches, made of plastic, and folded down from the wall, "flight attendants prepare for landing" style. It had a built in carseat/fighterpilot harness, and was placed directly above the drain, which, might I add, gurgled every time someone flushed in the ladies' room next door. It befuddles me to no end, but thankfully it had label to explain its purpose. While I cannot recite its contents verbatim, I will do my best to paraphrase:

Dear Supermarket Shitter,

Thank you for choosing to move your bowels in our store. We value your patronage, and would like to remind you that rump roast, no pun intended, is on special right now in the butcher section. Should you find that you have neglected to leave you adventurous yet troublesome rugrat at home while you shop today, do not despair. We know how trying it can be to pop into the grocery john for a quick depth charge, only to emerge and find that not only has Junior eaten half a bag of marshmallows and broken three or four dozen votive candles, but has also pulled the fire alarm. To this end, we have installed this microbiotic plastic seat for you to strap you noisome child into while you purge your colon. The nylon straps are kid tested, parent approved, so poop away, assured he is going nowhere.

Thanks,
Albertson's

Now tell me that ain't birth control... Bottoms up to you Albertson's!

-OSB