Ok, so check it suckers, it’s Friday, and I know I should be all like “yippee, it’s Friday everybody get high and jerk off!” But a) I’ve already told y’all that what day a the week it is don’t really matter to me in the least (ed. note: cept for Mondays, Mondays suck fatty ballsacks), and b) I’m fuckin’ annoyed today!

Why’s that you ask (ed. note: nunya)? (ed. note: I kid, I kid, we make our business yo’business, don’t’we)? At any rate, the reason I’m annoyed is because I’ve been trying to get back to my home town of Beer City for what should be called the “Beer City Phest,” but is in actuality called “Moog Fest.” It takes place in October over Halloween weekend, and it’s got a pretty rad lineup (ed. note: especially for thizz heads).

So over the past 2 weeks I’ve put on my best “local” accent and tried my damndest to get through to the woman who is in charge of press access over there… Now, here I was going to put what her name was and lambast her, and tell you guys to all send her hate mail. However, circumstances have since changed and I’m not gonna do that no more.

I am simply going to say, that I came to her asking for press-passes to Moog Fest so that my team and I could get to Asheville and start raising money for the Middle School band that is in dire need of instruments. I came to her asking that, and then I came to her asking that again, and then I asked again, and then the Budaphest asked, and then the Gorilla asked, and then I asked again, and then they both asked again, and then we all asked another time, and when I say we asked I mean we sent numerous emails, phone calls, messages, all of that, and then here’s the kicker, yesterday I went so far as to send this chicken’head flowers (ed. note: insert all sorts a whilin’ out tricks bein’ all like “oh no he di’in’t”) (ed. note: Oh yes I did)…

So you would think that any lady getting a gift of flowers from a young charmer like mahself would immediately jump on the line and correct her wrong, call me up and beg for my forgiveness… Or in the least bit, just shoot me a fucking email that said “thanks dude, they were pretty, we ain’t got no more press-passes, fuck the fuck off.” Yet she didn’t send that, she didn’t send any of that, she didn’t send a damned thing.

So, I being me, and me being offended, felt that it was time to step my efforts up. Therefore, this morning when I arrived to my bill-paying-situation I drafted up what I believe may go down in one of those historic type books that will document my life’s correspondence. You know, shit like a book of letters that Abe Lincoln wrote to his main ho, or some shit like that (ed. note: shut the fuck up I am going to be famous as a chapped asshole)! I mean, this letter got to the point like a prison shank. I told her how offended I was. How upsetting it was to be ignored in my own home town. How despicable it was that she wouldn’t even garner us a yes or no response in regards to wanting to help raise money for a middle school. On top of that, it was written in my ever so soothing and never sarcastic tone. On top of that, it certainly didn’t say “ain’t nobody in Asheville too important for nobody.” (ed. note: it did).

So, I hit send and I went about doing all the other shit that I gots to do with my day. I kind of even forgot that I’d sent the email (ed. note: I’m super important got a ton goin’ on) (ed. note: am not a hypocrite, your mom’s a hypocrite). However, no more than 20 minutes later, I shit you not, 20 minutes, I get an email response from her. Here’s a couple of gems from that correspondence:

“Thanks for the flowers. That was very sweet. It is unfortunate that you followed that gesture with this email.”

“I’m not interested in meeting with someone who takes this attitude and tone, no matter what town you live in or for how long.”

Oh, but wait…..

“Maybe there is someone else in your organization I could meet with?”

Bingo! Got’er! Go-rilla, think she means you!

Seriously’doe, in her email, chica told me she was “out of town” and “busy,” and that’s why she didn’t respond to us… Chile’please! Who is too busy to send a 2 sentence email saying “thanks for the flowers, not only did I get wet from them, but I’d also really love to talk to you about how you can help underprivileged kids get some fucking trumpets and shit?” Nobody is too busy for that, let’s get real, bitch was never planning on hitting us back.

So there’s your lesson boys and girls, if you want something, send fucking flowers, then follow that up by tellin’ a bitch what for, and then wait about 5 minutes and you’ll get something. It may not be what you initially thought, but it will be something, and that’s something… So take that to the fucking bank and cash it bitches. Y’all go get righteously fucked up this weekend and pour some out for my dignity, because I wrote this tranny an apology letter after I got her response (ed. note: always the sucker) (ed. note: I hope she don’t read this)(ed. note: she won’t)(ed. note: If you’re reading this, please re-reference the aforementioned apology letter and make the necessary adjustments to the new scenario).

Peace, love, punkass.

Track for the Day: “I Don’t Give a Fuck” by Tupac, off of 2Pacalypse Now.

Links for the Day:

This shit were lost, but then this shit were found, no this shit make sound… (via Pitchfork)

We recorded the one band, they cool, the other band, well, I reserve judgment (they uncool)… (via Soundcloud)

A good summation of this post… (via Prefix)

The Wal Mart of Rappers rappin... (via Prefix)

I didn’t like this song, but I like the band, so you be the judge (via Pitchfork)

I’m a sucker for all things funky (via The Fader)

Hot Chit (via Pitchfork)

Atlas Farted (err… shrugged…err… sound…errr… errr) (via Pitchfork)

I’m a get a mask like that and rob some bitches (via Pitchfork)

Some softer shit, for softer shits… (via NPR)

I think I prefer the “twist” from the ’50’s… (via Stereogum)

Broken other shit... (via Spin)