Please don’t step the Moai. They don’t appreciate it, and it annoys them. When the Moai get stepped, a trunkful of unpredictable awful happens, and you’re not going to like it. It’s much worse than breaking a mirror.
Somebody didn’t read the sign.
If you step the Moai, your karma will be affected, and it will take years to regain your former status. Think of it as being downdinged for a decade, in real life, by everyone.
[2nd image found here, and the history of the Moai is facinating – here.]
Although it’s been in my blog roll for years, it’s been a while since I ventured over to No Puedo Creer. “I Can’t Believe It” is a great website from Spain, and I’d use it to practice hobbling the spaniel with some of the commenters.
Without cheating, guess what those things are. You’re going to be amazed and disgusted at the same time, I guarantee it.
Hint 1: It’s a successful Japanese medical experiment.
Hint 2: Those are mouse embryos.
Give up? Here’s the story.
That’s Steppenwolf, as if I had to tell you. “Born To Be Wild” was released in 1968, as was “The Pusher,” written by Hoyt Axton. Axton also wrote “Joy To The World,” a major hit recorded by Three Dog Night, and one of the worst songs in rock history, IMO. I refuse to post it, so I’ll go with this 1970 classic:
“Mama Told Me Not To Come” was written by Randy Newman.
I don’t care much for his politiks, but he’s a funny guy. Hell, anyone that can blatantly mock L.A. without Los Angelenos catching on is all right by me.
Okay, I looked for a decent vid of X‘ “Los Angeles” but settled for “Johnny Hit And Run Pauline” instead, just to keep the vibe going. (No, really. I looked. Serious Ramones influence on that.)
Now back to Hoyt Axton. His mother wrote this: [Insert John Cale garbage here] I can tolerate a lot of alternative experimental stuff, but John Cale’s version of “Heartbreak Hotel” is so wrong.
This, on the other hand is honest: Paul McCartney plays Hoyt Axton’s Mom.
And with that, we’re out of here. Have a great weekend, folks, and be back tomorrow for more stuff.
[via]
I miss Drive-Ins. Let me rephrase that – I miss the memories of Drive-Ins. No, let’s try it again – I miss my false memories of Drive-Ins. For the most part Drive-Ins sucked donkeys.
Cold nights, steamed up windows, a full cooler of cheapo beer with crappy movies. Speakers that hung on the driver’s side window that played static in mono, and a whiny date who just wanted to go home because she was freezing and couldn’t stand my buddy in the back seat with his cold whiny date. Because of that, “Flesh Gordon” was one of my least favorite movies of all time.
Once I hid in the trunk with Danny Rat The Dirty White to get in free, getting CO poisoning, watching the B-movie double feature in a lawn chair with warm beer and a pounding headache. Yeah, fun times.
Years later a bunch of us piled into Pecker Pete’s van and went to a multi-screen Drive-In. By then the crappy speakers had been replaced with an antenna clip, so you could listen to the movie over AM radio on your own speakers.
Pecker didn’t have a radio, but at least one of us had seen each of the flicks. We parked in the middle of the lot and watched five movies at once, providing our own narration. The chicks dug it.
I don’t miss Drive-In theaters at all, except for when I do.
Air Swimmers
“Jaws” in 60 seconds. Duh du duh du duh du…
The Sonics were definitely proto punk. “Psycho” from 1965.
Petty Booka featuring Petty and Booka. Nice harmonies with ukes.
Here’s The Grateful Dead’s version of Sam Cooke‘s “Let The Good Times Roll.”
End of summer back to school kinda music. Have a great Labor Day Weekend, folks, and be back tomorrow for more fun.
Tacky Raccoons 