Therefore, if bees were to become extinct as they do in Generation A (which is not out of the realm of real life possibility,) Douglas Coupland would cease to exist. Then who would we go to for such insightful and witty satire?

Find out more about Coupland and disappearing bees in my review of the author’s latest- Generation A- fresh from the oven and all hot n’ crusty over at ChuckPalahniuk.net.

Thank you, METAL SUCKS, for alerting me to one of the greatest travesties in human existence.

Not since the holocaust has history been raped so hard. Appetite For Destruction is one of the greatest rock records of all time, and Slash is my favorite guitar player, but this is just unforgivable. Cypress Hill were cool in the 90’s, but FERGIE?!?!? Really, Slash? I know you spent all your Gn’R money on heroin, but come on! You’ve just made Chinese Democracy look like a Beethoven sonata. Axl is laughing all the way to the braid store.

I don’t even think a full-on reunion of the original members of Gn’R could make this one up to me. Fuck you, Slash, for raping my childhood in the butt.

…and proceed to rock my balls off. But Dysrhythmia don’t rock balls in the typical fashion- for there is nothing typical about this band. What they do is swim up your urethra like the dreaded candiru, gestate in your testicles, and then burst forth from your scrotum like a chest-hugger, splattering blood and seminal fluid all over the unsuspecting hipsters inhabiting Brooklyn’s Union Pool. That’s how they rock balls.

Dysrhythmia are one of the most technically proficient live bands I’ve ever seen. Colin Marston wields the six-stringed bass like a dwarf wields a battle axe, drummer Jeff Eber crunches rhythms like he probably crunches numbers in his day job, and Kevin Hufnagel’s hands move so fast and with such economy of motion, they look like they are vibrating. When the man shreds, he makes faces like he is simultaneously taking a shit and  traveling through time. Dysrhythmia is a band that demands your respect.

You know you want to touch it

…to read my review of Look At The Birdie, his new posthumous collection of prehumous stories.

Or, if you are a prude, and don’t want to travel via anal wormhole, click HERE to be taken to ChuckPalahniuk.net the old fashioned way.

Click on Jumbo for the full gallery of uncensored pics

You know what’s great about Europe? The lack of shame. Where else can a grizzled old dude strut around town in tattoo underwear with his baby arm hanging out? It is an inalienable right- alongside life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In fact, in the Declaración de Independencia, the term pursuit of happiness is replaced with pursuit of being a horny old dude with a piece like a fleshy tire iron. La búsqueda de ser un viejo tipo córneo con un pedazo tiene gusto de un hierro de neumático carnudo. Look it up.

It goes without saying, these pics are NSFW. It’s like feeding time at the reptile house. Seriously, it looks like dude is putting a leg lock on an anteater. The thing’s practically prehensile. If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll even let you feed it some peanuts.

Time again for another anecdote laced book review over at Chuck Palahniuk dot net. Whether you love or hate immigrants, this is the book for you:

A young immigrant travels to the land of ice and snow to whisper tales of gore on how he calmed the tides of war.

Cockroach is the story of a Lebanese immigrant living in Montreal after a botched suicide attempt. The metaphor of immigrant as cockroach is usually a negative one, but in Hage’s novel our narrator imagines himself scuttling beneath the feet of the privileged elite as a Kafkaesque badge of honor. He is a womanizer and a thief, and when he is not sneaking into people’s homes and stealing food, he is recounting his childhood in war-torn Lebanon to his court appointed shrink.

Support dime-a-dozen bloggers and the literary arts. Read the review in all its roach squashing, immigrant hating glory HERE.

Just in case you’d thought we’d forgotten our roots…

Thanks to SG for the pic of his dick(s)

Inspired by an older post (Having Sex With Your Clone Does Not Make You Gay,) I got to thinking. The lines of sexuality have become so blurred these days you need bifocals just to make them out. What makes a person gay? A little bit of leather and some feather boas? Probably not. Your self-righteous religious types would argue that it is the pursuit of a sinful, deviant lifestyle and that AIDS is the cure, but any rational minded person knows that opinion went out of style with Sebastian Bach. I don’t think anything specific makes a person gay (except, ironically, god,) but I do know what doesn’t. So if you are at all unsure, I present to you this handy guide for what IS NOT GAY.

If you’re banging some chick and a buddy of your is watching- that’s not gay. It’s called voyeurism, and lots of straight people are into it.  If said friend decides to strip down and join in- that’s not gay. You’re just talking double-team. If you accidentally touch something you shouldn’t- you’re still not gay. Accidents happen. To quote Willem Defoe in Autofocus, “It’s a group grope. Everybody’s touching everybody.” So if some dudes fingers “accidentally” find their way into your hidey hole, you’re not gay. (He might be, but you’re not. Roll with it.) If you happen to cross swords or bump ball bags, don’t worry, you’re totally not gay. It’s hard to keep those things from meeting at the intersection of Anus Lane and Pussyhole Junction when they are flopping around like pigs in a burlap sack. If you accidentally get a smattering of jizz on you, YOU WILL NOT CATCH GAY. Ask Izzy and Slash. It comes with the territory and is actually quite good for the skin.

You see where I’m going with this? The lady is the main course. Anything else is just collateral damage.

At least one of these fabulous gentlemen is not gay.

I’ll take it one step further. If there is a female involved and things get all experimental, you’re still not gay. Hell, you’re not even bisexual. If the chick wants to take a breather while the two of you go at it, you guessed it- still not gay. As long as there’s a lady present, you could be rogering a dude like nobody’s business and IT’S STILL NOT GAY. If she’s got to take a phone call and steps out of the room for a minute, she’s still under the same roof, so technically- not gay. If she wants to go out and grab something to eat, as long as she brings some back for you, YOU’RE TOTALLY NOT GAY. If she goes home for the night to catch some sleep, as long as you thing about her every once in a while, you’re still a red-blooded, heterosexual male.

And of course, if you click on the picture at the top of the post, I can assure you, YOU ARE NOT GAY. If you were previously, it might even make you straight.

I hope this guide has been helpful. Go forth and spread the word like ass cheeks.

New review up at ChuckPalahniuk.net

Four years ago, my girlfriend lent me Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake on our very first date. I was hesitant to accept, not only because that locked me into seeing her again, but because other than Geek Love, I had never read anything by a female author that I had actually liked. (Imminent backlash in 3… 2… 1…) Flash forward to the present and we are still together and I am anxiously awaiting the release of The Year of the Flood. Looks like I have fallen prey to not one, but two crafty she-devils.

Check it out HERE.

I feel a relapse coming on just looking at this picture.

Festival Fatigue is defined as a proportionate lack of patience in direct relation to the quality and quantity of films viewed in a short period of time. So was I a dick for flipping off the screen and walking out during The Revenant in front of the director? You be the judge.

Read all about it over at TWITCH. I am already receiving hate posts.

You can also read my encapsulated review HERE.

I’ve got a new piece up at Twitch about the Fantastic Fest reaction to Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist. Prepare to have your genitals obliterated  HERE.

Check out the scene in question below. It goes without saying that if you haven’t seen the film, you’re spoiling shit.