Fighting Off The Dead Within Your Headphones

A new Van Halen album? Gross
Death by Party | Van Halen Reunion: Massage the colon of your mind laddie

We’re fucked folks. Listing off a comprehensive diagnostic of how, or why this is true, is an absolute waste of time. It would take too long, involve too many daily atrocities (a.k.a. normal, everyday attitudes and habits) and not even begin to dust off the tip of the vicious ramrod taking a running start at our minds asses. That being said, let’s start off with the fact that Van Halen is back…again.

Over time, far passed the years where they were palatable, the Van Halen brothers (Edward and Porcini Mushroom) have attempted to re-package their lazy one-night stand with a variety of different shades of blonde. But this was not enough, as the brothers Halen piss & moaned a brown streak through their careers about each song-puff who lost interest in the masturbation radio game of Van Hoo gives a shit. “Luckily” for them, their first bottle of bronzer has returned to jazzercise around stage.

Now frankly, Im not sure to what end others may agree with me here, but I believe what is going on is pure zombification. The zombie topic has been dragged through movies, television, books and comic books, but no-one has yet to mention the living dead amongst famous songsmiths. Now I would not say that a group of older people playing the same music for ages is a bad thing, not one bit. Look at the Rolling Stones. Like them or not, some keen intelligence keeps reviving them to younger crowds, and the masses soak it up like toxic waste in the lovely ocean water we lap up in summer time. But Van Halen? Their new song “Tattoo” is so obviously a kinkos designed flyer for the “Who gives a fuck, let’s just try and enjoy our shitty marriage” tour. The stones get a new life and somehow seem adopt the attitude of a young White Zombie. Yet Van Halen gets the old neck bolts, and has about the same vitalization of a new Muppets movie (which was basically a snuff film…fact). Therein lies the rub. This Zombification of praised musicians, albeit not always a bad thing, will force blood from thy brains, and push the Doomsday clock minutes closer to boom boom.

So, my point is this: invest your time and energy into covering your windows in dark cellophane, earn money the old fashioned way (by not believing in its existence), and just play the bongos to the tune of the worlds crackling and hissing itself. Cause we’s fucked, y’all.

That is all for now.

-Ahmed Shalizaay

Stop it Grandpa, you’re embarrassing me

I pray every day for it to all end. 

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