Yes, please.

Rudolf 2.0

Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer
Had a very shiny nose,
And if you ever saw it,
You would even say it glowed.
All of the other reindeer
Used to laugh and call him names:
"Queer," "dickhead," "fruit," "fairy," "faggot," "ho-ho-homo,"
"Retard," "douche," "gay," "tranny," "pussy," "sissy boy."
They hit him and shoved him,
And spit their reindeer spit on him.
They never let poor Rudolph
Play in any reindeer games.
Rudolph was ashamed and grew very sad.

Rudolph went to the Head Elf for help.
The Head Elf was sympathetic,
But there was nothing to be done.
He told Rudolph that the other reindeer
Were just expressing their religious beliefs.

Rudolph was confused.
His religion taught how to love,
Not how to hate and hurt little reindeer.
Now Christmastown was flaunting a new kind of religion.
Rudolph wanted to pray,
But everyone told him that God hated him.
He felt alone and scared.

On TV, he saw a pretty politician lady.
As she smiled her warm smile,
She said she hated those with red-noses,
And she wanted others to hate those red-noses, as well.
This made people like her,
And that is how she got elected.

In the newspaper, he read about a mean, powerful man,
A man who hated those with red-noses so much
That he wanted to change the laws
To force everyone to think the way that he did.
He made Rudolph feel very small, very small indeed.

And even though he lived in the happiest, most joyful place on Earth,
Rudolph felt very low,
And very, very dark.
His nose stopped glowing red.

He did not know what to do.
He did not know where to turn.
He had no one to talk to.

One dark night, late, late at night,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,
Rudolph quietly turned on his computer.
He learned:
He was not alone!
It gets better!
And, somehow, deep inside,
He knew:
He was not the problem.
It was the others who had problems.
And he believed:
He was special.

His nose started to glow again
Flamboyant, fabulous, flaming red!
And he danced and he pranced about.
That is when Santa noticed him
And said, "Rudolph with your nose so bright,
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"
It did not matter if the reindeer loved him,
Because he loved himself.
Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer shouted out in glee,
Because he knew that he was on the right side of history.

Rising Day EP

Rising Day EP

Xmas at the Lodge

Cass McCombs Debuts New Song 'Bradley Manning' Ahead of Accused Whistleblower’s Trial

Ursula K. Le Guin writes a fable of Occupy Wall Street [Afternoon Reading]

Ursula K. Le Guin writes a fable of Occupy Wall Street [Afternoon Reading]:

If you've been wondering just what's wrong with unemployed people, and why they won't just go get a job, then Ursula K. Le Guin has some answers for you. In the time-honored tradition of fantasists and fabulists, she's phrased her answers in the form of a fable.

Her story "Ninety Nine Weeks: A Fairy Tale" is just as political and confrontational as Vonda McIntyre's story from the same site a while back.

Top image: Detail from Fairy Godmother by Miss Mary Potter on Deviant Art

Here's how Le Guin's story begins:

Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who lived with his wife and their daughter and son in a cottage at the edge of a forest. He loved his trade, and worked hard at it. But most of the land belonged to rich ogres, who kept the forests for their own use. Firewood was so expensive that ordinary people had begun to heat their houses with coal. The woodcutter went from door to door offering timber or firewood, but again and again he was turned away. His wife was lame and could not walk far, though she worked hard and well, keeping the kitchen garden and the house. The daughter and son went to the village school. Young Janet looked after the mayor's wife's babies every afternoon when school was out, and young Bob earned a penny here and there doing odd jobs. That bit of money the children could bring home was all the family had now, and every penny had to go for rent to their ogre landlord. They had no new clothes or shoes, and ate only from their garden. Their life had grown hard, and winter was coming on.

It really gets interesting once the unemployment fairy shows up. [Book View Cafe, thanks Kelly!]

Dirty Things You Can Only Say on Thanksgiving

Talk about a huge breast!
Tying the legs together keeps the inside moist.
It's Cool Whip time!
If I don't undo my pants, I'll burst!
That's one terrific spread!
I'm in the mood for a little dark meat.
Are you ready for seconds yet?
Its a little dry, do you still want to eat it?
Just wait your turn, you'll get some!
Don't play with your meat
Just spread the legs open & stuff it in.
Do you think you'll be able to handle all these people at once?
I didn't expect everyone to come at once!
You still have a little bit on your chin.
How long will it take after you stick it in?
You'll know it's ready when it pops up.
Wow, I didn't think I could handle all of that!
That's the biggest one I've ever seen!

Limerick

There once was a queen from Nantucket

Who’s dick was too long to just tuck it

Look bitch, they told her

Throw it over your shoulder

Wrap it in fur and say fuck it

Why don’t straight men like anal sex?

Here’s a superficially odd question: what do dildos, social constructs of gender, and homophobia have in common? Well actually, the last two are the major reason for which the aforementioned sex toy doesn’t get much love from heterosexual males (for use on themselves, that is).

Male anal sex—particularly heterosexual—is a bit of a taboo topic. Most of us liberals have sort of gotten our heads around the idea of what gay man supposedly do in bed (although really we should assume it’s just about as varied as what heterosexuals do, right?) but the idea of anal penetration of a heterosexual man by his female partner is still considered anything from unnatural to outright disgusting and wrong. Now, I’m fully aware that anal sex is not everybody’s proverbial cup of tea, but there are good physiological reasons for men to potentially enjoy anal sex—the “theoretical basis” is at least as strong as for anal sex performed on females which is decidedly less taboo. The prostate gland is highly sensitive and it is possible for men to achieve orgasm solely through its stimulation. And what’s an easy way to access the prostate gland…? Yup, you probably guessed—through receptive anal intercourse.

So why is it that most (heterosexual) men give up on the possibility of mind-blowing orgasms without much consideration and just decide anal penetration is a definite “no-go?” (According to the Centers for Disease Control’s National Survey of Family Growth less than 40% of men engage in heterosexual anal sex.) Obviously, for some men this is just personal preference—they can’t see themselves liking it and fair enough. But for many this attitude may be the result of deeply ingrained gender stereotypes and socially-induced homophobia (yes, even in those really liberal guys who—on a conscious level—have absolutely nothing against homosexuals and loudly advocate for gay marriage). There’s a difference between being intellectually completely accepting of other people’s sexual choices and being open to exploring things, which our culture teaches us are wrong when naked—i.e. just about as vulnerable as it gets.

And although things are definitely looking up, whatever else anyone says, our culture is still homophobic to a considerable degree. Not caring about other people’s sexuality is on its way to becoming the new normal, but we still have a long way to go, that’s for sure. And until we get there male homosexuality will get the brunt of the homophobia. The social “invisibility” of female homosexuality has to a certain degree resulted in less stigmatization. (It’s also because lesbianism is treated less seriously and more often dismissed as “just a phase.”) What’s more, “butch” lesbians “masculinize” their appearances—they may seem “odd” but as Madonna sang back in 2001:


Girls can wear jeans

And cut their hair short

Wear shirts and boots

‘Cause it’s OK to be a boy

But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading

‘Cause you think that being a girl is degrading

Consequently, lesbians bring up fewer negative connotations and pop-culture tends to over-sexualize them, but gay men are typically portrayed as anything from unappealingly “effeminate” to obscene and perverted. And, invariably, anal sex is thought to be one of the major sexual activities that men who have sex with men engage in. Because of the different ensemble of sexual organs in women, male anal penetration has become nearly synonymous with gay sex.

According to heteronormative societal standards, there are a number of issues with men being gay, many of which can be boiled down to the fact that they are seen as giving up (at least partially) their well-deserved male privileges and becoming more “like women.” Behaviors judged as “female” may involve anything from tight-fitting clothes through to personal grooming and “girly interests” in fashion as well as… sexual submissiveness. Particularly this last bit is a serious issue for some. Being the “passive” partner in a sexual relationship is traditionally reserved for women. And women, traditionally, have it generally worse off (yay for the Equal Pay Act—too bad women on average still earn only 70 cents to the man’s dollar). Now, why would anyone want to give up their sexual privileges—become passive and like gay men/women—and actually be the penetrated partner when men are endowed with the wonder of the penis and therefore should be the active partner? The superiority of the “active” vs. “passive” partner goes back to ancient Greece when older and powerful men took lovers whom they had sex with but were never penetrated by— there was a clear connection between sexual activity and societal status. Overall, the message men get is basically this: society doesn’t think that being gay is such a great thing -> gay men have anal sex -> enjoying anal penetration can make you (seem) gay -> that’s a bad thing.

And so we’re back to the dildo—believe it or not, but according to research in this area most heterosexual men exclude the possibility of using dildos precisely because they don’t want to act “gay” and be “passive.” It’s got nothing to do with what they like or dislike in bed (mostly because they don’t know if they do if they haven’t tried it). It’s more illogical and subconscious than a superficial sexual preference. Heterosexual men’s deep-seated aversion to this form of sex-play is mostly the result of what society has taught us about sex and gender roles and not what our bodies might enjoy. Whether you like it or not, most of the time there really is way more than just you and your partner(s) in the bedroom.

Transfer!

The greatest thing that has ever happened in the history of television!

HalloKween

Yes, please.

Repertoire | The Dinner Party

Repertoire | The Dinner Party:

Ed. note: This is the third post in a "Repertoire" series on the interplay of food and style, with our friends The Midwestyle. We're helping their readers learn a few recipes, and they're teaching us a few things about doing it in style.

To say you’re an accomplished person is putting it lightly. That time you summited Kilimanjaro during a snow storm. The month you took a vow of silence. The day all the stoplights turned green.

You’ve been places, you’ve seen things, and you’ve got most situations in the bag. But the thought of hosting a dinner party? Crippling. Like trying to throw a punch under water. There are Nobel Prize winners who would buckle at the thought of preparing a meal for friends and having to sit there and face them while they eat it.

Having hosted more than few gatherings, we've learned a few things. Call them rules, or guidelines. We think they might be a helpful starting point.

And if nothing else, learn to cook porchetta. You won't regret it.

The rules, in no particular order.

Roast something. Inviting people to eat requires skill, timing, and artfulness. Roasting takes tremendous pressure off one of those things; with a thermometer and a few basic tips, the timing of the meal becomes far more forgiving.

Toast something. Let's bring it back. Toasts are a delicate alchemy. They require a strange combination of humor, truth and unspoken permission from your audience. They’re hard. Which is why people respect a good one. You have to make them laugh, steer a wide berth around cliches, and remain earnest. The formula: start out polite, transition to funny, and end with something true. Best bet is one you’ve spent enough time preparing that it seems effortless. But really, all that's required is a simple and genuine thanks for showing up.

The guests will be as calm as you are. There’s no easier way to ruin a party by being nervous, which of course makes it even harder to be relaxed. You set the tone, and if you’re unflappable, so your guests will be. Speaking of which...On drinking. With moderation and good timing, a drink or two can take the edge off. Sip while you cook, to give yourself a head start, but then cut it off. You want the right level of alcohol to relax, but not so much that you become incompetent (or, god forbid, incontinent). When guests arrive, everything will be jolly. Give them something immediately to put in their hands to soften your lead. Then, before you get sloppy and turn into a lousy conversationalist, pull back the reins. Put another way: Drink early, but not often.

Embrace the performance. Dinner parties are funny things. People are watching themselves and watching each other, and that’s okay. The cast of a dinner party will always be new (if it’s just close friends over for a meal, it’s not a dinner party), so the dynamic is unfamiliar. Nerves are a good thing.

Wear a tie.

Never mention your own cooking. Whether you’re fishing for compliments or lamely apologizing for the “dry meat” you’re lowering the tone. Take Julia Child’s advice: “You should never apologize at the table. People will think, ‘Yes, it’s really not so good.’” If the food is great, it speaks for itself. If it sucks, don’t mention it. They won’t remember.

Greetings and farewells. Much like giving a good compliment, hellos and goodbyes are best when simple and heartfelt. You’re excited they’re here, you’re so pleased they enjoyed themselves, and you hope to see them soon.

And if you’re the guest, bring a gift. Hosting a dinner party is a sacrifice of time, money and energy, so offer something that shows you appreciate the effort. Booze always fits the bill. Though if you’d like to take it to the next level, bring something that reminds you of the host. It shows you’ve paid attention. Bonus points for a handwritten note the next day.

And now, about that roast...

In Italy, porchetta is made by stuffing a whole pig with garlic, fennel, wild herbs, and heavy amounts of salt and pepper; it's then rolled up and spit-roasted slowly over wood. Thankfully, it's almost as delicious on a smaller scale. Serve the pork shoulder with creamy polenta, also something than can be made in advance. A standard for the repertoire. File under: You Can’t Go Wrong With Rustic Italian.

Porchetta

Adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rogers*

For the pork

• 
  1 3-pound boneless pork shoulder roast


• 
  1 1/2 teaspoons salt


• 
  1 tablespoon capers, roughly chopped


• 
  1 tablespoon lemon zest (no white pith), from 3-4 lemons


• 
  3 cloves garlic, roughly chopped


• 
  12 fresh sage leaves, crushed and coarsely chopped


• 
  2 sprigs fresh rosemary, leaves stripped and chopped


• 
  2 teaspoon fennel seeds, crushed


• 
  2 teaspoons black pepper


• 
  2 tablespoons olive oil


• 
  2 bulbs fennel


• 
  1/4 cup dry vermouth

For the polenta

• 
  5 cups water


• 
  1 cup polenta or cornmeal


• 
  1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt


• 
  3 tablespoons butter


• 
  1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

*Possibly one of the best cookbooks in the world to learn from. Highest recommendation.

Lay the pork out on a cutting board and examine the natural seams in the meat. Using your fingers and the tip of a knife as needed, excavate the seams to expose as much internal surface area of the pork as possible, carefully freeing the muscles along their natural separations. Season the pork inside and out with salt.

In a small bowl, mix together the capers, lemon zest, garlic, sage, rosemary, fennel seeds, and black pepper.

Pack the herb mixture into the crevices of the pork, rubbing it into the meat and ensuring the seasoning reaches all the exposed surfaces. Using kitchen string (or if your roast came with a net, use it) to tie the roast back into its original shape. It should take 4-5 strings crosswise and one lengthwise to accomplish this (for detailed tying instructions, see this post on making lamb pancetta). An even shape will also cook evenly.

Cover, refrigerate, and allow the seasoning to penetrate the meat, at least 1 day and up to 3.

*

Heat an oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a large (14-inch) ovenproof skillet or roasting pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat until shimmering. Add the pork (it should sizzle) and transfer to the oven. Roast, uncovered, for an hour (the pork should begin to color; if it hasn't, up the temperature to 400.)

While the pork roasts, bring the water to boil in a large saucepan, then pour in the polenta in a slow stream while whisking to prevent clumping. Once it's all added, add the salt and reduce heat to low, stirring often as it thickens and the cornmeal becomes creamy, 25-30 minutes. If it appears too dry and the cornmeal is not yet soft, add more water and continue cooking; you can always cook it longer to evaporate any excess water. Once soft, turn off the heat until ready to serve. To finish, reheat and stir in butter and Parmesan.

Meanwhile, halve the fennel lengthwise and cut out the core. Put the halves cut-side down and slice thinly crosswise. Toss with enough olive oil and salt to coat it nicely.

Once the pork has been in an hour, use tongs to flip it over and tuck the sliced fennel into the roasting pan around the porchetta, tossing it well in the roasting juices. Return the roast to the oven and continue cooking for another 1 to 1 1/2 hours, to an internal temperature of 145F.

Remove the pork to a cutting board and keep it loosely covered in foil while it rests for at least 10 minutes (the meat will reabsorb the juices, ensuring it's as moist as possible). Put the roasting pan on the stovetop (with the fennel still in it), pour or spoon off any excess fat, and turn the heat to high. Add the vermouth to the pan, using the liquid to scrape up any caramelized bits left from the pork in the roasting pan. Cook, stirring often, until the fennel is soft and caramelized and the vermouth has mostly evaporated.

Slice the pork and serve with the polenta, along with some of the caramelized fennel and rich pan juices. Finish with some of the fennel fronds that (ideally) came attached to the fennel bulb.

Prep photos by Seth Putnam. Dinner photos by Ryan Plett.

The Confirmed Bachelor's Oath

-- I am complete in myself and do not seek actively seek the validation of a romantic and/or sexual companion. I resist cultural definitions for self-fulfillment and happiness that depend on a romantic interest and/or looking down on myself because I do not have a romantic interest.




-- I gracefully accept whatever relationships happen to be offered unless they interfere with my self-respect.**




-- I refrain from being encouraged to seek romantic companionship from partnered people who got lucky; they express their baseless concern as a judgment of my singlehood, which doesn't help me keep my oath. If they insist on bothering me to couple like they have, I say, "OK, set me up on a date, then," which has the effect of making them responsible for the choices they want me to make, and soon enough they discontinue bringing up this topic.




-- Everything I do is a date with myself. I curate my life like a museum. I dine well alone. I dress to impress myself. My porn collection is magnificent.




-- Whenever I feel doubt about choosing to be single, I network with other Confirmed Bachelors for moral support.

__

**(Self-respect interfering relationship examples:




Example 1: "Oh, I think you are delightful! No, I will not pay your rent, thanks."




Example 2: "Yes, I understand that you want me to love you even though I only hear from you on Friday afternoon when, I assume, your other lover has told you he is suddenly not available to please you. I'd rather not."




Example 3: "I know, you're in a committed relationship with someone because you make good roommates but there's no passion or sex in the relationship. I feel bad for you but I am still not fucking you.")

The Purple Resistance Army Manifesto

The Purple Resistance Army Manifesto







The Purple Resistance Army (a.k.a., the PRA), and it’s auxiliary wing, the Purple Menace Society (PMS: women’s division) is a united and federated grouping of members of different races and genders and socialistic political parties of the oppressed people of The United States of Canada and America, who have, under homosexual and minority leadership, formed and joined The Purple Federated Republic (PFR) and have agreed to struggle together on behalf of all their people and races and sexes and political parties' interests in the gaining of Freedom and Self Determination and Independence for all faggots and others. The PRA declares revolutionary war against the Fascist Capitalist and Largely Heterosexual Class and all its agents of murder, oppression and exploitation. We support by force of Limp Wrists the just struggles of all oppressed fairies for self-determination and independence and hereby offer to all sexual liberation movements, revolutionary workers’ groups, and people’s organizations our Total Aid(s) and support for the struggle for freedom and justice for all people and races and genders!







On behalf of all its constituents and affiliates and various sissy sycophants, the PRA hereby identifies and extrapolates upon the following pop cultural positions that should be followed in order to activate and actuate the aforementioned principles in an opportunistic and propitious fashion. Attention must be paid to the following edicts in order to gain membership to the Purple Resistance Army. Failure to adhere to the general principles delineated herewith may result in humiliation, teasing, taunting, in-house gay bashing, cuckolding, cold-shouldering, and a general reading to filth of the individual in question.







1) Never Trust Anyone Under 30. A reversal (see: Counterintuitivity) of the old proverb from a previous generation that exhorts fellow comrades never to trust anyone over the age of 30, this neo-axiom of the PRA is designed both as an historical broadside against the age-ism that has become endemic to society since the advent of the industrial revolution, and as a reminder that, under the new world order, tender youth, a formerly fairly reliable bellwether of rebellion, anti-authoritarianism, and non-conformist behaviour, has long since lost its counter-cultural compass and can no longer be trusted or relied upon to instigate or disseminate revolutionary ideals a priori. Although it may be misinterpreted as an encouraging sign that voter turnout in the eighteen to twenty-five year age demographic has dwindled in the past several decades in western democracies, it is by no means a dependable indication that the youth of today is anything less than a vast, empty cadre of reactionary, close-minded clones who will swallow any sort of predigested pablum that is placed in front of them, including, but not restricted to, badly realized computer-generated images (see also: The Aesthetic Dementia), political doublespeak, marriage (including, sadly, the gay kind), commercial pandering, substandard reality television, corporate hip hop, pre-fabricated celebrities, hyper-violent video games, respect of property and copyright, and other untold forms of popular prestidigitation. The current ‘youth revolt’ in France, wherein young people are fighting for the right to gain permanent job security (whilst in their twenties! See also: Revolutionary Reactionaries) is a far cry from the events of May ’68 in which a popular uprising of French people from diverse ethnic, cultural, class, and age groups, including communist and anarchist factions, roused to action by a continuing trend of western imperialist adventurism in Southeast Asia, sought to challenge the very control of the ruling classes by espousing ultra left wing causes, including educational and social reform and the advocacy of sexual freedom and free love.







2) Get To Know Your Asshole. The Purple Resistance Army entreats all males, but particularly the self-proclaimed “heterosexuals” (also known as “breeders”, although this term may now apply occasionally to “homosexuals” – See once again: Revolutionary Reactionaries) to get in touch with their assholes, by any means necessary. Marcuse might have had something like this in mind when he talked about the surplus repression imposed on its people by an “affluent society.” In an industrialized society which has reached a point of abundance that is characterized by the production of “unproductive goods” – tech gadgets, excess waste, planned obsolescence, luxury items, excessive military build-up, etc. – a certain repression over and above the one necessary to advance culture is forced on its citizens in order to exert a particular notion of “normalcy” that is more aligned with conformist social and institutional attitudes rather than ideas of individual fulfillment. The redundant, unnecessary work upon which advanced capitalism is predicated, characterized by a deadening or stupefying effect – a kind of zombie state when performed by the working or middle class subject, or, in the case of the white collar workers, by a moral indifference and callous aggressiveness – results in a distraction from their own personal and sexual needs. A person who functions normally in such a sick society is himself sick, while it is only the “nonadjusted” individual who can achieve a healthy acting out against the overly strict restraints and demands of the dominant culture. It is such a society that prevents constitutionally bisexual men from exploring their homosexuality, and in particular, from getting to know their assholes. Many men can spend their entire lives not experiencing the pleasure of the anus, when it has been well documented that it is the very location of the male G-spot and thereby invaluable for healthy orgasmic release. Neglect of this region leads to poor prostate health, general irritability, spiritual malaise, or worse. A carefully placed finger or fingers up the ass of any one of a number of members of the Bush or Harper administrations would greatly reduce expenditures on the military and Star Wars technology, curtail the doctrine of preemptive aggression against oil-rich, Middle East nations (most of whose leaders are already well acquainted with their own assholes and those of their Gulf Coast neighbours), and a whole host of other bellicose, morally insupportable policies based on surplus repression and anal indifference. Members of the PRA are encouraged to help any adult male over the age of consent to explore and befriend his own asshole so that others do not have to suffer as a consequence. Anal Liberation Now!







3) Discourse Sucks! Although it may fly in the face of conventional wisdom concerning the predisposition of homosexuals to the appreciation of art and artistic practice (See: Counterintuitivity), the Purple Resistance Army does not in general support or condone artists or, in particular, art discourse, although bullshit artists and their discourses are provisionally accepted. The art world has become a purely reactive and reactionary institution whose trends and tendencies are determined and circumscribed by the broader conservative cultural forces and socio-economic policies of an exploitative capitalist ruling class, having long since foregone its function as a vanguard or avant-garde, or as serving a therapeutic, cathartic, or even critical function, let alone a political or revolutionary one. Devised by a laissez-faire haute bourgeoisie, art discourse, an Emperor dressed in what he believes are the most au current designer clothes, gets lost in the elaborate, solipsistic layers of his own nakedness, lording his self-importance over an unwitting and uncomprehending public whose idea of art is the fruit in a slot machine. Modern trends in art include escapist folk fantasies involving psilocybin unicorns and golden-tressed maidens with dirty feet locked in pornographic carnal embrace, a new twist on a purely decorative seventies throwback that reinvigorates questionable commodity fetishism. More conceptual, “dialogic” art, including the use of readymades or relational art practice, while less commoditizable than traditional art objects, is nonetheless reified and marketed by the same hierarchical economic institutions and international exhibition superstructures that confine it to the amusement of an insider elite. As an alternative to the art orthodoxy, the PRA promotes finger painting, free range graffiti, tattooing (although not on pigs), home movies, ad hoc shrines – or, for conceptualists, practical jokes, pranks, hoaxes, and public nudity not organized and sanctioned by institutionalized art stars.







4) Counterintuitivity. The Purple Resistance Army, a militant band of insurgent sissies, must not succumb to the current cycle of cynicism and apathy that has infiltrated and destroyed the spirit of resistance, subversion and highly civil disobedience that was once at the very core of the homosexual psyche. In today’s topsy-turvy, wrong is right, revolutionarily reactionary world, the members of the PRA must learn to use counterintuitivity to fight its enemies. The dictates of common sense are no longer to be trusted in this poisoned environment.







5) Death to Celebrity! Celebrity culture has become the biggest boondoggle of the modern world, and members of the PRA must do everything in their power to destroy it. Much of the blame for the rise of celebrity culture has been laid at the dainty feet of Andy Warhol (peace and blessings be upon him), whose famous phrase “In the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes” has been wildly misinterpreted as an endorsement of celebrity for all as a kind of democratic principle in a capitalist context. His real prediction for the future was probably more along the lines of an Orwellian (or perhaps Kafkaesque) dystopic nightmare in which each individual in society is forced, by means of an assembly line or factory model, into a limited window of fame/labour precisely fifteen minutes in duration, none more significant or important than the next, each turned out like so many car parts and discarded when it has outworn its usefulness. This is the same model Warhol used to produce his early movies and art work: objects assembled by a series of poorly paid workers and manufactured in his “Factory”, mass-produced and sold in a free market economy. (Although Warhol was, himself, an artist, celebrity, and capitalist nonpareil, the Purple Resistance Army grants him enormous leeway for his overwhelming contribution to hypersensitive, tortured sissyhood.) Today, the worship of celebrity has become a kind of neurotic compulsion that turns otherwise salient and reasonable human beings into slavering, sycophantic boobs who care more about the excruciating minutiae of the lifestyles of the filthy rich and unjustly famous than about their own, infinitely more authentic, everyday lives. Celebrity itself has become a disease that mangles and maims the egos of those who suffer it, reducing them to delusional paranoiacs who should be at the very least, not paid very much attention to, at best, deprogrammed. Down with Overexposure! Up with Anonymity!







6) Show Business is Politics/Politics is Show Business. Awards shows receive their own special category of condemnation from the PRA for their smug self-congratulatoriness and crass commercialism, propping up, as they do, the celebrity infrastructure by lording the wealth and power of the privileged few over the increasingly impoverished, debt-ridden anonymous masses. There are now more award shows and presentations than there are categories to define them, each one a cleverly contrived and predetermined spectacle designed by the various industries who manufacture it to present the illusion of democratic process and free market competition. The Oscars have become the Holy Grail – or golden calf – of the entertainment industry, an award conferring on its recipient both increased status and bargaining power as commoditized icon. (Not to put too fine a point on it, but the free gift bags handed out to celebrities at such awards are worth considerably more than the yearly income of the average Canmerican family.) Celebrities now campaign for major awards like seasoned (read: corrupt) politicians, hiring teams of strategists and publicists to promote their cause, while politicians, an increasing number of them crossing over from the entertainment field, are styled and cosmetically sold to the public like programmatic B-list movie stars. The PRA holds special contempt and condemnation for George Clooney, a liberal star posturing as the rebel dissenter. Recently accepting his Oscar, Clooney eschewed any overt political statement – while his country is bogged down in an unjust war - in favour of professing his proud support and admiration for “The Academy”, the ultimate Hollywood establishment organ that controls the film industry in the elitist and cabalistic, hierarchical style of Freemasonry. Gone are the days of the likes of Vanessa Redgrave (peace and blessings be upon her), who, while accepting her supporting Oscar in 1977 for playing a Jewish freedom fighter during the Nazi occupation, gave a shout out to the Palestine Liberation Organization. Even the most overtly ‘political’ stars today remain inside players who perpetuate the corrupt, nepotistic plutocracy that is Hollywood by not only showing up to every conceivable promotional event, but also actively campaigning for awards and accolades. The PRA strongly encourages homosexuals to challenge their faggoty predilection for organizing and participating in any and all parades, festivals, pageants, and ceremonies that support and promote corporate enterprise. Death to the Hollywood insect who preys upon the life of the people!







7) The Tyranny of Stylists/The Aesthetic Dementia. Modern styling has become particularly offensive to the PRA and the PMS, especially considering that it’s an invisible fifth column of our tragically misguided misogynistic homosexual brothers, from stylists to designers, who have dictated and enforced the grotesque style imperatives that now govern the image of women in the western world. From the unimaginative, uniform blond frosted tips and streaks, to the blow-up sex doll collagen-injected lips and over-inflated fake bosoms, to the grotesquely immobilized Botoxed faces and plastic surgery disasters, a new model army of faux lap-dancers have willingly conformed to the style of the hyper-objectified woman, thereby capitulating to the male gaze in a way that might previously have only occurred in the worst nightmares of Laura Mulvey. (Cruelly, the advent of high definition media technology only serves to exaggerate and intensify the monstrosity of these highly engineered viral vixens on television and, to a lesser degree, in the movies.) The PRA and its affiliates always encourage personal style and individualism over tiresome trends, particularly when those trends encourage women to approximate the image of female porn stars and strippers who are themselves already a distorted and hideous manifestation of the female image as conceived by the exploitative, male-dominated adult fantasy industry. Autonomous and/or amateur sex trade workers with personal flair and a feminist sensibility are, of course, welcome members of the PRA. Although there are too many to enumerate, two other areas of modern aesthetic dementia have been singled out for formal castigation by the PRA. Firstly, the advent of digital effects and CGI is a particular effrontery to the delicate sensibilities of our lavender membership. Even a technology in its infancy should not be responsible for this much garish, crude, and meretricious imagery. The perpetrators of CGI also have the dubious distinction of removing all the visceral stimulation and sense of adventure from the popular media. Nothing can replace the excitement, in the glory days of analogue, of a vacant model or actor being forced to share the same temporal space as a man-eating feline or a predatory bird eager to pluck out his or her eye. The manufacturing (i.e., faking) of high-risk stunts digitally deprives the audience of its most precious form of entertainment: the potential evisceration and/or termination of overpaid, privileged, and totally expendable celebrities. Secondly, the PRA calls out the exhausted kingdom of hip hop for its negative contribution to fashion and style. From its ostentatious signifiers of “bling” – ridiculously enormous gold dollar signs slung around slouched necks; tacky, overstated jewelry and accessories; pimped out, gas-guzzling showboat cars – to its propensity to engage in stylistic excess, infantilism, conspicuous consumption, and rank gangsterism, the hip hop and rap contingent has taken nouveau riche posturing to new levels of banality. Compare this to the sleek and elegant, militant quasi-Marxist style of Angela Davis and the Black Panthers from the era of true black revolution and you may be inspired to burn, baby, burn your Fiddy Cent and The Game CDs and paraphernalia. (Incidentally, no conscientious PRA member should buy CDs, hip hop or otherwise: free downloading from the internet not only challenges the corrupt profiteering of monopolistic music conglomerates and the enforcement of overly strict copyright practices, but it also reduces the use of plastic and other non-biodegradable materials unnecessarily used in the packaging of entertainment products. File sharing is not only true democracy in action, but it’s also environmentally friendly! And remember, intellectual property is theft!







8) Club Pamela Anderson. By Club Pamela Anderson, the PRA is not referring to an organization represented by or supporting the over-hyped star. It means club her, like a baby seal. From her recent appearance on the Comedy Network as the subject of a celebrity roast (with Courtney “Doll Parts” Love, by her side – Kurt Cobain must be permanently spinning in his grave), to her hostessing gig at the underwhelming Juno Awards, which presented the sad spectacle of Canada’s rad indie rockers salivating over her enormous pair of commodities (see: Never Trust Anyone Under 30), Anderson represents pretty much everything that is wrong with western free market capitalism. She needs to be, if not regulated, garrotted.







9) The Charm Offensive. Counterintuitively, PRA members must always be kind, courteous, and polite. The fact that the world is going to hell in a Kate Spade handbag is no excuse for rudeness.







10) Down with Revolutionary Reactionaries. A relatively recent phenomenon, the term revolutionary reactionaries refers to formerly radical groups of disenfranchised minorities and/or oppressed peoples who are now fighting, sometimes violently, for the right to be conservative, stable, and inert. From the aforementioned French riots, during which so-called socialist youths donned balaclavas and sacked the libraries of the Sorbonne (the very site of the genesis of May ’68!) to promote their fight for sedentary, entrenched job security; to angry gays and lesbians struggling to participate in marriage - a traditional social and legal institution designed to bind and control its citizens - and to adopt family values; to black thug rappers transforming hip hop, a previously unruly and subversive form of spontaneous, rebellious street communication, into a corporate enterprise characterized by good old-fashioned corruption, greed, and internecine violence (Proof RIP!): the oppressed are doing a pretty good job of oppressing themselves these days without the help of hegemonic states, bureaucracies and institutions. The Purple Resistance Army urgently implores you to Wake Up and Smell the Tear Gas!







Fag Daddy for the Purple Resistance Army

My heart is in your ass.

Yes, please.

Mikhail Tsakountis  “Boy from Tel Aviv”

Fhlostan Paradise

Fhlostan Paradise by INDIGO BUNTING

Party!

Yes, please.

Relationship Status

Looking for someone who will wreck my life. Ideally, you will trap me in a vicious cycle of hope, desire, ecstasy, torment, and self-loathing, each cycle imbued with its own unique form of soul-shredding viciousness.

You will disappear for days, only to re-emerge suddenly, and casually reveal that you “went on a road trip to the beach with Micah, this guy I had this complicated thing with last year, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was just this crazy thing I didn’t expect. But I’m back home now and I’m late for work.”

I will be rendered sleepless for days.

One morning you will suddenly call and ask me to hang out with you at the coffee shop at around noon. I will then proceed to trip over the tatters of my dignity in a rush to the library in order to find something that I hope will impress you and lead to nudity.

I will then arrive at the coffee shop an hour early.

Where I will wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I will call.

Your cell phone will go directly to voicemail.

I will wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I will call again… voicemail.

And again… voicemail.

I will check my phone incessantly.

Hours later my phone will ring. I will answer it mid-ring.

You will apologize, and explain that, “Aiden came over to my apartment to talk because he’s really depressed and he needed someone to listen to him and I lost track of time.”

As the wind is knocked out of me and the bile wells up in my throat, I will manage a “no problem,” in a voice that cracks under the strain of forced indifference. “And anyway,” I will sputter, “it’s no big deal because I was reading this book of Neruda’s poetry, and I almost forgot that we were even supposed to meet.”

You will then say “I’ll be there really soon… but is it OK if Aiden comes?”

It is not.

And my stomach will be a calamity of elation and fear and hate.

An hour and forty-three minutes later you and Aiden will arrive, and Aiden will be tall and toned and will have a hemp necklace. He will resemble Kurt Cobain. He will brush away his blond locks with confidence and indifference, and thereby reveal his intense greenish eyes and his world-weary smirk.

You will introduce us, and he will cock his head up in that really confident way that I can’t, but I will have already extended my shaky, clammy hand and it will hang there for fucking ever until he finally extends his in a way that implies that he normally does not shake hands, and his social domination over me will be utter and complete.

And as I begin to realize that my plans of impressing you with my knowledge of Latin American poetry followed by felatio will come to naught, you will ask “Do you want to go smoke a bowl with me and Aiden at his apartment?”

I do not.

Dear god I do not.

I most certainly do not want to go smoke a bowl with you and Aiden back at his apartment where my body will be gripped in a paralyzing chill of dread and self-loathing as I watch him play the guitar and engage you in a philosophical conversation infused with an undertone of intense sexuality that I neither have access to nor understand.

And then Aiden’s friends will arrive, and they will play music.

I will watch, motionless, as he and you sit ever closer together, until finally your head rests briefly on his shoulder, and then lightly on his chest, and I will think I just heard you say “you smell good” in a raspy, quivering voice, as your nose passes gently by his neck.

And I will be indifferent, always indifferent, glancing casually at an Iron & Wine album, or a book on Buddhist meditation, as if I, too, am familiar with these things, am one of you, a member of your tribe of beautiful, artistic, sexual bohemians. And as the sky grows dark, I will watch you flush with arousal at his mystery and his virtuosity, and I will retreat into myself, and I will deny that I’m seeing what I’m seeing, and then suddenly that I will be alone with Aiden’s friends, and you will be Aiden’s bedroom, and the door will closed but not entirely, and I will hear, and Aiden’s friends will think nothing of this.

And then you will emerge, and I will stand there panicked and utterly lost, and I will beg you to please speak with me outside, just you and me, and you will, but by now you will have an impatient urgency to your voice, as you say:

“Aiden asked me to ride with him to Colorado, and we’re leaving today.”

And my facade will crack, and I will become angry, and I will say I love you, and Aiden will appear, and he will tell me that this is none of my business. His friends will agree.

And I will stumble home where I will wretch over the toilet and then stare at the wall, and I will check my phone incessantly, and I will finally call you, and it will go directly to voicemail.

It Begins - EP by R'lyeh Sound

Tracklist with individual links:

1. It's Awakened 05:21

2. Fitful Slumber 05:57

3. Something's Changing 03:22

4. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn 07:19

5. A Final Signal 06:45

6. Projects (R'lyeh Sound Remix) 04:34

No, nobelium for you!

Yes, please.

Come back from san francisco x 2

Cherry Cherry Boom Boom - Come Back from San Francisco (The Magnetic Fields Cover) by arjanwrites

Tragic

Yes, please.

Yes, please.

Yes, please.

Best Italians - Client 4 Promo Video from Supplementaire Fashion Journal on Vimeo.

Why don't we do it in the road

Dave

L'Age d'Or (1930) Luis Buñuel

Following their classic experimental and surrealist short film, Un chien andalou (1929), directors Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí came together one last time to create a deliriously surreal, provocative, and blasphemous take on l’amour fou and the constraints of a stultifying, oppressive society. Wryly beginning with a documentary on the poisonous power of scorpions and irrationally moving towards a peasant revolution (led by famed surrealist painter Max Ernst) that comically withers and collapses before even sighting the enemy, the film jumps to its giddy, strange center: a passionate, lustful tryst torn apart by society, politics, class, and public morality. Surreal social satire rears its head to thwart the lovers’ reunion as decadent party-goers require our male hero (Gaston Modot) to meet-and-greet them politely as his lover (Lya Lys) waits, aroused and baffled, just a few feet away. As the rest of the world strives to keep them apart, sexual desire is displaced by fetishes: the man becomes enamored over a statue’s toe (and his girl begins sucking it when torn apart from him), and in one of cinema’s most enraptured moments, the woman gazes, dreamily in love but unable to spy her lover, into her boudoir mirror and sees a reflection of a cloudy sky.

A simple love story this is not. Buñuel and Dalí cram as much insanity, criticism, and manic energy into their gleeful cinematic broadside as they possible can. A violin is callously kicked down a street; our hero, the “Ambassador of Good Will,” boots a puppy, crushes a beetle, and knocks down a blind man; the clergy rot and turn to skeletons alone on a beach; and a Sade-like orgy takes place in a castle presided over by Jesus—these are just a few of L’Âge d’or‘s wicked swipes of humorous hatred and bizarre parody of a complacent, conventional society. Skewering everything from Catholic piety to sexual fetishism, the film provoked riots, was denounced by Mussolini’s ambassador, earned its backer a threat of excommunication and was banned by the French Police all within two weeks of its release. In its provocation and brilliant, associative creativity this film still shocks and surprises as much as the day it premiered, and shows perhaps how little the world has changed in over 70 years.

Imdb
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0021577/

Movie
http://veehd.com/video/4636264_Age-o...French-EngSubs

Yes, please.

Yes, please.

Berdache Boy

Berdache Boy



He may throw like a girl,

But he fucks like a man. Wild, stroking



Hands, coarse with callous, through

Disheveled strands of black stallion



Mane; the sweat, wayward pearls

Pouring from crown to cheeks to chest, down



To the cathedral carved

Into the contours of rigid hips.



His kiss is mist, gentle.

Berdache, holy man who makes love



To men, primal and sweet,

An old indigenous tradition,



Cloaked in the French word for

Faggot and reframed into broken



Dichotomy. Two-spirit

Boys born to be shamans; now, shadowed



With shame, exiles outcast

To closets, to caves, to empty deserts.



He has been wandering,

His eyes closed, his hands tightly folded,



And he opens to my

touch, to the sensation of warm, moist



Breath that condenses and

Beads wet necklaces around his nape.



The sweat transforms his skin

To slick, mossy slabs of granite: strong,



Solid and slippery;

And his thighs taste of the tides. Thrusting,




The torque of his torso

Is taut bowstring tense with pointed length



Of an arrow flèched with

Feathers. Within him is the ocean.



The sweat is salty spray;

And, I am swimming him, breathing his



Water, whirlpool of flesh,

Without shame, diving into deep, dark



Mysterious seas, wild

With waves of swirling black hair shining



Obsidian in bright

Moonlight. There is sugar in his step,



They say, his wrist is limp,

Soft like his shy lisp. His kiss whispers



Hidden strength and his posture speaks shame.

Berdache boy stand up!



Answer faggot with fearlessness. Howl

Windstorm songs from your heart.



Warrior! Teach us your wisdom as we welcome

You into the tribe that has always been yours.



Berdache boy! We are waiting for you to leap,

To swell with courage and immerse yourself within



Water.

Moonlight.

Tribe.

Your own sacred nature.



May the full moon lift your undulating body into the harbor of my open arms

Until you fully become the ebb and the flow of your pulsating heart,

Until you fully become who it is that you were truly born to be.

Dan Deacon Film

Justin

YouTube - Sac State Jazz Singers at Monterey - "All Along the Watchtower" - Battlestar Galactica

YouTube - Sac State Jazz Singers at Monterey - "All Along the Watchtower" - Battlestar Galactica: ""

The Sacramento State Jazz Singers just nailed Bear McCreary's BSG version of "All Along the Watchtower." If you don't get chills listening to this, you're dead inside.

Yes, please.

Tonite Let's All Make Love In London (1967)

Stonewall Uprising

Watch the full episode. See more American Experience.

Yes, please.

Ten Stages of Drunkenness

1. Witty & Charming
2. Rich and Powerful
3. Benevolent
4. Clairvoyant
5. Fuck Dinner
6. Patriotic
7. Crank up the David Bowie
8. Witty & Charming, Part II
9. Invisible
10. Bulletproof

Peaking Lights mixtape

mp3:
Peaking Lights mixtape (88 mb)

[right click / save as]

aswad – hey jah children
mandril – kofijam
gabor szabo – krishna
bridget st. john – yep
dick schory – typee
the firebirds – reflections
the chieftones – i wonder
cappy lewis – bull fight
donald austin – crazy legs
david axelrod – the leading citizen pt.1
asiko – drums of asiko
seguida – afro rican suite
supergrupo magia – magico
paris – i choose you
ronnie mcneir – summertime
mel + tim – that’s the way i want to live my life
delegation – oh honey
rose royce – sunrise
sylvester – i need somebody to love tonight
alexander robotnik – problems d’amour
beetlejuice – version
tanto + devonte – version
L. smart – version
negus roots players – lost sheep dub
willy williams – armigedon time
third world all stars – version
janet kay – loving you

Take this gin and juice...

All Tomorrow's Parties

All Tomorrow’s Parties is a 2009 documentary film directed by All Tomorrow’s People and Jonathan Caouette covering the history of the long running All Tomorrow’s Parties music festival. Described as a “post-punk DIY bricolage”, the film was created using footage generated by the fans and musicians attending the events themselves, on a multitude of formats including Super8, camcorder and mobile phone. All Tomorrow’s People is a name representing the contributions of these attendees.

The film features music and performance from Belle And Sebastian, Grizzly Bear, Sonic Youth, Battles, Portishead, Daniel Johnston, Grinderman, Lightning Bolt, David Cross, Animal Collective, The Boredoms, Les Savy Fav, Mogwai, Octopus Project, Slint, The Dirty Three, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, the Gossip, GZA, Roscoe Mitchell, Seasick Steve, Iggy and the Stooges, A Hawk and a Hacksaw, Fuck Buttons, Micah P Hinson, Two Gallants, The Mars Volta, Akron/Family, Jah Shaka, Saul Williams, Shellac, Patti Smith and John Cooper Clark. […]

Reviews have been positive, with LA Weekly making it their Critics Pick and calling it “Part concert film, part rebel manifesto…[it] pleasurably embodies the interactive generosity of talents whose confluence it describes.” Drew McWeeney (Moriarty) of Hitfix.com wrote that it was “A cascade of sound and fury…the range of what this movie covers exhausts me…The highest compliment I can pay the film is that it made me want to attend the festival for real…not just your average concert film, [it's] in a class by itself…One of the singular film experiences i’ve had so far this year.”

Indeed

Yes, please.

Bowie 2001

OMFDB! You guys! This is seriously the most epic nerdgasm to ever appear in my universe! Please watch!

http://www.bowie2001.com/

TR0N PR0N!

Thanks Jake!

We’ll brick your soul apart!

His Holy Visage

If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him!

1. This is it.
2. There are no hidden meanings.
3. You can’t get there from here, and besides there is no place to go.
4. We are already dying, and we’ll be dead a long time.
5. Nothing lasts!
6. There is no way of getting all you want.
7. You can’t have anything unless you let go of it.
8. You only get to keep what you give away.
9. There is no particular reason why you lost out on some things.
10. The world is not necessarily just. Being good often does not pay off and there’s no compensation for misfortune.
11. You have the responsibility to do your best nonetheless.
12. It’s a random universe to which we bring meaning.
13. You really don’t control anything.
14. You can’t make anyone love you.
15. No one is any stronger or any weaker than anyone else.
16. Everyone is, in his own way, vulnerable.
17. There are no great men.
18. If you have a hero, look again; you have diminished yourself in some way.
19. Everyone lies, cheats, pretends. (yes, you too, and most certainly myself.)
20. All evil is potentially vitality in need of transformation.
21. All of you is worth something if you will only own it.
22. Progress is an illusion.
23. Evil can be displaced but never eradicated, as all solutions breed new problems.
24. Yet it is necessary to keep struggling toward solution.
25. Childhood is a nightmare.
26. But it is so very hard to be an on-your-own, take-care-of-yourself-cause-there-is-no-one-else-to-do-it-for-you grown-up.
27. Each of us is ultimately alone.
28. The most important things each man must do for himself.
29. Love is not enough, but it sure helps.
30. We have only ourselves, and one another. That may not be much, but that’s all there is.
31. How strange, that so often, it all seems worth it.
32. We must live within the ambiguity of partial freedom, partial power, and partial knowledge.
33. All important decisions must be made on the basis of insufficient data.
34. Yet we are responsible for everything we do.
35. No excuses will be accepted.
36. You can run, but you can’t hide.
37. It is most important to run out of scapegoats.
38. We must learn the power of living with our helplessness.
39. The only victory lies is in surrender to oneself.
40. All of the significant battles are waged within the self.
41. You are free to do whatever you like. You need only face the consequences.
42. What do you know for sure…anyway?
43. Learn to forgive yourself, again and again and again and again.

Through, monitor crack'd

Punk In England

Filmed in 1980 as punk was fading, Punk In England captures the scene at a point of transition from a revolution to the pop mainstream. With dynamite performances by The Jam, Ian Dury, The Clash, The Specials, Madness, The Pretenders and many more.

Punk in London

Re-mastered from the original negative featuring The Clash and some of punks most important bands. Directed by German filmmaker Wolfgang Buld, this is a unique visual record of London punk life in the late seventies. Filled with unseen live footage and some incredibly naive comments. Punk in London is so loaded with history and brilliance that you can almost smell the energy!
Tracklist:
1. The Adverts – Gary Gilmore’s Eyes
2. Jimmy Pursey Interview
3. Chelsea Interview 1
4. Chelsea – Right To Work
5. Chelsea Interview 2
6. X-Ray Spex – Oh Bondage: Up Yours!
7. Poly-Styrene Interview Part 1
8. X-Ray Spex – Identity
9. Poly-Styrene Interview Part 2
10. Lurkers Interview
11. The Lurkers – Shadow
12. The Red Cow Club
13. The Jolt- Unknown
14. Jolt Interview
15. The Jolt – You’re Cold
16. Miles Copeland Interview
17. The Electric Chairs – (You Make Me) Cream In My Jeans
18. The Killjoys – It Could Be Me 1
19. The Killjoys – It Could Be Me 2
20. Kevin Rowland Interview
21. The Killjoys – At Night
22. The Rough Trade Record Shop
23. The Adverts – One Chord Wonders
24. Subway Sect – Ambition
25. Subway Sect – Out Of Touch
26. Subway Sect Interview
27. Rat (Damned Roadie) Interview 1
28. Sounds Newspaper
29. Teddy Boys Interview
30. The Jam – Carnaby Street
31. The Jam – In The City
32. Jean Jaques Burnell Interview And A Cynics View Of Punk
33. The Boomtown Rats – Do The Rat
34. Rat (Condemned Roadie) Interview 2
35. The Clash – Complete Control
36. The Clash – Hate And War
37. The Clash – Police And Thieves
38. The Clash – Garageland

Kraftwerk - Minimum-Maximum

Futurenom

Get My Money Back (Cazwell)

Yes, please.

Do it.

Yes, please.