REV FUCKIN' X!!!

Hey all. It's been a long time. I haven't been writing on this thing lately. But that doesn't mean I don't have a shit load of things on my mind. for starters, there's this shit at my work called RevX. It's some sort of bullshit oil additive that guarantees improved horsepower and torque just by adding a few ounce of it to you motor oil. Now granted, there is no documented proof of this, nor is there any evidence that anybody has ever used it. I like the idea of this product because it's manufactured right in Grand Rapids, MI, but I know your thinking the same thing as me; this is a bunch of snake-oil-bullshit. Oh and did I forget to mention it costs $38 for 4 oz.?

Well due to the lack of real stats on the performance or RevX on the internet, my associate Josh and I did a little of our own research. As you are about to read, the results were nothing short of spectacular.

Our first test was adding 2oz to a Toro 6.5 horsepower lawnmower. Within seconds of firing it up, the machine began mowing the lawn completely on it's own. We just sat back and watched the show. Needless to say, we were blown away. So we decided to add 4 ounces to the oil in a four-wheeler. Goddamn if right before our eyes, that Yamaha four-wheeler didn't instantly transform in to a five-wheeler! What, you may ask, is the advantage of five versus four wheels? Don't be a retard. It's obviously one better. 25% increase in wheel-having? Do the math, Einstein.

So we realized we needed to step up this experiment considerably. I had three 4oz. bottles of RevX left, so we picked up a Lamborghini Countach down at the Lamborghini store and poured the rest of our stash into the engine oil. Josh was navigating, and had to get home to Muskegon to put his roommates to bed, so he directed me to head down I-96 West. I'll tell you what, we weren't on the road long before we realized we had actually left the road and we were fucking flying! Josh was all like, "I wish surfer dude could see me now! She'd flip her lid, man!" I was just trying to reach my Joe Satriani cd to listen to on our way to the moon.

About fourteen minutes later we arrived at the moon and parked near the Sea of Tranquility to gather our thoughts and figure out a game plan of what to do next. I looked over at Josh only to see him with a big old shit-eating grin on his face. I was all like, "What the fuck are you grinnin' at, dude?" Then he reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out---you guessed it--one last bottle of REVX!!!

We dumped that shit in and took off and you won't even believe where we went next. We actually flew up to the moon's moon. The MOON'S MOON! The fuckin' Moon has a fuckin' moon! I always knew that moon was a sneaky cocksucker.

So RevX is totally the dope shit. Come out and buy some from me. $38 for four ounces. 16 ounces will get you to the Moon's moon, as long as you've got a Countach. Maybe I'll let you borrow mine, for a price. I accept handjobs and Springsteen bootlegs, mainly, but everything's negotiable.

Peace out

Adam

Writers' Block for dummies.

And at the end of three days, he awoke. The dream was over, the sweating, the shaking. The euphoria and bliss gone right along with the fear and pain. Who's to say if any souls were saved, after only three days, in that sweet hellish place. The sulfurous fires of heaven cast such an unnerving glow across the gates that seal you in. But now he's returned, returned to this place, to live out his days, through the blacks and the grays, in this comfortable malaise, that we call eternity. It was only a dream. Goddamnit, it was only a dream.

A Slight Departure

I dreamed I was far away, south, away from everything. I dreamed that along an old county road I came upon a magnificent magnolia tree, it's full blossoms exploding like the fourth of July. That is all. The dream didn't need a resolution, it was perfect in it's simplicity. There I was, basking in the brilliant shade of this timeless moment.

Now I look to a time, at the end of this road, when we meet again, for the thousandth time, still feeling like the first. And I will reach into that dream, and I will draw forth a single, lovely flower, and it will be our compass to guide us down paths untraveled, and we will know when we reach our destination by the long-grown shadows embracing us like a home.

And this evening can last forever, if only we allow it, if only we accept that this is real, that the fine line between asleep and awake, between dream and reality, is the road we were meant to be on. We never need to fall asleep again, we never have to wake up from this dream.


ACR

It's a Hard-Knock-Life

Whoa. Holy Shit. I just watched a whimsical little movie called "Annie" and it really blew my mind. I know I saw this flick when I was a little kid, but I think I missed all the true brilliance of it back then. For those of you who haven't seen this delightful little treasure, it's about a tough little super-posi red-afroed freckly orphan who gets adopted by a Rockefeller-type billionaire to improve his public image. He's a little rough on the outside, but could not help but to fall in love with that rambunctious little scamp. Great cast includes Tim Curry, Madeleine Kahn, and Albert Finney as the aforementioned tycoon. You can't go wrong.
Anyways, what I always failed to realize as a child was the fact that much of this beloved Cinderella story was just a bunch of loosely veiled Socialist propaganda. FDR's New Deal, the cold unfeelingness of capitalists, etc. I don't know, maybe it's just me. Also, the rich guy has a butler named Punjab who is amazing. They dress him like some sort of Maharaja, but make him do strange Egyptian-like dances, and he is always spouting the wisdom of Buddha. Talk about mixing up your stereotypes. I'm into it. I'm pretty sure he would have been giving Annie karate lessons, too, if he didn't already own a Chinese man to do that. I don't remember if the Indian or Chinaman piloted the autocopter, but he had one of those, too.
The jist is, this movie has everything. And it's a musical, so I fucking love it. That's right I'm a straight man and I love musicals. Andrew Lloyd Webber rules. Fuck off.


I got promoted to the next phase of probation this morning. I think the Judge likes me. I am pretty fucking adorable. Now I have to piss in a cup before work a little bit less often than before, so I guess that's pretty awesome.


Hmmm.... What else? I'm slowly getting some more work done on the Telecaster that I'm building. Pretty stoked about finishing up a new axe to jam on and melt faces off. Been writing a lot of lyrics lately, need to write some tasty riffs to go with them now. I wanna start a 3-piece punk rock group. I've been talking to a few people about joining me in this endeavor. We'll see what happens. I think I wanna play bass, too. It's been awhile.


Well, I don't think I'm particularly pissed off at anybody specific right now, so no rants... Wait. Just one. My friend's roommate who is a total piece of shit already brought it to a whole new level this week. He already owed her money for bailing his ass out on a bunch of utility bills, and now he is going to court for driving a car with no insurance, and like a ten fucking year old license plate. Oh yeah and he is a truck driver for a living. How can one person be so goddamned stupid. I can't believe he remembers to fucking breathe. I hope he reads this. Wake the fuck up, dude. You are a fucking moron. Snap out of it! Jesus. OK, that's done. Goodnight.


Love Adam
xoxoxoxoxo


p.s. The new Young Livers album kicks ass. Go buy it.

Is anyone else tired of whites?

I haven't written in a little while. I don't think it really matters, either. The five of you that read this probably talk to me everyday anyways, so you don't need to read it. Anyhow, getting back to it, I noticed last night that local white college-looking kids are starting to take on stereotypically urban (black) behavioral patterns. I suppose this has been happening for awhile, what with the bad gangsta rap blaring out of shitty car stereos, and hip hop attire(I dig gangsta rap and hip hop attire, but c'mon, you know what I'm talking about). But last night I noticed the classic walk-in-front-of-a-passing-car-very-slowly-and-glare-like-you-belong-in-the-middle-of-the-road move being practiced by all the twenty-something drunk white kids and got kind of pissed. Anybody else notice a spike in this activity? No? Fuck it, I don't want to come off sounding like a Mel Gibson-assed hate monger so I'll move on to other subjects. I think I just hate everybody younger than me now that I've quit drinking. Fucking arrogant pricks with their beer bongs and cross-culture meanderings. I think I might just be jealous. Fuck.


So my friend still isn't over his chick that dumped him and it's beginning to piss me off. I'm sober, impatient, and already kind of an asshole, so this mopey sad bastard shit has me at my wits' end. There I go again. Ok, posi, posi, posi. (Deep breaths) What is good?


Oh, hell yeah! The new Coliseum record is pretty tits. Same goes for the new Crooked Fingers ep (kinda sad bastard, but still kick-ass. It's got a Thin Lizzy cover). I started making mix tapes this past week for a handful of people, that will be mailed out whenever the fuck I remember to send them and feel like that is a priority. An awesome friend out of town has been sweet and we talk on the phone and mail things and I guess I'm pretty stoked about having a pen pal even if I would prefer being much closer and having the option of naked roll-arounds with her. All in due time, I suppose.


I got nothing. I wanna go ride bikes. I'm gonna go make that happen. If you read this shit, tell your friends about it. I would feel like writing a lot more if I knew a shit-ton of people were soaking it all in and judging me everyday. I love those of you who I love, and the others can fucking die. Listen to Pantera when you're sad. It works. IT FUCKING WORKS!


Love Adam

suck it

Whoa yayugh!

It's Saturday night. I went to Juke's to see my friend Lucy's band play. They were good. Then came Squints. They were pretty fuckin rad. good sing-a-long punk rock, no bullshit. Then cam the crown fucking jewel. I already forgot the name of the abomination that took place after squints, but it was really just something else. Within seconds of the Buck Cherry meets Load-era Metallica riffs the front of the house was flooded with ugly little troll-like super tan bitches shaking their asses of and singing along like it was some sort of fucking Nicklelback concert. I almost thought I was going to start drinking again. It was atrocious. I don't feel like I need to get into too many details about it, just let it be said that I will always be blown away by aweful, shitty bands having the power to totally enthrall fucking idiot girls.

Let me preface this next little bit by saying that I by no means have any sort of blanket hatred for females; i.e. I don't blame them for all the worlds problems, or think they are all just mindless fucking/shopping machines. That being said, I think some women/girls are just mindless fucking/shopping machines. And they all like Nickelback and Puddle of Mudd (sp?) and there were a whole slew of them at Juke's tonight that must have been hiding in the shadows until this fucking abortion took the stage. Then it-was-ON. Fuck. I don't even know where I'm going with this. Or know if anybody will read it. Whatever.

Hey John Timmermans thank you for looking at my blog, and you should totally buy that CB350. See you Saturday at Mulligan's? Peace out. I'm going to bed and listening to Bruce Springsteen to repair the damage my soul took while hearing that fucking Affliction commercial at the bar tonight. Don't let me down, Boss.

xoxoxoxoxadam

Shakin' it off

Some day off. I didn't do shit today. I'm okay with it. Moving on with my life...FUCK! Seriously, Twilight? You couldn't just throw in some titties for the guys like me who saw your movie for reasons other than wanting to? One fucking tit?

Moving on, some asshole started writing a bunch of shit about me and my band today. Shit like that really gets to me. It wasn't a review, or constructive criticism, just straight shit-talk. I know things like that shouldn't bother me, normally I'm pretty thick skinned, but I was PISSED. This motherfucker is going to make fun of MY voice and MY songs? Here's the thing; if you can't do something, whatever, you don't matter. But if you claim to be an "artist" or singer* or whatever, you better be doing something pretty god-damned amazing to talk shit to a group of people who are out writing and recording and performing music simply for the love of it. So when this has-been washed-out pillow fucker comes out and says My shit is no good and I'm a hack, my blood just BOILS, man. Whatever, he probably fucked his dead grandparents, and now to bury his guilt he slams the people in this city who still have something to offer. Fucking creep.

OK. Just had to get that out. I'm good now. I'm gonna take my "narrow, small minded musical tastes" (metal) and go play some Crooked Fingers records before I go to bed. Yeah, mellow.

Love Adam

*I fucking hate it when rock singers refer to themselves as artists.

Which one is Zac Efron?

So let's just get this shit right out in the open. Last night I went and saw the new Twilight movie. I know, I know, I'm a big pussy, yada, yada. Fuck It. I had a good reason for seeing it, but I'm not going to explain it or make excuses. I'm a thirty-goddamned-year-old man. I can do whatever the fuck I want to and I will.

That being said, this was one of the worst fucking things I have ever seen on the silver screen. I'm talking Weekend at Bernie's 2 bad. Little Monsters bad. It was like Saved by the Bell and 90210 had a baby and only let it listen to Bauhaus. Jesus, it was dumb. The whole movie, from what I could tell, was about whether the Jennifer Love-Hewitt-looking chick would decide to go steady with A.C. Slater or Zak Morris (Kelly choosing between Brandon an Dylan?). Here's the crazy twist, though. Instead of a wrestler, Slater is a huge dog. And instead of a Smart-aleky dreamboat, Zak is undead and made out of porcelain. God, what a clusterfuck, right?

But it gets better. The chick from the Sixth Sense (also the 11 year old chick who gets raped in a movie about Elvis (Presley, not Costello)) plays the leader of a group of D&D kids who like killing baby vampires. How is this shit so popular? There's not even any sex, or tits, of even blood. Because porcelain doesn't bleed, it just breaks, like a toilet bowl on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine.

Did I mention that for such a hugely popular movie, the CGI, camera work, and acting were all atrocious? It takes place by Seattle and doesn't even have a Tad song in the soundtrack. I don't know. Obvious lost cross-promotional opportunity? Have Vampire Weekend do the soundtrack and score. I haven't heard that band, but I know all the trendy hipster art-fags seem to like 'em a lot. So there you go.

Ok. I guess that's enough about that. Hmmm, what else? Rehearsals for the 70s tribute show at Billy's on July 15 went well tonight. It should be a lot of fun. Robert Plant has a really high voice, but I think I just need to get tighter jeans and everything will work out. I have been playing the shit out of my guitar lately and it feels good. Work is relentless, but who the fuck else cares about that? With all this cinematic whimsy about, who has time to worry about responsibility? Not me. I do what I want. I want to BLOG apparently. Some things in my life make me incredibly happy right now and I will not be brought down by the things that don't. I will smash adversity like a ceramic blood sucker!

Well, fuck me. I did get something out of that movie after all.

Goodnight.

--A. C. Rossell

( no relation to A. C. Slater)

Celebrate Me!!!

Well, the goals that I set forth for myself for Independence day have been met. I'm pretty stoked about it, too. I wish I didn't have to work in the morning. Oh well. Heard some new music I dug today. Forgot the name of the group, but I can catch up with that later.

Somebody brought over a bunch of tiny pitbull puppies. Then everybody turned into big baby-talking pussies for four hours. I think I might have, too. Fuck. Whatever.

Looking forward to tomorrow for more hanging out and who the fuck know what sort of shit may happen. I'm setting the bar pretty low by hoping for no more than watching This is Spinal Tap with a good friend who somehow has gone 28 years without seeing it.

That's all for now. Sleep time.

The Radio Is Garbage

This is my first Blog. No shit, right? Well, I have not been sleeping lately, and that has afforded me a lot of long thinkin' nights, nights in which I have no one to bitch to about random things. So begins SpaceJawsofDoom. If anybody ever reads this, feel free to give me feedback, share opinions, or just generally tell me to fuck off.

So I hear the radio all day at my job and it's just plain torture. That's all it is. I doesn't matter what station, because it is all just pure horse-shit. Once and a while I'll geet lucky and hear a Thin Lizzy jam if it's classic rock station day, or something, but usually it's "new" rock, i.e. Nickelback, Disturbed, etc. Oh and then there's "country music" days where we're all subjected to a bunch of thirty-something failed boy bands donning tight affliction-style cowboy outfits and adding a fiddle to there band and calling it country. Listen, if eat some astronaut ice cream, I don't go around telling everyone that I'm BuzzfuckingAldrin, so get off your horses, you fake cowboy fucks. Anyways, it's all just really bad. All these bands do anymore is shitty, nasal covers of once bad-ass rock tunes. Land of Confusion? Check. Bad Company? Check. Simple Man? Shit! Check. Write a song, you assholes, and quit letting all the real bands do all the work.

So what do I do? I try to listen to Pandora. It's awesome, right? Free radio stations playing music that I want to hear, right? Nope. Because I'm pretty sure Alkaline Trio is owns Pandora. Either that or Matt is polishing those Pandora dudes' knobs pretty regularly. No matter what band I enter in to hear, I hear one song by said band and then always some crappy Alkaline Trio Song. OK, I get it. They had a couple rockin albums 12 years ago. But whether I'm listening Bruce Springsteen or Misfits channels, Alkaline-fuckin-Trio always rapes their way in to the set. Am I supposed to still love this band? Because I don't. I think they ran out of fuel in 1999. Whatever. I guess I just can't be pleased.

It's the 4th of July. I'm still on probation. YAY! I'm gonna try to get into some sort of body of water today. Hopefully make out with a chick, if possible. That's the kind of shit you're supposed to do on this glorious day, right? Well, I'm off to go buy swimmin' trunks. Hopefully someone reads this.