Its 8:52 am and I’m on a train heading to Savannah and I’m sipping on my second vodka and orange juice(that’s a Screwdriver for all of you dry folks out there). You might be asking yourself “Why is he drinking so early in the day?”. If you are asking that question, you have never taken a long train ride with members of the American public. Amazingly enough and contrary to what some might say, I do not have a problem with alcohol. What I do have a problem with is inconsiderate assholes that feel the need to talk on their cell phones at outrageously loud volumes starting somewhere in the area of 6am. First of all, what useless shit bag friend of yours is awake and looking to have a meaningless conversation with you at that hour of the day? I’ve listened to your conversation(because I had no other choice) and you aren’t saying anything. You are only on the phone because you have some sick need to hear the sound of your own voice. Seriously. Do you realize that 85% of the other passengers in the car a trying to sleep? Do you even give a shit? I’m gonna go with no, you don’t. As with most selfish fucktards, you don’t think that anyone else exits in the world and you regularly masturbate to pictures of yourself when pictures of that girl from “Blossom” are not readily available. Go fuck yourself. Elsewhere preferably.
The next time you are in transit and witness something similar, I encourage you to enact revenge on these mindless, heartless shit stains by any means necessary. I started recording them for my podcast. I also plan on snoring the second that I see one of them trying to catch a little shut eye. Feel free to take this to any level you wish, within reason. Drop used tissues on them, break some nice wind directly in front of them, jam their cellphones(if you have the technology), etc. This epidemic must end! Do what you have to do. In the words of Helen Slater in the 1980’s masterpiece “The Legend of Billie Jean”, “Fair is fair!”. Now go fuck em up.
With the glorious season of cheer and giving upon us, I’m taking some time to reflect on the past year. There were moments of joy, pain, laughter, lust, but what does it all mean? Last new years eve I had a bit of an epiphany. I was in Denver at what was to become the final live performance of the band Ween. I had taken, to quote my hero Bill Hicks, a heroic dose of Psilocybic mushrooms. Somewhere about 2 and a half hours into me lopping up the brain candy, I had a moment of clarity. I realized that 2011 was the worst year of my life and most of that was due to me feeling sorry for myself. I had spent virtually the entire year grieving over a failed relationship and the loss of my band that I had spent years dedicating my life to. That’s a tough thing for anyone to deal with because, essentially, I had been dumped twice. The lady was, or so I thought, all that I had ever looked for. Let me state that I don’t throw that shit around all willy-nilly either. This one felt different. The band was exactly what I wanted to be doing musically forever. I had never been prouder of anything I had ever been a part of…but it was gone. So as I sat their and watched a band that had helped me through the entire decade of my 20’s and also had a profound impact on my musical exploration, I finally hit the point of no return. As the psilocybe pony galloped through my temporal lobe, I was overcome with a feeling of joy. This was going to be a transitional year. I needed to stop acting like a fucktard and get my shit together.
I’d always felt an overwhelming sense of togetherness with everyone and everything. I don’t mean that in some patchouli stink crystal wearing witch kind of a way. Everything has always seemed interconnected. The more I have explored the universe, as well as myself via a healthy chemical intake, this feels more and more correct. Now I could have just started another band and tried to get all of this out of myself that way, but I had done that before. I needed something new. When my friend/WBUT producer Eric mentioned podcasting, I’d shrugged it off initially. Who the fuck would want to listen to me trying to work my shit out? However, once it started, I realized that it had little to do with that and everything to do with everyone working their shit out. Which is something that we as a culture, fail to do all to often.
That is how this whole What Brings us Together (I like to call it WBUT) podblogcast came to fruition. It’s taken a year of me doing a healthy amount of soul searching, traveling, brain expansion and masturbating furiously, to get here. I hope that you enjoy it as much as I have. It’s still only in its infancy, but it’s sure to be interesting. I’m going to shut the fuck up now because this is starting to read like a pamphlet on faggotry.