Collapsing Trust Funds

In the world of Spike Anderson, the piss jar is always half-full. Because I'm an optimist. Because I think my life is great. Because you are such a pile of shit by comparison. Fuck you!

Some people hate hipsters and do whatever they can to make sure they cut the drugs that they sell them with whatever was lying around the janitor's closet that I sleep in. But so what? You don't have to hate them, according to some fuck at the LA Weekly. Instead you can just...loathe them? despise them? What's another word for "kick their teeth in and steal their wallets?"

In the spirit of all of the ecstasy I choked down 4 minutes ago, here are some reasons to not hate hipsters:
1. ?
2. Their failures amuse me
3. Sometimes they actually come to shows and earn me my 850% cut.

Hey, number 3 ain't exactly going to fly what with Spaceland being sold off and all of LA's venues closing down. Hypothetical question for you: where are hipsters supposed to go when they're done eating their fair trade vegan bullshit? A shitty venue to see the next Shiloe-level catastrophe stand motionless on stage and stare at their equally motionless, shit-brained audience. The mass failure to do even that shows you that the poser level has hit "Ken Ramos" and keeps climbing.

As far as social movements go, the hipsters have really done a good job of killing good taste. The hippies had good music, the punks had good music, whatever the fuck people keep calling "grunge" was pretty decent...and now we're all stuck with Cobra Starship and the immense sense that nothing worthwhile is being said or played anywhere inside this country. That's why people hate fucking hipsters: BECAUSE WE NEED TO MOVE ON AND LOOK FOR SOMETHING NEW THAT'S WORTHWHILE.

"blind acceptance is a sign
of stupid fools who stand in line"
- John Lydon

Chasing Jimmy Paycheck

Let's face it, this country is full of hypocrites. When I show up at Costco on a Monday night and start passing out my own "samples", I always end up in the basement of some jail in Hawthorne. But when some fuck in Glendale starts shuffling his goods outside of The Smell on a Thursday night, he gets a full page spread in the Huffington Post.

Notice something about the kid smoking horse in the article?

Turns out he's a fuckin' hipster in yet another shitty obscure band t-shirt. Best free marketing the "League Champs" ever got. If you're reading this, League Champs, hire me as your manager and you'll have all these goddamned hipsters smoking skag like it was their boyfriend's pole.

I know how it is--it takes crazy things these days to get people to come to your gigs. You gotta get creative. Some people pass out heroin, others just take a shit in your car:

"When driving down Florence and Normandie, be wary of a man in a green suit and purple bow tie, sitting on what looks like an old leather trumpet case. He usually sits at the SE corner. When you pull up with your windows down he will come up to your car, pull his pants down, put his butt in your car through your side window, and take a dump in your car. I take the same street to work every day for the last seven years. I've seen this guy, who i call "El Dumpo Fiasco", do it about four times a year. I once saw him take a dump in this lady's escalade. He had to step on the side steps of the SUV. It was a monster dump. I could see it from behind the escalade, it came out looking like a burned sausage. The lady got so pissed she jumped out of her escalade and attacked the guy. The guy ran off yelling something like "Stay up Cain!!!". It was crazy. Weird thing is, he always targets white cars. Just make sure to put your windows up if you see the guy in a green suit and purple bow tie."

Music File Download for X-Mas

As you might have figured out by now, if you read the title and came here expecting music, you're a lemming who needs to be shown how to think for yourself (you can remove that Pitchfork.com bookmark from your shit folder, by the way). On one hand, it's a cruel trick. On the other hand, fuck you!

So here's how to live your miserable life--Step One: listen to fucking Bill Maher

I threw the first punch in Arizona

Preach on.....to the choir. Normally, I wouldn't go to Jello Biafra for some intelligent thought...(hey this is the man who thought a space punk version of "Moon Over Marin" was a good idea)...but this microdot gobbler actually has a coherent conversation with at least 5 or 6 concertgoers. This issue is extremely important as Spike Anderson, Esquire, has been threatened with legal action by the Culver City Library for my blogspot media empire. Of course it has nothing to do with my blog but rather I was caught sticking my johnson into the hard drive. But it wasn't my fault, why can't they make my mescaline a little less pure?!?

On A Side Note: It has been reported that after Biafra's grandstanding, the crowd injected paste, rubbed their crotches together, and drove home on their vespas.

In case you forgot Freedom ain't Free

Or at least that's what Julian Assange would be telling you...if he were allowed to but the judge denied him bail. That's good thinkin' Tex we can't let this little scumbag sandbag us. We also don't need more reasons to hate Hilary Clinton. We DO need more of Joe Lieberman making himself look like an asshole, that's pretty fucking funny. But, lets just get to the heart of this Julian...its all over for you. There are only two likely scenerios for your eventual daily beating and golden shower from your cellmate boyfriend Bubba. One way it could play out is that you have called the US Government out(rightfully) and will now see them seek unbelievable vengence on you because, well, they're pretty much run by the Mafia. The other way it'll go would be a little more interesting--you don't die(yet) and you become the next Alex Jones a cog in the disinformation campaign. At that point once you are no use to them they "let you go." If there is any justice, Julian, before you go down you take as many of these pig fuckers with you as possible. Good luck, did you sell my tickets to the Roxy yet?? I need the money by Friday. Fuck, where am I?! Jesus, the come down on this laundry detergent is a bitch....


your pal,

Spike

Target: the new Ameoba Records

If there were any justice in the world the only singing these fuckers would be doing is thru a Del Taco intercom asking what kind of sauce you want on your macho burrito or letting you know what time "Sparkles" will be hitting the stage at Jumbo's Clown Room.
Well you know...injecting coke into your ironic neck tattoo doesn't pay for itself! So when the funds are low and you're tired of banging the slump busters at Spaceland....release a fucking christmas album for.......TARGET!!!!!! Thats right, Target commercials aren't for rubbing one out to Zoey Daschanel and her autotuned crap ass anymore. "Hey we are the Wavves and we make horrible ear raping music for people who like to buy shitty Korean electronics at a premium price." At least you can make a bong out of the TV when it dies in 4 months (you know....conveniently after the 90 day warranty expires) which is more than I can say for a shitty Wavves seasonal song. Ever had your ass and ears raped at the same time? Well now you can because this questionable Wavves "song" is a collaborative effort with Best Coast. This is where you chug a bottle of industrial cleaner and ram poppers into your nostrils because death will come much faster. Listening to this shit excuse for a song will only prolong the pain. But hey, if that's your thing then download the song and I'll point you in the direction of a great Dominatrix from the classifieds of the LA Xpress.

Jerry's Deli, They'll Fucking Give you Hepititis.

These are the times that try men's souls...good thing I don't have one....what with all the forced penetration, urine hoarding, and he-she rendezvous. But times are lean and I've resorted to snorting the last traces of Ludmila's personal stash of smuggled butt hash off of my limp johnson. Oh, I didn't tell you? I'm married...or was married...yeah, she's Russian, she's called Ludmila, and she came in the mail.

Ludmilla, the busted cherry of my eye.

It's amazing what an Eastern Bloc chick will do when you give her some back alley dental work and an Iron Maiden mix tape. Shhh.....its not really Iron Maiden - just some shit grind band from Pico Rivera. But yeah, I traded her to Sergie for a handful of raver drugs but that shit only lasted the bus ride to the blood bank. No complaints, I got 10 bucks for some plasma and a full release from all the needle play in the lobby. But that only got me as far as the liquor store for a bottle of Cobra.

But, back to my point....actually I don't have a point..well besides the one I used to bust some trust-fund cherries in the Amoeba Records parking structure. Yep, I hate to admit it but I had to get a job. Wait, no...a real job...one that doesn't involve exploiting your band & your trust fund or blowing CEO's in the back alley behind Tribal Cafe. So naturally I applied to the first and ONLY roach infested restaurant that would let me bathe in their kitchen sink and give a skag-haggler like me a job - fuckin' Jerry's Deli. You know, its amazing what Javier, the head "chef", will let you do in the meat freezer for a tube sock and a half full can of spray paint. FUCKING SANDWICHES!!1 I don't know what got into me. There I was - Shitloe started playing on KXLU, I had just slammed a fist full of Fontana biker dope, and I found myself geeking out over the pig meat. My shit-fondling boss was yapping about the finer points of prosciutto and how it's not safe to cook pcp by the propane tanks and next thing I know I'm involved in some sweet horizontal action with the ciabatta rolls. The mustard ended up down my pants and I deposited whats left of my sperm count on the pastrami.

I must have passed out because the next thing I know I woke up next to a poodle carcass in a Norm's dumpster. Anyway, long story short...if you ate or touched anything...and I stress ANYTHING from Jerry's Deli in Westwood, congratulations....you have a nasty skid row leper strain of Hepatitis. Its not Hep C so it'll only destroy your craving for one of Jerry's dumpster reserve sandwiches, not your liver.