PROFESSIONAL DICK HUNTERS
Aqua Teen Hunger Force
8/10
by Tara Sullivan
The bizarre and sometimes shocking cartoon Aqua Teen Hunger Force premiered on the Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim back in 2000. It’s been somewhat of a cult classic ever since, spawning millions of die-hard fans. Frylock, Master Shake, and Meatwad references have even made appearances in shows like The Sopranos, CSI, and Sportscenter. People make Halloween costumes emulating the characters. The Mooninite’s line, “I’m doing it as hard as I can,” is the show’s ubiquitous catchphrase. Aqua Teen is everywhere, and by the looks of the latest episodes, it’s not losing any steam.
If you’re not familiar with Aqua Teen Hunger Force by now, the show’s bend on life in New Jersey will be shocking. The show draws most of its humor from the cavalcade of weird guest characters, including grease-ball neighbor Carl, alien frat brothers, a demon sandwich, underground hip-hop cattle, killer brownies, and Willie Nelson, a friendly but bloodthirsty spider-shaped monster, to name but a few.
The much anticipated fourth season begins by introducing even more colorful creatures: Wong Burger and his energetic troupe of Asian dick. This episode is aptly named “Dickesode” and takes full advantage of its namesake. The word “dick” is gratuitously uttered 53 times, and 4,337 cartoon phalluses had to be edited out by masking them in rainbow colors. Although South Park already utilized an overuse of a vulgar word when they said “shit” 162 times, Aqua Teen somehow tops it—and in half the time. Try and listen to the line, “You can’t just run around ripping off people’s dicks to make a giant dickship,” and keep a straight face. And did I mention Wong Burger is a six-foot tall, alarmingly anatomically correct giant penis?
In the second episode of the new season, Meatwad wants a dog. Instead of buying or adopting one, they decide to go next door to Carl’s pool for some genetic engineering. Moments later, Meatwad christens the giant yellow glove-dog hybrid arising from the toxic water as “Hand Banana.” The rest of the episode revolves around Carl being anally raped by this crime against nature. Rape is no laughing mater, but the taunts of, “No, no. I mean that ass. Back it up,” from Hand Banana to a full-grown man come off as hilarious.
Season Four is pumping out some funny stuff. The writers seem to be abandoning the gore of Season Two for sight gags and witty one-liners. Let’s just hope they keep it up. No dick pun intended.
IT’S ALL ABOUT THE VARIETY, GUYS
Variations Body Massager
9/10
by Elina Vaysbeyn
In life, there are two different kinds of people; those who get off and those who don’t. Don’t get me wrong, we all love it, but some of us just need an extra push to go the whole mile. Fortunately, I got pushed pretty hard this weekend.
Variations Body Massager, sold at Spencer’s, caught my eye with its obvious desire to please. Dark aquamarine in color with a screw-on top (no pun intended) and a shiny exterior, it drew me in like bait. Just like any other thrifty person, I decided to shop around. I looked at other brands and prices and Variations proved the cheapest, which earns some definite points in my book. At the reasonable price of $19.99, I could get the long blue shaft with four different and unique massaging attachments. And guess what—I did!
I went home with my new prized possession, eager to spend some quality time with Deep Blue (that’s what I named it due to its ocean-esque appearance). Before we got into anything serious though, I wanted to get to know my rigid little partner. I took a look at the different massagers, deciding which one I wanted to start out with. To clear things up, I should note that there is one actual massager which attaches to the shaft and is not meant for masturbatory purposes (unless I’ve been missing out on some crazy shit). It consists of four ribbed wheels placed on opposite sides of the shaft, which turn as you roll them across any part of the body. The other three “massagers” resemble lewd parts of the body. There was a spade-shaped piece, a thick hook-like attachment, and a strange screw-on ball whose only explanation could be for the use of “butt-hole pleasures.”
In addition, Variations also comes with different speed settings. A rolling speed dial allows you to experience light soothing waves of pleasure or, if you dare, a more dangerous and exciting ride. The lubricant that came with it, labeled “Climax H2O,” is odorless, and works well enough to turn your bed into a slip n’ slide, so use this product with caution.
I have always been a skeptic about personal toys because, no matter how you slice it, it ain’t the real thang, baby. However, Variations has shown me the error of my ways. A vibrator is a great substitute, and there’s no premature ejaculator attached to the other end of that thing, so go on ladies (or gentlemen), and have a taste. In the words of The Monkees, “Now I’m a believer / not a trace / of doubt in my mind / I’m in love / I’m a believer.”
WHERE THE SUN DON’T SHINE
The Sundowner
7/10
by Jason A. Bocko
Since childhood, I was told that if I didn’t do my homework, I would end up in a strip club. On this past Monday, after failing to do my homework, I found some truth in this threat. To be honest, it wasn’t half bad. Canada, which some of you know as “the other America,” is a northern paradise—full-nudes at strip clubs and beer when you’re 19.
The Sundowner, a strip club located slightly outside of the touristy area of Niagara Falls, Canada, is the perfect place to spend a Monday night. Sure, it’s sleazy and will leave you feeling unclean for a few days, but I’ve gotten that same feeling in Lockwood. The strip joint, which to remain completely politically correct is a “gentlemen’s club” (although I didn’t see a single fellow with a monocle or a copy of The New Yorker), is a large building, brightly lit, and conveniently located between other strip clubs. Inside, you will find art-deco motifs and blacklights—the perfect melding of class with smut.
As everyone knows, a strip club is much more than location and cheap décor. The main attraction is usually the strippers. After spending two semesters as an art history major, one would think I’d be desensitized to a nude female. One would be wrong.
The strippers that night ranged from busty blondes to busty blondes with glasses. Their dancing—a term I use quite loosely—varied greatly between lackluster and over the top. Someone should have given the girls a lesson on subtlety. My personal favorite dance was from the stripper who gave a rather uninspired performance to Madonna’s “Hung Up.” Her dance involved moving her hands and occasionally shaking her hips as she removed an article of clothing—the whole time she stared despondently into the distance. Some fat guy eventually gave her money to rub her breasts on his face.
The personal attention I received at the strip club was remarkable. In the course of a little more than an hour, I was propositioned no less than four times by as many strippers. The first two were not even noteworthy, but the last two made the trip worth it. One was a fake redheaded woman. Her accent was either French-Canadian or caused by extreme intoxication or a small stroke. This woman, whose face had about 30 years on her breasts, insisted I give her money for her to take off her clothes and rub herself on me. The one after her, dressed as a cop, was surprisingly the only one wearing a costume. I guess depravity knows no holidays. She offered to handcuff me as she put her hand on the inside of my thigh, which I quickly removed. Also, she had a nightstick in case I’d been a bad boy. Now, I could get abused for free at the hands of a real cop. Sure, she wouldn’t be wearing short shorts, but I would save $15, which I could spend on the overpriced flat beer.
In all, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a Monday night. Sure, the strippers had no concept of personal space or subtlety in art, but you could pay them to get naked and touch themselves. If you’re looking for a place where the beer is flat but the women aren’t, let me suggest a trip to the Sundowner.
NOTHING, YOU SAY?
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Cleveland, OH; 10-31-2k6
9/10
by Jack Niejadlik
Following the release of the double-disc album Stadium Arcadium last spring, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have been on an international tour. They dropped by Cleveland, Ohio’s Quicken Loans Arena to rock a full house on Halloween night. Their performance can only be described as a memorable and stunning display of visual and audible euphoria.
The show kicked off with all four Peppers coming on stage in costume. Anthony was a masked, Mexican-style wrestler, John Frusciante donned a ‘80s guy costume, and their drummer, Chad Smith, came onstage as Ricky Bobby. Decked out in a white Wonder Bread racing outfit, the Will Ferrel/Ricky Bobby resemblance to Smith was remarkable. Disguised as a neon green and black witch, Flea performed the first two songs suspended from a harness, flying to and fro, bestowing the crowd with the kind of melodious magic that only the Chili Peppers could conjure up.
The stage itself was something to marvel at. Spanning the entire show was an illuminated backdrop of visualization. Imagine a set of white window blinds, except massive in size, with every other blind missing. Now imagine that the blinds are actually long, thin LCD screens capable of projecting images and funky color patterns. The dazzling lighting effects were also polished off by the eight individually operated spotlights, manned by crew members seated high above the stage during the entire concert.
From start to finish, the band performed a set that spanned their entire career, highlighting most of their greatest songs and showcasing their latest album, a sound that hearkens back to the Chili Peppers of old. Throwbacks like “Scar Tissue,” “Californication,” and “Give it Away Now,” were well-timed between newer tracks and mini jam sessions. During the intense performance of “Throw Away Your Television,” the monstrous display screens lit up with stock footage of war, news reports, and clips of President Bush.
The only real downside to the show was, obviously, that a craving for Chili Peppers is truly hard to satisfy. The crowd was treated to a long, continuous set of old classics and new hits, but absent from the set list were some of the better tracks off By The Way, an album often eclipsed by Californication, and even more noticeably, the title track from Stadium Arcadium. Regardless, the Chili Peppers have been consistently delivering the goods non-stop for decades, and with their Cleveland performance and sales of Stadium in mind, it doesn’t look like the Chili train will be losing steam any time soon.
DISCO ME, DISCO YOU
Disco Biscuits Interview
by Daniele Hauptman
I recently had a phone interview with Jon Gutwillig, lead singer and guitarist for The Disco Biscuits. I had planned to ask poignant philosophical and music-related questions, but instead it turned into an interesting dialogue. Jon, 32, said, “I prefer normal conversations to interviews, ‘cause that’s how you get to know people.” Despite being a big-shot musician, he’s got personality and seems genuinely interested in getting to know a variety of individuals. He answered my questions with other questions, and dispensed his life experiences freely.
Generation: How would you describe your style to people who have never heard your music?
Jon: Cutting-edge improv dance music.
G: Where did the name “The Disco Biscuits” come from?
J: It’s just a cool phrase that was getting kicked around for fun when we were kids. We took it as a band name, but we didn’t think we’d be using it as much as we do. We were trying to think of a band name, and we were in a car while party-hopping on the Jersey Shore, and someone yelled it out.
G: What did your parents say when you told them you were going to be a musician?
J: They weren’t that into it. They came to the first couple shows, and there was nobody at the first couple shows. They were never that happy about it. I don’t know why that was. My parents were never really that concerned with how I got through the day, anyway. I kind of raised myself. They were supportive, they just didn’t care that much until it looked like I would end up in a box with no teeth. Dentistry is very important to parents.
G: When you were in U Penn, your nickname was “The Barber.” What’s the reason behind this?
J: There are so many reasons. What’s your nickname? When I went to Ecuador, they called me the transparent one, cause I was so freakin’ pale. I’m a tall transparent white guy. I walked around and got to know everyone. Then they told me they had a nickname for me, ‘cause they all thought I was French because I spoke Spanish with a heavy French accent. My nickname was, “The Transparent One” in Spanish—“El Tremoso,” or something like that. Whenever I’d walk down the street, the people in the village would yell it out.
G: Have you ever made up nicknames for people without them knowing?
J: (Laughing) I spend most of my time doing that.
G: Generation is known for its blunt reviews and its positive stance on blunt-smoking. So, if I were to give you a blunt, and you had no choice but to name it, what would you name it?
J: I would name it “The Shakerdoodle Special.” ‘Cause, isn’t that what the weed up here is called? I was in Ithaca last night…So, you guys really like smoking blunts? Have you heard of these new cornmeal papers? They’re clear. You should check them out. They’re called Aleda. They’re better for you or something, melts in your mouth not in your hands. But I don’t smoke weed.
G: Really?
J: I don’t have any absolutes in life. There are things that I don’t do, but sometimes I do. If I end up in Jamaica, of course I’m gonna end up smoking a lot of weed. If I were to go to the Queen’s palace in England, I’d bust out the wine. I don’t do anything every single day except drink tea.
G: What is your favorite saying?
J: I don’t have a favorite saying. If someone asks if I smoke pot, I love to say, “Me and pot aren’t hanging out right now.” The other saying I like is, “Tell me, tell you.” It means, “of course.” If someone comes backstage and says, “You’re wearing a purple sweater,” you say, “Tell me, tell you.”
G: I heard you sometimes play your songs backwards in performance. Why?
J: It’s fun. It’s interesting and cool; everybody likes it. We do a lot of crazy improv stuff on a fairly regular basis that nobody ever gives us credit for, but that’s cool. Sometimes we play in whole different meters, all sorts of crazy stuff. We transition one song into another song, and that usually means we have to make a lot of crazy moves. We do a lot of straight up DJ-type of vibing. We get plenty of appreciations from our fans, though.
G: What made you decide to play music for a living, instead of going into a less risky profession?
J: I more got suckered into it. We made great music in college, we got this great record deal, went on tour, and five years went by. I don’t even know what the hell happened. I was walking around cities barefoot with a pen and paper trying to write my next songs. We were nuts—I got some great songs out of it. It was all good. That was life. I was totally normal until I was 22, but between 22 and 27, it was fuckin’ nutsville. You may end up in Cuba doing something crazy, who knows.
G: Do you have any weird fan stories?
J: Do you have any weird stalker stories? Yeah, I’ve got a stalker.
G: Just one?
J: One was enough for me. It was a friend of mine’s sister. She just was very crazy; I think she was on Lithium. There wasn’t much I could do about it.
G: What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?
J: Nobody ever gives me good advice, I only get bad advice, and then I either choose to follow it or not follow it. That’s the one thing in life that really sucks for me. I have very good instincts, but very bad advice being thrown at me all the time, and sometimes I do it, and it’s a bad idea. My engineering teacher told me to “keep it simple, stupid”—that’s probably the best advice I’ve gotten. My parents basically told me to raise myself. You do something and, the first time, you get the experience. The second time, you learn the lesson. You learn things by experience.
The Disco Biscuits will be in Buffalo this Thursday, November 9, at The Town Ballroom.
FRESH BAO
Bao
8/10
by Suzy Kim
Bao (which means bun or bread in Chinese) is an “International Bakery and Teahouse,” conveniently located about seven minutes from University at Buffalo North Campus between Sheridan Drive and Bailey Avenue. This Asian-inspired bakery offers its customers a large variety of teas, hot and cold drinks, and most importantly, fresh baked goods. I guess you can say that Bao is kind of like a non-corporate Starbucks, allowing customers to mix different flavors to satisfy their taste buds.
The first impression that I got when I walked into Bao was that it was very welcoming. The servers were friendly and warm and were willing to help me decide on a beverage that would best suit me. The bakery itself is not very up-to-date, but it has a pretty good bang for the buck. The pastry prices range from $0.65 to $1.49, which is way cheaper than what most other bakeries charge for their food. Hot drinks such as tea (including exotic teas), coffee, and hot cocoa range anywhere from $0.79 to $1.39, depending on the size. Cold drinks, including iced teas, iced coffee, bubble teas, and smoothies, are marked from $1.29 to $4.35.
Bao is most famous for their bubble teas, which can be served either creamy (with milk) or juicy (without milk). If you don’t know what bubble tea is, it is basically flavored sweetened tea with huge, black tapioca pearls which have a gummy bear-like consistency. I tried a creamy taro bubble tea, one of the best-selling drinks at Bao. The flavor itself is hard to describe and may be a cross between melon and strawberry. The best part of the bubble tea was, of course, the tapioca balls. They were so much fun to play with even though I almost choked on a few of them. So, just as a warning, don’t drink it too fast.
Since my friend offered to drive me to Bao, I offered to pay him compensation by buying him a bunch of pastries. Most of Bao’s pastries are filled with either meat or sweet paste. We tested out BBQ roast pork, ham and cheese, sweet egg custard tart, and hot dog bao. Out of the four, the hot dog and sweet egg custard cart were my favorites, and BBQ roast pork was on top of my friend’s list. Bao offers other flavors such as cookie crusted, coconut custard, red bean paste, tuna melt, and teriyaki chicken bao.
Bao is a pretty chill place to visit just to relax and have some real cheap food. The only thing is that they only take cash. So be prepared to go there with some raw money or you won’t get anything from them. Their pastries are baked fresh daily, and they offer unique beverages that you probably won’t find anywhere else around Buffalo. They are open everyday except Tuesdays until about ten o’clock to midnight, depending on the day. So, go check them out if you get a late night craving.
THE NERO OF POP MUSIC HAS OFFICIALLY ARRIVED
Kevin Federline - Playing With Fire
0/10
by Erin McCarthy
God, this album is fucking awful. In sum, it is a narcissistic scheme that has plagiarized most of its tracks from samples of Snoop Dogg’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot.” I would have more thoroughly enjoyed slamming my head into a cement wall, quite frankly.
The best part of the album is the cover. Kevin Federline is hot. At one time, I would have loved to see what he looks like in his Calvins. But alas, those days are over, because he’s made an ass of himself with this pathetic excuse for an album. Models keep their pretty, little mouths shut. Unfortunately, K-Fed chose a profession where he’ll be running his mouth the length of an entire record contract.
“America’s Most Hated” is a perfect track to start ripping to shreds. By the way, all the other tracks are just like it, but with a different title. Kevin isn’t America’s most hated because he popped a cap in some dude from Def Jam. He’s America’s most hated because he’s a gold-digging douchebag. He’s blatantly insecure and, like all self-doubting losers, desperately needs acceptance.
I had to hear “Crazy,” since Britney provided back-up vocals. The beat slightly resembles the agonizing, two-minute long, jackrabbit sex that the people above me have every night. Britney sings of how people thought she was crazy for loving Kevin. He raps a bunch of nonsense about how every time he hits the pen, it’s worth thirty grand. (What? The pen? Is it encrusted with Swarovski crystals?) The rest of the track covers his family, playing basketball, and not being consumed by Hollywood. Nice ode to Britney and her brood; she is, after all, financing this garbage. And to K-Fed, you and I both know that you would have the Hollywood party scene intravenously injected into every vein of your body.
I’m not going to go into the rest of the album, as it’s consistently one-dimensional. Here’s a better, more enjoyable way of getting the gist of it: Pretend you’re a loser that wants to prove yourself otherwise. Make several lists of superficial reasons why people should believe you. Mention some bling and sex. Dolce and Gabbana, a Bentley, Tara Reid wanting to bang you, and filet mignon should do the trick. Create several remixes of “Drop It Like It’s Hot.” Listen to those remixes seven times while rapping your grocery list of self-absorbed topics. Stop after your seventh time, get your roommate to have a headboard banging bonanza with someone, put on a Britney Spears track, and rap a little bit more. That experience would be more entertaining than having to listen to K-Fed’s medieval torture.
FUCK THE FIERY FURNACES
Fiery Furnaces - Club Marcella
3/10
by Andrew Blake
Formed six years ago in Brooklyn, The Fiery Furnaces have been creating freaky indie music for freaky indie kids. Keyboard-driven pop-ditties are belted out by lead singer Eleanor Friedberger. Along with her brother Matthew, they have put out a handful of albums since their conception in 2000, including the very well acclaimed Blueberry Boat (2004). But that means nothing now, cause fuck them for ruining my fun.
Like most Halloween weekends in Buffalo, it was cold and wet. While a concert would seem ideal in turning an otherwise gloomy day into something a bit fun, that was not the case this night. Already running behind schedule myself due to the rain, I show up to the venue late, and to my surprise, the concert was moved to Club Marcella. You know, where the guys dress like ladies and give beejers all night in the men’s room? Maybe the place is cute when you and your little lady friends want to go check out boys in boas that want nothing to do with you, but tonight is my night and I want goddamn rock and roll. After much confusion, I manage to get into the club and find out that the stage is fenced in. Hmm? There is a four-foot tall chain-link fence on the stage. That really puts a bee in my bonnet.
Deerhoof comes on. Deerhoof is rad. I love this band. As in most cases, if you add a Japanese girl to the mix, it does nothing but make it more enjoyable. Such is the case with Deerhoof. Singer/bassist Satomi Matsuzaki leads the venerable noise band, who aren’t all that noisy live (at least compared to their albums), but are more just, you know, rocking. The hypnotic grunge basslines Matsuzaki grumbles out mixed with the syncopated shrill belts of her (presumably) nonsensical lyrics went over very well live, and made me feel like a quirky little boy. At most times, Greg Saunier’s drumming in the band managed to overshadow everything else, but that was just because he is so awesome.
And then come The Fiery Furnaces. And they start playing their whole new album. And it sounds like shit. If the concert wasn’t catastrophic enough (come on, a fucking fence!?), Eleanor’s voice is noticeably weak. The addition of a percussionist to the lineup did nothing more than drown out the rest of the music with random bops and bangs, and seriously, you are playing your new album? The only time this would be acceptable is if it were 1995, you are Oasis, and you’re playing What’s the Story, Morning Glory? from start to finish for my exclusive benefit.
NO ANSWERS, NO TAXES
America: Freedom To Fascism
10/10
by Jason Smith
So we all left. Fuck you.
What if someone told you that there is actually no law that requires you to pay a federal income tax and that the government does not have the legal authority to tax your labor? What if the IRS is a completely illegal and unconstitutional entity that is a literal governmentfunded mafia that extorts hundreds of billions of dollars from the American citizens every year? This would probably go against what your parents, teachers, and government officials have been pounding into your head your entire lives, right? Well as crazy as that sounds, that is exactly the case, and the new documentary America: Freedom to Fascism proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
The movie, by award-winning filmmaker Aaron Russo, is about his quest to find out if there really is a law requiring the average American to pay a federal income tax, or if it is a fraud perpetrated by the United States government on the American people. He talks to former high level IRS agents, tax experts, professors, and lawyers that were all challenged to find the law that requires Americans to pay a federal income tax on their labor. After doing extensive, thorough research, they all came to the same conclusion: no such law exists.
The IRS claims that income tax is authorized by the sixteenth amendment, but the Supreme Court has ruled in numerous cases that the sixteenth amendment gave the government no new taxing powers. If the Supreme Court ruled that the government does not have the authority to tax your labor, then that’s it. When this ruling is brought up to a former IRS commissioner in an interview, he simply says, the Supreme Court decisions are “inapplicable.” You can’t just dismiss rulings of the highest court in the country as “inapplicable.”
You might be saying, well if we don’t pay income tax, then how are we going to fund all of the services that we expect from our government? Well you might be shocked to learn that not one penny of the money we pay in income tax goes to pay for these services. All of the money from our income tax is spent on interest on the national debt and government waste.
Anyone who watches this documentary cannot help but come to the realization that there is something wrong with our taxing and economic systems. We are forced to pay this unconstitutional and unlawful income tax, even though there is no law that requires us to do so. The movie leads to many startling realizations about the world we live in. If you care about this country, your future, and the future of humanity, you need to see the information that is presented in this film. You can watch it on Google Video at any time for free. Getting the facts is definitely worth your time.
