Wrestlemania 32 was a thing that occurred, and I'm a nerd, so I wrote about it. Given that it was literally like a third of a day long, combined with the "throwing shit together on one page" strategies employed recently on this here website, I've given it its own separate dump page, so as to not melt your browsers with image files, each of the nineteen times a day you all most assuredly check back here for updates every day of your miserable little lives. If such things interest you, you can read the long-ass report of Things RIGHT HERE.If not, you can go screw. (just kidding I love you all)

April 11, 2016 - April Rasslin' Moratorium

Too much dang wrestling on here lately, that Mania 32 thing was exhausting for both typist and reader alike, and April Wrestling Christmas season is over anyway, so I'm gonna chill with updates relating to fake fighting until at least May. I know this is heartbreaking to you all, so in the meantime here is a picture of Kevin Owens chilling with a Koala.



STANDARD INTRO: I got a few things on vinyl and a few things on cassette that have never been released digitally or on CD and a few things on CD that obviously were released in such ways, but you can't get them first-hand legal anymore because record companies don't fully grasp the digital age yet. So in the name of not letting that stuff die, (and because sometimes you just wanna hear the stuff rather than collect it, and it doesn't make sense to drop $50 on Ebay in such a case) I'm turning my out-of-print and/or bootlegged tapes and records and CDs into MP3s and sharing them with you, my street peoples, because I love you. In case some label/artist/etc. sees your crap here and wants it taken down, just hit me up and it'll go down. Suing me will do no good, because I rarely have more than like twenty-seven bucks on me at any given time.

These were originally released when I was in elementary school, and I didn't know the band existed until at least '98 or so, so I'd like to make clear that I make no claims to be a Turbonegro O.J. (Original Jügend) by any means. I don't remember exactly when I got these, but it was probably sometime in 2000, because that was the year I had a job with no real fiscal obligations and just went nuts with e-commerce, which mostly revolved around CDs (and obviously the occasional record) of the unholy quadrumvirate of Sacred Reich, GWAR, Body Count, and these guys. It was a weird time. But yeah, right around the time I decided that Turbonegro were *my dudes* I went to the Sympathy for the Record Industry website and got these two SINGLES, the Grunge Whore 10" EP, and a regular ol' compact disc of Ass Cobra, which I posit as the greatest god dang punk rock album of all time. ALL TIME.

As for the band themselves, for those of you who are not in the know, (regular folks with fulfilling lives and jobs, I'm assuming) Turbonegro are Norway's finest export, the masters of their own custom-made genre of "deathpunk," and also, according to bassist/drummer/founding member Happy Tom, "a turbonegro is a large, well-equipped, armed black male in a fast car, out for vengeance. We are his prophets." As for a solid definition of what deathpunk entails, I'm probably not the guy to tell you, but from what I can tell, it seems to largely revolve around heavy-ass guitars, as well as some combination of homoeroticism, partying, nihilism, perversion, and homoerotic, nihilistic, perverse partying. Somewhere out in these streets, there are people in dire need of damns, shits, and fucks, but Turbonegro is a band with nothing left to offer such people, because they stopped giving any of those long, long ago. This is a band with songs like "The Midnight N.A.M.B.L.A.," "You Give Me Worms," "Rendezvous With Anus," and "Are You Ready (For Some Darkness)" on their permanent record, to give you some idea of what you're getting into here.

Route Zero (1990) is their first widely-available single as far as I'm aware, (and like most of their early stuff, has the band's name listed as TBRNGR to avoid freaking people out) and it's a lot different from a lot of their other stuff. It's a lot noisier and slower, almost having a grunge or even doom metal vibe at times, except for "Flower Box," which is a lot more musical and kinda sounds like something by the Misfits, and is a lot more reminiscent of the stuff they'd be doing a decade later when glam rock elements started to creep in on 1997's Apocalypse Dudes. It's not quite there, as key ingredients Euroboy and Hank Von Helvete weren't in the band yet, but it sounds really out of place compared to the screaming and buzzing and clanging around of the first two songs.


1. Route Zero
2. Cockwork
3. Flower Box

Vaya Con Satan (1991) meanwhile, is from a year later, but it's generally considered "where it all began," as far as the deathpunk style becoming fully realized. The title track is a six-minute, borderline-metal epic of rock and roll darkness, "Zonked Out on Hashish" is the band just rocking the hell out, and "Hand of Love" sounds like Damaged era Black Flag trying to write a song like "Vaya Con Satan." The only problem is that the production on this is all weird, with just ZERO bass in the mix, and I know it's not just on my end, as I've tried it on three different record players, including one on my mom's legit-ass stereo that I used to dub this to cassette a hundred years ago. (Wonder whatever happened to that tape) It's not enough to ruin this, but it's kinda weird after a while.


1. Vaya Con Satan
2. Zonked Out on Hashish
3. Hand of Love

Anyway, nothing from Route Zero ever made it to a full length album, and the two songs from Vaya Con Satan that made it onto 1992's Hot Cars and Spent Contraceptives album are different versions. Also, some Googling reveals that all this actually was released on CD at one point, but it was a special set that was limited to 1,000 copies. So there's no legal, commercial way to get these anymore, so I'm passing them on to you, my street peoples. I love you all.



(and I assume no one actually looks at the Monthly Dump pages, so if you wanna know what Conversion/Dispersion Project #1 was, look here.)


A couple posts about my first car from a thousand years ago, presented in their original formatting, except with the font changed, because Courier speaks to me more than Verdana in 2016.

August 22, 2003: The Beast That Will Not Die

1977 Datsun 280Z, 2+2 model

Picture c. 2000, before most of this shit ever broke, but back when the clutch was broken, and it had yet to leave my front yard.

Work done in last three years: (not counting maintenance type stuff)

New clutch - $400
New slave cylinder for the clutch - $90
Fuel pump re-wiring - $60
New alternator - $80
New universal joint thingy on rear axle - $300
New brake hoses - $260
New battery cables - $6

Current status:

Tires: One fairly new, two well-worn, one with bald patches.

Wheels: Unbalanced and out of alignment.

Hood: Hood release lever inside hood fell off. Mechanism for hood release using lever inside car doesn't work anymore. Hood is wired shut. Decorative vent thingy broke and fell off, leaving large hole in right side of hood, where rain can easily fall on most of car's electrical components.

Brakes: Front brakes need new rotors and calipers. Rear brakes need new drums. Front brake pads over 100% worn, according to Firestone technician. Rear brake shoes near 100% worn, according to same guy.

Headlights: Either a broken switch relay or a short in the wiring results in headlights randomly not working, with proper headlight operation happening maybe 10% of the time. Night driving nearly impossible.

License plate: Tag expired last November.

Turn signals: Right signal works great. Left turn signal only lights up on the rear, and doesn't blink. This means that I have to manually flip the turn signal lever back and forth to simulate blinking, and cars facing me still think I'm going straight.

Stereo: 8-track player (yes, 8-track player) doesn't automatically advance to next track anymore, and if the tape isn't inserted in precisely the correct position, it plays at super-slow speed or not at all. Best of Bill Cosby 8-track getting old after the ten-millionth listen.

Speakers: Wire shorted out somewhere. Left speaker works, right doesn't.

Driver's side door: Outside door handle doesn't work at all. Door doesn't lock from the inside. Window crank fell off, and rubber knob fell off the window crank that had already fallen off the door.

Passenger's side door: Smashed-in and rusty.

Passenger's side front and rear fenders: Smashed-in and rusty.

Air conditioner: Doesn't work. Blows out hot fucking air.

Heater: Heat only comes out of defrost vents, while icy cold air still comes out of the dashboard vents.

Rear window: Rear defrost doesn't work. Decorative shade thingy missing one louvre, or whatever the hell they're called. It's in my trunk, but I can't put it back on, because it got smashed flat by a car after it fell off, and I haven't been able to bend it back how it's supposed to be.

Engine: I have to warm the car up as though it was winter in the middle of August. I repeat, I have to warm the goddamn car up in August. Until car is warmed up, it won't idle or stay running without constant pressure on the gas pedal for more than 20 seconds. Also on the subject of car-warming, it doesn't warm up AT ALL during the winter. These issues must be addressed, or by the time November rolls around, the car becomes a one-ton paper weight.

Radiator: Mishap with leak-stopping stuff stopped leak, but may have clogged up something. Also, there's some tiny little holes in the top of it. Weird, since the holes are usually in the bottom.

Horn - doesn't work. In addition, short circuit in horn button sometimes shocks me when I tough metal parts of the steering wheel. Originally had two horns mounted near front of car. Then, one fell off.

I hate you all. Send money.

December 24, 2003: The Beast That Will Not Die, Part Two: The Photo-Expose, if You Will.

Front view. Note the large hole in the hood, where a plastic vent-thingy used to go.

Closeup of hood-hole. Note that much of the electrical system is exposed to rain, snow, and god knows what else.

The Z-Car, from the good side, relatively speaking.

Mirros aren't supposed to point that way! MIRRORS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO POINT THAT WAY!

From the passenger's side: REALISTIC BATTLE-DAMAGE!

The rear window. Note the missing whatever-it's-called.

A radio antenna.

The same antenna after a quick "adjustment."

The engine of The Beast, in all its oil-soaked, burned-up glory.

A fairly normal-looking dashboard. The fuzzy dashboard cover is kinda tacky, though. Wonder what it looks like under there...

Ah. So THAT"S why that thing was there.

You can't handle my Latino Heat!

The driver's side door, with a mysterious little metal knob-thingy sticking out. I wonder what that's for...

Oh yeah, that's right.

Here, we have the console, with the little lid-thingy that's supposed to close over it having been ripped off long ago. The contents here include several Kroger, Petsmart, and Wal Mart nametags, various pens and pencils, and three and a half box cutters. No shit, three and a half.

One of my old brake pads. Note the thickness and black color of the pad. This one actually had some life left in it.

One of my other old brake pads. Note the silver color on parts where the pad had worn completely down to metal, and absense of any thickness at all. This one was fucking dead.

Nice upholstery.

Hmm. Looks like a fairly normal old-school AM/FM car stereo.

But it holds a dark secret! If there wasn't so much glare when I took the photo, it would reveal a SEEECRET 8 TRACK PLAYER!

The 8-track tape in question: The Best of Bill Cosby.

The bizarre snarl of tape that was once the George Carlin FM & AM 8-track that was fucked when I got it off Ebay. It stays in my glove compartment now, for reasons I'm not aware of.

The trunk. Contents here include:
A three-quarters full jug of anti-freeze.
An unopened jug of anti-freeze I spent 7 bucks on, when I forgot that I had the other one.
A shitty towel.
The oil-change pan I borrowed from my brother this summer and never returned after never bothering to change my oil.
Three random-ass pieces of wood with nails sticking out of them. I was gonna use them for something; I just can't remember what. Now, they frequently puncture my flesh. Fucking boards.

Another view of the trunk after rermoving the other shit and lifting the SECRET~! panel. Contents that I can make out from this picture include:
A weird-ass spare tire that doesn't work.
Half of the plastic vent thingy that goes on the hood.
A hanger.
Various tire-change-related tools.
Brake fluid.
My old battery cables.
A flyer from a Hatebreed / Madball show. (?)
Several burnt-up spark plugs.

Represent, yo.


This is some weird shit to look back on now. Now, instead of a deteriorating 25 year old car that was given to me freely as a gift, I have a mostly reliable, two year old car I can barely afford. Now, instead of an 8-Track player with one tape, I have satellite radio and USB/Bluetooth connectivity to all the sounds ever recorded. Now, instead of a shitty $20 camera that takes sub-VHS resolution pictures, I have a phone that can take pictures that are better than high-def. Now, instead of not having a phone, I have a phone. Crazy. I eventually had to let the Z Car go, because there were finally things wrong with it that I couldn't even dream of being able to afford to fix, especially given the late 2004 roommate situation that literally had me unable to buy food at points. (Gotta tell y'all about that someday. But not today. Not today, Rusty.)  By the end, I was having to change the oil once a week, and what would come out would be a 9-quart mixture of oil and gasoline, which is nature's way of telling you to just get a new car. I never found out the car's final fate, but I'm hoping it was either fully restored by some rich guy, or at the very least stripped down for parts to restore a different car. Something that involves not being crushed into a cube, you know? And man, I loved that Bill Cosby tape so much, and it's all ruined now, because he turned out to be a stupid goddamn serial rapist. Fuck.

Anyway, while I was poking around in old files, I also found this picture of the time my older brother wrote "CRENSHAW MAFIA" in the snow on the roof.

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