

K'ronikka isn't that different than Ke$ha. Or this numbnuts.

I was reading some hate about the "Little Rooster," an alarm clock for women that you wear in your underwear at night and wakes you up by vibrating at increased intensities (um...the site used the phrase "Snorgasm's.")


Long story short, the person thought Adele was Amy Winehouse. He is Suzuki, a complete head. Suzuki has no idea what plays on the radio and hasn’t in five years. He’s unfettered. Suzuki likes to stare at his Koi fish and attempt to make bass sounds that are outside the human range of hearing. He listens to junky South American electronica, Sleeper, Hella, Tomahawk, and Charles Mingus. He’s antisocial and his headphones are practically growing into his skull.
Suzuki is like a sonic Carlos Castaneda and Ipecac Recordings is his Yaqui Way of Knowledge. Listening sessions with him are a training. I take notes when I’m with Suzuki and date them 1962:
After lunch, the man put water into my canteen, and two pieces of fresh wheat bread into my knapsack. Instructions: Walk on the road for about a mile, cut through a field, and in two hours there will be foothills standing south of town. Southpark? The I.D? Leschi? Climb to a clearing, press play on Miles Davis' “Rated X” off Panthalassa. Look East. Spit into dirt. Sky to cave in, or droop. Snake tongue.
I remember when I first heard Adele. I thought it was Amy Winehouse, too.
Just in case naming their collaboration "Duck Sauce" wasn't weird enough, DJs A-Trak and Armand Van Helden made this video. Holy crotch-face. Oh, soooo many crotch-faces.
"My mom was like, 'It's funny, but it makes me uncomfortable. I can't show it to your father,'" A-Trak says.
Meanwhile, Kanye West praised it for pushing the envelope. "You took a risk as an artist to piss out of your mouth," he told A-Trak over e-mail. —Rolling Stone
On the heels of Anna's knocked up poll, here's another battle of the songs that cover similar thematic territory, specifically premature ejaculation.
Exhibit A:
Sample lyrics: "Relax, don't do it, when you want to come."
Exhibit B:
Sample lyrics: "Mama told me not to come. Mama told me not to come."
To my shock and amazement, these are two songs that exist in the world. Which begs the question: Who would you rather be impregnated by, R. Kelly or Dwarves' Blag Dahlia?
Exhibit A:
Sample lyrics:
Chorus: "Girl you make me wanna get you pregnant/Lay your body down and get you pregnant (Knock you up)"
Also:
"I think both of us should leave this club/And get somewhere alone with me/Where there's no phones to ring/And plant this magic seed"
And:
"Put those pills on chill/And girl, give me my baby"
Oh yeah, AND!!!:
"Oh girl, I'mma take care of you/I'mma still hold you like we are brand new/So don't get it twisted: For thirty-something weeks, I'm still gonna hit it/Babysit it, babysit it"
Exhibit B:
Sample (okay, pretty much only) lyrics:
"Let's get pregnant right now/It's our only hope/Let's get pregnant/I need more welfare"
So...
My dead grandmother is being sued by an adult entertainment company for copyright infringement. How do I handle this?
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Alright, maybe they're not full-on tonsil-tickling, but look at THESE PHOTOS. Okay, or not okay?

Shishkaberries. Shishka:Berries. Chocolate dipped fruit on a stick. The domination of luxury. Here’s what to do when you get your shishkaberries at Bumbershoot: Take them and find a spot where you can lie down, and be alone for a minute. Or if you have purchased shishkaberries to enjoy with another person, have them lie down with you. Preferably on a patch of grass. Somewhere where you can close your eyes. Because when you take a bite out of a shishkaberry, Barry motherfucking White performs his hit song “Love Serenade” in your mouth. Barry White isn’t scheduled to play this year’s Bumbershoot, but that doesn’t matter. He will perform live, IN YOUR MOUTH, when you eat shishkaberries.
Now to Hall & Oates things I’ve overheard the past three days:
Person 1 to Person 2: “I thought Hall was dead.”
Person 2 to Person 1: “No, he joined Hooty & the Blowfish, and now they play country. And he did a thing with Slipknot that sucked pretty bad.”
Person 3 to Person 4: “If they don’t play “Your Kiss Is On My List” I’m gonna be fucking pissed.
Person 5 to Person 6: “Did you know that song “Rich Girl” is about Boy George?
Person 6 to Person 5: “Yes.”
She wore a mini dress. Legs and everything all over the place. She played Rachmaninoff's Third Piano Concerto. This young woman has no sense of decency.

This post owes everything to Daranee Oakley.


Soft Metals is out July 19th from Captured Tracks, Washed Out's Within and Without is out on July 12th from Sub Pop.
Sorry for my naiveté, and/or the late pass, but someone just sent me this song, and it's freaking me out. It's got all my favorite things: guys in underwear-and-socks, push-up bras, push-up pantyhose, Four Loko in champagne flutes, and CHESTER'S® FLAMIN' HOT® Flavored Fries. It's also sorta the challenger of rap clowns with rape whistles. Lady here, she'll do all the raping. And the yankin. And the twerk'in.
H/T to King Randall William Phillips
Hey, listen up! You're familiar with this dirty, little Stranger film festival we like to call HUMP!, right? Well, it's time to make the donuts. This year at HUMP! 7, one filmmaker will take home FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS CASH. $4,000! So first-things-first, number one element in any good porn is the music. What song would, (I mean, WILL) you use for your HUMP! entry?
Honestly, I'm usually floored by Sub Pop's album art every time, and I actually really dig the horndog cover to the forthcoming Washed Out full-length. Turns out, though, that someone caught the arts dept. red-handed. An enterprising tipster (probably a "hipster tipster," ugh, sorry) clued Pitchfork in to the fact that the very same mid-coitus snap that graces Within and Without also appeared in the April issue of Cosmo, alongside an article that asked "Is This the Most Satisfying Sex Position?"

Apparently the answer to that question, BTW, is the "Coital Alignment Technique," a surprisingly tame sex tip considering that it came from Cosmo, a magazine that once recommended gargling balls with a mouth full of champagne.
It's finally Friday. It's 4:20 p.m. THIS is what my brain sounds like. Can you feel it too? Does any of this make sense?
h/t Knuck Yu!
We all mourn the loss of Nate Dogg in different ways. Take for instance his former partner in rhyme, Warren G who is now a spokesperson for some sort of mailorder boner pill. I also like how the commercial implies that if you take this pill, you just might have group sex with five women and Warren G.
Good for him, coming out of the closet as West Coast hiphop's best bisexual gangster rapper. We're proud of you, buddy.
h/t: Prefix