Check out this photo I got via text the other day from one of our degenerate fans--the message read: "This is what your fans do on your record." I wrote back, "Where are the fat meth rails?" He wrote back, "Up my nose, bitch!" With us, it's not Heavy Metal Parking Lot, it's Heavy Metal Living Room, apparently. This might explain why no one's ever at our shows.

BABY HOLD ON TO ME
WHATEVER WILL BE WILL BE
THE FUTURE IS OURS TO SEE
SO BABY HOLD ON TO ME

All right, so far so good, right? Things seem like they’re moving in a positive direction, there’s a plan in place, and the two people appear to be working in tandem toward a common goal.

But then things take a sinister turn . . .

BABY, WHAT'S THESE THINGS
YOU BEEN SAYIN' ABOUT ME
BEHIND MY BACK
IS IT TRUE YOU MIGHT WANT A BETTER LIFE?

You can see the narrator’s agitated because his grammar goes out the window; either that, or he’s from the lower classes; either way, things aren’t looking so good for “baby.”

IS IT TRUE YOU THINK
THESE THINGS ARE LIES, NOW
THINK ABOUT IT, BABY
I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU TO THE TOP

Now the narrator’s just flat-out delusional, his mental health totally suspect, and, if recent history is any guide, we must fear for “baby’s” life.

YOU KNOW THE FUTURE'S LOOKING BRIGHTER
EVERY MORNING WHEN I GET UP
DON'T BE THINKIN' 'BOUT WHAT'S NOT ENOUGH, NOW BABY
JUST BE THINKIN' 'BOUT WHAT WE GOT

Whew! That was a close one! The narrator appears to be focusing on the future, and, not only that, a positive version of it, one unlikely to end in a murder/suicide (at least for now).

OH-OH RICH MAN, POOR MAN, NOW
REALLY DON'T MEAN ALL THAT MUCH
MAMA'S ALWAYS TOLD YOU, GIRL
THAT MONEY CAN'T BUY YOU LOVE

Looks like we spoke too soon—the narrator’s grammar slips again, he’s invoking the past (always a dangerous arena for the mentally unbalanced), and he’s trying to convince himself and “baby” that money’s not important: but if there’s one thing America has taught us, it’s that as long as you have money, you’re important, and you matter, but if you don’t have money, you don’t matter, and no one cares about you.

UH, HOLD ON TO ME TIGHTER
I'M NEVER GONNA LEAVE YOU NOW
CAN'T YOU PLEASE BELIEVE NOW
NEVER GONNA LET YOU GO

And now we see that this sad little story is moving to an apocalyptic conclusion. Please join me in praying for “baby.” The only thing that could possibly save her is divine intervention—either that or if the narrator comes into some Money somehow, perhaps by doing a commercial or something.

You won’t find a bigger Phil Lynott fan on the planet, but I have to say: I don’t like being rolled over or turned around, I’m not a fan of spinning until I hit the ground, and a cowboy’s life is assuredly not for me.

Are you kidding? You have to sleep on the ground and get up at the crack of fuck; you’re surrounded by 800-pound behemoths that urinate and defecate all day and all of the night; you’re responsible for driving a herd of these fucking things from Texas to Kansas City in like a fortnight; you’re expected to know how long a fortnight is; you spend the nights of that fortnight listening to some asshole play harmonica—no thank you!

And while I do spend a lot of time thinking about a certain female and prefacing statements I make with the exclamation, “Lord,” I’ll tell you what I don’t need: no coyote calls, no howling winds wailing, no getting took in Texas, no busting broncs for the rodeo, absolutely not!

In fact, the only thing I can think of that would be worse than being a cowboy is being a farmer. Either that, or a musician.

Dispatch 46
FBI lists "Joyggalos" as greatest growing gang threat facing America!

The FBI today released a report contending that the biggest threat facing the youth of America (and America in general) is the rising influence of a new gang who refer to themselves as "Joyggalos." The name derives from members' mad devotion to the music and teachings of Denver's post-punk three-piece band Joy Subtraction.

"A Joyggalo is someone who doesn't like the fact that, over the past forty years, rich people and their paid-off representatives have successfully redistributed the wealth of America from the bottom ninety percent of the population to the top ten percent," says one wild-eyed, undoubtedly communist, socialist, or fascist Joyggalo. "A Joyggalo is not afraid to parse political rhetoric, point out hypocrisy, and generally deride the compromised, money-driven nature of the current American political landscape," said another, even more wild-eyed Joyggalo.

"I cannot stress the seriousness of the threat that these Joyggalos pose to the very fabric of our society and collective well-being," stated Robert Swan Mueller III, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. "And that's why I'm devoting half of this year's FBI budget to the creation of the Joyggalo task force, a black ops entity answerable solely to myself, whose only mission will be the evisceration of this pernicious movement."

"If you doubt the seriousness of this threat," continued Mueller, "above is a picture of a Joyggalo, taken at an elementary school fundraiser, minutes before he went berserk and suggested that funding public schools through progressive taxation actually works. Thankfully he's since been shipped to Guantanamo."

My son got kicked out of school today for wearing this shirt and running around screaming, "Christ died for Romney's sins! Christ died for Romney's sins!" WTF?! Talk about persecution--any First Amendment lawyers out there? This will not stand!

Joy Subtraction Corporate Headquarters (Abe's house):

Yesterday's posting by Musicians Local 13 (Brian and Dave) is in no way accurate, official, or credible. This is just another attempt by union members to discredit management and thwart free enterprise. Everyone knows that when there's any union activity of any kind anywhere, jobs get killed and the economy gets throttled. Also, it helps the terrorists. In fact, union members are terrorists. That's right, America--terrorists are teaching your kids. Right now. Today. And they're doing your plumbing and electrical. They're everywhere!

Also, reports of Abe Brennan falling off the wagon are grossly inaccurate--the liquid he imbibed was ginger beer--okay, dad? Jeez, talk about a nanny state. And the hypodermic needle contained a flu vaccination--sure, it's a little weird that he self-administered it, but I guess Brian and Dave are private detectives now, and lab technicians, with their own lab and everything, which they use to test stuff and make pronouncements. Get over yourselves. Abe is still very much the singer and lead guitarist of Joy Subtraction, although the band may be minus a rhythm section if this shit doesn't stop.

Joy Subtraction, Musicians Local 13 Union Hall (Brian's house):

We, the surviving members of the band Joy Subtraction, are looking for a new singer / guitar player; we'd prefer these duties be carried out by the same person, but we'll entertain the idea of more than one new member. You know what, fuck it--we'll settle for a keyboard player, at this point. Abe Brennan is no longer affiliated with the band; he apparently started drinking absinthe and doing heroin again and has now disappeared among the vacant souls of Portland, Oregon's, seamy underbelly. This may or may not be a picture of him waking up under a bridge--the Portland punk who took the photo claims yes, and we sure wouldn't be surprised. In any event, the last thing the world needs right now is another power duo, so if you like to play guitar, if you like to sing, if you like not getting paid and not playing to people, then get us those resumes.