subhumanzoids

12:15 – This is a big moment in live internet blogging. I am about to pop on Run DMC’s Tougher than Leather for the first time in a digital format. Until today (thanks, John), I’ve been stuck with a poorly dubbed cassette of the album, one that was brought aboard the tape decks of friends’ cars in high school like a weary traveller exchanging gold for passage through a stormy current.

12:20 – Insane. I feel like I’m riding around in a dumpy ’89 Volvo right now. I’m going to go get a Pepsi®.

12:28 – Some minutes passed. “Mary, Mary” was in there but, as many of you know, it defies the reach of my niggling words. I can’t really vouch for the accuracy of these time stamps!

Jesus, “Radio Station” is nuts. What if this came out right now? I wish more mainstream rappers would distort their samples and repeat the same words over and over again like “Radio Station – DEP Ra-Ra-Radio Statio -DEP DEP DEP.”

AM/FM MUSIC MODULATION.

12:31 – I’ll admit it, I’m waiting for “Papa Crazy” to come on with bated breath. That shit is bananas.

12:32 – PAPA… PAPA CRAZY. “Papa don’t give a damn, or say thank you ma’am!” I just want to transcribe all of the lyrics here. Screw it, here they are. No one raps like this any more! Stuff like this and school and hard tests that you get B’s on are things more rappers should come back to. Holla ’bout yo’ grades, son.

12:35 – Papa still crazy. I’d bet my month’s earnings (US$5) that the beat rolls on for at least a minute after the hook ends.

12: 36 – Yep.

12:39 – The title track is pretty good, but there are better songs here. While I think it’s funny, I was never a huge fan of the shreddin’ guitars/rap combo. I know that was a major Run DMC thing, but I like the beats that go *plink plink doop doop* better.

12:41 – “Out out out-out (like that, out like) out out-out (like that!)” I’m not that into this one. I keep thinking about my Pepsi®. It’s not very cold anymore. I should get a job.

12:45 – There is so much bell in “How’d Ya Do It Dee.”

Damn, 7 tracks after this one, and those are all loaded as hell (“Christmas in Hollis,” “Beats to the Rhyme,” etc.) and have a lot of lyrics about homework and stuff, so I might have to split this in half.

Look for the second half of this story on these very pages! To be continued…

I’ll let you guys wake up to Christopher Lee and Rhapsody this morning. Umair forced its wrath upon me a couple of times, and I keep watching it, because it is very extremely hard to turn away.

Real, actual, tangible updates to follow.

Peep Kiefer Sutherland’s Japanese 24 Calorie Mate ads. I’m not sure how old they are, and I’m not sure I care.

This one might be the best.

Assault Heroes came out on Xbox Live Arcade yesterday. It’s another original title, so it’s not an arcade retread with slightly updated graphics or anything. I’ve been wary of the originals, though. Small Arms was like Smash Bros. but not fun, and Roboblitz, despite having the words Robo and Blitz in close proximity of one another, was boring.

This game is rad, though. It’s like a third-dimension combination of Ikari Warriors and Jackal. The screen scrolls as you drive haphazardly in your ATV, disintegrating everything in sight; fighting suicide bombers that scream Indian battle cries and leaving your vehicle to learn how to be a man on the ground.

I personally can’t wait to see what happens when the homebrew Live Arcade kits are released. Truly it could, and probably will, be a flood of crap the likes of which we’ve never imagined. Then again, there’s also bound to be some smart motherfuckers like Jenova Chen and Nicholas Clark waiting to pounce on this opportunity.

I’m a frequenter of the gas station by my house, mostly because it’s seriously a couple of blocks away, tops. It has the same kind of essence to it as the diner at the end of Spaceballs and it’s convenient for quick-notice beer, fountain soda, and crusty early morning coffee trips.

Anyway, there’s this guy that works there; big, obese dude with a soprano voice [drawing provided for reference]. He always seems kind of grumbly and upset with himself for being who he is. With that said, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all last night when I outed his true burning otaku nature.

My first mistake was wearing a Kikaida shirt, the Super7 T with the Ishinomori-style comic art on it. The place was empty, so it was safe for him to molt his shell like Hino’s Bug Boy. Next thing I know, I’m hearing about how he doesn’t have cable, but he can take his VCR to his mom’s on Saturdays to record Adult Swim anime until the tape spools out.

There’s a point to this story; an exclamation point, if you will. After lamenting the long wait between new episodes of Inu-Yasha, he looked at me and shook his head.

“Haven’t you figured out who I am yet?”

Then his eyes unexpectedly turned a bright amber hue and his nose flared like an angry savage. He grabbed me by my collar and shook me violently, screaming, “I’m YOU! I’M YOU!” It was like a bad issue of Slamm Dunk but exclusively with white people.

Is he right, folks?