Lyrics Slaughterhouse: Fancy

I thought I was done. The war was over. I’d grown up, and left the petty rage fueling this column behind me. I’d found a life of peace, like Mark Wahlberg in Shooter. Then Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX had to pull me back in.

Let’s start with the beat. Minimalism has its place and its virtues, but the term is often abused to obscure simple laziness. Yonkers’ beat is minimalistic. Fancy’s beat is lazier than a tenured community college professor. Fancy’s beat is lazier than a stock joke about lazy minorities. Fancy’s beat is lazier than a radio DJ putting a mediocre song about nothing by a theoretical sex symbol on loop for the entire summer.

The twist is that it’s not even lazy in an original way. If you added Tyga’s drone to the opening and hid Charli XCOM in the closet, you could confuse this for Rack City’s beat in a heartbeat. I’m sure that there’s something more pathetic than ripping off Tyga, but I’ll need to found a small brain trust to figure out what that is. Considering that Gas Pedal crawled its way up the charts within recent memory, it’s not even the first song to rip off Rack City.
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Happy Fourth, Everyone Gets A Free Drone Strike

The Fourth of July is about appreciating the healing power of jingoism. The term gets thrown around, but few Americans understand jingoism’s cultural importance. In their defense, this is because reading is one of the top five causes of global terror. If ideological crusaders, insurgents, and miscellaneous neer-do-wells couldn’t read each other’s messages, they wouldn’t be able to coordinate terrorist strikes. Mercifully, our educational policy is on track to eliminate domestic terror forever. If that news gives you a lone patriotic tear, then this announcement will have you bawling with pride. This year, everyone gets a free drone strike.

To promote jingoism’s intrinsic value, one target of your choice will be blown off of the face of the Earth. You’ll have a brief chance to sit in the driver’s seat of the American war machine, and smirk as you roll over the speed bumps of international law at top speed. It doesn’t feel exactly like godhood, but it’s the next best thing.
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Injustice For All, Part Seventeen


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Drinks 8

A pleasant summer evening at Snark Is The Night. It’s livelier tonight than it’s been in a while; a new karaoke machine is at the back of the bar, and JASON has monopolized it since arriving.

TERRY, RENEE, and VIC sit at a table sharing a large plate of nachos. VIC meticulously picks off all the toppings from every chip he takes, leaving only cheese.

VIC: I think I’ve changed my mind about a few things since we got here tonight.

RENEE: Does any of it have anything to do with what Jason’s been doing to hip-hop up there? Because I feel like it’d be hard not to change your mind about a lot of things in life after hearing his…interpretation of – I think it was supposed to be Feds Watching.

TERRY: His heart’s in the right place. 2Chainz isn’t, though. He should be here, right now, witnessing this. It’d be the surest way to tell if one could die of laughter.
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Asylum Notes, May 22-June 4, 2014

1. At first, I was worried that a novel draft and alcoholism couldn’t coexist. Now I’ve learned to manage my time by drinking while writing.

2. I’m going to have a seat next to Juvenal in hell. This week’s reason is a lack of empathy. After hearing about twelve year old girls stabbing their friend to death, my immediate reaction was relief that they didn’t play video games for the media to frenzy over. In the end, Jack Thompson was the one that desensitized me to violence.

3. I found some of my old writing. It’s a bit like finding out you used to be a serial killer. The high school version of Blind Monkey was on a crusade to spread the gospel of Bill Maher to the peaks of Mount Sinai. Worse yet, the passive voice was often used by my younger, even wordier self. Now I quickly beat it to death with a brick.
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Mute Monkey’s Worst Ideas

I’m no genius. Just a guy who enjoys the use of false modesty. So, as a gesture of humility, I’ve decided to compile a list of truly awful ideas that have been crowding my notebook since high school and make fun of how amazingly uninspired I have often been – and still am, sometimes. What I’ll do is put the ideas/pitches/plans to commit plagiarism in quotes and then follow them with some commentary for the sake of both context and self-effacing humor. It’ll be fun. Trust me, I’m a genius.

“A web novel about an angry teenager with no life who decides to become a superhero to spite his parents.”
Those of you who’ve been around with MWT since its early days might remember Shademan. If so, I urge you to forget it for my sake if nothing else. Shademan was conceived, as I recall, during the height of my ‘edgy as fuck’ period. Junior year, I think. Embarrassingly enough, I can actually remember writing the first chapter of this – let’s face it – extended masturbation project and thinking that I was going to change the game forever. Picture it: the epic and timeless story of a teenager with murder powers who whines his way through a first-person narrative and occasionally mutilates some unsuspecting hoodlum in a quest to be taken seriously by his practically guiltless parents. With a few tweaks, I bet I could repurpose this thing as a Xavier-esque comedy.

“A weekly series of articles where I review, in each installment, a different anime series. The twist is that I’m not a weaboo and thus these reviews will all be that much more accessible.”
Take it from me, kids: if you have to deny in your own series pitch that you’re a weaboo, then you are probably a weaboo. It’s like I didn’t already know that there’s been more written on the internet about anime since 1995 than there exists literature written in the vernacular since the publishing of Don Quixote in 1605. I’d still love to do a review/analysis vlog of the entire Gundam franchise from the original 1979 series to present, but food costs money and I’m even worse at editing videos than I am at taking my self-loathing out in a productive manner. You swine.
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Asylum Notes, May 14-21 2014

1: I stumbled into a karaoke bar last night. During the quintessential sad teenage girl anthem “Beautiful,” the singer took off his pants. It was not a beautiful image, but it was a hairy one.

2: Louis CK earned some headlines and brownie points for treating overweight women humanly. I need to start brainstorming; finding the right niche that society treats like the dirt under its heels could make my career in funny letters. Or at least balance my karmic checkbook.

3: I might have been slightly continuously drunk for the last two weeks. The memory is unclear.

4: Are there any jokes linking “Forgot About Dre” and the doctor’s newfound billionaire status that aren’t taken yet? I want to get in on that feeding frenzy. Maybe I should pay the MWT twitter more attention than a Dickensian foster child.
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Asylum Notes, May 6-13 2014

1: That was a nice nap. Shame that you people had to burn everything down while I slept. I didn’t expect any better, but I reserve the right to be disappointed.

2: Because Larry David spoke to me in a dream, these weekly posts won’t be about anything. Just me being mean and vicious. There won’t be any conscious internal rhymes, but there will be plenty of ill will. With the odd current event.

3: The real winners in Crimea are the mapmakers. They get to remake every political map resting on a classroom wall. Of course, this isn’t the first time we’ve found war and industry wrapped around each other behind the bleachers.

4: My ideal career is halfwit reactionary pundit. They get book deals for offending every group on the planet, while I get hate mail for a line about Otherkin from 2013. Imagine being paid to troll. Anne Coulter gets to reenact /b/ on the world stage.
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Drinks 7: Chaser

(Blind Monkey and Mute Monkey are switching series this month. Happy April Fools Day, or something like it.)

Kent stands alone behind the bar, humming an up-tempo showtune. He writes notes for a short story on an unused stretch of receipt paper. It’s Monday morning, the one time that every drunk feels too ashamed to interrupt his reverie. He’ll be alone with his thoughts until lunch. 

RENEE: Cosmos. Now.

KENT: Dear fucking god. Is this really happening?

RENEE: Ah, sorry. Cosmos, please.

KENT: How many?

TERRY: Be creative.

An amazed yet unsurprised Kent pours four Cosmos.

TERRY: Be more creative.
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At the Movies – Captain America: The Winter Soldier

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(Blind Monkey and Mute Monkey are switching series this month. Happy April Fools Day, or something like it.)

The ongoing adventures of the last three twenty-year-olds on Earth paying for movies.

Alan: The Winter War Criminal

Byron: Captain Middle America

Cammy: Ethnically Ambiguous (as if it’s any business of yours) Widow

Others rotate in and out.
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