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Dear Prince, You will be sorely missed…

The majority of what follows was copied from my Facebook page. I added a few thoughts. Only a few.

Today has been a rough day. I was going to write an entry in my blog (which I haven’t done in at least a year). I just do not have the motivation…the will.

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The closest I could get my hair to look like this was a Gheri Curl.

I had to give a presentation in my PSYC class earlier tonight (there is a lot to catch up on, dear readers, in the life of the X; details coming in the next few weeks). I can’t believe I made it through it the damn thing. However, I somehow managed.

It seems silly to let the death of someone you do not know personally get to oneself like this, but it is getting to me. It seems silly that the first thing I sit and write that is non-academic is this…

Seriously.

I decided to play an instrument because I was influenced by Prince. I wanted to play the guitar. My school district said that was not a band instrument (I later learned there was a stringed instrument program – I coulda been a violin contender!).

I decided on the saxophone. I have no regrets. That inspiration led me to learn to play the flute, the clarinet, percussion, and the Jew’s harp. He is the same reason I studied dance. For years I styled my hair, clothes, and much more after him.

I lost my virginity to Prince’s music.

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But we still have your music.

Back in the darksideradio.com days, I would play Prince’s music on my show. In the midst of a retro-Goth dance fest that occasionally featured a block of songs featuring the word “fuck” and a block of songs that illustrated how deranged the Eighties were with all the pro-stalking songs (I am looking at you Blondie and The Police…), there was always a a block of Prince songs. The listeners never questioned his music being there. One sent angry direct message Tweets if she had not heard a Prince song before the second hour started).

I am not sure what Gen X did to 2016 that has made it decide to take all of our heroes from us. Maybe next week I can smile and imagine an afterlife where Prince and Bowie are performing one awesome everlasting show.But not now. Now, I am just beside myself. Maybe I will copy and paste this as that blog entry.

My heart hurts.

In the Hall of the Humorless King

I recently read an article written by Gilbert Gottfried. I really enjoyed it.

I had no idea that Gilbert Gottfried was such a potty mouth! Now, I am not trying to hate on Gilbert, not at all. I am just totally surprised. Here is where I proceed to probably insult Mr. Gottfried, and should apologize in advance. But I fired my Public Relations department, and do not have the faculty to write an insincere, public apology. Instead, I shall revel in the fact that he will more than likely never read what is written here and just go ahead with my story.

I remember G. when he was on “Saturday Night Live” back when I was a child to young to be watching and appreciating “Saturday Night Live.” Then, I did some other stuff for a couple of years decades, and he was the voice of some Disney bird. Then he was a goose. I am pretty sure that I saw him in many other places, I am rather fond of the dude; I just think those memories have been lost to absinthe, redheads, and random acts of weirdness. But I am rambling…

I may have possibly dated myself, but I am still younger than you, Gilbert.

I knew that fucking goose sounded different, and I guess because I have really been avoiding the news due to various elephant-related publicity/legal reasons, I was unaware exactly what happened. During my media blackout I was hornswaggled and provided with a discount Gottfried (that was not intended to be as potentially bad-ish-sounding as may seem. Although now that I have said that, it sounds worse, eh?)! As all of you non-cave dwellers know, there was some alleged improper joke business involving a tsunami – I accept that I am extremely late to the party.

Yadda yadda yadda…I am not writing a Summation of Gottfried. So, toward the end of the article, he drops the “c” bomb. You know, that word that somehow manages to make everyone wince: “corporation.” Yeah, those corporation cunts at Aflac fired him, and he goes on to talk about how he is a comedian who uses the word “cunt.” Here is where I had to stop and make sure that my coffee was in fact coffee, and that I had not been sitting in the kitchen drinking Honey Jack Daniel’s for the last hour from a very, large mug. Did Gilbert Gottfried just write/say that? Yes. Yes, he did. And he said/wrote a bunch of other stuff. Here he was that Aflac bird, that parrot from Aladdin…cussing up a storm like he just started channeling the bastardized child of a grizzled old sea captain and Andrew “Dice” Clay!

“No one remembers me…”

I was totally taken by surprise…for a couple of minutes. Then I remembered that Gilbert Gottfried was a comedian. And a foul-mouthed one. While that may sound like a kick in the nuts to find out that there is a such thing as a foul-mouthed comedian, I find myself hard-pressed to find one that is not named Sinbad or Bill Cosby. Maybe some of those religious comics. But really, are they comics? Is it really funny to know that your humor exists because someone was brutally executed by Romans? I am getting way off topic. The point is that comedians have potty mouths, they say potty things, and sometimes these things are very inappropriate. That is why many of them appear on shows that warn about language and sexual content. Or have age restricted shows. Or have warning labels on their albums. Or dress in leather and manage to offend every woman on the planet by just smoking a cigarette and holding a greasy comb. If I know this, then surely someone has to know this before they operate under the apparent assumption that this person is not going to say something that is going to offend someone, somewhere. It may even be a nation full of people that a different nation dropped giant bombs on…shit happens.

Upon further perusal: that Donkey from that movie, Eddie Murphy, right? Being a child of the Eighties, I was technically not supposed to see most of Eddie Murphy’s movies. Or listen to his stand up. Or ask him about transvestite prostitutes. He was definitely as potty-mouthed as Gilbs (I feel suddenly close to Mr. Gottfried, like nickname close). And Don Rickles was a talking potato-shaped childhood toy. When I was a child I would have never imagined in my wildest dreams that the plastic potato whose eye stalks I often chewed off, would be voiced by a guy who I found funny, but was supposed to not like because I am, technically, a minority. In the Seventies comedy was horribly segregated; I am ashamed that to this day I am surprised if a white person claims to know who Redd Foxx was, not Fred Sanford – Redd Foxx.

“Lies! He hath mentioned!!!!!!!”

At this moment I would like to point out that somehow Disney, allegedly the most family-oriented thing in the fucking world, nee, universe now that they own fucking “Star Wars” and George Lucas’ soul, hires potty mouths to amuse children. This is bigger than that whole Walt = Nazi thing. Look, at the same time that temporarily cuss-mouth restrained Gilbs was masquerading as a neurotic parrot, Robin Williams was subjecting the Arab community to his potentially ethnically insensitive, blue-skinned shenanigans. He also wore tights and called himself Peter Pan, and did some Popeye thing.

Now, there are some obvious persons involved in children’s fun-things that have gone on to due things that people have complained about, and later found reason to call said actions criminal (for example Bill Clinton) that I have not mentioned due to them being easy, unfair targets. But I am not talking about criminals, I am just discussing the foul-mouthed legends that we have all grown to love. Or fear. Like Sam Jackson. That dude can fuck your shit up in many ways, and sound awesome doing it. That is some shit there. It is because of that shit that parents go to these “kid’s films,” pay a gajillion dollars for stale, chemically enhanced “popcorn” and ten ounces of flat pop.

Jackson is no Joke, homie!

“Two of the many ways that I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger!”

So what is the big deal about the Gil-to-tha-bert? There was a time when stuff could be funny. All kinds of stuff. Almost everything. Go ahead, tell me with a straight face that you did not have a serious problem stifling your laughter the first time you saw a little kid fall face-first in a grocery aisle: legs up giving the kid the appearance of an arrow hitting a bullseye at a forty-five degree angle, arms flailing, sliding along on the side of the face as the siblings jump and point and da throws cantaloupes in an effort to slow the approach to the carefully stacked boxes of “Wheat Thins”. “Who the fuck looks for ‘Wheat Thins’ in produce?!” Dad screams while mom is worried about the potential wreckage to the teeth and realization of a life that will grow into a lonely existence masturbating in her basement with a disfigured face and too many empty packages of Oreo cookies to possibly belong to one person. But they do belong to one person. One sad, disfigured, sticky-handed person.

But I digress, or so I have been advised by my all-up-in-ma-grille secretary.

The point is that we used to be a nation with a sense of humor. We laughed in the face of death, racism, sexism, commies…you name it. Now, we are so worried with offending someone’s sensitive feelings because we have developed a thin, lacy skin. Granted, there are assholes, and people who just are generally offensive. I would venture to say that there was a time when most of us could tell the difference between an insult and a legitimate attempt at humor. Maybe, it is time we started to try that again.

Ten Songs That Rock (But You Probably Will Not Admit That They Do…)

Time for a change of pace. My last few entries have been “down” rather than dark. In fact, this guy told me that I needed to get back to what I do best: sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Well, I am not much of a rocker (although, I do “like my coffee like I like my metal“), I am more of the twisted bastard child derived from an orgy of New Wave, Goth, Industrial, and Thrash. Face it, I am a child of the Eighties… Anyhoo, I decided to take his advice; I grabbed some drugs, squeezed out a few knuckle children on a lovely couple’s heads, and now make a return to my Darkside Radio days to hit yo’ azz with a bit of Ye Olde DJ Xavier-ness. I will even try to rock and roll, if you will.

Music is a funny thing. We all like some, we all hate some. Hell, I have even met people who claim to hate all music. These people are a dangerous, soulless threat to humanity. Even birds sing songs to lure you outdoors so that you can throw rocks at them, or shoot at them with the weapon of your choice.  Beware and pity the fool who says he hates music! If you are a music hater, leave now. The rest of this blog is not for you. Those of you that like/love/fuck-daily-with-no-abandon music stay and read on. However, realize this: to thine ownself be true. What follows will require you to make an admission that you may not want to make. You may have to delve into parts of your soul that you do not want to acknowledge exists to others.

Lying about music sends you here, only you will be tortured by Justin Bieber and Kenny G.

What I am talking about are those songs that most of us claim not to like/know/love. You know, the songs that we turn our noses up to, or ridicule when we here them. We mock these songs sometimes so that we can hide the truth: that we do like, maybe even love, these songs. If we could, we would grab these songs by the pony tails and ride them into the sunset. Truthfully, some of you may truly hate some of these songs. I will concede that may be the case. Yet, where I am going is not to whether you like these songs or not. No, this is far more sinister. These songs are those that may get stuck in your head. They may make you say to yourself: “Why do I know the words to this shit?!” You may like them and refuse to admit it, and will carry that secret to your grave. You will then deny it to Saint Peter, or whomever guards your respective entrance to your respective after-life paradise. Then you will be sent to the respective place of torment for your respective after-life. There you will listen to these songs for an eternity. Do not feel bad, at least you will be listening to things that you “love.”

So, without further ado:

Ten Songs That Rock (But You Probably Will Not Admit That They Do…) 

10) “Let’s Dance,” David Bowie

Three words: Stevie Ray Vaughn. If you are a fan of SRV, and you crawled out of the depths to hear this song for the first time, you may ask: “Who is the dude singing Stevie’s song?” I like David Bowie. I like him enough to even look past that horrible cover of “Dancin’ in the Streets” that he did with Mick Jagger. I like him enough to even look past that video he and Jagger put out for that bit of scary. I like him enough to admit that this song is on here because I actually believe that it is a great song. There, I said it. You can talk shit when you marry a supermodel and get a guitar monster to play on some of your tracks. Stevie’s guitar was so awesome on this track that it just fades out with him playing an extended solo over the rest of the band.

9) “Beat It,” Michael Jackson

You do not want to admit it, but this could be you when you think no one is watching. True dat, homie.

Before there were questions about his, well, everything, Michael Jackson dropped that “Thriller” album on our asses. Okay, this is when he started to get strange, but that is not the point. The point, is that MJ released this album, and Eddie Van Halen became known to black folks all over the United States. Proving to the world that his producer balls had more jizz than a Clydesdale, Quincy Jones made this record into a R&B/Rock mulatto that had people wearing weird, red, zippered clothing and trying to figure out how to do a backspin to electric guitar accompanied by an elf screaming about your funky fight. This song simultaneously combined rock, R&B, and West Side story, and subsequently created the The King of Pop. Laugh if you want, someone in your immediate family probably owns the “Thriller” album…and you have probably listened to the whole thing. You may even be thinking of songs from that album that you believe should be here instead of this one.

8) “Smooth,” Santana

One day, guitar god Carlos Santana said to himself: “I am so badass with this guitar, that I can make a douchebag sound awesome.” And then he wrote this song. Sure, people knew the lyrics, and Rob Thomas does a more than decent singing while Santana’s guitar is as damn good as Norma’s coffee from the Double R Diner. Uncle Carlos had virtually disappeared from the music scene; he was living atop a mountain in the Andes being worshipped by a tribe of sexy, nude, vixens (this may or may not be true, let us just enjoy the image and say it is). Then he came down from the mountain top carrying his guitar and an amp like he was bringing the commandments to the world. He pointed to Thomas and said: “Verily, I seeth thou us possessed of the soul of the douche; yet thou shalt singeth, I shalt rocketh. Thus spake the Santana!” And it was good.

7) “Walk This Way,” Run-D.M.C. and Aerosmith

So it is written, so shall it be done.

So it is written, so shall it be done.

Granted this is a cover. A cover of an Aerosmith song. A cover of an Aerosmith song by some cats who had no idea who Aerosmith was at the time. They took this song, took rap into the suburbs, and millions of teenage white boys became what eventually turned into the closest thing the Eighties had to an army of Eminems. Sure, the Beastie Boys were kicking beastie ass back then, but Run-D.M.C. was “hard.” They owned this song, thought rock and rap went together better than peanut butter and chocolate, and declared themselves the King of Rock. Not many argued. Run-D.M.C. rocked a lot. There was this song. There was “Rock Box.” There was “Christmas in Hollis” (I think that was the name). Whatever the case, until those crazy West Coast rappers started gangbanging everything in site and shooting cops, Run-D.M.C. was the epitome of badassery when it came to the sound of the streets. They were, and probably are still tougher than leather. Knock that battery off of their shoulder, I dare you.

6) “Bring the Noise,” Public Enemy with Anthrax

This song really did rock. Totally. You better ask somebody, bee-yotch. Seriously, however. This song is one of the most awesome things that I had heard when it came out. A lot of musicians tried to combine New York rap with rock. Some were decent. Some sucked. Some are buried in my orchard because there attempt was so great an affront to music that those fuckers had to be put down hard. That very thing was done with this song for the soundtrack of the event. What is there not to love about this? I mean, Chuck D, Flava, Anthrax…it is like rap and metal fucked and this is the mystical spooge that turned us all into musical bukkake fetishists. Add Terminator X to the mix, and music history has been made. I know this, you know this. Public Enemy and Anthrax know this, how many times has this cut been redone in the last what, twenty years? Think about it.

5) “Rockin’ in the Free World,” Neil Young and Pearl Jam

After we finish up here, Vedder, you can wash my jeans and return my flannels,

I love Neil Young. How can I not like a guy who was sued by his record label for intentionally making a non-commercial album? Neil destroys acoustic. Neil destroys electric. Neil re-does his own song with Pearl Jam and it still kicks colossal ass. Have you ever seen Mr. Young in concert? He is a real treat to watch. I mean, the stuff where he is wearing that harmonica and just going acoustic is interesting, but to get a real appreciation for what this man does when he performs you have to watch him when he is standing and full on electric. I have a Neil Young box set that I bought years back. It is from the “Weld” tour. The version I bought has a third disc that is all distortion fuckery and it is great to listen to at the beginning of a mushroom trip (yes, I did go to college in Michigan, do not judge). But I digress. Sometimes when an artist of yore performs with young whipper snappers, they end up looking like a Model T on the Autobahn. This does not happen with Neil. He keeps Pearl Jam firmly in place and shows how he still owns, well, them.

4) “Come With Me,” Puff Daddy

When you hear this song, you may get the urge to find Puffles and beat him down for sampling Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.” However, your urge desists when you realize that none other than Jimmy Page is tearing shit up personally on this track. Sure, P. Diddy (that is who he is now, right?) could have paid a label and used a sample from the song. However, knowing Page’s ability to control the Earth through mystic signals is as legendary as his guitar-sex, he chose the wise man’s route. Instead of “borrowing” a cup of Zeppelin-sugar, he burnt a lamb offering on the alter of Gibson and was granted the gift of a guest appearance by J.P. in the flesh. Instead of selling his soul at the crossroads, he choose to barter with ZOSO.

3) “Bust a Move,” Young M.C.

It seems like everyone knows this one, and I really do mean everyone. Even more than know “Baby Got Back.” Every (white) frat party that occurred at Michigan State when I was in attendance would play this album when black people showed up to prove that they were hip, not racist, and knew all about throwing out funky fresh beats. Poor, poor preps. At the time, they pretended this was the ultimate party music. If there

My bass is my side penis.

My bass is my side penis.

was dancing at a club, this was the artist that played between the numerous Milli Vanilli songs that made drunk chicks make out on the dance floor. Now, people pretend like they did not own this cassette and still secretly want to do the wave or worm when they hear it at the bar. Some people turn up in the strangest places. This song is one of them. The force behind the bass on this cut is that stuffed-animal-heads-on-the-pants virtuoso: the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Flea. If you ask me, Flea makes everything good, like cheese. The world of music knows this, he turns up on so many artists’ recordings that it is hard to keep track, maybe wearing pants. Probably not wearing a shirt. He may show up only wearing a sctrategically placed sock. The point is he shows up everywhere. This is one of those songs that turns up every where.What made this song rock? Flea. Since this has been more about Flea than Young M.C. (I am unapologetic about that), take a gander at this list of people that had to have some Flea:

Alanis Morrissette (“You Oughta Know” with Dave Navarro)
The Mars Volta
L.L. Cool J
Patti Smith
Johnny Cash
Tom Waites
Warren Zevon

And that is just to name a few.

2) “Rockin’ Daddy,” Howlin’ Wolf

You wish you were part of this much awesome. Except for Winwood. He is not that awesome.

This is a whole lot of awesome. Except for Winwood. He is not that awesome.

Aside from telling you firsthand that he rocked in the title of the song, Chester Burnett (a.k.a. Howlin’ Wolf), slapped you for not paying attention the first time. Moving from Mississippi to Chicago and making the blues his bitch, he and his rival proceeded to lay down the foundation for what we know as rock, and metal, and pretty much everything else involving an electric guitar. The real shame here is that we in the U.S. did not appreciate this black bluesman in the nineteen fifties. You know who did? The fucking Brits, that is who. From Clapton to Zeppelin, those white boys from Britain discovered the Mississippi delta and Chicago and the sounds coming out of those places, and rock…then metal…was born. Black Sabbath, Clapton, The Who, and even those bobble-head Beatles had to admit that they learned how to rock from those old blues cats. For this particular version of The Wolf’s tunage, I turned to “The London Howlin’ Wolf Sessios.” I could have picked any track off of this piece, but I chose this one because it is the first track, and Wolf starts it by telling you that he is your daddy, your rockin’ daddy. The rest of the album is giving you that slap that I mentioned a little while ago. The list of musicians on this album itself reads like a “Who’s Who in British Rock”: Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Bill Wyman, and Charlie Watts.

1) “Back in Black” and “You Shook Me All Night Long,” AC/DC

“She was a fast machine…” And you know you finished that sentence, and maybe the rest of the verse, of that song. Some of you are still singing it. Just admit it. Every motherfucker in the world knows these two songs, nearly every motherfucker in the world loves these songs, and very few will admit it. Sure, we see a guy in an AC/DC t-shirt and we immediately start with the Beavis and Butthead jokes. But we know the truth: these songs will be heard at weddings, your drunk asses will sing and dance horribly to them. These songs are in every jukebox in the world, your drunk asses will sing and dance horribly to them. Just admit they rock and sit your drunk ass down. Yeah, I called you out. Sometimes it be’s like that. The release of the album: “Back in Black” flew out of Australia and fucked the world with a dick so huge that it was barely tight enough to get pleasure from Men at Work, INXS, or Olivia Newton John. The fact that this recording made such an impact on rock music almost makes up for “Crocodile Dundee.” Almost.

Honorable mentions

There are a few songs that I struggled with adding them to the list or not. Part of me was being lazy. The rest of me was fighting the demands of my OCD to have only seven, or to increase the number of songs to fourteen. Or twenty-one. I successfully fought the urge and managed to stick with ten. However, I did feel the need to share the songs that were “rocking” enough to warrant an honorable mention. Discuss amongst yourselves.

“Love Song,” Tesla
“Poker Face,” as performed by Eric Cartman
Timmy and the Lords of the Underworld
“Shout at the Devil,” Mötley Crüe
“Welcome to the Jungle,” Guns N’ Roses (substitute “November Rain,” “Civil War,” or “Sweet Child O’ Mine”)
“Sexy Back,” Justin Timberlake
“Separate Ways (Worlds Apart),” Journey
“One,” Metallica (People went obscenely cray-cray over this song.)
“Smells Like Teen Spirit,” Nirvana
“Whip It,” Devo
“Mr. Roboto,” Styx

Bonus Track: “Pony,” Far

I love this song. Personally, I would say they do Ginuine better than Ginuine. Enjoy this video, it makes the song naughtier somehow. I am not sure why. In any case, it actually rocks. That is all.

Always Stay in Character. Metagamers Need Not Apply

Unless WordPress is up to shenanigans, there are a lot more people who follow this blog that I suspected. At first, I assumed that there were only two or three of you checking out what is going on around here. It appears that there are billions of you. Okay, not billions, maybe a thousand. Now, while I may have this “following,” I have to say that only a few of you read this damn thing. Like, what? Maybe six of you. Who knows? In any case, I feel the need to celebrate! I will do this by offering you dear souls a full disclosure: I have been lying to all of you.

I bitch and bitch about never writing, or never being able to write, or yadda-fucking-yadda. The whole story is I write a bit more than I let on; I save a lot of drafts. I just never go back to them, or save them as “journal entries” because I think having a diary entry looks a little strange. Other people see a nifty title, I mean a title that makes you want to grab your schmeckel and prepare to let loose the hounds of spooge while you read this salacious bit, and then click on said title and having nothing to read because it is private. And then you lose your reader’s boner and return to Facebook. Or porn. It is like walking around a bunch of kindergarteners and saying: “I have got a secret!” and taunting the double Hell out of the poor little wretches.

But I digress. I was not even meaning to talk about that random crap up there. Since I bothered to do write all of that, I am sure it is relevant somehow. More than likely it is obvious only to myself. I really do not care if that is the case. I am a narcissist, you know. Now where was I..? Oh yes, my title. If you got what that meant, give yourself a pat on the back, fifty experience points, and fifty geek cred status points (or whatever geeks give out like victorious jocks doling high fives in a sweaty locker room). Be on the lookout for more point opportunities, give yourself what you think you deserve, I am a lenient, if not all power storyteller/dungeon master. If you did not get it, feel free to Google it while the rest of us wait. Do not pretend like some of you did not do just that already (we all know that some of you refuse to admit not-knowing anything about everything and Google shit before posting to message boards so just stop with it already). Is everyone back with the group? Good let us continue.

"I'm too sexy for this square."

“I’m too sexy for this square.”

Another confession: there was a time when I was an avid LARPer. I really, really want to spell that out but that just seems plain wrong on several levels. Levels that I cannot get into right now. A damn I used to run around in makeshift costumes and pretend to be a vampire. Typically, I chose to be Brujah or Ventrue…whatever. No, not whatever. I chose those two clans because I could always be pretty. There. I said. I am totally geeking out, so I need to refocus. Anyway, I was a LARPer. A damn good one, as well, apparently. Why? Because I participated in a LARP at GenCon one year and won “Best Role Player.” That is fucking why. I was a LARPing badass.

You know, there is a lot more to LARPing than people let on (those of you courageous to admit that the title up there totally befuddled you and chose to read on rather than be a Googling know-it-all will get to understand said title now…somewhat). It takes a lot of work running around pretending that you are some undead thing that you are really not. The key is to always stay in character.

A segue: I am phobic of caterpillars. I do not know the name of the phobia, but I am deathly afraid of caterpillars. It has to do with tent worms. To this day, I will burn a whole section of apple trees to rid the orchard of one tent worm. Caterpillars scare the shit out of me. If you taunt my fear and provoke me with caterpillar(s), I will probably do very, very bad things to you. Horrible things. Painful butt things. Never fuck with a man’s fears, home-slice.

Now, when you create your character, there are built in flaws and advantages. Letting others know these things can be positive or negative. Usually negative if it is a flaw. Every damn vampire I created was afraid of caterpillars. Every LARP session, I did something to flee a caterpillar. No one ever picked up that I had this issue except for one person during that GenCon. And she was one of the non-player, storyteller characters. She watched what I was doing, and at one point called me on it secretly. We played a wonderful scene. She made motions to go “out of game” (geek points!) to discuss the issue, and I refused. We had to play out the scene. Assuming she wanted to know what the score was, the scene worked in my favor.

No. I am not a vampire. I just like cemeteries. Really.

No. I am not a vampire. I just like cemeteries. Really.

After the LARP, she asked me about the caterpillars (see, in the scene I was spoked by a caterpillar on a flower). I told her I always had that fear in my characters. She pointed out that it was not on my sheet. I responded, no, but I would have treated it like any other phobia if called on it. If someone caught me acting and gambled, then it was all good. That is kind of how life works, no? She asked if anyone ever caught it, and I said no because most LARPers are so caught up in the “story” to add nuance and curiosity. I told her that I did not want to go out-of-game because one should always stay in character. She liked my bit.

Staying in character keeps the metagamers at bay. Every game has people who know so much about the game that once they find out a small detail out about you, they exploit that to there advantage. It is like playing “Street Fighter” with some asshole who traps you in the corner and abuses you with Chun Li’s lightning leg, or some ten-year-old who only knows how to jump kick, and has to actually jump when the fighter on the screen does. You people who remember arcades know what I am talking about. Metagamers love “out-of-game.” Somehow secret details from the break area enter the game; you can call foul, but you cannot unring a bell. So, always stay in character and you can avoid the metagamers. Damn. That was anticlimactic, even by my hack standards.

Another thing, and perhaps the most important thing that metagamers miss, is the very thing that they not only seek out, but proves to be their very undoing. They look for the endgame, know what it is, plan for it, and wait. They are always successful…at least in that perspective. However, since they know that, they tend to avoid the rest of the game; they miss subtle changes that show that endgame is not coming. No, for them, that has played out already and they are now simply waiting for the deathblow which has ended the game for that LARPer.

It is strange to admit that I find myself currently a metagamer instead of the consummate Ventrue who totally dominated the “Masquerade” at GenCon years ago (2d20 experience points if you get that first reference, major geek points if you get all of this). I have been waiting for an endgame scenario. I waited too long and missed it.

Can’t Sleep, Brain Will Eat Me

The dream is always the same. It starts with an interesting night with wonderful company that eventually turns into naked people, pornography on the television, and crazy sexual antics. After the guests have passed out, the night ends with me going up to my room and leaving the arriving morning staff to remove the guests from the grounds…after a nice breakfast and apologies for “Mr. Rothechilde was called into the Thunderdome this morning and regrets that he was not here to see you on your way.” When I get to my room, I discover that a couple of guests had decided to explore the house, found my room, and proceeded to have their own grand old time.

They are sexy, and invite me to join the fun (which amuses me since it is my room and the only reason I had not gone nuts and started shooting at them or something was because they invited me to join before I could grab the Sig hidden on the bookshelf behind me), and I join them in the bed

Strangely, I am not disturbed by their lack of facial features.

One of them notices the collection of cuffs and collars and whatnot hanging on the far wall and goes to retrieve a set of leather wrist restraints. I am asked if I wanted to be restrained; I said that is not typically my role.

Strangely, I consent.

After I am secured to the bed, helplessly bound by my own devices. One of them pulls out a long knife and stabs me in the chest.

This is when the dream leaves and I am suddenly awake. Shaking like Charo’s tits at a hoochie coochie bonanza, and drenched in cold sweat. Now, I am remembering the lack of faces and get even more disturbed.

I wander downstairs to shake off the ickies, and wonder how long this dream is going to be a part of my now horribly non-circadian sleep cycle (no, that is not a thing, but it felt good to write) while chain smoking and sucking down absinthe and listening to the television in the background drone on with Sanjay Gupta talking about eating a dish that seemed to consist only of animal penises. He asked if he wanted tiger penis, would they have it. Apparently, the lamb balls and dog penis are not enough critter dick to sate his appetite.

Normally, I do not have nightmares, and when I do, they tend to involve judges and lawyers, or hippies, or having to buy clothes off of the rack. But this is weird. It has made me so paranoid that I may even be starting to fear trying to go to sleep. Instead of getting a little rest, here I am typing away (which feels good since I have had a block on writing for so long). Typing away and not even sure that I am making much sense. Really, this all sounded great in my head, but seeing it printed is not really pumping my nads.

Common sense is telling me that this must mean that I am pretty tired; I mean my title even has a fucking contraction in it, and I am too lazy to change it (or I may like the title, which probably means that I am pretty tired). Hell, I am even feeling too lazy to make sure that my tags are in alphabetical order; I think WordPress does that when the blog is published, but I am not certain at the moment, and have no desire to go and double-check.

This is dangerous. Is my anxiety regarding this dream actually trumping my OCD? Where the Hell is my ADHD during these dreams?! I mean, it would seem that I would get as distracted by the faceless fuckers (pun intended) that were trying to fuck and kill me in my dream and the scene would change to a Soundgarden concert or Saints Row or a nice cheese pizza. This is all pretty unsettling.

It was suggested that this nightmare may be the result of guilt or remorseful feelings regarding the unfortunate incident with Lord and Lady Phant, but I think it is something else. I am not sure what it is, but definitely something else. One of the night staff suggested that maybe having all of the dark imagery around the estate and grounds was doing the damage. Perhaps this is the result of having skulls and hearses and deathly erotic sculptures scattered through the lawns and orchards. I suggested to her that the problem may have been that I had too many smartass night staff people working around and should start cutting back on my overhead. She brought me another bottle of absinthe and retreated to the kitchen. I could hear another staff member trying to comfort her. Strangely, I feel guilty for snapping at her. I’ll have to leave a bonus for her tomorrow.

Testing Photobucket

Taking the advice of the ethermagus, I have decided to attempt to maximize my usage of the capabilities if my technology. That was certainly a mouthful, was it not? Yes. Yes, it was.

As an attempt to do so, I have embarked on this experiment. My idea is simple: copy the link of a photo from my Photobucket app and paste it into my WordPress app, and then see if the picture shows up.

While I have discovered that my experiment was a success, I have yet to discover how to adjust placement. Maybe that will come next, app designers? Hint, hint…

Photobucket Pictures, Images and Photos

Tonight on Darkside Radio or “See you at the crossroads…”

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: “Dance with the Green Faery!”

Greetings and Salutations! Tonight’s show is going to be one of kind. A return to days of old, and a fitting end to the menace of Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier. Due to the most unfortunate of circumstances (well, not THE most unfortunate, I am being a bit of a drama queen…), Darkside Radio will be going off the air on October Twentieth, Two thousand and Twelve. Tonight, my show will be my last.

Being who I am, I cannot simply state the above and print a playlist for this evening. No, I have to do more, and using Bone Thugs is not enough either; I have to blather. I had no intention of ever being a DeeJay. I am far too shy for that. Really. I prefer to make my statements through writing. And it was so back in the days of MySpace. I created an account there, and had one friend: Manthony. I never really used the profile much. Years later, I met a clan of women named Dean Hodge, and began to do what the equivalent to blogging is in the MySpace universe. I was a hit with the Hodgii, and began to feel my oats after they officially made me one of their clan. Later, I created another profile, one that was just for Xavier. It was here that I once again found myself friendless, save for my secretary, and Manthony. Feeling pity for me, my secretary helped me find some people that she thought I may click with…and she was correct. T’is began my relationships with both DJ Mirage and Sister Constance.

DJ Mirage was quite a charmer, in her own compassionate, albeit darkly sexy and evil way. What started out as an idea to somehow make a guest appearance on her show (which, I later learned would be near impossible due to geographics, and a few other things) turned into my becoming a Darkside Radio DeeJay. I was not sure that I had enough music to meet the gothic/industrial/EBM audience, but I did have much music that was dark in nature, and was the Nineteen Seventies’ and Eighties’ queer older brother of music: New Wave, to begin my own show. And so it began. In the beginning, there were others there to help me not feel all freaked out and cray cray. There was Zephyrael, Phil, Trinity, Lestat…and some whose names I have forgotten. Shame on me. Through it all, there was DJ Mirage, and her partner in crime, Doc Nasty (the “father” of Darkside Radio, KrushRadio, the universe…). And as it stands to this day, aside from myself, there is DJ Mirage, and DJ Parallax. As it stands to this day, is the fear that what is going to be lost is not just a station, but two of my dearest friends and associates. Fortunately, there is Facebook, and I will never forget you two, my dearies.

Oh yeah! I was on Sunday mornings for a little bit as well.

Over the years, I have gone through several phases. Evolving or, more like changing states like some kind of deranged matter. My original show was four hours long. I shortened it because I started to bore myself, and have a little trouble seeing the broadcaster display after all the absinthe drinking that is required to broadcast one of my little voyages into internet shenanigans. While I started out kicking the old school goth jams and new wave hits (Ha!), I eventually added more industrial, some punk, and at times gangsta rap (Recently I added that new “dub step” stuff. Apparently, it was actually about in the nineties. It should have stayed there.). No matter what I may have decided to do for the night, from playing a block of songs featuring the word “fuck,” to having a celebration of tunage glorifying that good ol’ Eighties tradition of stalking and not taking no from some bitch, I always tried to remain on the darker side of life. However, the end result was always “creepy.” I guess I just decided to run with that.

Apparently, it paid off. At least a little. I met some interesting people by means of my shows through Twitter streams and looking like a music bot for a while. A few people never got that while I was updating my Facebook status, or tweeting some song titles over and over for a couple of hour that what I was actually doing was broadcasting a live show. A few did get it, and would make requests. Part of me wondered why the fuck they were spending a nice Saturday evening inside somewhere and listening to me. The bigger part, ego fed to the maximum, welcomed the attention and was honored that someone actually felt that I was interesting enough to sit and have playing as the background sound track for their night. Thank you all for listening. Now, we can still meet for cyber shenanigans; just read my blog and leave a comment. Perhaps I would write more. Shameless plug, but it is that sort of night.

So, I guess it is now time to put the baby to bed. I am not sure why I am feeling so sentimental at this time. I mean, we darklings are supposed to embrace the end. We sing and dance about the glories of the night. We dance with vampires, zombies and witches. We run around in corsets and Victorian garb. We sport leather and spikes and shades and piercings. We are tattoos and Neo and weirdos who want to sleep on your couch so we send you a picture of us and our boyfriends in women’s underwear with ferret in mouth. We are what goes bump in the night. So why am I dreading my own walk into that very darkness that I tried to coax you into for the last few years? Simple, for once, I am unsure of what that darkness may hold, save for the end of my nights on Darkside Radio.

This was the hardest broadcast, ever.

Tonight’s show will revisit my original four hour format. Tonight’s show will begin like I used to begin: with Erika Eigen’s “I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper,” the song that plays in my head in the background of my dreams…and nightmares. Tonight, I have tried to play a little bit of everything that I have played over the years. Tonight, I try to say a fond farewell to those that listened to me and to a couple of hours every Saturday that I have accepted as part of a welcome ritual. This is harder for me than trying to quit smoking.

To Doc Nasty: Thank you for making this possible. Thank you for putting up with my freaking out over a red button and being there to get me on the air. Thank you for enabling me to spread my sickness through cyberspace, and being a real mensch about it.

To DJ Parallax: In the short time that we have known each other, it has been an age. A wonderful one. Keep in touch, my brother.

To DJ Mirage: First off, I know where to find you and can reach you by phone, email, and Pony Express. Always remember that. Second and most important, you have been an inspiration, a sister, a friend, a vampire, and a zombie to me. From MySpace to Brainaversary to Facebook, you have been the most awesome companion a creepy pirate from the Great Lakes Region could ever hope for when spreading dark music across the internet. We have been through much, ma chere. You will always be the Queen. It was awesome, and thank you for having me. And like I mentioned above, you better not try and flee… 🙂

And now, I present the artists that will be featured on tonight’s show. As you may notice, I decided to make tonight’s show an old school New Wave and Punk, earlier Gothic show with a dash of Alternative rock and Industrial sounds. To listen, tune to http://darksideradio.com at 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (US) and stay tuned until at least 2:00 am. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.

Enjoy!

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

Erika Eigen

Type O Negative

Stone Temple Pilots

Bauhaus

Joy Division

Siouxsie and the Banshees

The Cure

The Smithereens

The Smiths

Peter Murphy

The Sisters of Mercy

DJ Mirage: The Gothic Barbie. Queen Mum of Darkside
Radio

The Damned

Lacuna Coil

That Handsome Devil

The Koffin Kats

HorrorPops

Mad Marge & the Stonecutters

The Meteors

New Order

Public Image Ltd.

My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult

KMFDM

Ministry & Co Conspirators (yes, Ms. Paganwitch, this is “Black Betty”)

Electric Six

Modulate

Combichrist

Puscifer

Nouvelle Vague

Thomas Dolby

The B-52’s

311

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Living with “creepy” ain’t so bad…

Sonic Youth

Dead Kennedys

Ludo

Murderdolls

Soundgarden

Bigod 20

Ministry

Nine Inch Nails

Far

Duran Duran

Tears for Fears

Tre Lux

The Cult

The Gothacoustic Ensemble

Love and Rockets

Depeche Mode

Switchblade Symphony

Dead Can Dance: “The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove” Dedicated to The Gothic Barbie – DJ Mirage”

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax

“The Brotherhood of the Dwarves” or How in the Hell Did I Come to Enjoy a Fantasy Novel?!

Let me start by saying that I am not a fan of fantasy literature. I read that whole “Lord of the Rings” business and many years later, I saw the movies. It is really a terrible thing, in my opinion, when one can say that one prefers a movie to a book, but that was the case with Tolkein’s epic saga. Although I was disappointed that Tom What’s his name was not in the book, and extremely disappointed at the lack of Ents, I still preferred to have my ADD indulged by watching the book unfold rather than having my OCD dictate that I finish a book that I was clearly not enjoying. Basically, I am a Science Fiction oriented person. Give me technology, mutants, and aliens over wizards, orcs, gnomes and what have you anytime. Whenever I have to read or watch anything fantasy based, I assume that I will have to force myself to finish the item and be left feeling treacherous and perhaps a bit dirty. I expected the same with D.A. Adams‘ epic saga: “The Brotherhood of the Dwarves.” I expected to be able to say to Mr. A: “I read your books. They were well written.” And that would be that. The series thus far (more on that at the end) is three books: “The Brotherhood of the Dwarves,”  “Red Sky at Dawn,” and “The Fall of Dorkhun.” While I will be bitching about book three at the end of this entry, I should have guessed by the title that there would be more to come. Shame on my for not paying attention, good on D.A. for dropping a tease.

Molgheon. She does not have a beard. I would not give her shit about that. Really.

To be completely honest, I subscribed to Mr. Adams’ blog, and made the decision to read the books based on the fact that he appears to be a pleasant and decently put together fellow. Never mind that I do not like dwarves. I have never met any dwarves in person, and the only image I really have of them come from Snow White, the little people that show up on television from time-to-time, or the little red one from “Twin Peaks” (whom was a badass, a little person I could respect). I did not care too much for Gimli (sp?) and in general have a near fear of people who look as if they are heads that just happened to grow bodies underneath them. So, with my prejudices against dwarves and fantasy intact, I went to Amazon, got the books and downloaded them to my iPhone. I did the above expecting to read and finish one of them because my OCD forced me to, not because I found them interesting.

Well, in a rare occurrence, I was horribly mistaken. I read book one, and found myself starting book two immediately. Yes, this surprised me a great deal. For one, I was actually enjoying the story, and for two, I was awaiting more and wanting to read on. Basically, the story goes this way. Dwarf (Roskin) is heir to dwarven kingdom. Dwarf takes adventure. Dwarf meets other badass dwarves and a human (who had a reputation, a scary one) proceed to kick ass. The premise of the series is an interesting one, in order to ascend the throne, Roskin (our hero) takes on a quest that will serve to enrich him and prepare him for the throne. While journeying, Roskin meets a friends, almost gets killed, meets allies, and shows that his beard is long, strong, and pretty fucking hardcore. Now, I am doing D.A. (may I call you D.A? No matter, my blog, my rules), a great disservice. I should be saying a bit more about the book(s) other than what I have said. But I do not want to spoil anything by giving out too many details. Okay, I will say this, a lot of orcs get their asses handed to them, and the dwarves taunt each other by implying that they do not have sufficient beard to be hardcore. Think of it is being told that you do not have the cajones for something, only when it is a beard directed insult toward a dwarf, you would be better off trying to touch a samurai’s katana.

Author D.A. Adams. He has the beard for writing. I have the beard for a second act of copyright infringement.

I am not sure how long these books actually are. Books on the iPhone are either shorter than most other books, or I just happened to enjoy these particular books a great deal and therefore read them quickly. Whatever the case, I was thoroughly surprised to find myself not only reading the first book, but eagerly reading the second, and then the third. The third book in the series, was intense. There was war. There was a reunion. Then there was the last page. And here is where I have to give Mr. D to the izz-A a piece of my mind. Why? Because what I thought was a trilogy is apparently not one. There is more to come. And at this time, he claims he is in the process of writing it. Well, I trust him and hope that soon I will be able to find out what has become of Roskin, Bordorn, Evil Blade, and that sexy arrow-toting elf in the picture above. Not to mention the ogre Vishghu, who was probably my favorite character. While she is a supporting character, I really think that this series would have been a bust without her. Sorry, Mr. Adams, but it would be akin to Harry Potter without Neville (My opinion. Remember, my blog. My rules.)

In sum, kudos, Mr. Adams. You may have given me an appreciation for the fantasy genre. Something that legions of gamers and Tolkien fed fiends have tried to do and failed miserably. I eagerly await the next book. I understand that art takes time, just do not take too long sir, my beard is not the most patient one in the world.

After Two Weeks, I Return to Abuse Your Ears or Tonight on Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

Greetings and Salutations! This rush of unusual weather has kept me very busy…and very paranoid. Really. The weather has been driving me crazy and threatening the future occupations of several of my orchard laborers. Have you any idea what unseasonable warmth does to cherry and apple trees? Why it tricks those bastards into blossoming and getting ready for the upcoming summer and growing season. And in Michigan, this is bad. You would think that by now the fauna of our state would begin to appreciate that warm weather in March does not mean there will not be a horrendous blizzard in April. A blizzard that will drive the cost of fruit up due to low yield. Low yield means that there are fewer people needed to tend to the lovely trees…

Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

So, for the last couple of weeks I have been running about trying to figure out a strategy to deal with the potential economic woes to be foisted upon my poor orchard. Well, parts of the orchard. The employee parts. As for me, I expect record profits this year as the low yield will drive up prices and demand. One would think that despite the reduction in labor needs, I would keep all of the staff seeing that I expect an increase in profit. If one thought that, one would be wrong. That is not the American Way! Here, we do not reward anyone with less work because of acts of nature! If I kept the extras on, what would I be teaching them? That it is okay to slack off because there is less product? No sir! Less product = less workers. Read your Adam Smith.

Well, enough of that senseless prattle. I had a rough, intoxicating night last night and am fully aware that I am prone to babbling on if I am allowed. Hopefully, I will not feel the need to yap-yap all during the show tonight.

To listen click here or copy and paste the address below in your browser. You will need to follow the buttons at the top of the page to open your relevant music player.

Darkside Radio – http://darksideradio.com

Tonight’s Featured Artists

Morrissey
Joy Division
Bauhaus
The Cure
Siouxsie and the Banshees
Big Audio Dynamite II
The Stone Roses
Sonic Youth
Ednaswap
Depeche Mode
Lacuna Coil
Rob Zombie
Primus
Mad Marge and the Stonecutters
The Koffin Kats
The Meteors
Skrillex
Mindless Self Indulgence
Basement Jaxx
Ministry & Co-Conspirators
Nine Inch Nails
Puscifer
Snake River Conspiracy
The B-52’s
Switchblade Symphony
The Gothacoustic Ensemble
Tre Lux
Chris Cornell

An Apology, Mr. Limbaugh? And Tonight on Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: "Dance with the Green Faery!"

Greetings and Salutations! Last week, I am sure that you noticed that I was not on the air. Truth be told, I was feeling a bit under the weather after the night out at the strip club. But that is not what kept me from the airwaves. What kept me off was the stress from the drama of earlier that day with that horrid interview from last week that was all about making the Rothechilde Foundation look like a group of insensitive thugs due to a minor incident involving a few upset elephants. Although, I have weathered that storm, I am facing a similar, earth-shattering, internet radio stealing mental dilemma this evening as well.

What is this dilemma? Well, it is simple and two-fold. First, there was the clothing anxiety issue that almost sent me into anxiety overdrive. You see, I was asked to teach a jujitsu class as a substitute for my instructor who was off celebrating his birthday. That was not the problem, I can deal with handling that. The problem came as a result of my panicking because of my pants. They did not seem to be my pants.

For one, the color and texture of them felt “off.” The other problem was that they did not feel “right.” I felt like I was traipsing about in someone else’s legs or something. I had a hard time focusing on driving and maintaining my calm because I was focused on the idea that I was, at that time wearing pants that not only felt weird, but felt like they may have belonged to someone else. I mentioned this to my secretary, whom asked me who’s pants I thought they were (I did find them in my room). She asked me what about them made me feel as if they were not my pants and all I could reply was: “everything!” In any case, after teaching the class (for which I had to travel to the most wicked place in Michigan: Frankenmuth), I drove back to my Samurai City digs and quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a black mock turtle neck shirt. Actually, I would have preferred to be wearing slacks of some type, but the jeans worked well enough to stave off a full-fledged anxiety explosion.

The next issue that has my mind in a tizzy is this whole deal regarding Rush Limbaugh and Sandra Fluke. The story is, Rush called her a slut and a prostitute because she advocated health insurance plans covering health insurance. Her words to encourage state-sponsored baby anti-proliferation even had old Rushy boy calling for sex tapes so he could post them online. Surely, any whore who is seeking health insurance coverage for birth control must have a host of sex tapes from her numerous dalliances with shady men that are available for mass dissemination via some “porno tube” website.

This has me most concerned because Rush turned tail and apologized. Apologized! This surely is a different corpulent, angry bird of a politico that we have grown to love over the years. What happened, man? I was all for supporting the Republican idea that no one should ever use birth control. In fact, if you do not want children (and cannot afford a nanny or au pere to raise them, nor can you afford to travel to some other nation where abortions and contraceptives flow like milk and honey), then you probably should not have sex. Fucking is for people who can afford the luxury of preventing a potential pregnancy, or eliminating the accidental creation of little monster clones of yourself. If you cannot afford the traditional remedies offered by the wealthy (Brazilian abortions, French morning after pills, or European boarding schools), then either go celibate, or take your chances with a shady, back alley abortion specialist on the streets of Mexico or Seattle.

However, I was betrayed. Betrayal most foul! His Most Majestic Obesity back-pedaled and apologized to Ms. Fluke. He took back his venom and took the wuss way out all because a few sponsors decided to pull their ads from his show. Really? What the fuck, Limbaugh?! These sponsors knew what you were all about, and they probably support you in your medieval attitude towards women and civilization in general. But they know the score, Rush. They know that most people are afraid of the right-wing agenda. They know that people fear the wealthy and our insidious urge to keep the poor as destitute as possible, and as numerous; we need that population to subject and get cheap labor from. The problem is that you spoke the truth that we do not want spoken too often. Here is how it works:

  1. Have horrid right-wing, preferrably a near-racist and sexist attitude.
  2. Wait for some mouthy schmuck to voice this reprehensible concern.
  3. Silently agree, then pull sponsorship from the jerk to keep our customers content and unaware that your corporation fully intends to reward the jerk with perks, back slaps, and tickets to Nazis on Ice at the local ice arena.

Rush, you added an undesired step, and apologized! Now the liberal will know that we are cowards who only want a silent, subtle manipulation of the people. That is, unless they are trying to get a piece of our one-percent pie. If that is the case beat those bastards down and trample them with elephants. So, way to go Limbaugh: you made a girl cry, and then took it back like a wuss. What are you going to do next, put on your girly shorts and listen to Selena Gomez albums with your widdle, gurlfriends?

But enough of that satirical sarcasm, on with the show. Below is the list of artists appearing on tonight’s broadcast. To have a listen, tune your Internet browser to http://darksideradio.com. If that gives your trouble, try opening the link in your media player. But really, clicking the link should take you to the station. If it does not, keep trying. You want to listen, you know you do.

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

Type O Negative

Bauhaus

Joy Division

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Oingo Boingo

The B-52’s

Sonic Youth

Dead Kennedys

Puscifer

Depeche Mode

The Cure

Blondie

The Police

Switchblade Symphony

Butthole Surfers.

Wednesday 13

Mindless Self Indulgence

Dragonette

Combichrist

Ministry & Co-Conspirators

Nine Inch Nails

Rob Zombie

Lacuna Coil

Bigod 20

Muse

Tool

The Smiths

Snake River Conspiracy

So, tune in tonight and enjoy the program. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax

Friday Night with Charlotte

Last week was quite a week. It started with scandal and ended with an ugly attempt to discredit The Foundation. The scandal was a bit of ugliness involving The Foundation’s war elephants. While it seems that the issue should have been over quickly and with a few payouts here and there, that was not to be. Fortunately, I had a fun night out with Charlotte the Friday before the treacherous attempt to ruin your beloved charitable organization.

I could go on and detail the incidents that led to the horrors of the weekend, but instead, I have decided to go the honest route and provide the transcript of a local news programs morning interview of yours truly.

Bert Berterson: “Good morning. I’m Bert Berterson appearing on this special edition of ‘Samurai City Saturday Morning’ with local mogul, Xavier Rothe…”

Me: “Mogul?! What the fuck did you call me? I am not a snowy lump on a ski slope! Nor am I some brandy sipping curmudgeon sitting by some fireplace in some cavernous, drafty, Victorian mansion. I am a humble orchard operator and general all around nice guy. I am really tired of your slander and libel. You really need to get over that camera incident with Manthony.”

B.B: “No, that is not the issue. True, there have been ‘incidents,” but they aren’t what this interview is about. We are here to discuss the elephant rampage that you and your associates with The Rothechilde Foundation are responsible for causing, avoiding, and admitting no responsibility.

Me: “Berty darling, that is exactly what I am talking about! Okay, so unfortunate things may have happened. People may or may not have been allegedly had the misfortune of standing where an elephant may have been walking. Whatever the case, there is no need to start throwing around faulty, unproven allegations that could result in a hefty lawsuit or potential burying in a shallow grave in Nevada or somewhere.”

B.B: “Did, did you just threaten to kill me and bury me in Nevada?”

Me: “I have done no such thing! I was merely stating things that could happen to a person. I have never gone to Nevada. The sand would destroy my wardrode, I believe. Speaking of which, I have been experimenting with adding color to my wardrobe…”

B.B: “Let’s not get off topic, Mr. Rothechilde, Xavier, may I call you Xavier?

Me: “I would not if I did not want to get ‘punished’ severely.”

B.B.  “Ahem. Before we begin, let’s refresh your memory. Ronald, roll the footage please.”

At this moment, a clip was played that showed a large group of people hanging about Downtown Samurai City. In the background, the Foundation Thunderdome stood majestically in the background. In the foreground, more people. Then the clip cut over to the ass-biscuit that I was currently being tormented by in this interview. Mr. Berterson was interviewing people who were “Occupying Samurai City.” Yes, the wave of civil unrest and general unhappiness of the populist poor had spread to Samurai City and the occupiers were occupying various areas of the city. This was exactly why we at the Foundation came up with the idea to have the war elephants. The occupiers had not come as far as the Thunderdome, but a group of counter-occupiers had begun to head in our direction. These counter occupiers were those who supported the one percent or something like that. Berterson interviewed a few of them as well. Approximately two minutes into the clip, a wave of people could be seen coming toward the camera. In the background, the image and sounds of a herd of elephants rapidly approached the news crew. Fleeing to a safe area (who knew there was a safe place from a herd of stampeding elephants?), the camera still recorded, Berty-baby’s panicked reporting in the background:

Bert: “This is Bert Berterson! A herd of elephants is now rampaging in downtown Samurai City! People are running everywhere as complete and total pandemonium has erupted! Oh my God! An elephant just tossed a police car into the side of the bank! This, this is terrible! Absolutely terrible! Hey! Someone grab that little girl! What the hell are you talking about? You do it! I’m Bert Berterson! I’m not getting stepped on by a freaking elephant! What the hell?! Is that elephant wearing a monocle and a tophat? My God the police have shot the elephant in the tophat! Tophat elephant is down! Holy shit! That elephant has that old lady by the neck! Wait, wait…the elephant has gently set her down. People we have a miracle, the elephant just set her…Shit! He kicked her! The elephant kicked her! Oh my…oh my…she’s, she’s barely moving. Paramedics are trying to help her. Okay, she’s giving the thumbs up. What? Headed where? Oh shit! Run! Ruuunnn!!!

And the clip ended there. To be honest, I was very upset by that footage. There was not one mention or shot of Sister Constance and the nun-wranglers coming in, taking down the rest of the pachyderms with tranquilizers and getting them safely back to the Thunderdome. Two elephants were slaughtered by the man on that tragic day. The monocle and top hat have been turned into monuments in the arboretum.

B.B: “Now, Mr. Rothechilde, clearly you could see what a tragic series of…hey! Are you texting?”

Me: “Yes, you were boring me with that biased video footage. There was no mention of the nuns and their success at bringing this unpleasantness to an end. Not to mention you subjected me to having to witness the brutal slaying of the vainglorious Lord Phant, a pachyderm of distinguished character and with obviously superior fashion sense. I was consulting our legal team to be sure that my comments will not be taken out of context and that the video delay is sufficient for Foundation security personnel to edit out any sensitive information before this hits the airwaves.”

B.B: “What?!”

Blue Boy?

Me: “You know, like they do on awards programs to filter out the potty mouths. Anyway, about fashion. As I believe we were discussing briefly earlier I have been experimenting with making changes to my wardrobe. I have been adding color. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of me in the lavender and purple, or gold-brown-black, but I do have a picture of me in blue. Ronald, show the clip, please. As you can see, instead of my trademark black and white two-piece combination, I am sporting a stylish three-piece suit. I even have on a blue tie. Blue! And took a picture that I did not insist be made black and white or some sort of old-timey sepia look. Eventually, I will have some photos of me in the other color schemes soon, and I may come back to your program to discuss them again at that time. However, thank you for the interview, it has been a pleasant…”

B.B: “Excuse me, sir! I tell Ronald what to do around here, and we weren’t discussing fashion. We’re here to talk about your reckless unleashing of elephants on our fair city and what exactly you plan on doing about it! You have some things to answer for sir!”

Me: “I do no appreciate your tone, little man. Now see here, if it were not for those stupid one percenters parading about in their diamonds and smelly perfumes, the elephants would not have gotten upset and that misfortune would never have occurred. The elephants were simply a part of a parade that The Foundation was sponsoring in support of the “Occupy Samurai City if You Want, But Stay the Fuck Away from the Thunderdome” rally. As you can see the rally was a success, the Thunderdome is untouched and still stands as a glorious symbol of compassion and beauty. And we are not even going to sue the city over our beloved Lord Phant. Although it has caused Sister Constance a great deal of sorrow. We had to give her an extended vacation, pay raise, and purchase a new elephant, monocle, and top hat to alleviate her lust for revenge.”

B.B: “Are you saying that the life of that elephant is worth more than the hundreds of people that were injured in carnage laid out by your elephant horde? Are you seriously equating humanity with lower animals?!”

Me: “Well, hypothetically, my statement would appear to be putting elephants above the rest of humanity, but then who needs to be splitting hairs here? Besides, no people were killed, and only a few were maimed or otherwise seriously injured. Further, the occupation business was horribly bad for the already weakened economy. Those people should have been out working and those one percent counter-protesters should have been out subjugating masses or otherwise managing some means of economic oppression. The fact is, those protesters were in all likelihood unemployed; do we need to show the world on the national news that we are a nation of corpulent, unemployed people? No sir! No, I say! If our impoverished looked like those pot-bellied Ethiopians, then maybe we would have something to bitch about. However, we are a corpulent nation that sits on couches and and gets to watch seventy-seven different versions of ‘Law & Order.”

B.B: “Mr. Rothechilde! That is completely reprehensible! Do you even hear yourself? Listen, the Vice President of The Rothechilde Foundation has even come out and said that mistakes were made…”

Me: “Yes! Mistakes were made. Many mistakes! Chief among them was letting that bastard out of the dunge…er, basement during the protests. Had he remained sedated and properly confined, our efforts to fix this bit of unpleasantness could have come to an end much sooner, and I would already be enjoying the adulation of the citizenry of this fair city instead of sitting here and subjecting myself to this horrid interview from a man with the fashion sense of a Mogwai.”

B.B: “What are you talking about?!”

Me: “Your suit is terrible. I know a guy, let me help you, baby.”

B.B: “You’re obviously out of touch. With me and the citizens of Samurai City. They don’t love you, no one loves…”

You are very welcome

Me: “Oh my! I ought to shoot you right in your ugly face! You smug son of a…excuse, what is it? Yes, I understand. Excuse me, that gentleman was one of our attorneys, he suggested, and smartly I should add, that by ‘shoot you right in your ugly face’ that I actually meant “write you a sternly worded note of disapproval, perhaps an email cc’d to your station’s management. As for the love thing, surely you are mistaken For example, take a look at this lovely bit of art; Ronald, show the picture please.”

B.B: “Now see here! Ronald is not one of your lackeys…”

Me: “Obviously, the artist appreciates me and felt that I was worthy of being immortalized in one of her brilliant creations. And then there is Sister Constance. For a nun, she really does go out of her way to accommodate my eccentricities (I am ignoring your lackey comment, by the way. Manthony with surely discuss that with you.) Then, and not the least, there is my personal secretary, whom does me an innumerable amount of service in great variety, and makes sure that I can function on a daily basis. And Charlotte! Dear Charlotte! Why just last night, we went out to a local titty bar…”

B.B: “You can’t say that on public television and this has nothing to do with the elephant incident.”

Me: “I believe I did just say that, and this has everything to do with the elephants. There is nothing better to ease the pain of a deceased elephant friend and huge publicity hit like going out to see some boobs. And this was a great night. There was s lady there named Suzie Malone. She did some classy burlesque dance, magic tricks, and she swallowed a sword. Man, that gave me ideas, I tell you! She even danced around with fire. Fire! Strapped around her waist and in the shape of hand fans she danced with fire. I even had my picture taken with her. It is a topless picture. I am not topless, she is, or else I would have brought it to show. I am not opposed to showing the boobs on television; I just do not want to share them with you.”

B.B: “That is all well and good, sir. But what does any of this have to do with the damage you have brought and the poor people that are suffering because of your mistake?”

Me: “You just really want to beat a dead elephant. Man. Fine. While it is unfortunate that a few people may have received a bump or two because of a few rambunctious elephants, we are not a bank, mortgage company, or publicly traded corporation with stockholders to rape and pillage. The government will not bail us out like they did the people who the occupiers are bitching about (is that what they are bitching about? or is it Obamacare, Afghanistan, gay marriage, or Rick Santorum’s tranny porn stash?). No, as always in these trying time The Rothechilde Foundation will rebuild the damaged property. We have already purchased some of the more severely damaged property and found locations for business owners to rebuild and relocate. We have even offered to allow these business to use the Foundation’s contractors for repair and construction and infrastructure at prices that are much lower than the local business clowns. We are hiring many of the disgruntled occupiers for this Samurai City Reconstruction, and all of this will benefit the local economy. Lord Phant did not perish in vain.”

B.B: “It sounds like all you are doing is making a selfishly greedy cash grab and attempt to increase your personal stake and interest here!”

Me: “And is that not the American Way? Thank you, Samurai City and good day. This is Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, signing out.”

B.B: “Hey!”

And the screen goes black…

Note: Mr. Rothechilde has always reveled in, and proudly proclaimed his status as being a hack writer. If you disapprove of the ending, then you were not paying attention to the original disclaimer. No refunds or apologies should be expected and none will be made.

Sincerely,

Rothechilde Foundation and Trust Legal

Just Say Yes Volume X: Just Say Darkside

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: "Dance with the Green Faery!"

Greetings and Salutations! It has been two whole weeks since I have terrorized the Internet with old New Wave, Classic Gothic, and a few modern tunes for you to listen to as you sit on your computer and play World of Warcraft or do something on Facebook. If you were really clever, you would play my show in the background while going into some x-rated chat room to meet a date for the evening. Doing so would definitely attract someone’s curiosity, get me new listeners, and enhance your Internet experience a million fold!

Okay, you probably would not have the last of those prospects happen, but why risk it? Turn on the show and have a listen. It could only do you some good. Unless you are at work and should be doing other things rather than listening to me, or reading what is on this page. But that is not my concern, and probably should not be yours either. Musical cyber-intercourse of the ear with me is much more fun, stimulating, and can increase your own personal wealth (not financially, unless you are really industrious).

Well, enough of that prattle, let us get down to tonight’s musical offerings. I remember working in a record store back in the Nineties. This was some sort of experiment to get me in touch with the common man, but that is a story for later. Where I am going with this, is that I remember sorting cassette tapes (remember those?) and compact discs into musical genres. Genres that seem to have disappeared lately. It seems now that music is either Rap, Rock, Country, or Classical. Hell, more often than not, I see the first three in that list simply grouped under popular (Whatever, country music. Having Nashville does not make one popular!). One of those genres was New Wave. Another was that innocuous label “College Radio” (I was disappointed when I learned that many under-educated morons were fans of the genre…). Then one day, those genres disappeared, and were replaced with “Alternative.” I first noticed this change in Nineteen Ninety-One. Alternative became a buzzword and soon, a person could happily pay two hundred dollars at Hudson’s (now Macy’s) for a dirtied flannel shirt so that any suburban yutz could pretend to be Eddie Vedder while sipping over-priced coffee in some pretentious cafe while listening to horrible attempts at modern beatnik poetry. Ah, the Nineties…

So, hearkening back to that year, tonight’s show will be peppered with songs from “Just Say Yes Volume V: Just Say Anything” from Sire Records. In fact, that is why I used that title (and you should read that as Volume X, not Volume Ten…). Back in the day, Sire used to take a bunch of “sub-culture” bands, put them on a compilation tape/cd and one could have a sample of what was new, progressive, and ofttimes, underground. Some of those bands pushed the envelope, others may have turned out to be minor musical grace notes. Whatever, the case, I have decided to feature a few of those artists who were there in that last year of what I remember as music before it was turned into a mess of “alternative, pop schlock.”

To listen, tune to http://darksideradio.com at 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (US).

Enjoy!

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

*John Wesley Harding and Steve Wynn

Joy Division

Nouvelle Vague

Siouxsie and the Banshees

*Dinosaur Jr.

Tre Lux

Snake River Conspiracy

*The Judybats

The Do

Talking Heads

*Royal Crescent Mob

Bad Brains

Type O Negative

*Throwing Muses

The Cure

Depeche Mode

Switchblade Symphony

R.E.M.

*Seal

Tool

Lacuna Coil

*Bigod 20

Mindless Self Indulgence

Nine Inch Nails

Ministry

Mad Marge and the Stonecutters

The Koffin Kats

That Handsome Devil

Puscifer

*Morrissey

Berlin

Johnny Cash

So, tune in tonight and enjoy the program. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates and make requests during the show.

*Selection from “Just Say Yes Volume V: Just Say Anything”

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax

Big & Beautiful at the Strip Club, Shopping, and Tonight on Darkside Radio

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: "Dance with the Green Faery!"

Greetings and Salutations! Tonight marks a momentous night for yours truly. It is the night after I went out to a local strip club with my dearest of dears, Charlotte. We happened to go on a night that was a feature evening: “Big and Beautiful Night.” The theme was big women, all amateurs, shaking it and getting naked for a chance to win a cool one thousand dollars.

What makes the night after such an even momentous? Very simple, I was both inspired and impressed by the fact that many of the entertainers last night danced to songs that one may hear some night if tuned into Darkside Radio. I am always pleased to see Gothic-Industrial-EBM strippers. Believe it or not, goth chicks have curves, only the males of our species tend to the skinny, waifish side of life…

But I digress… Before I get into the schedule of artists to be featured on Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier, let me give you a brief rundown of the events from last night. These will be highlights, people, a blog about the experience may come later. It may not even be necessary.

  1. Instead of just having the BBW’s dance and strip, the girls had to endure three “events.” The third event, was the actual dancing, the first two events were 1) Topless Jump-roping, and 2) Naked Hula Hooping.
  2. During the hula hoop event, one girl fell off of the stage, and onto a customer sitting in the audience.
  3. One girl danced one entire song, and most of second, before pulling a lollipop out of her, we you know…
  4. Not to be outdone by the “Crouching BBW, Hidden Lollipop” that came before her, the next contestant appeared with a giant lollipop shaped like a cock and began to get herself off with it. Really! She was going to town.

And there you have a brief rundown of what happened last night at the titty bar. Believe it or not, that is the first time that I have used the phrase “titty bar.” And in print! I feel lecherous.

I went shopping earlier today and bought a couple of new suits, a coat, and a top coat. Why is this important? Well, dear readers, the suit shopping marks another milestone in the life of Xavier A.S. Rothechilde: one of the suits is actually sort of navy blue. Yes! It is true! The X man has actually purchased a suit that was not black! “It’s the end of the world as we know it…” Further, I did not purchase a white shirt. I bought a blue shirt and a brownish one, and even a gold-ish colored tie. I bought clothing that has color!!! Not that there is anything wrong with that. There will be more to this tale as well. In fact, between the strip club and the shopping, I think I may have a total blog entry.

Well, I have gone on for quite enough time about stuff and should get on with the other purpose of this entry: the artist who will be providing the rhythm for the gothic dance with the Green Faery. Grab your absinthe, sugar and ice water, it is almost time.

To listen, tune to http://darksideradio.com at 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (US).

Enjoy!

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

Cocteau Twins

Joy Division

Bauhaus

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Leonard Cohen

Nouvelle Vague

Tre Lux

Gerard McMann

Talking Heads

Sonic Youth

Dead Kennedys

Type O Negative

The Cure

Depeche Mode

Switchblade Symphony

The Gothacoustic Ensemble

U2

Lacuna Coil

Nine Inch Nails

Mindless Self Indulgence

Ministry & Co-Conspirators

HorrorPops

The Koffin Kats

That Handsome Devil

The Smithereens

Snake River Conspiracy

The Smiths

Placebo

Johnny Cash

Dead Can Dance

So, tune in tonight and enjoy the program. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax