- ROOTS OF CHICHA PSYCHEDELIC CUMBIAS FROM PERU RAR MOVIE
- ROOTS OF CHICHA PSYCHEDELIC CUMBIAS FROM PERU RAR SKIN
- ROOTS OF CHICHA PSYCHEDELIC CUMBIAS FROM PERU RAR TV
I haven’t actually watched Bruno, mostly because I doubt it could be as funny as the Borat movie, and the Borat movie wasn’t really as funny as the Ali G show, which was just as funny just in different ways than the British version of the show.
Actually, now that I think about it, this show, although not over-the-top and trying to make fun of people, was a definite precursor to the whole Baron Sacha Cohen Borat/Bruno/Ali G thing, although it’s more obvious if you’ve seen the Ali G Show Ali G stuff than it is with Borat or Bruno. And Louie was so interested and innocent seeming, and he got away with asking questions normal reporter types wouldn’t because he did it with a British accent. And you have only three black people in your country, yet amazingly enough, Seal, Dizzee Rascal, and Lennox Lewis all became famous, but only in music and sports because you are inherently racist.Īnyways, Weird Weekend was a show where this Louie Theroux dude would immerse himself in some fringe culture, like southern rap or wrestling or UFO cults or muscle worshippers, and it was always really great fringe cultures that I was interested in. You, to me, are the American-style people from Europe that talk like Saturday night PBS sitcoms. I was born in Virginia, growed in Virginia, and will die in Virginia. Louie Theroux was a writer for some fucking well-respected humor magazine that I can’t be bothered to remember, and he’s some sort of limey, which I’m always afraid to say “British” because the dude might be one of those very anti-British flavors like Scottish or Irish or Welsh or gay and get all angry and start on some long-winded rant that really I don’t care about.
ROOTS OF CHICHA PSYCHEDELIC CUMBIAS FROM PERU RAR TV
Haha, I’m listing like an all-star cable TV shows from 1999 list, with this and Iron Chef. Yin and yang, it all balances out to not much, and tomorrow it's supposed to snow and the puppies will bounce like crackheads and the kids will bundle up like satellite TV packages that end up costing $20 more than you expected and I'll look out the back window and be like, "Yep, this is my World."
33 and a third more precisely, and the opposite of this is hyper-crank style with three turntables rigged together with wires and cables and flea market equipment and stuff stored in stacked milk crates inside the camper behind the house, and they all spin at once to go 100 mph, so to speak, so to hear. Hydrocodone Yuengling tag team double dropkick coming out the locker room with my theme music at -13 pitch shift - playing old 45s on a shitty ass turntable at 33 rpms. But I'm a sinking and swimming ass fool, at the same time, one arm flailing and the other one numb.
ROOTS OF CHICHA PSYCHEDELIC CUMBIAS FROM PERU RAR SKIN
Slice the skin off my dick and point me off into the goddamned world and my body will float along with power, with strength, with amusement. Except you're not away, just hiding from the hole you've been digging around yourself since the moment you got born by pure chance where you landed in the waiting hands of a dude (or woman) waiting to get paid. Sometimes with the punched clock demands and caffeine energy, you can ignore the real, and stagger through the days, keeping the creditors from leaving computer-generated messages on your voicebox while-you're-away machine. I heard the hum but deprive myself of sleep to the point I haven't dreamed in eight years. Hits and clicks and ones and zeros, world spinning through wi-fi behind fifteen minute heroes.
Minutes turn to hours turn to days turn to waste, and I wonder how I got stuck in this cluttered up space called myself. Afraid of a world spinning crooked so I'm rural, where the words clog my head painting picture perfect murals, but my fingers and tongue get stuck on specifics, like the proper positioning and my broke ass linguistics. Feeling the microwave whisper buzzing behind my ear, but the alcohol intake inhibits my fear. Zines were my thing, now I'm in the blogosphere constantly clicking on refresh, hoping the end is near.
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