In celebration of: Rihanna aficionado Kaven Marenger

Some days, blogging is like cutting open a vein to let the poison out. Some days, this is all I, you, we have: an outlet where our thoughts get manifested as a desperate shout out to the world. Some days, all I can do is type until the words make no sense to me but hopefully to someone else. This is not one of those days. This is a day where we laugh at a Canadian sexcase who’s stalking some that chick from the Bahamas who got boyed up a few years back.

The best of Dirty Bieber Secrets

You gotta hand it to 15-year-old girls: they’ve got the Tumblr game on fucking lock. While American music writers use the platform to copy and paste pictures of A RAPPER standing next to AN INDIE MUSICIAN or sharing their fascinating opinions on patriarchal hegemony in the music of Brooks and Dunn, 15-year-old girls are out there dropping original content for days, sourcing the best memes and networking like motherfuckers.

In celebration of: the fake Krissi Murison Twitter account

That coat of arms is a little racist, isn’t it? The fake Twitter account game has been ruined slightly by the estimated 75,000 erstatz Phil Browns currently clogging this particular internet tube up, but rest assured some gems do still lurk around out there. For instance, @ThomasKnox is a hilarious pastiche of a clapped out 90s lads mag reject who coped with the increasing awareness of his own pathetic mortality as he reaches his 40s by becoming a reactionary Tory shitbag.

Another Twitter account that brought the lulz was @krissi_murison_, since deleted by some of IPC’s more feisty legal department warriors. However, you know that ILB has connections in the best of places, and so we are proud to bring you, from the libellers’ hands itself, the potted highlights of that Twitter account as was after the jump:

In celebration of: Tom Gair

i dunno if you’re supposed to be taking the piss, but your review of Theo London’s mixtape was a fucking travesty. sort yourself, i ent saying its really a good album, but some of your comments were just downright hateful. noticed most of your bad reviews are attributed with those people who aint white too, nice one, oh sorry you not liek black people commenting on your page?

Oh man, you motherfuckers never learn

Steve Lamacq RIP

He’s either dead or finally leaving Radio 1 after 16 years, I forget which one.

Let us ironically reappraise hipsters

 

If any of you people actually discussed music outside of gay-ass internet circle jerks where people are weeping salt tears at the closure of Idolator (and I personally am mourning their intricate brand of “Silversun Pickups are touring, I bet that’ll be good” high-end content), you’d learn something quite interesting. For the outside world, “indie” and “hipster” are interchangeable terms. Tell someone that you like The Indie Rock, and regardless of whether or not you’re popping The Pains of Being Pure at Heart or the fucking Old 97s, dollars-to-donuts this person will have now pegged you as a hipster. 

Is there an argument to be made for the Bloodhound Gang?

It’s been a little confusing for me, watching Charlotte Roche’s rise to being an Important Literary Figure and the Queen of TMI, if only because I can remember her previous calling. Like many an immigrant family, I grew up in a house with a hooky satellite dish. In addition to supplying us with the requisite RAI and Mediaset channels so my father could spend roughly 1/5 of his living life watching Walker: Texas Ranger in Italian, it also gave us German music channels. As a 14-year-old, the alternative station “Viva Zwei” was fucking manna for me, providing me with all those exciting new bands that were sure to be equally loved by myself and the wider world over a decade later: The Arsonists, Three Colours Red, Scott 4, Brassy.

It’s “Titanes En El Ring” Sunday on IchLugeBullets.com!

Here is a Youtube video clip of a 1970s Argentinian wrestling match between a man dressed as Genghis Khan and a harried executive who repeatedly stops the match to take phone calls and dictate memos to his secretary, who is standing at ringside:

The clip comes from Titanes En El Ring, an Argentinian wrestling promotion that operated from the early 1960s to the late 1980s. Being as my hobbies, outside of beefing with 95% of the UK music fraternity and drinking Hendrick’s Gin, do include the pro-wrestling, and I spent three whole months as a freelance correspondant for PowerSlam Magazine before being fired after an argument about TNA midcarder “Black Machismo” Jay Lethal, I could try to educate you on this topic. However, the best piece of writing I’ve seen so far this year on any topic would be Dave Meltzer’s “Hall of Fame” bio of Kardagian which ran a few months back. Catch it in full after the jump, as well as a few other TEER clips

It’s Pen and Pixel Wednesday On Ich Luge Bullets

Before we say anything more, the crux of this post in one line: you really need to get the fuck over to ffm713‘s blog at some hosting service I’ve never heard of because he has the reason the internet may have been invented: a (near) complete archive of every Pen & Pixel-designed album cover. 364 of them to be precise, 364 examples of dogs smoking blunts, ghostly hands waving stacked bundles about, diamond encrusted hub caps on a limo ridden by the devil, dogs smoking blunts while waving cough medicine about and pretty much 364 examples of poor depth perception on the part of the designers. It doesn’t really matter. Pen and Pixel, to me, ARE hip-hop, the point where self-awareness meets don’t-give-a-fuck and the end result is simultaneously abjectly ridiculous and deeply honest. If you need more evidence that you gotta go to ffm713′s instantly, there’s examples of some of my favourites after the cut. And examples presented without commentary as well, because while this may be the high point of the internet, the low point is those fucking websites that show exactly the same 20 “worst album covers ever” over and over again, but try and add their own “witty take” on them. And I don’t think there’s any commentary needed when it comes to Magnolia Short’s “Monkey On Tha Dick”.

Progenitors of the Ich Luge Bullets mindset #1: Bobby “The Brain” Heenan (now with stupidly bandwith-heavy WWF Magazine scans)

There’s an argument to be made that the reason British music criticism is in such a fucking hole at the moment is because we never had any heroes to look up to when we were at that suggestible age. It’s not as if, say, Daniel Booth’s Melody Maker opinion pieces in the late 90s were sufficient enough to inspire my generation to rise up with pen and follow in his footstep, or as if there’s 3,000 female bloggers out there who duct-tape a set square to their chin before they go to sleep each night, hoping they’ll wake up looking more like Kitty Empire.