Tag Archives: shania twain

How to Make Your Band Successful

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So you’re in a band and you’re looking for something to make your group stand out to venues, radio DJs, record companies, and hot ass fucksluts ready to drop trou and do the slip-slip-squirt in the alleyway next to your parents’ apartment. I know, I know. I been there, kid. Shit, I’m still there in a lot of ways. I know how you feel and I’m here to help. I’ve had plenty of experience in this field over the years with all my bands: Houis Louise and the Nouveaus, Buster Himen, Dickey Salt and the Dick Salt All-Stars, The Mermen with Salty Dicks, Shrunken Salty Slug Dick, Pumpkintits Horrorhouse, Moose Cock, and Oasis. Here’s a few little suggestions to help you hit it big.

1) Get a cool band name. This is a must. The name provides the first impression. First impressions are EV-ER-Y-thing.  It can make or break that shit. Here’s a tip: don’t name your band “The Something.” And when I said “Something” right then, I did not literally mean “Something.” I just meant like, whatever you put in there. Not like “The Whatever”, you know what I mean. The point is, you could insert anything in there and it still won’t work. And I’m not referring to “The Anything.” You know what, never mind. You’re making this way more complicated than it has to be. All I’m saying is that band names which are nouns preceded by the article adjective “the” just don’t work. It’s a proven fact. Never have, never will. If you’re band falls into this category get ready for a life of gaining weight, working at Guitar City, and DJing middle school dances. If you’re looking for an eye-poppin’ badass name, I suggest using the Gerund Phrase Technique (GPT). It’s simple and easy to use. A gerund phrase will begin with a gerund, an ing word, and might include other modifiers and/or objects. Gerund phrases always function as nouns, so they will be subjects, subject compliments, objects in the sentence, or in this case a band name. I suggest something vague, morbid, or ironic and as always, alliteration is Tittyville, U.S.A. Read these examples to give you an idea:

Fisting the Dragon Pussy

Snorkeling in Sand

Bowling for Soup

Cock-Gagging for Cocaine

Smelling The Pit

Making Satan a Sandwich

Wearing My Dad’s Face

Pretty good right? Right. Prepositional phrases usually work pretty well too….This just in, I just found out on the Google.com that there is a band named “The Gerunds.” I’m sure they think they are being very cute and clever, but this doesn’t count as GPT. At All. I’m not sure who they are or where they are from but I will guarantee you this: The Gerunds will never amount to a god damn pile of mother fucking peanuts. You hear me?!  I am willing to bet two of my hard-earned twenty dollar bills that not one member of The Gerunds would even know how to get it up for one of these dirty truck sluts.

2) Get a girl in the band. This has proven successful for musicians such as No Doubt, Talking Heads, Fleetwood Mac, Ray Stevens, The White Stripes,

Not really sure which one the girl was. The one on the left?This ambiguity makes for maximum appeal.

The Cranberries, Smashing Pumpkins, and Prince. Some supple fox will really improve your band’s appeal. Cuz you see, sexual predators listen to music too. This is a highly untapped demographic ripe for the plucking, shucking, and/or ear fucking. Just don’t be surprised if you get a lot of balding men slushing around under their trench coats in darkened corners. Here’s the one real problem with adding a girl to the mix: girls aren’t very good at music. On occasion you may find one that can sing okay but those are rare. Like, rarer than a meteor shower. I mean, how many times does a Wynona or a Dusty “Beaver” Springfield come around? Once every meteor shower, that’s how many times. A good solution to this problem is to let the girl play bass or tambourine. These “instruments” require very little talent and as long as those tits are perky and as long as she ain’t no plumper, it doesn’t matter what the fuck she is doing. You definitely don’t want her to play guitar. Girls are too busy going to the mall, eating ice cream, and having their periods to learn the chords and scales necessary to play guitar. Also, be careful not to have too many girls in the band or the band will be awful. I strongly suggest no more than one. Two maybe, if it is necessary to have a tambourine and a bass.

3) Unplug the bass. Nobody is paying attention to anything the bass is doing. Save yourself the electricity. Why run up your girlfriend’s parents’ bill? Plus bassists are typically thickheaded dickheads. Thick, dick, heads. Furthermore, bass is hardly a real instrument. It’s just a low guitar with 4 strings (Or +5 strings if the bassist is particularly pretentious). It’s like, if you don’t want to take the time to learn the chords and play guitar, then get the fuck off everybody else’s coattails and get the fuck out of the band, you piece. of. shit. The only reason to even have a bass in the band is if you’ve got some girl that isn’t good enough to play anything else.

4) Shoot heroin into your eyeball. There’s lots of blood vessels in your eyeball. And it will make you’re music better.

5) Have a few hits then two words: Go Country, ya’ll. Take that sound that your fans have grown to know and love and add a lil’ twang to it. Start singing about small town America, cold beer, creek beds, and what it’s like to be in love. Sing about your truck. Sing about your mama. Pull out your Alabama Black Snake and show it to a relative. Then sing a song about it. Wear a cowboy hat. Put on some all white jeans and a plaid shirt. Throw up on yourself in the parking lot of the ‘Dega Superspeedway. Strum an acoustic guitar. Make a music video that is just shots of nature and you making out with a pretty blonde wearing cut off jean shorts in the woods. If the pretty blonde just happens to be your bassist then it’s a win-win. My advice: do a duet with Shania Twain. People will flip. Make a music video for it, and see if you can get Shania to eat out the bass player. Preferably in the woods, or somewhere in nature. I’m telling you, everything gets better when you gone country. Look at them boots!

Kill/Boff/Marry pt. 3

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Marry

Blossom

Now when you are contemplating marriage material, you have to take a lot of factors into consideration. You are looking for a life partner, someone you can share your everything with, someone that you’re not afraid to hear to you poop after you’ve been to CiCi’s and got the sprays. I mean, you really need to know each other inside and out. Like, deep inside. I’m talking Butt Spelunking. With a tape measurer. One needs to be aware of the circumference, depth, cubic mass, humidity, and temperature of their spouses cavern.

So who are we choosing to marry? No Brainer, Blossom Russo from TV’s Blossom. She’s sweet. She’s smart. She listens. She’s creative. She loves life. She’s got a real old soul. And she’s seen stuff, man. Her mom left. Her dad is a musician which means he does heroin. Her best friend is a whore.

I love that she’s got got her own unique style too. Those big floppy hats really accent her big Jew nose. Now, I know a lot of Jews prefer to stick to their religion when it comes to marriage. I’m not positive if Blossom follows this rule, but I would be willing to do whatever it takes to be with her because she is my soul mate. And ain’t no Hebrew God going to stand in my way. Go ahead, circumcise me. I’ll do anything. Sure, I won 3rd place five years in a row at the County Fair’s Mr. Foreskin contest. And it would have been six in a row if Wade Quackenbush hadn’t showed up with that anteater snout he calls a penis. Still, you better believe I’d give all my awards back in a heartbeat to take Blossom’s hand in marriage. Shit, we could use my foreskin as the wedding ring if our Rabbi was okay with that.

You know, I’m even kind of excited about becoming a Jew for Blossom. It’s like my grandfather always said “Behind every good man, there’s a great Jew” and I think he is right on the money. Jesus, Woody Allen, Gertrude Stein, Groucho and Karl Marx, the cast of Seinfeld, Jean-Paul Sartre, Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the secret committee that tells the President what to do, and my analyst Dr. Werner Lipshwitz. I would be honored to enter that circle of Jewdom.

And for any of you out there who are thinking “Blossom is sooo in love with Vinnie, you don’t stand a chance old man, with your undescended testicle and your IBS.” Well, ya know what I say to that bullshit? Fuck Vinnie. Vinnie couldn’t hold my jockstrap. Not out there on the ice and not when it comes to Blossom Russo. And I know some of you gay ass lesbians in the crowd are saying “Blossom is totally eating Six’s wafting meatlocker,” I got news for you, Blossom and I have already discussed that. It was just a phase she was going through. It’s over. She made a great point. She said “The best part about being a woman is the perogative to have a little fun.”

<br /> (via phillymag.com)

And I think she is absolutely right. I mean, everybody’s a little gaybear sometimes. Right? Ok, can I be honest with you? Like reeeaaally honest? You can’t tell Bloss. Or Vinnie. Or any of the guys cuz they’ll call me a dicksitter, but…Ok….I’m really just marrying Blo-Blo to get to Joey. He’s soooo fooooine. That retard can make this little boy say “Whoa!” anytime he wants. Ha! Listen to me. Man, I feel like a woman right now. Seriously.  But, he makes me wanna doo-doo his babies. Lets just say that I would like to have his boots under my bed.

I’m fa realz though. I would marry the tits off of Blossom. If only to pick her brains about those hats! Y’all remember when Six had a drinking problem? Or when she dated the married man? Or when she thought she was preggers? Yeah, I know. What a slut!

Kill/Boff/Marry: Pt. 2

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Boff

Leonardo “the Vinci” DiCaprio 

Face it guys, it takes more than hitting the gym and torching those Delts three times a week until they are more swoll than my labia at a John Mayer concert, to make a few stains on my futon. A pair of cowboy boots, some Brett Favre Wranglers, and an ass tighter than a baby blue whale’s blowhole won’t get you too far with me. Been there done that. That don’t impress-a me much. I mean, don’t get me wrong I think your alright but that won’t keep me warm in the middle of the night. Ultimate sex appeal takes brains too. Smart is sexy. Everybody knows that. Just axe Charlie Darwin. He was getting maaad poonan from all over.  That’s how he came up with Evolution. He was getting so much slit that his dick evolved, and began vibrating on its own accord. I tell people all the time, “If you ain’t packin’ upstairs, then I ain’t worried bout cha luggage downstairs,” and I truly do mean it, y’all.  That’s why I want to boff the beard off of Leonardo, who Zagats rated 3rd smartest man ever. And those muscles don’t hurt either! Take a gander at the photo to the right of Leonardo early in his modeling career. This was right before his stint on Growing Pains with Dr. Alan Thicke.  Such defined pectorals. And look at the Shmeckel! Oi vey!

Plus, he is such a Renaissance man. He paints. He sculpts. He invents. He engineers. He maths. He sciences. He musics. He is an awarding winning author. His work Da Vinci Code talks all about how Jesus is fake and how Tom Hanks should really have four Oscars instead of two and won Oprah’s 2004 book of the year award. Not to mention his acting. Ever heard of a little film I like to call “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?” I’ll tell you what was eating him: his mom was super chunky and his brother was retarded. Or was he? What poise! What commitment! You almost had us fooled Leonardo! Probably the best rendition of a normal guy playing a retarded guy since all those movies with Owen Wilson. Hey Owen Wilson, your nose is crooked. Your voice is annoying. You play the same role in all your movies. Go kill yourself. Ok, that was maybe a little harsh. Marley and Me was pretty cute, I guess. But like, when the dog dies, it is so sad. I mean death is so depressing, you know? Cuz like when someone dies they are gone 4ever :’-( <-That’s how I felt you guys. It’s a crying face.  

Plus, he’s got an Italiano accenté (which gets me moister than an oyster). And that long beard and those flowing locks will give me something to hold on to when I’m riding rodeo style. Buckin’ bronco. Giddy up, Leo! And I bet he’s hung like a summer squash. Overall, I gar-an-tee he would be a great pokin’.

Kill/Boff/Marry: Pt. 1

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People are always sending us all these emails to us at krazykoochie6969@aol.com and paging our beepers, asking us all these annoying questions. Who do you love? Who do you hate? Who do you want to savagely murder? Who do you want to get your slip-slip-squirt on with? Who do you want to settle down with, have 2.5 kids, gain 60 lbs, and then stop having sex with? Who gets you all horned up and ready to kill? So we decided to play a little game: KILL/BOFF/MARRY. We picked who we want to muder, hump, and betroth. This little game has been split up into 3 separate blog posts which we will be releasing consecutively. This helps to build suspense just like they did in LOST and Hurricane Katrina. Remember when we were like on season 2 and we were like who the fuck is Jacob? And why is Ben Linus so gayballs for him? It took us until season 5 to realize that he was just the ageless protector of the island for more than 2,000 years, trapped in a battle of good and evil with his nameless brother and was the one that brought everyone to the island to help recruit his successor. It all makes so much since now. Anyways, here is round one of Kill/Boff/Marry….

Kill

Guy Fieri

Why do we want to kill Guy Fieri? Well, we certainly don’t wanna boff or marry him. That’s for sure. He will never be any man of mine. Any man of mine better be proud of me. And even when I’m ugly, he still better love me. I can be late for a date. That’s fine. But, HE better be on time. So, let’s kill this fartbag. Is it the hair? Yes. Is it the shirt with flames? Yes. It is the facial hair? Yes. Is it because he wears his sunglasses backwards? Yes. Is it because he poses like Fred Durst in all his pictures? Yes. Is it because he was in an Aflac commercial with that fucking stupid duck that quacks “Aflac” and HE came across as the annoying one? Yes. Is it because he screams unnecessarily all the fucking time? Yes. I mean, as far as I can tell, there are only two occasions where it is appropriate to raise your voice to that level. One, you’re yelling at Mom, because you stayed out drinking all night and came home smelling like a stripper passed out in a dumptruck and she called you on it, or two, you’re getting raped by a fireman while your house burns down around you.  So, is this why we hate this Summer’s Eve Disposable Douchebag? Yes, it’s all of these things and more.
So how would we choose to kill this son of a bitch? That’s a great question. First, we’d shave his head along with his fat, bloated, drunken, too red to not be drunk face and force him to eat every last strand of his frosted, gelled, bleach blonde staircase abortion of a hairdoo. Then we’d take a nailgun and nail his sunglasses to his eyes, (the correct way mind you) because apparently this dicksnot doesn’t get the fucking point. Next, we would make him watch as we actually set fire to all of his flaming (and we mean that in the gayest definition of that word) shirts, including the one that is currently on his person. Let him cook for a good 2 minutes and then put out the fire with homemade breadcrumbs. Then we would gently massage some NEOSPORIN® onto the 3rd degree burns on his lovely lady lumps. Wait a second, that’s not NEOSPORIN®. That’s Italian Dressing. It’s my favorite. Garnished with a little cilantro to cool it down a little and really give it that fresh taste. A little ground pepper. And then glob on some buffalo sauce and we’re driving the bus to flavor town! I mean, really be generous with the buffalo sauce. Now we are going to top it off with a little roasted garlic, serve it over our salmon-mango rice and KASPLOW! Full throttle on the flavor express. Toot toot! My taste bud’s taste buds are going to be squirting goo-bombs all night long.