“Why did all of this happen? Some of this has its roots in a complex political calculation, in which the Democratic Party in the Clinton years made a Faustian bargain, deciding to abandon its old role as a defender of unions and the underprivileged, embrace more Wall Street-friendly deregulatory policies, and compete for the political center by pushing for more street cops, tougher sentences and the end of welfare – the same thing the Republicans were already doing. By the mid-Nineties, neither party was really representing, for lack of a better term, the fucked, struggling poor.The end result of this political shift was an unprecedented explosion of the American prison population, from just more than a million people behind bars in the early Nineties to 2.2 million today. Less than five percent of the world’s people live in the United States, but we are home to about 25 percent of the world’s prisoners, a shocking number.”
“The next time you say the Pledge of Allegiance – ‘I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all’ – remember: it’s a lie. A whopper of a lie.”
Korporate Kulture Killed Kool. Wow you can’t sue vaccine makers or hold chemical giants, Monsanto, accountable for destroying the food chain and poisoning everyone with sterility causing, tumor inducing, cancer creating GMO’s. Big oil pipelines leak all over and local authorities and private mercenaries are dispatched to keep the indie-press from capturing photographic evidence of the oil oligarchs ongoing eco-carnage. Evil Dick Cheney’s company is fracking all over the country. Seven companies now control not just the big television channels, but radio, magazines, publishing, billboards, all media. They call flyering and graffiti “quality of life crimes”–well what is minimum wage, then, you bastards? They killed Michael Jackson and replaced him with Justin Timberlake. Is Timberlake actually cooler than Michael Buble, or Michael Bolton, really? The brain police grope yo mama, sneak and peek in private homes, read all electronic communications, and use military grade chemicals on female student protesters. Poor people do mind-expanding drugs and go to jail. There’s nothing for young people to do anymore except freshen their Facebook profiles and buy more violent video games from Target. You can’t really swim in an ocean full of Corexit, oil, and toxic glop. If you tried to drag-race in those ugly modern vehicles, you’d go to jail. If you pass out literature at the mall–jail. If you throw a party without a permit–jail. You start to notice how all highways leads to an orange jumpsuit, unless you’re a rich, greedy fascist wallowing in solipsism or a testosterone crazy member of the steroid violent, taser nutty, enforcer class.Talk about a Generation Landslide. There’s very little in the way of youth culture, like in the punk and new wave eras, there are very few places like C.B.G.B.’s, because the bullshit real estate market. Our young are being pumped with compliance-inducing big pharma pills, distracted and bamboozled by all that “Jersey Shore” and Kanye West designer label, diet pills, and energy drink jive. It’s a shame, ’cause even when they do herd young people into overpriced outdoor music festivals where bottled water’s $8 and military recruiters have tables out front, often, the kids are just subjected to bullshit, horrible, techno D.J.’s. Sure, some groups that became massive corporate brands in the eighties, like Van Halen, the Cure, or Motley Crue, still limp along, commanding big money selling fifty dollar t-shirts, and attracting ticket buyers, but very few people I know have money to see concerts, or even go out to local bars, anymore. Ten dollar cover to see local jam bands and whiteboy rappers? $8 beers? I got the chem-trail flu, and the middle age blues. While the attention of the public was diverted by the usual culture-wars debates-feminism, gay marriage, abortion and intolerant fundamentalist religions, a new law was quietly passed, that shields monopoly manufacturers of genetically-modified foods from lawsuits over their untested, unsafe products. Written by Senator Roy Blunt, a man backed by the global agricultural-giant Monsanto Corporation, H.R. 933 passed silently through Congress and then was signed on President Obama’s desk. Just like NDAA on New Year’s Eve. The banks, oil-barons, vaccine makers, torturers, eugenicists, B.P., war criminals, Blackwater and Halliburton are all above the law, now. Laws are to punish and enslave poor people. Only pot-smokers, protesters, truthers, and whistle blowers are accountable in U.S. kangaroo courts. The private prisons have guarantees from the government that they will keep them close to full at all times, so they can exploit that unseen prison slave labor and put “Made In America” on the label. The Monsanto Protection Act law sets the precedent that court challenges are a privilege, not a right. It also bars courts from being able to halt sales of dangerous products. Effectively, this helps Monsanto become above the law.
Duel-Citizen, Mayor Rahm Emanual is closing down over 100 Chicago schools in impoverished neighborhoods to create more future prisoners and cannon fodder for his global elite bankster Zionist Oil Wars on Muslim countries. Meanwhile, tv tranced yuppies defend Obama for his empty lip service to the gay community, and hollow promises to close Gitmo, and end these bogus, criminal wars. Instead, he’s expanded them all. He’s either a hostage or a shill for the War Machine and Military Industrial Complex. Sadly. Everything that was impossible science fiction when we were kids twenty-five or thirty years ago is real life, now, from suppressed technologies and secret weapons, to microwave guns being used in Iraq and Afghanistan, targeted killings of dissidents, Big Brother reading all our E-mails, and NSA recording our phonecalls, indefinite detention without trial, state media controlled by just six companies, biological weapons and manufactured diseases, secret cures, chem trails and fracking poisoning our eco-systems and water supplies. It’s been so long since any good new music was discovered in the consolidated media, that people still have to talk about boy-band Mouskateers, capitalist hip-hop and rich kid synth wanking, to feel hip. Joe Strummer, Hunter S. Thompson, Bill Hicks, George Carlin, Tupac Shakur, Frank Zappa, all the truth tellers are dead. Like Hunter once said right before 9/11 was used to justify Martial Law in increments and the banksters global wars, “There’s No Such Thing As Paranoia.” Note how rightwing war hawks who lie nations into endless wars for profit never get pancreatic cancer or die in mysterious helicopter accidents or commit suicide or get shot by violent pharma’d out gun nuts. Just the Peace A Chance crowd. Inger Lorre fretted that Gibby Haynes might be next, but thankfully, he’s still here, probably due to his following the sage old Oscar Wilde advice about injecting slapstick into one’s truth-telling, otherwise, the cable brainwashed village mob will mount you on a stick. If you own a denim vest with a Motorhead back patch and studs on it, an old Cult t-shirt, or have ever owned a poster of a cobra crawling around on a skull, I’ve got the radioactive spider bite you’ve been yearning for. Vaseline Tuner.
If you still dream of electric Jean Genies, mysterioso flower punks, space cowboys, rabbit fighters, and road warrior biker gangs fighting the pigs, one flashing psychedelic artist who will bedazzle you with his brain melting pretties just for you, the sonic equivalent to Salvador Dali’s paintings, is a wing-heeled and hydra headed doctor of the strange, Hallucinatin’ Billy Tsounis, a six string scientist, who wields his intergalactic thrill pistol like Neptune’s trident, pitch–forking the flabby white whale of soul eroding corporate muzak. Boston rockers remember him from Kid Crash, but his visionary orange work with CAPTAIN ZAPPED has made an indelible impression on space brained, flaming lipped, sex gang, damage cases, girls in thunderbolt suits, and old school hate-lorders, all over twelve galaxies. If you read underground commix as a kid, you will hear his music and think, “far out man…” He is like Captain Beefheart and Alfred E. Neuman playin’ spoons and plates in Johnny Rotten’s Gunter Grove apartment while Nina Hagen nags and throws bone china miffed because last Sunday’s party has faded into Halloween….on the filthy futon a strange orchestra comprised of Turbonegro and Nik Fiend play chrome sitars, sick things with ashtray hearts commiserate--Jah Wobble chews his cheeks, Ace Frehley picks his face, Roy Wood decorates the Black Xmas tree and Fat Freddy’s cat compulsively crawls around looking for a crack rock he thinks he lost somewhere on the carpet, while Steve Vai bores a pin-eyed Sly Stone with gibberish from Buddhist koans he read in overpriced new age self help calendars, and Kid Congo chats with King Koffee and Kid Creole about old Tarzan and Flash Gordan serials and their favorite childhood breakfast cereals, like Captain Crunch and Count Chocula that are tragically now laced chock full of genetically modified maggot brained mutations, he’s made the transformation as a rocknroll star. Good Morning Starshine! Here’s some Koffee for your vodka. Don’t eat the brown ass, Sid. I was there that night!
For many of us, comic books and “Heavy Metal” magazine inspired us to write, draw, imagine alternative worlds, back in the sixties and seventies, when they only cost a quarter and then, fifty cents. Marvel was innovative because their heroes and villains were flawed and neurotic and battling personal psychological issues, but then, came the early nineties graphic novel craze where comic books were given cardboard covers, always darkening and murderous adult themes, and cost fifteen or sixteen bucks. Now, all the golden age super heroes have been resurrected for rightwing military glamorizing corporate propaganda purposes, and the only movies that get made are transhuman endless war and torture glorifying, blockbuster vehicles for conditioning youth to accept that truth comes from authority, instead of the other way around. Gone are the days of buying a stack of comics. Same with rock mags. There ARE NO American rock mags anymore, and the imports are $15 a pop. Where have all the super powered cool mutants battling the forces of evil, gone? UNDERGROUND!!!! Vaseline Tuner is a microwavable hot pocket fraught with alcohol and razor blades, totem poles, needles and clothes pins, crocodile warlords, glitter wizzards, all the space queens seduced by Shatner, hot rods, van art, shoegazers, Batcavers, ghost riders, drunken sailors, werewolves, mermaids, Manson chicks, incense, wine, and candles…Warhol celebrities in elephant’s pajamas, Scooby snacks, Scratch Acid, Happy Flowers, Happy Death Men, Honey Bruce, “Hey, Bruce!” Stayin’ loose like Mother Goose. It’s a ouji board wake-up call to armies of Buxton & Bruce, Screamin’ Jays, death rays, purple haze, sixties pulp novel sci-fi cliché’s, maybe I’m amazed by this quicksilver, killer-clown, surfin’ safari, into the unknown realms of hotpants and pinball lights but whenever I lay my overfed fiery head down on my surrealistic pillow at night, Vaseline Tuner’s visions of mad swirling perverse grandeur dance dementedly like time-warping, dumpster diving, midnight dunebuggy-marauding butter thieves, frolicking like Sgt. Krishna on rollerskates down the rabbit hole where noted swan riders of the purple microdot, Eddie Hazel and George Clinton, harness dolphins and jump the sharks, Fonzarelli style. If ya know what I mean. Maaannn. Vaseline Tuner is the warped and weird and highly imaginative work of Hallucinatin’ Billy Tsounis and it’s novelty rock, joke rock, concept rock, stoner rock, seventies glam, and gimmick rock turned inside out and reshaped into Mothers Of Invention influenced musical Rat-Fink monster-cycles, like all of Don Bolles’ sinsister L.A. goth/punk bands. Vaseline Tuner are the apotheosis of the Germs, 45 Grave, Celebrity Skin, and Raw Power Rangers put in a blender with the Insect Surfers, 13th Floor Elevators, The Mummies, the “Eat ‘Em & Smile” band, and Faith No More. Truly, this is bad music for bad people. If you own anything relating to Evel Kenievel, or sixties biker flicks, or keep vintage porn mags alphabetized in plastic bags, or have framed artwork relating somehow to the Cramps, or Gwar, or KISS, VASELINE TUNER is for you!
JESUS LOVES YOU: