It’s been an amazing year for us–we played our first show, released a holiday single, read pensively as the Jack Diablo Chronicles unfolded, officially welcomed the return of JoJo Modesto, and heaved a sigh of relief when Slick Dickson was cleared of embezzlement charges (though the sodomy case is still pending).
Thanks for supporting us in 2014–we’ll see you in 2015. In the meantime, here’s our New Year’s Resolutions:
Jack Diablo: Launch a Kickstarter campaign to finally get Mexico’s space program off the ground–LITERALLY.
Juan Aguas: Read less Jonathan Swift, listen to more Taylor Swift.
Sisyphus Coxx: Be less judgmental toward Canadians–those ice-eating, maple-leaf loving bastards.
Have you gotten that expensive, perishable item for your ex-mother-in-law yet?
Fought the crowds at the local mall—filled with the obnoxious, bloated children of American decline and shoppers overladen with bags of meaningless sundries, the gelatinous materialism spilling out and over their too-tight jeans?
Have we all forgotten the true meaning of Christmas?
Let us remind you.
Two thousand years ago, in a reindeer stable somewhere near the North Pole, a Child was born unto us. Blessed with white skin, ruddy cheeks, and the stubbled origins of a wooly white beard, this child grew to be the magical elf Santa, who wandered far and wide preaching the Gospel and healing the sick with hand-crafted toys, which he carried in a velvet sack upon his back.
In his thirties, he was persecuted for his iconoclasm and brought before the great council of Icelandic elves, in front of whom he stared silently…
Like good little elves, we’ve been hard at work hand crafting a new tune, just in time for Christmas. We didn’t have enough money to buy you a gift, so this is all you get. Show some holiday spirit and share it with your friends!
We don’t know about your neighborhood, but in ours, Halloween is so fucking boring these days.
Bored suburban dad, thinking about how fucking boring Halloween is.
We see the suburban dads begrudgingly stringing fake spider webs from the branches of autumnal trees, mindlessly carving pumpkins into insipid jack-o-lanterns, and returning from Rite-Aid with prepackaged, synthetic, toxic children’s costumes.
If this sounds like your Halloween, stop contemplating whether or not the serrated pumpkin carver you hold in your right hand is sharp enough to slice through your ulnar artery, and listen up. We just returned from Denver with a suitcase full of sour gummy bears laced with hash oil—and we suggest you do the same.
Kids won’t even know the difference.
Simply mix gummies into candy bowl alongside unlaced candy—kind of like a Kool-Aid Acid Test for innocent and, above all, gullible children. Wait a few hours for the sour bears to take effect, then watch your neighborhood turn into a Clockwork Orange–style post-apocalyptic playground for underage ghosts, ghouls, and sad witches. That should cure your ennui.