Random Videos

The one video that always makes me laugh.

Funny video that somehow hasn’t been banned yet. Oh well.

Possibly the Worst Theme Song to a Movie Ever

Why don’t more bands make videos like this one nowadays?


Hilarious phone interview with the Megadeth frontman, where he trashes Metallica and Slayer in all his pompous, fair-haired glory.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.


High-Koo #1


Werewolf shedding

Church picnics are

Fun sometimes

Alphabet Hostage


Synchronized Swimming

in a Vat of Acid

Scream Bubbles



VCR’s were Hot items

in the 1980’s

So were Neon


Garbage man

Found Excalibur

in an alley behind



Basketball games

serve the best

fountain soda

Diabetes Tease


Delaware? Dela-WHOA!


After nearly 250 years of their classic motto: “Liberty and Independence”, Delaware state officials have decided to put it to rest.  They are looking for something with “more zing” and “more relevance to today’s standards and interests”.

I hacked into the state office’s computer system and discovered a list of potential state slogans.

Here they is!

Delaware: Dela-Whoa!

Delaware: Our Public Libraries Carry Spin Magazine

Delaware: The Dave Matthews Band Did a Show in Wilmington Once

Delaware: E.T. the Extra Terrestrial Should Have Been Filmed Here

Delaware: Our Panera Bread Establishments Have Better Beverage Selections

Delaware: We Got Some Pretty Bad Ass Roller Coasters

Delaware: 76% White, But 100% Awesome

Delaware: Homeless People Do Not Bathe In Our River, That’s Gross

Delaware: Brother Of Tupperware (Ha! Ha!)

Delaware: Land Mine Free Since 1986

Delaware: You Can’t Limbo Under Our Low Crime Rate

Delaware: Home of the Fancy Toilet Museum

Delaware: Stop Calling Us ‘Maryland’s Toupee’

Delaware: We Got The Hottest Deals On Microscopes!


BlakRoc, ‘BlakRoc’

This is some sort of rap-rock, but not the good kind. I guess this is
what music is going to sound like now that Obama is in office. I only
voted for him because me and Shepard Fairey are real tight (diabetix
stick 2gether), but now I’m not so crazy about him. Notice how he gets
elected, and then everything gets worse? The price of coke went up! I
tried to buy a fedora and they REJECTED my Dad’s credit card! It was
so humiliating.

Pope Benedict XVI, ‘Music From the Vatican – Alma Mater: Featuring the
Voice of Pope Benedict XVI’

I think I understand what this religion stuff is all about. Sometimes,
I’ll be driving around the “lock your doors” part of town and I’ll see
a homeless wandering around begging for change, and people waiting for
the “bus” and I’ll wonder why they don’t get bored with life? Then I
figured it out: when you don’t have a Dad to give you money for Diesel
cologne, you can pray to Jesis for it! You feel like you have some
sort of rich person always looking after you, even though you don’t.
Also, I’m not sure about this Pope guy, but he’s got a cool name. I
wish I had an “XVI” or something.

Rihanna, ‘Rated R’

Okay, here’s my Rihanna story. My buddy Trev calls me up and says
we’re going to a party at this singer’s house. I brought my wallet
chain just in case it was a rap singer (phew, it wasn’t), and I made
sure that I brought my waterproof camera, because I get so pissed when
I try to take pics in the hottub and they come out all messed up.

Me and Trev got there around midnight. The house was full of hot
chicks and they were all 7.8’s and up. I went into the bathroom to
upchuck some sushi, and the shower’s goin. I hide behind a laundry
basket and wait to see who’s inside. The shower stops, and out comes
CHRIS BROWN. All I wanted to do was flip my shit, but I kept real
quiet and took a shitload of pictures. Unforgettable.

Long story short, he went out with Rihanna, I forgot to upload the
pictures to my Facebook, and I threw out the camera along with my
iPhone and some out-of-season blazers. It’s okay though. I’ll still
always have the thousands upon thousands of mental pictures I took
that in that steamy bathroom, on that hot summer night. No homo.

Susan Boyle ‘I Dreamed a Dream’

Old people smell so bad. I once had to sit at a table with some old
lady (I think it was my Dad’s mom if that makes sense) and she reeked.
Don’t worry, I ended up throwing a drink in her face.


Shontisha Be Trippin’











By Kevin Costner


I like to keep to myself  (and my looks-like-19-but-is-actually-25-year-old-wife-what’s-her-face) but I’ve had a bit of some down-time of recent.   All my good baseball ideas have made the once-moist sponge now as dry as a nun’s cooch.  First, I was all like, “Hey, how about a baseball movie where I get to fuck Susan Sarandon?” DONE.  Then I was like, “Hey, how about a baseball movie with less sex and more drama, but I get to get fresh with Amy Madigan?” and, yep, the Genie of Grantin’ Baseball Movie Wishes was all like DONE.  Then,  just when I was about to pawn my jet ski and my jukebox full of Procol Harum and Spencer Davis Group*, I got a call to do another baseball film.  And I was all like, “Hey, how about we rehash the old baseball formula, and depict me as a washed-up ball pitcher, you know?  A metaphor for my own life, in the sense that I used every curveball and knuckle-slider and struck out the collective public consensus into thinking that I could direct a Best Picture winner and star in an Oliver Stone movie about JFK and that one movie I did where I kidnapped a kid in the 60’s?  Um…yeah, remake me as a model ballplayer, and have it serious and shit like that?  And I get to bang Kelly Preston?  That’d be mindblowing.  I bet her ass smells good.'”

Needless to say, I endured some negativity in my day.  But baseball always stuck up for me.  It was always the one to catch the high-popped-up foul to get a second out;  to strike out the big, home-run-hitting nigge- sorry, Dominican – with bases loaded;  to sweep a hot team and fuck sexy minors.  Not minor league players – sixteen year old chicks, mind you.

But there was one man who would straighten me out, show me the errors of my ways, and prove to me that I had nothing to fear except fear itself and AIDS**,  that I had the ability to just flat-out win.

And that man was Los Angeles Dodgers slugger Kirk Gibson.

He had a physique to rival Cobra-on-VHS Stallone; and a drive to rival the one associate producer of the long-running It’s a Living!***;  his moustache, legend has it, could turn any man who stared into it into a Chinaman.  Anywho, me and Dolph Lundgren were drinking margaritas, listening to some Simply Red when Kirk Gibson stopped by.   He said that by “glancing” at me, he could tell I was the “Laurence Olivier of 1980’s Baseball Movies”, that I was beyond any of my co-stars (including Robert Wuhl), and that I should “get my shit together” and “be a man”.

I asked him, “How do I start?”

He said, “By balancing your fears with your desires…”

I was all like, “Huh?”

He was all like, “Take a trip to Africa.  Fuck a giraffe.”

Fucking a giraffe? Was he nuts?  The closest animal I’ve ever fucked is a chimp in drag.

Long story short…I took Gib’s advice.  I landed in Kenya, hopped a jeep, and made my way to the local reservation.

There I saw a giraffe.  No attraction…yet.

Giraffe 408012I began to seduce the giraffe with some Lord Byron, but I guess she don’t speak no 19th Century, so I hired a crew of workers to brace some scaffolding up near to her crotch, and then, I see/smell/hear/taste/criticize/abuse her vagina for the first time.  It was a group effort to ensure I’d reach the dotted, quadrapedal crotch…featuring a clit the size of a blue whale’s skull cap…

So I climbed up the scaffold, all the way up to the giraffe’s vagina.  I whipped out “Cock-stner”**** and got it all hard and shit like that.  So I stroked it back and forth in the giraffe.  But one problem: that giraffe pussy was swallowing me whole!  Like Paul Bunyan’s dickhole!  So instead of pulling out (like a coward) I ended up putting my legs inside of the twat along with my penis, and I starting fucking the giraffe with my entire lower torso.

I was fucking this giraffe with my lower torso when Kirk Gibson came back sooner than expected from his bass guitar lesson from Nuno Bettancourt of Extreme fame…when

He was all like, “Fuck a giraffe?  No!!!”

I said, “Fuck the Giraffes!!! You told me to!!!”

Then he said, “No! I meant ‘Fuck ‘em’, like they don’t exist.  Did you drink too much idiot beer?  Fucking an animal is gross.”

…Anywho, I’ll never take his advice again, but I learned that intimacy is a mammal thing instead of a romance thing.  It made me a stronger person.  Strong enough to get my shit together on my own and step back on the diamond.  My next film, After Third Base, will be coming out soon.  And the goat sucking my dick in the film’s trailer?  Well, let’s just say we didn’t make budget for certain long-necked animals…

Thanks, Kirk.  Let’s drink some Bud Light soon (out of a hot minor’s stab wounds, like the good ol’ days…)

*That’s what me and Bruce Hornsby used to listen to when we’d drink a shit-ton of Michelob and circle-jerk with my fraternity buddies – no, not Lawrence Kasdan and Kevin Kline – to the most recent Jessica Hahn pictures published by Playboy.  Big boobs on a chick were as rare as finding Tutankhamen’s tailor back in those days…those days…

**Especially in those days…whoo-whee!

***That show back in the 80’s with the girls living in the condo that always wore sexy tuxedos

****That’s what I used to call my penis



ferry corsten lef

He’s certainly not afraid of intense speeds, but he prefers 78 RPM if you get m’drift! L.E.F. (which stands for Life Ends Fast, hence the speed thing, and the fearlessness associated with living on the edge) is a lively acoustic album that reminds me of Jack Johnson, if he weren’t such a sucky-ass pussy. “Wah-wah, I’m Jack Johnson, I prefer surfboards, not cars…” Ferry Corsten’s like, “Hey Jack, you should change your name to Jill, and go up a hill and fetch a pail of douche-water!” Songs like “Fifth Gear” and “Breakin’ the Sound Barrier” get your blood pumping with car racing-friendly guitar strumming, while he cools the engine down with some balladry. “Leslie’s Song” is a rich ballad about a girl named Leslie. Corsten died in 2006 of testicular cancer.


Hey fellas, the name’s Ms. Tee, not Mrs. Tee!  Y’all got a chance to sweep her off her vanity-toenailed feet!  And there’s a dollar sign in her name!  She’s all about money, and that couch in the background wasn’t pocket change, I tell you.  Daughter of TV star Mr. Tee (of “The A Gang” fame), Ms. Tee – sorry, M$. Tee – brings some unedited, pure R and B while lookin’ pretty and sassin’ out.  “Future Mr$. Tupac” is a great tribute to a fallen superstar, while “Because I Care (Tito’s Theme)” sees life through the eyes of a paralyzed gang member.  From MLKBLVD Records.


Today is Occult Day

Witchcraft and stuff. Pentagrams. Spells. Chanting. Paganism. Never met an occultist. Never went through a wiccan phase. Never visited wiccanpedia.org or used Qwiccan to balance my finances on my computer.


So this guy’s pretty popular.  He made occultism rival Rag Music, Model T’s and Gin-fueled Spousal Abuse as the rage of the early 1900’s.   He always looks so angry.   What was his problem?    Did he get his ass kicked by the Wright Brothers?  Maybe he was a victim of wrongful arrest – he kinda/sorta looks like Fatty Arbuckle after 8pm.   Maybe – with that headdress – he was mad at all the references to the tip of Satchel Paige’s penis.  Also, Ozzy Osbourne’s “Mr. Crowley” wasn’t about him, either.  It was about Kenny Crowley, the man who popularized cappuccino drinking in high schools.

By the 1970’s, occultists became open to fat people, as evidenced by this documentary film with real-life fat person Orson Welles.  Nothing says infinite wisdom and immortality like onion rings and pies!  Mayonnaise pies!


Occultists in the 1980’s reeked of Aqua Net and Designer Impostors.  Did classy hygiene just vanish with the times?  Back then, you could say, “Hi.  I have a VCR.  Wanna join my collective?  We could watch Major League or something…”


This was Occultism in the 1990’s.   Did they all move to Jamaica and replace marijuana with meth?

So this is the Future of Occultism: Kenny Loggins and Crystal Balls. What’s in Michael J. Fox’s future? Near paralysis, duh. Yes, this video explains why I can’t practice the occult: I’m not into generic 80’s music, and having Parkinson’s wouldn’t be a good thing.

Happy Occult Day!


Put on your headphones and pop up your collars, it’s Quentin Sherwin-Williams here to give you sheeple the scoop on what’s hot and what isn’t hot in music, because I am better than you.

The Seventh Seal

This album made me uncomfortable. It reminded me of the time I was doing E at that shitty club that had those big gold griffins everywhere. I was losing my shit real bad and the bouncer picked me up off the floor and sat me in his car and put on the rap station. It was weird, I woke up and I felt like I totally understood the urban experience. It was horrible.

mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg


I don’t know exactly what this is about, but I don’t like it. If I wanted to go to listen to some art school bitch moaning for three hours, I’d talk to my estranged sister. Fuck that, I would rather listen to this, she’s a total fucktard.

Seriously though, I go to parties and snort coke (the yellow kind, not that shitty white stuff) and take pictures of naked girls in the bathroom. I yell at waiters for no reason. I fuck my Mom’s friends for money. That’s what I do for fun, that’s what normal people do for fun. But this girl? I’m guessing that this girl just sat around her (probably small) apartment recording this thing for months. Is there anything sadder than that?

mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg

One Republic
Waking Up

I like these guys because they remind me a lot of myself. Cool hair, cool clothes, tang-magnets, we’re very similar. I was a little nervous reviewing this album because I knew that judging them would be a judgement of myself, in a way.

So I put the album on, closed my eyes, and I immediately started crying. And that wasn’t me being a pussy…I had a religious experience. I declare that Waking Up is THE BEST ALBUM OF 2009! Get out whatever you use to cut lines of the yellow lady and snort that shit up, OneRepublic, you guys have made a masterpiece.

mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg

Don’t Stop

I once knew this girl named Annie. Total dyke.

mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehgrey.jpg picture by mcsteinberg

Adam Lambert
Take One

Gay people were better in the 1950’s, back when they weren’t so in-your-face about it. Yet, I’m really totally fine when this Lambert dude does it. He’s an American Idol guy, which means he’s the best in America, so I listened to this knowing that if I didn’t like it, I would be wrong. Don’t worry, I loved it! And that means a lot from a professional music journalist like myself.

mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg mehblue.jpg picture by mcsteinberg