A Guitar Solo Is Worth A Thousand Lyrics

My most recent video was originally going to be a song with lyrics about blaming your farts on other people. However, I was having a lot of vocal trouble when recording it, and it just didn’t sound right. Not only was my voice malfunctioning, but I do not have a convenient way to record vocals without irritating my apartment neighbors. Also, I lack talent, and most importantly, interest. My desire to record myself singing is currently on par with my desire to file my taxes.

Then I heard John Mayer had to cancel a bunch of shows due to vocal troubles of his own. And that’s when I decided, officially, that the voice is a stupid instrument. I’ve never really cared about lyrics anyway. I mean, Van Halen is my favorite band and I’ve listened to their songs a million times, and I don’t even know all the lyrics to a single one of their songs. It is as though I do not hear lyrics when I listen to music.

So I decided to hell with doing anything in my free time that fundamentally annoys me. I’m just going to record long-ass guitar solos and let the world pelt me with indifference. My pro-wrestling costume boots make me immune to such things, so I care not.

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omg I’m so cool

For the first time in a long time, I’m excited to be filming a stupid video. I’m grateful for the chance to have so much fun and make so much crazy noise. Rock music has, unfortunately, become very “cool” and dark. I prefer rock music to be ridiculous, and ultra-passionate, and “angry in a fun way”. If you think about it, Hendrix was so ridiculous. Twisted Sister is ridiculous. Ratt – ridiculous. Van Halen – a ridiculous hot mess. It’s not supposed to be well organized, well recorded, well received, or well regarded. It’s supposed to be fun and irreverent. It’s MAD magazine. It’s Maniac Mansion. It’s a horrible color scheme and a drink with an umbrella in it. I love it so much.

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I’ll Be Bach

Before I came down with North Texas Satanic Bird Flu (which is the name I have given my currently unknown strain of virus), I had planned to record some awesome new guitar music to help in my noble conservation effort; the fight against the galactic extinction of wild guitar rock. Do you know how much it pains me to sit in a room with tiger striped electric green pants, pro-wrestling boots, and bitchin’ new sunglasses… and know that I can’t do anything with them? No sound comes from my amplifier this week. No tasteless, note-prostituting, thundrous swagger fills my apartment. The guitars are silent, and for this state of events, I can make only the excuse that I was too busy shivering, binge-eating pellets of aspirin, and hacking up clumps of sad from within my tortured lungs. I have been missing work, missing sleep, missing progress on any of my projects, and generally being a miserable clump of sweaty person.
I will return to my great task soon.
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Theory: George R.R. Martin Will Never Finish Game of Thrones, On Purpose

I believe one of the underpinning themes of Game of Thrones is that the proverbial “Game of Thrones” which afflicts both their world, and our own, is so adequately fueled by human malice, lust, and the thirst for power that it will not, in our lifetimes, end. It will only evolve; and when we pass away, the struggle (and the tale) will be taken up by others.

The final sentence of “Game of Thrones” will remain unwritten by George R.R. Martin, but we can see the words and letters rising like a mist from the well-worn pages: “The Game of Thrones has no end.”

I believe he intends never to “finish the series”, as a particularly deft way of finishing the series.

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Magnus Von Black is a gigantic attention whore with awesome taste.

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But he’s a socialist!

Democratic socialism is an inevitability due to the collision of technology and economics. There will soon be almost no need for skilled or unskilled manual labor. To make a half-decent living, you will need to be born to wealthy parents, or be in the 90th percentile of intellectual ability with a special talent and interest for engineering and technology. I have observed that there are only two kinds of people that fear democratic socialism: the rich, and those who will suffer the most without it.

We have the ability to work together to create a society that uplifts people, provides them a foundation of health and education that will enable them to make society more interesting and beautiful by using their natural gifts, even if those gifts would not normally create economic value in a purely Darwinian system of capitalistic success and failure. We could build amazing things like moon bases, cures for cancer, teleportation pads, and orbital sex casinos, but instead we have medical bankruptcy, collapsing bridges, clogged roads, and relentless clouds of pollution. Democratic socialism has absolutely nothing to do with Lenin or Stalin or Marx. It has more to do with Star Trek, rock music, art, and scientific discovery. It’s just the realization that we have the power to cooperate and make the world nice, even if it means super-massive corporations must pay the same tax rate as a janitor.

As an entertainment figure with literally millions of fans in the future, I hereby officially endorse Bernie Sanders. I think his policies are idealistic, unrealistic, and overly romantic. Maybe that’s what we need.

I’m Magnus Von Black, and I approve this message.

dressy

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Bookstore Rant: Barnes and Noble or Darn, So Horrible

I hate Barnes and Noble so much that I can’t fathom the task of accurately capturing all of my grievances in a single afternoon, in a single internet rant. Suffice it to say, that place is a Bohemian shit barn that is some kind of unholy cybernetic commercial abomination blending the mall, a toy store, a screaming kids gallery, and the loudest brain cauterizing┬ápop music imaginable. I can’t enjoy a book with that bellowing, screechy horse named Adele screaming in my ear about her endless ocean of nonsensical emotions. Between that one time I visited B&N in 2011 and this afternoon, they have precisely the same sad collection of alt-rock hipster downer trash they always have. Over 1 million books have been published in that time, and maybe there were a dozen new titles featured in the last five years. I hope that stupid, ugly, burnt-coffee intellectual vacuum goes out of business as soon as possible so I can go to the corporate funeral and toss a waterballoon filled with my pee at what will undoubtedly be a beige, wood-paneled headstone next to a CD kiosk.

Bookstores should contain 90% books, 8% coffee, 2% quiet patrons, and be cozy as fuck. Barnes and Noble is the Justin Bieber of bookstores and if necessary I will implement a schedule of evil voodoo chants calling upon the dark, wild gods of the underworld to bring about their demise.

I am Magnus Von Black and I yelled this message at my keyboard so loudly that it appeared on the screen.

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The Birdcage, Dick Cheney, and the Lesbian Dominatrix

From the age of 0 to 20, I held a religious prejudice against homosexuals. I thought they had “an agenda” and that they were bad for our culture, although I could not have justified these opinions without quoting the Book of Leviticus. Then I ended up partying with some gay guys who were mutual friends with one of my friends, and we went to a crazy gay bar in Vancouver. It was one of the most fun, hilarious nights I had ever had. As I did the electric shuffle with a topless lesbian dominatrix who would ocassionally shout for joy and gently slap people with her bedazzled leather cane, I realized it was time for a shift in world view.

 
Around the same time, I also met Dick Cheney in person. (Long story.) He was way less fun than the topless lesbian dominatrix with the glitter-cane. As I sat on stage among many high profile senators and business leaders of the conservative establishment, shaking their hands and having my picture taken as I flashed my accidentally-stolen press pass (long story), I realized that I wanted life to be more like the movie The Birdcage and less like the movie Platoon.

 
I think that’s largely why my first big novel that measured up to what I consider a “good” novel has plot lines meant to illustrate my changing views and retroactive disgust at myself. It also has a laser sword duel between Jesus and a five hundred year-old genetically engineered super soldier who dresses like a vampire and uses archaeology to try and take over the universe.

 
And yes, I am simultaneously talking about myself, congratulating myself, and advertising my book in a single post. It’s the trifecta of internet-assholism. Fortunately, if you own three pairs of spandex leggings, featuring a mix of decorative dolphins, unicorns, and robotic tyranosaurs shooting head-mounded laser guns, you actually do not have to apologize for being a self absorbed loudmouth. It is, frankly, a requirement dictated by the pants.

 
I have been awake since 3:30 AM.

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