Going Green Through Laziness: BUBBLEBOY

There are the common methods of going green; recycling, carpooling, and getting really high. Granola eaters and squares alike can all get behind any efforts to reduce your carbon footprint. But why, really? I’ve been thoroughly inundated with evidence from everywhere that we are, in fact, people of excess and that’s how it’s gonna stay, goddammit. The apathetic have taken a turn for the worse. They’ve all slinked into the party of hating the planet…just because it was easier than buying extra things and making extra effort to sort out some bottles and cans ah-just clap your hands.

So let’s get lazy.

Doritos Bag Tail Light Lazy Special

Going Green Through Laziness tip of the week: Don’t Go Anywhere.

Going places is overrated. If you can’t find it on Google Street View and there’s no videos of it on youtube, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s not worth your time to experience it in the flesh. Don’t pick out a cruise or check out how much a euro rail pass is. Plan a staycation instead. Map out the areas of your house that you’ll get drunk in. Explore the wild frontier of your domicile. If you have a roommate, spy on him. If you have a neighbor, look at em from your window. Wear a cape.

HEY I’VE NEVER BEEN DRUNK IN A CLOSET BEFORE by myself on a Tuesday night. OK that was a lie.

Be creative. Call your Kitchen “Oklahoma” and when you arrive, do so in the fashion you would arrive in Oklahoma. You walk in, look around and say ‘where is everything?’ The kitchen (Oklahoma) will pulsate and respond in the same fashion Oklahoma would: by stealing your soul and making a pulpy mess of you after turning into a room-sized juicer/blender. Maybe all that won’t happen, but imaginations don’t do any damage to the atmosphere.

After you get done with exploring your house, go start a tire fire in your backyard and turn off your heat pump.

“Everyone goes through their own personal Vietnam.” – E

I WAS TOLD THERE WOULD BE NO MATH.

FAT ANIMAL TIME.



Red Fat Monkey Standing By


I love them. They’re the personification that I look for in a fellow earth-dweller. I mean, you can’t get more human than being a fat version of whatever animal you are. Funfact:  Fat animals are easier to catch and cuddle.



Red Dog Pillow Standing By


I’m highly allergic to animals. It doesn’t keep me from wanting to be around them. I just have to suffer the consequences that may result in me having to carry around multiple epi-pens. It’s sort of like the people you know that are lactose intolerant but they still eat cheese and ice cream all the time. They just suffer in a different way. It’s called butt-suffering.



Red Cat Pillow Standing By

I’m pretty cynical when it comes to allergies. People with allergies to food, to pollen, and ragweed are also very accepted; while the people allergic to pets are commonly referred to as nerds and bubble-boys. My parents have a cat and he is just so cute. I want to love him into oblivion, but his hair also likes to sneak into my eyes and throat. HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME. So he stays outside of my parent’s house in hopes of keeping me coming by for visits. They bring the cat to the vet to get his shots and the vets ask why he’s an outdoor cat. Their son is allergic is apparently an insufficient response. The Vets tell my parents that I should wear a mask like they do in the ER and nerd guy across the street wears when he’s mowing the grass. This is what I get from that exchange of thoughts and ideas: People want me to wear an apparatus around my head anytime I’m indoors so that I can have a cohort of kitty meow meows and fatty dogs around me.

Red Leader Standing By

So I’m misunderstood and doomed to be a nerd bubble-boy. Fine, fuckers. That’s what you get

Lazy Links:



Stinky Feet Stabbin

Have an album release party in Moscow, maybe it'll blow up.

Sony's a little late to the party but will give Rhapsody a run for their money.

Going green through Mongolian Grill

Holy Shit the Juice Weasel is dead



Weekend Roundup: Time Travel Food

I often think about the amount of time that I spend in the car commuting to work and how it relates to those slices of pie that make up your delicious allotment of time on this planet. Mine has got to be shoefly pie.

This is what it probably looks like:

This is what it feels like:

Do you think that we make the most of our time? When I used to commute using public transportation, I would read books and listen to music the entire duration of my journey. That seemed like the maximum sustainable sensory overload for me but I’m always jealous of the people who telecommute. I guess what I’m thinking is that our goal to be able to work from home deprives us of, what some may say, necessary meditation and just all around, daily you time. FUCK YEAH. DEATHMETAL DRUM AND BASS FRIDAY.

This blog is awesome: http://thisiswhyyourehuge.com/

Never have I been so turned on by food unless you count any of the “hey watch me eat this ridiculously decadent sandwich from a tiny diner in Dirtbag, Iowa,” Food Network programming. Really between Guy’s Triple D show and Travel Channel’s Adam on Man vs Food, I think that instead of eating a meal of sensible proportions, I SHOULD BE EATING A 7LB CHILI CHEESEBURGER!

What I’ve found out from my food watching over the years is that there isn’t much going for my area as far as amazing diners, drive-ins, and dives. I guess we got all the shithole diners, nasty drive-ins, and every time I eat there I get horrible diarrhea and think I’m going to die-ves. If there was a Food Network / Travel Channel map of all the most bodacious places to eat, it would have a barren wasteland of about an hour in every direction radiating from my house.

Woooo let's all go down to the Eat & Shit

I think there should be an anti-foodie show where a person goes to a bunch of restaurants that are just terrible. Let’s follow New York Times Food Editor Charles Coenstein on his journey across America. Besides being amazed at what cows look like, he will hit up every Bob Evans, Golden Corral, and Ponderosa that he comes across.  I just like the idea of instead of eating something just mouthwateringly terrible for you, he'll just eat things that are terrible. 



This is the chicken fried steak with jello gravy.

Ok, Ok. He’ll just eat at places that have “food bars” and “fixin’s bars.” Something about Roy Rogers just made me uncomfortable when after you bought your hamburger the cashier would direct you to the “Fixin’s Bar.” It’s one thing to watch someone else put shitty stuff on your shit sandwich but to make me do it myself? That’s just too much for me to handle. I would find myself looking at the fixin’s bar and wondering who becomes exulted at the sight of this all you can eat condiment buffet?

One reader has reminded me that Roy Rogers still exists. How could you go through any of the fine New Jersey Turnpike rest areas without noticing?

Weekend News:

Atomic Hickey

We're all Poop Posters after all.

I wish my nick name was Tony Bagels

And hopefully everyone is with me on watching this slowly burn

Personal Injury Lawyer Commericals: Let Me In

My cell phone makes phone calls.

I am recalling this statement and offering it to the Gods in place of a virgin soul because it’s offensive to me; it’s not funny, it never was funny and it will never be funny. Your arbitrary war against the world of smart phones is over. It’s the same as telling people how awesome your bank is because it doesn’t have an ATM.

Let’s all get recumbent bikes and move to San Francisco.

I went to pick up some muddy buddies and toothpaste from Target after work yesterday because that’s how I roll. It was an idle Wednesday, so what should I do to combat “using your time wisely” tonight? The thought of video games crossed my mind; fucking Katamari Forever has no right to be damn difficult. Movies are always a good choice and TV is usually just an afterbirth.

So I watched Let Me In for the first time. I know, I know. You read the book and saw the Swedish version of this movie way back when and now it’s been destroyed by an American remake. How bout this, shut up and let me enjoy Jurassic Park without your running commentary about how the T-Rex picked the car up with its mouth in the book! Really?! Fascinating! What’s a compy?! Gah, I think that people who have read the book that a movie is based on have no business expressing their love/hate for said movie. They also should be in another theatre far the hell away from me. What’s the point really? I know we all like to ruin things for people in the same way we like to see friends and acquaintances fail miserably but do we really have to be the unwavering stick in the mud deflection device at all times?

I guess that we do. How else am I going to feel superior in this low-key, social scenario? I mean we all just watched a movie together. It’s time for me to make my mark and tell y’all how much better The Queen of the Damned book was compared to the movie.

Of course it was. It’s a god damn 500 page book filled with words. You think that you could squeeze all of that into an hour and a half of pure bliss? No. There’s a dude with Jonathan Davis’ voice as the VOICE OF THE DEVIL. Let’s not forget that Aaliyah was nominated for MTV and BET movie awards for her performance in that movie. Never mind the movie was terrible and everything about it gave me SIDS, she had the foresight to die in a plane crash shortly before the movie came out.

I smell posthumous white guilt. If my memory serves me correctly, she also had that song with a baby gasp in the middle of her Timbaland beat at the top of the charts.  Jesus, that was just an awful time to be alive. 2002, eat a bag of hammers.

 
I'll give you five dollars and butterfly kisses if you can make it through that. 
 
So yeah, Let Me In.  Let's get back to that. 
 
Vampires are cool right? No.  They used to be before True Blood and Twilight ruined them forever with their personifications.  It's all easier to relate to a vampire if he's not killing everyone and drinking their blood.  Give em blood substitutes and make em drink animal blood.  Don't kill anything.  Everything Glitters.  Fuck that.

That was one thing I truly enjoyed about this movie.  There was a mild personification of the vampire child, but all seemed in vain because she could never function as a normal human being.  She was kinda busy, killing everyone and sustaining herself with their blood. 

 

The plot of the story was entertaining enough to keep your interest, but if you were hell bent on seeing some gore, you'll have to move along.  This movie was more about the suspense and the thriller aspect than the sheer joy everyone has when they see someone eviscerated on TV.  A boy who gets picked on a lot at school,  let's just call him Angelina Jolie from Hackers, finally finds the courage to be his own man through meeting a vampire.

He meets up with a shoeless Hanson in the courtyard and they have wild adventures together.  It always seems like it's extremely late by the way they make the courtyard dark and deserted with a light blanet of snow that never goes away.  There was even an instance where they literally went out on the town for what seemed like the entire night only to come back to the courtyard to his mother yelling for him to come to supper.


Taylor?

The only problem with this relationship is that like all dreams, they sound great on paper, but theyre really short sighted. Case in point: The terrible things I would do to Ariel. 
 
 

 
But what about the tail and the whole living under water thing?  Yeah, she turns into a daywalker at the end of the movie but let's say that mermaids exist for the sake of argument.  Wouldn't she smell real bad?  Years of being in the salt water would probably do something to those red locks.  I have a sushi addiction as it is.  I could accidentally kill her with a side of wasabi and a tall sake.  Delicious.
 
 

 

The film revolves around the symbiotic relationship between the boy and the vampire girl.  He needs her strength and violence.  She needs his rubik's cube.  More importantly, Abby the vampire, needs a person to kill for her and her cash cow, aka old dude that she got with when he was 12, is well...getting old and sloppy.  She, herself is very sloppy at killing.  I kinda liked that about her.  If left to fend for herself, she rips people apart and gets blood errrrrywhere.  Her new cash cow is Angelina Jolie from Hackers.

So this movie gives light to a very touchy subject.  Is it ok for a thousand year old in a 12 year old girl's body to fall in love with a 12 year old boy?  Isn't this breaking some sort of cougar rule? Your age divided in half, plus or minus 400 years.  Nailed it?  You bet.  This movie was pretty damn good.  Vampires have been on the lame lately.  This gives us hope that there might be another swedish vampire movie that we can Americanize in the future without throwing glitter all over it.

Get your BRRRRR BRRRRR on.

Soup or Chicken Shuffle: I CHOOSE YOU FUNYUNS (TCoJFRFDF)

This is the first installment of The Chronicles of Junk Food Real Food Dinner Food (TCoJFRFDF).

Junk Food is wrong.  It's terrible for you.  It gives you heart disease, diabetes and I'm pretty sure that it can turn you Gay (or if you're gay already, it can turn you straight).  The Horror. The penis.  The packaging is always inviting.  Bright and colorful, they always hearken back to the good old days. 

Those days were a lie.  No one looks back on Zero Bars and says, "That was just the perfect candy bar at the perfect time."  Grind up some 5th Avenue bars, blend them with mayonnaise and you got the rough equivalent of the "nougat" in a Zero Bar.

fucking terrible

Moving things along now that, that is out of the way, I'd like to take you on another journey through junk. 

In the beginning God created sugar cane.

Now the sugar cane was formless and empty.

And God said "let there be corn syrup" and there was soda.

God saw that the soda was good, so he separated the corn syrup from the radishes.

God called the corn syrup righteous and the vegetables boring.

God then created Funyuns.

I think you've heard me before say it, but I'll mention this again for anyone not listening.  The only proof that we have that God exists is the existence of Funyuns.  No mere mortal could have made those. So, I thought it natural to kick off my first culinary triumph with waging war on Junk Food by turning it into real food.  This week:  Funyuns....and chicken. 

We start off with our ingredients:

Chicken Tenderloins

Garlic Powder

Pepper

flour

Egg

milk

FUNYUNS

Crush up the Funyuns into a not so fun powder that gets everywhere.  Jesus Christ, it's under my fingernails.  Or you can put the Funyuns into a plastic bag and smash em up. 

Mix the Milk and Egg together; 1 cup milk for every egg.  Take the Tenderloins and dump em in the flour. Dredge them in the Milk Egg Mixture and coat with crushed Funyuns. Add Garlic Powder and Pepper and you should have something that looks like this.

Skillet Fry em up.  Add some frozen vegetables and some bread.

There you go, a beautiful junk food infused dinner and it totally blows. We should've gone to Chipotle.  The crust wasn't as flavorful as I hoped.  It almost caramelized on the outside.  The last thing that I want on my fried chicken is a hard candy outer shell.  I tried many dips and the flavor destroyers won out in that competition: Ranch, French Onion Dip, and Devil's Spit BBQ Sauce. 

Total cost of this meal:  $27.34. EXPENSIVE BREAD.

I'm going to change this segment to "Eat A Dick Junction"

Some Hump Day reading:

Dooty will always be a funny word.

Flatulent Stabby Time:  Sometimes people don't live in harmony with their flatulence.

My affair with Angry Birds draws me to other blogs about knitting.

I am a pretty big zombie fan, as anyone with a penis should be, and I just threw up in my mouth.  A zombie apocalypse story from the writer of World War Z told from the viewpoint of...vampires.  Fucking shoot me in the face with a BB gun 4,000 times. 

I need a cleanse.  New Coachella lineup was announced.  Holy Shitballs that's a lineup.

Cubicle Nightmares: Astrology

I was standing around with some coworkers, water cooler style, a couple of days ago talking about life and happiness. You know the style, 4-5 people standing around in a circle holding various office required devices; coffee, clipboard, a piece of paper, and a fair share of arms akimbo or crossed arms. And get this, you don’t even have to be near a water cooler for this formation to occur. OK, I lied. We weren’t talking about life and happiness. We were discussing the new zodiac changes. There’s nothing more annoying than someone trying to talk to me about their sign and numerology and kites. Jesus Christ, I hate kite enthusiasts.

So I stayed with it. Where was I going until 5:30pm besides to the bathroom 14 more times to kill 7.5 minutes a pop? People were arguing over the validity of the claim that the astrology calendar has been off for a hundred years. Others were saying that it was a hoax. Some people were referencing their tattoos of the sign that they were indoctrinated with since birth. I feel for ya. There are dumb tattoos and then there are really dumb tattoos, but the person who has a Scorpio tattoo (badass) has to somehow augment that tat to reflect his newfound Libra status (scales)?

Ugh.

People went on about their astrological personality traits and the books they’ve read about their compatibility with other signs. It’s all really whale songs to me because I don’t believe in that stuff. It’s one small precarious step away from a fortune cookie. I mean, if the astrological signs were worth a damn, they’d be mostly terrible in their premonitions and character traits.

So you’re a Pisces? You like to steal Sci-Fi DVDs from parties and lie about your age online.

You’re a Gemini? Guess who has intimacy issues and gets to die alone!?

Virgo, you say? I keep shaking this Magic 8 ball and it just keeps coming up with ”fuckyourself”

And on and on. There should be a least a smidgen of doom in each horoscope.

Aires Horoscope: Today is a new day to a new week. Cherish this thought as you make it through your work day. Things are looking up towards the future where your endeavors are successful and your breath is minty fresh. Watch out for that bitch Kathy in the red Honda. She might as well be a bullet in the gun pointed at your head. Destroy her at all costs. (Lucky Numbers: 311, 808, 86, 187, MURDERDEATHKILL)

Oh I’m sorry if you were expecting a breakdown of what happened with the astrological signs. I really only cared about how irrationally this annoyed people. To some people, this was a rude awakening or, more vomitous, an epiphany.

My GOD I’ve been a LIBRA this entire time! THIS EXPLAINS EVERYTHING!

There’s also the talk that no one is affected by this change besides the people born after 2010. How fucking stupid is that? It’s like saying that you were an American, but we just recently found out that America is actually Canada. Don’t worry, though, you’re still American because we were dumb for a hundred years. All new babies are Canadian btw.

Fuck that and Fuck you. This is America. We like exclusivity and epicurean everything. No stinkin baby is going to have the RIGHT sign while I sit here with the hasbeen sign. I’m three sheets goin over the edge of a waterfall on this one. America is doin donuts with its Subaru Brat while blasting Quiet Riot with a fist in the air, pointed at the assholes in charge that gave that baby a new Zodiac sign. Obviously there’s going to be some sort of uprising as a result of this. People will be out in droves dealing out street justice to all the self-righteous babies who have donned the new astrological sign.

Who am I kidding? I like to envision the violence that people who subscribe to astrology would wreak. But I know in my heart of hearts that they will just put crystals on their foreheads and perform Reiki until I strangle myself with a telephone cord.

Did the newest astrological sign really have to be a dude wrestling a snake? I know it appeals to astrology’s fan base (chicks and gay guys), but that’s not even trying.

Return of the Mega Mac

Don't you hate it when someone just stops updating their website/blog? Even when it's a very involved blog that can take weeks between posts, I still feel cheated. This person owes me their content because, for fuck's sake, I’m at work and I need the entertainment to get through the day without doing some Vann Damage to this office.

Like these guys:

http://www.thisiswhyyourefat.com/



http://www.dontevenreply.com/



And the coup de grâce : http://paddleboater.blogspot.com/



There were a few inquiries as to why I stopped posting last summer and I'll squash some of the rumors right now. I’ll let some of them remain as they make me seem cooler than I am. I didn't lose my job and somehow hatch into an unforeseen paradise filled with nudity and chocolate. I didn't join the military or the peace corps. WTF is a peace corps anyway?  I always equate them to Carebears in my head. 

Hey. The simple truth is that I didn't think I could get near the content level that I peaked at with Kung Fu Fart Bubble again. I mean, he was my golden goose, my Epic Mickey. He was my one extreme glimpse into a celebrity’s soul. (Which apparently is filled with handmade sex tools and incestuous foreplay)

So I’ll go on record and say that is what every celebrity’s soul looks like.

What does your soul look like?

I’d prefer mine to look like a ham that’s already been half eaten. This way, I can still be awesome, used, and covered in caramelized brown sugar, even without my fleshdemon. Thought there’d be a Jew joke in there? YOU THINK WRONG.

So what do I blog now? You can’t just have a blog about nothing. There’s a thousand of them out there…perhaps millions. I think it would be nice to have people write to me and ask me questions about things but in lieu of that, I could survive on the table scraps of my everyday life and political discourse.

HOW GOD DAMN LAME.

Until I get some feedback, it will be like you’re trapped inside the head of an indigent office worker who moonlights as a professional hitman but instead of killing people, he kills moods, atmospheres and annoys relatives FOR CASH.

Here’s the weekday lineup:

Monday – Going Green through Laziness
• Everyday ways you can do nothing and save the planet.

Tuesday – Cubicle Nightmares
• Workplace follies and yelling. LOTS OF YELLING.

Wednesday – Soup or Chicken Shuffle
• SOMETHING FOOD RELATED. Shit, I couldn’t stop yelling there for a minute.

Thursday – Personal Injury Lawyer Commercials
• Eatin Boobtube dinners and listening to gangster rap makes it ok for me to drink Old English.

Friday – Weekend Roundup
• Anything cool going on this weekend? No? Cool man. Hit me up if you’re getting into anything.

So I’ll have some music, weird news, and politics strewn throughout for continuity as well as your much needed occasional rant on something that doesn’t deserve a rant.

My New Year’s resolution was to stop being so lame and be more productive. Your New Year’s resolution was to eat 40 Big Macs in 3 days.

I think you win any way you slice it.

Kung Fu Fart Bubble

RIP David Carradine

Rarely do I have anything other than a snide comment to give in reference to Kwai Chang Caine, but I feel I should be nice to him today. Just like his birthday, his deathday is in full swing and every media outlet is going crazy on him.

Do a Barrel Roll.

The ringmaster of The Legend Continues decided to practice his auto erotic asphyxiation spinning back fist, over compensated, and severed his spirit from the physical world. I always imagined that he would overdose or be stabbed, but never INXS’d to death. I find myself pondering what would be a reasonable death for a man who graced us with his presence in the yellow book commercials and such hits as “Big Stan” with Rob Schneider. After a long meditation, I feel it is fitting that he go out in Bangkok, naked in a closet.

Let me back track a little bit and preface my objective analysis of his penis rope strangle party with some information. After all, I actually had a four day relationship with this man. I have his name on my resume because I’m a name dropping piece of garbage.

This is going to sound like satyr, but believe me, it’s not.

David Carradine and the Cosmic Rescue Team:

After David Carradine kicked everyone’s ass a hundred times over in the cinema, he decided to form a band. Let me say that again. David Carradine had a band. OK. Apparently he turned 70 and decided to form a band of rapscallions on the verge of global domination through the intense power of folk/rock. Not really, but we can dream. He really did have a band, David Carradine and the Cosmic Rescue Team. His first recording session was at Club Iridium in Times Square, NYC, 6/28/06, for two shows, and I was one of the recording engineers. His people contacted some more people who contacted me and a partner in crime to take on this kung fu force flying right at us with his Japanese flute in tow. We secured a rehearsal space for him a day prior to the recording on the upper west side of Manhattan; Seinfeldland. He originally was supposed to show up at noon, but at 2:00pm we received a phone call from his agent explaining that he would be late because he was having a scotch. Understandable, he’s old and a star, so scotch isn’t out of the question or out of the answer.

THE ARRIVAL: Backwards Knees

He showed up to the rehearsal space out of his mind drunk and didn’t say a word upon arrival. He only gave me and my partner a series of high fives and low fives. In true ninja form, he barreled down the stairs to the space to find the reprehensible objects we laid out for him; a microphone stand, music stand and stool. He scoffed at the stool and its funtime buddies, “what do I look like? Some sort of old man who needs a chair!?!” He followed this proclamation of his unendorsed youth with a slow motion karate kick straight out of a Steven Segal movie, knocking the stool to the ground. Take that!

He then promptly sat crossed legged on the floor and, like he was on shrooms, fiddled for a half hour or hour trying to make his guitar work without upsetting spacetime. Like I said, he was hammered. Eventually his electric violinist (handler) hooked up his guitar and they twanged out a few tunes. We took some notes and figured out a stage setup for recording this conglomerate. I’ll spare you the details of the recording setup, but let’s just say it was huge for a five piece band. During the ensuing day, we recruited interns looking for experience and didn’t stop working until the show was long over the following night.
The show itself was met with mixed reviews. It ranged from terrible to awful. I was sitting side stage during the second performance and David Carradine farted. It was one of those “who invited a nursing home on stage,” melt your face off kind of gas-passery. It was so foul, it actually mucked up my vision, gave me vertigo, nausea and I’m sure I can’t have kids now because of the exposure. I am biased, though, because I was cranky at the time. I hadn’t slept in three days and wasn’t looking forward to the fourth. Not for this kung fu fart bubble.

His sets were filled with generic folk/rock complimented by a soaring electric violin and a black session drummer unfamiliar with the band. The few instances of tolerance I had with the show were his piano pieces, which if I knew him, I’d probably outright enjoy, and his fusion cover songs of House of the Rising Sun, Amazing Grace, and Poker Face. The parts that kept me wanting use a claw hammer on my ear drum were when his guitar went out of tune in the last song of his first set and he failed to put it back in tune throughout the second set.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad gig. I got to meet a celebrity and watched Hung fu [sic] fall on his guitar sword. After the show was over and we were packing up, he did come over to me to shake my hand. He said, “Thank you so much.”

His memory will be forever tarnished in the fashion of his death, but I will always remember him as the guy 70 year old who karate kicked a stool in my presence, farted, and thanked me.

Postscript: Jerkface

The long and the short of it was that I was in audio engineering school when this happened. One of my teachers came to help in the recording and ended up taking the master recordings to mix himself. This cut me and my partner out of the loop completely working on spec, even though we provided the legwork, man power and most of the equipment. The more I think about it, the more I realize that the club was paying him to do this (huge wad of money was exchanged at the end) and had no intention of paying me or my partner. I’m not sore with Bernie. I know he was just teaching us a valuable lesson in the business. Everyone’s out to have buttsecks with you and stab you in the back while they do it. I’m guilty of it just the same. So you better wear metaphysical buttplates and flack jackets when you enter into agreement for services of this magnitude.

Thanks Bernie. I’m sure you’ll find someone to put out that record, finally.