Monthly Archives: February 2011

Let Me Show U

Just in time for Saturday’s Hoedown, the lovely Leona and I dusted off the fake 808 and put a hole in the studio wall with it.

Grab the download, it’s FREE because the recession ain’t over for the working man. And come shake your ass off on Saturday!

Dance Revival Feb 26, 10pm!

Looks like I’m starting this party off! Lucky for me and for you, admission is free before 11pm with the password “Big Bend” and apparently it’s reduced-admission after that with the password “Skrilla”. I have a feeling that either of these passwords will do something good for you, at any hour of the night, if you show up cockeyed and pre-sauced, but I’m not making any promises. I’m playing 10pm to midnight, the party goes til forever o’clock, and the other DJs are going to be a riot. Someone told me you can get married at this party, so bring your squeeze and make it official in between spins on the dance floor.

319 Scholes St., Brooklyn NY
Oh Yeah


Ahhhhhah…you know what it is, and it’s NOT half as long or twice as good. And it’s streaming-only for now, but to get your free download code, shoot us an email at  with 100 words or less about the least-romantic sexual encounter of your life. We’ll put up the best ones in a month or so, anonymously of course, and the worst of the worst gets an autographed glossy 8×10 print of the rare, highly sought-after Papes piece “Moist Wang with Glasses (On It)”.

Why “gothic dubstep”? Hell, I don’t know, what the fuck would YOU call it?  Maybe Blockhead will have some suggestions. It’s been a while since Fantozzi and I got down on a track, and this one’s a substantial departure from our previous efforts. It doesn’t really sound like anything Fake Money would do, at least not yet, so it’s under the Ex-Stripper Project name and I hope there will be more to come in this vein. Stay tuned, stay loose.

Punishing Blows

Okay, here’s some cool shit. How wide are the planks on the Brooklyn Bridge? That should serve as a point of reference for the size of these ice chunks, which I think only became plural on impact:

So after gracelessly eating shit into a slushbank around one of the towers, my ears are ringing and it feels like I hit my head. How the fuck is that possible when everything’s padded with several feet of soft, wet ice-liquid? Oh. Never mind, it’s just these big sonofabitches falling from the towers, which, according to the NYCDOT, stand 275 feet tall. So I look up.

Ah, good thinking, lad. Now your face is pointing at the sky. Fuck that. Lightning may never strike twice, but if I give that cold bitch Nature half a chance to smash my face into pudding, smart money’s on her taking it. At least there’s this dumb helmet on my head. Meanwhile, the wind’s picked up and these chunks are landing all around me like POW and there’s absolutely no fucking place to hide. Start runnin’, boy! Feels like a game of live-action Galaga in zero-G.

I love my job.


Holy shit, this thing is ferocious.

That is all.


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