We're throwing them out there. Care to chip in? Send us a rant on whatever topic you like and we'll post it (picture of yourself and correspondent name must be included).

02.06.02 - GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE - special agent hundertmark.

This has actually been a long time in the making, but after seeing Flickerstick last night I've finally decided to compile my list of assholes I want banned from all shows and concerts.

The Tall Guy: An obvious choice, but I'll start with him because he was the first one on the list that I encountered last night. Where in the hell does this guy come from? I find what seems to be a great spot on the floor and before the band can even start this jackass ends up directly in front of me. I don't care if his girlfriend is only 5 feet tall, he needs to move to the back or the side. What the hell's he doing at a show anyway? If you're that tall then go practice your fade away jumper and do something with what you've been given.

The Couple: These two come in connected at the hip and park right beside me. And someone tell me why it is that, no matter where they are, these two are always in the classic Prom photo position? Girl in front with guy wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. Did they get stuck this way? Look out because when the music starts these two are swaying back back and forth and side to side without ever breaking the hold. It doesn't matter who is on stage or what they are playing, because all these two hear are Smooth Love Jams of the 70's volumes 1-4. So by the end of the night I'm standing there feeling like I've just had a three-way with these two because they have bumped into me so many times while grinding on each other.

Captain Sing Along: This person feels the need to let me and everyone around me know that they have the album, and they listen to it nonstop. They do this by not only joining in on the chorus of each song but going the extra mile and belting out every word to every damn song. The real problem with this is that they feel they are in competition with the band. Somehow it goes unnoticed to them that the band has microphones and loud speakers. So as the band gets going all I get to hear is the loudest, most horribly off-key singing that a person would ever care to hear. It makes me want to bring a roll of duct tape with me to the show.

Sloppy Old Drunk Lady: Who dug this bitch up? She walks in wearing her best leather outfit that she has been squeezing into since her first one night stand back when disco was big. Its pretty safe to assume she has no idea who's even playing on any particular night but it doesn't matter because they are all her favorite. And she will dance, yell and whoop it up 'til she has fallen over at least 3 times and thinks everyone there is her best friend. Then to top it all off she has to get on someone's shoulders. One look at her and you know that there's no question why her kids stay with Daddy and their "new mommy".

Sloppy Old Drunk Guy: I actually find this guy quite interesting. Nothing quite like seeing a guy that tries so hard to look like Ron Jeremy because he thinks chicks dig that sort of thing. It's also funny to watch him work as he honestly believes that some hot little 20 year-old is gonna go for him. Add to that the look he gives you when he's stumbling around and bumping into everyone, and then runs into you but looks up at you like somehow it was your fault. And to top off the night is the laugh he still gets when he yells out for the band to "play some Skynyrd".

Hippie Guy and/or Girl: Okay, first of all what the hell is that smell coming from them? These clowns show up dressed in rags they sowed together from what looks to be hand-me-downs from Martha the homeless lady. That may explain the smell. Like "The Couple", these people are hearing something completely different than what the rest of us hear coming out of the speakers. Once the music starts they break into that dance which could have only been learned by watching a Discovery Channel special on tribes of the rain forest.

I just wanted to start with this bunch but please feel free to add to the list.

01.11.02 - Give Me a Fucking Break.... - chad.


+++Thanks to Damell I was exposed to this. I couldn't resist pointing out a few things that really burned my ass,

" ...an album that features the best use of carnival-esque organ riffs since the Doors."
- Right, and Blink 182 feature the best use of punk-esque guitar riffs since the Sex Pistols. How dare this guy name drop the Doors in a Smash Mouth review.

"Clocking in at an economical 45 minutes, the album is a compact selection of tunes that adhere to a strict pop-music time limit of three-and-a-half minutes or less. "
- You want economical pop? You won't find it in the Smash Mouth bin. Check for Velocity Girl's "Simpatico" or the Spinanes "Manos".

"...he's just searching for "paradise in my living room." Smash Mouth is an escapist band, and they're kind enough to let the listener know that up front."
- Excuse me? What in the hell are they escaping from? And escaping to where? The living room? Regardless, it's great that Smash Mouth is letting their listeners in on their little escapist secret up front. There is nothing worse than buying a cd, and 10 tracks in, realizing that you've just been hoodwinked into buying a cd by an escapist band.

"...with a string section that could have been lifted from a 1970s Burt Bacharach session, the song is killer kitsch. "
- There is no such thing as "killer kitsch." Don't go looking for it, cause you won't find it, it doesn't exist. And how dare this guy name drop Burt Bacharach in a Smash Mouth review.

"A goofy piece of songwriting, this track lodges itself in the back of your brain and refuses to go away -- kind of like Miss Cleo."
- How dare this guy name drop Miss Cleo...no, wait, I draw the line here. What in the name of Verno's braided belt is this guy talking about?

"The rest of the album is catchy and pleasing, culminating in the band's hit cover of Neil Diamond's "I'm a Believer," previously featured on the "Shrek" soundtrack."
- And this song was a hit on what chart? Cutting a track for a kid's movie soundtrack is a sure sign of a band's impending doom. Think Vanilla Ice regrets doing that track for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movie?

"Smash Mouth isn't out to change the world's politics, or re-write the rules of songwriting -- it's just four musicians out to have a good time."
- Okay...but at who's expense?
+++

01.05.02 - EQUATION UPDATE: Rap + Metal = Bliss - velvet.
+++
+++Sometimes, when I'm drinking Old Milwaukee pounders and watching WWF Smackdown, I pause from beating my dog and think, "Gosh. What would this world be without white trash rapping to tuned-down power chords? And, gee, can I really get through another NASCAR race without Linkin Park?" The answer, my friends, is: I think not.

12.14.01 - Yankees Close to Signing Jesus Christ - chad.


+++Hot on the heels of their latest free agent signing, Jason Giambi, inside sources say that the Yankees are close to signing a long term deal with Jesus Christ. It is believed that JC will serve as the team chaplain, but has not ruled out playing. Terms of the impending deal have not been divulged.
+++

10.17.01 - Randomness - chad.


+++How I miss the days when Anthrax was simply a metal band that I could make fun of Damell for liking. At least there's still Manowar.
+++

10.02.01 - Travels WIth Barry, Part 1 - Velvet.


+++Barry walks slowly down Fifth Avenue, the morning sun glaring rudely into his unshielded eyes. He had just passed 53rd Street and was beginning to take notice of how his appearance stood out like a sore thumb. The sight of badly ripped jeans, a light blue jacket from the Salvation Army ("hey, it was only $3," is his typical defense) and unwashed hair does not tend to mingle well with the mass of advertising executives and Eurotrash that always inhabit these streets. They all look the same, he thinks to himself, almost wishing he did so out loud. Black, brown, black, brown, blue, black, gray, black, brown. Every suit, blouse, skirt, and pair of slacks that hurries by is identical to the next. Cloning, he jokes to himself. Sheep in humans' clothing.
+++The stares directed at him seem to pick up frequency as he gets near 51st. This is the mecca of the advertising world, where creative minds strive daily to suck your pockets dry with new and improved commercials and campaigns. Funny how these great minds of imagination cannot even conjure up better images for themselves. Barry thinks he will vomit if he sees another pair of khaki pants. He will surely commit Harry frickin' Caray if he spots yet one more braided belt. A dark-skinned man donned in full Saks Fifth Ave regalia looks at Barry's tattered jeans, looks up at Barry, and seems to shakes his head in disapproval. At the same time, Barry had been looking at this man's awful goatee-an attempt, no doubt, to prove oneself a hipster while maintaining the stylistic appeal of someone who just ripped off a Lord & Taylor mannequin-and had shaken his own head almost simultaneously. These people, he mutters exhaustedly to himself. Barry is more than happy to stick out amongst the cookie cutter population of Midtown. He welcomes the gaping mouths and furrowed brows. He's got SOUL, dammit! Where are these peoples' souls? Huh? Tucked away in some cubicle going over the numbers for a new advertising pitch for Gatorade, no doubt.
+++Barry briefly envisions himself as an account representative making $50K a year and shopping at Banana Republic. After work, he would meet "the gang" (a clan of khaki-clad marketing warriors from the same office) at a Merchants for rum and cokes and kamikaze shots. The conversation would never stray far from the world of advertising; he would joke with others about how this client is too cheap and that client is too abusive. Later, a drunk member of "the gang" would stumble over to him and start speaking behind the back of another "gang" member. She will tell Barry how that member has been generating sub-par work, and she hears that the Company may be cutting back, so that member is surely the first to go. Barry will agree not to tell anyone else this, but as soon as she leaves, he will tell someone else. His intent is to create a rumor about this person's sub-par work, because if the Company is cutting back , Barry wants to be sure that his ass stays put. "Only the strong survive," Corporate Barry will tell himself.
Barry is repulsed by this train of thought and thinks he might be sick at any moment. He finds his way to the downtown 6 subway entrance at 51st and Lexington. He sprints down the steps.

The subway was not coming.

He just needed to get the hell out of Midtown.

04.05.01 - 2PAC TOPS THE BILLBOARD CHARTS - Chad.

+++++2Pac has the #1 album on Billboard's chart this week. Granted, that doesn't mean much given that he's up there with Shaggy, DMB, 112 and Dildo. I mean Dido-- who is buying this garbage anyway? That's a rant for another day. Back to to my point, why the fuck is it 2Pac that has managed to release a new album each year since his death? For those not keeping score at home, this is apparently his fifth posthumous album. And for all you Pop Loser fans in Greenbelt, that means that he's put out five albums since his untimely demise. And the guy isn't skimpin', as his latest release is a double album. So why do I give a shit? I give a shit because 2Pac has released as much shit since his death as Kurt Cobain, Jeff Buckley and Shannon Hoon have released in their collective deaths combined, and that pisses my ass off.

+

03.23.01 - CONFESSIONS OF A SUBURBAN FRAT GANGSTA - Verno.

=1. Name: Verno the Mighty Infamous
=2. Nickname: Verno
=3. Hometown: Philly
=4. School: University of Maryland
=5. Boxers or briefs: Boxers
=6. Favorite Bra: The kind that come off easily
=7. Bacon bits or croutons: Croutons, bitch... pigs are filthy animals
=8. Favorite salad dressing: Ken's Ceasar
=9. Do you drink? Fuck yeah, all the time
=10. Favorites: Dark & Stormy, Newcastle, Blue Ridge Amber,
=Sleazy P. Martini
=11. What type of deodorant do you use? Mitchum unscented....
=strong enough for a skank ho, but made for Verno.
=12. Favorite Shampoo: Johnson & Johnson Baby Shampoo (no tears)
=13. Have you ever been skinny dipping in a pool? Yes, with plenty of
=bitches
=14. Hot tub? Used to all the time
=15. Do you ever make fun of people? What else do I do?
=16. Favorite color: Clear
=17. Convicted of a crime? Hmm, yep
=18. Pets? Buttons the wonder mutt
=19. Favorite Movies: The Big Lebowski, Goodfellas, Magnolia, and of
=course Peter North's debut film Euromen
=20. Favorite type of music: Death Metal or smooth jazz... it's a toss up
=21. One pillow or two: one
=22. Hobbies: Drinking, bitchin & complaining, snowboarding, dogging broads I meet at the bar
=23. Dream car: Kitt from Knight Rider
=24. Type of car you drive: Saab
=25. Word or phrase you over use: "Sweet, dude"; "Yeah I banged her"
=26. Toothpaste: Colgate
=27. Favorite food: Crab cakes
=28. Crush? I think it was an orange soda popular in the 80's
=29. Tattoo: "Born to Lose" on my left ass cheek
=30. Most romantic thing that ever happened to you: A bitch actually thanked me for taking
=her to Dairy Queen...then we fucked behind the dumpster
=31. Do you get along with your parents? Yep
=32. Favorite town: College Park, Maryland... lots of young broads who drink too much and don't
=know any better
=33. Favorite Ice Cream: Peanut Butter
=34. Favorite Pop: Royal Crown, bitch
=35. What's your bed time? As soon as the bitch gots my money
=36. Adidas, Nike or Reebok: Adidas all the way... extreme pimp gear
=37. Favorite perfume: The kind that don't taste like shit when I'm "heavy petting" with a broad
=38. Favorite song at the moment: "Oh! Sweet Nuthin'" by the Velvet Underground
=39. Favorite Web Site: fuckedcompany.com
=40. Favorite class in school: I fucking hate school... they all sucked
=41. Least Favorite: All
=42. Favorite sport to watch on TV: College B-ball
=43. Least Favorite: Women's billiards or Women's b-ball
=44. Say one nice thing about poploser.com: Pretty green background

03.15.01 - "I DROPPED THE BALL 'CAUSE OF ALCOHOL" - Kate Schrader.

++++Yeah, I have a complaint. This is Kate. I'm in (Chad's) "Out" category (03/11/01). I have a reason for me being an idiot at the jukebox-- it's called beer. Thanks.

Editor's note: While we here at Pop Loser sympathize with the trials and tribulations of operating a jukebox under the influence (hey, if you can't drive, then you certainly shouldn't be selecting songs to play at a bar), playing the same song twenty minutes after it was just played is inexcusable and punishable by death in Texas. We have the number of a good support group to help get you back on track.

02.19.01 - ALL HAIL STUPIDITY - Velvet Damell.

+++++Simply amazing. Maybe it's me. Maybe not. Maybe it's in the air... can you smell it, too? The stiff breeze of stupidity has once again blown into the city of Manhattan, lifting the brains of people right out from under their scalps and setting them adrift like autumn leaves. Just what is it that gets into everyone?
+++++It's your basic garden-variety stupidity. Always the usual suspects: the morning moron brigade riding the subways. I swear the government must recruitthese people to test the tolerance of the everyday commuter,
for what purpose I have no idea. Possibly to see if we could handle torture if ever captured behind enemy lines. You're a victim and going to work is the crime. Let's break down the perpetrators, shall we?

Mr. "Zero Depth Perception": This guy is usually the first float in the idiot parade. "Let's see, the subway is packed so much that school children are sticking out of the windows, but I just bet that if I shove everyone at the right angle, me, my briefcase and my coffee should fit just fine… COULD YOU ALL PLEASE MOVE IN SOME MORE???"

Ms. "Observant": Train not moving because the doors keep opening? Chalk to your left and I bet you catch this winner. She'll be the thirty year-old wearing no make-up and trying to eat her breakfast . "Hey, why isn't train moving? It couldn't be because the door keeps closing on my jacket could it?" YES, I THINK IT COULD.

Mr. "Chillin". Once you've braved the ride to your transfer or destination, you have to somehow, someway get through the herd and up the first flight of stairs. Seems a bit bottlenecked up front, doesn't it? Oh wait, that's just because a sixteen year-old kid is sitting on the steps and keepin' it real. Oh yeah, I just LOVE merging into 40 people that smell like CK One and armpits. It's okay though, he looks dope with his Discman.

Ms. "Put the BBQ Wings Down": Made it past the nitwit on the stairs, did you? Well don't get too cocky because you obviously haven't looked up yet. Maybe you shouldn't, because about five inches away from your face is about 600 pounds of ass going about two feet per hour. Don't fight it-- you're going nowhere fast. This bundle of burgers tacks on at least five minutes to your commute every single morning. For those of you with cars, she's the equivalent of the sixty year-old driving the Buick in the right lane.

Mr. "Vertigo": You're almost clear and victory is at hand. You're only 15 minutes late for work and you've conquered the stairs. All you have to do is get out of the station. Not so fast, slick. Didn't notice the Grand Wizard of all morons bearing down on you from the side, did you? That's okay, because he didn't notice you either. While every one is walking somewhat straight and paying attention-- a novel idea-- this guy is reading his paper and bobbing and weaving like a drunk driver. And of course, he cuts you off, you stop and change direction just in time, averting disaster only to give the hottest girl you've seen all morning a flat tire. Loser.

+++++So by now you must be thinking, if this is what you go through every morning, why the hell do you live in New York? It must drive you nuts, no? Nope. In fact sometimes you just can't help but feel like a Harvard professor when you're stuck next to, behind or around these kinds of people. Plus, I'm sorry, but sometimes it's just fun to be able to say, "Excuse me, could you get the fuck out of the way, please?" and feel right at home.
+++++Besides, it's not that bad every single day. But there do seem to be times when the city's collective intelligence ebbs and you're being assaulted by armies of commuting invalids. And I don't know if it's karma (if it is, the only moron here is the one writing the article), the gravitational pull of the moon or God beating a dead horse, but I can smell it in the breeze again. I can almost run my fingers through it and feel it. If I stick out my tongue I could probably taste it. IQ's are dropping like flies. Stupidity is in the air.

Hold your breath.



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