Flour Pouer

The plot, much like the gravy, thickens.

There are signs of old acquaintances sticking their heads up out of the holes they have been hiding in. I gird my loins in anticipation of battles to come. Having failed to resurrect the ghost of sites past, it appears they have engaged in a re-branding of sorts and have chosen a most unlikely place (or three) to reappear.

An interesting bit of history to be filed under “What Might Have Been”: As some/all of the reader(s) of this blog know, at one time I was utilized as on-air talent by RadioRockCafe (hereinafter referred to as RRC). I was very much the red haired step-child while I was there, but I was there, nonetheless. When the owners of RRC first acquired the blogtv.ca domain, they debated engaging in a GoFundMe or some similar internet-based means of raising funds. I asked the male third of the RRC beast a very direct question – how much do you need? I was rather un-gently rebuffed and told that this was information I did not need to know. Sigh.

Okay, backup and try again, and ignore the pigheaded stubbornness demonstrated by French Canadians.

Okay, it is more than $20,000? No.
Is it more that $15,000? No.
Is it more than $10,000? It is less than $10,000 (and wouldn’t it have been easier to have just told me that up front?).

On hearing that less than ten thousand dollars needed to be raised, I said something to the effect of “doitdoitdoitdoit”. If Steven Jones could raise in excess of 14K given his reputation, the RRC guys should have easily been able to do 10K.

Within a small number of days of this conversation (and by small, I am talking 48 to 72 hours) I was no longer associated with RRC. This was very fortunate timing for me, as I was going to “prime the donation pump” by dropping $1,000 into the till to get the ball rolling. And if push had come to shove, I could have just underwritten the whole goddamned thing.

Being only human, I dare not lie and say I don’t enjoy the schadenfreude that the entire blogtv.ca debacle has generated. I had my concerns that the beast that was RRC was getting into bed with a person of very, very questionable character, but the excitement of bringing blogtv back from the grave overwhelmed my sense of caution and I was quite close to doing something colossally stupid. It is abundantly apparent from this distance that the entire blogtv.ca project was doomed from day one. I know many people had their hopes raised that their “paradise of the internet” was going to be restored to them (trust me on this much, it would NOT have been the same, given the people involved), but as Thomas Wolfe noted almost 100 years ago, you can’t go home again.

ROAD TRIP!!!

Me an’ brother Kyle are piling into a horseless carriage in the very near future and taking off up the road to see King Crimson one last time before the end of the 2017 US tour. Kyle caught the show in Atlanta and I saw them in Raleigh; this time we are DOING IT RIGHT by getting the VIP tickets. Meeting/Q&A with band members, bag o’ loot, front row seats… this is gonna be motherfucking epic x 9000.

I am going to be sporting this when I go:

Because I am a total geek and have no shame whatsoever.

Socially secure

I have succeeded in reaching a life-long goal.

I am now old enough to go on Social Security. This means that I am FINALLY going get some (all? more?) of that money back that was yanked outta my pay checks going back to 1972.

All you youngsters can just put a cork in your cheese holes for the time being. The money I am getting now is MY money, not yours. I am going to have to live quite a bit longer before I start collecting my filthy loot off of your backs. Will I last that long? Time will tell. In the meantime, I am going to cover my bed in yankee greenbacks and just roll around naked all over it, then drive far far away and spend it because damn, that will be some nasty cash.

When you hit the bottom of the barrel, PUT THE SHOVEL DOWN.

There are so many different ways to start this post. I could talk about The Actual Owner of The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet’s (hereinafter referred to as Miss Scruffy) severe mental issues. I could talk about Miss Scruffy’s repeated oath that no channel would ever be micro-managed. I could ask (rhetorically, of course) why there should even be more than one channel on that crap site when Miss Scruffy has decided she is going to run all of them by her (highly variable, subject to change depending on her mood, whims, medication dosage, mercury content) rules. What I think I shall do is pay heed to that old axiom that a picture is worth a thousand words.

So there you have it. Scruffy’s neurosis at work and on display, micro-management, arrogance, engaging in an action that clearly exceeds any written term of service, all because this sick, sick woman is being driven by some inner demon to show off, to preen, to show her tiny, tiny little world that she is powerful and almighty, not to be trifled with, transgressed upon, argued with or ignored.

I am given to understand that her employee (AKA Mark Vaughn, Gout Boy, The World’s Greatest Coder, Mr Great Things Coming Soon, No ETA) closed Rectal_Exam’s channel shortly after this screen capture was taken. Scruffy, being dim-witted and simply not very intelligent is very surely and deliberately winnowing out everyone from her website (and it is hers, make no mistake about that) and will wake up one day and discover she has no one left to inflict herself upon. On that day, her life as she knows it will come to an end. It will just be her and Gout Boy, alone against the world, same as it ever was.

Sicut erat in princi­pio, et nunc et semper et in saecula saeculorum, bitch.

What’s Cooking?

We seem to have entered the horse latitudes of blogging here at Premium Hogwash.

Johnny Cardinal is not being seen (a major accomplishment, given that his girth exceeds that of the Death Star), Shitty Chris doesn’t have a court date until November, the only train wreck left on Vaughn Live is… Mark Vaughn, and the entire Scrag Collective seems to have scuttled underneath a rock somewhere.

Have you ever seen an unhealthier looking human being in your life? Pale white complexion? Check. Cheekbones and jawline buried underneath fat? Check. Dark bags under eyes? Check. Drooping eyelids and unfocused stare? Check.

Jesus H Christ, Mark! Get to a fucking hospital or go to a mortician, but do one or the other now. If you weren’t a full time asshole and proud of it, I would consider feeling sorry for you. As it stands, you look like you are doing your best to be another Johnny Cardinal.

The two things that still function quite well for Mark are his greed and his duplicity. Mark is still telling himself and his sycophants that he turned down ten million dollars for breakers.tv, a lie that would have likely made Joseph Goebbels choke on his schnitzel. In the meantime, this Tennessee Tycoon is also complaining about people using Ad Blocker, Kodi, and not forking over $15 per month to use his charming website. So at least you have that going for you, eh Mark?

Also, you have this amazing ability to failhard, looking like a clown by attempting to cash in on Christmas and having the Charlie Brownesque Christmas tree in the background. Should one laugh at this tableau of ineptitude? Should one cry that this autistic shut-in has been permitted out into the wilds of the internet? Perhaps I will just go with my initial reaction of disgust that anyone could think this was a good idea.

That’s where we are on the ides of October, 2017.

 

In the Dock, again

(Editor’s Note – this story refers back to this article: http://mullarea.com/pork/2017/07/11/asking-the-hard-questions/ )

The Undisputed UK Champion of alcohol consumption is due back in court, once again, this week. Christopher While has to stand before some guy in a powdered horse hair wig and answer to charges concerning the possession of Kiddy Pr0n. This is a serious matter, until you realize that the court system over there is administered by people who dress like this:

Seriously, I mean damn.

HELLO? DO YOU HAVE PRINCE ALBERT IN A CAN?

I suspect if I were ever to find myself in a courtroom in the UK, I would have to be sedated. That’s the ONLY way you could stop me from looking at someone dressed like that and not just bust out laughing. Did these lawyers, er, barristers and judges commit some sort of offense themselves, and their sentence is to dress up like a Warner Brothers cartoon character when they come to work?

If it may please the court, until your lordship dresses like a normal human being, I am unable to enter a plea due to insanity. Looking at you is driving me crazy.

The roundness of the world in which we live

In what will be of interest to a bare handful of individuals, I discovered that King Crimson will be in Raleigh on October 26th.

Tickets purchased.

I am taking my little brother along so he can see Robert Fripp before the venerable gentleman retires.

Catfish will not be served.

Do what you’re told, peasants.

The Actual Owner of Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet was observed in her son’s channel demanding DEMANDING that the guests log in. Apparently guest chat is just too much for the rancid Queen of Mercury to bear. Anonymity is just fine for the Actual Owner of the site as she lurks and spies and trolls and posts leading remarks in the channels of customers users those idiots who use her site, but it is not permitted in her son’s channel, by god! Know your place, you wretched scum!

The Madness Continues

On Monday, I got an email. I was being summoned. My attendance was requested. My presence was required. In the local dialect, I was being told to “gitcher ass in gear an’ get on down here, son”.

Given the subject of the email, I complied post-haste.

In the second week of July of this year, I found myself sitting down with Harry, the owner of Harry’s Guitar Shop (odd coincidence, them both being named “Harry”). I informed Harry that I wanted a Heritage H-155 M guitar, but not just any old run-of-the-mill H-155 M. No sir. I wanted a special H-155 M, built just for me, with ALL the bells, ALL the whistles, the kitchen sink, HBO, white side walls… you name it, I wanted it. So Harry, being a Heritage dealer, picked up the speaker phone of love and called Heritage Guitars up. One transfer later we were talking to the Lady With The Sharp Pencil and she started asking me questions.

Her questions centered around my specifications and the various up-charges they entailed. I authorized all of it. I encouraged her to find and kill the last unicorn and make the fret markers out of his horn. “Alas, all we offer is mother-of-pearl” she cried out. Anyway, they got the idea I wanted a real doozy of a custom built 155 and at that point I left Harry to discuss the numbers and delivery date with the nice lady. Harry contacted me the following day with a price and a date of September 15th for the guitar’s arrival.

I suspect my astute readers have already surmised that the email I received on Monday was Harry informing me that a small miracle had happened and my Heritage was sitting in his office. Just to bait the hook (or maybe it was to twist the knife?) he sent me some photos of the guitar with the statement that the guitar looked much better in person than it did in the pictures.

Really? It looks “much better” than that?

Well, it does. There was another customer at Harry’s who saw it and made the remark “I am standing two feet away from this and it looks like the top is made of crushed velvet”.

But the story, it does not end here. Oh no. The story never ends.

In the jibber jabber that follows any substantial transaction, I asked Harry about a guitar I had seen listed as a “special deal” on his web site. The guitar in question is a Schecter Custom Shop PT in butterscotch. Another customer had ordered a custom built Schecter PT and specified a maple fret board. Someone at Schecter goofed and put on a rosewood fret board. The customer was notified that his guitar had arrived, he came in, looked at the guitar and said “This is not what I ordered”. The customer and Harry got on the phone with Schecter to instruct them on the fine points of telling maple from rosewood. Harry now has a genuine Schecter Custom Shop on his hands that no one wants. (The customer is well within his rights to reject the guitar, as he ordered a custom build from a custom shop. The builder really does not want that guitar back, because they have no idea when someone else will order that exact set of features.) So Harry puts it on his wall for what is basically dealer cost, in this case just about $1000 off the retail price.

I see the guitar, I hold the guitar, the guitar whispers to me “My intended has rejected me, through no fault of my own. Won’t you please take me home with you?”, and so I did.

 

And even now, the story is not at an end. It seems there is a Peavey T-30 on a UPS truck headed my way, even as I write these thrilling words.

Someone, anyone, PLEASE help me stop.

The League of Upright Broadcasters

There can be no doubt that there is an immensity of dreck being spewed forth on various social broadcasting platforms. I don’t care who you are, I don’t care what your politics are, I don’t even care if you are left-handed, I feel certain that you could immediately rattle off the names of several broadcasters that you would sooner shoot than allow into the presence of your mother or your offspring.

One of the raisons d’etre of this blog was to mention and otherwise highlight those broadcasters who eschew the low road. These are broadcasters who will say hello to old friend and new viewer alike, who will seek (to the degree you allow them to) to make one and all welcome and comfortable within the confines of their channel.

I have observed that most of the vaper channels are like this. All are welcome. All they ask is that you behave yourself as if you were visiting their living room in real life. Any sensible adult (and any well brought up child for that matter) should have no problem with this. For those who are simply unable to control themselves… well, it is time for you to leave. You can just go on ahead and walk out, and if you can’t find the way, someone will show you.

I attend the following shows on a pretty darn regular basis. As a rule, the uproar and angst is generally minimal and the emphasis is on friends hanging out and maybe having a laugh or six.

EDIT – removed all links – every single channel gave up the fight.

If you are looking for a sane, non-threatening place to spend some online social time, there are much worse places you could try.

By all means, PLEASE add your favorites in the comments below.

Is this how you do it, mommy?

So this little exchange happened today on Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet:

In the red corner, we have one of the all time most obnoxious pests that has ever activated an account on a social website, Mr (Miss?) Patrickva. In the blue corner, we have Gout Boy, the man-child offspring of the owner of Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet.

In what is standard operating procedure for one of clan vaughn, Gout Boy is lurking in channels as a guest (I leave it to the reader, as a purely intellectual exercise, to hypothesize why the administrators of a website would feel the need, the overwhelming compulsion, to anonymously patrol their own site).

All does not go according to plan for Gout Boy. He is caught out by the clever trap (heh) laid by Patrickva and is coerced into declaring his actual identity. Patrickva then delivers the coup de main by pointing out that Gout Boy simply could have signed in like a civilized individual (once again, dear reader, I must ask that you ponder another point. How many times have you seen the actual owner of Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet state in open chat that she wishes there was no guest chat? Miss Scruffy, be careful what you wish for! How could you possibly lurk and interject provocative statements into chat as you are wont to do if you had to sign in?).

Gout Boy responds exactly as we all expect a member of clan vaughn to respond: abruptly and rudely. Gout Boy has proudly proclaimed that he is not professional, and here we have yet another instance of him boldly living down to that credo.

Gout Boy (as is de rigueur for a member of clan vaughn) then threatens Patrickva with account closure, leading Patrickva to bow in obeisance.

This could have been an epic “in yo’ face, motherfucker” moment for Patrickva, but alas, his manhood (womanhood?)  deserted him at this key juncture in this titanic battle of wills. Tucking his tail between his spindly legs, Patrickva demonstrates to the Gout Boy that his account on Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet means more to him than his pride.

To the surprise of exactly no one.

As long as Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit on the Internet continues to attract beta males, this will never end.

Allow me to translate.

The Actual Terms of Service for Vaughn Live

1. You must be at least 18 years of age to have an account. If you have a youthful appearance you will ultimately be banned because the actual site owner hates being reminded of her age.

2. Streams may not contain film, video, pictures, etc. of persons under 18 unless you are a friend of Mark Vaughn.

3. Nudity is not permitted, unless it’s late and you’re really hot, in which case D****L will make sure you stay on until he is…. finished. Nudity is allowed and constantly available in the Miscellaneous section.

4. We appreciate broadcasters who go Total FUBAR on drugs because that brings us viewers.

5. We appreciate broadcasters who say totally outrageous shit. That also brings us viewers.

6. For some inane reason there is a rule about showing your ass… because apparently Rule 3 just wasn’t good enough?

7. You large breasted women can’t flaunt your gifts on camera unless your name is Gamer Girl.

8. The Amrita Rule: no rubber dicks because it makes the actual site owner get itchy “down there”.

9. The “Any Way the Wind Blows” Rule: People who have been banned may/may not be allowed to be heard, seen, or mentioned on someone else’s broadcast. It all just depends on how the actual site owner is feeling at that exact moment. Ya pays yer money, ya takes yer chances.

10. The People category is for use by whoever the actual site owner feels it should be used by. You were forbidden to play games there until the actual site owner’s son decided he wanted to show off his elite minecraft skills there. It was just fine to have a black screen until the actual site owner turned on Bubbaganoosh, now black screens are right out. Play this one by ear, people.

11. Rule 11 exists because they ran out of room in Rule 10. Seriously.

12. The DMCA Safe Harbor disclaimer: Whatever YOU show is ON YOU. That’s how the law works, despite what some folks fervently wish to believe.

13. YOU MUST, AT ALL TIMES, KISS THE ASS OF THE ACTUAL SITE OWNER (hereinafter referred to as Miss Scruffy) TO USE THIS WEBSITE. FAILURE TO ABIDE BY RULE 13 WILL LEAD TO AN IMMEDIATE SITE BAN.

Here’s the deal, boys and girls: eventually, Miss Scruffy will turn on everyone with the single exception of her son. Do not ever underestimate or discount this. She has successfully fostered a mindset of “us against the world” in the psyche of her precious man-child and it is far, far too late to fix or repair the damage she has done. And she likes that just fine.

The Arcane Art of Making Your Own PSAs

Hey kids! It’s time to give some (most? all?) of you a quick and dirty HOW-TO on making your own Public Service Announcements, Station IDs, Inane Commercials, whatever.

Firstly, this HOW-TO applies to Windows 7 and later versions of operating systems (there are RUMORS it works for XP and Vista, I have no direct knowledge of this). I have no idea if this stuff will work with Windows 98SE or Unix or Cheetah or any of that Apple Crapple. Also, I don’t care if it works for these operating systems. Ask your minister or therapist for guidance in this area.

You will need a free application called Balabolka. “Balabolka” (bal-ah-bowl-ka) is Russian for someone who likes to chat constantly. Balabolka is a 32 bit application, and that will be important later on in this thrilling saga.

Balabolka works with any installed Microsoft TTS voices already on your system. (Okay, let’s take a short detour here. There are a LOT of handicap accessibility features already built into Windows. You probably have no idea they are there because you can see, you can hear, you can talk, etc. TTS is short for Text To Speech. Windows has a built in capacity to read the contents of numerous types of files to a user who may have difficulty reading or even seeing the screen. In other words, you already have at least one TTS voice on your machine. Poke around in the Accessibility Features of Windows one rainy afternoon; you will be very impressed at what is built right in to the operating system to help people with sight and hearing issues use a PC) If you have further questions about the ins and outs of how Balaboka hooks into the TTS voices and what sort of options you have, go here.

At some point, you may want to add a different voice to the voice library. This is easily done by searching the web for something along the lines of “free text to speech voices windows I am too cheap to buy shit” or something similar. Be SURE to use 32 bit compatible voices (see? I told you that 32 bit business would be important).

The Balabolka interface is pretty straight forward. Open the application and you will see the usual menu bars and assorted means of sorcery in the top part of the window. The bottom half of the window is a big open space just begging you to write something witty, inspirational, incisive and provocative. Balabolka has a bunch of BUTTONS, knobs, sliders and valves for controlling the speed, volume, and pitch of the TTS voice in use, it gives you the ability to alter pronunciation of particular words, it will also let you preview all or part of any Balabolka script you are creating from scratch.

After you have your Balabolka script typed up the way you like it and you are fairly happy with how the TTS voice reads it aloud, record it using an audio editor. A really really really good audio editor that is free is called Audacity. Audacity has been around forever. It is well supported and under constant development (that means someone fixes shit that is broken), it also has a broad user base (that means you can generally ask a question in most any random gathering about how to do something in Audacity and someone will actually have the right answer). Audacity will allow you to get rid of annoying stuff like large pauses between spoken phrases. It also allows you to further refine the TTS voice by applying filters (reverb, echo, vocal enhancement, faux stereo, equalizer…. the list of things you can do with Audacity is quite lengthy, BUT (and this is important) you do not have to use any of that stuff. You can play around with the effects to your heart’s content and as long as you don’t save the file, you can always go back to the original starting point.

Any audio editor will suffice (Adobe Audition aka Cool Edit, Sound Forge, GoldWave, etc). I used Audacity as the example because it is free, it is proven, and it is well supported.

Once you have finished your audio editing, save the file as .mp3, .flac, .wav, whatever your audio player likes to stream. Name the file something that you can identify by looking at the name. PSA1, PSA2, PSA3, etc are not too good because after you get to PSA64, you may not remember what the hell PSA14 actually says. Name them something along the lines of “Dumbass Fake Commercial for Long Life Dildo Batteries” – a file name that actually has bearing on the content of the file. You will then want to listen to your project via your regular audio player software and normalize the volume if needed.

That’s it. All done. Now you are truly dangerous.

Will someone PLEASE make me stop.

So I pick up the mail and there is the monthly mini-catalog from Musician’s Friend and I toss it aside and go on with my day, fiddle-dee-dee. So a couple of hours later I sit down and open the catalog up and am making the “hmmm” and ‘hrrrummm” noises and on page 7, lower right hand corner I look, and then I look again, and then I turn a light on and look yet again… yeah, it does say Limited Edition George Harrison Tribute Telecaster, and that damn picture is of his Rosewood guitar… and those fuckers cost stupid money and you can’t get them any more and Rosewood is now officially on the UN shitlist for import/export and also this sentence is just getting ridiculously long. But yeah, the description calls it out as a solid Rosewood Tele, limited to 1,000 guitars world wide, for $2,500.

Now I got to explain some shit to some of you folks. Firstly, the original Rosewood Telecaster was hand made for George Harrison by Roger Rossmeisl in 1968. Fender made close duplicates of them available the following year and discontinued them in 1972. Since then, Fender has made a few limited edition runs of them; depending on the exactitude of the copying of the original, the retail price has varied from “slightly above a normal Telecaster” to “many thousands of your dollars”.

As best I can figure, Fender USA made the aforementioned original copies from ’69 to ’72. Fender Japan made them available starting at some point in the 1980s until ’94. Fender USA then made limited edition runs in 2007 and 2016. And now, in what will probably be the last run ever, they are making 1,000 more. Now you are gonna ask me “HandsomeMork, why for and how come do you say this will be the last run?” This will be the last run because of CITES.

CITES is the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Flora and Fauna. As of Jan 2, 2017, it is easier to move heroin across borders than it is to move Rosewood. The primary driver in getting Rosewood on the shitlist is the Communist Chinese furniture market. Rosewood furniture is hugely popular in China and the Chinese have a long history of ignoring international agreements when it suits them. There were specific types of Rosewood that were already restricted from international trade (specifically the Rosewood used to make their furniture), but they lied and prevaricated and forged documents stating that THIS batch of Rosewood was the non-restricted type of Rosewood and nothing to see here, move along, move along. The Chinese did this on such a large scale that the boom has been lowered. ALL Rosewood is now restricted from crossing borders without permits, paperwork, inspection certifications, etc (all these words are synonyms for “fees”).

Rosewood has pretty much always been THE wood of choice for guitar fretboards. Fretboards are fairly thin strips of wood that are glued to the face of the guitar neck and have the frets and fret markers inlaid in them. So when the new CITES rules went into effect, the guitar industry was immediately faced with several issues, and suddenly the Rosewood that the manufacturers had ON HAND became quite a bit more valuable. As an example, Fender is raising the price of all Rosewood fretboard guitars by $50 across the board.

Rosewood will still be available (especially Indian Rosewood, which has been a well maintained renewable resource for years), but there will be government paper work every step of the way (fees, fees, fees and more fees) so the cost of Rosewood is basically fixing to go way up. How much up? That is the $64 question. No one knows how much at this point, but there is no doubt it is going up.

So now we get back around to this Rosewood Telecaster. With the cost of Rosewood going up and the supply now subject to numerous government agencies across different countries, this looks to be the last run of these beautiful instruments that will carry the Fender name. To be sure, custom builders that have sufficient Rosewood on hand will be able to build you a one off, but the price tag will be positively brutal. Also, it won’t say “Fender” on it.

So to bring this back around to the beginning, I looked that the advertised price, muttered “wait just a minute” and walked to my office. A quick look at Ebay, Reverb and a couple of other sites confirmed what I thought: the last Fender reissue of these things are selling for 5 to 6K. So the “guitar math” on this one is pretty simple; go ahead and order this and when it gets here just put it in the back of the closet and wait a year. Profit.

If you want one, act right now. They will officially be released on August 22 and I suspect by then it will be too late.

Random thoughts

Pretzels. Why are they SO fucking addictive?

Turnip Greens. A strange name for what may be the best effects pedal in history.

Hooverphonic. The best band in the world you are not listening to.

Rule Seven. Why do some of you keep breaking it?

Psychology. Arguably the greatest scam EVER.

5.56×45 vs 7.62×51. This is such a no-brainer. Yet another bad decision made by Robert McNamara that we still have to live with.

 

 

Risky Business

Let’s go over some recent history together, just the two of us.

In the opening months of 2016, the users of Possibly The Biggest Steaming Pile of Horseshit of the Internet saw a lot of this:

This was Gout Boy’s none-too-subtle attempt to coerce the user base of his dodgy website to give him a monthly fee simply to view a handful of social deviants and the chance to watch re-runs of the Simpsons and The Big Bang Theory.

The rational behind that image implies that there is a Technical Issue that is keeping you from accessing the site (video servers are AT CAPACITY!), but the text on the image makes it clear that you can BUY YOUR WAY OUT of that Technical Issue.

Shockingly, he got next to no takers on his generous offer. Imagine that. Instead of paying into his blatantly obvious and truly pathetic shakedown scheme, the user base sought various means of getting around Gout Boy’s self-engineered “outages” or they simply left his site, never to return.

Best laid plans, eh, Gout Boy?

Now it appears that their sights have shifted and it is the streamers, the providers of the “entertainment” and the streamers of old television shows and movies that are being told to pony up, lest they fail to connect to one of the fabulously expensive ingest servers that cost a king’s ransom for the Tennessee Tycoons of the World Wide Web to rent every month.

Now being charitable and cautious, I am mildly amused by this new attempt to extort money out of the users of his mother’s website, but if I were to be placing any wagers on the outcome of this, I would bet the house, the kid’s college funds and the 401K that this is gonna fizzle out just as gloriously as the Great Video Servers Are At Capacity Scam of 2016.

Gout Boy, you ain’t Amazon. NO ONE, EVER, is going to pay you for a fucking premium account. You suck, your mom sucks, your website sucks. Your track record of delivering on promises sucks. Your ability to keep your site up and running sucks. That adds up to a metric assload of suckage.

I don’t know what’s wrong…

… but I know how to fix it.

Gout Boy, the genius coder and the smartest human being to ever live, currently reports that he is uncertain as to why his site is experiencing issues, however he does know the solution to these issues is YOU buying a VIP account.

I swear, I could not make this shit up.

Fly the Smelly Skies

It is reported in the news that a commercial airliner was forced (FORCED) to land at RDU on Sunday due to a passenger cutting the cheese at altitude.

Yes, a fart knocked an airliner right out of the sky. An ISIS spokesman praised Allah and claimed responsibility for the fart, stating that all future flights from the heretical western countries would be boarded by cabbage eating freedom fighters dedicated to bringing down and eradicating the corrupt blight of the Crusader airlines.

Fortunately, my fellow travelers of the airways, technology sallies forth to our rescue. Behold, the miracle that is the Fart Silencer. Not only does the fart silencer act to suppress the sound of anal emission, it can easily be adjusted to mask the odoriferous byproduct of the stinky poot. To quote from the linked article, “Users are also instructed to spray a cotton ball with their favorite perfume and put it into the “Fart Silencer” to eliminate any unwanted odor that might occur.”

People, we live in an age of miracles.

Human Excrement

I want to tell you a story. It’s a story that has to do with a human pile of shit that currently goes by “Dr. Dave” on different social broadcasting sites. I first ran into this walking pile of fly attractant a few years ago, and be damned if he didn’t surface again last Friday. In order to explain how I discovered this useless jackoff was the lowest form of life, we have to go back, far back in time and into the dark, dim recesses of the internet. Yes, we have to visit the days of BlogTV.

Once upon a time, there was this internet thing. It went by the name of BlogTV. Those of you who are reading this were probably there. For those of you who are unfamiliar with BlogTV, do a search on the web for “social broadcasting”, click on some of the links, then go visit your local mental health center.

One night, I am doing a show on BlogTV and some random user comes in, makes a comment about the music being played, and sticks around for a while to listen. After a few more tracks are played, he comments that my material is scrumtrulescent in all ways (these are my words, obviously). He asks where I am streaming the music from. I explained that I did not rely on 3rd party sources for material, that everything I played was sitting on one of my hard drives. I then put a link in chat that connected him to my world-famous SPREADSHEET OF TUNA. This random user seemed to be in disbelief at the number of tracks I had (at the time it was around 25-26K). I let him know that he could call out anything on that spreadsheet and it would be the next song up.

Mr Random User introduces himself as “Dave” from Beeville, Texas. Dave says he is unemployed, says he has a background in electronics, says he did some engineering work in radio and TV after he left the service, says he was a helicopter service technician in the service. He says the current job prospects in Beeville are dim. He asks me if I do regular shows on BlogTV, I tell him that I do random shows under my user ID, I do regular shows on a BlogTV channel called “1BlogRadio”, which is a collaborative  music channel made up of many many people who do shows covering a wide variety of musical genres. After a few more tracks, Dave says goodbye and off he goes.

A few days later, Dave is “on the air” on BlogTV playing his mainstream/AOR music. He becomes a fairly regular channel on the “Who’s On” menu, which makes sense. He’s got nothing else to do, BlogTV also gave him people to talk to and it kept him off the mean streets of Beeville. Just another guy, playing tunes, chatting with folks that drop into to listen…

…and then. One night I am channel hopping and I go into Dave’s channel. He is on camera in a US Air Force class A shirt with full colonel insignia on the collars, 5, maybe 6 rows of ribbons on his chest and the son of a bitch is telling one of the chatters he is a RETIRED FULL COLONEL from the UNITED STATES AIR FORCE.

Now I have to insert a bit of background about me at this point of my story. My old man spent 30 years in the US Army. He was a real bird colonel, he was a combat officer in 3 wars. His class A uniform had 3 (three) rows of ribbons. More to the point, I was born and raised on Army bases from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas to Berlin, Germany. I spent my entire childhood, from birth to 18 years of age, surrounded by scores and scores of soldiers of all ranks, from the Spec 4 who ran the cash register at the PX to a division commander who was a MoH winner in WWII. I FUCKING WELL KNOW WHAT A UNIFORM LOOKS LIKE. Seeing 6 rows of ribbons on anyone’s class A shirt… that is just beyond rare.

So I log in to Dave’s channel, and immediately type into chat “That’s an awful lot of fruit salad you have on your chest there.”  Dave’s right hand immediately comes up and covers the ribbons. Then his camera goes black, then his channel goes off the air. Approximately two minutes later, his channel comes back up, and Colonel Dave is now wearing a T-Shirt.

I had further brushes with Col. Dr. Dave during the BlogTV era. (If you want details, catch me on Friday night during my show and I will bloviate endlessly about them.) He eventually showed up at 1BlogRadio and talked his way into that. His non-stop bullshit eventually motivated numerous good broadcasters to leave. Dr. Dave hooked up with RadioRockCafe and made them rue the day they met him. Dave’s highly elastic notions of truth and honesty have made him “friends” everywhere he goes.

When Dave is pressed about his show with the uniform, he flatly denies it ever happens. When he is presented with the details, he then declares it was all a joke. It never happened, and it was a joke. Right, Dave. Gotcha.

I heard that some woman in Canada fell for Dave’s on-air bullshit and invited him to the great white north, where they became husband and wife. I honestly thought no one could be that stupid. I was mistaken.

This past Friday, the obese mole-faced woman who was actually stupid enough to marry Dave (and hey, I guess I should thank her for getting his fat, lying, honor-stealing ass out of my country) came into my show on CamUpTV under a guest account and wanted to know why “Katz123” was banned. I told this Guest that I had never heard of Katz123. I asked this guest if Katz123 had other user names (CamUpTV is good for that, bans are IP based, so if you get banned under one account name, it auto-bans all your user IDs), the guest said nooooooo (which now made it obvious I was talking to Katz123). I asked Katz… er, I mean I asked the guest if they shared an IP with one of the 3 accounts I did have banned, the guest changed the subject. After my show was done I donned my internet cloak of invisibility and entered Dr. Dave’s channel and confirmed my suspicions:  Katz123 is Mrs Dr. Dave. I jumped from my chair and rushed to take a shower.

So the wages of trolling are reminding me about this story, and getting me to write it down where hopefully ones of people will read it.

Dave is a thief. He is the worst kind of thief. He sought to take honor that he did not earn and was not worthy to bear. He is scum and it is best that he remain in another country. Should I find that he has returned to the US in general and Texas in particular, I will personally alert every VFW chapter, every American Legion post, the DAV chapters, dude, I will fucking call the American Red Cross.

A walking pile of shit. That says it all.

 

Can’t sleep, clowns will eat me.

I am aflutter.

After kicking the can up the road (down the road?) for nearly a year, I am headed to The Big City tomorrow to get something that I have lusted over for some time.

Once upon a time I was asked what my dream guitar was. I had to give two answers, because electrics and acoustics really are different animals. Tomorrow I am going to see if I can “do the deal” to get the acoustic guitar of guitars, the holiest of the holy, that which I fell in love with the moment I saw my first one. To be sure, there are more expensive guitars available – much more expensive. To be sure, there are fans of other brands that will spit on my shadow and curse me for a brainless git. I’m okay with that. I too have been known to have what some would call “firm” opinions on certain matters. I understand. I know people who have stated they would rather have a bad Gibson than a perfect (insert name of any other brand here). I suspect that statement contains a certain amount of hyperbole, but brand loyalty is something I understand and respect.

One size does not fit all. It never has and it never will.

I think the single finest sounding acoustic I have ever listened to was a Gibson Hummingbird made in the early 1960s that was in the hands of a guy who lived in a dorm room a few doors down from me. He is now the department chairman of the school of music at that university. Of course, this was in the day of long hair and non-prescriptive pharmacopeia, so my memory is highly suspect (see what I did there?). Over one summer break he took another guy that lived in that same dorm off to “his” guitar shop, and the following fall semester Slick (I have no idea what his real name is/was, he was universally addressed as “Slick”) had a Martin D28 in his possession. It complimented the Hummingbird beautifully. It was somewhere during this time frame when I got an invite to go see Jesse Colin Young at WFU and there was this guy named Leo Kottke as the opening act, and if you have seen Leo in person, then you know what I mean. To see Leo play is to witness something that is probably not entirely of this earth. I am pretty sure Leo hails from some plant where the sole form of communication is guitar.

One thing I picked up on pretty quickly was that the hands holding the guitar* are by far and away the most important element in the sound of the guitar. Just a couple of weeks ago, I watched a man pick up a $200 Yamaha and make that fucker ring out like… words fail me. I wish you could have been there. The point of this is that while he normally plays instruments that cost 20 times or more than that Yamaha, he did not appear to be limited in any way, shape or form in producing the most wondrous music. In point of fact, if you are looking to buy a guitar for yourself or another to learn on, give some very serious consideration to Yamaha (that goes for the electrics also, the Pacifica series guitars are bargains). The beginner will not have to fight with a poorly constructed turd and if they decide that guitaring is not for them, they can recover some of their money out of it.

Anyway, I am headed south to see if I can bring a Taylor 514ce limited edition back home. It’s got a flame mahogany back and some fancy fret inlays and some outrageously smooth Gotoh tuners (21:1 ratio, baby)and that unspeakably sexy Florentine cutaway. In that dream guitar photo, it’s the one on the right. Pics shall be forthcoming if it is here tomorrow evening.

 

*Look at this video of Billy Gibbons and some friends playing “La Grange“. At 4:22 in the video, Mike Henderson, who is playing a fucking $150 Squier Telecaster (Fender’s in-house knock off brand of their own stuff) just absolutely puts on a jaw-dropping clinic on How. Its. Done. It ain’t the equipment, it’s who is holding the equipment.

EDIT: Mission accomplished. pics: http://mullarea.com/guitars/Taylor/

 

 

Asking the Hard Questions

As is widely known across the blogosphere, PremiumHogwash is justly famous for its on-the-scene brigade of correspondents. Today, we have asked Our Man on Wall Street what his thoughts are about the ongoing trial of “Sexy” Chris While and the potential impact this may have on the spirituous liquors industry in Great Britain. What he has to say may sending you running to your telephone to place an emergency call to your broker.

In a nutshell, we were referred to this shocking graphic, showing what happened to the stock price of Anheuser-Busch Inbev SA (NYSE:BUD) (commonly known to most readers as “Budweiser”) when the undisputed queen of VaughnLive, Vikki70, passed away from causes unknown.

As you can see, the stock price of BUD nose-dived and has never fully recovered. It is rumored that the Budweiser distributor in Dallas, Georgia had to file for bankruptcy protection under Chapter 11.

It is estimated that Vikki personally consumed upwards of 62% of all the Budweiser sold in the continental United States. With her passing, entire breweries were thrown out of work and BUD ultimately had to reduce its workforce by 38% over the next 2 years.

And this brings us now to Christopher While, who is currently “on the dock” in England for various infractions against civilized behavior.

Mr. While may be known to some of you. He is the uncontested champion of the British Isles when it comes to alcohol consumption. On any single evening, Mr While will consume enough liquor, beer, ale, lager, cider and wines both fortified and defenseless to allow the HMS Ambush to submerge to a depth of 500 feet. His consumption is simply remarkable.

Therefore the market is watching his trial with much apprehension. Should he be incarcerated, it is feared the entire adult beverage market in the United Kingdom would suffer a financial blow that could be equated to Armageddon. We reached out to spokespersons of several famous distilleries in the UK, their responses ranged from tight-lipped “no comments” to actually bursting into tears and having to be lead away by corporate minders.

PermiumHogwash will keep a close eye on this developing story from the green and sceptred isle and keep our readers abreast of any new developments.

Stoned, again

When the Lord God Almighty created Adam, he made one single, dreadful mistake. He gave Adam sphincters.

Now I know most of you people smirk whenever you hear or see that word. “Sphincter” has become synonymous with the butthole, that much beloved terminus of the human digestive experience. In point of fact, the human body is packed full of sphincters. They are little rings of muscle tissue that act to open and close access to various tubes and pathways throughout our bodies, what the medical profession refers to as our “innards”.

According to the idiots at Wikipedia, there are OVER 9000 of the damn things opening and snapping shut inside of you right now. Sadly, some of those sphincters are stationed along the path from your kidneys to your bladder. When, in the course of human events, a collection of dilithium crystals and half consumed tootsie rolls accumulates in your kidneys and forms what we laughably refer to as a “stone”, the sphincters are ill equipped to deal with them (think in terms of trying to poop a watermelon). The stone continually bumps up against the sphincter seeking its sweet freedom, and this leads to a by-product scientists refer to as “pain”. Pain really is just inadequate word for the sensation. It should be some as-of-yet undiscovered word such as Marmahyperduqueallionesqueamundo. It is a pain so intense that one of the symptoms of kidney stones is nausea. Yes indeed, it hurts so bad you start to dry heave. Another symptom is calling out to various deities and asking them various questions of a sometimes scatological nature.

So having a stone trying to push its way out is painful enough, but not all stones are created equally. No sir. There are tiny stones and there are stones so large that it is simultaneously laughable and horrifying to see them. There are smooth stones and there are stones that are a collection of razor sharp edges that will slice open any tissue they happen to bump up against. And then….. there are these monsters:

Behold the monster called the Staghorn stone. Imagine trying to piss one of those bastards out. They don’t come out, not on their own. Someone goes in and takes them out.

Anyway, I am writing about this spooky shit because I was in the local ER the other night, again, with Senor Kidney Stone of the razor sharp variety. You should have seen what was coming out of me, but honestly, you don’t want to. Let’s just say that you can use “coca cola” as an adjective to describe urine, and be perfectly accurate. They shot me up with “the good shit” and gave me a mess of pills to eat, then sent me home to drink, drink, drink and piss that stone into the recesses of whatever porcelain convenience I happen to be near. So pass me another bottle of water, I’ll be here for awhile just drinking and peeing.

The Road Not Taken

So this evening I went by Possibly The Worst Steaming Pile of Dog Vomit on the Internet and I couldn’t find any of that HTML5ness that the pseudo owner/boy genius/late model Honda collector promised everyone was going to be there by “the end of June”. To the surprise of exactly NO one, anywhere on the face of this planet, the grotesque abomination that sprang forth from the mercury poisoned loins of Patricia “Love Handles” Vaughn has once again delivered a self-inflicted gunshot to his immensely gout swollen feet. I suspect that by now he doesn’t even feel a thing.

One day I will write a pamphlet concerning my Unified Theory of the Vaughn Molecule and its place in our universe, but that’s not why I am here today. No sir.

I am here to talk about one of those streaming sites that I tried for awhile and moved on. Stream.me is a site that was started for and still mostly caters to Gamers of all shapes and sizes. Myself and a fellow miscreant of similar stripe approached the administrator of Stream.me and asked if they would have any issues with us doing our Rock-n-Roll thing on their site. They were very obliging about letting us set up shop and were “there when you needed them to be”, otherwise they left you alone. Hmmmm, that certainly is an intriguing model for running a social casting website.

The downside to Stream.me is one that many of you are familiar with: next to no traffic. Most people on Stream.me are dedicated to their particular games. From time to time someone would wander in to our channels, rarely that someone would actually deign to say hello, but for the most part you really had to pack your audience in with you. The opportunity for channel/viewer growth for a music oriented show was deemed to be very low.

Since we left, we observe that there has been some diversification of the content. There are music channels, a news feed or two, occasionally I will see what looks to be a live round table discussion format show.

For those of you in search of a out-of-the-way site to do some trial broadcasting, Stream.me might well be exactly what the doctor ordered.

(NOTE: I an not affiliated with, endorsed by, reimbursed, compensated, fed or given gratuitous hand jobs by anyone at Stream.me. I have no connection to them whatsoever, except as a former (semi-former? my channel is still there, but it hasn’t been used in many many moons) user.)

Saddened, I am

For reasons known only to Mrmacgregor, he has chosen to make the illustrious webcamwoodshed private, which means that common scrublords such as myself can no longer access its (admittedly sparse) contents. The link to access the chat box is here:

http://jtvshoutbox.chatango.com/

It is a good place to troll and be trolled.

What the world needs more of….

Attention, people of Earth (or Erf, for those of you who got a diploma because you aged out of the system).

PremiumHogwash has come into being to fill a void, a gap, a vast open zone of null created by Those Who Are No Longer Here (henceforth to be referred to as TWANLH). We are a professional group of citizens who have banded together to form the one true blog. Our area of bloginization (it’s a word now, damn it) will be social media, social media blogs and the authors that pertain thereto, food, music, culture, food (Hey, you already said food. Fuck off, I like food.), personal devices, humor, and animals (which brings us back to food).

PremiumHogwash is sparing no expense to bring you the latest in timely and informative news from around the globe. As of this writing, we have roving reporters stationed in Kula Lumpur, Tierra del Fuego, Constantinople, Kiribati and Bakersfield.

Best of all, we guarantee our blog information to be 100% accurate, unless it isn’t. You have our word on this.