The Beat Generation: Beer and Blockbuster

Zilla Rocca, 1/2 of Clean Guns, and Beat Garden fitness consigliere, has returned to drop some more knowledge on the people. Neither of us are actually sure if knowledge can actually be dropped, nor...
By    August 12, 2007



Zilla Rocca, 1/2 of Clean Guns, and Beat Garden fitness consigliere, has returned to drop some more knowledge on the people. Neither of us are actually sure if knowledge can actually be dropped, nor are we certain whether it hurts when said knowledge is dropped upon you. Probably not.

So was there like some sort of memo that got passed around that I didn’t see, because honestly, I’ve now become convinced that all white girls aged 22-25 drink exclusively Miller Lite. Of course, these are the exact same chicks that in college, hated on the taste of beer because it was “like so gross.” The same girls that subsisted on a diet of Malibu and Swedish Fish (with the occasional margarita tossed in the mix).

I see you, Kaitlyn, Brianne and Madison, with your bottles of Miller in your hands. That or a Coors Light. You won’t catch me with a can of that girly, watered down shit. And just because females now think it’s okay to knock back bottles of that cold piss water, don’t think you’ll escape my wrath if you’re a male and drinking that shit in front of me. To quote Meth: “Ya’ll been warned.”

Another group of people who need to be warned: Wedding DJ’s. I went to a wedding last weekend and the DJ (let’s call him Dancin’ Ralph) found it perfectly acceptable to get out in the middle of the dance floor, mic in hand, dancing and slapping his own ass while mouthing the lyrics to “It’s Raining Men.” Sorry, dude, last time, I checked this was a matrimonial ceremony not “Men on Film.”

Slapping Your Ass While Singing “Raining Men?” Hated It

To add insult to injury, the DJ broke the cardinal rule of wedding DJ’s, by not playing a single slow song throughout the entire reception. C’mon man, everyone knows that slow songs are the Trojan Horse of wedding receptions. Throw on some Celine Dion or Vanessa Williams for three minutes, cue up “It Takes Two,” and BAM, instant freak-fest. But not Dancin’ Ralph. He wanted to change the game like Hova or MJ. No “Wind Beneath My Wings,” no “Love is,” not even a mothafuckin’ Boyz II Men cut. I felt bad for all the drunken bachelors looking to close the deal with the single and depressed bridesmaids, stuck doing the Soul Train for four fucking hours. You are dead to me, Dancin’ Ralph.

Speaking of dead, I’ve also been wondering how it’s possible that Blockbuster isn’t. I just got NetFlix and it’s pretty much killed all chance of me ever going to a Blockbuster again. Then again, I have no sympathy for them. They killed every independent video store in Philly by carrying 9,084 copies of every movie and if you called ahead, they’d even hold that copy of “Major League 2” on VHS for an hour. Hell, they even sold CD’s for a while. I remember copping “Illadelph Halflife” there, while this kid, John, I used to play ball with stole Rage and Cypress Hill CD’s. He later got locked up for rape. Seriously.

The last time I was in Blockbuster, it was pretty depressing. All the remaining stores left in South Philly cut themselves in half and rented out the other half to laundromats or wig suppliers. They start selling overstocked used DVD’s for $7, with naturally 50 copies of “2 Fast 2 Furious” for every one of “I Heart Huckabees.” Whatever, Blockbuster, that’s what you get for trying to make me sign up for for your “online store” every time I walk in the door, or your rewards program, or trying to push jumbo-sized bags of M&M’s on me like a used car salesmen. Until next time, RIP Blockbuster. God bless Netflix. And burn in Hell, dancing Ralph.

Download:
MP3: Clean Guns-“We Just Run Things” (left-click)
MP3: Clean Guns-“Hold Your Glass High (Wdhq Remix) (left-click)

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