Morrissey Is Very Sick

As if the cancellation of every date thus far on Morrissey’s U.S. tour wasn’t enough for fans to digest, the way in which these shows are being canceled is even more of a headache. Take the latest cancellation at The Orange Peel in North Carolina last evening. According to the club’s proprietor, the club received a text message at 11:30 PM on Sunday night, notifying them of the cancellation. “We are all very disappointed,” said the owner. “It’s very unfortunate for the fans. If a show is canceled due to illness[...]” which Morrissey is claiming to be the reason, “[...]then the artist is not obligated to pay back expenses,” she admitted; seeing as how the band is paid in advance. Canceling shows via text messaging? Morrissey, you drama queen.

You Wanted It, You Got It…Dancing Japanese Robots

Sony, Sony, Sony…don’t get me wrong, I love your products, I do. But dancing robots? Come on, now. Seriously? If you can make robots that will perform traditional Japanese theatre, aren’t you really just dropping the ball on how to better hone your technological advancements as a company, as well as how to best allocate your funds as a whole? Tisk, tisk, tisk. I mean, with global problems lingering such as AIDS, cancer, and world hunger, just to name a few, shouldn’t Sony be pushing some of that Japanese yen around, maybe towards a charity, or, developing machines that actually help in the fight against any of the aforementioned issues that plague our planet’s inhabitants? Honestly, it’s really just a matter of…woah, hold on, wait a minute. Oh, man, that YouTube video just started! Haha! This is great! Forget all that other stuff I said, Sony. I don’t know what came over me. You’re the best! Fuck that boo-hoo crap! Bring on the dancing robots! AIDS can wait it out a few more decades, right? It’s waited this long! Ooo! I love the way the robots wave those fans!

Florida is Doing Really Good

…only in Florida.

Red Bull’s “Simply Cola” is Simply Lethal

For all you hepcats out there who like to get hopped up and stay up late at night reading countless articles on RBM, this editorial might peak your interest. Now, I should preface by stating that I consider myself somewhat of a cola guru; I’ve tasted colas from all around the world. Colas from Germany, colas from Africa, even colas from as far away as Egypt. I’m also one of those people who swear that Coke tastes better with sugar it in, more so than it does with corn syrup. You see, the Coca-Cola Company has been in bed with certain nutritional elements of our national government since the 1960s, beginning with the Cuban…but, I digress. My point is I know my colas. So, when Red Bull recently released its “Simply Cola” in the U.S., needless to say, I was skeptical.

I Always Knew Tom Cruise Was a Nazi…

In retrospect, I should rephrase that headline by saying, “I always knew Tom Cruise thought he was a Nazi…but he’s not.” This December, the day after Christmas, rowdy and jumpy funny man (if you’re an Oprah watcher) Tom Cruise will be hitting the big screen as Col. Claus von Stauffenberg, the incorrigible, misfit Nazi daredevil that tried to assassinate Hitler in Bryan Singer’s Valkyrie. Let me preface this editorial by stating that anyone, dumb enough, to believe in real life that they would able to grease the Furher…well, let’s just say, based on that fact alone, I can’t think of anyone better for the role than Tom Cruise; someone who is equally dim enough to think that he can actually pull off such a “better actor” worthy performance. Apparently, Cruise was drawn to the script not because it was well written, NOT because of his interest in the story (which is based on actual events), but instead, ego-whore Cruise claimed his interest in the role stemmed, “[...]purely from the resemblance of [Tom's] profile when compared to that of Stauffenberg’s.” Sigh. Tom continues with, “Yeah, I mean, look at a picture of Stauffenberg, then look at a picture of me. You see it? You see what I mean?” OK, Tom, relax, we’ll look at your pictures…

Tony Clifton, Live in Boston…

Arriving at the venue well ahead of the doors even opening, it provided me the opportunity to shake hands with a living legend…Tony Clifton. I caught him walking awkwardly down Tremont Street, striding down the sidewalk, carrying an old beat up gym bag and water bottle; a water bottle that appeared to be filled with something other than water. He turned the corner to the back of the theatre just as I approached him. A matradee of the establishment came out of the rear door to greet him. “Hey, Bob!” the individual said, a huge self-indulging grin on his face, believing that he had just instantly become friends with Bob Zamuda. Tony, looking confused, shook his head. “That’s not my fucking name,” he divulged.