Category Archives: Music

I Hate Glee. What Are You Going to Do About It?

By Roode–

If you’re a regular or semi-regular reader of mine, you’ll know that I have a profound dislike for most everything.  Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things I like.

OK, so this pretty much encompasses all my “likes.”

Perhaps, television is both my favourite and most hated of life’s little staples.  It’s a harsh mistress; dressing up for you all pretty like one moment, then pissing all over you the next.  God knows I hate television networks.  These wonder-tards are responsible for some of the worst decisions in entertainment history.  Fuck it.  I’m talking about FOX.  FOX has been anally raping its viewership since the dawn of Married:  With Children. Let’s check the score:

  1.  Arrested DevelopmentCANCELLED
  2. Terminator- The Sarah Connor ChroniclesCANCELLED
  3. Lie to MeCANCELLED
  4. FuturamaCANCELLED
  5. Family GuyCANCELLED
  6. DollhouseCANCELLED
  7. FireflyCANCELLED

Then, there are the shows that FOX execs gave a collective, “fuck it” and greenlit baffling shit like:

  1.  Who’s Your Daddy:  Fatherless child + paternity tests + slut mother + a group of guys who couldn’t keep it in their pants + TV audience + cash reward = eventual suicide
  2. Married by America:  The viewing audience could now get involved with helping young couples fuck up their futures
  3. The Littlest  Groom:  He’s a midget!  Get it?  [It actually pained me to type “littlest”]
  4. Babes:  Fat chicks.  That’s it.  There’s nothing else.
  5. House of BugginJohn Leguizamo’s latest tragically unfunny attempt at replacing “In Living Color

Even more ball-smashingly painful are the shows FOX, not only keeps on the air, but seem to have an L. Ron Hubbard type following.  Again, let’s go to the board:

  1. American Idol:  Definition of beating a dead horse and making it sing.
  2. X Factor:  What they’re calling “American Idol,” but with Simon Cowell and Pepsi.
  3. House:  Look, he’s a cranky ass, drug addicted, pompous, douchebag doctor.  We get it.
  4. Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader:  Short answer:  No
  5. Glee:  Fucking Glee

Although I can shake my fist and send human waste to FOX for the first two lists, there is no one to blame but the American people for the last.  What the fuck is wrong with society?  “But, Roode,” some of you are no doubt saying to your monitors like I give two shits, “if you don’t like these shows, don’t watch them.”  If you’re one of the people who just said that, punch yourself in the kidneys as hard as you can.  I’ll wait.

Or, have Batman do it.

The excruciatingly painful root canal of a problem is that these entertainment equivalents to eyeball AIDS don’t just stay on TV.  They’re everywhere.  They spill over into every other aspect of life:  water cooler chat, trite morning show coverage, bullshit marketing shenanigans, and a host of other methods designed to shove this camel piss down your throat.  For fuck’s sake, you half expect the doctor to give you a rectal exam with an official “GLEE” probe.

“Collect them all!”

Glee. Fucking Glee.  Outside of “reality” shows, Glee has to be the prickliest cactus that has ever been shoved up my ass [figuratively, sickos].  It combines all the things I hate in life:  singing, high school drama bullshit, singing about high school drama bullshit, hair styles from the 80’s, poser-hipster-geekdom, a Barbara Streisand wannabe, and all the douchebaggery contained therein.

And this goofy fuckstick.

Impossibly aggravating twirling paraplegic aside, I’m completely baffled as to how in the fuck this show became the runaway success it is.  I guess it has all the ingredients of an asinine network TV show popular with the toothless public:

Unrealistically pretty high school “teenagers” + mismatched couples + painfully dubbed singing + forced and contrived gay character(s)



Alright, maybe most of that is superficial for a list of reasons why I hate this show more than a punch to the yam bag.  But, it’s a goddamn TV show.  What else do I need?  It’s television cancer!  The background music, itself, is enough to drive one into a murderous rage.

I tried to watch the show once [read:  woke up on the couch while wife was watching it].  I timed myself.  It was exactly one minute until I was filled with homicidal rage.  It’s like fingers on a chalkboard.  It’s not any ONE thing.  It’s EVERYTHING.  Individually, I’m pretty sure I could stomach each vomit inducing annoyance for an hour-long show.  I hate singing in a television show, but I managed to put up with episodes of The Simpsons that shoe-horned musical sketches into the show.  High school drama on TV makes me want to set fire to an orphanage, but I was able to sit through Veronica Mars.

Kristen Bell might have had something to do with that, though.

But, all those little annoyances in concert is like being hit with a bag of oranges.  It’s a constant left-hook, right-hook combination.  It’s one of the few situations when running headlong into a wall is the better of two evils.  Take the hits too long and you’ll end up like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky V.  No, not the Rocky character.  I really mean Sylvester Stallone.

Poor bastard couldn’t tie his own shoes with help from Mr. T.

Glee has become oh so fashionable!  Why, everyone who’s ANYONE wants to have their songs shit on, ham-fisted into a “plot” then have the very essence changed to discuss the problems of kids in wheelchairs not being able to get enough blond poontang.

Look, I just really fucking hate this kid.

Ah, that’s what FOX wants you to think.  Every now and then an artist is able to withstand the evil and money to protect his work from being shat out the prime time sphincter.  Who?  Who dared defy the FOX gods and deny them their power and inefficient hybrids?


Back in March of 2011, Dave declined to give the rights to his song, “Everlong.”  [Read:  Go fuck yourselves]  Grohl feels that musicians shouldn’t feel pressured to bow down to Glee’s awesomeness and beg to give them any song out of their catalogue the studio wants.  Check this:

“It’s every band’s right, you shouldn’t have to do fucking Glee,” Grohl, 42, told The Hollywood Reporter. “Dude, maybe not everyone loves Glee. Me included. I watched 10 minutes and it wasn’t my thing. “

Translation:  Fuck you, Ryan Murphy, creator of Glee.  Your shit absolutely DOES stink.  Not only that, but we can see what you ate for lunch.

“Someone’s not eating enough roughage.”

But, I suppose Dave Grohl’s story isn’t indicative of the norm.  Well, that would be true if Slash and Kings of Leon didn’t do the same damn thing and FLAT OUT REFUSED to let their music be a part of that bile gargling sing-com.  I can only hope this becomes some sort of movement within the music industry that has musicians actually KNOW what their songs are being used for when they accept a fat check. Just say NO, Alice in Chains.  JUST SAY NO!

Do these fuckers look like they WANT to have “Check My Brain” or “Man in a Box” used to sell toilet scrubbers, let alone be butchered on Glee? Layne Staley would come back from the grave and kick EVERYONE’S ass!

The ONLY redeemable decision this holocaust of a show ever made was just chance.  Heather Morris was hired, originally, to work out the coreography for the mind numbing dance scenes.  She worked with Beyoncé and knew a thing or two about choreography.  It was her job to teach the cast of mouth breathers how to dance well enough for prime time television.  I guess she did pretty well, because they ended up hiring her to play Brittany Pierce in a recurring role. In the second season she was made a full cast member.  I wish I understood why.


Oh, yeah.  I see why.  Excellent job!



Billy Mays – The Auto-tune Infomercial Ballad

By Tresckow

No, I haven’t gotten off my ass to post another Tresckow masterpiece. But, we at the FWTC feel the need to pass along some pant-pissingly awesome YouTube tribute to the Great Bearded One in the sky (not God, the one in the blue shirt and khakis).

Congratulations, melodysheep. You have achieved the unachievable; a tribute worthy of the Church of Billy Mays.

(Keep an eye out for Scatman John kids)

Michael Jacksonism: Dump Trucks Full of Crazy

By Roode

No! Stop it! Stop it NOW! All you fuckers on the interwebs crying your little eyes out because Michael Jackson died need an ass kicking reality check! If I read one more heartfelt, poorly strung together electronic “note” to this chuckle head, I’m going super fly TNT on someone’s ass!

I’m telling you, I’m about to unload!

I’m going against FWTC orders, here. It was proclaimed by our illustrious **cough, bullshit** head writer, Tresckow, that we were not to dignify the Jackson house of weird. But, I can’t let it go any longer. I’ve reached my limit. Where the fuck have all of you been for the past fifteen years???!!!!!

No. Even this is no excuse.

I’m going to actually agree with something Tresckow said. The Michael Jackson everyone is wetting their pants over DIED A DECADE AND A HALF AGO! I’m not going to talk about his transformation into a British Museum exhibit. That’s not even sporting anymore. Quite frankly, that shit just weirds me out. I won’t even pretend to understand the deep emotional problems one must have to slowly mummify himself over a period of years. I need a hot shower with lots of Brillo pads just thinking about this Edgar Allen Poe-esq mind stomp.

I still can’t scrub my mind’s eye. Damn it!

Sometime after Thriller the nightmare began. This part of his life reads like Tales from the Crypt, only without that warm and fuzzy feeling. Come on! Do I have to spell it out for you? Fine. You made me do this; rampant child molestation. Not even the most devoted worshipper at the alter of the Gloved One can ignore these hellish stories. “But, Roode, we all know the media sensationalizes everything. ” OK, I’ll give you that. But, after a decade, when the stories, allegations, and crying children keep turning up… something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.

“Alas, poor MJ. He was completely batshit insane, Horatio.”

Look, I’m not saying I’m glad the guy died, per say. All I ‘m saying is that it’s probably a good thing for children everywhere that he’s a future worm feast. On second thought, being already stuffed and chemically coated like a Wyomingite’s prairie dog kill , I don’t think any of that is going to return to the earth.

Missing: One King of Pop.

The terrifying and outright sphincter clenching stories began to stack up. Sure, we were quick to dismiss it when the 1993 accusations rolled around. Who wouldn’t want to get some of MJ’s sweet, sweet golden empire? Right? Even though the story made you throw up a little in your mouth. It was just bullshit? Right? Those fuckers extorted $2 – $50 million from our music icon. Right?

Then, in 2002, that Berlin bugaboo occurred. Remember? MJ decided to take his child for a brisk dangle over his hotel room’s balcony. Alright, the FWTC has an ardent belief that there is no way, no how this freak show contributed his crazy riddled DNA to any woman This lends a whole new truth to the line, “the kid is not my son.” Despite that, we could almost let this one slide. Parents have done more fucked up things. Ask Alec Baldwin’s kid.

Yeah, we know this kid is going to end up a crack whore or on a reality show. Maybe both.

Everyone in Hollywood knows that PR and Scrooge McDuck sized swimming pools of money will buy you a mining cartload of credibility and bullshit. How do we know the kid didn’t ask for it? How do we know the kid wasn’t trying to commit suicide? Deep down inside, we all know if that was our “dad” we’d try to take a face plant into some unforgiving concrete too.

“Fuck it! I’m jumping. Let me go you lunatic!

Then, in 2005 the shit really hit the fan. MJ was indicted for four counts of molesting a minor, four counts of intoxicating a minor, one count of abduction, and one count of conspiring to hold the boy and his family captive at his 2700-acre Neverland Ranch compound. Need a refresher? Look this shit up. He was found not guilty, ultimately (not to be confused with “innocent”). Although we all agreed that he should stick to grabbing his own junk. Still, we started to wonder. What the fuck was going on in Neverland? It ended up as the “Hotel California” for pre-teen boys. The tip off was the word “compound.” Nothing good is ever associated with that word. It’s either connected to David Koresh caliber cult leaders or comedic World War II based sitcoms.

“Nobody escapes from Neverland Raaaanch!”

Despite the unprecedented level of skull obliterating creepy, there is a legion of people out there that just won’t hear any of it. They insist that the 50 pound corpse in that gilded casket is the same red leather jacketed, pop’n and lock’n music Ayatollah. To them, there simply is no difference, whatsoever.


Fucking UNCANNY prediction of things to come, though.

I completely accept that there are lots of things we, as a society, owe to MJ. Things such as:

Colonel Gaddafi inspired formal wear.

Attempting to breathe life into Paul McCartney’s career.

Lending his voice to The Simpsons.

And, to a much lesser extent, Weird Al.

OK, here’s a “for instance.” We all like Wayne Brady, right? That “Don’t Forget the Lyrics” and whatever other shit he does.. funny, in a Flip Wilson-Lite sort of way. Well, imagine he started going around grabbing little boys’ crotches and punching elderly women in the va-jay-jay? Would you still bow at the mediocreness that is Wayne Brady? On second thought, I hate Wayne Brady. That was a shitty example. Strike that from the record.

The more psycho of MJ’s fans have a love and mind baffling obsession science will never understand. But, I want to help them out. I took it upon myself to help soothe their sad, trouble minds and spirits. These are excerpts from the official MJJ News Twitter page. Names have been left out to protect the dimwitted.

Thank you, Michael for bringing magic into this world. you are the living proof magic exists.

  • Magic like, hide the pale weasel and Abracadabra! Your childhood innocence has DISAPPEARED! isn’t really magic at all. Lots of these magic tricksters are serving time in maximum security prisons; getting their asses handed to them every day by skinheads that show it a good time first.

This man was singing what was in my soul. I wanted to know more about him.

  • First off, unless your soul was a 12 year old boy, he wasn’t speaking to you. Second off, it wasn’t the “soul” he was singing to.

“I had tickets for the London shows and will ask refund for all of them.”

  • Wow. Moving.

Thank you, Michael, for being like a father to me, for being a role model, for showing me the right way to follow.

  • Dude, really? Like a father to you? Are you fucking serious? A kid that grew up with a dad that huffed paint and got drunk off turpentine before swinging at him like the word “Everlast” was printed on his forehead had it better. Pops just kicked his kid’s ass, he didn’t fondle it.

“…somehow I think Michael KNEW what true impact he had on the world.

  • You’re an idiot.

I knew Michael was strong, I supported him during the trial. I knew Michael was selfless too. But I was still underestimating [sic] him

  • You are fucking turbo nuts. The media and society will try, sentence, and execute a priest if even a hint of shenanigans is heard. But, put a cosmetic surgery addicted fucktard in the same situation you ass clowns can’t run to his defense fast enough.

I suppose the worst part of this side show carnival is that MJ sightings will out number Elvis sightings 10 to 1. The conspiracy theories have already started. I’m not shitting you. Check it out yourself.

In closing, MJ fanatics moved beyond reason and blinded by insanity, I hope you get anally raped with a cactus.