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Milwaukee resident messes with airline passengers by painting ‘Welcome to Cleveland’ on his roof
06:02 am



Sometimes the really deadpan pranks are the best ones. Waaaay back in the 1970s an artist and photographer named Mark Gubin, living near Milwaukee Airport and realizing that his abode was situated on a common approach path for landing airplanes, painted the words “WELCOME TO CLEVELAND” in huge white letters on his building’s flat and entirely black roof. For the geographically illiterate out there, Milwaukee is in Wisconsin, which does not even border Ohio, the state that contains Cleveland. (Full disclosure: Cleveland is the city in which I currently live.) The two cities are 335 miles apart as the crow flies—roughly a seven-hour drive.

Gubin painted the sign after his assistant casually remarked that, given his location, it would be nice to welcome incoming passengers to the city. But Gubin had an even better idea….

According to a 1985 article in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, there used to be a Northwest Airlines route from Denver to Cleveland that used Milwaukee as a layover, and the airline was obliged to pre-emptively reassure passengers via the PA system that they should not worry—the plane had not skipped the intermediate destination.

Gubin’s quotations in that article are priceless. One of them goes, “There’s not a real purpose for having this here except madness, which I tend to be pretty good at.” He also said, “It was all tongue-in-cheek, just for fun. Living in the world is not a dress rehearsal. You better have fun with it.” That’s for sure.

Lest you wonder whether a prank painted on a roof that appeared in a 2005 edition of a Milwaukee newspaper is still in force, worry not, according to Google Maps, the prank is still in full effect, as this screen shot (with a 2015 copyright) establishes (click on the picture for a better view).

via GQ

Posted by Martin Schneider | Leave a comment
Three nuns, one punk and an attempted exorcism
07:46 am




Get behind Me, Satan! You are an offense to Me. ~ Matthew 16:23

Here’s a short clip of three nuns attempting to pray the SATAN punk away. Anyway, the guy’s a good sport and just goes along with it. It’s sort of a dawwwwwww moment if you ask me.

via Christian Nightmares

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
American Gothic version of Divine and John Waters
11:46 am

Pop Culture


There’s really not much to say about this fantastic painting of Divine and John Waters taking the place of the old prairie couple in Grant Wood’s iconic 1930 painting “American Gothic.” I simply dig it.

I had a hard time tracking down the artist as I misread the signature as GG Allin. To be honest for a few moments there I actually thought the late shit-hurling hate rocker painted this. The artisit’s name is spelled GIGI ALLIN and here are links to her Instagram and website.

The work in progress via Instagram
Via Divine on Facebook

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
People who have tattoos of Steve Buscemi. Because Steve Buscemi
10:21 am



Don’t even ask how got lost looking at tattoos of Steve Buscemi. But I did. And here’s the proof: A collection of the good, the bad and just some downright craptastic tattoos of the apparently widely beloved character actor.

BTW, I was simply astonished at the amount of Steve Buscemi tattoos that are out there. He has some seriously diehard fans. I didn’t post all the tattoos I found because I could have spent all day doing that. Feel free to add your own Steve Buscemi tattoos in the comments.





More after the jump…

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
Sunnyside DEAD: Skull fried eggs can be an important part of your balanced breakfast
06:26 am



If you’ve been online at all this year you’ve likely gotten the message that eggs are no longer considered artery-clogging little murderers. “Researchers…found no evidence that eating up to an egg a day increased the risk of heart disease or stroke,” assured the New York Times, though I love the “up to one egg a day” part, like someone eats half an egg.

But now that they’re back on the good-for-you list, eggs have lost some of their appeal. Gone is that NO FUTURE! DAMN IT ALL! ALLONS Y! sense of danger that came with every omelet, the chubby-guy-from-Ohio equivalent of cliff diving. How to return that daredevil flair to your Sunday brunch?


Purveyors of stupid novelties Fred & Friends—your go-to laff factory when you’re so fucking hilarious that you need NEEEEEEED an organ transplant lunchbox—offer the Funny Side Up egg ring, a cutesy skull egg corral. It looks like it could be Hello Kitty’s skull, so some of the chilling presence of the grim spectre of death thaws into a puddle of daaaaaaw!, but it’s a start.

Previously on Dangerous Minds
Cheesus Christ, the grater story ever told

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Leave a comment
Gross: Pizza Hut’s hot dog-stuffed crust is coming to the USA
03:39 pm



Really, people? THIS is what you want? Bite-sized “pigs in blankets” pizza crust? Apparently so, because Pizza Hut just confirmed their Hot Dog Bites Pizza will be available in North America starting on June 18 and “while supplies last.” Their already puke-worthy hot dog pizza crust—introduced in the the UK and Canada back in 2013—has been such a success that Pizza Hut now wants to inflict their artery-clogging mess on Americans.

“The large one-topping pizza, featuring 28 premium hot dog bites baked into the crust, is served with a side of French’s mustard for $11.99,” Pizza Hut said in a news release.

Honestly, I have no words (although “uncivilized” easily came to mind). Just look at that heaping dose of gross in all its greasy glory and decide for yourself.

I don’t feel like I’m giving Pizza Hut free advertising, either. Hopefully none of our readers would be stupid enough to put this shit in their bodies… Right?

Via Today and Business Insider

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
Are the streets of London overflowing with Uber drivers’ piss and shit???
06:57 am



The streets of London were once believed to be paved with gold, but now it seems they are covered with discarded plastic bottles full of urine and carrier bags full of shit—or so one newspaper reports. Apparently, the lack of public rest rooms in the capital has caused some taxi drivers to “improvise” when answering the call of nature. The problem was highlighted on an Uber forum in March of this year when drivers shared advice on “Toilet issues.”

The thread began with the following question from user Momo, who posted:

Help plz bros! Working 18 hour days I struggle to hold on to a pee for that long. Tried peeing into a coffee cup but only a grande size holds my wee. I overflowed on them petite cup all down my new Primarks! Lol! I find milk and coke bottles don’t fit my willy width. Don’t want a customer to get with one of those stuck. Might not get my 5 stars man! What can I do? Is there a bottle that fits all out there?

Whether this was genuine or just a troll out for laughs cannot be discerned—but let’s be honest, there is something about the wording of this post and the relish with which it is written that makes it seem a little fake. A little too Ali G, perhaps?

In response another Uber driver Backdash offered this advice:
For emergencies only
and this:
When you see a place to piss go piss whether you have the urge or not.

So, it does seem that toilet breaks are an issue for some taxi drivers. Indeed, there’s even an app to help distressed drivers find the nearest “comfort station.” However, Momo was not content with these helpful suggestions:

Working London there is no where to pull up without getting a ticket. I even had to dump in a Tesco bag the other week. Hid the log under the passenger seat until I lobbed it out. Blamed the bad sewers whenever people asked what the smell was! Lol!

By now, of course, this is beginning to sound very much like a troll’s wind-up, but City Metric who covered the story notes:

Public toilets in London, especially at night, tend to be placed in areas with busy nightlife, where drivers are unlikely to find a parking spot. Yes, that driver in the original tweet could have gone to Starbucks – but he could have ended up paying both the price of a coffee and a parking ticket for the privilege.

It’s not just the lack of public restrooms that is the problem. In 2012, one cab driver in Darlington, England was pulled over for leaving his vehicle unattended at a taxi rank to answer a call of nature—it is illegal in Darlington to leave a cab unattended. What’s a poor cabbie to do, modify their driver’s seat into a toilet on wheels? (This would clearly cause a worse sanitary problem, but what at the alternatives?)

Tim in Cleveland chimed in on the Uber forum:

No where to go in Cleveland either. Ohio law requires gas stations to have restrooms, but not a single one in Cleveland complies! Fast food restaurants close their lobbies by 10 pm. You have to wander into a bar or leave the city to get a restroom after that. I hit the 24 hour grocery store that’s in the next city.

London cab users have also witnessed the problem as some have pointed out on Twitter:


Whether this gleefully defecating “Momo” is genuine or not, there appears to be some kind of an issue, though one not everyone wants to hear about:

POST # 11/ @DenverDiane@DenverDiane: These three

Drivers @Backdash@Backdash, @momo@momo and
@sinbad@sinbad are mistakenly thinking
that they are in the London, England SubForum…SOMEHOW!

Use Conversation Feature to PM your
London colleagues. NO ONE wants to
know that your “Willy” won’t fit into
the neck of a Coca-Cola bottle.

As for stashing a Grocery-Bagged Dump
under your seat until you Fling it out

City Metric approached Uber for a comment and are currently awaiting a reply.

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Leave a comment
‘Monster vibrations, snake universe hallucinations’: Allen Ginsberg endorses LSD in the Paris Review
07:42 am



In June 1965, Allen Ginsberg was interviewed by Thomas Clark for the Paris Review. Back then, to be interviewed by the Paris Review was a sign a writer had made the major league, joining the team of previous interviewees which included T. S. Eliot, Graham Greene, Ernest Hemingway, Dorothy Parker and Truman Capote

Ginsberg was known as a poet, a key figure in the Beat movement—alongside Jack Kerouac and William Burroughs—and for his collections Howl and other poems and KaddishThough then hitting middle age, Ginsberg had revolutionized poetry and was a countercultural icon to the generation that blossomed during the 1960s, as he spoke out against war, and in favor of drugs and free love.

During the Q&A with the Paris Review, Ginsberg was asked about his use of drugs, in particular hallucinogens. As a man who saw no bar on discussing any subject no matter how personal or intimate, Ginsberg said that on hallucinogens he had visions “of great scaly dragons in outer space they’re winding slowly and eating their own tails.”

Sometimes my skin and all the room seem sparkling with scales, and it’s all made out of serpent stuff. And as if the whole illusion of life were made of reptile dream.

Hallucinogenic experiences had been “states of consciousness that subjectively seem to be cosmic-ecstatic, or cosmic-demonic.” However, his tolerance to hallucinogens (“Lysergic acid, peyote, mescaline, psilocybin, ayahuasca.”) was badly reduced and he no longer enjoyed them.

I can’t stand them anymore, because something happened to me with them very similar to the Blake visions. After about thirty times, thirty-five times, I began getting monster vibrations again.

So I couldn’t go any further. I may later on again, if I feel more reassurance.

When the interview was published in the Spring 1966 issue of Paris Review, Ginsberg wrote a letter to journal giving as footnote to the interview his regret over the “unedited ambivalence” to LSD and his endorsement for the drug.

June 2, 1966

To readers of Paris Review:

Re LSD, Psylocibin [sic], etc., Paris Review #37 p. 46: “So I couldn’t go any further. I may later on occasion, if I feel more reassurance.”

Between occasion of interview with Thomas Clark June ’65 and publication May ’66 more reassurance came. I tried small doses of LSD twice in secluded tree and ocean cliff haven at Big Sur. No monster vibration, no snake universe hallucinations. Many tiny jeweled violet flowers along the path of a living brook that looked like Blake’s illustration for a canal in grassy Eden: huge Pacific watery shore, Orlovsky dancing naked like Shiva long-haired before giant green waves, titanic cliffs that Wordsworth mentioned in his own Sublime, great yellow sun veiled with mist hanging over the planet’s oceanic horizon. No harm. President Johnson that day went into the Valley of Shadow operating room because of his gall bladder & Berkley’s Vietnam Day Committee was preparing anxious manifestoes for our march toward Oakland police and Hell’s Angels. Realizing that more vile words from me would send out physical vibrations into the atmosphere that might curse poor Johnson’s flesh and further unbalance his soul, I knelt on the sand surrounded by masses of green bulb-headed Kelp vegetable-snake undersea beings washed up by last night’s tempest, and prayed for the President’s tranquil health. Since there has been so much legislative mis-comprehension of the LSD boon I regret that my unedited ambivalence in Thomas Clark’s tape transcript interview was published wanting this footnote.

Your obedient servant


Allen Ginsberg, aetat 40

The letter was thought long lost somewhere deep in the Paris Review archives, but when it was recently re-discovered, the journal published it along with the following erratum:

The Paris Review regrets the error. May the record hereafter reflect Allen Ginsberg’s unequivocal endorsement of lysergic acid diethylamide.

Below Ginsberg reads William Buckley a poem written under the influence of LSD.

Via the Paris Review

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Leave a comment
The original ‘Gilligan’s Island’ theme song was a steaming pile of fake calypso shit
09:39 am



I sort of miss the days when every TV show theme was a two-minute long capsule summary of the show’s plot. A fair rule of thumb was the more imaginative—or preposterous—the plot, the better the theme song (IDENTICAL COUSINS YOU GUYS COME ON). As lost cultural gold goes, that ranks up there with songs whose titles are the names of dances and whose lyrics describe how you must dance to them, and diners built to look like anything but diners. And while I applaud Arrested Development for keeping the flame alive, I admit there’s a lot to be said for the Lost approach—did that show need any more of an intro than the word “LOST” floating across the screen for a few seconds? And surely that’s why the practice fell into disuse—why squander valuable airtime re-explaining the show every time it airs when that time can be sold to an advertiser? And now, in the binge-watching era made possible by DVD anthologies and streaming, you can see the same intro a dozen times a day on a properly lazy day, and one that goes on forever thus becomes irritating as hell. (Lookin’ at YOU, Dexter; who needed to watch Michael C. Hall make breakfast and shave 96 goddamn times?)

Probably the all-time champ among classic heavy-expository TV themes is Gilligan’s Island. Admit it, when you saw the headline to this post, you heard “a threeeeee hour toooour” in your head, did you not? So ingrained is it in post-WWII American culture, I’m certain that more people of a certain age can sing it in its entirety than can name all 50 state capitals. I’d even bet good money that more people know that song than know their own blood type.

This post is not about that song.

The theme song (and show) that could have been was very different from the one we all know and love—or rather know and simply can’t shake off. It was a pretty wretched calypso-inspired number, intended to be sung by the then-popular singer Sir Lancelot, but that didn’t happen. It was written at the 11th hour by the show’s creator Sherwood Schwartz, who also sang it himself, impersonating Lancelot. Poorly. As he related the tale in his book Inside Gilligan’s Island, CBS wasn’t sold on Schwartz’s shipwreck concept and wanted the series to be written in a guest-star anthology format, with a different group of charter passengers every week. Schwartz protested that the series’ backstory could be told in the theme song, and was even ready to actually pitch Sir Lancelot as the singer, but he was facing an implacable executive nicknamed “the Smiling Cobra” in a morning meeting, and had to have the actual song finished overnight.

Any thought of trying to contact Sir Lancelot that night was out of the question. Even if I could talk to him, I had no song. Even if I had a song, I couldn’t make a recording by 10:00 the next morning.

I has several friends who were songwriters, but who could I call at 8:00 p.m. to write a song by morning? I would have to explain the whole idea of the show and get someone to incorporate in the lyrics all the exposition I wanted in the song. No, that was hopeless.

Ignoring the fact that I was trying to do something that couldn’t possibly be done, I began to write the lyrics for Gilligan’s Island.

Which certainly accounts for its awkwardness. You’ll note that the Professor is a high school teacher in the original scenario, and that the farm girl and starlet characters were a pair of secretaries, none played by the actors who would go on to perform in the actual show.

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Leave a comment
‘Dub Will Tear us Apart’: Jäh Division, the gimmick band that transcendeth all
07:43 am



I give perhaps too much benefit of the doubt to high-concept joke bands, and rarely does it pay off. A great many DM readers are surely familiar with the drill—the cheeky name and description of the band gives you enough of a chuckle that you check them out, only to find so-so music still playing past the exhaustion point of your admiration for their cleverness.

I can think of twice when generosity with my time paid to a jokey-seeming band concept actually paid long term dividends. The first was a late-‘90s Ohio post-punk band called the Conservatives, which is a looooong story for another time. The second was when a pal from NYC hipped me to “Dub Will Tear Us Apart,” the wonderful lone E.P. by Jäh Division. It’s exactly what you’ve surely guessed: reggae versions of Joy Division songs. But don’t take this to be some fratty, Dread Zeppelinish, cheap punchline. Jäh Division (I assumed the unpronounced umlaut was there to distinguish them from a Russian band of the same name, a guess that’s confirmed below) were/are noteworthy musicians respectfully transforming Joy Division classics into lugubrious dub spiked with strange and jarring noises.

The E.P. has been out for about 11 years, and it still gets frequent and reverent spinnage in my house. The band was a hip all-star concern that featured two members of the deeply weird NYC-via-Tampa prog band Home, plus two folks from Ur-Williamsburg psychfreaks Oneida. The latter band’s Barry London was kind enough to take some time to share Jäh Division’s story with DM.

Jäh Division was myself on Moog, string synth and Space Echo, Kid Millions on DrumFire Electro Drums through an old Farfisa Reverb Tank, Brad Truax on bass and Chris Millstein on drums. The band kinda came out of a joke that Brad and I had while living together. Our other roommate Matt Mikas had brought home this Roland string synth that he found at a flea market and I traded him a mini bar I had found for it. We were messing around with it and had a drum machine running through a tape echo and playing the string synth and it sounded like dub Joy Division. Pretty easily enough we put together the words Jäh Division and we started talking a lot of shit about our reggae/dub Joy Division cover band Jäh Division, even though it was just the two of us and we hadn’t actually done any Joy Division covers or anything. We still continued to talk shit, and then one day in 2003 our friend John Fitzgerald, who does Dooodcast, called us on it. He was booking venues in Brooklyn at the time, and this bar/venue in Williamsburg called the Right Bank was closing. Fitz was doing the last batch of show there to close the place out and he booked us, forcing us to actually get it together and play a show. At the time it was just Brad and Me, we were playing together in a line up of Dan Melchoir’s Broke Revue, and Brad also was in (and still is) in Home, whose drummer Chris Millstein we were trying to draft into playing this show, because no one was available, or thought it was a dumb idea or whatever. We got Chris to play with us, and that’s kinda it. We played, it was fun, people liked it, we got asked to play again, this time Kid Millions was available but he didn’t want to play drums. We had a bunch of electro percussion stuff, so his job was to make a bunch of dubby noise, and that’s pretty much it.

Rich & Joe from Social Registry records really loved us and asked us to record some stuff, so we set up the 8-track reel to reel and recorded a bunch of stuff, and self recorded and mixed it. We played out that way for a year or two, doing Joy Division and New Order covers and some other stuff like Jackie Mitoo & Desmond Dekkar, but truthfully we got bored and we just enjoyed jamming more than anything else. So we eventually dropped doing Joy Division covers and slowly morphed into becoming a reggae/dub jam band of sorts, with a really modular lineup of whomever was available at the time, double drums, double bass and so on, many different people from a lot of Brooklyn bands circa 2001-2010 played in various lineups of Jäh Division. Brad and I usually get it together to do about one show a year now, just with everyones schedules etc, he’s on the road tour managing Animal Collective and playing bass for Interpol. Kid Millions and I do Oneida, and Kid is busy doing Man Forever which is out on the road all the time, and Chris is drumming for the Psychic Ills. We always talked a lot about doing a second record, and have some unfinished stuff lying around somewhere, but it was always meant to be fun and not work, so one of these days we’ll bang something else out. Maybe. Oh, yeah, the umlauts are totally because of Russian Jah Division.


Poster by Wolfy, printed at Kayrock. Photos below from the band’s MySpace page.


Creating dub versions of JD songs makes such perfect sense it’s sort of amazing it took until 2003 to happen—Peter Hook’s active and complex bass lines remain compelling at slow tempos, and Ian Curtis was an avowed reggae fan whose contribution of melodica on “Decades,” the final song on the band’s final studio album, Closer, was a direct nod to dub godhead Augustus Pablo.

Since the E.P. was limited to a mere 600 copies, it’s LONG gone, and used copies start at $45 on Unfortunately, Social Registry isn’t even selling it digitally, though the label DOES offer, free of charge, a podcast of a JD show from 2006, recorded at the now-deceased Manhattan venue Tonic.

More Jäh Division after the jump, mon…

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Leave a comment
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