3 minutes 46 seconds. (3.45 megabytes)

Features samples of:
Lenny Bruce – Don’s Big Dago
James Brown – The Boss
Average White Band – Pick Up the Pieces

[INTRO - Lenny Bruce]
Culture changes wherever you go…
Los Angeles…
And very innocently too.
You’ll see big signs.
And think nothing of that kind of a sign.
Now I picture a poor guy who was raised in Los Angeles;
“Ya bastard!” >POP!<

Verse 1 (a la Eminem pastiche)
Ooh!
Fuck Silver Lake,
There’s disease in your wake.
Please give but don’t take
And honor the sake of the residents.
‘Cause that’s why the increase in dissidents like me
Who eschew every muthafuckin’ thing about you.

In your retro-nasty clothes and expensive cars,
Just because you drive an SUV don’t make you no movie star.
You’re just a low-life muthafucka scoundrel with good credit,
Certainly don’t earn no respect and you never get it.
And work is for the working class?
A kick in your ass, you think you suffer?
Shit, I fucking wish *I* had it that good, motherfucker.

And while you ponder the ramifications of your deeds,
I contradict the perceived benefits of your poetry readings.
Fuck bohemians,
Your big-ass cars, and your blow-up dolls.
Your casting calls, and your shopping malls.
Your Lisa Loeb glasses, Taebo classes,
Your quaint boutiques.
Your lifestyle reeks of overprivileged trust-fund bullshits
And silicone tits.
Now if the shoe fits — wear it.
You ain’t got no spirit and you know I don’t wanna hear it.

Verse 2 (Resume Eminem pastiche.)
You trickle into Echo Park and you drive up the prices.
Raising the base cost of the myriad of vices.
Niggers aren’t welcome, ’cause the honkies have made investments;
Jacking up the rentals of even the sleaziest of apartments.
And while I try to find a place to stay,
I’m wasting away,
‘Cause someone said that being poor is fashionable today.

Went to the thrift store to get myself some slacks
They were out because some Push King fans had cleaned out all the racks.

“Let’s go have some coffee –
Will it be Starbucks, Starbucks, Starbucks, or Tsunami?
I think I’ll have a crumpet,
Or barring that, a scone.
Look, I’m really into you,
But I have to take a call on my cell-phone.

Wanna get some sushi?
I’d like to just relax.
We can make out in the back seat of one of my three El Dorado Cadillacs.
No, not *THAT* one, the one with the MOOSE-skin interior.
The cow-skin and the sheep-skin are,
Well… Quite inferior.”

Verse 3 (You act like you’ve never seen a bitter person before.)
I can see the scenario so clearly in my mind,
Some hippie said,
“We don’t have Greenwich Village out here
And that’s what we need — something more refined!”

The hippie-types started moving in and improved upon the scene
As they had done in many cities time and time again.

Well the hippies got older, and as they aged their minimalistic needs grew –
Eventually abandoning their ideals to party with jerkoffs like you.
Trying to break into the biz and play the Hollywood game,
No sense moving out of their cozy wood-sided A-frame.

Up went the satellite dish,
And in came the Escalade
And >BOOM< went the class of the culture
They eventually betrayed.

Incense turned to scented candles,
Wingtips replaced their sandals,
Their lanky frames developed sexy Jack-in-the-Box love-handles

Holden Caulfield was correct,
When he called you straight-up phonies.
Don’t give a damn about the working-man,
Only your lingams and your yonis.
Sippin’ on your single-malt and ice –
Need proof?
I hear your nigga Zack DeLaRocha lives in a Martha Stewart paradise.

Verse 4 (Wind down this Eminem gag already.)
She must be down-to-earth ’cause she recognizes DK,
But now she’s DKNY and claims allegiance to Green Day.

P’shaw girl,
You’re not as cool as you would lead me to believe,
Because I seen you doin’ rails of tweak
And wiping snot on your sleeve.

And your boyfriend,
The one who was always hounding you for sex,
His greatest contribution to your personality
Was introducing you to NOFX.

Well, Silverlakers,
I guess with all that free time on your hands
You’re good at shopping,
And decorating,
And jocking crappy bands.
And lounging,
And parking in those disabled person zones,
And running the only remnants of Angeleno culture out their homes.

Way to fucking go!

A pat on your back.
A pipe full of crack.
Your chin on my sack,
Now please go the fuck back.

I said it before,
And it ain’t no mistake.
From the bottom of my heart,

FUCK SILVER LAKE!

FUCK SILVER LAKE!

FUCK SILVER LAKE!

In approximately 1996 I moved into a hovel in a small Los Angeles enclave called Echo Park. A human rights activist friend of mine from high school invited me into the structure, my first home apart from my parents. At the time, a lot of things were right about Echo Park: I was paying slightly less than half of $450/month rent and the neighborhood was chock full of salt-of-the-earth Latin types. Yes, there were some drawbacks. A new friend of mine, a former computer felon, peered into my bedroom and commented, “This room is about as big as my cell.” He was right. It was ridiculously small and overstocked with unnecessary memorabilia from my youth. But otherwise, living in the barrio was cool. Sure, every third time I’d go shopping at Pioneer Market on Sunset, there’d be a shopping cart carelessly abandoned behind my motorcycle. I fuckin’ hated that! But that was the charm of the neighborhood, I suppose — Old-sk00l apathy plus low prices, great dollar stores and cheap booze!

Over time, the booze got more expensive, and so did the rent. And I was quickly becoming infuriated at all the shopping carts that were being left behind my motorcycles. Mi hermano moved out of the hovel, and a few years later, I had to move out of my cozy cul-de-sac shithole after the newest property owner attempted to raise my rent by more than 40%. But before that went on, the shift in the neighborhood was becoming more obvious. Instead of having to ride my bike past a platoon of gangsters fifty deep, I now had wear hip-boots to wade through a sea of douchebag hipsters who had begun to pollute the streets, in their tight courderoy pants and “unique” eyeglass frames. But were they really doing anything interesting or refreshing, or was it all derivative of ancient style, ancient clothing, and ancient eye-wear? One day it occured to me how ludicrous it was that I was more uncomfortable passing through a gauntlet of inconsiderate hipster jackoffs than I was about passing through a flank of violent gang members. At least the homeboys would nod their heads at me in recognition. Very peculiar.

Also at the time I was writing. I wasn’t writing anything that you were reading, but I was writing. I was logging everything. And I eventually logged a song called “Fuck Silver Lake”, which was meant to thumb my nose at the gentrification, and at the types of people who were doing all that gentrifying. Also, I thought it important to mimic Eminem, because 1) his voice sounds funny to me, and 2) my “normal rapping voice” is atrocious.

Now, I’ve never had any ambition to be a rapper, so you won’t find me selling demo CDs in the parking lot. What’s important is that I can write a little, and sometimes that skill, plus some rudimentary audio editing skills make for good, rhythmic spoken word pieces, which by now you’ve already heard. Hope you enjoyed it.

[c] 2001 and 2010 Russ of America

Via voicemail, Pearl confides all of her life secrets to Clara, who may or may not care.

[c] 2009 Russ of America

Tonight on WWE Royal Rumble Wrestlemania Sesame Street Smackdown SummerSlam 207 it’s a 3 on 3 battle royale grudge match!

Roy Orton, John Cena, Kofi Kingston test their mettle against the baddest warriors on the street: Count Von Count, Oscar The Grouch and Snuffleupagus – in a no-holds barred challenge to take it to The Street, $39.95 Pay-Per-View extravaganza. Access WWE.com today for more information.

[c] 2009 Russ of America

Music track What’s It To Ya Punk courtesy of:

Hey Friends, Russ of America here and I’ve got an amazing deal as a reward to you for being loyal, staying up late, reading my blog and listening to my important podcasts. I have this futuristic sci-fact technology called “IBM Pentium” and it’s in its second, #2, release. I’m going to sell that to you with a pair of 3.8 x 10^-6 TERRABYTE COMPUTER MEMORY SIMMs — that’s TERRABYTES – for the low price of $212 because this is a deal that’s boiling hot! And water boils at $212 Fahrenheit. And if you’re cool and commit within the next 4 hours, I will pay your sales tax — and shipping — and I’ll throw in a free ENHANCED Graphics Array monitor for $0, a non-OPTICAL computer mouse, a 9,600 baud modulator/demodulator and some free joystick drivers for your computer so you can play your joystick games like LodeRunner, Wheel of Fortune and the classic Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego, which I will also throw in for free, for an additional $20.

Act in the next 2 hours and I’ll hook you up with a Lantec Ansling mono speaker AUDIO SYSTEM for your ears and a 24x CD-ROM — that’s read-ONLY memory, and we’re talking about 24x — that’s 3.6 MILLION bps data transfer — Trust me that there are no other deals like this out there right now. And if you act now, you’ll get absolutely FREE, my two amazing fact-filled podcasts, How to Get Into Debt For Free and How To Use DOS 3.0 And Win At Zork. Cash, Paypal, debit card or cashier’s check are all accepted only. If you’re under 18, get your parents’ permission but you can’t pass this up so if they’re on the fence about buying it, just buy it yourself. Give us a call today. 1-800-034-RCoA. That’s 1-800-034-RCoA.

[c] 2009 Russ Carney of America

Music track EcxtasyX courtesy of:

This is Russ of America, Pharaoh of California, speaking to you, my dear citizens of California. Or potentially to you, my dear potential visitors of California.

I’m always thinking of new ways to serve this state, the best state out of all of the states in the United States of American states. I’ve noticed a trend over the last few decades — California has become needlessly congested. Gridlocked traffic on the freeway at 1 o’clock in the morning is inexcusable! The other day I was watching a rerun of the 1970s television program CHiPs and I noticed that Ponch and Jon only had to deal with, like, 8 cars on the entire freeway at any given time. But today, our freeways are clogged virtually every moment of the day. As a result: California is now forced to institute a Department of Stateland Security immediately to control this influx of unnecessary residents.

See, we’ve got far too many of these dreamy-eyed layabouts who come to our Golden State thinking that they’re gonna be a bunch of rich important bling-bling bigshot Abercrombie and Gabana actors. So they leave their silly little fly-over states, bring their smoggy vehicles to our neighborhoods, refuse to register their cars because they obviously can’t — their pollut-o-mobiles don’t pass our rigid air quality requirements — and because they’re getting a better deal on car insurance. So they glaringly cheat the DMV of rightfully owed registration fees, then clog the freeways and streets FOR FREE.

They use way too much perfume and hair gel in their daily lives, fart in OUR elevators, take our best food service jobs, smoke and snort all of our locally-grown organic narcotics, use up our welfare and social services, wear stupid hats, drink our water and waste even more water by watering their sidewalks with water because they don’t know that California is always out of water. They clutter our libraries and leave shopping carts behind our cars because that’s how they do it in Kentuckiansanippi or whatever their bullshit state is called.

Well, your Pharaoh is tired of sitting in an hour of traffic just to get to the corner supermarket and I blame these undocumented American immigrants and their stupid pipe dreams. So as a matter of immediate need, I am instituting and enforcing a requirement that individuals who intend to spend time in California apply for tourism or 90-day work visas through the California Department of Stateland Security. Wanna-be actors from those corn and potato places are now required to secure legitimate acting jobs before they can set foot in this state. This will free up the best food service jobs for our best native Californian servers. In order to extend their visas, visiting workers must maintain consistent acting work for 90 days, with no gap lasting longer than 5 days — with the exception of the December holiday season, where, as a gift to my citizens, I will require all visitors to leave California for three full weeks. The freeways will be immaculate during the holidays. And finally, these aliens must maintain a clean, healthy, morally correct lifestyle, which I will be in charge of evaluating. Only after 3 years of steady work as a visitor may they apply for permanent residency. This policy will eliminate the gratuitous immigration of undocumented American aliens into the Golden State.

Visitors: We need to keep it pure and keep it strictly Californian until we can extend to you the charity of allowing you to live in our glorious, desirable, beautiful, expansive, sexy state and hopefully you will understand. If you can’t understand, it’s highly recommended that you either stay where you are, or move your ass to Hollywood, Florida. It’s basically the same thing as regular Hollywood.

Your Loving Pharaoh of California,
Russ Carney of California, America

[c] 2009 Russ of America

*I* don’t see what the problem is, but “cunt” is a word nobody in America wants you to use. But I LOVE the word! I think it’s a great serrated, vicious word and it has a very important place in my linguistic arsenal. I tend to use it whenever I need an eye-opening vulgarity. It’s the kind of word that smacks you right across the back of your head. But only if you live in America. People in England apparently use it with virtually no repercussion, “Oh go take a bloody barth, you soppy little cunt!” But in America “cunt” is equivalent to the N-word for women. If you call a woman a cunt, you’re an evil, chauvinist, intolerant, demon pig, perhaps rightfully so. But even if you use it against a man you’ll get special stares and people will talk behind your back and whisper, “Russ of America dropped the C-bomb on Eric.” Well, Eric deserved it! He was acting like a cunt!

I believe in self-regulation when it comes to cursing. I don’t like to use the word “retarded” to describe something that I find to be objectionable. Or “gay” to describe something that is retarded. And I’m even uncomfortable using the word “lame” to describe something that is either gay or retarded. Each of those words means something else and I like to reserve them for more noble uses. Nobody has a problem with lame marriage or retarded marriage, but some people have a problem with gay marriage, even if all of those words mean the same thing in slang.

Cunt is one of those words that Americans reserve for use in secret, between trusted friends, on very special occasions. Like when someone complains about his ex-wife, Marjorie, asking the court for an extra $600/month in child support. Well, sure, you’re probably a deadbeat, but still, what a cunt!

What bothers me about the stigma attached to the use of this word, is the hypocrisy. It’s okay to call a person a dick, a prick or a cock. If your landlord is breaking your balls, he’s giving you the shaft by being such a penis. What a nutsack! And of course you phoned up the douche-bag, but the asshole was being a butt-head, so you told that pussy to stop acting like such a twat, that miserable c-word! Well, I shouldn’t call the guy a cunt, right? I mean, I can call him a pussy or a twat, but I should have class. I should draw the line at cunt. Even if it means the same thing as pussy or twat. Even if a cunt is in the same basic area as a dick, a prick or a cock, or even right next-door to an asshole, and even if my landlord IS being a vagina, I don’t want anyone to hear me call him a cunt. That’s just crude!

FUCK YOU, CUNTS!

[c] 2009 Russ of America

Features samples of “Another One Bites The Dust” by Queen

CAPTAIN 35
Spaceship Command,
This is Captain 35 of the space vessel Boogie.

SGT. ZULO
Space vessel Boogie, this is Sgt. Zulo, Transmit security code now.

CAPTAIN 35
Scrimshaw. Cinnabar. Talon.

SGT. ZULO
Sandwich. Maywether. Han-ma-buki.

CAPTAIN 35
My car is in the Timon parking lot.

SGT. ZULO
Proceed.

CAPTAIN 35
Sgt. Zulo, we’re under attack,
By evil, vicious marauders.

SGT. ZULO
Federation terror squadron?

CAPTAIN 35
No. I think it’s the Romulans.
It’s tax time. You know how they get.
They hailed us,
Demanded we let them board our ship.
I said no, they’re not allowed.
I told them “go away, or I’ll jam you in THE EYE.”
They shot a bullet.
It hit our ship and we had to turn on our red lights.
It was horrible!
Send help.

SGT. ZULO
Roger, we’re on our way.
Remain where you are and we’ll be there shortly.

ENSIGN 2
Captain!
An unidentified vessel’s approaching!

CAPTAIN 35
Call them up on the phone.

ENSIGN 2
They’re not answering!

CAPTAIN 35
Put up the shields.

ENSIGN 2
Shields are up!

CAPTAIN 35
Lock on to their motors.

ENSIGN 2
Locked on.

CAPTAIN 35
Shoot a bullet at them!

ENSIGN 2
No damage!

CAPTAIN 35
Turn on the red lights.

ENSIGN 2
Lights are on!

CAPTAIN 35
Kill them.

[explosion]

[c] 2005 Russ of America