Bovs On Your Respective Gizzards

The Village Voice's Mikael Wood is quickly becoming my favorite music critic. Some of the analogies he comes up with slash scenarios he can envision lead this blogger to believe that homeboy's got the potential to be the next Chuck Klosterman. Mind you, he needs some time and some mentoring, but check out the pop culture genius-level chops he displays in this review of "Gold Medal" by The Donnas:

"The Donnas are so simple they're complicated. I mean, so complicated they're simple. I mean, they're simple, but the world's complicated. See what I mean? In an alternate universe, where Pat Benatar earns special issues of MOJO and the Hives open for Sahara Hotnights and Le Tigre's JD Samson gets the keys to the senior VP's bathroom at Interscope, the Donnas are, I dunno, Sloan: four capable, reasonably imaginative record nerds with great licks and better hair, there to spin off variations on a theme for an audience more concerned with depth of craft than breadth of vision."

RELATED: Say what you will about the rapidly dwindling talents of Bob Christgau (the music critic equivalent to George Foreman), but you gotta love the fact that he's just now getting around to reviewing the latest discs from The Vines and Kid Rock. Even better? He disses them!

Matthew Dear remixes the brand new jawn from The Postal Service? Hottest buzz evs.

Memo to Slate's Ben Mathis-Lilley: First of all, suck a dick. What kind of pussy puts a dash in his last name? Second of all, your "Fight! Fight! Fight!" article on Slate is probably the worst thing I've ever read that wasn't written by Bitch Al-Bomb. Your entire point seems to be that it's fun to watch other people fight while you and your douchebag buddies are getting all tanked up in a bar. Well no shit, Sherlock! The dudes who invented Pay-Per-View Boxing figured that shit out in the 1980s. Duhvs. But seriously, what point were you trying to make? "...When a crazy basketball player charges into the stands and tries to pounce on some drunk jerks, I don't fly into a rage on behalf of the nation's children. Nope, I just kick back and enjoy the spectacle." Wow, thanks for your enlightening commentary, you effing cum stain. If you were trying to be funny, you would've been better off just hyperlinking to Beer and Rap's hilariously thugged out response and calling it a day. She mars. [link via Dashiell and Nick Catchdubs, respectively]

And while I'm calling bitches out, isn't it about time that the editors of Slate realize that they've been sans buzz since Jodi Kantor left the building? Long one of my favorite daily reads, I can't remember the last time I even VISITED your pathetic site. I only stumbled onto this story because Dashiell dropped the URL in the whatevs.org backblogs. Time to take a good look at yourself in the mirror, you've become the journalistic equivalent of that Pistons fan who got coldcocked by Jermaine O'Neal the other night. You're pasty, cocky, overweight and WAY out of your league. How does it feel to know that bloggers have stole all your buzz? My advice is to tuck your tail between your legs, hit the gym, spend some time Mystic Tanning and don't appear in public til you're back at your fighting weight. Either that or hire your Uncle Grambo as a freelancer, I'll restore your indie cred right quick holla snap stizz.

Looking for a holiday present for the gamers in your family? The Grizz takes a look at most of the season's new releases and recommends you focus your time and energy on "Donkey Konga" ... well, DUHVS! Howevs, he neglects to mention the season's most anticipated release (well, at least according to your Uncle Grambo), "Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater" for the PS2.

The announcement that Dan Rather is vacating his post as Anchor is relevant only in that it reminds us that network television anchors no longer carry any weight in our society. Face it, media douchebags ... the world that James L. Brooks so brilliantly captured in "Broadcast News" (probably in my all-time Top 10) is so far gone that it might as well have taken place in The Paleozoic Era. The country no longer relies on three men at the major networks to spoon feed us our news; now, those who are interested actively seek out the news that's relevant to them. I'm glad that D. Rather (whose wily and charismatic persona has always been my fave) recognized this and decided to step on down. I'll be watching on March 9, 40 oz in hand, ready to pour some malt liquor out in honor of Bill Rorich and all my other dead homiez. Word.

Well well well, it's about that time. Your Uncle Grambo would like to wish the entire FOW Nation a lovely Thanksgiving. Detroiters, make us proud and be sure not to pelt the Indianapolis Colts with beer. Howevs, if inclement weather should strike, be sure to chuck a snowball during The Parade at Trashlee Simpsucks. Bovs on her respective tees. As for me, I'll be making my way East to spend the holiday weekend in New Jersey. Hence, no posts until I get back on Monday. In the meantime (Spacehog stizz), enjoy this jpeg of Ashley Blue eating a turkey. Gobble gobble!

The Wonder Shmears

Man, can you believe Winnie Cooper (aka Danica McKellar) is almost 30? Where has the time gone? Such a classy dame, she's still rockin' the hottness single stizz. Bonus points for writing and directing a film that stars Mrs. Arnold from "The Wonder Years"!!!

Best headline ever? Man In Cage Arrested Outside KFC In Vietnam. Totally classic! First of all, the guy is in a cage ... how best is that? Secondly, he got arrested ... is being in a cage illegal? Who knew? Third, he's outside of a KFC! Fourth, dude is in Viet-Freaking-Nam! Cages? KFCs? Vietnam? BOVS! As The Grizz wisely pointed out, the only possible way that this story could be ANY better is if the cage was inside of the KFC.

Trader Joes ... a bunch of lousy commies or a fab place to buy groceries? The Freep explores and declares the latter to be closer to the truth. Three Buck Chuck revealed!

You know, there isn't much to say about this weekend's big loss to Ohio State. It's difficult to feel TOO bad about it, considering that my Wolverines still won the Big Ten Title and will be headed to Pasadena on New Year's Day. Howevs, it's interesting to note that those punk ass Buckeyes insisted on searching the team bus and all of the players' bags with police dogs before allowing Lloyd Carr's team to enter The Horseshoe on Saturday. Police were looking for drugs and bombs! Are you effing SIDS? On Michigan's team bus? Lloyd is PISSED, and rightfully so, especially considering the fact that other visiting teams didn't face this same level of scrutiny on their trips into Columbus. He made clear that this disruption had nothing to do with Michigan's loss, but was clearly upset in yesterday's press conference at this clear-cut lack of respect.

Just in case you were wondering:

• Kirstie Alley hasn't had sex in four and a half years.

• Barbara Bush is a fag hag.

• Charlotte Church lurves the chronic.

Who am I? Before banging curvaceous British ex-pats, I like to order 40 Whoppers from Burger King and pass them out to my friends. If you answered Eminem, you're a big winner!

Buddy Ball? I'd settle for baseball! Your Uncle Grambo didn't always heart Rob Parker, but ever since Coach Glinka and I saw him drinking a beer at the (now defunct) Centre Street Pub on Opening Day, I've thrown props his way. His criticism of ESPN's coverage of The Malice At The Palace is spot on, yo.

Speaking of which, why is this man smiling? WORST!

Excepted In The Hood

Shit yeah! Today is the day, y'all. That's right bitches, that hott new jawn from TruWarier records that people have been clamoring for is hitting the streets. Allure is so white hott right about now that they make Durstiny's Child look like SWV. TruWarier CEO Ron Artest appeared on "The Today Show" this morning to apologize for his actions promote his girl group's new CD. Yes yes y'all, he was sporting both a TruWarier t-shirt AND hat when he chatted with Matt Lauer, and made sure that he spent at least a little bit of time complaining that his season-long suspension for going buck wild was too harsh. Quoth Artest, "I don’t think it was fair — that many games ... but go buy my new CD!" Okay, I made up the part after the ellipsis. But still, I can't imagine that the Pacers PR people are very happy with Artest right about now.

But wait, there's more! Your Uncle Grambo spent a little time digging around the official websites of both Ron Artest and Tru Warier Records last night and discovered some hott buzz. For example, did you know the reason why Artest changed his number from #23 to #91 this season? Quote, "The league has no rule on how often a player can change numbers. And that is why Ron has decided to wear as many numbers as possible before he retires. Although it may be strange to sum (sic), Ron is only being creative." Brilliant!

Lest you think that Ron is anything other than a Renaissance man, he also holds the title of "auteur" (in addition to NBA All-Star, record label CEO and soon-to-be-convicted felon). He directed "Bullet Proof Luv Volume 1" (!!!), a documentary (?) about NYC's underground rap scene. Hype Williams, take note ... holmes got game. But ferreals, though ... some say worst film since the ICP starred in "Big Money Hu$tlas$." Have I seen it? No. Do I even NEED to? Not so much.

Shame And Blame Is The Name Of This Game

In the aftermath of the ugliness that occured in the closing moments of Friday night's Pistons / Pacers game at the Palace Of Auburn Hills, your Uncle Grambo sat (relatively) silent. I had been watching the game on TV with a few buddies (namely, Peabs and JP McKrengels) when the brawl erupted live on ESPN. The three of us stood up and started shouting at the television, initially cursing out everyone involved in the donnybrook, from Ron Artest to Stephen Jackson to the fan who threw the beer that started it all. But as ESPN turned their coverage to the SacTown v. Memphis game and the adrenaline and anger began dissapating, Detroiters began feeling the shame as the media rushed to assess the blame.

When the city should've been basking in the positive glow (literally and figuratively) of the Campus Martius grand-opening celebration that had occured earlier in the evening, instead Detroiters were forced retreat into bunker mode and defend themselves from an onslaught of criticism from the national media. Led by supreme douchebags Stephen A. Smith and John "Don't Call Me Flip" Saunders, ESPN's studio crew TORE into the Pistons fan base, defending the indefensible actions of Ron Artest and labelling the crowd as (and I quote) "sissies." Even the crew's "token white guy", Tim Legler, found himself swept up in the mob mentality of his more aggressive broadcast partners and ACTUALLY DEFENDED the Pacers. The actions of this four-person crew (rounded out by Greg Anthony, the only one of the bunch who actually kept a level head and was making intelligent comments) would go on to shape how the media covered the baskebrawl for the rest of the weekend. Where should the blame for this incident fall and who's head can we put on the chopping block?

There were many targets: Ben Wallace, Ron Artest, the fan who threw the beer, the entire Piston fanbase, the city of Detroit, the referees, the coaches. Well, in the end, NBA Commissioner David Stern answered the question that everyone had been asking when he handed a year-long suspension without pay to Artest for COMPLETELY losing his shit on Friday night. Not only did he demonstrate his mental instability by rushing into the stands and CHOKING AN INNOCENT MAN (who, get this, WAS WEARING GLASSES!!!), but he also proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's a cowardly, punk ass bitch. After delivering a last-second cheap shot to Big Ben, he ran like a girl and hid behind his coach (!!!) after Ben rightfully got up in his grill. Splaying himself out on the scorers table like a drunken sunbather was the final show of disrespect; the rest is history.

Interesting side note: this all began when Artest pushed someone bigger and stronger than him in the BACK. Hard fouls are hard fouls, but pushing someone in the back is straight up gully. The unwritten rule on the court is that you should NEVER push someone in the back when they're in the air, that's how injuries happen. When Ben, who is bigger and stronger (and blacker?) called Artest on this, the Pacer punk ass refused to square off like a man and deal with the consequences. He hid behind his white coach, Rick Carlisle, feigning that he was somehow the "bigger" person by not fighting. However, a few moments later when a beer came out of the stands and hit Artest, he had NO PROBLEM attacking upwards of three random fans with a barrage of haymakers, all of whom happened to be smaller and WHITER than Artest. Coincidence?

I don't know, but I think that we have to acknowledge that SOMEONE out there was going to play the race card. While I normally disagree with everything Kansas City Star columnist Jayson Whitlock has to say, I acknowledge that he made some interesting points in his column and on "Sports Reporters" yesterday. There may just be a rift growing between the (largely) white fan base that attends NBA games and the (largely) black group of men who play the game. But that's not what caused this, outraged fans have been peppering opposing teams with everything from insults to beer to souvenir baseball bats since the beginning of sport. But it is interesting to note that while Artest appeared to be exhibiting some traits associated with self-preservation by hiding from an African-American male who was bigger and stronger than he was, he had ZERO problem attacking a white guy who was smaller and weaker in the crowd based solely on the POSSIBILITY that he might have been the drink-thrower (turns out he got the wrong guy). You'd be ignorant to ignore the element that race plays in this incident, but also you'd be wrong to overemphasize it. Your Uncle is just pointing it out.

But, in the end, what your Uncle Grambo is really trying to get at is this. Maybe you'd think that I would be cooler if I approached this situation all detached and shit, saying things like "Don't fuck with the Motor City, you'll end up getting yours in the end" with 100% conviction. Howevs, I would have difficulty expressing that sentiment without coming off like a phony. The reality and gravity of the situation won't allow it. While I'm still proud to be a Detroiter and proud to be a lifelong Pistons fan and proud that Ben Wallace plays the game the way it was meant to be played, I can't help feeling on overwhelming sense of shame that this incident took place in my hometown. As cliched as it sounds, this city can't seem to take a step forward without taking two steps back. We won the NBA Championship last June and celebrated peacefully, but now we'll be forced to remember "The Malice At The Palace" for years to come. John Green ... of all the people in the world to emulate, why did you have to choose Bubba Helms? And while his actions will cost him at least $5.5 million in salary, the damage that Ron Artest has done to this city cannot be evaluated in fiscal terms. No buzz at all, my friends ... no buzz at all.