Don't Give a Fuck

I have a younger cousin who has been emailing me for years asking for advice on a variety of topics. My answers are usually as simple as his questions are. When he was 12 he asked me what the best kind of beer was. I said the kind that's stolen from your dad. When he was 16 he asked me if he should sleep with his boss at Dairy Queen. I asked him if Butterfinger Blizzards were delicious. When he was 20, on the day before he headed out for a summer of trainhopping, he asked me how to talk to girls with face tattoos. I told him to approach with caution and fistful of heroin. Basically, I've always just encouraged him to take chances and live his life as carefree as possible, trusting that he would never go completely AWOL. As the years wore on his email inquiries became more about things he already knew the answers to but was still seeking my reassurance on - like, "Herpes isn't that big a deal anymore is it?" (It's not.) Eventually he stopped asking questions altogether, instead telling me of his exploits--an orgy with the NDSU basketball cheerleading squad, going on a crank bender with Chuck Klosterman, and taking a shit in the urinal at his post-college office job - you know, stuff he knew I'd be proud of him for. He's turning 30 in a week, and I think it's freaking him out because he emailed me again, asking for advice on getting older. I responded by keeping it simple and leaving a little room for interpretation, just as I always have. This is how I responded...

You know what dude, fuck that shit. Stop giving a fuck right the fuck now. As you know I'm ten years older than you and holy shit is it ever awesome. On my last birthday a tsunami wave of not giving a fuck-ness crashed down upon me and washed me out to a sea where topless African American mermaids swim around chanting "just don't give a fuck" in voices that give my ears a boner and my actual boner a hard-on. I don't give a fuck so hard that I wish I had never given any fucks in my entire life. You're only 30. You have a unique opportunity to get a decade-long jump on not giving a fuck. No fucks given is your first rule. Here's three more...

1. Don't Give a Fuck About Not Giving a Fuck
There's a lot of people that willingly choose to give a fuck. Be warned: they might try to make you feel bad for not giving a fuck. Don't fall for this. Their lives are the exact opposite of fun. They don't want you to have fun because they're not - they're miserable people that are so incapable of enjoying life that they decide to give a fuck about the minutest of fuck-giving things. "How can you eat that?" Because you don't give a fuck - that's how. And while these people are annoying and hypocritical as shit, they are also doing you a ginormous favor. They're out there giving a fuck so that you don't have to. God fucking bless them.

2. Be Careful With The Drugs. Or, Kind of Give a Fuck
I hate to tell you this but at 30 you're well past your psychedelic years. Psychedelics are a young man's game. Leave the the LSD, mushrooms, and other trippy shit in the past where it belongs. Even though you're not giving a fuck anymore, you still have a lot of creepy little monsters up there in that head of yours that are just waiting for the tiniest taste of psychopsilocybin to enter their lives again. And once they do, they'll projectile vomit their guts all over your brain, turning you into the mental equivalent of what that guy from Breaking Bad who is in a wheelchair and has to ring a bell to talk would look like if he had the face of Eric Stoltz in Mask.

Same goes for the weed. Today's kind bud is 1996's acid. If you've ever wanted to give a fuck about not giving a fuck, one toke of keef ought to do it. Remember when you were the funniest, most charming dude in the room and all of the girls were fantasy raping your bulge with their eyeballs? Yeah, that was exactly one minute ago before you decided to throw your life in the trash with a hit of weed. Now you're standing in the corner worrying about shit like paying bills, car insurance, and trying not to have a panic attack; wondering why your eyes are crying tears of habanero sauce; and your cheeks are so hot it feels like your face is trapped inside a ghost pepper's anus after it got buttfucked by the Devil. A good rule of thumb is to steer clear of any weed with a name that sounds like it could also be a gay dance night at a club or that smells like a Rastaman farted through a diaper full of boiled pastrami and dirty cat liter. If you must smoke weed, try to find some of that '90s shit that my friend Tim calls "smoking weed." You can smoke an entire spliff by yourself and still talk to people without resembling a news reporter who's having a seizure on camera.

As for cocaine, enjoy only in moderation, and never more than two hours after you leave the bar. Also doesn't hurt to have a full glass of water with every bump. Remember, just because your 30 and have done most everything cool there is for a man to do--aside from fathering a child (which there is still plenty of time for when you're 40)--you're never too old to become a casualty. And you don't want to do that or you'll miss out on this next part.

3. Make Love. Or, Literally Give a Fuck
And by make love I mean have sex. And by have sex I mean go absolutely bananas in the most absurd, outlandish ways possible. When I was in my early 30s I woke up one day to find that I was suddenly single. While the pain of this realization hurt more than pooping razor blades thorough a sphincter made of steel wool and sandpaper, it opened up a Pandora's box of panocha to drown my sorrows and penis in. I went on pound crusade that rivaled anything I had done in my teens and 20s. Whenever I left a place that I had crashed out at the night before and it didn't smell like blood, shit, piss, and cum, I considered the evening a failure. A a sure sign of a good night was when I felt like a Clydesdale wearing ice climbing cleats kicked me in the dick. I fucked every night like I was going to war the next day.

Be open to anything and anyone. Learn about things like "milking the prostate" and "turning two holes into one" and make them your mantra. Your bed isn't just the place you sleep, it's also, as my friend Matt calls it, your "work bench." Stock your nightstand drawers with lube, anal beads, strap-ons, jelly dongs, butt plugs, handcuffs--and not those lame pink fuzzy ones either, but real ones--, ball gags, cock rings, spanking apparatuses, and a big black rubber fist. Your headboard should have "Ravage, Defile, and Desecrate" scratched into it by someone with longer nails than you while your were blasting them from and/or in the behind.  I'm not saying to hurt or violate anyone - I'm just saying do as much ludicrous, farcical sex as humanly possible while remaining within the confines of your partner's(s) comfort zone. You'll be amazed how far you'll push each other's boundaries when you coitus like the world is ending tomorrow.

In short, live worry free, only get half loaded, and spend the next 10 years having the kind of sexual escapades that the will make your future wife puke in your face when you tell her about them the day after your wedding.  

Uncle BNB

Send your questions to Dear BNB at: bnb@hotdogdayz.com


"Playa is Dying"

Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, Feb '14


Record Review: Haymaker - Let Them Rot 7"

Haymaker - Let Them Rot 7" (A389)
By Nathan G. O'Brien on Tight To The Nail

For the first time in nearly a decade Hamilton, Ontario-based hardcore punk antagonists Haymaker have returned to assault undeserving eardrums with a new record. While Haymaker’s members have remained active in the interim in bands like The Swarm, Left For Dead, Chokehold, and Pick Your Side, it hasn’t stifled any of the enthusiasm for the return of these storied shit-starters. Hot off the heels of their now legendary reunion show last month at A389’s tenth anniversary bash—one that included fireworks in the pit and lead vocalist Jeff Beckman calling out bands for being phonies (watch this below) —comes a new 7” titled Let Them Rot.  ...Review continues here.


Record Review: Gondoliers - Tonight's Whispering

Gondoliers - Tonight's Whispering (Midriff)
By Nathan G. O'Brien on Verbicide Magazine

The Boston area trio of noisemakers known as Gondoliers have returned with a new album that dives headlong into their perverse and abnormal world of sound. As a band that’s got a rep for being an amusing live act—playing raucous basement shows, complete with floodlights, hardhats, and flung beer—Tonight’s Whispering shows them trying as best they can to transfer that chaos and disorder to tape. It’s a hailstorm of toxic ether synths, erratic guitar work, and fuzzy yet ever-present vocals...

With songs like “Loose Association” and “Broadcaster,” the fury of psychedelic noise and tension continues. Imagine a house party scene from a cheesy ’80s high school movie — but instead of the band being Wham! or Tears For Fears, it’s Einst├╝rzende Neubauten. Then, imagine DJ Screw and Eerie Von collaborated on a remix of the film’s soundtrack while they were in art school together. Then imagine they used a time machine to send it to Greg Ginn in 1989. Then imagine he put it out on SST as free cassette that came with the Meat Puppets’ Monsters album. If none of this makes any sense to you, then you’re totally getting it.  ...Read entire full-length review after the leap.



Record Review: Various Artists - I Need You Bad

Various Artists - I Need You Bad (Polyvinyl)
By Nathan G. O'Brien on Scene Point Blank

Due to its liberal usage around ye olden music-critiquing biz, “garage rock” is one of those dicey descriptors that, should you choose to follow it, can lead you down a multitude of avenues. It can walk you knowingly into a crotch punching at the hands of the Candy Snatchers, leave you pleasantly surprised and smiling thanks to the likes of Koko Beware, or unexpectedly drop you off smack dab in the middle of downtown Boringsville; which in this case happens to be San Francisco. I Need You Bad is a compilation documenting the present day San Francisco garage rock scene. Curated by one of its most dynamic members, Sonny Smith, it features established bands like Sonny & The Sunsets, The Sandwitches, and Warm Soda alongside a handful of lesser-knowns. Cool idea, but the downside is this is a collection that will send even the most over-caffeinated, coked-up, bicycle cap-wearing scenesters deep into a hibernation-like slumber. Out of the 15 bands compiled here, there’s only four that contribute songs that stand apart from a what is an otherwise completely morose affair.  ...Read full-length review after the jump.