Bad Luck for Robman

Many of you out there are probably wondering….what’s the deal with Rob’s recent string of bad luck? I heard some whack shit has been happening to him lately. Quite lamentably my friends, this is true. Let me elaborate.

1. My iPod breaks:
Two Thursdays past, I’m sitting at my desk, merrily avoiding work and listening to my Ipod, when the damn thing freezes. Just stops, mid-song. Very anti-climactic, actually. I always assumed that my iPod would meet its end a bit more conclusively: in pieces on the pavement after a foolhardy drunken spill, or maybe in the depths of Spreckels Lake after a Christian Okoye-style fumble in the park. Instead, the damn thing stops what it’s doing, for no reason at all. What a piece.

2. My car gets busted into
It’s Saturday night and I’m out on the town with Jimmy “Southbound”, peeting, govreeting, and checking out newly purchased flying V’s until 4AM or so. Upon awakening the next afternoon, as we head to Potrero for breakfast I become aware of the fact that my car window has been smashed. Now…I fully understand the social context of this event. It’s part of our deal with the crackheads and degenerates that we get to live and park in areas of great consumer-based convenience, and they, in turn, occasionally break into our cars and throw the contents of the glove everywhere, while still managing to miss the stereo located therein. But---that being said….this was not what had occurred. This scoundrel didn’t even go inside my car. He apparently had no interest in ripping off my stereo, or even in snatching up my car-stored goodies (which include a multitude of CDs scratched into un-playability by my treatment of them as baseball cards, and various sweat-stained Chop accouterments left there by my considerate and tidy-minded bandmates). I’ve had my share of criminal urges but mindless destruction was never one of them. Fucking delinquents.

3. I wreck on my bike
Well, actually, it wasn’t my bike. It was the company bike. People at my job complained enough about having to walk stuff to different buildings that they managed to commandeer themselves a bicycle. Its intended purpose is the work-related portage of tissue samples and lab supplies but at the time of my shit-eating, I was doing no such thing. Instead I was coasting around campus on a sunny afternoon (Monday) enjoying an abundantly tarnished view of the bay. Interesting thing is, I wasn’t even doing anything particularly foolish on the bike. You see, it’s one of those fold-it-up-and-take-it-on-the-train bikes. I have no doubt that when train-commuting from Vacaville (or some other God-forsakenly distant place that people still seem to commute from) having a bike which folds up to the size of a 486 computer tower is quite convenient, but the design’s utility eludes me when the handlebars opt to fold 90 degrees inward as I’m riding along at a reasonable clip on relatively flat ground. Luckily, I found the pavement to be warm and forgiving, and I made it away with a few minor scrapes. The worst of it was that my palm was all muffed up, which seriously inhibited my high-fiving ability for a week or so.

4. My guitar amp breaks
The day before we leave to gig up north, we’re at practice and my poor little amp is making this God-awful din up and above even Dr. Cock’s Pure Noise Machine Synth Monster 7000. A couple Fezzik-style jogs to the frame caused the noise to stop for a while, but it’s clearly getting worse as the night progresses. By the time Tits is polishing off his third Red Bull, the amp no longer responds to repeated pounding. It then also becomes clear that the speaker itself is ripped (a technically unrelated, though possibly correlated, problem). Some amply funded guitar players would revel at this chance, I’m sure. An excuse to purchase some piece of vintage wonderment they’d been eyeing for a year on eBay. Not me. I don’t know what to get. I haven’t been eyeing anything. But clearly, this problem needs a solution. I guess I’ll be keeping my ears peeled for that magic combination of growling midrange and super-70’s gain that made the Peavey so damn special.

Groin-grabbingly yours,
Rob

How To Cancel Band Practice: A Nine Step Program

Hey boys and girls if you've ever wondered how to have a good time on a Friday night take a lesson from The Chop!

1. Step one: Before the party head to Chinatown with your favorite drinking buddy whose penchant for mischief and questionable judgment matches your own.
   (Note: Chinatown is great because the Asians really like it when white people storm into their local bars and cause a ruckus whilst they are quietly trying to watch soap operas in their native tongue, with sub-titles in some other Asian country's native tongue.)

2. Step two: Before you go to the party make sure you bring enough champagne to make your fellow party goers say, "Damn, The Chop celebrates New Year's Eve every fucking night!"

3. Step Three: Now this is really important: Don't leave the party until there is absolutely no chance you could possibly get home without injuring yourself, or someone else, or at least some sort of public property.
   (Note: After you have left the party make sure your trusted friend is with you. You're going to need him.)

4. Step Four: When you see a poorly lit piece of nicely manicured North Beach shrubbery DO NOT HESITATE! Jump right in that sucker.

5. Step Five: When you feel the blunt, rusty spike enter your thigh, ignore it. You can walk it off.
   (Note: These spikes shouldn't be there in the first place. All they do is restrict plants in, forcing them to grow straight.)
   

6. Step Six: When your trusted friend shoves you to the ground and clamps his hands over your open wound (which is bleeding like a virgin in her first Ass to Mouth underground amateur porn video) make you sure you say something like, "Ambulance? I don't need an ambulance you pussy!" This probably isn't true but it makes you look tough.

7. Step Seven: As the cops roll up and shove said trusted friend against the wall yelling things like,"What the fuck did you stab him with!" make sure you laugh as loud as you can. DON'T say something like, "Hey, that guy just prevented me from bleeding to death on the street and indirectly ensured the greatest band in the world can continue its mission of spreading pure rock and true love."

8. Step Eight: Later, when the nurse asks which arm you want your tetanus shot, think hard. Not on which hand you write with, or even which hand you prefer to pleasure yourself with, but which hand you rock more with. (I went with the right because The Chop is not Danish Death Metal and fret work is more important than blind speed.)

9. Step Nine: When it’s all over and they release you from the Hospital six hours later as the sun begins to rise, call your local Chop brother. He'll be there, NO QUESTIONS ASKED!
   

Epilogue: All these events occurred as dictated from Buffalo Balls under oath to stenographer: Chuckley McGiggles.

-Johnny B.

Words to Describe Washington Mutual:

bent, caught, corrupt, crooked, culpable, deplorable, dirty, felonious, hung up*, illegal, illegitimate, illicit, immoral, indictable, iniquitous, nefarious, peccant, racket, scandalous, senseless, shady*, smoking gun*, unlawful, unrighteous, vicious, villainous, wicked, wildcat*, wrong, blackmailer, blotto, con, convict, crook, culprit, delinquent, desperado, deuce, evildoer, felon, fugitive, gangster, guerilla, hatchet man, heavy*, hood*, hoodlum, hooligan*, hustler, inside man, jailbird, lawbreaker, malefactor, mobster, moll, mug, muscle man, offender, outlaw, racketeer, repeater, scofflaw, shylock, sinner, slippery eel*, thug*, transgressor, trespasser, wrongdoer, yard bird, bad at life, deceitful, devious, dishonest, dishonorable, double-dealing, dubious, fraudulent, indirect, knavish, lying, nefarious, questionable, ruthless, shady, shifty, treacherous, underhand, unlawful, unprincipled, unscrupulous, untruthful


You may be asking yourself, "Why and how can Phil (of The Chop) hate WaMu so much"?

I will tell you.

Yesterday (March 1st, 2007) at 5:15pm I received a cashier’s check from WaMu for $2,008 to pay my rent for March (My douche bag landlord will only accept cashier's checks). By the time I had gotten home at from work at 6:40pm the check was either lost or stolen. I proceeded to call the WaMu customer service center to have the check canceled. The 1st delightful sub-creature that I spoke too was somewhere between a chimp and a human with Down’s Syndrome (though she was quite good at saying “Sir” every seventh word (I assume that she was equally skilled at dropping out of middle school), so I asked to speak to her manager.

Now I used to work a customer service phone job, so I know that yelling and being mean does you no good, so I was quite cordial. The gentleman that I was transferred too (Nick) clearly had an IQ that cracked the ever important 100 point mark but was still mostly useless. He was a professional spin doctor and the conversation that we held focused on sayings like “at the branches digression”, “additional security holds”, “risk to the bank”, “Sir”, and “I can see how from the consumers point of view”. He was a worthless douche and should be doing brand marketing for Massengill, not customer service for WaMu. I pushed Nick to say anything committal, he declined.

There was one piece of advice from Nick that I did take to heart and that was, “wait until tomorrow, the branch can sort it out”. He was wrong!

Today (March 2nd, 2007) at 9:20 a.m. I walked in to the branch that issues the check with the receipt for the check in hand. The woman that I talked to today (Judy) was quite nice, but equally useless. To be fair to Judy I would call her powerless rather than useless. She explained that they can’t cancel I cashiers check. I said, “But the dude who cut the check yesterday made a mistake and made the check for too little money. He re-cut the check”. She said, “If you had come back yesterday or still had the check we could re-cut it” (way to go Nick / douche / I love to bathe myself in my own cum, where is your “chill out, they can take care of this tomorrow” bullshit now?). Now Judy, if I still had the check we wouldn’t have been holding this conversation would we? What kind of ass-backwards logic does your bank operate under? Given that the mean education of your work force hovers between GED and 11th grade it should come as no surprise. So I was left fully dissatisfied and still have no way to pay rent.

How it all ends:

Phil gets to cancel the check and wait 90 days (89 days since March 1st counts as a day) to get my $2,008 back. I get to transfer money out of personal saving to pay rent (4 days late at $10 a day late fee to me) and around the 1st of June I recover my cash from those blooding drinking, heartless, god-fearing, whores, know only as Washington Mutual.

Through Him, in Him, and with Him,
Phil (of The Chop)