TO ALL MY FRIENDSHIP BUDDIES:

Wow. Sure has been awhile, eh guys?
My bad. Anyhow, Ol' Uncle Cobras is back, with lots of updates and exciting news for the IllCon Universe. I hope you guys can forgive me for my long absence, I've been super busy Gangnam-styling, watching Iggy Azalea videos, jerking off to presidential debates, rocking out to Slayer with my cat, and taking part in all sorts of illicit, undisclosed activities which are best not discussed here. Add a shitty update to the Blogger template system and multiple suspensions of my vast and untraceable Mediafire accounts, and you've got quite a recipe for overall inactivity and frustration from your favorite blogger (me) on your favorite site (this one). Pathetic. Just pathetic.

But hey, I ain't here to sweat the petty shit. I'm here to pet the sweaty shit. Illogical Contraption--while relatively slow in the Blogspot World--has been going nuts in other realms, which is what we're really here to talk about today. First and foremost, IllCon Radio has been going bananas as of late, which you would never know if you happen to download episodes off the "show archive" column over there on the right. Out of a general sense of spite toward the file-sharing world (what is it, illegal all of the sudden?), I haven't updated this page for a FULL EIGHT EPISODES, which I admit is both bogus and sad. I know lots of you dudes out there get the show that way (at least a couple hundred per episode, if Mediafire is telling the truth), so rejoice in the fact that I finally got off (on?) my ass and uploaded episodes 43-50. That's almost 16 hours of drunken fun! Have at it.

(Seriously though, you're better off just subscribing via iTunes.)

But I have not only been a chode in my weekly maintenance of new podcasts here on the old Blogspot. Mediafire, being the dick that it is, has also offed several CLASSIC episodes for whatever reason, and I've only just recently had the time and momentum to find and re-up those fuckers, too. These are actually some of our best. Please use them wisely:

#21: GENESIS P-ORRIDGE and AESOP DEKKER
#33: SAM McPHEETERS and CAPTAIN AHAB
#34: TOMMY BLACHA (CO-CREATOR OF METALOCALYPSE!)
#35: PEACHES CHRIST
#36: NO ONE IN PARTICULAR
#37: EUGENE ROBINSON and AESOP DEKKER (Can't get rid of this guy!)
#38: TIM SWARTZ and MC CRUMBSNATCHER
#39: THE GHOST GIRLS, and lastly:
#40: A DOUCHEY MARINA BRO

So I guess that means the show archive is (at present, at least) "up to date". Thanks a lot to all the readers who have gone out of their way to support the show, too. You guys are awesome!

ALSO: Two weeks ago, while I was in New York City, I had the opportunity to guest host one of my favorite podcasts, Kissing Contest. It was super fun, and Mike, Sawyer, and Doan are some down-ass bros. Subscribe to that shit NOW. They even made this sweet custom image to celebrate my appearance:

You can find the Cobras Episode (#106, wherein we discuss East Coast vs. West Coast gang movies, metal, Channing Tatum, and Greyhound bus rides) HERE. It was an epic time.

Let's see, what else...?

Oh yeah! Here's a picture of the IllCon Radio Team partying with our favorite punk vocalist/ladies' man/puppeteer David Liebe Hart:

L to R: Erik, Cobras, some black guy, Cory, Peter

Crazy times, man.
Oh, we're also gonna have some shirts and stickers and shit, too. And Apocryphon is putting out a split and doing a West Coast tour soon. And I might even find the time to write some shit about aliens or conspiracies or technical death metal or clown porn at some point as well.
Maybe.

TLD/ILLCON FIT CLUB CHALLENGE 2K12

For the record, Apocryphon's mini-tour a week and a half ago was excellent, and contained many a highlight (most of which cannot be discussed publicly). But what was most likely the high point of our epic four-day journey was our quick overnighter at the abode of the internet's own Jaime Glen Danzig, who, with the help (coercion?) of his dear lady-friend Erin, showed us not only peak levels of hospitality and friendliness (a tall order considering our obnoxious drunkenness), but fed us, bathed us, gave us a warm place to sleep, and let us harass their pets (Billie deserved it for peeing on my face). Pretty crazy considering it was the first time JGD and I ever met face-to-face, but, in his words, "it's become clear that he's obviously just some cast-off mutant sibling of mine, complete with many of the same hopes, dreams, and death metal shirts." I heartily concur.

Above: Apocryphon performing LIVE at Slabtown, Portland, OR, June 29th, 2012

So what's the best way to repay such unmatched kindness? Gifts? Money? Good vibes?
Not for me. I choose to take the high road, and by the "high road" I mean publicly shaming Jaime in the most terrible and demeaning way possible.
Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the Living Doorway/Illogical Contraption One-Month Fit Club Challenge 2012.

Mesmerizing

Here's the deal (as agreed upon between Mr. Danzig and myself): ONE MONTH (July 8 - August 8), whoever drops the most weight wins, bottom line. Whether it be by means of diet, exercise, shake weight, lipo (don't worry, neither of us can afford it), or stomach staples (don't worry, neither of us can afford it), the end result is all that matters. To the winner go the spoils.

The spoils: Winner (Cobras) designs a header that the loser (JGD) has to use on his blog for 2 weeks. No protest or arguments tolerated. The weigh-ins have already taken place, and the "before" pictures snapped (these may or may not be posted in August, depending on the condition of our respective doughy torsos/egos at the end of this competition). All that's left now: PAIN.
May the best man (me) win.

I may or may not have spoken about it before here on IllCon, but through both personal crisis and a little inspiration from The Living Doorway's Fit Club, I managed to drop about 20/25 lbs this past February/March, and although I've been slacking off super hard all summer (so far) and losing the beefy, rock-solid biceps I worked so hard to obtain, I feel fully confident and ready to dive back in at present. I'm pretty sure that through a combination of Ferriss-style slow-carb diet manipulation (you can call him a fraud, but it already worked for me once) and daily running around Lake Merritt (feel free to say hi, I'm the long-haired, tattooed guy wearing Rings of Saturn-logo basketball shorts), I can drop at least 10 or 12 pounds in a month. So let's fucking do this. I've got some really, uh, "creative" ideas for your new blog header, Jaime. I'd love for you to see them.

BLACK SABBATH - FORBIDDEN (1995)

You would think that after such a long absence, I might return bearing worthwhile gifts for my beloved readership, but alas, no such luck on this sunny Thursday afternoon--today I present you with naught but pure, undiluted garbage, in the form of the mighty Black Sabbath's final studio embarassment, Forbidden.
What constituted "Black Sabbath" in 1995 was a sad diminishment from even their lineup in 1992, much less the Dio years, much much less their heyday in the early-to-mid-seventies. What we have here is a broken, limping, generic-riff machine fronted by terminal no-name Tony "The Cat" Martin (above right), who even with the omnipresent Tony Iommi (no Geezer at this point--he was busy with GZR. LOL!) in tow couldn't muster an ounce of thunder on this resounding fart of an attempt at "hard rock". The handsome and talented Cozy Powell (who was later replaced by Blue Oyster Cult's Bobby Rondinelli, a dude that subsequently attempted to steal my girlfriend in the mid-00's--true story) rounded out the squadron on skins, but his servicable thumping is piss in an ocean to the utter, anachronistic misstep that is this album.

Did I mention that Ernie C from Body Count (left) was hired to produce this album? Or that esteemed thespian Ice T himself makes an appearance on the opening track? It's all true, which, in a way, is the only selling point to this album. It's pure novelty/curiosity, this ill-fated pairing of British rock legends and talentless urban street toughs, and really the only reason I brought it up today is that I find Tony Iommi's idea of what was "hip" and "edgy" in 1995 just about the most hilarious thing imaginable. His "go-to" was Body Count. Think about that shit.
Anyways, sorry to drop this turd in your proverbial punch bowl today, but hey, you can't win 'em all. Keep your head up, and just remember: RUSTY ANGELS, THEY CAN'T FLY.
Apologies.

Don't download HERE
Don't purchase HERE



Enjoy a low-budget documentary about the Tony Martin Era of Sabbath:

When Self-Promotion Goes Wrong Part 1

LOOK

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Apocryphon will also be playing in Santa Rosa Saturday, June 23rd. Details forthcoming. And let's not forget:

ILLCON RADIO RETURNS TO THE AIRWAVES AT 10PM TONIGHT RIGHT HERE. WE HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DISCUSS. WE MIGHT HAVE A GUEST OR TWO. WE WILL EAT CHIPS AND AL WILL GET DRUNK. SUBSCRIBE ON ITUNES PLEASE. ALSO CALL US AT 415-829-2980. THANK YOU.

HEAVY METAL ALBUM COVERS RE-CREATED IN MS PAINT (A Retrospective)

As a direct result of Nothing Left Inside's post Saturday about shitty album art, I present you today with yet another rabbit hole, namely the short-lived trend of extreme-metal album covers being redrawn in MS Paint. Thanks to a re-posting of NLI's IllCon piece on Facebook (courtesy of internet-radio giants WMFU), the Bad Album Art thread spread far and wide, ultimately resulting in virtual Uroborous that leads right back to good 'ol IC Classic.

Our FB pal Aaron Neighbors hipped us to a shit-ton of his very own artwork (namely of the MS Paint variety) originally from a thread over on Nuclear War Now's message board (which in turn was spawned from earlier incarnations on DFFD and The Board That Shall Not Be Named), which blossomed, like the proverbial Corpse Flower, nearly overnight--eventually resulting in a stagnant pool of some of the most retardedly brilliant metal art I've ever seen. Out of respect for his diligence and hard work, we'll start with 25 of Mr. Neighbors' own designs, eventually moving on to another gallery of 25 greats from a further assortment of Nuclear War Now contributors.

This collection needs no further introduction. I believe the art speaks for itself.

THE WEEK OF HONG 2: BLOODSPORT 3

Goddamn it, Seth. Why do you put me through this shit? I've been nothing but a friend to you, and how do you repay me? I'll tell you how: By making me sit through not one, but two goddamn Bloodsport sequels, and afterwards, I don't even get the small fucking dignity of forgetting about them altogether--OH NO, I have to actually write about the fucking things, in a way that's supposed to be "engaging" and "interesting". Well fuck you, Seth. Fuck you and the scraggly-ass VHS tape you rode in on.

Now where were we?
Ah yes, Bloodsport 3. The 1997 follow-up to the abysmal 1996 shitfest known as (surprise!) Bloodsport 2 (full-ish review HERE). I guess we might as well get this over with:



So this whole "Week of Hong" was supposed to be about the iconic actor James Hong, but to be honest, his character Sun gets killed off pretty early in this movie, being replaced as a "father-figure"/"master" by the twin team of Pat Morita (conspicuously absent for the majority of Part 2 in spite of his high billing) and a mysterious shaman called "The Judge". So, rather than dissecting Hong's performance in this particular film, I will instead use today's post as a vehicle to express my disgust at mid-90's-sequel-direct-to-video action fare, to further condemn Seth Goodkind and his frivolous journalistic requests, and to call attention to the fact that Bloodsport Fucking Four still lurks like a shadowy specter on the horizon, mocking me from the very pits of Daniel Bernhardt's dead, soulless eyes:

Click for full size and lol @ "The Most Successful Action Franchise Ever!"

This movie is ass. Surprisingly, it is slightly less ass than its predecessor, due mostly to the scene where a bad motherfucker named Beast kicks the shit out of the aforementioned Daniel Bernhardt and also the presence of comedy-dwarf John Rhys-Davies as the main antagonist. But yeah, it's pretty unbearable.
Bloodsport 3 suffers from a bit of an identity crisis: yes, they went and hired that same vaguely-European splits-enthusiast guy to pretend that he's JCVD again, and yes, the plot revolves around another "underground fighting tournament" (he has to sneak in to this one! How chilling!). But Bloodsport 3 ups the yawn factor by trying to incorporate some sort of 007 angle (Bernhadt's "Alex Cardo"--read as "Even Lower Budget Frank Dux"--has to get all dolled up in a white tux and flirt with some chick in a casino), a premise with is both laughable and a little sad. There is no intrigue, no sexual tension. Hell, there isn't even any Don Gibb.

I don't know. I don't even have enough words in my mental arsenal to fully disassemble the Bloodsport sequels and Mr. Seth J.G. Goodkind to the subterranean levels they deserve. But together, they sent me to the very deepest and darkest corners of my own private Hell, and the only way I can even attempt revenge is to suggest that others endure the same pain as I. Please experience Bloodsport 3 in all its glory forthwith:




MORE HONG HERE:

Monday April 9th
Fist of B-List - The Dynamite Brothers
From the Depths of DVD Hell - Big Trouble In Little China

Tuesday April 10th
Direct to Video Connoisseur - South Beach Academy
Lost Video Archive - Teen Lust

Wednesday April 11th
She Blogged By Night - Seventh Sin
Lost Video Archive - Cyber Bandits

Thursday April 12th
Booksteve's Library - China Girl
Lost Video Archive - Gladiator Cop
From the Depths of DVD Hell - Balls of Fury

Friday April 13th
Direct to Video Connoisseur - Caged Fury
Lines That Make Things - The A Team (TV episode)

Saturday April 14th
Illogical Contraption - Bloodsport III
Explosive Action - Ninja III: The Domination
Lost Video Archive - Blade in Hong Kong
Thrilling Days of Yesteryear - Bat Masterson and Checkmate


I made this:

SO BARRY MANILOW, MARILYN MANSON, AND LANA DEL REY WALK INTO A BAR...

Obviously Manilow, a fellow of discerning taste and impeccable judgement, decides to tune into Illogical Contraption Radio in Studio 1A tonight at 10pm, because he knows that, even though our hero and protagonist Shelby Cobras will be absent, an excellent interview with SWANS' Michael Gira awaits him there, and that things will undoubtedly get weird. Mr. Manilow decides to call in (415.829.2980) and give co-hosts Cory, Erik, and Al and extra ration of shit on behalf of Dr. Cobras. He even subscribes via iTunes. What a guy!


Mr. Manson--the second to walk into the bar--being an "edgier" and "hipper" fellow, decides that a metal show in Oakland is more his speed, and that his destination will be Eli's Mile High Club. There he will find the likes of Apocryphon, Old Crow (get a real website bros), Plague Widow, and the mighty Early Graves performing, and Mr. Manson knows that the combination of sick grind, piercing volume levels, and flowing liquor will get everyone present laid. Good work, Marilyn.

Ms. Del Rey is the third to walk into the bar. She decides that her best bet for the evening is to go see Saviours, Holy Grail, and (my best bros) Hazzard's Cure at The Elbo Room in SF.
It is a poor decision. She is summarily gang-raped and killed by an angry pack of stoned sasquatches.

Don't be like Lana Del Rey. Make the right decision tonight.

KARMA IS A MOTHERFUCKER

Let's see... How do I go about breaking another long silence here on the hallowed pages of Illogical Contraption? An in-depth post on recent actions in the imminent Reptilian-Grey Alliance invasion and the Andromeda Council's efforts to stop it? Nah. A lengthy expose on the forgotten heroes of the Swedish death metal scene, including extensive downloads, never-before-seen pictures, and verbose pontifications on their overall contributions to the global music scene? Fuck that. Perhaps a 'Part 2' piece to that 'Primer on Modern Cryptozoology' I posted lo those many, many moons ago, encompassing the many updates and documented specimens collected in the last 2 years? No, not that.
Today, we're gonna explore a topic much more important and interesting than any of that shit. We're gonna talk about a second-hand tabloid story from 6 months ago that I found on TMZ.

So.
Who remembers Shelby Cobra? No, not Shelby CobraS, as in ME, but Shelby COBRA (no "s"), lead singer for the all-girl Radio Disney pop-punk(?) group KSM. I wrote about her here and here in the past, but in case you lazy fucks don't want to click through and read my brilliant rants, I'll boil it down to a couple key paragraphs:

Shelby Cobra draws her influence from artists like Cyndi Lauper and Janis Joplin, and in February joined a manufactured band of watered-down "scene chicks" constructed by the production team of Robbie Nevil and Matthew Gerard and sponsored by Radio Disney. They are called "KSM", they are Hot Topic to the core,and you can check out their Myspace page here. They are also currently gaining massive amounts of popularity, with the endorsement of the Jonas Brothers and appearances on both Good Morning, America and Rachael Ray under their shiny belts. This is all kinds of wrong, but the arch-nemesis connection goes even deeper. Read on...

Shelby Cobra lists her heritage as "Italian-Swedish-Polish-Italian", a twisted mirror of my own proud geneology. You see, I am half Italian, in addition to being a quarter German (Germany borders Poland) and a quarter Norwegian (Norway borders Sweden). Is this strange duality somehow programmed into our very genetic material? Mere dislike or age-old blood feud? Hmmmm...
As the kids would say, this chick is "jocking my steez" in a major way. She is besmirching the honorable Cobras family name, bringing shame down on an institution that has always stood for truth, justice, and HEAVY METAL.

There is only one course of action to be taken here. "Shelby Cobra" must be destroyed, with great haste and without mercy.

Well, as TMZ reported on Sept. 11, 2011 (IllCon is always on top of the hottest celeb news stories), the pretender to the throne has indeed been crushed. Read this awesome, well-written TMZ story in its entirety below:

"Shelby Cobra, lead singer of the now-defunct Disney girl band KSM, was arrested early Friday morning for driving under the influence -- and according to our sources ... her blood alcohol level was nearly twice the legal limit. Did we mention she's only 18?
Law enforcement sources tell TMZ ... Cobra, real name Shelby Spalione, was spotted in Studio City driving a 2005 Ford F150 with the dome light on and a passenger who was not only not wearing a seat belt, but was sitting sideways.
We're told when cops pulled the car over, they detected alcohol on Shelby's breath and administered a blood alcohol test ... which registered a whopping 0.15%.
She was arrested and booked into Van Nuys jail at around 2:00 AM. Shelby was released just before 11:00 AM on her own recognizance.
KSM was originally formed as a kids version of a Go-Go's cover band. Shelby joined the group later on and the focus shifted from pop to rock. The band broke up in 2010.
Calls to Shelby's people have not been returned."



Dang. Shades of 'Burning Dan', anyone?
I mean, it's no secret that when you fuck with IllCon, you will be summarily destroyed. But the fact that this news story broke on the 10th anniversary of 9/11? Seems like pretty goddamn solid proof that the good old U.S. of A. has our back, and is willing to strike down our foes through whatever means necessary. The demise of Shelby Cobra's career, whether it came about by mere happenstance, flagrant personal disregard for the law, or massive US Government Conspiracy in collusion with the IllCon Hidden Hand Tribunal of Elders, was nonetheless foretold and unavoidable, and I urge all those who would oppose our dear institution to take note carefully.

That being said, I would like to end this post by offering IllCon's full support of the incoming presidential regime, whether it be led by the proud, regal Rick Santorum (right), or the fierce, bold Mitt Romney (below). Heed the Council! The Santorupocalypse is upon us! Join us in our quest for global American dominance, and our crusade against moral degeneracy at the hands of homosexuals, perverts, liberals, circus clowns, and music bloggers! Hand in hand, Illogical Contraption and the United States Government will strike down any scourge, be it poorly-named pop singers, domestic terrorists, sodomizers of the human ass, or "heavy metal musicians".
December 21st, 2012 is upon us. Let us march forth to greet it, together, as Americans--as a united front, a God-fearing and CHOSEN nation--The Contrap-Nation.

Let this message be a warning to all.

Important Announcement for the New Year

After a decade of bitter infighting and rancour between two ideologically polarized camps within ICHQ, I am delighted to announce the grand opening of IllCon East, a new subdivision of IC Enterprises which is charged with ensuring East Coast considerations are factored into decision-making around marketing, product development, and systems change. This venture comes on the coattails of a debate that has been percolating beneath the surface of everyday business and has made working alongside one another no longer possible. I now present to you IllCon East's mission statement:

FUCK YOU, WEST COAST

Allow me to explain...

Here on the East Coast, being metal is a fucking chore. You have to work at it. If you're a metalhead and come from anywhere East of Sanford Parker's fiefdom, Ohio, you're already handicapped. You're fucked. You have to ship in all your bullet belts and patches from El Salvador. Out on the West Coast every other day Wormrot is playing in LA, fucking Brocas Helm is playing Gilman or whatever it's called, blah fucking blah.

2nd one from left is 9th grade me

I was just talking to These a Beast, who lives in Jersey, about what shows we'd been to recently and it was downright scornful. The only show either of has had been to in the last month was the same goddamn show, one night apart from each other. Granted, it was Inquisition, and they fucking killed, but still. West Coast's got the labels, the communal groundswell, the bands, the venues, AND legal kush. It's like the metal is being handed to you on a silver plate; all you need to do is MOSH.

And don't get me started on Black Metal. How do you have all these awesome goddamn black metal bands on the West Coast? What do YOU know about Black Metal? Any 'banger worth his Nargaroth back patch knows Black Metal is all about winter, midnight vision quests through frost-choked ravines, taking your shirt off, and takin' a pic for the album cover. What does the West Coast know about winter? Where I'm from we're living an Immortal album 30% of the entire year while your metal bands are playing flutes around the bonfire, fucking celebrating the harvest, and yukking it up over a sack of northern lights.

er, we're not all like this, promise

(Speaking of New Jersey, that's probably the most metal places on the planet ain't it? Fuck sylven forests of primordial hardwoods and awe-inspiring ocean vistas, forget Norway...New Fucking Jersey man. It's basically built on top of toxic sludge and car parts. Anyone who elects to live there voluntarily earns their spike cuffs automatically.)

is more metal than

The East Coast always seems to get left out of conversations about metal (New Yorker notwithstanding), perhaps due to regional metal xenophobia, perhaps ignorance, perhaps its the smaller profiles of the bands, maybe a combination of all this. We gave you NYDM, Dio, Grief...the nascent scuzz-BM scene (see Mutilation Rites) is giving the Black Twilight Circle a run for their money IMHO...hell we've got Florida so right there we've buttoned up 90% of the American Death Metal legacy.

ANDMANOWAR

i know u like my layout skills

Now, I'm not saying we're completely infallible. In fact, we owe you a couple of apologies: namely Liturgy, the whole Savannah/Atlanta thing (seriously, what the fuck is up with the whole Kylesa/Baroness/Mastodon scene? can someone fill me in plz thx). We MIGHT be single-handedly responsible for metalcore also, now that I think about it. Whoops lol. I hereby apologise for all our past transgressions.

So anyway, yeah, this:

WEST COAST
i detect your pose
all the way from here

EAST COAST
trve

I rest my case.

You are cordially invited to the ceremonial ribbon cutting of the brand-new, 230 acre IllCon East campus, featuring an exclusive Evoken and Cannibal Corpse showcase*, and we will vote on IllCon East's new charter. I hereby lay down the gauntlet, West Coast pussies. The metal world is overdue for a good beef with all the trimmings, don't you think? Infantile posturing in album intros, threats of violence via YouTube, all that. How great would that be? Minus the assassinations, Varg.

FUCK YOU, WEST COAST.

*not verified