Unless you live in a hole in the ground 500 miles below the Earth’s surface, you’ll know it’s the 13th Anniversary of the Los Angeles Riots.

Sparked by Rodney King’s trial outcome (four cops acquitted of beating the shit out of him), the riots raged through South Central, Central, South, and Mid-Central Los Angeles.

Some of the best rioting action ever came from it, and we should all honor it’s ridiculousness.

Video coverage and so much more from the L.A. Times

APRIL 29, 1992 lyrics

Washington Post fondly remembers

Lessons in Command and Control from the military

See how LA’s style compares to other riot styles

Jallow’s bulletin

See how L.A. compares to other riot styles

“Happy #%@$in’ Arbor Day”

Follow-up: Police arrest men who claimed to find buried treasure

Ah-HAH! Themz bastardz from METHUEN (lizz-augh) got straight up snipped by their own clips when they tried go 15 minnies on us. They ganked some ancient benjies from a barn and played it off fo’ real.

So *nstead of funding their super-gay band and midget-porn studio, they’ll be rockin’ CB 97 in some P-’em-I-T-A prison, which probly aint’ much diff’rent from their stoopid ev’ryday roofin’ shiz. No doubt.

Whorehouse Days events banned from city buildings

What a shame. What a mutha-$%#%in’ shame.

Birds May Be Behind Exploding German Toads

I &%#@in’ told y’all. “Nah, C4, it wudn’t no birds.”
Eat it, bitchez!

…and what did I find? The tastiest treats. Happy Friday.

In case you ever become homeless: Chicken coop designs

Ben Can’t Breathe!
Sounds like farmer’s lung to me. Maybe Ben shouldn’t spend all day shoveling chicken turds.

Beotchfork reviews Out Hud live. Strange seeing how people from North Carolina rant.

Worst news in history: Sealab 2021’s dead

Wigwam!

Since I don’t care enough to write one myself, here are tons of Gang of Four reviews. They’re probably good enough to allow Menomena open for them. But $22.75? Shiz.

Sum-mah, sum-mah, sum-mah, sum-mahtime, summahtime.

“Bobby Brown is lookin’ rough” - The rest of the gems

Full evidence of why I’m not going:
Complete Coachella Schedule (sans Doves) & the Coachooser

The electlic car is here. (sorta from land-o-links)

Local schmoes find $100,000 cash treasure

In one of the most indirect bank robberies in history, two dudes from (laugh) Methuen, MA randomly dug up over $100-large in 100+-year-old cash. “Ranting like a rabid monkey”, the dudes went to a coin shop, where the owner quickly locked them in his back room and tortured them, a la Pulp Fiction, then cashed their booty in for himself. He should’ve, anyway.

But, if someone in the area has a printing press capable of churning out early 20th-century bills, this would have to be the best prank I’ve ever heard of.

Publicist: Cruise dating actress Katie Holmes

In a temporary “I’m not gay” announcement, Tom Cruise has admitted to getting it on with Katie Holmes, who’s 16 years his junior. Seems like that should be illegal. Oh well, let us congratulate Katie Holmes on entering the unspeakable world of Tom Cruise’s STDs.

Pikeville, KY demands apology from A&E

Pikeville flat-out keeps it real. They’re not ritzy, but they’re definitely not low-class. The sweet mountains of Kentucky are filled with the coolest, nicest people on earth, certainly compared to Tennessee. These kind folks make you Massholes seem French.

Houston bans offensive odor in libraries

A former hobo haven, the Houston library system, is giving hobos the cold shoulder, as their stench has begun to damage books and scare kids. Librarians are quietly ushering bums and whores out of the buildings, cutting off their supply of information and toilet paper. Truly a sad day in Houston history.

Pistons fan faces charges for throwing coin at A.I.

Ok, ok, you guys win. The American public fully acknowledges Detroit Piston fans as the worst fans in sports, coming as a surprise to no one. For a long time, I’ve wondered who will be the first athlete shot and killed during a sporting event, and I’ve narrowed it down to anyone playing on the road against the Pistons.

Why don’t Piston fans save themselves all of the criminal hassle and just start attacking the Lions? No one would press charges, I guarantee.

“Dolla Dolla Drafts Y’all”

Gorillaz’ role in indie-pop is a knot between consciencious objection and hedonism.

Demon Days parlays party-ready post-rock laced by futurist garage-hop as elastic as something DuPont would make. As war soaks our culture, Le Gorille preach a mobile, educated escapism capable of adapting to the level of humor and ingenuity necessary to survive precarious times.

The playful sound of apes mates an array of inventive blends of hip-hop, king of pop, europop, and indie rock worthy of any rockers or DJs y’all know. Consider Albarn & Co. evidence that we can have our fun, as long as we keep evolving.

Poker-faced and idealistic, Gorillaz channel the pent-up resentment of stifled youth bent on revolution. The first thought, “Last Living Souls”, feverishly begs the apocalyptic question, as if cornered and ready to do something about it. “Kids With Guns” aggravates and commands riot through angry crashing and echoed detachment. But, freshly, “O Green World” lightens the mood with a Nintendolicious jaunt into striding garage rock.
Eat it, %#&*ing Weezer.

The album’s midsection is a test, it’s of a party’s ability to survive the seriousness of everyday life. Organically similar to Jay-Z’s “Hard Knock-Life”, but far smoother, “Dirty Harry” waxes angelic in the midst of ghettoflash thunder. Demon Days exhibits numerous ways to break it down, play with fire, and carry the party through the night. “Feel Good Inc.” hollas at Outkast’s “Hey Ya” in a bouncetastic acoustic pump chillin with chicken-wang, backporch hip-hop.

Albarn relieves the album and tired booties with a transitory stargaze period. With confidence, “El Manana” is stranded but optimistic on a tropical island, at least calm in its desperation. “Every Planet We Visit Is Dead” is a hammocked collapse into slumber and a slow, churning orbit around an insistent organ tapping itself to stay lucid.

The fast pace swells again as growling street anthems throw a brick in the mainstream party window. “White Light” echoes the slicing opening riff from Interpol’s “Slow Hands”, but keeps it real with a thugged-out grunge beat straight out of the 90’s. “DARE” recalls a cracked-out 80’s Miami club, coke on the neon. Electrosynth fireworks fuel an adrenal duet of purely preserved insanity.

Albarn even tips his hat to himself, as somewhere out of Parklife is “Fire Coming Out of a Monkey’s Head”, featuring Dennis Hopper’s instructive speech laid upon a bounced houserock beat.

Finally, into the ultrasound womb we go. “Don’t Get Lost In Heaven” is a choral piano tap, XX’ed, swooning. “Demon Days” rolls a snare into swirling woodwinds beneath Albarn’s chimney sweep wail, eventually flowing to a bansheed crescendo, showin’ that the ladiez can freak you out, too.

Like surgeons and rebels, Gorillaz don’t hesitate to go street mix and studio masters to the max, all done with the accuracy and precision our technology allows. The beats are unheard of, the synths send shockwaves, and vocals of all ranges fuel a revolution. We didn’t deserve this album for another five years.

Gorilla Dance. Gorilla Dance.