50 Worst Album Covers of All Time - Part 1

My friend sent me this list from Redeye, a free daily edition of the Chicago Tribune. There, now I've given them credit, which is fine because these are pretty good. However, as they declined to provide any commentary on the photos, I figured I'd add my own. So here we go...


#50
It's as if Meathead's family was in Sears shopping for matching outfits when they realized you could get a portrait done in front of a barn mural! Incidentally, this album came with a bucket of fried chicken, and a tire.


#49

I have so very many questions. Is that Dickie? Does she really have that many arms? And what does an inhibited drum rhythm sound like?


#48
This is an obvious fake. First of all, Russians don't smile. Second, there has never been a balloon in or around Russia, ever. Third, this guy in the front, if he were really Russian, would have eaten that thing instead of wearing it on his head.


#47

Thank God he told us it was him, Orion, reborn! I never would have recognized him behind that mask. I might have known, though, since the original Orion wore more than one color. And a belt. Well played, sir.


#46

Your guess is as good as mine. Let me just tell you that one of them bites the guitar for most of the act.


#45
Apparently, Tucker was plagued by horrible nightmares. Huh? It says trucker? Oh God, that's even worse.


#44


The first thing to understand about your Swede is where to put the apostrophe, and any extra "e's" you might have layin around. The second is where to hide if he's carrying an axe and a sack.


#43


C'mon, this is kind of clever. Especially considering the mule thought of it.


#42


If this were a list of the fifty BEST album covers of all time, this would take number one hands down. Somebody fucked up here.


#41

Incomparable. Talk about "le mot juste." When it takes FIVE masters to present you, and your name is in chrome, you are truly incomparable. Look how close he is to that mirror. Magnifique! That is a mirror, right?


#40


The Julcia clan tried to cash in on the new "love and peace" era that had made their kind of folk music obsolete. They started by offering "lots of it." They even convinced Papa Louie to have his first and last names appear in pink and blue. It wasn't easy. Papa Louie hated coloreds.

The point was moot, however, as the entire family was killed in their sleep by "Little Jackie," who insisted he was NOT "one of the boys."


#39


Sadly, Ken didn't get many requests. But he wouldn't have been able to hear them anyway. Ken was catatonic.


#38

For one brief, shining moment each morning, Rick really was free. Free from his shadow. Free indeed. The goddamn file folder was another story.


#37

You know Les originally wanted to call this space boners or some shit. Fuckin Les. He was like that.


#36

You do not EVER want to know what it takes to make Merrill happy again. Seriously, right now you have about four minutes to get out of the room.


#35

Yep, that's right. He has a "best." I wonder who would win in a death fight between him, Merrill, and...


#34

Tony was like a God. King of all he saw. Looking down on his world. Of insanity.


#33


One member of this "band" has murder in her eyes. Another one has the weapon in her hair. Those McKeithen boys never stood a chance.


#32


I don't see what's so wrong about this.


#31

And grows up to be Leatherface.


#30


A) Nothing is dead here except your eyes, Weela. B) What kind of a name is Weela? Is that supposed to be like Phil McKracken or something? Because I don't get it. C) Your "adult comedy laugh-in" features clowns, monkeys, and straw hats. D) You used the phrase "an hysterical." I sentence you to death before you kill the monkey, too, you fat bitch.


#29


I'm not gonna lie. I want to hear this album.


#28

That's nice. Dress up some poor blind girls in terrible clown outfits and do their hair like it's Halloween, then take their picture and sell it. Why don't you set some cats on fire while you're at it?


#27


C'mon, now. This is at least a little bit clever. It's a play on that Herb Alpert cover, but with old ladies. They have to know that they're....oh dear God you're right, it's disgusting.


#26


Everything that needs to be said is already there. Joyce. Fifty Cents.

Next time: #25 to #1!

Rare Praise: The Dark Knight

WARNING: If you’re one of the six people left in the world that hasn’t seen The Dark Knight yet, there may be spoilers below. If, like me, you’ve already seen it three times, then read on.

I hate hype. Rarely, if ever, does a big summer movie live up to the hype that inescapably accompanies it. The recent Indiana Jones and Star Wars poop-farms come to mind, although as far as I’m concerned, those franchises are still only trilogies. Let’s just pretend those other four “films” never happened, shall we? Oh, sorry; five “films”—someone keeps letting George Lucas make Star Wars movies, only now they’re fully computer-animated instead of being only 95% computer-animated. Don’t you have enough goddamned money yet, George? FUCK!

But I digress. I’m not here to chastise Hollywood for butt-fucking yet another good idea to death. I’m actually here to praise them for somehow managing to churn out what is arguably the best piece of summer entertainment I’ve ever seen. The Dark Knight’s hype was grandiose, yet the movie itself still managed to deliver more than any ad campaign could have ever promised. Try swallowing this: from the same studio that brought you Batman and Robin comes yet another comic book sequel…but with a dark and complex story, featuring stand-out performances by an all-star cast, one of whom posthumously gives us one of the best villains in movie history. Sounds like total bullshit, right? Nay, good readers. It be the gospel.

Now I’m not saying this film is flawless. Even after three viewings, I still can’t figure out why Batman doesn’t just send Gordon to save Dent and rescue his beloved damsel in distress himself (aside from the fact that blowing up your love interest is fucking NAILS, Brothers Nolan!) And I just can’t shake how forced Heath Ledger’s laugh seems to me throughout the film. (In the dead man’s defense, that shit ain’t easy to pull off, and it’s the only chink in an otherwise masterful performance.) AND, in a movie filled with Batmen and Jokers and Eric Roberts of all people, my disbelief only became unsuspended when not one of those ferryboat passengers was able to blow his condemned counterparts straight to hell. (But perhaps that’s more telling of my own lack of faith in mankind than any glaring misstep by the filmmakers.)

Which brings me to the point of this little column, dear readers: the fact that a Batman movie can make me question such things as my faith in mankind is nothing short of extraordinary. The mere notion that an escapist popcorn fantasy could elicit such thought and emotion from even one its viewers is simply astounding. If for no other reason than that, this movie has raised the bar for me. Not just for action movies or comic book movies, but for movies in general. The Dark Knight showed me that movies don’t have to be just 90 minutes worth of mindless, useless drivel aimed at temporarily satiating an increasingly apathetic, idiotic public. Movies can make you feel, they can make you THINK. Hell, they can inspire you to write blogs about how inspired you are to finally be inspired again by this medium that once so inspired you! In short, movies are still everything I hoped they could be.

So I add my voice to the hype for The Dark Knight. But now I’ve probably built it up too much. Maybe you should go see The Clone Wars instead. I hear George Lucas needs the money. Douchebag.

Tales From Dodger Stadium: Ejected

My buddy Ian is the biggest Dodger fan I know. I live right across the street from the
stadium, and we often go to games together. A couple months ago we went to a game, and for
the first time (for me at least), got kicked out.

Most of the time when I go see the Dodgers it's to sit in the nosebleed section. The tickets
are cheap and the view is decent if you can get seats somewhere between 3rd and 1st base (and
you usually can). The only problem with that section is that sometimes it gets rowdy. Now
don't get me wrong, I ain't scurred. I'd just rather not leave the game having actually
joined a gang. I'll do my jumping in on the streets, thank you very much. I should clarify
that if you're wearing Dodger blue you're pretty much in the clear. If you have a Dodgers
tattoo you're even better off. I saw a fan once with the Dodgers script logo tattooed across
his chest diagonally, and the same thing in reverse across his back. These are fans.

A few times, though, I've made the mistake of going to games with my friends, who are pretty
much all Arizona fans. And I made the added mistake of bringing them to a Dodgers/Dbacks
game. My buddies got a little, how shall we say, shit-hammered and started supporting their
team vociferously. We got pelted with limes and garlic fries, but made it out with our hides.

On another occasion, one of my friends was wearing a red U of A shirt that said "Don't tell me to
sit down" on the back. The Dodgers were playing the Angels, so he wasn't wearing the
opposition's gear (he wasn't, in fact, wearing any pro team's gear). None of that mattered to
the four GIANT cholos behind us. They saw red, and that was all they needed to see. It got
so bad I put my Dodger hat on my buddy's head. That didn't help. Things were starting to get
out of control, and I felt we had a legitimate reason to fear for his safety, and by reason of
association, ours. A few seconds later this was confirmed by two security guards who showed
up and told my friend "Sir, we have to move you now. For your own safety." Much easier to do
that then face multiple thugs I guess. They moved him down about 6 rows. Wow, thanks. That
just made the objects hurled at him hit a bit harder. A full beer got dumped on him, and he
took off his red shirt (and not because it was wet). He put on a sweatshirt and tried to make
himself small. Luckily, right at that moment, a girl in an Angels hat stood up, turned around, and gave the double middle finger to everyone behind her. She was joined by a middle aged guy in Angels gear, and the crowd turned its rage on them. After several minutes more, the actual cops showed up and arrested all four thugs.

So on to my own experience of being ejected. Ian and I walked over to the park. We had field
level seats, but way out by the foul pole on the first base side. One thing I've learned is that you can get those seats fairly cheap, and then move to field level seats closer to home plate. You've got your access to the field level, and that's all you need. So many people don't show up or leave early, that you can always watch at least half the game from a pretty excellent vantage point. So about the 6th inning, we moved. Things were going fine until we spotted some open seats further in and in the FRONT ROW. Now THAT'S field level. We mosied on over. About five seats away from our target I noticed that a security guard on the field was watching us. She let us take the seats though. I knew that if we behaved ourselves, we'd be fine. Unfortunately I didn't know that behaving yourself in this part of the ballpark now means not swearing.

Something happened at second base, and Jeff Kent, the Dodgers' second baseman, didn't like it.
He started arguing with the umpire and the Joe Torre came running out. I didn't see the play
because we were too busy taking our fake seats. Anyway, it got heated and resulted in both
Kent and Torre being ejected. So whatever it was, there was probably a legitimate beef there,
right? Ian yelled "aw, that's BULLSHIT!" to the field, and the security guard had what she'd
been waiting for. She immediately came up to the wall and asked to see our tickets. "Alright, alright, we'll go back to our seats. I'm sorry," Ian said. We went about 8 rows up to some other seats we could pretend were ours, not near anyone by about 4 rows, and sat down. Play resumed. Ian soon found another thing to bitch about, or maybe it was the same thing, I don't remember. But he was just being a fan. Anyway, a morbidly obese member of AARP in front of us turned around and told us (Ian) not to swear, because there were "womenfolk" around. "Did you just say womenfolk?" I asked. He neither responded to or looked at me, but proceeded to get up and come up to the row in front of us and walk in until he was right in front of Ian. He started arguing with Ian about being polite, which quickly turned into threats to take Ian out into the parking lot and fight him!

It should be noted here that Ian was handling the situation very well. He didn't stand up, he didn't raise his voice once, and he didn't even swear. Meanwhile, this fat old tub o'lard was calling him every name in the book and spitting when he talked. He wouldn't look at me once, despite my repeated declarations of "Sir, you are spitting on us. Sir. You are spitting on us, sir." I was determined to be the polite one. Finally Ian had had enough, and told the old man that if he really wanted, he'd meet him in the parking lot and slug him. He actually used the word "slug." I was amused by that.

Finally the guy goes and sits down. Way to represent civility and chivalry, asshole. Next,
an entire row of women who, I kid you not, actually had sweaters tied around their necks 80s
yuppie style, proceeded to argue with Ian. He had suggested that all he was doing was being a
fan, and that if they were fans they should have been outraged at the play like he was. The
first one said "Um, excuse me, we have season tickets here. Do you know how much those cost?
We ARE fans." "Oh yeah?" Ian replied. "What division are the Dodgers in?" She had nothing.
"What LEAGUE are they in?" he asked. She snorted and turned around. Could it have been a
"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer" snort? Maybe. But I tend to think she just didn't know.

The next thing we knew, four police officers and 2 security guards were standing over us. I
naively thought they were there to find the big fat old guy who was spitting all over,
threatening violence on people and moving several rows to do it. But no. It was for us. We
were instructed to get up and come with them. For what? I asked. For swearing, came the
reply. Are you serious? Yes, apparently they were. We got up and slowly followed them out,
to a chorus of boos from the crowd. I enjoyed that quite a bit.

When I asked if we were really being kicked out for swearing, I was told that yes, we were,
because it is against the fan conduct policy. When I asked why the old man who swore, spit,
and committed assault on us according to the legal definition wasn't being kicked out, they
said they would "look into it."

The fact is that baseball is now primarily a rich man's game. People are paying hundreds of
dollars for field level seats, and the owner of the team is catering to them. Bars, club boxes with waitstaff, private bathrooms, and all sorts of amenities are being added, and Frank McCourt has plans to do another $500 Million worth of "renovating" to the place. It mostly consists of a mall and restaurants (you still won't be able to take public transportation to the stadium). And these wealthy people don't want a real, gritty, baseball experience. They want to watch it like it's on tv in their beige livingrooms. If they could bring their overpriced couches with them they probably would. It's more about being seen, and the presige that comes with being able to afford expensive season tickets than it is about the team or the game. Never mind what division the Dodgers are in. They are called the Dodgers, right?

Long gone are the days when the iron worker or carpet salesman sat next to the wall street
broker in a cramped Brooklyn shithole on a hot summer day. Now the working class sits in the
bleachers or the upper deck. I despise the violence I see sometimes in the cheap seats, but
the elitism down on the field is just as bad. Contrary to popular belief, baseball is NOT a family affair. It isn't cricket or golf, people. Those guys out there? They take steroids. They chew tobacco. They spit and scratch their balls on tv, and they kick and punch the shit out of each other when they get mad, which because of the steroids, is all the time. They say the F word. They cheat on their wives. They drink, smoke, and eat like pigs. And they don't get kicked out just for swearing.

Crapping on My Childhood: Robocop 3

Forgive me.  I know I'm 15 years late on this.   I don't care.   Allow me to set the stage. 

Back in the late 1980s before I had a driver's license or a car, my best friend and I would ride our bikes up to the movie theater every Friday.   We did not care what we saw as long as it was a) violent, b) ultraviolent, or c) hyperviolent and preferably starred one of the holy trinity of Schwarzenegger, Van Damme, or Seagal.  The list of bad movies I paid to see as a teenager is perhaps only exceeded by the number of bad movies those 3 actors have combined to make in the intervening decades.



So in July 1987 when Paul Verhoeven unleashed Robocop on an unsuspecting American audience, my mind was, as the kids say, BLOWN.  It was a perfect storm of dystopia, hyperviolence, adult content and dark, dark humor.   Peter Weller, who I'm pretty sure is just barely human as it is, was perfect as the titular cyborg police officer.  And Kurtwood Smith may still be my gold standard for screen villains.  Ain't nobody been written yet that can fuck with Clarence Boddiker*.   Outside of Robocop and his fellow officers, the rest of New Detroit was inhabited by horrifically unlikeable and compelling douchebags, whether they were the alpha male bottom-liners from OCP, Clarence's posse of felonious freaks (most notably Paul McCrane as Emil), or the random weirdos that dotted the Blade-Runner-Gone-Wild landscape (a hostage-taking mayor and the absurd "I'd buy that for a dollar!" guy).



I could write several thousand words about how completely awesome the original RoboCop is.  But that's not what I came here to do today.  I came here to heap scorn and vitriol upon the back-alley abortion that is RoboCop 3.   I avoided watching this movie for 15 years because I knew in my heart of hearts that it would kill a little bit of my soul.   From the trailer alone, it had 3 strikes against it: 1) No Peter Weller, 2) Rated PG-13, 3) Robocop could now fucking fly.  If only the reasons I hated this move stopped at those three.   What else could possibly go wrong?   How about Robocop's nemesis in this film being a samurai robot THAT ONLY LOOKS LIKE A ROBOT WHEN YOU DISLOCATE ITS JAW? The rest of the time, it's just a buff Japanese dude wielding a sword.  Geigh.   Despite this, he somehow gives a very well-armored and armed Robocop a run for his money. If there's anything I've learned from movies (particularly Raiders of the Lost Ark), when you bring a knife to a gunfight, it is going to be a very short fight unless your name is Morpheus or Neo.



And then there's this stupid kid running around.   I don't hate kids or kids movies, but this is fucking Robocop.  If there are going to be kids in this movie, they need to either be murderous drug-dealing anklebiters or marauding pillaging Little Leaguers like the were in RoboCop 2.  Not moppet programming geniuses who, I shit you not, make an ED-209 "loyal as a puppy."   If I need to explain what an ED-209 is to you, you are not my audience and I hate you for not being angered by the fact that Robocop STROKED A KID'S FUCKING HAIR WHILE MUTTERING SOME MUMBO-JUMBO ABOUT LOVE.   I would quote the line, but I wasn't paying attention because I was too busy cutting myself.  I get the whole machine-with-feeling routine, but that, simply, is not how Robocop rolls.



Oddly, the one place where this movie scores, its casting, it completely squanders any opportunity to be cool.   Only Rip Torn salvages his dignity, but I'm pretty sure that's because he doesn't have much, and he always plays "Rip Torn."   But seriously, look at the illustrious group of character actors that litter the credits: Bradley Whitford (The West Wing), CCH Pounder (The Shield), Stephen Root (News Radio, Office Space), Daniel Von Bargen (Malcolm in the Middle, Oh Brother Where Art Thou?), and ubiquitous Japanese old guy Mako (every movie that needed a Japanese old guy).  And to a person, they chewed scenery like Red Man at a gun show.



And I blame it all on Fred Dekker.   This is his last listed directing credit and let us all thank Christ for that. It pains me to type that.   Mr. Dekker wrote and directed one of my favorite horror movies, Night of the Creeps.   But he took one of the greatest action heroes in cinema history and turned him into a flying (with visible fucking effects wires, natch) joke.   Oh and did I mention that Robocop doesn't even show up for the first 15 minutes of the movie?  That's not suspense, Mr. Dekker, that's hating on the audience.



So, yeah. RoboCop 3 = ass nastiness.   Because I can't find a clip of the stupid wires when RoboCop flies at the end, here's a lame fight sequence between Robo and robot samurai guy. Keeping in line with the abyss of suck that surrounds this film, it of course ends 2 seconds before the aforementioned visible wire sequence which I wanted you to hate in the first place.



*Geek note: My buddy was working on a show with Kurtwood Smith and they were alone together in a trailer where my buddy was cuing Kurt's action. for the scene. So my buddy starts asking him about good directors and Kurtwood starts talking about Paul Verhoeven and how he gave him so much freedom to run with his character in Robocop and then proceeds to re-enact EVERY COOL SCENE FROM ROBOCOP with commentary on how and why he came up with his lines and actions. Geek fucking heaven.

A Likely Scenario: Lee Majors vs. Andre the Giant

First of all, I have to give credit to the fine folk over at Basketbawful who dug up this gem. Sometimes you have to stretch to find A Likely Scenario; other times they just drop in your lap. Here's the set-up, per Basketbawful:

That random mention of the Six Million Dollar Man -- not to mention seeing Big Baby's beastly physique -- reminded me of the awesomest episode of any TV series ever: The one where Steve Austin fought Bigfoot. But before all you hippies start getting your panties in a bunch, don't worry. No actual Bigfoots were harmed in the making of this video. It was actually a robot Bigfoot created by space aliens to protect their secret mountain lair. And no, I'm not making that up.

It's an astounding piece of footage. First of all, I remember loving this show as a kid. Can someone please tell me why? Was I (and the rest of America) naive enough to believe that Sound Effect + Slow Motion = Bionic? Apparently, yes. Watching it with my 2008 eyes, the effects actually combine to make Lee Majors look perilously unathletic, and a tad dumb. (Note: I question neither the physical nor mental capabilities of Mr. Majors as he both married and divorced an in-her-prime Farrah Fawcett, so he obviously had the physique to capture her and the good sense to release her back into the wild where she could go crazy all by her lonesome, in front of millions.)

On the flip side, Andre the Giant as Bigfoot (take that, John C. Reilly!) looks positively spry in this clip for those of us who only remember his arthritic and oafish (yet, brilliant) performance in The Princess Bride. I like the fact that for the Sasquatch roars, they actually used his unmistakeable Dread Pirate Roberts growl.

And the dialogue! Despite the hilarity of Colonel Austin's attempts to communicate with Bigfoot, the cake-taker for best line has to be:

No, I'll still bet on the Sasaquatch.

Because what oppresive alien regime wouldn't allow wagering on mythical robot-beasts? And the actor says it with such smugness that we know it's only a matter of time before Andre the Giant Robot gets his arm torn off. Thanks for the foreshadowing, pal-o-mine!

Which brings me to the actual fight. This is as good as "so bad it's good" gets. There really aren't enough bongos or piccolos in action scores anymore. And, man, those sound effects! In addition to the trademark "Bionic Noise", we get awesome bomb sounds every time someone hits the ground. And how quaint is it that once little Stevie Austin has dismembered Sass, he lets him have his arm back. You know, instead of beating him to death with it? It's enough to make my head explode to think that at one point in our televisual history, the sight of two men, one in a Bigfoot costume, mind you, fighting in slow motion could command seven minutes of prime-time network television. SEVEN FREAKING MINUTES. That's basically a sixth of the show's running time once commercials are accounted for. And people watched this. Apparently everyone really was doing drugs in the 70s.

I love this video and only regret that I can't find the sequel: "The Bionic Man vs. A Solid Wall of Rock." (Note to alien gamblers: Don't bet on the wall.)

On Notice: The NBA

Tonight is Game 4 of The NBA Finals. I can’t really say I give much of a shit anymore, aside from the fact that I love to watch a good Laker-beating. What I can’t bear to watch, however, is the beating the NBA continues to dish out with this latest wrinkle in the Tim Donaghy scandal. His Holiness David Stern would like to dismiss it as the last act of a desperate man, but I don’t care if it’s the first act of Henry V. Something is definitely rotten in the state of professional basketball. (That’s right, I’m quoting both Shakespeare and Mel Brooks in a sports blog. Peach Basket, bitches.)

The debacle that was last year’s playoffs nearly put me off the NBA entirely. I even went so far as to publicly renounce the game several times, not unlike my repeated vows to move to Australia back in 2004 if Bush were to win “another” election. Needless to say, I’m still here, and I still watched the NBA this season. But now I think I may have been pushed too far.

Sure, this is a convicted felon who’s singing like a bird for a little leniency on his impending prison sentence. But don’t they lean on criminals to get them to sing? Hasn’t this been a law enforcement tactic since the advent of the good cop/bad cop routine? Why, all of a sudden, and apparently just because the Commish says so, should we not take anything he says seriously? Don’t get me wrong, I hate Donaghy’s guts. He can piss blood and crap piss the rest of his life for all I care. But since that life is already a shambles—divorced, unemployable and mere weeks away from incarceration and an ass-pounding he so richly deserves—the poor bastard really has little left to lose. Why lie now? Donaghy probably sees himself as a whistleblower (no pun intended); Stern's portraying him as the only criminal in an otherwise just league. My guess is that, as with most extremes, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

Whatever that truth may be, I’m betting that referee corruption is a league-wide problem, not just a Donaghy problem. Ol’ Timmy seems less and less like the rogue bad apple Stern wants him to be (a claim that reeked of stubbornly defiant horseshit from the start) and more and more like the stool pigeon he most likely is. At least that’s the pill I find easier to swallow right now, even though I still don’t like the taste. After all, I’ve loved/hated this game for more than 20 years; the last thing I want is to turn my back on it. Like a battered wife, I want to believe that the injustices I’ve suffered were only isolated incidents of poor judgment, not calculated patterns of abuse. But every year I just get more reasons to leave and fewer reasons to stay. So throw me a bone, NBA. I can only tell people I fell down the stairs for one more season.

A Likely Scenario: ZZ Top Goes Goth

ZZ Top and vampires. What could possibly go wrong?



Yes, that's Fairuza Balk as the goth hottie and yes again that's worst-Bond-movie-assassin-ever Vincent Schiavelli as her... Um, I'm not sure exactly. Whatever. He's creepy.

This was about the last time we saw the longbeards on the network that killed the radio star. Some might blame this video. I might blame a 7-minute long bluesy meditation on being stuck in a relationship from the guys who gave you "Pearl Necklace", "Tube Snake Boogie", and "Legs." That might be overestimating your audience a bit.