THE MANIFIZZTO: 95 FECES 95
Welcome to the Fizzbunker. As your convivial host, the Fizzy One, I hereby guarantee enough excess carbonation to make your cup runneth over and give you burps for hours. You may also address me as Ye Olde Fizzie One, Fizzmaster General, El Fizzbo or Fizzicus Maximus. One special person is permitted to address me as Fizzysnookums, and she knows who she is.
Serious, weighty issues will be avoided. Unless they are unavoidable, in which case, we go in slugging.
Music is my passion, so a goodly amount of space here will be devoted to it: reviewing new releases and old classics and obscurities, lampooning the bad stuff, championing the cause of hard rock and heavy metal, etc.
However, I will also frequently comment on whatever fires me up, be it strange news, personal anecdotes (but not too personal, I hope), and the occasional creative piece (parody, silly poem, possible forays into short fiction, etc.).
Footwear is optional in the Fizzbunker.
We eat with our fingers whenever possible. And lick them.
My thirsty compadres need not waste valuable seconds in pouring beverages into glasses, and instead may consume them from whatever vessel they are already stored in.
The battle cry of the Fizz Army is "Whooooooooo-EE!"
Honesty is to be valued, although that application can be minimized for short periods of time. But I will do my damnedest not to do that.
Loyalty to one’s friends and loved ones is a priceless commodity and greatly prized within the ranks of the Fizz Army.
The official snack food of the Fizzbunker is barbecue potato chips. Although beef jerky is nice too. And chocolate chip cookies, the chewy kind that you can put in your mouth whole. Or I can, anyway.
The official beverages of the Fizz Army are Pabst Blue Ribbon (Corona on special occasions or when company comes), and chocolate milk (before 3:00 PM).
Scrapple tastes better than it sounds, as long as you don’t think about what-all’s actually IN scrapple. You don’t want to know. All this talk of food is making me hungry. More on Fizzbunker dining later.
Jackyl is one band that deserves much more respect than they get.
On the other hand, Poison is to be shunned and held up for public ridicule. As are bands with corpse-paint applied via garden trowel, and Scandinavian names that sound like the vocalizations of demented, speech-impaired cartoon monsters. Except Amon Amarth. I hereby pledge to defend the multitude of bands who are routinely and unfairly labeled "glam," simply because they were popular in the ’80’s and early ‘90’s and didn’t play thrash. Tesla is perhaps the most unfortunate victim of this phenomena, but also Skid Row, Jackyl, Dangerous Toys, Junkyard, Tora Tora and countless others. The term "hair band" is to be avoided for the gross slur that it is, effective yesterday. If there is indeed such a thing as "hair metal," then Firehouse’s first two albums are among the best to be had.
"I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry" is the greatest country song ever written. "Long-Haired Country Boy" is a close second, however.
The Fizz Army headquarters are located deep in the wilds of Slower Lower Delaware. I and other lifelong proud Slower Lower Delawareans are the only ones permitted to use that term. All others will be beaten severely with dead chickens. If desired, this general area may be referred to as Delmarva, so named for the three states that make up the peninsula.
However, the word "Delmarvians" was invented by some snooty bastard from upstate Delaware, who thinks we all wear feed caps and overalls. Which is NOT NECESSARILY true. And if we do, that’s our own damn Fizzness, now isn’t it?
The Civil War is, in fact, over, despite what D-Day might think. Sorry, D-Day. However, Delmarva being border country, the occasional skirmish or dust-up is to be anticipated with glee.
But Yankees are welcome in the Fizzbunker anyway. We won’t bite ya. We might accidentally-on-purpose spill our beer on you though. Speaking of beer, hot steamed shrimp and cold beer is one of the most perfect combinations to be tasted.
Corn on the cob, over buttered, is the best vegetable on earth. Followed closely by pickled beets and string beans.
A salad does not constitute a meal, even if you get unlimited refills and layer on the cheese, bacon bits and high-test dressing.
The best pizza can be found any of the fine Delmarva Grotto’s Pizza locations. That was not a paid endorsement; I just love their pizza. I’m still hungry.
I love my lady.
NASCAR won’t be the same without Bill Elliott.
The Baltimore Orioles are doomed to suck for at least another three seasons. Trying to recapture the glory days of ’97 by getting back Rafael Palmero won’t help them.
Basketball season goes on for way too long.
Moreover, Portland, Oregon doesn’t deserve any sort of professional sports team, as it is a haven for tree-hugging hippies.
Guitar solos are not absolutely necessary, but are greatly appreciated.
On the other hand, twenty- and thirty-something bald guys who use their music as a vehicle to cry and/or rail against every slight, real or imagined, are to be despised.
Excessive piercings (i.e. those not confined to the ears) look incredibly silly.
Goths are to be pitied, not hated. Wait, they love being pitied, so go ahead and hate them.
The Ford Mustang is the coolest car ever.
Know-it-allism is a quality not to be desired. We don’t know everything here at the Fuzzbunker. But we suspect we might. Just kidding. We know a little, and we can guess the rest.
Elmore Leonard and Loren D. Estleman might actually be the same person; both write excellent, and very similar books.
Speaking of literature, Clive Cussler never should’ve replaced Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino as his protagonists.
Dave Barry, although he has lost some of his touch in recent times, is still one of the funniest writers alive, and made me want to be a writer myself.
Criss Crossby Tom Kakonis is an undiscovered gem of a novel, and an all-time favorite.
So is King Silky! By Leo Rosten, and possibly the single most hilarious book I’ve ever read.
Still another great read is The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, by Ron Hansen.
English majors in college can be some of the most frustrating and insufferable people you could hope not to meet; I know, I was an English major for four years, until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and switched to public-relations, which I am probably equally ill-suited for.
The Fizzbunker policy on infidelity is quite explicit and non-negotiable. Guess what it says.
Oklahoma is to be the official Scapegoat State, the butt of jokes and an overall source of ridicule. Others can have their West Virginias and Alabama’s, but who needs those when you have Oklahoma?
Downtuning one’s guitar is not to be used as a crutch to prop up shoddy talent. Good thrash metal is just as valuable as good plain hard rock.
The fancier the restaurant, the less spectacular the steak is likely to be.
The reverse is not necessarily t rue, however. Mexican restaurants are great: where else can you start eating as soon as you sit down?
Annoying, screaming-meemie car-dealer commercials should be outlawed. So should wheedling, groveling cell-phone carrier ads.
Anyone who says they didn’t realize smoking is bad for you deserves to get lung cancer.
Doing nothing can be as much fun as doing anything. However, there is a definite time when action is needed. Failure to recognize this can bring about deadly paralysis.
There will be no rap "music" allowed in the Fizzbunker.
There is no discrimination in the Fizz Army, except that based on stupidity and/or assholism.
Fireworks are among the greatest inventions of all time, along with blue jeans, computers, beer and roller-coasters and the electric guitar.
Good barbecue is well worth the mess involved.
Ninety-five is an awful big number, wouldn’tcha say?
Anybody who reads Playboy only for the pictures is seriously missing out.
Anybody w ho reads Rolling Stone for the articles is similarly deprived, 90% of the time.
There is an official Fizzbunker handshake. However, it is impossible to describe in writing. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
Drugs may be left at the door.
Pets are welcome.
D-Day’s Revenge will become a rolling Internet juggernaut.
Good day to you, sir. I said good day!
THE MANIFIZZTO: 95 FECES 95
Welcome to the Fizzbunker. As your convivial host, the Fizzy One, I hereby guarantee enough excess carbonation to make your cup runneth over and give you burps for hours. You may also address me as Ye Olde Fizzie One, Fizzmaster General, El Fizzbo or Fizzicus Maximus. One special person is permitted to address me as Fizzysnookums, and she knows who she is.
Serious, weighty issues will be avoided. Unless they are unavoidable, in which case, we go in slugging.
Music is my passion, so a goodly amount of space here will be devoted to it: reviewing new releases and old classics and obscurities, lampooning the bad stuff, championing the cause of hard rock and heavy metal, etc.
However, I will also frequently comment on whatever fires me up, be it strange news, personal anecdotes (but not too personal, I hope), and the occasional creative piece (parody, silly poem, possible forays into short fiction, etc.).
Footwear is optional in the Fizzbunker.
We eat with our fingers whenever possible. And lick them.
My thirsty compadres need not waste valuable seconds in pouring beverages into glasses, and instead may consume them from whatever vessel they are already stored in.
The battle cry of the Fizz Army is "Whooooooooo-EE!"
Honesty is to be valued, although that application can be minimized for short periods of time. But I will do my damnedest not to do that.
Loyalty to one’s friends and loved ones is a priceless commodity and greatly prized within the ranks of the Fizz Army.
The official snack food of the Fizzbunker is barbecue potato chips. Although beef jerky is nice too. And chocolate chip cookies, the chewy kind that you can put in your mouth whole. Or I can, anyway.
The official beverages of the Fizz Army are Pabst Blue Ribbon (Corona on special occasions or when company comes), and chocolate milk (before 3:00 PM).
Scrapple tastes better than it sounds, as long as you don’t think about what-all’s actually IN scrapple. You don’t want to know. All this talk of food is making me hungry. More on Fizzbunker dining later.
Jackyl is one band that deserves much more respect than they get.
On the other hand, Poison is to be shunned and held up for public ridicule. As are bands with corpse-paint applied via garden trowel, and Scandinavian names that sound like the vocalizations of demented, speech-impaired cartoon monsters. Except Amon Amarth. I hereby pledge to defend the multitude of bands who are routinely and unfairly labeled "glam," simply because they were popular in the ’80’s and early ‘90’s and didn’t play thrash. Tesla is perhaps the most unfortunate victim of this phenomena, but also Skid Row, Jackyl, Dangerous Toys, Junkyard, Tora Tora and countless others. The term "hair band" is to be avoided for the gross slur that it is, effective yesterday. If there is indeed such a thing as "hair metal," then Firehouse’s first two albums are among the best to be had.
"I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry" is the greatest country song ever written. "Long-Haired Country Boy" is a close second, however.
The Fizz Army headquarters are located deep in the wilds of Slower Lower Delaware. I and other lifelong proud Slower Lower Delawareans are the only ones permitted to use that term. All others will be beaten severely with dead chickens. If desired, this general area may be referred to as Delmarva, so named for the three states that make up the peninsula.
However, the word "Delmarvians" was invented by some snooty bastard from upstate Delaware, who thinks we all wear feed caps and overalls. Which is NOT NECESSARILY true. And if we do, that’s our own damn Fizzness, now isn’t it?
The Civil War is, in fact, over, despite what D-Day might think. Sorry, D-Day. However, Delmarva being border country, the occasional skirmish or dust-up is to be anticipated with glee.
But Yankees are welcome in the Fizzbunker anyway. We won’t bite ya. We might accidentally-on-purpose spill our beer on you though. Speaking of beer, hot steamed shrimp and cold beer is one of the most perfect combinations to be tasted.
Corn on the cob, over buttered, is the best vegetable on earth. Followed closely by pickled beets and string beans.
A salad does not constitute a meal, even if you get unlimited refills and layer on the cheese, bacon bits and high-test dressing.
The best pizza can be found any of the fine Delmarva Grotto’s Pizza locations. That was not a paid endorsement; I just love their pizza. I’m still hungry.
I love my lady.
NASCAR won’t be the same without Bill Elliott.
The Baltimore Orioles are doomed to suck for at least another three seasons. Trying to recapture the glory days of ’97 by getting back Rafael Palmero won’t help them.
Basketball season goes on for way too long.
Moreover, Portland, Oregon doesn’t deserve any sort of professional sports team, as it is a haven for tree-hugging hippies.
Guitar solos are not absolutely necessary, but are greatly appreciated.
On the other hand, twenty- and thirty-something bald guys who use their music as a vehicle to cry and/or rail against every slight, real or imagined, are to be despised.
Excessive piercings (i.e. those not confined to the ears) look incredibly silly.
Goths are to be pitied, not hated. Wait, they love being pitied, so go ahead and hate them.
The Ford Mustang is the coolest car ever.
Know-it-allism is a quality not to be desired. We don’t know everything here at the Fuzzbunker. But we suspect we might. Just kidding. We know a little, and we can guess the rest.
Elmore Leonard and Loren D. Estleman might actually be the same person; both write excellent, and very similar books.
Speaking of literature, Clive Cussler never should’ve replaced Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino as his protagonists.
Dave Barry, although he has lost some of his touch in recent times, is still one of the funniest writers alive, and made me want to be a writer myself.
Criss Crossby Tom Kakonis is an undiscovered gem of a novel, and an all-time favorite.
So is King Silky! By Leo Rosten, and possibly the single most hilarious book I’ve ever read.
Still another great read is The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, by Ron Hansen.
English majors in college can be some of the most frustrating and insufferable people you could hope not to meet; I know, I was an English major for four years, until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and switched to public-relations, which I am probably equally ill-suited for.
The Fizzbunker policy on infidelity is quite explicit and non-negotiable. Guess what it says.
Oklahoma is to be the official Scapegoat State, the butt of jokes and an overall source of ridicule. Others can have their West Virginias and Alabama’s, but who needs those when you have Oklahoma?
Downtuning one’s guitar is not to be used as a crutch to prop up shoddy talent. Good thrash metal is just as valuable as good plain hard rock.
The fancier the restaurant, the less spectacular the steak is likely to be.
The reverse is not necessarily t rue, however. Mexican restaurants are great: where else can you start eating as soon as you sit down?
Annoying, screaming-meemie car-dealer commercials should be outlawed. So should wheedling, groveling cell-phone carrier ads.
Anyone who says they didn’t realize smoking is bad for you deserves to get lung cancer.
Doing nothing can be as much fun as doing anything. However, there is a definite time when action is needed. Failure to recognize this can bring about deadly paralysis.
There will be no rap "music" allowed in the Fizzbunker.
There is no discrimination in the Fizz Army, except that based on stupidity and/or assholism.
Fireworks are among the greatest inventions of all time, along with blue jeans, computers, beer and roller-coasters and the electric guitar.
Good barbecue is well worth the mess involved.
Ninety-five is an awful big number, wouldn’tcha say?
Anybody who reads Playboy only for the pictures is seriously missing out.
Anybody w ho reads Rolling Stone for the articles is similarly deprived, 90% of the time.
There is an official Fizzbunker handshake. However, it is impossible to describe in writing. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
Drugs may be left at the door.
Pets are welcome.
D-Day’s Revenge will become a rolling Internet juggernaut.
Good day to you, sir. I said good day!
