Giuseppe Zangara

I would argue that his expression is the least puzzling thing about the cover.

There's hot naked chicks in it. Even if you don't get into the movie, it might be good for spank material.

Kreese, what's your opinion on Luis Buñuel? I recently watched That Obscure Object of Desire; I admired it, but found the characters a little too hateful to say I enjoyed it.

Oh, I know, but I couldn't think of any examples of oh-aren't-we-so-clever reviews off-hand. My point stands. All things considered, watching a video of a monkey drinking its own urine is preferable to reading 800 words of Brent DiCrescenzo's masturbation.

If the delay for both to appear was the result of each writer taking his time to write a fully considered piece on the albums in question, then good. Even though it was funny, the apologetic pugs from Partie Traumatic review must've taken less than an hour from concept to execution. I say the above there, but I realize another part of what makes these reviews work is that Ian Cohen and Scott Plagenhoef (the latter of which wrote, or was at least credited for that Black Kids "review") actually talked about the records. For the longest time, Pitchfork's problem was its writers were so in love with their own writing that they assumed it was good enough to carry each piece. Perhaps Ryan Schreiber et al. have realized that anyone surfing the Internet for music recs can go to countless different blogs or message boards and get their fill of snark and instant opinions. So now they have to offer something different. Or maybe I'm giving them (Pitchfork) too much credit; maybe these two reviews are exceptions to the rule. Perhaps the review for the next Franz Ferdinand album will be a YouTube of a baby eating cat shit.

Both the reviews for this album and Chinese Democracy are surprisingly well written. Are Pitchfork's days of self-consciously witty, "meta" reviews gone? I don't feel like sifting through current reviews of indie bands everyone will forget by next week to find out.

Here's the pic nice and big:

Like fine wine, this thread.

He feels it validates his own opinion.

No fucking lie, I'd still hit that shit.

Kreese's long post up there was on point, mostly. I've said in the past that the story of the making of the album fascinates me endlessly, so of course I was more than to willing to talk about it.

I can't wear clothes that I know for a fact have been worn by someone else. So thrift-store shopping is forever out of the question. And I'm aware there's a good chance that any article of clothing I buy/try out at, say, Old Navy, has been worn by someone else, even if only briefly. It's easy to convince myself that I'm the first one to put on this shirt or those pants. Another thing about this: I'm not some germophobe, not at all. It's the idea that I'm wearing something that has once touched some strange person's skin that makes my own skin crawl.

I'd say that was clever of Paul, but Mike's reaction was probably an unintentional, albeit hilariously so, result.

Learning about other people's quirks makes me realize how lucky I am in comparison. I go through most days without hearing anyone say "panties" or making a grab for my neck or throat. Life for Czech and His Big Ball of Neuroses sounds like the pits. No wonder you're so bitter, dude.

Most album covers would benefit greatly from losing the band and album name. The spray-painted "Guns N Roses" on the wall is one of those rare moments where it worked in using the band name as an integral part of the design. Everything else is overkill.

Going back to the Pitchfork discussion Kreese and I had earlier, I'm surprised they haven't run a review for this yet. Both Friday and today would've been fine times; tomorrow isn't likely, as the new Kanye West album hits stores and they're not going to run reviews for two big-name acts in one day. I dunno, maybe they just haven't yet found the right YouTube video to express their feelings for it.

Keep the logo on the back. The spray-painted name is a nice touch; the album title, if it had to appear on the cover at all, should've been reserved for a sticker on the shrink wrap. It's a strong, eye-catching photo, but what would've made it better requires a certain amount of restraint that I'm sure is completely alien to Axl.

Though I'll note Kreese's post falls more in line with the angry thread.

Brody suffers from reading comprehension problems.

He liked showing his penis to teen-age boys.

A story: I used to work in a book store. Once, while talking to the guy working the register, the guy's arm suddenly shot out and reached for my neck. He was trying to eliminate a piece of fuzz there, but his movement was so quick and unexpected that, even though I got out of his reach in time, the experience horrified me so much that I was shaking, actually fucking trembling for seconds afterward. Upon recovering, I realized I may've insulted the guy, especially since he was gay and he might've taken my abject terror for me being afraid of such innocuous physical contact with him because of it. That wasn't the case, so I told him about my neck-issue. I'm not sure if he believed me.

It should be clarified that this is not a thread for things that make you angry. It is a thread for things that bother/upset/disturb you. For instance, I used to live with a guy who hated the sound styrofoam made when rubbed. Another guy, upon finding this out, started squeezing a styrofoam cup over and over again in his presence. They nearly came to blows. I'll never try hitting anyone who says "panties" in front of me, but I think you get the idea.

I don't hate women. Just the other day, I was in Urban Outfitters (so gay!) and bought my girlfriend a stuffed-doll incarnation of Max from Where the Wild Things Are. It wasn't even her birthday!

I thought it was pretty bad, though some people say it's an extremely difficult dish to cook and prepare correctly. Those people are prob. full of shit, so whatevah!

OH GOD