Hump Jones

The Algorhythms EP is Finally Done: Download it for Free

2008-08-02T21:51:00Z

Thanks for your patience and support. This EP is the best work I’ve done so far, and we’re pushing about five times harder on the next EP, EELRIJUE, Baby, which should be done sooner than anyone expects...including us.

Algorhythms is me and Dr. Quandary, and it’s definitely a continuation of the progressive and lyrical elements of Wombaticus Rex.

There’s more free music at the World-Around Records website.

DOWNLOAD Algorhythms—Algorhythms EP (2008)

IN RELATED NEWS, there’s three brand new tracks up on the Hump Jones myspace. It’s a preview of the next (full length) album, Pure Fucking Love.

Is Anything Obscene Anymore?

2008-06-10T19:19:01Z

After an article on vomit porn—and a long hiatus to party like a dying god and exterminate rational thought—I think we should start over with a simple question: is anything obscene anymore? They’ve been making schiesse porn for decades now over in Germany. We haven’t covered the phenomenon of squid porn yet, but rest assured, seafood sexuality will be explored in due time.

Still: internet pornography is everywhere, and we’re about to witness the political awakening of a generation that grew up in a world where porno is normal. There are more adult bookstores per capita in the alleged “Bible Belt” than anywhere else in the United States. Major corporations are making good money off pornography, thanks to satellite TV and hotel pay-per-view. Porn stars are celebrities, if not royalty—all in all, the reader could be forgiven for thinking that America has become a sexually permissive culture.

Unfortunately, that’s completely motherfucking retarded.

The Cambira List as Skeleton Key

Paul Cambria is one of the main attorneys for the largest pornographic production companies in the United States, and he was about 5 feet away from his client, Larry Flynt, when the Hustler publisher was shot by a sniper in front of a Georgia courthouse. That was in 1978, but it’s mighty interesting to remember why Flynt was shot—it wasn’t for split beaver shots, it wasn’t for offending Christians—it was over inter-racial porn. There are still millions of Americans, and not just in the deep South, who find nothing more offensive than a black man having sex with a white woman.

Paul Cambria is just a footnote to Flynt’s attempted assassination, but he’s at the center of a more recent controversy in the porn industry—it’s even named after him. After George W. Bush got elected in a blatantly corrupt fashion (the first one, not the 2nd one) the porn industry bigwigs had a meeting to discuss how to avoid another Meese-style crackdown. What they came up with is a list of truly naughty sex acts, a guideline of What Not To Do in order to avoid prosecution. It’s called the Cambria List.

And you know what, kids? Nearly 50 years after Brown vs. Board of Education, somehow, inter-racial sex was on that list. Even more telling was the specific wording: “No black man-white woman topics”—in other words, white men can fuck black women all day, every day, but if a black dude touches a white woman, you’re begging for a lawsuit. Also dangerous: any gay sex, any fisting, food used as a sex object, coffins, and girls sharing the same dildo. (That last one was probably inserted by a toy manufacturer, don’t you think?)

I should emphasize: the list was not a random selection of what some executives found to be personally icky, it was based on three decades of legal experience and exhaustive research into what had triggered obscenity charges in the past—so the list is really a look into the mind of the American legal system.

Highly Defective Primates

Thanks largely to the work of Ralph Reed and Pat Robertson—both architects of the Christian Coalition, the driving force of politically active right-wing Christianity in the USA—a great many of our elected officials are among the very stupidest people in the entire country. Seriously, if you believe that the earth was created by a god named Jehovah around 6,000 years ago, you shouldn’t even be operating motor vehicles, let alone making decisions that affect an entire nation.

And yet. Somehow, someway.

I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again here: we still live in the Dark Ages—don’t fucking kid yourself, human. Don’t get me wrong—the future gets better every single day. But it’s also a slow, iterative process, and there are powerful forces keeping people stupid...look no further than the miracle of public education. Although millions of kids who are just turning old enough to vote have grown up being barraged by silicon titties and double penetration, they’re still calling anyone they don’t like a “faggot”—and they still can’t read too good, you know?

Am I being pessimistic? Should I take heart, knowing that although millions of grown-ups want to make it illegal for a black man to have consensual sex with a white woman, their kids are going deaf listening to Young Jeezy and calling each other nigga? Is this progress? Should I be more enthusiastic?

This beer is for Robert Mapplethorpe

Now, that was a real damn Artist....Robert Mapplethorpe, yes sir. He pushed the envelope harder and farther than any mere pornographer ever did or could—and best of all, his work is beautiful. Here at Hump Jones, I don’t kid myself for second...this will only ever be bad writing about good sex.

And yet. Somehow, someway. I feel compelled to carry this man’s torch. Is anything obscene anymore? The jury is still out on that one, but rest assured: if it’s out there, we’re gonna find it, right here at Hump Jones Dot Com. Some delicate mix of psyhosis, hubris and alcohol poisoning compels me to keep the search alive, to find those soft fleshy pressure points in the Global Brain and keep pushing until the twitching stops.

I think that’s a pretty reasonable goal for an artist to have.

Sex Science 2007: Part Two

2008-05-21T18:11:00Z

Men would like to believe that we exist because we held the Universe down and punched it in the face until it submitted, then gave us a whole planet to be Badass upon. Sadly, this is not that case. We exist because women are somewhere between sentimental and stupid. They could have killed us off decades ago, and they still might. (At the risk of being called a cock traitor, I’d go so far as to say they definitely should.)

Artificial Insemination was the first blow to the Purple-Headed Empire—but that was a mere warning shot, my friends. Back in 1992, very quietly, a group of scientists announced a phenomenon that few humans are aware of to this day: the hands-free, imagery-induced orgasm. That’s right, there are women out there—thousands, if not millions, of women—who can actually think their way to an orgasm. Dig:

Subjects were women who claimed that they could experience orgasm from imagery alone. Orgasm from self-induced imagery or genital self-stimulation generated significant increases in systolic blood pressure, heart rate, pupil diameter, pain detection threshold, and pain tolerance threshold over resting control conditions. These findings provide evidence that orgasm from self-induced imagery and genital self-stimulation can each produce significant and substantial net sympathetic activation and concomitant significant increases in pain thresholds.

And the conclusion is a truly classic nugget of scientific understatement:

On this basis we state that physical genital stimulation is evidently not necessary to produce a state that is reported to be an orgasm and that a reassessment of the nature of orgasm is warranted.

Oh no shit? Really? Huh. How about a re-assessment of the penis?

Okay: A Re-Assessment of the Penis

As long as we’re talking about “thinking outside the box” as far as dicks are concerned, it’s hard not to mention the independent researcher Dr. Lorena Bobbitt, who reached some fairly radical conclusions about the role of the wang in modern society. Her thesis—get this, it’s a doozy—was that the trouser snake was actually an autonomous creature who needed to be liberated from the context of the male body, and released into the wild...apparently via being thrown out of a car window while the vehicle was moving.

Her husband and/or research subject, John Bobbitt, managed to get his severed member re-attached, and famously did a couple pornos with some chicks who really hated their jobs that day. Over in China recently, things did not go so well:

Surgeons at Guangzhou General Hospital said it took 15 hours of microsurgery on the unidentified 44-year-old man to attach the 4-inch organ donated by the family of a younger brain-dead patient.

In their report due to appear in next month’s journal European Urology, the doctors said after 10 days, the man, who had been injured in an accident, was able to urinate normally, but he was unhappy with the operation.

“Because of a severe psychological problem of the recipient and his wife, the transplanted penis regretfully had to be cut off,” said Dr. Weilie Hu.

Sounds like a horror movie, I know. This severed penis talk, it must be making all two of our male readers uncomfortable, so let’s crank it up notch with something even worse.

THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN LOSING YOUR DICK

Yep, let’s take a look at pregnancy. First of all, I would like to hand the fellahs out there the single greatest pickup line of all time, the most diabolical and manipulative possible reason to get a woman from the bar into your bed. Ahem. Recent studies—several of them, actually—have concluded that promiscuous women are statistically much more likely to give birth to healthy babies.

�Scientists have developed many theories to explain why some female animals have multiple sex partners: whether it�s trading sex for food and protection, dealing with infertile males, or avoiding the negative effects of inbreeding in species that can�t recognise their relatives,� team leader Dr Diana Fisher said.

�Another theory is that mating with multiple males would result in sperm competition. This means that males with the strongest sperm are more likely to become sires and father better quality offspring. Until now, this theory hasn�t been demonstrated convincingly.�

Of course I’m distorting the hell out of this research, but I’m also fully qualified to do that. Pregnancy data is full of fascinating statistics, and all of them can be used out of context to great effect at a bar near you. Here’s some ammunition to start with:

The most popular day for babies to make their entrances? It�s still Tuesday, which boasted more than 13,000 births on average in 2003. That�s about 16 percent more babies than on any other day of the week. Saturday is the slowest day, with an average of about 7,500 births (in part because doctors don�t schedule c-sections and inductions on weekends).

36 percent of American babies are born to unmarried mothers, which is why God knocked down the twin towers in New York City (like you didn’t already know that). Boys still outnumber girls—by 1049 male babies for every 1000 chicks—so the bar scene will not be improving anytime in the forseeable future, especially since that ratio has apparently stayed the same for as long as humans have been compiling statistics. The US has been seeing a steady increase of twins, premature births, and cesarean sections, though.

By the way, if any of these useless factoids actually get you laid, send me an email, I’d love to hear about it.

Sex Science 2007: Part One

2008-05-19T18:11:01Z

There’s been a lot of redundant research in the news lately—do we really need a study to tell us that images of hot naked women reduce a man’s ability to make rational decisions? Apparently we did. And somehow...the world is a better place.

What’s been much more interesting—at least to an over-educated pervert such as myself—is the recent rash of studies that completely subvert conventional wisdom about human sexuality. The human brain is a very strange thing, and neurological “facts” get overturned every 3 to 5 years these days, so of course all this new information might have an expiration date. Just the same, it’s the only new information we have, so let’s start sniffing the panties of modern science.

Dirty Pictures Make You Go Blind

“We observed that people fail to detect visual images that appeared one-fifth of a second after emotional images, whereas they can detect those images with little problem after neutral images,” David Zald, assistant professor of psychology and member of the Vanderbilt Kennedy Center for Research on Human Development, said.

They called it “emotion-based blindness”—further proof that all scientists should give me a call before they name anything, ever again. What’s especially interesting about the Zald experiments is that gory images had the exact same effect as erotic images—either way, the brain can’t process any visual input immediately afterwards. For instance, at this point in the article, there’s two sets of tits on the screen—are you having a hard time concentrating on the words?

“We think that there is essentially a bottleneck for information processing and if a certain type of stimulus captures attention, it can basically jam up that bottleneck so subsequent information can�t get through,” Zald said. “It appears to happen involuntarily.”

This parallels another recent study, funded by ad companies, into the effectiveness of sex in television advertising. Their findings were surprisingly complex: first of all, men are more likely to remember an advertisement if it contains sexual imagery, but women were less likey to remember that same ad. More curiously, any form of advertising that was playing during the commercial break of a TV show with lots of sexual imagery would be less likey to be remembered by either sex. In other words, if you’re going to use titties to sell cars, do it during the evening news, not Baywatch. It remains to be seen wether or not this study will lead to less gratuitous sexuality bullshit on TV, but my fingers are not exactly crossed, you know?

Human Brains: Hardwired for Porno

Researchers at Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis measured brainwave activity of 264 women as they viewed a series of 55 color slides that contained various scenes from water skiers to snarling dogs to partially-clad couples in sensual poses.

As subjects looked at the slides, electrodes on their scalps measured changes in the brain’s electrical activity called event-related potentials (ERPs). The researchers learned that regardless of a picture’s content, the brain acts very quickly to classify the visual image. The ERPs begin firing in the brain’s cortex long before a person is conscious of whether they are seeing a picture that is pleasant, unpleasant or neutral.

But when the picture is erotic, ERPs begin firing within 160 milliseconds, about 20 percent faster than occurred with any of the other pictures. Soon after, the ERPs begin to diverge, with processing taking place in different brain structures for erotic pictures than those that process the other images.

Like most research into visual processing, this also raises some fairly disturbing questions about the nature of “free will” when our brains know things before “we” do, but let’s just gloss over that for now. What’s signifigant here is that this study was done with women, and it’s pretty safe to assume the results with men would be at least around the same, if not even faster and more attuned to the porn. Perhaps men have evolved an entirely separate neural pathway for exposed nipples and split beaver shots—but I leave that kind of speculation to the professionals.

McGill University also did a recent study that throws a classic “Gender Gap” issue into serious question—namely, the arousal curve. Common sense (at least for those of us who get laid) holds that men get turned on much, much faster than women do. This is why men are subjected to the frankly offensive ritual of “foreplay” instead of just penetrating a woman and ejaculating ten strokes later....you know, like the Good Lord intended.

Anyways, the new science of “thermal imaging” has finally seen some logical application in the bedroom and the results have people in lab coats scratching their heads.

“Comparing sexual arousal between men and women, we see that there is no difference in the amount of time it takes healthy young men and women to reach peak arousal,” said Dr. Irv Binik, psychology professor and founder and director of the Sex and Couple Therapy Service of Royal Victoria Hospital, which is part of the McGill University Health Centre (MUHC).

Previously, sex researchers have measured arousal with instruments that require genital contact and manipulation. Binik focused thermographic cameras on his subjects’ genitals while they watched a montage of material from pornography to horror movies to The Best of Mr. Bean to Canadian tourism travelogues to provide a base of control data.

(The article never clarified if Mr. Bean was supposed to be arousing or part of the control data, but I sent them an email so hopefully we’ll find out.)

Much More to Cum

We’ll keep exploring the sticky frontier tomorrow—meanwhile, keep emailing me weird porn and good news stories, I definitely appreciate the help.

PART TWO

Making Peace With Your Tiny Dick

2008-05-17T02:33:00Z

Is your dick big enough? Do women you sleep with tend to wake up in the emergency room? Do you lose consciousness every time you have an erection? Can you club a baby seal to death with your flaccid penis? These are questions that humanity faces, here in this brave new millennium. This is what you need to know.

On page 22 of the March 2007 issue of Maxim, there’s a remarkable little blurb I’d like to share with you beautiful people. Ahem:

Q: Do “male enhancement” products actually do anything?

A: When we asked Dr. Steven Lamm [from NYU’s school of medicine] he didn’t beat around the bush: “That’s a flat no.” While he acknowledged that implants can affect width, when it comes to length you’re simply out of luck: “It is just really hard to make the penis longer, OK?” He suggested instead dropping some pounds: “For every 30 pounds of weight loss there is an increase in the appearance of your penis of around one inch.” Or just buy the red sports car already.

Considering at least 5-10% of the Maxim advertising income is from those same “male enhancement” products, my hat is off the editorial staff for demonstrating the presence of actual testicles.

BUT YET—the industry marches on. How? Why? Don’t these products offer you total satisfaction or your money back? Of course they, do, human—that’s just sociology at work. See, most sociology experiements are funded by advertising companies, and they publish it publicly because they know most of you can technically read, but are much too lazy to actually learn.

Let’s take a look at the invisible hand of conformity for a second—after all, in a country where nearly 80% of men over 18 state they worry about the size of their penis, you know there’s something horribly wrong. Logically, you’d expect around 49% of them to be worried, right? Right?

Over at the Brainsturbator library, we’ve got a book you should probably read if this question seriously interests you—yeah, I know, here goes nothing:

Edwin Bernays—“Propaganda”

It goes a little something like this: if I tell people that my product has been around for years, and that we guarantee customer satisfaction and offer a full refund, and that we’ve had less than 1% of those customers ever ask for the refund—it’s already too late for rational thought. I just completely defined the context and parameters of the Male Enhancement Universe, and all further calculations you make will be within the cage I just built for you.

Because what happens if it doesn’t work? What’s wrong with you? Why are you in that less than 1% of total failures with such defective cocks that not even my amazing product can save you?

Advertising is a great business to be in—you get to install industrial-grade insecurities in children and then exploit them for the rest of your customer’s meaningless lives. Nevermind the transparently obvious fact that women are just desperate for affection and security—guys still believe that their girlfriend of 2 years is about to walk out on them because she’s not bleeding every time they have sex.

As a side note, please observe the location of the man’s left hand in that photograph. Effective ads are all about subtlety.

But you’re smarter than all this—you know damn well your penis is not only big enough, it’s too much for this Universe to handle. You are Pan Incarnate, you are a lion on the African plain and your bellowing orgasm-roars are heard from Johannesburg to Cairo. You are Zeus giving Europa more than she bargained for, you are Jehovah deflowering the Virgin Mary because you felt like it. Meditate on that and spend your money on more important things, like beer.

Go get ‘em.

Flesh is Light, Volume One

2008-05-14T04:29:00Z

Personally, I can think of nothing as throbbingly sexy as hundreds of people in a big room, all having intercourse in sync and following instructions that are shouted at them by some guy with a bullhorn. Yes sir, that is entertainment, that is smoking gun proof that Japan remains the same inherently surperior culture they always have been. In the United States --- Texas, specifically --- they have gang-bangs, hideous staged rituals where a single female athelete (known affectionately as “porn stars") will copulate with hundreds of men. In most cases, these men have literally come in off the street. They shuffle around with their pants around their ankles and numbers stapled to their Nascar T-shirts. There is nothing as empty as a gang-bang, but yet a mass banging is somehow not only palatable, it is truly delicious.

This is pornography that was staged, recorded and paid for by the Rev. Sum Myung Moon himself. Although I just made that accusation up, if it were true it would be one of the more sane things he has done in his lifetime. Perhaps pornography is offensive to the sensitive reader, and all this windowgazing is distasteful for the ethically minded, but there is nothing as obscene as the fact Moon had himself coronated as King of the World --- not only that, he did so in Washington, DC and it was attended by hundreds of congressmen and federal officials. Moon has a very cozy relationship with the Bush family, owns the Washington Times, and is among the richest men on the planet. He also stages mass weddings in giant Asian sports stadiums, which is why I suspect he’s jacking off to this exact movie, right now, somewhere in Budapest.

Fun fact: everyone naked in this movie was paid about $10 american. If you want to understand how to manipulate any given mass population, there are really only two places to start. The first is looking at the past century of local history, the second is to get about 20 copies of different local pornography magazines. (German and Japanese porn are both particulary abundant lines of study. As to why this is, we’re not supposed to talk about that on this site.)

Could you have sex in a room with over 500 other people, plus a camera running? Can you piss when you know people are watching you? A note to reader: looking too closely at sex, or death, lead you to the same uncomfortable grey zone. Talking about what you see there will get you labeled a pervert, a criminal, and a Very Bad Person. This is just paranoia and superstition, though, because all the good stuff is contained in that grey zone and you will learn more about yourself and your fellow humans by staring intently at that spot than you could learn anywhere else. We are created and we will shall be destroyed, and in the meantime, hot damn the sex is sure fun!

What happens to monkeys who are given orgasm buttons? The “switch” for an electronic implant embedded within their brain, which can trigger an orgasm response every time the circuit is tripped? In a related question, why is it that statistically, any amount of TV watching you do will increase weekly, always tending towards the national average of 6.3 hours per day? When you smoke a bowl or a cigarette, when you have a coffee or a beer, do you want another one? Maybe this is stretching, but: is there any way to be “sane” or “mentally healthy” in a culture where sex is taboo and death is entertainment?

But fuck philosophy, right? The real issue here is, who are these people? Who is that dude with the camera? Who was walking around with a clipboard taking notes while this movie was being shot? Humans adapt to anything eventually. Millions of people work in slaughterhouses, walking through ankle-thick pools of blood and fat on their way to the lunch room for break. Watching people have acrobatic sex for hours on end is “going to work” for some of us. (More amazingly still, many humans are even lawyers.)

There are no easy answers, but there is a world full of pornographic options for you to pursue while you rationalize all this away. When you’re settling back into the emptiness of life, the endorphins released by orgasm make the transition much easier. Although there is no universal panacea, no perfect remedy, and no dubbed version of this movie yet, I still give three thumbs up for “500 Sex”. Look for it.

Party Like Antonio Patrinostro.

2008-04-14T12:30:00Z

Welcome to post-reality! Hope everyone has been enjoying 2008. This dude certainly has been:

Patrinostro was arrested Sunday evening on southbound Highway 101 near the Lincoln Avenue offramp after his car bumped into three other vehicles in 55-mph traffic, said Officer Mary Ziegenbein of the California Highway Patrol.

Patrinostro “told the officer that the vehicle could fly if he went fast enough, and basically just started bouncing off of cars,” Ziegenbein said.

“He was under the influence of cocaine, Valium and marijuana and stated that it was a top secret experiment with his doctor for Area 51 and the government,” she added. “He also stated that he was working for a cure for AIDS by taking the drugs.”

That could be the single greatest legitimate excuse for being fucked up ever devised on cocaine, valium and marijuana. Definitely better than all my attempts.

I’m going to be giving a talk and then doing a show at EsoZone 2008 in Portland, Oregon, October 8th-10th. Right now, tickets are $40 for the full weekend. I’m just the token stoner, though: this event is gonna be full of f’ing amazing people and I’m psyched to be there. I’ve already been working on my talk for about a month now, trying to explain the Universe to myself has been pretty interesting so far.

Amazing people: the charmingly omniscient Paul Laffoley, the beautifully Satanic Diabolus Rex and the singularly brave Anterio Alli.

The Question that Ended Hump Jones Dot Com

2008-04-05T01:34:00Z

How do you do it? How do you ignore that socially-imposed anxiety? How do you push past the fear? Can you advise me in any way?

Well, boy howdy...good question.

When this first hit my inbox, I knew I was in trouble.

Humpasaur Jones is mostly just a mask, but it’s also a mask that I carved by hand, and it happens to fit perfectly. So there’s no sense trying to hide behind something that’s basically transparent, right?

I’d like to believe that David Blaine can levitate, but I’ve got magician buddies who’ve demonstrated the trick in front of me. I’d like to believe that making mad money off The Internets is a path to financial freedom and total happiness, but that’s basically on par with buying lottery tickets.

Most of all, I’d like to believe that simple willpower, self-discipline and raw balls is enough to make life work.

It’s actually not, though. So when that question first got posed to me, many months ago, I knew I was fucked because it was a reflection of the Exact Same Question I’d been posing to myself for over a year. No answer then, no answer since.

I’m thinking about it, though. The answer will involve sex and weird biology. Many people will disagree with me and leave detailed comments explaining why. In other words, business as usual is getting underway once again. Buckle up.

HUMP JONES ON PAUSE: Enjoy some free music

2008-03-20T23:58:00Z

“Gee whiz, Uncle Humpasaur, you’ve been gone a long time.”

True indeed. I’ve been working on the 100+ articles I already published here—reformatting and expanding the material into the upcoming book. I’ve been working on new material, too, but I’m going to save it up for awhile. I’m doing most of my writing over at the very un-sexy website Audible Hype, which is devoted to helping independent artists with their DIY music career.

In the meantime, I’d like to share the advance copy of my first album. The final tracklist will be a little different—there’s a couple of gems I haven’t included in this collection. There’s a couple of tracks on this advance which won’t be on the physical CD. Keep it Moist will be coming out on World-Around Records and once we’ve got a release date, you will know about it. In the meantime, enjoy this offering and pass it along to anyone and everyone who might dig it.

“KEEP IT MOIST” in .RAR format

2008 Growth Industry: Freelance Exorcism Services

2008-01-03T05:22:00Z

How can any self-respecting, honest and proud American patriot hate on a Faith-Based Free Market Solution? That’s my question to you, the overwhelmingly weak liberal readers of Hump Jones dot com. It’s been stated clearly and repeatedly since the beginning of the Global War on Terror (aka The GWOT) this this is Jehovah vs. Allah: Smackdown in the Desert, but that’s a gross over-simplification. It’s obviously way more complex than that, including overtones of Jerry Bruckheimer Presents World War Three, Starring Will Smith and Kiefer Sutherland. But I don’t want to get too political or theoretical, here.

Hump Jones Police Report Remix

This is all from an actual report, I just re-arranged it for narrative clarity:

According to the police report, Varemond had asked his girlfriend and his mother, Anne Marie Saget, to pray with him.

When they started to pray, Lagrandeur noticed Varemond “change,” she told police. He locked the doors and jumped on Lagrandeur and started biting her on her back and beating her head with the iron.

Varemond says he hit his sister in the head with an iron so he could release the demons that he said were inside of her. When his 80-year-old mother intervened and tried to stop him, he allegedly bit off her fingertip and started pulling his own teeth out, a police report said.

On Sunday, police kicked down a bedroom door to find Varemond, 44, straddling his girlfriend, Yolette Lagrandeur, 33, a Haitian recording artist and AIDS activist. A Delray Beach police officer drew his gun and ordered Varemond to put his hands in the air, and officers tried to stun him three times with a Taser, only to have the device malfunction each time.

He was taken to the Palm Beach County Jail on charges of attempted homicide, battery, false imprisonment and resisting arrest with violence…

All bounty hunters get caught, eventually. All pirates get busted at least once. The Key Question for 2008 is twofold:

1) How much have they already fucked us?

I walk up to you in a bar, visibly drunk. You know, vithiblee drunkh. I say to you: “The Roman Catholic Church has vowed to ‘fight the Devil head-on’ by training hundreds of priests as exorcists.” Do you think I’m channeling some visionary bullshit, or quoting from a recent newpaper article? Like I have to keep reminding myself: we live in post-reality now, so get used to weirdness. Increase your signal tolerance.

2) How much can we get away with?

As I’ve already mentioned in “Making Money off the War on Sex”, the Vatican has really a lot of money. It’s important to define a business plan, and you base a business plan on PAIN RELIEF. You identify the PAIN, and you provide the RELIEF. Here’s the suffering:

“Too many bishops are not taking this seriously and are not delegating their priests in the fight against the Devil. You have to hunt high and low for a proper, trained exorcist.”

Can you feel the pain or what?

Easy Entry, Huge Opportunity

Check out how low the standards are and tell me you can’t round up just three friends to put in a solid week of amateur exorcism! This is not just an investment, this is a vacation! This is definitely the most promising career opportunity of 2008, as economic stress increases exponentially and perfectly normal people go completely insane. This is a growth market, and not everyone is sleeping on it: check out Joel Osteen, who’s doing mainstream positioning for a fundamentalist publicity stunt he’s going to pull in 2008.

“Fr Amorth added that Pope Benedict XVI wanted to reinstate use of the prayer said to St Michael the Archangel, believed to be the prime protector against evil.

He said: “The prayer is useful not only for priests but for lay people. For example if a lay person knows someone who is possessed and there is no exorcist available they can intervene by saying this prayer, commanding the demon to leave that person.”

That’s right, you read it—THIS MEANS YOU. Jump in on behalf of Lord Jesus, and the Vatican has got your back. Yeah, The Vatican, who control trillions in assets, have their own embassies, and make decisions for one sixth of the the world’s population.

So hey, the Prayer to St. Micheal the Archangel? Yeah, I got it right here. This is all you need. Memorize this, get a large bible (hint: save money, go to a church) and some cool-looking blunt objects. You can find crazy poor people anywhere. If they kill you, you probably deserved it. Welcome to the Kali Yuga!

Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host -
by the Divine Power of God -
cast into hell, satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.

As a paranoid subtext, are you aware of military psychedelic weapons like BZ? Do you think that elements within the US government could be targeting people in the counterculture and driving them completely insane? Who the fuck bites off his mom’s finger? Who starts pulling out his own teeth? Was there more to Twelve Monkeys than I give it credit for? Are you healthy enough to survive a virus epidemic, this week? Can you visualize the steps it will take to get there?

Welcome to 2008

2008-01-01T07:33:00Z

Space Sex and Monkey Orgasms: or, It Must be Sunday.

2007-12-31T02:46:00Z

Carl Jung was fond of pulling out a “random” book from his shelves, opening said book to a “random” page, and seeking advice from what he happened to find there. He was tapping the fearsome power of synchronicity, and he called this whole procedure “Bibliomancy.” Of course, the power weirdo of today has much more impressive tools at their disposal, and some of them are even useful. The Internets are an endless (literally infinite) cascade of information getting connected, re-formatted, stripped of context and meaning, and processed into...well, pointless bullshit on Humpjones.com, for instance.

It’s a brave new something, for sure. On Sundays, I like to pretend I’m not a total failure and act like I deserve to relax. It’s fun to play pretend. I was dicking around with the computer and I wound up looking at two “random” articles I found on two “random” websites. Of course, as any real mutant knows, there’s visible structure and invisible structure, but nothing anywhere is ever random.

Do Monkeys Fake It, Too?

Here’s the greatest lines of 2007:

Female monkeys often utter loud, distinctive calls before, during or after sex. Their exact function, if any, has remained heavily debated.

That works on every concievable level of interpretation. The study found a huge correlation between women—I mean, female primates—making noise and male primates blowing loads. I mean, ejaculating. Man, I’m getting rusty on my sexologist routine. Spasmodic and rhythmic muscular contractions indicating the presence of ejaculatory orgasm.

Sorry, just clearing my throat.

There’s no causality here, though...which came first, the screams or the pumping jizz? Do females adapt to males or vice versa? When you think about it, this is very similar to posing the question of why the penis is shaped to fit into a vagina. Or is a cunt designed to accomodate dick? This is, of course, the classic stuff of philosophy, and familiar to grade school students everywhere in the USA. I leave the reader to their own intepretations, assumptions and other such handicaps.

The Dark Side of NASA

Here’s the second greatest paragraph of 2007:

“The issue of sex in space is a serious one,” he says. “The experiments carried out so far relate to missions planned for married couples on the future International Space Station, the successor to Mir. Scientists need to know how far sexual relations are possible without gravity.”

As any trained cosmonaut could tell you, the only answer to that question is: how cute is he, and how drunk am I? It’s a sausage fest up there, we can only guess why someone would think to emphasize “married couples” since that reduces the total field of candidates to....oh, right, these guys:

Jan Davis and Mark Lee met each other during astronaut training and got married before they took off for STS-47, and it’s probably rude to refer to them as “NASA’s guinea pigs of full penetration love”, for instance. If I was Mark Lee, I wouldn’t want some random sex rapper referring to me as a “Lab Stud” on some damn fool website. Good think I’m not Mark Lee, though—I wouldn’t want to deal with the creeping paranoia and claustrophobic jealously of being The Only Guy in Space Who’s Getting Laid. I’ve got a lot of questions for him—did you have to wear sensors? Did they fill up the whole shuttle with cameras? Did your fellow crew memebers get to watch or did you just bang in the bathroom?

More importantly, why hasn’t NASA designed a space suit for two? Instead of dealing with cramped quarters and metal walls that actually amplify your moans and grunts, why not step outside and bang in the total vacuum privacy of outer space? These are the kind of insights that will be making me the Big Money someday.

Mark and Jan, as near as I can figure out when I’m this high, are the only people who’ve had sex in space without making Jehovah angry. (Oh yeah...why hasn’t NASA found Heaven? Why do I talk to Christians like they’re adults?) I have no way of knowing if Sex Testing Out of Wedlock has taken place on any NASA voyages, but given my operational knowledge of human nature, the answer is OF COURSE THEY FUCKING HAVE.

Russian weirdo Yuri Malenchenko got married while he was onboard the space station Mir—and his wife was on the surface, thousands of miles away. (Oddly enough, the dude got married in Texas at the Johnson Space Center.) That was in 2003, and he’s currently back up in the ISS for a six-month tour of duty, once again. He touches back down in April 2008, just in time for the solar flares that wipe out Asia.

In Space, No One Can Hear You Scream

Was Marshall McLuhan just a crazy fucking stoner? When he talked about “acoustic space”—what did he really mean? Do still think in terms of “up” and “down” even though you know better? Down is inward, towards the center of our spherical earth. Up is outward, towards the infinite Nothing Much that we float through. And yet we all still live our lives on a 2-dimensional stage. Force of habit, I guess.

In the next Sex Science 3030 article, I promise to address how our bodies (and privates) will evolve in space...but I what I can’t wrap my head around is how our minds will evolve. Once you’re in space, free of earth-based interference and the electromagnetic noise of our shitty human appliances, I suspect that our clairivoyant and psychic abilities will develop to an unthinkable degree. This is an article I’ve held off on writing for a long time—mostly since it’s going to involve actual research and work.

However, the Universe has spoken, and it’s time. Like it or not, Uncle Hump is back and I’m going to make the Internets into a much, much weirder place in the next few weeks. Tell your friends.

PLEASE SEND US PORNO AND BOOZE ASAP

Humpasaur Jones Christmas Message of Love

2007-12-25T13:43:01Z

It’s been a long weird month and I won’t even address it here. I found this article sitting in the scrap pile and I don’t remember writing it. It’s very appropriate for a Christmas Day spent alone with coffee and my thoughts. I’m back, and I will be writing a lot in the next few weeks. Meanwhile, enjoy this and enjoy your “free time.”

Real Winners Know They’re Really Just Losers

I used to agonize over the irony of my wiring. It drove me a little crazy, between you and me. Why is it that the second I accomplish something—anything—it’s immediately not good enough? I happen to know the answer—no big deal, it’s just a combination of my mother and father and the people I look up to being mostly liars. More importantly, the answer doesn’t matter to me anymore. I see myself for who I am and now that I’m in a position to heal, find closure, and change my darn life....I don’t really want to.

I’m interested to see how far I can take this. (Apparently a lot of other people are wondering the same thing.) We all have parasite voices in our heads—sick, abusive and paranoid scripts that just loop over and over and make us feel like shit. It’s so common and so pervasive I can’t even exaggerate. We’re all possessed by demons that we just kinda put up with while they drive us to exhaustion and numb acceptance of defeat. We’re all having constant inner conversations with disembodied, repeating language viruses that fucking hate us.

The funniest part is that anyone who thinks I’m exaggerating is lying to themselves.

And kids think being a magician is fun.

Here’s a handy shortcut I discovered this year. It’s just a sentence, but when I use it on myself it’s very effective. It’s gotten great results with other people, too. It makes them very, very angry—but when I talk through the anger we both discover the sentence was also very, very true. It’s about depression, which is the most common brain virus in our culture, and there’s a very good reason for that.

If you’re depressed, it’s because you accepted defeat. Giving up on your hopes and dreams leads to depression. Rationalizing why you’ve given up and allowed yourself to be caged leads to depression. Remember the caged monkeys: we know this from rigorous observation of animals in captivity. First symptom: depression. Caged animals get depressed. Free animals get happy, healthy and horny. If you’re depressed, it’s because you accepted defeat. Grow a spine, sharpen up your teeth, get back to work. And please, shut the fuck up.

10,000 Days of Thunder

So what’s the source of these demons? Castenada wrote up a metric ton of lies that wound up becoming true, and he called it The Predator. I’ve speculated about Toxoplasmosis, but I’m not too attached to my own theories. We’re all fond of our own ideas, but eventually you gotta wash your socks and throw out the kleenex, folks. I try to do that as soon as possible, your approach may vary.

I’m not gonna pretend I’ve got any solutions, either. Still working on my self, myself. As Jay Levinson advises—and it’s some of the best business advice you’ll ever find anywhere—“Engage in no expansion until you have eliminated all of the mistakes in your current operation.” In other words, I’ll tell you how to live when I can get a reliable mechanism for steak dinners and fresh grapefruits. Meanwhile, I’ll eat whatever I can, whenever I can, and continue perfecting my personal system.

Peace Out, Don Juan

If there’s anything I desperately want to get through to anyone and everyone reading this....here it is.

I am not fucking kidding.

I dress up in silk shirts and rap about sex because the core issue here is all too real. I’m going to pass the mic to Carlos Castenada and his fictional-but-real creation, don Juan, because that ventriloquist act was a big influence on Humpasaur Jones. If you’re interested in exploring this hilarious nightmare further, start with John Keel. Me, I’m going to stop contemplating pretty much anything until after Christmas. Too much living to do. Stay warm and stay crazy, I will be back with a hangover after New Years Eve, unless I get some truly depraved photos while I’m on the road.

“I want to appeal to your analytical mind,” don Juan said. “Think for a moment, and tell me how you would explain the contradiction between man the engineer and the stupidity of his systems of beliefs, or the stupidity of his contradictory behavior. Sorcerers believe that the predators have given us our systems of beliefs, our ideas of good and evil, our social mores. They are the ones who set up our hopes and expectations and dreams of success and failure. They have given us covetousness, greed, and cowardice. It is the predators who make us complacent, routinary, and egomaniacal.”

“But how can they do this, don Juan?” I asked. “Do they whisper all that in our ears while we sleep?”

“No, they don’t do it that way. That’s idiotic!” don Juan said, smiling. “They are infinitely more efficient and organized than that. In order to keep us obedient and meek and weak, the predators engaged themselves in a stupendous maneuver - stupendous, of course, from the point of view of a fighting strategist. A horrendous maneuver from the point of view of those who suffer it. They gave us their mind! Do you hear me! The predators give us their mind, which becomes our mind. The predators mind is baroque, contradictory, morose, filled with fear of being discovered any minute now.”

“I know that even though you have never experienced hunger,” he went on, “you have food anxiety, which is none other than the anxiety of the predator who fears that any minute now its maneuver is going to be uncovered and food is going to be denied. Through the mind, which, after all, is their mind, the predators inject into the lives of human beings whatever is convenient for them. And they ensure, in this manner, a degree of security to act as a buffer against their fear.”

What Not To Do When You Go On Tour.

2007-12-02T01:28:01Z

I run about 10,000 websites at this point, but here’s another one: it’s called Audible Hype, and it’s all about a DIY music career. I’m currently running Wombaticus Rex, Algorhythms and Humpasaur Jones, as well as starting the label World-Around Records, so the site is basically a running journal of everything I’m learning. I try to keep things professional over there, but I’m also pretty upfront about being a broke hick rapper with no fucking clue what I’m doing.

I do know enough to know when I’m doing it wrong, though, and let me tell you, this December tour I’m leaving for in about 12 hours is a textbook case of Disaster by Design. I just so happen to be looking forward to it for that precise reason. I also realize that most humans are not wired for that kind of insanity, so let’s frame this whole adventure as a Cautionary Tale, complete with lessons and good advice. Ready?

Never Do a Tour Without Confirmed Gigs

I have exactly one. It’s in Buffalo, New York, on Sunday, December 2nd at Broadway Joe’s. The folks in Constant Climax, and their management at Deepthinka Records, were kind enough to put me on the bill. After that? I honestly have no idea what’s going on, and that’s probably not a good thing. It means I can’t promote a single gig I’m doing, it means I can’t do research on the areas I’m headed into, and it means I can’t keep anyone back home informed about where I am and what I’m doing.

My biggest chunk of advice to broke rappers and DIY musicians: be polite, but don’t fucking be nice. Being polite is 100% nesecessary, be professional, be courteous, be honest. But being nice is when you give someone more credit than they have earned. Being nice is trusting people when you know damn well there is exactly one person you can trust. You need to have access and control to every detail of your tour—or guess what? It’s not your tour.

This means: contact information for every venue you’re playing at, contact info for the local artists you’ll be playing with, and contact info for anyone and everyone you know in the area. This means multiple copies of a written schedule that includes all of the info, plus the addresses of all your gigs and the agreed amount of payment for each stop on the tour. For more common-sense, good advice, check out Jeri Goldstein.

Never Do a Tour Without Money and Merchandise

I set up a hectic and ambitious schedule for getting two albums done in a single week: recorded, mixed, mastered, out the door and into the hands of the manufacturing plant. I didn’t get that done. Shocker, I know.

Of course, I don’t exactly have a job, either, so that places me with about $0 in funds as I pack my bags today. Not complaining, just explaining. This is, remember, merely an instructional video on What Not To Do.

Despite coming off as the Dirtiest Old Uncle on Earth, I’m actually burdened—nay, handicapped—by several core principles which have complicated my life a great deal in the past few years. For instance: no, I’m not going to sell people a burned CD with a permanent marker cover. Sure, I think my music is worth money, but that doesn’t give me an excuse to be moving shitty product. Would you buy a pizza in a plastic bag?

Never Do a Tour Without a Support Network

....and I’d never do that. The biggest reason I’m looking forward to all this, and none too worried, is because of my friends. Well, my family, my tribe..."friend" is a mighty devalued word these days, after all. I know that Louis Mackey and Uncle Duke have my back to any extent once I reach Illinois. I got my bus tickets paid for through my friends at Fallen Arrows, and that wouldn’t have worked on short notice without Charles Blingus saving my ass. For the record, Blingus has been pretty much continuously been saving my ass for several years now. This site would not exist without him, and neither would any of the others.

Awhile back I did a Brainsturbator article on who I am and what I do, and it was an exercise in personal clarity and personal branding. It also omitted the fact I wouldn’t be anything or do anything without the support of my family. I have a cell phone now, it’s a gift from my mom. I have a business now, it would never exist without my partners. I have a Muse now, too, but she’s appearing courtesy of her own damn self. We’re still trying to figure out why the Universe went so far out of It’s Way to set that one up.

Bonus Advice from an Anonymous Mentor

1. All women have STDs.
2. Never drink a drop until you get paid for your show.
3. Get contact info from EVERY other artist on stage that night.
4. If you don’t have business cards, you can’t do business.
5. Anyone who wants to smoke you down has shitty weed anyway.
6. Ignore any conversation about politics or other musicians.
7. Always grocery stores, never restaurants.
8. Never let anything you own leave your sight.
9. Give the audience what they want, but fuck what they expect.

Keep it Moist: Remixes, Release Dates, Real Legal Problems

2007-11-24T13:47:00Z

“You seriously didn’t even THINK of that? Are you retarded?”

Well...apparently so. I was explaining our current legal situation to my best friend and life consultant, that’s the question I got. Fortunately it was over the phone...she probably would have hit me if we were face to face. The situation is this. I asked my buddy Jacob North to paint the cover for the Humpasaur Jones EP, Keep it Moist, and I asked for...well, I asked for this:

The problem is this: the Pope is a “real human being,” but as I’ve already made clear, I don’t think that’s technically true. So sure, okay, Catholics will be upset. I happen to be on drinking terms with several Goetic demons, though, so Catholics I can handle. The real problem is Belladonna. That’s totally a real person, a real woman who makes her money off selling her image, her likeness, and her special talents. If you don’t know which “special talents” I’m referring to, ask around.

So to answer the question I opened up with: No, I really didn’t even consider the possibility this cover was completely illegal. But I’m well aware of it now. World Around Records is considered a joke by many people, and that’s deliberate. We want people to sleep on us while we incorporate, take out loans, solidify our connections, and lay the groundwork to blow up “out of nowhere.” (As a side note: the dumbest myth in our culture is the “Self-Made Millionaire.” Without my friends, I am nothing, believe that.)

We do have an actual legal department and they’re working on this. In the meantime, we wait. Well, okay, that’s a total lie. In the meantime, I mix the Wombaticus Rex album, mix the Algorhythms EP, book a national tour for all of 2008, and work out about 10,000 details every single day. As far as releasing Keep it Moist, though, we’re waiting.

So here’s a gift to anyone who cares enough to read this: an RAR’d folder of the accapellas to around 1/2 the songs on the EP. A number of people have asked about doing Humparemixes, and I am all for it. Go nuts.

HUMPASAUR JONES ACCEPELLAS