Notice... (TFB at the Pure Volume House)

Notice the hand all the way around the waist. Nice Marshall. Then again, who wouldn't be charmed out of their panties when presented with a full superman hair curl? 

Choke down enough free Monster and Mango vodkas and see how you behave. 

Jackie Chan, Kick Ass, Conspiracy Theory

Just watched Police Story 2 starring Jackie Chan. Now most of you mongoloids only know this man from Shanghai Knights and that Rush Hour filth. You might not realize that Jackie Chan is in fact the most badass person in all of pan-asia. I can't say the world, because no one can compete with Dolph Lundgren and Don Frye. 

But moving on. The most perplexing part of Jackie Chan's early movies involves a certain supporting acter, an actor involved in nearly every early Chan flick. Going by the name "Uncle," this man has appeared in such classics as Rumble in the Bronx, Super Cop, Operation Condor, Jackie Chan's First Strike, and Police Story 1 &2. 

The presence of "Uncle" arouses certain questions, uncomfortable questions. If "Uncle" is Jackie's kin in every movie, are these films all interrelated in a certain way? This frightens me. What kind of message might Chan be sending to us? 

Might some conspiracy be afoot, or might this plot have already worked its panic amongst the world way back in the 90's? I really can't believe Chan would have the audacity to try and slip the obvious links right under our noses. I know he can scale walls easily, and even barefoot ski. But trickery? I never thought of it. 

But Uncle is so sweet. He's just so...Uncle. I can't truly suspect any schemes from him; it wasn't his idea. 

I'll continue to go over Jackie's filmography and look for consistent motifs or whatever, themes, memes, or archetypes or...symbols. 

All I can really expect out of anyone reading this blog is this: watch Rumble in the Bronx. Buy three 40 oz.   You need to have finished your first when the store gets looted, your second when the diamonds thieves through their guns into the dumpster and your third when Jackie Chan beats up the 40 punks in a pool hall hangout. Then relax and enjoy the kick ass. 

You will not suspect a thing. 

Jackie Chan (Uncle in the background):

Scrabble

Dear Earthlings,

I've recently discovered one of man's great pleasures. Facebook scrabble. Such a sensible marriage of traditional and cutting edge, don't you think? I currently have 6 concurrent scrabble matches and I can make a move each time I log on to my account. There is no rush, since we aren't sitting around the kitchen table, and I can meditate freely.

Here is a game I'm working on with my human friend Reid.



Notice my genius use of the word "etcetera." I used all my letters. Did you know this move is called a "scrabble"?

Feel free to challenge me. If you dare.

- Brett

TFB In the Rainbow Mist

The Frontier Brothers Promoting Bizarre, Interesting Doll Company

Chances with Wolves?

This made me laugh really hard. Not actually out loud, like an lol, but it's really funny. I came across this particular conversation on a social networking site. Nimrod number 1 writes this garbage about magic and gets a pointed response:

Chances with Wolves Radio Podcast speaking -
Why are not all internet radio podcast programs this good?
This one stands out?
I dunno. It has a quality of magic.
Magic is the missing ingredient in our modern societies. The lack of magic is why we are depressed, overweight. The lack of magic causes cancer, seasonal depression, diabetes, ignorance.
We are animals. I want to stroll around picking fruit off the trees and then sunning myself on a rock all aftrenoon - this is what I was built for - not data entry - not 40 hour work weeks and secretly going on facebook at the job I hate.
And the magic. Where has the magic gone? We need our magic. It is a human right. It is guaranteed by the bill of rights but not delivered on like everything else in America . Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and magic. The belief in magic.
Remember we are all going to die. The presidency, the stock market, your job, none of this is as important as you think. More important is your magic, your wonderment, your sense of beauty. Fuck, eat fruit, guzzle, jump in the fountain, be naked, do what you've always wanted, convince people it's ok.

discuss.

Kenneth Dikas, Yale speaking - Hippie.


Yeah, magic actually cures seasonal depressive disorder, weight gain, and fucking diabetes! Also, the opposite of ignorance is magic. I don't want to take sides in this conflict, but it seems to me that this Kenneth Dikas from Yale University really delivered a death blow, a crushing blow. Though with all due respect to Kenneth's rebuttal, this entry was the butt of joke lobbed up slow and steady just waiting to be spiked. Kenneth is probably a doctor or something.




The extra, long lost stipulation in the Declaration of Independence:

Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and magic.

An Email to Handgunlaws.Us

"Explanation" is misspelled on your knife law link. It's in big letters. I'm glad I looked at your site, though. I'm in a touring band and I'm planning on carrying, but the fact that NY and Illinois refuse to honor Texas gun permits is a huge wake up call. It's simply ridiculous. Thanks for keeping this site up and running.

SXSW Pool Party and Afterwards (Foreword to Pictures)

Alyssa helped me load up a lot of gear from tonight in the blue truck. We tried to play halo but the disc had scratched itself. We watched Thunderbolt at Travis's and then I went home. I parked the blue truck with all that gear out back in the darkness, just behind the garage. I spread a large piece of black plastic material over it - a huge rectangular bit of heavy black trash bag. I tucked the sides in carefully to keep any night moisture out and to prevent any homeless folks from casually snooping in. 

Still, I can't sleep and I keep thinking if anyone is stealing out of the blue truck. I've gone out twice with a flashlight and a gun and taken a long look into the night and the trees behind the truck and also the garage. I started hearing some loud noises thirty minutes ago. I loaded my gun and brought both my ears to bear on the target, one off the pillow. 

When I realized the noises were not hostile, that they were in fact the wall collisions of my roommate having sex with his girlfriend, I felt very foolish and not very powerful in my room standing naked in the dark with a loaded hand gun. I was not so powerful; I was helpless and unnecessary. I don't know. I couldn't point my gun at anything. No violence. The entire scene was silly and my presence was not important- I suppose I experienced a vague sense of shame. 

This reminded me of earlier in the night when I felt very exhausted. I found some fresh coffee behind the bar and I poured it into a styrofoam cup. I took a liter of mountain dew and a small plastic handle of jim beam and mixed the two together. I alternated between the coffee and the spiked dew. 

At times I feel so down on myself that I just stare at the floor and repeat I am so lonely till I cry a bit. HA. Shit, it's pathetic. Something must've snapped me out, because the night turned out nice and the show was a great one. I'll be sure and include some pictures. You need to man that inner brain up once and while, give it a little ATTENTION! Remind it orders are strict; Remind the brain to tough itself up like a pair of calloused hands. We'll all have got a job to do. Pictures soon. 

Intense Photographs Part ONLY

The Frontier Brothers on WOXY Radio Part #2

The Frontier Brothers on WOXY Radio

We did a lot of drinking downtown, most of it free. Who likes waking up in confusion at 11:32 p.m. and questioning the root of why you decide to piss into a can or eat; You can feel the air push in against you, everything against you. It's too late to move about, too early to sleep. You must force yourself to sleep and avoid uncomfortable thoughts. Everyone is already asleep and a hard day awaits at 1:oo p.m. tomorrow.

Tuesday Night

I tell you what, you low grade humanoids, the festivals have begun. We spent tonight at Beauty Bar (Booty Bar) and had some free drinks. Women groped us; Men admired our suits. And right now, back at home I am enjoying myself. I cooked some frozen pizza and I found some hot sauce in the pantry that had gone unnoticed for quite some time. Also, I put some extra craft cheese singles on my pizza before cooking it. The concoction tastes great. Yum Yum. We did a Woxy radio show a couple of days ago, maybe yesterday. That was some squirting fun. 

Brett met a fellow from Spinto Band, a nice guy. Trav showed off his ass (legendary amongst Southwestern alumni) and I drank some PBR's. Indie girls just make me feel like dirt. I sweare= I could be Obama and still feel inadequate around them. The way they dress, the hair! Damn them! And Damn an Indie Band! (upcoming lyric) I am looking for something more dangerous. See you tomorrow! SXSW motherfuckers.

SXSW Begins

Hey Earthlings,

It's SXSW Week. If you're in Austin, you'll see us. We're the ones in the spacesuits.

- B

Relaxation

I've been searching for the proper inspiration and now I have it. Jenny Wright in Near Dark. I sure do love her. And this is different. Real, true, and deep love. But I have to wonder - would she have spared me too? 

Now she's 46. I did the math on my macbook using the dashboard calculator, so I'm sure it is correct.

You know what else is really getting under my skin? These soap commercials are getting on my nerves. Who would want a million tiny women shooting up their nose, tangled in their hair and generally running wild? Not only in the realm of skyscrapers and pastoral landscapes but on a nano level, bent on fulfilling a set of prophecies at the expense of their well-being? 

I don't use body wash. No one who uses that crap has anything to wash off. They're just grooming out of habit, like a cat. Soap is the key, the good old easy effective stuff. If you're really dirty though, like maybe if you got some kind of powerful glue on your fingers, you can use paint thinner or anti-bacterial kitchen cleaner - that'll take it right off.

Back from tour now, as Brett mentioned. I've pulled through the usual bout of dark depression fairly well; This time I knew it was coming. I want to rest, but I'm used to moving. I feel angry when I rest, angry at myself. That reminds of my original intention here. 

When you return, you tell yourself to relax. For some, that means blowing off steam. But for touring persons, this compulsion only serves to elongate the sensation of loneliness, touring. Relaxation is the opposite of what strains us. Returning home means fitness, exercise. It means doing your best not to speak. Every night out there, the tourer puts something out and takes something in. He or she blasts all this stuff on stage every night, right out there for someone or anyone who cares. They do this for an hour or thirty minutes. Then, the touring person takes things in: complements, who cares, and alcohol. The mind and the mouth are two-way sets of nozzles designed to send and receive information all night. That's the work. Not so much physical, more the speaking and receiving, living for extended periods of time with another body near.

Relaxation is not speaking. Relaxation is storing that precious energy up once again. It is sweating, staring at walls, and playing with fallen tree branches. Very nice things. 

The Frontier Brothers Custom Boots

Custom spec Ostrich Frontier Brothers boots courtesy of Luskey's Western Wear (Fort Worth, Texas).

Must blog. Must blog.

Hey Earthlings,

Sorry for our absence- the tour ended and..well..we're exhausted. Here's the good news: I've got some stellar content planned for the site this week so keep tuning in (don't forget to comment).

- Brett

"Tree and Farmer" Tess's Sketch

This a sketch Tess did for me, a rendering of simpler times. Below are the last of my thoughts on my departure and what awaits me in the future:

I fell very in love with T.e.s.s. and she with me. But she remained haunted by the old ridicule, the acronym: Technical, Electronic, Supersonic, Robot. You remind a robot that they are just highly evolved trash and junk metal and that really brings them down. She was the subject of the first TFB song ever written. That was five years ago. Brett and I sat down and laid it out in a matter of minutes. That was when we knew we were meant to make music together, because we knew each others hearts. A year later, Travis sat down on the drums and Pow! Pow! Pow! Tess became a rock song.
The story of T.e.s.s. is not over. To spoil it in this volume would be a waste, because the rest is meant for song. She screamed and beat her wrists against me when it was time to leave. “It was all about that girl Evelyn with her warm skin and bones,” she said. She swore to follow me, to find me someday and exact revenge for what I did. But I don’t blame her. I’ll willingly stand before that judgment someday, when it comes.

T.e.s.s.

"Tess" A Digital Rendering

Manifesto #2: Basic Robotics and The Story of T.e.s.s.

Part II. Basic Robotics and The Story of T.e.s.s.

For the beginning of this section I’m going to break from the prose stylings and layout a couple of bullet points that I drew up in the last couple of weeks. I’ll try to approach this subject with a clear head if I can.

Robots, Androids, Humanoid Machines

-Blood: not as a soupy , because it does not contain oxygen. Still, it is the same color. In respect to regular organic life, robots are just as likely to get drunk and be mad at you.
-Aging: most are young. Though the organs grow like their organic counter-parts, key components like the spine, rib cage, and femur bones of the leg must be manually extended by experienced technicians. Most end up becoming deformed and unhealthy; certain parts grow and others atrophy quickly.
-Thus, the majority of robot owners are wealthy enough to pay for routine maintenance.
-Robots who make into their twenties are typically spoiled.


Tess. was one of these exquisitely maintained robots. She was from a rich family, treated like a real one from the day she came along. She was prone to fits of fussiness and violence, but she had a nice smile. Tess had a great ass and she exercised regularly. She really cared about what people thought. Like everything special and nice, Tess was not liked by most. Her hands flew around and swatted the air when she held a cigarette, movements so much more life-like than those around her that she was the object of fear and scorn. Something like Tess made a person question what it meant to be living, whether or not it was the best thing available or whether it meant anything at all. She dripped with a living substance when she was really dead. To some, the potency of her artificial spark invalidated the real thing.

FUCT Selections: Nun Ruler

These are the guys we opened up for. I really enjoyed those gigs; it was fun to play live again. This video is awesome, but it does no justice to the actual experience. The show is a big party. We go together well. See what you think.

The punch looks like Mars