Mama should have fed me the living bits of me bullies.

I don’t want to go outside. Am I a hermit?…not exactly. I go out, I hear someone speak, I cringe. I go out, I see someone walking, I cringe. I go out to buy home supplies/ food/ whatever, I see someone walking through the store texting (while walking, without even looking up) I cringe and have to jab myself in the thigh with a steak knife to keep myself from plowing into their Cro-magnon skull with the whole force of my soul. Yet I enter into my humble house, and smell the fresh air of the alpine atmosphere. I am taken away from the dank swill of our “fine” city”. I am fucked, I give birth to myself, live a full life, and die peacefully, in the comfort of home. Now I need to have this gargantuan bust of a slobbering parasitic blue-black beast.

In my home is a thick collection of comics. In fact, it is only one half of my bounty. The other half is hidden within an impenetrable underwater cave, guarded over by a massive-beaked octopus. Her name is Vrotzely. I continue to read these and obsess over the villains…I LOVE VILLAINS. Should unbelievable powers be bestowed upon me, you are all dead. But since my small youth size, I have almost looked up to venom. This fucker is one sick sonofabitch…if done right. He started as a pissed off vagabond journalist, with a shitty wife. On the verge of killing himself, he “took in” a wandering lonely symbiotic alien organism that was cast off by a cock-sucking photo-dipshit who liked “spidders”. He then killed many people, had a cool way of changing clothes, and eventually gave birth to a shitton of other beasts. Even in one comic, he became T-Rex covered in violent black-and-white goo. Bitchin’. These days Marvel has whored-off that character to any other uninteresting character. As if that screw-up wasn’t enough, a person who didn’t even like the character, put a ridiculously shitty version in his last shitty movie of a boring shitty character. But I still hold the original version close.

Now, the completely rad-as-fuck makers of every kind of sweet-3d expensiveness, Sideshow Collectibles, are making a crazy-awesome version of Venom in full size. I have a variety of creepy/nasty/violent gear adorning my walls, floors and toilet, but this big bitch will be a true piece-du-resistance. I don’t give a fuck if I bring home a date, and she has trouble not losing her shit, realizing I AM the guy who likes this crazy stuff. In fact, sometimes women are more entertaining when they are vomiting and pulling their hair out. Greeeeeaaaat! If I had my way, I would cover my living space with heads of friends (painted silver) , that though disembodied, could still chat with me and shut the fuck up. Hell, even Pottery Barn sells some black-lodge type shit, so I KNOW I’m onto something.

I know Im not the only one with “certain” fixations. Im not saying we should all meetup, though. I imagine that would be like feeding Sloth a bowl full of awkward and telling him its a good idea to go out for sushi with his mothers bloody undercrusties. I get it. But we should all raise our glasses to the idea of a viciously depressing, musty champagne jam. Preferably party of this “jam” will involve raising money for me to purchase this blood-poop inducing bust. That mofo is waaaaaay expensive, but worth it.

“Nuff Said”.
Nave Zepol (Swellco & Swellco 3325b)

Photos courtesy of http://www.sideshowtoy.com

My heart is broken.

Lemmy Kilmister is dead… at least to me.

Let me explain: Yesterday I went to the airport to pick up my girlfriend who just came back from a vacation in Sweden (bitch). As soon as she gets in the car she says “I’ve got a present for you!” and pulls out a bottle of Motörhead Shiraz. At first I laughed, because I though she printed it up herself or maybe it was some weird bootleg novelty. But after some googling, I confirmed it’s the official goods.

WTF?!

Listen. I’m no fucking communist. I fully believe in every individual’s right to cash-out on their talent, ability, looks, smarts and/or genitalia. Not to mention, I fully appreciate the precious blood of the grape, I buy a box of Franzia every week. But couldn’t he have come out with a whiskey or something? Maybe a nice Bourbon? Wine just seems so… Un-Lemmy.

The marketing doesn’t help. “The wine has a very fruity aroma with flavours of vanilla, blackberries, plums, eucalyptus and liquorice. It is full-bodied with soft rounded tannins.” Jesus Christ, Lemmy!. All my backstage-after-concert-hotel-room masturbatory fantasies are now ruined with the image if Lemmy Kilmister in a smoking Jacket gingerly holding a long stemmed wine glass asking if I’d like piece of Gouda off of his fucking cheese plate. Not that that sounds so bad…. In fact, come to think of it, that actually sounds kind of hot.

Never-mind Lemmy, I forgive you sweetheart. The wine was delicious by the way.

Motörhead Wine

Felicia Jackson
Swellco & Swellco 22397b

P.S: Apparently he’s redeeming himself by doing Motörhead Vodka now.

Photos courtesy of http://toxicvisionclothing.tumblr.com/

Photos courtesy of http://www.imotorhead.com

I am rendered speechless, and that makes me uncomfortable

I’m speechless.  Speechless & a little uncomfortable.  I’m uncomfortable because I’m not sure I’ve ever been speechless before and that weirds me out a little. . .   Perhaps I should start at the beginning.  OK, so yesterday Uncle Wheat Toast informed me that I would be reviewing the work of Zoë Williams.  I said, “Wow- thanks for the notice.  What am I, the Swellco resident art critic now?”  Yes, I was snarky & yes I was sarcastic.  But seriously- my former catchphrase was “Less Artsy, More Fartsy.”  I mean, why can’t I just educate everyone on the amazing phenomenon that is the German Sparkle Party?  (More to follow, I promise- you simply must know about this.) However, I reeled it in & thanked him for recognizing my brilliance and grace under pressure and proceeded on.

Then I checked out her portfolio.  I was disgusted beyond belief.  I had that feeling you get when you discover anal seepage after the onset of a hemorrhoid flare up.  However, I couldn’t stop staring- and even though I know you can’t love everything, I also decided to delve in a little deeper- just to be sure.  I stopped being grossed out.  I started being amazed.  This woman goes so far beyond the arts & craft, I work with felt, smug ass, I’m an etsy artist crowd.  So now, I’m looking at that crazy big “Gold Rhino” and I kind of want it.  I am rendered speechless, and that makes me uncomfortable.  I kind of like it.

C U Next Tuesday,
Xoxo,
Helen Harper (Swellco & Swellco 44321)

To buy Helen the Gold Rhino

RHINO ATTACK!

Photos courtesy of http://bschwartz.tumblr.com &
http://awkwardboners.tumblr.com

Hang them heads high!

I don’t give one good goddamn about art.  What does a house need decoration for?  Be happy you have four walls & a ceiling. House wares should be useful & the only thing hanging should be a gun rack & the heads of anything them guns killed.

Don’t ask me how to say her name, but I sure as shit like Bijijoo’s art.  She does paintings of presidents holding hams.  Fuckin’ A Right & God bless the U.S. of A.; a ham hock is about as useful as it comes.

She also has paintings of severed heads of Hollywood big shots in ridiculous places.  Those sons of bitches make too much money & take themselves too serious.  ‘Bout time someone cut their dang heads off.

This Bijijoo character also practices necromancy with the facial expressions of Justin Timberlake.  At least that pansy’s mug is useful for something besides smiling & acting girly.

So long as I live, there will never be anything hanging on the walls of my cabin that isn’t dead or useful, so when rats fart out dollars, I’ll buy one of Bijijou’s pictures ‘cause they will do just fine.

-Old Tarpie (Swellco & Swellco 44098m)

To get your fortune told by JT!

Do not watch this video unless you want your girly city boy groin to crawl so far up your belly you digest your own dick.

Photos courtesy of http://bijijoo.tumblr.com & http://fuckyeahtaxidermy.tumblr.com

We believe these are not real

I started doing a series of posts a while back entitled, Shit You Can’t Buy on the internet. I had really begun to wonder about some of the stuff & cool gadgets that you see floating the web as fodder time waster blogs. It occurred to me that there was something fishy about a lot of “cool viral merchandise.” Take for example these amazing skate decks from Swedish deck & street wear designers Doodah. They were the first products that piqued my interest, but for what ever reason they are going to be my third post on the matter.

I came across them on High Snobriety. They were written up with the standard 5 sentence press release rehash. It talked about how super models Arizona Muse & Freja Beha Erichsen and several other super models had posed for the new series which had just been released. There was a small set of photos, including one showing the two hotties in the foreground and a row of other super model decks in the background.

I wanted to see more. But there were no more. These are only photos anywhere on the web. The same images re-blogged over and over. Not a single reseller exists, not a single buyer posted and bragged about owning one of these dope decks.

I wrote Doodah asking where I buy the other decks featured in the back ground. I was informed that they had sold out of all THE OTHER GIRLS, but still had a couple of Erichsen & Muse. I replied that I would like to at least see more photos of the other decks. They sent me the photo from High Snobriety. I wrote back and asked them where I could buy the Erichsen & Muse decks. They replied that I had to fly to Sweden and visit one of their stores. I asked which store currently carried the Erichsen & Muse decks… they never wrote back.

The jig is up. Shame on Doodah and shame on High Snobriety for giving me a consumer hard on and then not putting out.
Check out there site and try and buy one

-Marcus Abrey
Swellco & Swellco 24534b

Photos courtesy of http://www.highsnobiety.com, http://fuckyeaharizonamuse.tumblr.com, & http://fuckyeahfrejabeha.tumblr.com

 We have but few opportunities to get spillectrified.

Pain and emotion and life and death live abiding by a simple rule: splatter ketchup on your mac and cheese. Good? Good. If the confusion or disagreement is setting in, then put your hands in your pockets, and start thinking exceptionally avant garde. Life is a splatter. We do it to toilets and exterior bar walls, and everything in every club that has a female-like appearance. Why shouldn’t we do the same to mac and cheese?

When I see that someone has followed a similar path through this hodgepodge, it takes me a good month of jealous death plans to get through until I can stand upright with a clear mind and reach the necessary end. This end, in an adult sense, is a bit of respect. Without a name or website to peruse, I have had this very same conglomeration of chaos-mind for the work of Russ Mills.

This mofo LIVES splatter. He cooks those cheesy shits in a muddle stew of rancid gravy and ketchup to a truly Chanel no. 5 type-o-brown. Its like puppy pup-poo but pretty. Its like your shitty ex girlfriend, after some necessary attitude and upper lip waxing. Its like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich you sent back for a much less stupid sandwich. Like? Yes, I do. I have a firm “like” for his shit. Don’t love it, but like it enough to make me angry at everyone else for not knowing who Im talking about. Get it? Fucking great!

Peep this man’s basepoint for more imagery salad.

Now pardon me whilst I go shut the fuck up.

Ahmed Shalizaay (Swellco & Swellco 22321d)

Photos courtesy of http://www.byroglyphics.com

Respect comes in the form of large metal dildos.

A few years ago, an old and honest friend of mine cut his dick off. A few months back, my uncle, Dem Parlingus, cut his dick off. A few weeks ago, the skunk-badger that took up residence in my neighbors derelict Pontiac Cubanidra, cut its dick like lump of animal sex organs off. Do you see a pattern here? I’ll be the first to tell you all these events, besides being the simple/complex/gruesome act of pee-pee hari kiri, were all completely accidental, dumb, and related. The missing components are as follows.

Now I, like few other still living intelligent people without any sign of digital connection, can clearly see the olde-fashioned need create thine own path is still strong. Lonely? Beg the email nanny to find you a boy or girl just like you, but with a purpose and an appealing face. Hungry? Then make a burger just like the steaming fake one on tv, and make it cheeeeesy, bitch! However, if you are one of those who thinks, or really wants to make completely unnecessary bladed weapons just like the Elves or Cimmerians, then you need to hang your Bing-bong or Chilly-Dong out the window with a cinder block hanging from its inevitable piercing. Most people cut themselves on their cereal spoons…I’ll allow that completely real info to sink in for a moment…ok. That being said, most humans are incapable of understanding an iota of the “Riddle of Steel”. For whatever reason, people still go ahead and write in “Battle-axe” on the dotted line at the bottom of the woodshop/free-time project list. There are the rare occasions that some genius gets it right, melting down his mummy’s silverware. But even then, he pulls it out to show his girl how badass his mind-puke is, and ends up leaving her bereft of one nipple. In EVERY other case, that weaponer-for-a-day ends up cutting off some mommy or daddy nerf.

With that down, there is only one more reason  people lop off their butterstick butts, and that is plain old “bein’ dumb”. To illustrate this simple idea, I dug up the children’s story to teach how not to be a fuck-up. Originally it was published in a correctional facility for foul-mouthed toddlers, and written By Simon Bernard Cogswell De-Montitharb blarthe.

“Patricia and Kel walked along the frothy shore, accompanied by officer Blarke. Despite his looming shadow, the lil lovebugs kept on along, counting the waves and dreaming of the times when Kel had not unintentionally impregnated Patty with his daddies workglove-sheathed digits bedazzled in his lovey-leavings…then blaming the mixup on his terminally ill cousin who dropped damn-dead from sadness over the shame it brought him. The weather was so cheery, officer Blarke became nervous the two would forget their idiocy and continue being dumb dicks. At these moments, he would pull on the barbed-wire wrapped tight around their legs, violently tripping them up. “Look to far into the sun, and your gonna forget what its like to be life’s dogshit kiddies! So eyes forward and walk straight you sick fucks!”

The story is short and a bit old-fashioned, but still rings like church-bells in the conscience minds of smarty lil brats. So remember, one and all: if you want to make a sharp brilliant weapon, look in the mirror and tell your mind to shut the hell up. Just buy a Chinese War Sword
made by the skilled hands at Cold Steel. They paid me in scalps. I don’t turn down that kind of sweet wampum.

From the mind-bind of Uncle Awkward (Swellco & Swellco 22309c)

Check out Their Site, to prove I ain’t funnin’.

Sandwiches, diapers, unopened mail…Its all possible again

High schools are bereft of attitude.

Photos Courtesy of: http://fuckyeahswords.tumblr.com/page &
http://fuckyesskywardsword.tumblr.com

What the fuck are we going to do with all these nasty Lamar Smith pics?

Ever have plans go horribly wrong? Louise forwarded me a list of obscure holidays to celebrate because I was bitching about being bored with the normal ones. Some old geezer in the 70′s who no one remembers came up with a holiday no one acknowledges called National Do Nothing Day. It was a national holiday that celebrates the fact that there are no national holidays on that particular day and request that you do nothing about that fact and if you so choose, do nothing at all. No wonder no one remembers to celebrate it. The act of doing so effectively nullifies the spirit of the day.

Of course I don’t have time to just do nothing. I’m the HNIC who is about the business of TCB and had big plans for today. My goal was to spend several hours making shitty half assed photoshopped collages of Douche Bag Texas Senator (I know, a redundant phrase) Lamar Smith’s head superimposed on she males, bukkake girls, moneys and all kinds of other low brow, toilet humor fun that we can indulge in down here in the underground. But then the SOPA bill was suddenly killed. Out of the blue like a bolt of whiskey, I had nothing to do on National Do Nothing Day.

This made me really happy in that, I never have nothing to do.
Then I realized that this year MLK holiday had fallen on the day that celebrates not having a holiday fall on it.

Then I realized the PIPA bill was still alive and well. Guess Orin Hatch’s head has a date with a goat fucking tranny’s body.  So much for a vacation.

PIPA is every bit as grotesque as SOPA, so lets see that one fall as well, Mmmkay?

-R.E. Brown
Swellco & Swellco 64312b

Photos courtesy of http://workshoperotica.tumblr.com & http://gunsoverknives.tumblr.com

“Chi Chi, get the yeyo.”

My position here at Swellco & Swellco is very tentative and in all honesty, I have some reservations about working for this outfit.  I’m very disturbed by a couple of  trends that I’ve been seeing on this site that I really kind of stress me out.

First off, there seems to be a preoccupation with Mexican Drug Cartels. We were the first media source to break the story about Lana Del Rey not being financed or associated with Mexican drug dealers. Then just this week Puss openly admitted her own association with said criminals while mocking the strikingly blunted, toothless hipster hip hop master, Danny Brown.

Then I opened up my writing assignment to discover that I was assigned a toy glorifying Cuban drug lord Tony Danza. I was told to write my impressions on this $225 Enterbay Toy Exclusive. My impression was horror and disgust.

Tony Danza AKA Scarface, (not to be confused with the delightful R&B Singer and Children’s Author, Scarface) was a violent mass murder who was directly responsible for getting Jimmy Carter strung out on coke, and introducing the leisure suit into American culture. Through his drug cartel contacts, he also brought the word “fuck” into vogue. Why the fuck would Enterbay think that it was a good idea to idolize this South American menace is beyond me. It’s irresponsible, it’s immoral.

I think the artists at Enterbay need to stop and ask, what would Jesus do? Well I can tell you what he DOESN’T do. He doesn’t speak Spanish, he doesn’t sell cocaine, he doesn’t listen to Lana Del Rey, he doesn’t wear tight jeans, he doesn’t huff glue and he doesn’t say fuck all the time. He also sure as fuck doesn’t wear gold chains.

So shame on you Enterbay, for your beautifully sculpted, detailed and irresponsible Scarface Exclusive. Visit their site and let them know that you believe this is wrong.

Gene Hollyweather (Swellco & Swellco 23381b)

Photos courtesy of http://www.enterbay.com

My dear friends and enemies, allow me to air my grievances for this past holiday season, and complain about what I didn’t get that I really wanted. I asked Santa for a lot of AWESOME SHIT this past year… and Santa (read: my mom) thought that “it was all junk” and that “I should grow up and get a real job and stop prancing around like a slutty cockroach and stop sacrificing things to satan…” blah blah blah, shut up. This is MY time, and MY airing of grievances. The Pet Petter I asked for? Brilliant! No, I don’t actually have any pets… but there are plenty of feral cats in scenic Kensington, Philadelphia that I feel are being neglected by the the crackheads that try to feed them curdled milk out of dirty syringes every day. I also asked for Handerpants, because I figured that would be a unique way to make everyone on the el feel uncomfortable every day, and thus, make my life better. A little skid mark goes a long way if it’s smudged on your hands that inexplicably have underwear on. Again, brilliant. I asked for a Super Armored Fighting Suit, one of Al Farrow’s gun metal reliquaries to keep my pet centipedes in, and even a bright pink Gay Empire Suckadelic action figure. I figured my mom would like the pretty pink storm trooper. Nope, didn’t get one of them.

Of course, I asked for some clothes too, figuring she would rather have me clothed than be naked, like on the internet… but to no avail. For example, I demanded to be bought no less than three t-shirts from this store, which is the new edition to one of my favorite tumblr accounts. “Where the hell do you find this stuff?” my mom asked, when I threw myself down at her legs and begged for his pixelated baphomet shirt. It was then that I realized… I don’t know where I found this shit. I have been following the NoirLac tumblr account for about a year now, obsessed with his (?) pixelated wonders and fun retro gifs. The problem is that I have no idea who this person is, where he is from, how he makes his work, nothing.  Is the site a collaboration of submissions from multiple pixel artists, or is it all one guy? Why is it, that “When Kevin Wins, The Planet loses?” All I know is that I LOVE it, and now that he has a store, I must own his shirts.

Check out his tumblr site here, and if anyone knows any more about this mysterious pixel god, PLEASE let me know.

-Louise LaTease
Swellco & Swellco 13493a

Photos courtesy of http://noirlac.tumblr.com