Tag Archives: Anti-Lincoln

Usual Rubbish

Unresolved.

2000 Years to Christmas

I had that piece of paper five minutes ago. Did you see it? Okay … was that before or after you started the fire in the fireplace? Before … I see.

Well, I HAD a list of New Year’s resolutions all set to share with you, but apparently they have gone up in smoke. Sometimes when I ask Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to do something, he gets it done via the path of least resistance. Start a fire, I might say, and if he’s holding a piece of paper, whether it’s some scrap from the day before or the original Declaration of Independence, that becomes the means of ignition. (As an aside, if you’re wondering what happened to the original Declaration of Independence, well … ask Marvin.)

Hmmm … let’s see if I can repeat them from memory. Here goes.

Resolution #1: No disputes with our crazy neighbors.
Hey, look … I know they’re annoying and randomly cruel, but they live upstairs and they’re not going anywhere. The least we can do is make an effort to be more tolerant. We can start by overlooking little slights … like when they try out their new fracking rig by drilling a hole in our ceiling and injecting toxic fluid into our living room.

Resolution #2: Finish what you started, fucker.
Yeah, we need this one. After all, we still have a fresh Ned Trek episode under construction, to say nothing of our anticipated fourth album, still in the planning stages. It’s easy enough to get the ball rolling downhill. But when it comes to … uh … okay, that’s a really lousy metaphor for what I’m trying to express. We drop the ball, that’s the rub. Gotta stop that thing.

It's a metaphor, okay? Jesus ... just let it go.

Resolution #3: Don’t. Just don’t.
Well, we weren’t going to. Not sure where you got the notion that we ever would. We’re not that kind of band, okay. So don’t even think about it.

Resolution #4: Tour more.
Okay, this is a controversial one. Not everyone wants to pile into a ramshackle interstellar vehicle and prattle off to another galaxy just to entertain shapeless blob-like creatures that have never even heard of us. You really have to love that sort of thing to do it for a living, you know? So we’re putting it out there – book away, Anti-Lincoln, and let’s see who’s serious about making some deep space magic.

Resolution #5: Keep your dumb-ass blog posts short
As much sense as this makes, I’m afraid we’ve violated it merely by penning this post. What can I say? Half of our new year’s resolutions are straw men anyhow. We can just knock this one down on our way to fulfilling the more important ones.

Resolution #6: Build more straw men
Okay, now you’re just fucking with me. I only have one answer to this, and that’s … fulfill resolution #5.

Usual Rubbish

Joy to it.

2000 Years to Christmas

No, we’re not doing that this year. Why? Because I said so, damn it. Last year it was a freaking disaster, and I’m not going through THAT again. Right, now … where were we?

Oh, right … penning another blog post. Yes, friends, our longtime companion here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, antimatter Lincoln, was making a crazy suggestion, and I just had to shut it down. Yes, we live with a mad scientist. Yes, he does turn the gravity on an off occasionally just for fun. Yes, I do have permanent injuries that resulted from that kind of horseplay, and rightfully so. But there’s a point at which even people as tolerant as the members of Big Green have to draw a line, and this is it. NO SECRET SANTA. PERIOD.

I mean, I don’t know why people do stuff like that, let alone why someone who is the anti-matter doppelganger of perhaps our greatest president would want to indulge in such a bankrupt and troubling holiday tradition. Now if Anti-Lincoln were Anti-Buchanan or Anti-Johnson (the first), I could understand. But jumping Christ, does the man not remember even one thin year ago? We drew names out of a hat one frigid afternoon … and it was all downhill from there. Our mad scientist Mitch Macaphee drew my name, as luck would have it, and so he gave me the gift for the man who has everything and doesn’t mind losing it all – weightlessness! (He’s had this thing about gravity over the last few months. It’s a little troubling.)

Time for a song!

Who did I draw? Anti-Lincoln. I found an old fashioned two-man saw and gave it to him. He proceeded to use it on our best shade tree. I guess I should have saw that coming. It’s a bit like buying beer for your neighbor without giving a thought as to whether he or she might have a drinking problem. (He does.) Then of course, all of our names were drawn by the city elders, who sought to evict us from this drafty old mill. We outsmarted them by coincidentally being out of town on the day they came to get us. But then came the nasty upstairs neighbors, and well … from there you know what came next. I won’t draw you a picture. (Unless that’s what you want for Christmas.)

Hey, suckers … our first album, 2000 Years To Christmas, is celebrating its 20th birthday this year. Great time to check it out, particularly if you’ve been cased in aspic since 1999. Give it a listen right now. Or not. Totally up to you, man.

Usual Rubbish

T’is the seizin’.

2000 Years To Christmas

No, you’re not on my list, and for one very good reason: I don’t have a freaking list. I can see about getting you on Anti-Lincoln’s list, but I don’t think that’s the kind of list you want to be included on, if you know what I mean. A word to the wise.

Yes, I’m afraid it’s that time of year again, friends. And once again I have to explain to Marvin (my personal robot assistant) how the world of humans works. You’d think after twenty years he would have some of this stuff encoded into his memory banks, but no … every holiday season it’s human nature 101 and elements of capitalism. What the hell am I, anyway, a freaking community college for robots? Hey …. not a bad idea, really. We’ve got the space, and at least a couple of spare power strips they can plug into. We could call it Robotech, order some jerseys and pennants and …. WHAT AM I SAYING?

Christmas is always confusing, right? For one thing, it’s a consumer frenzy, at least for half of the population. For the rest of us, it’s mostly about blocking our ears when we go to the grocery store so that we don’t hear the holiday loop, playing over and over … something we of Big Green find particularly irritating, as they almost never include any selections from 2000 Years To Christmas, our now-classic holiday album, only this year celebrating its 20th anniversary. And while millions are charging their way into credit oblivion, we remain cloistered in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, crazy neighbors right upstairs, and the bailiffs at the door. “The law is an ass,” I keep shouting at them, and they just keep pounding.

Are they still pounding on the door? Sounds like it.

Well, you know what they say about the law. First comes the pounding, then comes the impounding. And while I’m explaining capitalism to Marvin for the nineteenth time, I may as well share this small lesson with you, namely the part about what happens when you pay neither rent nor property taxes for years on end. As dyed in the wool collectivists, we are merely seeking shelter where shelter is available (such as it is), but that carries little weight with the local constabulary, whose minions are apparently under orders to evict us in time for the Christmas pageant. They want to see us shivering in our second-hand galoshes on the side of the road as the yuletide procession trudges past the hammer mill entrance. How festive these men in blue can be!

Right, well … in any case, if you want to help with our legal defense fund, celebrate this Christmas with a 20th anniversary edition of 2000 Years To Christmas, available now from us or from online streaming/download services. We’ve got a few signed copies, so if you want one, let me know. Just don’t tell the bailiff … he’ll want one, too.