Hype new DJ to wear glowing fidget spinner on face

Las Angeles, CA-A steaming hot new DJ known only as “FidgetSpivva” has erupted all over the festival circuit after being recognized as a completely passable Skrillex cover band. Unlike other DJs FidgetSpivva’s relevancy is as timeless as the children’s toy he named himself after.

“I had my team rig up a big ass fidget spinner covered in strobe lights and blow torches that is mounted on my face, when I’m about to hit one of my signature covers on a Skrillex drop, I spin the SHIT out that thing,” said a muffled FidgetSpivva through the enormous prop, which due to a horrific blow torch accident at last year’s Lollapalooza has permanently fused to his otherwise maimed face. The accident rendered him blind and deaf, while also leaving only a penny sized hole from which he both consumes food from and vapes from.

The spelling of the name has been a point of contention amongst some fans, who although confused by the presence of v’s instead of n’s, admit that, like everything else in life, the product is better because of it.

“I’m not like other DJs. I’m not some pussy who takes his helmet off, it’s about taking helmet based EDM to the next level. I’m talking to a shaman about getting my hands replaced too. Fidget spinners are forever,” continued FidgetSpivva who looks at the surgery as a calculated risk given his inability to play any instruments or even DJ on a very rudimentary level.

FidgetSpivva can be seen next, this month, at the bi-yearly Furry convention held at Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios Orlando.


Taylor Swift chugs ICY HOT from a bottle of ranch dressing in new edgy music video

Los Angeles, CA-Taylor Swift finally proved once and for all that she’s definitely done proving anything that may or may not require proof. By manufacturing an edgy new music video for the cover of Eiffel 65’s Look What You Made Me Do, Taylor has proven that she’s willing to sacrifice it all for the art of music and the ability to make money for the marketing machine overlord that birthed her.

The video is classic Avant-garde Taylor as she dances furiously in a black dress, her own unique color interpretation of death, and then proceeds to chug an entire tube of ICY HOT muscle rub from an abused bottle of ranch dressing…an ode to contrarianism and the imaginary war of good vs. evil being waged inside the empty shell of a multi-million dollar mannequin.

She closes the video by provoking a fight with an ostrich at a rogue children’s zoo on the outskirts of Hammond, displaying her final evolution from a small town girl and the ability to close out a childhood grudge by slitting the throat of a prehistoric bird.

W3NDCH3LL (Chicago Instrumental Project) Review

Chicago is a fickle beast. There are millions of us microorganisms living in the tangled fur of this lumbering metropolis. All of us experience the city from a different angle, a different height, with different motivations. Each person uniquely digesting the cities beauty and despair, as it grinds relentlessly forward day after. In a city where intimacy is forced by proximity, it’s strange that the lingering sensation is often seclusion.  Everyone has a different concept of home.

Intricate familiarities that provide comfort and warmth are completely unknown to the person sitting next to you on the train. It’s easy to succumb to these familiarities, surrendering to only what you know. For those of us longing to spiral out, to peer into unfamiliar parts of the city and its inhabitants look no further than W3NDCH3LL.

W3NDCH3LL is a 39 song compilation that details just about every emotion you could feel in a bustling city. Hoisted into the clouds by goliath skyscrapers. Submerged in dirt, traveling through the seedy underbelly in a dimly lit tin can. The compilation is split into three parts Soul, Space, and Slap, each one allowing the listener a glance at the sweeping cityscape through the eyes and ears of the Chicagoan producers. Peering through fogged glass windows at their interpretation of home.


Soul seems like it’s broadcasting from an ancient boombox nestled comfortably in the hot sand overlooking Lake Michigan. Playing over laughter as cheap beer is enjoyed between friends. One of those memorable Chicago days in which the freezing cold waters of the lake seem to wash away in lasting care.

Space is as it sounds. Complete and utter isolation amongst the clouds. Cast into a comfortable solitude 100’s of floors up with nothing to do but to think.

Slap is a testament to the weird nights that only happen in Chicago. The nights where midnight turns into 4 a.m.  and you’re inexplicably drinking Seabreezes on a roof with an old man that’s offering to take you to a full contact Asian strip club. The gloriously, wonderfully weird morsels this city has to offer.

This Chicago instrumental project is one giant, creative exhale from the windiest of the windy.

Free Download:

Part 1: https://mishkanyc.com/bloglin/2015/05/25/mishka-records-presents-w3ndch3ll-pt-1-soul

Part 2: https://mishkanyc.com/bloglin/2015/05/27/mishka-records-presents-w3ndch3ll-pt-2-space

Part 3: https://mishkanyc.com/bloglin/2015/05/29/mishka-records-presents-w3ndch3ll-pt-3-slap

Stream: https://soundcloud.com/neonpajamas/sets/w3ndch3ll

Pitbull’s head is 2X hotter than surface of sun

Cultures taken from singer/songwriter Pitbull’s scalp have confirmed that the top of his head is roughly 2X hotter than the surface of the sun.  Experts initially speculated an equivalent temperature but weren’t that surprised when the reading came back at a staggering 54 million degrees Fahrenheit during an encore performance of “Give Me Everything” in Miami. The blinding reflection being generated by his sopping wet head was the first clue. “There’s a lot of contributing factors here,” said independently funded scientist Patrick Gates, who went on to describe a plethora of possible causes including but not limited to:

  • Perpetually wearing a tuxedo no matter the weather or occasion
  • Soaking head in petroleum bath before performances
  • Singing exclusively about non-existent sexual conquests
  • Incredibly jerky dance motions, often times bordering on seizing, with copious amounts of deep pelvic thrusts
  • Self-proclaiming yourself Mr. Worldwide

All of these should be considered prime suspects in the case of the boiling hot scalp. “A drop of forehead sweat once flew off his protruding brow and blew out the entire sound system, the explosion was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” said a despondent backup dancer, who chose to remain anonymous. “We’re dealing with an extremely volatile and even hostile surface; it should be approached with extreme caution.” confirmed Gates.

Any type of cooling would disrupt the already unstable glaze. At this point if he isn’t featured on at least 20 songs a year, we could be looking at a total nuclear meltdown.  All the world can do is hope Pitbull continues to take over every aspect of our lives. It’s the only option until scientists are able to either defuse or utilize the immense heat being generated by an incredibly frisky bald man.


Pour Some More

Artist: Gucci Mane
Album: Brick Factory
Song: Pour Some More
Rating: 4.6/5.0
Download: http://www.datpiff.com/Gucci-Mane-Brick-Factory-mixtape.590286.html

You can almost hear the codeine slithering elatedly over gold capped teeth. A flock of one dollar bills sail effortlessly through the air, giving momentary relief from the already exceeding dimness of the room. There’s an audible shifting of ice cubes as a lobster tail is pulled from a vast seafood tower. Pour Some More captures that moment exactly.

The best places to listen to this are; riding on an ATV in a pack of other dudes also riding ATVs (en route to a strip club), a private jet with suicide doors and hovering above a city that you’ve claimed as your empire in a jetpack. In no particular order.  To fully appreciate the song you should also be wearing a pair of Jordan’s, preferably 4s, a pair of excessively large Gucci aviators that only serve to obstruct vision, and a pair of designer track pants.

DJ Tiësto produces drunk driving anthem of the year

Very few songs are considered champions for drunk driving, crunk wheeling, butt-faced cruising, hopping behind the wheel after exceeding the mid-way point on a 30-rack of Icehouse. Good ole Joe 30-rack. Staunch supporters are a rarity. Ardent advocates come few and far. Rightfully so, it’s perhaps the scummiest dirt-bag move in the existence of partying.  Dropping a 40 on your big toe while hitting on a girl that already wants nothing to do with you, experiencing a nip slip while dancing to “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy” at a western themed bar in a strip mall, and hurling that can of barbeque Pringles you pounded into a urinal at John Barleycorn all far surpass drunk driving in terms of social acceptability. Though not according Tiësto’s epic drunk driving anthem “Red Lights” , which holds a reverence, and adoration for the past time. An age old love affair. An ode to seeing double.

The song apparently draws inspiration from those glorious nights of tip-toeing out of party, in which everyone has told you not to drive. Before anyone else realizes it,you’re planted firmly behind the wheel of what is presumably a white Dodge Charger with a supper aggressive racing stripe and a spoiler that would have Vin Diesel pissing himself. Busting absolute ass, like a drunk driving demon god, with the headlights off, through as many stoplights as possible. If it’s green you’re stopping and waiting for it to turn red then peeling out. All in an attempt to crush as many XL Steak Tacos as humanely possible, no matter the cost. Sipping Miller Fortunes, furiously chain smoking cigarettes, and crushing disco naps all the while. “Blacked out, everything’s faded. On your love, I’m already wasted. So close, that I can taste it now, now” wails the song, prompting this next beauty of a line “Nobody else needs to know, where we might go, we could just run them red lights, and we could just run them red lights”, Nothing compares to a good discreet blackout, followed by a game of chicken with a brick mailbox.

“When the beat drops, imagine yourself letting go of the wheel, closing your eyes, throwing your hands to the sky, forgetting about the existence of the brake pedal. Just going where the car wants. Or driving with the window rolled down, the cold autumn breeze in your face, projectile vomiting at oncoming traffic. Or imagine tears streaming down your face lighting the wrong end of a cigarette”, said Tiësto longingly as he pondered the existence of his new anthem.

In all seriousness, drunk driving is absolutely asinine and completely inexcusable, even while listening to this song.


Artist: 100s
Album: IVRY
Rating: 4.6/5.0
Download: http://www.foolsgoldrecs.com/100s/

The perfect circumstance for IVRY to glide seamlessly into your ears is underneath a glistening disco ball, drenched fully in lit dry ice, while emerging from a crushed velvet sofa from the back of a club. You’re likely bathed in different types of silk and or cashmere garments. Perhaps a satin turtleneck. Certainly some gator skin. An uncomfortably large rope gold chain rests steadily on your breast.  Everyone else in the club was unaware of your presence, secluded in the plumes of dry ice exhaust, that linger on you momentarily as you effortlessly float to the dance floor. It’s undetermined if they are more mystified by your presence, that they are now aware of, or the existence of a crushed velvet sofa. Either way it is beyond crucial.

The smoothness of IVRY is unrivaled. It’s a glass of 25 year Macallan. A perfectly vintaged saison. Its the slow motion cascading Carmel in the twix commercials. A chinchilla that took a dust bath in cotton candy threads. The consistency of  T1000 from Terminator 2 when it interacts with fire. It has notes of a house party in the mid to late 90’s where everyone has achieved a perfect buzz and has abandoned any self awareness. Lending themselves wholly to the joy of the music and the accompanying bad dance moves. Harmony.Flow.Delivery. Drop the top and enjoy.

Astro King Phoenix

Artist: Astro King Phoenix
Album: Cries from 2025
Song: Wolf Like Me Intro
Rating: 4.6/5.0
Download: http://astrokingphoenix.bandcamp.com/

A cloud trembles in the sky bordering on transparency, desperately longing to obtain its form. Thread by thread it is pulled apart by the sweeping autumn wind. The scent of the looming winter lingers in the air. Shards of moon light now emerge through the intricate carvings in the cloud. Another icy gust and an unnaturally bright, unobstructed view of a milky yellow and white sphere appear. Leaves rustle. Several long and pained and concentrated howls sound from within a thick, impenetrably dark forest. A group of shadows can barely be seen. Wolf Like Me Intro is blaring from a long since abandoned cabin in the middle of all of this. There’s no visible door, and the windows appear hopelessly shattered.

The sound is shredding through the worn lumber like the transforming creatures through flesh  howling in the woods. This isn’t the only similarity between the two. The creatures. The verses and beat are hungry, fast and uncompromising. Vicious. Eager to find their next victim. The sound is more haunting than the echoes of distant snarling and snapping, of broken twigs and grinding teeth. Delivery sharper than a glistening claw in the moonlight. There is a certain momentum to the song, to the mixtape as a whole, as Astro King Phoenix and Mackned send the listener on an unending climb into the unknown.

Listen: http://astrokingphoenix.bandcamp.com/track/wolf-like-me-intro-prod-by-mackned

Pitbull Wins Creepiest Guy of the Year in a Landslide (already…)

Pitbull has been working tirelessly to join the ranks of transcendent tools like Guy Fieri and Kanye on the Mount Rushmore of blowhards. His tremendous effort has not gone unnoticed, by doing things like nicknaming himself Mr. Worldwide and being a walking advertisement for Jos. A. Bank he’s quickly imposed his miserable stench on anyone unfortunate enough to turn on the radio in the last year. Forcing his stink on us, like the person resurrecting curried catfish in the office microwave. Pitbull’s loathsome douchebaggery is elevated by his unwavering verbal creepiness. His eerily shiny/malleable head also compounds how disturbing he is. One hand stroke from a video vixen in the Timber video and the thing was lumpier/greasier than the new cheeseburger pizza at Papa Johns. Below are lyrics and analysis that support his Creep of the Year nomination and award for anyone that may have doubts.

Give Me Everything
1.) “Give me everything tonight, for all we know there might not be tomorrow”
2.) “And I might drink a little more than I should, tonight, and I might take you home with me if I could, tonight”
3.) “Tonight I’m going to make you my queen, and make love to you endless”

Pitbull just butt funneled a handle of well silver rum, and he’s out leveraging doomsday fear to land the hottest, most fearful strange he can find. (1) After stumbling out of the bathroom in a Men’s Warehouse suit, drenched in Drakkar Noir, armed with a sketchy condom he got from the bathroom attendant, Pitbull is officially ready for action. Nothing gets the ladies going like breathing hot rum fumes in their face whilst babbling about a meteor headed for earth, right before jamming a tongue in their ear. (2) Instilling terror is crucial, the apocalypse is a confirmed aphrodisiac. If that doesn’t do it, then certainly the prospect being humped by Pitbull (still wearing his white tuxedo) for one eternity will be enough to bring home a slam piece from the club. (3)

1.) “I’m slicker than an oil spill, she say she won’t but I bet she will…timber”
2.) “One more shot, another round, end of the night it’s going down”
3.) “Swing your partner round and round, end of the night it’s going down”

If fear mongering about the potential end of the world doesn’t work (though it almost always does), then it’s time to pull out a backup plan that’s guaranteed to work. The process is pretty simple according to Pitbull. The first and most important step is drinking fortified wine. A lot of it, enough so that you puke in a potted plant upon arriving at the club.  The room should be spinning when you close your eyes. You should also be smoking the wrong end of a cigarette. (2) Do these and your golden. If you haven’t landed any yet start weaving an elaborate web of drunken lies. She’ll look annoyed or even angered, but all that means is that she’s totally into you. Also make sure your bald head is greasy enough for the person to see their reflection in. (1) When all else fails, pop onto the dance floor barely able to stand up. Grab the closest chick and go into a complete tailspin. Most of your weight should be balanced on this person. Keep spinning until the dizziness causes enough confusion for a potential hookup. (3)

The line in his new song needs no explanation “I just wanna skeet-skeet-skeet, ride out and go, I came, I saw, I conquered, off to the next, let’s go.” Can someone please tell me who actually listens to the man pictured below?


Macho Man, Nacho Man

Artist: Nacho Picasso
Album: Trances With Wolves
Song: Nacho Man
Rating: 4.5/5.0
Download: http://nachopicasso.bandcamp.com/album/trances-with-wolves-the-prixtape

Just like Macho Man Randy Savage, Nacho Man is a nervous, spastic and completely unpredictable time bomb. It should score a  highlight reel of the beloved wrestler. Fueling the friskiest most hyper violent elbow drops coming from an overly tan veiny hulking monster is where this song belongs.

It could have been the reason he chose black and red over black and white. Those bulging and eager eyes, consuming his face, all but popping out of his over sized sunglasses. The flamboyance, the pageantry that gravely strained voice resurrected once more.