Dark Lotus is coming to town, and we best not mock them for fear of dismemberment. Composed of members of Insane Clown Posse, Twiztid, and Blaze, the band is a dark clown conglomerate with a taste for doom. And with names like Violent J, Shaggy 2 Dope, Monoxide Child, and…

You’ve subsisted on nothing but carrots, church wafers, and Chinese laxatives for the past three months, determined to have the perfect bikini figure. You’ve withstood numerous suggestions to “eat a goddamn cookie” and are looking forward to flashing that ass-and-tit set of yours. Never mind that the contours of your…

Island BBQ. Tropical drinks. Pseudo-Tahitian dancers. Hey, we’re all for commodifying Polynesian culture in exchange for a night of gluttony and drunken depravity. That’s why we’re chomping at the bit for the second annual Tiki Lounge Party. We can already hear the glorious song of inebriety echoing in the vomitoriums…

Sometimes it’s too easy to speak disparagingly of Phoenix. It’s a young city populated by geriatric people set in their ways. It’s a tired lineup of Applebee’s, strip malls, and understocked liquor stores. Then again, some of us know that there’s more to our unique town and are playing a…

After a night of ego-tronic drinking, you wake up in a foreign bed, locking eyes with an unfamiliar woman. The beauty you followed home yesterday night was real cream, but this basement doppelgänger arouses nothing but your gag reflexes. Nevertheless, you suppress the urge to shit-n-bail (less mass, quicker flight)…

The first time you hear Eilen Jewell’s voice, you may experience an interesting cross-sensory phenomenon. For example, you might be struck by involuntary synesthesia, confusing the sound of her spellbinding voice for the taste of whiskey and cream or the scent of past lovers. Jewell’s sound – a union of…

The noise doctors of the high strata – Brandon Summers and Benjamin Weikel of Portland-based indie-rock band The Helio Sequence – have set out to roam the nation on a pan-sonic odyssey. Their craft involves a pair of reengineered vocal chords, a masochistic drum set, a keyboard, synthesizers, and guitars…

Lance Fung, ace curator and mastermind of international exhibitions, has once again snapped his fingers and set in motion another undertaking of grand (though somewhat elusive) proportions. Because not even el maestro himself knows what theme his upcoming “Lucky Number Seven” biennial exhibition will express. The 27 participating artists, hand-picked…

Maybe you like it nice and slow. Yes, maybe you orgasm to a combination of walnut-oil massages, candlelight, and tastefully ribboned cock. Then again, you’re probably like the rest of us who get off on being tenderly bludgeoned by a grandpa cane. Bless your soul. However you like it, unleash…

Cities are shape-shifting entities. They never rest. Neighborhoods swell and contract, buildings are torn down, and new forms, with new ghosts, are erected in their places. Power dynamics and claims to space are constantly challenged in this way — not verbally, but visually and physically. Artist James Angel is drawn…

Names are given, not earned. Some names are never grown into, and some barely foretell a person’s talent. John Banville, acclaimed Irish novelist and author of Silver Swan, fits into the second category. Cheeky bloke that he is, Banville upturned the baptismal hierarchy and claimed a beefier epithet: Benjamin Black…

In the land of red, white, and blue, we think our diet of breaded SPAM, hot dogs, and underage girls is up to par, but any French chef worth his fleur de sel would blubber furiously into his apron. Putain de merde! Perhaps Monsieur Jacques is right. Perhaps we should…

You recently got into a verbal confrontation with one of your co-workers, the one who does the ol’ in-and-out with the boss to retain her job. Her behavior (along with her grossly dilated nostrils) affronts you to the point of regurgitation. Despite this, your brain went limp when she spattered…

Your woman just left you. You’re hurtin’, and can’t shake the grip of that badass mojo she left you – the endless drag of bills, progeny who can’t piss straight, and a serious case of castration anxiety. You’ve got the blues, boy. Options? Hit the bars — and eventually the…

It’s Valentine’s Day, and no amount of porn will save you from this feeling of emptiness. Worldwide, people are going at it like beavers at a dam, and all you can do is pick lamely at your chastity belt. Mission Semen Receptacle has just been classified impossible. But instead of…

Getting home some nights can be challenging. Waking from an amnesiac stupor in an alleyway, you stumble forth like an inebriated puppet. You search desperately for clues of your cardinal bearings in the constellations, but your vision fails you. Finally, you track down your very own Mother Teresa, who kindly…

We should look fondly upon the 1950s. It was during this decade that the Betty Crocker canon of domesticity descended from the heavens, the Red Scare gassed out all the commies, and rock ’n’ roll robbed everyone of their panties. Rockabilly, that subgenre mutt with the greasy forelock, did a…

In our salad days, many of us used the desert as a safe haven to carpet-bomb our brains into oblivion. We’d drive into the night like frontiersmen of coked-out glory, veering off-road into the scorching abyss. Darkness would resonate around us, as if it were more tenor than color. We…

It’s a rare child who, when asked about his or her future aspirations, expresses the desire to become scribe to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth and to one day inscribe a modern-day Bible. Donald Jackson was one such wunderkind who realized his vision. One of the world’s most prominent calligraphers, the…

Recall the last time you mounted an odd-toed ungulate? Bet you felt pretty smug afterward, sucking on that postcoital cigarette. What did you truly get out of it, though? A 20-second sound clip of tense whinnying and neighing? You certainly didn’t win national acclaim and the deed to your very…

It’s been two days since the New Year busted in on you making urgent and reckless love to your doorknob. Remember? You deposited saliva into four different strangers’ mouths (15 points/deposit), cracked jokes that didn’t cause endless suffering (7 points), and committed hara-kiri (800 points). Yet, miraculously, you concluded the…

Fernande. Eva. Olga. Marie-Thérèse. Picasso certainly had a high turnover rate, because, to him, there were “only two types of women – goddesses and doormats.” His attitude toward women was dichotic. He used them as models and muses, yet sought and exercised control over them. Despite this — and no…