YOU SHOULD HEAR HER SING "MY EYE ADORED YOU"

She’s right. She IS closer to the Savior. And so will you be too after she zaps you with that heatfuck ray that comes shooting out of her bionic eye and fries your cerebral cortex like a snail on a cast iron skillet. That white rose in her hands? She puts it on your grave.

BANANA SHIT

You know, we don’t feature a lot of NEW album covers on the Island of Misfit Vinyl because, well, no one makes fucking ALBUMS anymore. And because graphic designers are working with the lowly 5” by 5” format now, they don’t put a whole lot of effort into it like they did back in the days of Roger Dean and Frank Frazetta and all those other artists whose album covers would eventually go on to grace the sides of Chevy vans in far shittier renditions. But every once in a while, even the lowly CD format gets a piece of cover art that’s just so inconceivably shitty, we just HAVE to include it here. Take Deerhoof. A lot of cool kids like Deerhoof, and frankly I don’t get it. Maybe if same cool kids actually went out and actually bought a Deerhoof CD instead of downloading it from Limewire, they’d realize that their heroes have decked out their latest sonic fuckjob with an 8-year-old’s rendition of what a Pac-Man ghost might look like if he were an androgynous member of Mummenschantz and had someone shove a strawberry into his head and a banana up his asscrack until he bleeds. Still a big fan, Josh? I didn’t think so. Now don't get me wrong - I don’t find this album cover tasteless in a moral sense – hell, if Miss Pac Man wants to shove a kumquat up her dot-hole, that’s her business. But I do find it to be a big Fuck You to album cover art in general, which is already a lost artform. So if Deerhoof’s MILK MAN outsells Sonic Youth’s SONIC NURSE, then life sucks and no one gives a shit about art anymore. And for the first person out there who can actually find meaning from this 6th grade notebook doodle, then I’ve got a special prize for you. It’s called therapy.

YARNELL'S FIRST GIG

I don’t know what the fuck the Germans were drinking in the Seventies to come up with twisted shit like this, but while we’ve got this one out, I can say two things. One, this album cover has single-handedly cured me of my fear of clowns. And two, imagine how much better Stephen King’s “IT” would have been if this skank ho played Pennywise.


SO WRONG...

MORE LIKE A SOMBRERO, BUT WE WON'T QUIBBLE

Why yes it is, Davy. And a pretty fancy one at that! If you notice, Davy looks pretty serious about his hat. Serious and a little pissed off. Rumor has it he killed the last two fuckers who dared to call it a shirt.

THAT DAMIRON SCORCHED MY SHIRT AGAIN!

I love her to death, don’t get me wrong. Any smoking hot redhead who dresses in fuzzy sweaters and sucks on a Virginia Slim without even bothering to light it is bangable material in my book any day. But two things about this chick bother me. One – I keep thinking of that old horror short story about the girl who wore the red ribbon around her neck, and when her husband finally untied it in her sleep, her cackling head rolled around the bedroom like a coked-up Paris Hilton looking for her cellie. And two – as fuckable as she looks here, and she does look fuckable, I still can't shake the uneasy feeling that she might really be Danny Bonaduce in drag.

INSANE CLOWN PUSSY

Nothing says PARTAY like a depressed suicidal drunken hot jester playing out the last notes of her life alone on a piece of shit piano, right? I think they took the adjective “crazy” a little too literally here. In other words, “This sure is a crazy cocktail party, isn’t it,” means “This sure is a cocktail party with a lot of suicidal mental patients dressing up like court jesters and stabbing at the guests with plastic forks, isn’t it?” They even tried to cheer up this little Harley Quinn by coyly separating the words COCK and TAIL. She giggled a little, then promptly slit both her wrists with a hors d’oeuvre toothpick. And three guys dressed like mages still banged her.

MAKES TWO GIRLS AND A CUP LOOK LIKE THE TELETUBBIES

Speaking of Tuetonic pop sensation HEINO (see last entry), I found this curious photograph of him on the back of a live album, where he's seen playing acoustic guitar in a suit he won on Ebay from Mark Lindsay of Paul Revere and the Raiders to a bunch of cute little Mongolian children or something. Looks pretty sweet at first. Not at all unsettling, like the other Heino album covers. But then, you zoom in on the kids a little bit...zoom in just a little bit more...and suddenly...GAAAKKKKK! What the FUCK is THAT?!!!???

DER GUBERMENSCH

For those who don’t know, which means everyone who didn’t grow up in Munich, Heino was an androgynous semi-albino Aryan Mummenschantz member and pop singer who had pet poodles, loved his mother and wore dark glasses because his eyes didn’t align properly. And, in a country that puts David Hasselhoff in the Top Forty, that's a recipe for pop stardom!

I ALWAYS KNEW THE DEVIL WOULD LOOK LIKE BRUCE WILLIS

It's like someone just told them the funniest fucking joke on the planet. "Ich habe ein Hund ohne eine Nase." "Oh? Wie riecht es?" "Schlecht!" (Thanks to Monty Python for that one). Seriously, though, this album cover is clearly the work of the Devil. Literally. He's sitting on the barstool dressed like August's Electrolux Salesman of the Month award winner, forcing these pitiful humans to laugh until they die - check out the guy at the lower right, already dead. Don't believe me? Check out Satan's cigarette. That's right, he's smoking a cigarette, and it's nowhere NEAR HIS FUCKING MOUTH! It's HOVERING IN MIDAIR! So go ahead, boys and girls, keep looking for signs of Satan on the inside covers of your Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath albums. Turns out he's been hanging out with Count Basie all along.

YOU'LL KNOW FOR SURE WHEN HIS POMPADOUR STICKS TO THE BEDPOST

...so that’s why I’m gonna have to handcuff you to the bed. And bind your legs and hands. And put a gag in your mouth. And saw off your right leg just below the knee. At least, y’know, until I’m through loving you and stuff.

HOW TO MAKE AN ALBUM COVER IN 13 SECONDS

Kari Wuhrer has a bad hair day. But she’s still hot as hell. I like that they really went all out on the backdrop too.

HE SINGS MOSTLY RANDY NEWMAN COVERS

Join us as we travel back to a time when there was apparently no such thing as an insult.

IN GOD WE TRESS

This Christian family understood that if your hair is closer to God, than so are you. It also looks like Daughter #1 is finally growing into those legs. I’d hit.

DON'T EAT THE YELLOW SAND

Castle’s finished. Now c’mere, Sara Jean, I need you to fill the moat. What? It’s already filled in?

TEN BUCKS SAYS DAVE FOUND HIM IN TIJUANA

Meet Chet and Dave. When they’re not trying to sell you a used station wagon or install cabinetry, they're singing the praises of sweet baby Jesus in the local church. Me, I got a 1963 Studebaker wagon that plays “Old Rugged Cross” every hour on the hour. And a mahogany cutlery drawer with rubbed brass accents. The best of both worlds. Life is good. Thanks, Chet and Dave!

YOU SHOULD HEAR HIM SING "HANG ON PFLOOPY"

I don’t know why Chad never caught on with the ladies the way the Beatles or Herman’s Hermits did. Maybe it’s the bad wig. Or the skinny tie. Or the way he holds his guitar. Chad was from England. Or is that already obvious?

IF HIPGNOSIS WERE RUN BY SIX-YEAR-OLDS

– No, I can’t say I was expecting good taste from a band called Cattle Decapitation and an album called Humanure, but still, this loose (bowel) take on Pink Floyd’s Atom Heart Mother is some fucked up shit, literally. But there’s been a movie called Monsturd (seriously, IMDB that shit), and plush Mr. Hanky dolls litter the bargain bins of Hot Topic. And need I even mention “two girls and a cup?” So yeah, shit does sell. But take it from me, would-be metalheads, if you really wanna make your mark in the land of shock rock, how about starting with a logo that people can actually fucking read? This band might be called Cattle Decapitation. But they could also be Gaitleck Pecafilafiopt. Or Gallet Recapacitator. Or Detlef Schrempf. Personally, I would’ve picked a name that better fits with the whole concept of shit. Like the Small Feces. Or Dungen. Or John Mayer.

GOOD TOUCH, BAD TOUCH, BRADY STYLE

I’ll resist the obvious “nice melons” joke here, and just say that if the sight of Walter Matthau hitting on Maureen McCormick doesn’t immediately make you lose your last meal, then you probably won’t even be phased by the album cover I’ll be posting next time. She looks sweet though, and he looks like he smells like cod and piss and the remnants of the last seven meals lurking somewhere in that mustache, so yeah, it's a bit of a mismatch. Over in these parts, we call it "statutory rape."

THERE ARE STAINS ON THAT CHAIR IN COLORS I'VE NEVER SEEN

Is it just me, or does anyone else think that the three-armed, paunch-battling Calypso Gene probably smells like some unholy combination of patchouli, fried chicken and weed in real life? As a matter of fact, the actual album cover itself has a foul sweat-and-baby-oil-on-leather smell, to be perfectly honest. On the plus side, that’s the kind of bitchin’ ass chair you could slap an “Eames” reference on and get a couple grand for on Ebay.

SO LITTLE TIME, SO MANY NOTES TO BEND

Well Sweet Baby Jesus, Mildred! If you think you can jam on “Old Rugged Cross” with a simple Fender, you’ve got another thing coming. That’s why I use my custom-made Gibson twin-neck EDS-1275, the same one Jimmy Page used on “The Song Remains the Same” and “Stairway to Heaven,” bless his soul. So yeah, you can go fuck yourself.

A LITTLE BOWLEGGED MAYBE, BUT HE STILL WALKS

Buzz is right, ya know, where there walks a logger, there walks a man. Usually a couple steps behind, trying to hand him a pink slip, but still. Me, I’m not sure if I’m more impressed with the fact that Buzz just fell that redwood with his gee-tar, or the fact that he’s trying to pitch you a song called “Unemployment Compensation.” Elsewhere, we hear he’s got a “Used Log Truck” that he fills up with “Loggers Home Brew” which he takes to the “Loggers Annual Party” where he gets drunk and reamed up the ass by “Hoot Owun Again.” Later, he claims he’s “Sick of Settin’ Chokers.” “Chokers” being that mix of semen and fecal matter that gay men gag on following a healthy session of anal sex. There walks a man indeed, Buzz.

ARS KICKERS

This, my friends, is Buffalo. And like the cover says, they are Tars of the Ars. That’s “Ars,” like “Arse.” And how can you NOT be a tar of the arse dressed in your fancy tri-color polyester jumpsuits with vests that don’t fit properly and leg cuts that look like twin vaginas? It even helps if one of your bandmembers is missing teeth, and lookee there, we hit paydirt with Buffalo! If this is where Buffalo hangs out, then surely this must be the coolest Brauhaus in Akron, I shit you not. Encore: “Hey, Won’t You Play Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song.” Always makes the fat ones cry.

I'M SORRY, PRINCESS, YOU REALLY SHOULD REMOVE YOUR BRACES FIRST

An unrefined man in this position would say something like “Hey baby, while you’re down there…” This gentleman, on the other hand, is the very epitome of refinement. He opens with “Please, honey, do not slobber on the silk.”

IS THAT A PISTOL OR ARE YOU JUST GLAD TO SEE...OH, IT'S NOT A PISTOL

Something tells me ol’ “Bob Joe” there ain’t exactly a cowboy, if’n ya know what I mean. And something tells me he might not even be packing a third pistol, if’n ya know what I mean. By that I mean cock. Man, do I always have to spell it out for you? Just remember, Bob Joe, there was a cowboy in the Village People too.

BILLY THE THALIDOMIDE KID

In 1854, he lost his first gunfight. Two weeks later, he lost his second. By 1855, he was raising horses with his sister. Some fuckin’ outlaw.

ONCE A MONTH, IT BLEEDS RED WHITE AND BLUE

– Well now, ya can’t have camel toe if ya can’t even see the CAMEL, can ya? This Black Crowes CD cover was actually BANNED by Wal-Mart. Which is ironic because, in July and August, you can see this very thing just by walking down the Cosmetics aisle.

SHE'S PRETTY, BUT SHE CAN DO YOUR JOB AT HALF THE SALARY

A little throwback today, to a time when kitchen appliances came in Avocado, “space age” meant having FM radio in your Studebaker, and martians were thought to be hot little pinheaded girls with dots on their forehead. Today, of course, we’d just call her Norah Jones.

SEARS PORTRAIT OF A KILLER

Oh Sweet Baby Jesus, look at little Timmy there, just having the time of his life playing with the old bean bags! That’s all you need really, in life, for a good time. Just give me a sunny day, a wide-open field, a glazed-over Downs Syndrome look on my face, and two bright sunny yellow bean bags of FUN FUN FUN! Little Timmy can’t get enough of ‘em! No, Timmy! That’s not a bean bag! Let go of that right NOW! Oh God, I’m SO sorry, Grandpa. Oh Jesus, someone call the ambulance! I told you this would happen if you didn’t put pants on!

BURT REYNOLDS IS LAUGHING AT HER

She's got the seal of approval from ANITA BRYANT! She's shown pictured on the back shaking hands with PRESIDENT LYNDON JOHNSON! She's been on the cover of CHRISTIAN LIFE magazine and mentioned somewhere in the bowels of SEVENTEEN magazine! She spreads the word of God and wears pancake make-up thicker than one of Gabouret Sidibey's thighs. So why do I STILL get the impression that her hair is gonna fly off the top of her head one night and suck the blood from my throat while I'm sleeping? Maybe it's just me.

MAYBE SHE'S TAKING A BATSHIT.

Holy Spanish Fly, Batman, it’s a dumpy woman’s ass! Either Senor Batman here is giving us a sly little wink, or a piece of cellulite just broke off and hit him in the eye. Quick, Robin, the BatNeedle! Jab it into my eyes NOW!

THE HEAVY MAN SAYS "HEAVY, MAN."

If, by your album title, you mean a retina-searing acid flashback of Oprah Winfrey dressed like that Indian from the Village People, then yes, Barry, I guess this IS what I “wont”. So was it YOU then in Repo Man’s trunk?

BABY GOT BACH

Hey baby, nice Ludwigs! Mind if I take a look at yer Vivaldi?

FLOPSY TAKES A FALL ON THE SET OF THE INCREDIBLE HULK

Look, just put the dog down, Mr. Bixby. And just back away. I know you're upset with Mr. Ferrigno, and we all know how difficult he can be to work with. But just let the dog breathe, okay Bill? Everybody just calm down!

...LIKE RABBITS

Jesus Christ, this one’s even got ME speechless. Am I breaking some kind of law even POSTING this album cover?

NO WONDER HE PLAYED WITH STEPHEN STILLS A LOT

In his forty-plus years in the music industry, Al Kooper has cowritten “This Diamond Ring” by Gary Lewis and the Playboys, joined Blues Project and started Blood Sweat and Tears, and played the organ on Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone,” to name but a few of his many accomplishments. So if he wants to tuck himself in and act like Buffalo Bill from SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, he’s certainly earned the right to do so. But I still don’t wanna fuck him.

CARPET GRASS MUNCHERS

Hey, no one said living with lesbians would be easy. Especially when they come into your town and start raking lawns and bailing hay and dressing like extras from CHILDREN OF THE CORN 3: MALACHI’S REVENGE. Before you know it, they’ll be settin’ up one of those “farmer’s markets” and then they'll start selling produce and milk and shit to our kids. Why, just the other day, Mabel from up on the hill found an Ani DiFranco CD mixed in with her beefsteak tomatoes. It’s the beginning of the end, I tell ya.

COW PATTY GRIFFIN

Jesus, slaughter me already. Anything so I don’t have to listen to this failed folkie fuck sing another goddamned note. Fuckin’ moo. (That’s the cow talking)

WHO SAID GERMAN GIRLS WERE HARD?

Again, I have to ask. What is it with typesetters always getting in the fucking way? Gimme Brigitte Bardot’s NRA-lovin’ sister, a high powered rifle and a healthy pair of meat balloons and what? Some graphic designer with an oiled-up photo of the Village People in his cubicle’s gotta stand between me and a good time? Gimme a break. A potentially great cover, now gayer than a Lance Bass chat room.

FUNNY, I ALWAYS HAD JOE PERRY PEGGED AS A POST-IMPRESSIONIST

There’ve been numerous variations of the famous “All Is Vanity” skull/mirror optical illusion first drawn by Charles Allen Gilbert back when your Mom was born. The Damned did it, and so did Def Leppard. This is one of the all-time WORST. It’s so bad, you see the skull first and have to try hard to figure out what it’s made out of. Optical illusion my ass. And listen, when Def Leppard do ANYTHING better than you, it’s time to pack it up.

THE ORIGINAL (THANKS, MOM!)

THE DAMNED STOLE IT FIRST (THANKS, BIG BROTHER WHO WAS INTO PUNK MUSIC!)

DEF LEPPARD'S VERSION (THANKS, "METAL" KID WITH THE GREASY MULLET WHO I USED TO BEAT UP FOR LUNCH MONEY IN GRADE SCHOOL!)

AND JUST WAIT'LL YOU SEE THE BACK COVER!

‘Cuz I’m a sucker for butt dimples. The most beautiful cover ever in the history of Life. Seriously.

DONNA SUMMER MEETS GEORGE ORWELL. AND THEY HAD A KID.

I don’t know if you can see it here, but there are three doctors lying on the ground, two with donkey masks on and one wearing a pig face, while an anatomical mannequin lies on a stretcher and a giant pink sperm pushes its way out of the medical lamp, wriggling itself into a big, squishy, cerise, egg-fertilizing “3”. Above it all, of course, is the conquering figure of the mighty Cerrone himself, too tall to even stand up erect under his Mr. Fancy Font name, resplendent in his unbuttoned shirt, Pauly Walnuts gold chain, too-tight-for-reproduction jeans and whatever other bad Charles Nelson Reilly-on-acid fashion trends of the Seventies he can think of. The title of the record is SUPERNATURE. What does it all MEAN, you ask? Who knows? But back in 1977, we summed it up as follows. Disco sucks.

I SEE A RAT!

Is it funny, or is it disgusting? Dunno. But I haven’t stopped blowing my fucking nose since last Tuesday.

MEISTERBOOGER BOOGERMEISTER

It’s great when you can kids to dress up in your country’s colors and put on a little patriotic show. Everybody loves kids. It’s not so great, though, when one of ‘em starts picking his nose right in the middle of Hymn to Liberty, and then your proud and patriotic album comes out and there’s that SAME FUCKING KID right there on the cover, immortalized forever. It’s called “quality control,” Greece. Get some.