DRINK UP, MR. DUBROW, OR SLEEP WITH THE FISHES

In keeping with Don LeBeaux’s album title “A Part Of Me,” a part of me thinks he might be trying to woo some Italian princess with his suave demeanor, his love of the Vino, his fancy Bedazzled dress shirt, and enough solid gold jewelry to set off the metal detector at Studio 54. But another part of me is more realistic, and thinks what this album cover REALLY shows is Don shaking down some poor sap with a mullet. And if that sap don’t get the 50 grand to Don by next Tuesday, then his little sister’s gonna be eatin’ Italian for a week. If ya know what I mean.

I DIDN'T KNOW MADONNA FOUGHT IN WORLD WAR 2

Well now, two entries ago I made a big fuss over the amateur artwork of Deerhoof, and then along comes this artistic epileptic fit that would make even Kiss Army members laugh. This one’s so bad it kinda speaks for itself, and making fun of it is like making fun of Charlie Sheen – why even bother? Lemme just say this - I ain’t no psychologist, but I’m pretty sure someone here has some breast-feeding issues. Spinal Tap had four of the best improv comedians working on it and even they couldn't come up with a fucking tit tank like this. I just pray to God that they incorporate this album cover into their stage shows. I am so there.

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.