Warren Zevon died ten years ago. Today was his birthday. Sure, he was an excitable boy, and there’s nothing so fierce as those werewolves of London, but today, how about we sit back and just listen to Mohammed’s Radio?

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GUTFIRE!’s been in a Lone Ranger phase pretty much our whole life, and ever since that night building shoebox dioramas with Elton John we’ve been in a Scissor Sisters phase too. Excepting perhaps the pairing of Captain Fantastic with a hot glue gun, there’s likely no better combo than galloping white horses set to the Sisters’ soaring nouveau disco. Try this number from Magic Hour on for size, and tell us who doesn’t feel like dancing now.

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It’s the weekend. At last. Have a great one. And listen, it’s enough to say you’re getting older every day – you ought to love someone.

Love,

GUTFIRE!

All the love you need, at GUTFIRE! Magazine: WWW.GUTFIREMAGAZINE.COM

Look Michelle… we know we missed Valentine’s Day, but here’s something very pretty for you. Johnny Cash himself says he’s been singing this one since he was seventeen. What? Well no, Johnny Cash won’t keep us warm at night, that’s true. Alright fine, you’re right – he’d never have forgotten June on Valentine’s Day. What! Walk the line into a burning ring of fire? Oh grow up, Michelle – you’re being silly. Listen, it’s a poem. Hear it? It’s romantic, right? Beautiful, don’t you th-WHAT THE! Is that battery acid!? Damn it, Michelle! You know what? We forgot Valentine’s Day on purpose! That’s right. And know what else? Your tuna casserole stinks! No double meaning there – you’re a lousy cook! And another thing…

Remember the love, at GUTFIRE! Magazine: WWW.GUTFIREMAGAZINE.COM

Honesty may be the best policy, but lies make for more lasciviously harrowing music videos. Take this electropop voyage from Is Tropical, for example. We find vultures and a terrific beat, sure, but also a commentary on self-doubt, self-control, sexual liberation, sexual slavery, the dangers of consumerism, flamingos, fear of aging, the lack of positive male role models, the point of delayed gratification, modern martyrdom, the military-industrial complex, the cult of Debbie Harry, the quest for identity, the real presence of the divine, the urban-rural divide, the rise of the leisure class, the purpose of pleasure, and eagles, just to name a few things. What do you find? You can be honest. Or, don’t.

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Look pal, we’re not trying to be harsh, but believe us when we tell you: you’re not in love. You might be head over heels in like, or you might have fallen deeply into lust, or you might even have a very cool postmodern convenience-of-joint-bank-accounts thing going, but you’re not in love. Want to know how we know? Because Yves Montand is in love. Yves Montand is in love with Mathilda. And she dances for him through his dreams.

Waltz with Mathilda at GUTFIRE! Magazine: WWW.GUTFIREMAGAZINE.COM

We’ve all been around the block a few times – some of us a few more times than we’d like to admit (and no, we’re not talking about that time at your folks’ place at Lake Winnipesaukee, Dudley – relax). What we’re getting at is that we all think we know things – like how to be forceful and tender at the same time – but what do we really know? For example, we knew Orangina was our favorite mildly carbonated orange flavored beverage, but only recently did we learn that the best way to drink Orangina is with fresh cigarette in hand, gazing out the window of a squalid fourth story Parisian flat pondering our recent string of moral mistakes. That’s the sort of thing we mean. Similarly, to learn that the proper way to tap into the cosmic magic of an old favorite is to listen to master Moog-er Isao Tomita explain his methods – in Japanese – before blasting us into interstellar overdrive, well, that was an eye-opener. So thanks for the good times Jiminy Cricket – and Dudley – but but we’re moving on. Join us, won’t you?

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We’re a little embarrassed to admit this, but we’ve tried everything. Eastern religion, cooking classes, massages, cleanses, toxifiers, essential oils, superfluous creams, glossy waxes, matte finishes, Tuesdays with guys named Morrie, Wednesdays with gals named Laurie, Thursdays with transgender individuals named Sam, everything. But the answer was right under our nose the whole time: Barbara Streisand. What do ?uestlove, Pharrell Williams, Yelawolf, Chromeo, and all the hepcats of the world have in common? Barbara Streisand. Why does the caged bird sing? We bet we know the answer. Could we have saved ourselves a lifetime of headaches if only Kristofferson hadn’t kept the good news to himself back in the ’70s? Yep. But then that’s typical… Bobby McGee my truck-driving *ss.

Barbara Streisand: WWW.GUTFIREMAGAZINE.COM

So, you going to Flash Lancaster’s party tonight? Probably not. How come? I don’t know – I…just miss my old confidence. Your old confidence? Listen, try this. That Guy Class? What’s this? It’s a great confidence boost, that’s what. It makes really cool dudes out of regular dudes, and party heroes out of really cool dudes. Thanks! You know what, I changed my mind – I’ll be there tonight. And I think I’ll bring a date! Hey, great! Maybe I’ll bring a date too. Ok, but your huge cold sore doesn’t count. Hey! Wait – HAHAHAHAHA! So I’ll see you tonight then? Probably not.

Win friends and influence people at GUTFIRE! Magazine: WWW.GUTFIREMAGAZINE.COM

The first of October already? Where does the time go? But then that’s a stupid question, isn’t it? We know full well where the time goes. It goes and joins the Peace Corps and ends up building schools in some underdeveloped country – at least that’s what it says on your resume, isn’t that right Bryce? – and then it comes back and goes to a top tier law school and makes a boatload of money and joins some young professionals networking group and gets a really good set of cutlery and an Audi and then asks out Jessica and ends up marrying her and having a bundle of kids with wavy haircuts and cool little blue jeans while we’re sitting here with our thumb up- oh…sure, I’ll have one more, but then I’d better go. I gotta drive.

The point is some things don’t make a hell of a lot of sense. Like this clip, for example, of Mr. Radiohead dancing to the band’s namesake. Or is it? Who knows? Certainly not us. But then we didn’t go to law school, did we, Bryce? Or join the Peace Corps. Please…as though it were the f-ing Marines! Listen, we remember when you got a bloody nose in Civics class, you twerp, and WE KISSED JESSICA FIRST! FIRST, YOU HEAR ME!

Think, ask, at GUTFIRE! Magazine: WWW.GUTFIREMAGAZINE.COM