Music is always playing. Always. And you wind up attaching moments you’ve lived to certain bands, albums, or songs, so that when you hear them again, you remember those times from your past.
Rancid is like that for me. No matter what kind of album Rancid makes, I’ll have a place in my heart for ‘em. I'll defend them tooth and nail. I love them. They remind me of a time in my life that was good, innocent, and mischievous.

If the Teen Idols were to build a time machine, travel back to the early 1980s, open a punk rock summer camp, and allow No Doubt to be counselors, they’d probably have three campers named Manda, Joe A. Damage, and Mark Slak in their ranks. These three youngsters would take what they learned from the brash and smash Teen Idols and the oh-so-poppy No Doubt and form a band years later called Manda and the Marbles.

Holy fucking tits, Batman! A Joykiller anthology? Epitaph be praised.
Eight years ago, these young dudes rocked all lame asses, unleashing their debut upon the cruel, cruel world. Two now-out-of-print releases later, they're being honored with a big, pink collection of their mad, crazy tunes. Thirty-fucking-two of them!

I say woe is the man who has to live his life without the joys-- yes, the joys-- of sweet, saturated, butter products! I must admit, I was that man before I moved to this great land of Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
My first butter experience was at a restaurant called Kopp's. I then moved on to more butter happiness at the famed eatery known as Culver's.

It’s hip-hop. No-- it’s dub! No-- it’s that kinda stuff the Chemical Brothers and Fat Boy Slim make, but more chill. No-- It's dub again! But there’s hip-hop in it?!? Aw, crap. Fuck it! This CD is fun. Hella fun. And it’s all over the place, which suits this schizophrenic just fine.

It's Saturday morning. What time would you get up? That's right: 6:45 AM. What would you do next? Correct: drive 125 miles for breakfast. Who would you go with? Right-o: nine other happening young scenesters.
We-- the tastes like chicken staff-- made this pilgrimage because of a certain fine eatery, nay, the finest eatery in all creation, which serves a breakfast fit for The King.

Puppy dogs, kittens, starry skies, and hand claps, oh my! Why is it that decent boys and girls are always the first to get their hearts broken? "This is a simple story of boy loses girl,..." Not the type of emo I’d go out looking for, but would stop at the record store and buy if I were driving in my car, listening to college radio, thinking “Yeah” to myself, and nodding my head in time with the music.

Picture this: your all-time favorite band, back together again, and playing a concert right before your very eyes! Dead members resurrected, old rifts mended, and ancient musicians returned to their younger iconic selves. What is this? Witchcraft? Human cloning experiments gone horribly wrong? Hell no! Living like talentless leeches sucking the success-filled blood of people who really paid their dues, it's a tribute band!

Damn. I was hoping Wayne would write some curt, funny, drunken intro for my column of rambling crap, Pure Lard. But he done told me to do it. So,.. uh,.. Pure Lard's been around since 1997. But now that it's in tastes like chicken, maybe people will read it. And, hopefully, make love to it!

Hey there, chicken readers. My name is Jack. I'm a longtime reader, first-time writer. I've been working in the same factory here in Indiana for the past 17 years or so. I just wanted to write in and let ya'll know somethin' I just discovered.