DA WHOLE THING

Have you ever been too tired to sleep, so you get in your car and take to the highway, circling the city limits, only to slip into a waking daydream, and wake some ten hours later, halfway across the country, driving through the desert, into the sunrise, having mysteriously acquired a passenger who looks like Tex Avery's wolf, who needs you to take him to the Dusklight Motel, which is one of those swanky, cheap motels where family value-oriented political officials make scandalous amateur pornos with their buxom, 23-year-old receptionists, and when you get there, a couple of plainclothes cops eye you up while ol' Wolfykins falls back, raises his arms to the sky, chants some indecipherable ancient language, and starts shooting blood out of his eyes, forcing the cops to start firing their corrupt pistols and you to run into the front desk office, where the clerk, who looks like a cross between Norman Bates and Lurch, refuses to let you use the phone to call for help, so you stagger backwards, distracted by all the freaky taxidermic wildlife on the yellowed office walls, only to be startled by a hand grabbing your shoulder from behind, kicking your petrified ass into gear, running out of that Dali/Bunuel hell and into your sleeping car, which can't seem to drive fast enough back to the comfort and security of your low-rent home? That's what listening to Da Whole Thing's three newest tracks, "7", "Yeah!", and "Jakarta" is like. Check ‘em here.