Relic Hunter – or – Records I Bought At The Op Shop For A Dollar

November 27, 2011, 8:54 PM
Filed under: Miscellanea

You there! Feast your eyes upon TREASURE.

I am not entirely sure what is going on here. Is this fine gentleman emerging from a comically large beer stein, or is he just standing behind it watching you drink? If so, why is the interior of the stein green? I don’t know what he’s got planned, but he does, and his guilt is written all over his face.

Anyway, fuck it: OOMPAH!

Renato is lying. He was never able to stop at just one.

There’s so much to consider when deconstructing comedy. Why do we laugh? Do we seek to validate our own foibles when presented with those of another? As we reflect upon the human condition, is it enough to snatch brief moments of joy taken in absurdity?

Do we all have a carrot? I don’t, but I can put straw in my boots. Does the dog have a carrot?

Warning: it will be a racist party.

Ah, smoking wreckage: the stuff of which nostalgia is made. Remember that time we all hid in the cellar and though we were going to die? It’s just not like it used to be, kids. The manufacturers of this record were wise to the fact that this title, whilst delightfully catchy, might not be in the best of taste. This is why the back of the record sleeve is devoted to a bizarre sociological essay vaguely related to why it’s okay. A responsible person would have a scanner that actually works (in my defence, it used to…one laptop ago) – or, at the very least, a camera for which she can find the SD card. Not me. More terrible phone pictures!