|And in honor of his new maturity (trust us: brand new), we have decided that the contest’s winner should be determined using that most characteristically adult of political precepts, besides slander: democracy. Yes, the winner shall be decided by vote; yours, to be exact.
Since an uneducated vote is a corruption of the very principles ‘pon which the WAS heritage is founded, what you should do is go to the entries page and read over the entries. The decision you have then to make is not which particular taunt most impresses you, but which taunter put in the best cumulative performance. Then cast your vote. In a week or so, we’ll announce a winner, along with a detail of her/his prize package. As my junkie friend has managed to say at least once every five minutes for the several years I’ve known him: Get psyched. [Alt.: Dude, get psyched.]
in less than 72 hours i will be on a plane for tanzania (NOT tazmania) for an entire semester, away from the bubble that is the claremont colleges. i’ll learn to speak swahili and have a homestay with a tribe. i’m getting a wee bit nervous. they made me buy all of this camping equipment, and let’s just say that i am not known for my “roughing it” capabilities. being the world-travelers that you are with all of those big, multi-billion dollar tours, do you have any advice for me on how to survive such a long trip and not step on any cultural toes?
a devoted fan,
p.s. if i can get a picture of a tribesman wearing a we are scientists t-shirt, will you guys play a show between the 16th and the 19th of may when i will be in new york on my way back to sunny san diego? i’ve never been to NY and that would be really cool…
p.p.s. some of your songs will be travelling with me on my pitiful low-memory mp3 player. feel honored.
Tazmania, eh? We�ve heard good things. Good things about Tazmania, boy. Yes sir. Seriously, rest easy. Consider yourself blessed not to be going to Beirut or Tanzania or something.
First, foremost, most important thing to remember: put people at ease. And how do you do that? In the manner demonstrated by this little note�s salutation: append a rhyming �nonsense� version of your foreign buddy�s name to the end of her actual moniker, bridging the real and the rhyme with �bo�, �fo�, �lo�, etc., depending on how you�ve spelt (rhymes with svelte) the invented portion of the new nickname. Let�s try a few together.
Exercise A. You meet a man, name o� Pierre. He is a Frenchman of almost boundless romantic appeal. ALWAYS, the right thing seems to be coming out of his mouth at the right time (you get the feeling that if your sleeve caught fire, he would produce a generous outflow of flame-quenching French spittle, so reliable is his right-thing-at-right-time characteristic). You are seduced and �lain to the satin�, as the French say (there is no meaningful English translation). After a fortnight of intelligent, gallic lovemaking, you are at the breakfast table with Pierre and his mother and father, who are roughly your age. For whatever reason, a moment of awkwardness � unprecedented in your short history with Pierre � drifts over the McCroissandwich-littered table. Perhaps dad makes a pass at you. Perhaps you accept. How to engineer a d�tente? �Oh, we�re all being so silly! Let us laugh again, as we have so often before this moment done! [Note that you should speak in the tone-deaf grammar of a foreigner, that they might feel at ease with you.] Let us rejoice in the company of each other, in the wealth of familial comfort that is here! Oh, Pierre bo-Bierre, never would I assent to the laying of me by your father to the satin! Do not be silly, Pierre Robespierre [go ahead and freestyle on the rhyme at this point, and if you can bring in popular cultural references relevant to the addressee, all the better].
Exercise B. During a layover in Lisbon, en route to Transylvania, where you are studying abroad, you meet a young woman who fits, at least superficially, into your demographic. After nearly 12 hours of lonely travel – if you include the drive to LAX – and a hermetic, friendless two and a half years of dereliction at college in Claremont, you are CEO-greedy for a little conversation. How to break the ice: �Excuse me, but would you mind my asking your name? � Ah, Janet, is it? Janet. Janet lo-Lanet. Janet � stop me if this bothers you � Janet fo-Fanet. Heh heh. Funny. That�s funny, huh? Janet fo-Fanet. Funny. How �bout this one: Janet cro-Cranet. Heh heh. Janet� Janet splo-Splanet. Gah-haaa! That�s rich.� Voila. You�ve got her attention, guaranteed. Now make friends. �Janet� is a good example because it shows how you can do some pretty interesting permutations. �cro-Cranet�, for example, or maybe �bro-Branet�. We don�t recommend straying very far from �bro-Branet�, however. At �bro-Branet� you�re already pretty far afield. For example, �splo-Splanet� was obviously too out-there. You saw how Janet reacted to that one. She looked like a very controlled person who can usually supress her emotions, who has just got a big gulp of expired, tofu-chunky milk and, though she�s trying to be polite and control any showy gagging or vomiting, is nevertheless pretty obviously experiencing tremendous revulsion. Janet sto-Stanet.
Other than that, Tawny, we�re not sure what to tell you. Except, maybe, that you will be going into this adventure with a distinct advantage over the average neophytic traveller: your admiration for and familiarity with the we are scientists. WAS, you may not realize, is the basis for a surprisingly extensive, predictably heart-felt global fellowship, a fellowship that, frankly, we never intended. Because we�d be lying if we told you this fellowship has increased the value of our defense contracts. WAS has always suggested and practiced violence as the best way to derail a conflict. But the point is that wherever you go, you�re going to find WAS fans, as sure as you�ll find wind, fire, and Coke brand snack drinks. On arriving in your semi-permanent new home, consider joining the local chapter of the WAS fan club (note: in many areas of the world, words resembling �worship� liberally pepper the meetings of such clubs; don�t let this seeming extremism, which is actually just a cultural difference, bother you � what they mean by �worship�, Americans and Europeans tend to describe more casually as a powerful sexual lust). Volunteer for one of the less-desirable offices, such as Purely-Platonic Friend to The Band; you will thereby immediately gain the respect and gratitude of your new community.
Lastly, may we suggest that you keep in mind the following helpful aphorisms, which each of us has tattooed both forward (for the world) and backward (for the mirror) on our chests:
SEE IS DO
DO GOOD, BE G.
COKE V. PEPSI
The width of our chests has, to an extent, been a factor in determining the maxims we choose to follow. So has almost total moral lassitude. But that is not to say that we�re anything less than 100% behind the wisdom and usefulness of these four concise and witty prescriptions.
Good luck to you, Tawny. You will be fine. Confidence here at WAS HQ is high. Bets have been placed, and � without putting any pressure on you either way � let us just say that we will make out handsomely if you survive this journey. Again, no pressure, but, so you know, our winnings will be maximized if you return alive, yes, but without your legs. Without either leg, Tawny. Keeping specifics to a minimum, let�s just say that we�ll be generous with you if you�re generous with us, Tawny. So, something to think about.
we are scientists
p.s. � show us a photo of a tribesman boasting our t-shirt and we will do everything in our power to book a show during the specified period. Should we fail, we�d be more than happy to give you a private show consisting of us popping your favorite WAS album onto the CD turner and lip-synching a couple of songs, maybe even miming some guitar strumming and drum-beating and kazoo-blowing, for those solos.
There are new shows up, so you should check out the page and then cancel any dates that you may have already made for those nights, because you know that he/she is only going to stand you up anyway. So now here we are, finally giving you an excuse to be the stander-upper for the first time in your life. WAS: your source of the romatic upper-hand since 2001.
Also, we’ve hooked you up in terms of putting streaming audio on our site. Some of us didn’t want to do it. Some of us felt that, if you were going to get our songs – our precious songs, which were born of our blood and our sweat and our pilfering from the Oasis catalogue – if you were going to get those songs, you should pay for them somehow. And since we can’t get your computer to suck a $10 bill in through the disk drive and deposit it directly into our bank account (we’re working on that, though), we feel that the way you need to pay – the way that you need to be MADE to pay – is by forcing you to sit there for hours, missing dinner and the ballgame and childbirth, until the song has been downloaded by your awful 3K tin-can-and-string modem. That sems fair, no?
We’ll, appaently, we’ve got some real bleeding hearts over here at WAS, because now you can stream the songs on our page. Are you happy now? We’re also working on getting those videos for “Bomb” and “Creeper” to stream, but, to be honest, Keith is too stupid to figure this whole business out. Really. He’s just that stupid.
Awesome: the First Ever (and, with luck, First Annual) Schwarzeneggerian Execution Taunt Contest & Tremendathon is, like, totally on!
WHAT!?!: In honor of the birth of Michael Tapper, which birth’s anniversary is on January 17, W.A.S. announces the FE(a,wl,FA)ETC&T. This is a competition that W.A.S. has designed specifically to determine who can come up with the very best Schwarzeneggerian execution taunt, in honor of Tapper. Use the taunts posted last week on this page (see below) as a guide to format.
WHO!??!: Why, YOU! There was never a better time than now to become involved in an execution taunt contest. Face it: if you let yet another e.t. contest’s close date pass without submitting, you’re going to go out back and – using 20 ft. of common flax rope and that big ol’ oak tree grandpaps used to fire crossbow bolts into with such accuracy – hang yourself! Which brings us to this point:
WHEN??????: The last day to enter The FE(a,wl,FA)ETC&T is Friday, January 24th, the very day that a big ol’ party will be held in Michael Tapper’s honor in Williamsburg featuring Michael’s favorite band, we are scientists. You don’t have a second to lose! Get out your pad and paper, crank up w.a.s. on the boombox, slap some butter on the soles of your feet, fasten your vintage polio braces and get writing!!
WHAT CAN I WIN??!!: Prizes will include a variety of hot we are scientists merchandise (some customized!) and a coveted spot in our coming-soon as-yet-unnamed hall of fame, which will be a page on this site, which will feature profiles of crucial figures in the w.a.s. universe, such as the winner of The FE(a,wl,FA)ETC&T.
HOW!!!!: It’s easy! Just go to the Discussions page on this site, click on the “Execution Taunt Contest” forum, and post your execution taunt! What could be easier besides stuff that is lame like chewing gum or falling down some stairs or becoming a cop!
Here’re last weeks execution taunts, in case you haven’t read them 8 times yet…
“Feeling Sleepy” – After long kicking/slapping episode between S. and well-matched adversary, in which S. and adversary in turn kick the other’s thigh or slap the other’s face (the reason for which methods of fighting left unspoken), both opponents teeter exhaustedly in the logging mill to where Arnold had tracked the villain. Just as the audience expects both to collapse simultaneously, Arnold, barely audible, mutters, “Feewing sweepy” At which his adversary glances up in time to see a broom fly the distance between them into his heaving chest handle-first and then down in time to see sawdust incidentally swept into a neat pile as he crumples forward onto the broom.
“Time�s Up” After backing villain, who has been known to proctor many a standardized exam, into the far corner of a giant warehouse full of giant clocks, Schwarzie steals a glance at his wristwatch and sneers, “Time’s Ahp,” at which the two-ton cuckoo clock overhead chimes the top of the hour, releasing from its doors a giant hand-held hammer, which immediately and unceremoniously crushes said villain.
“Can I borrow a quarter” Arnold, in Conan gear, faces adversary, sword in hand. Suddenly rummaging around in his satchel, Arnold asks, “Can I borrow a quartuh” To which his foe replies, “A quarter of what” One horizontal slice across and one vertical slice down, and then, “You.”
“Smoke weed every day” Arnold and bad-guy stand in dry prairie field, stretching in every direction as far as the camera can see, a helicopter hovering overhead. Arnold wraps the helicopter’s rope ladder around his left hand, and, as the helicopter lifts him away, calls out laughing, “Smoke weed every day.” And then the napalm.
“Your ass is grass” – Schwarzenegger knocks villain to the floor, rendering him unconscious. S. looks around the room; his eyes stop and slowly widen when he sees an old lawnmower. As villain begins to come to, his blurry vision reveals S. standing over him with the lawnmower held aloft, its engine roaring, its blade an invisible spin. “Yooah ass is grass,” S. intones mechanically, then leans heavily on the mower.
“Looks like dreams do come true” – At some point during the film, Schwarzenegger is captured. As he’s led away to be tortured, he addresses villain angrily: “I’d like to feed you to SOME ALLIGATORS!” “Dream on,” sneers villain. Later in the film, S. dangles villain by his ankle over a pit of gators; over villain’s cries of panic and fear and offers of sex with his daughter, S. intones mechanically, “Looks like dreams do come true,” then drops villain to the snapping tooth-racks below.
“Time to pay the piper” – Villain has the curious habit of referring to his pack of violent hunting dogs collectively as “the Piper”; his treatment of “the Piper” is quite brutal, and they, in turn, draw great satisfaction from tearing villain’s enemies apart when given the chance. At film’s climax, Schwarzenegger has got the best of villain and is dangling him by his ankle over the pit in which the Piper’s constituents are spinning and bucking and gnashing their slobbery teeth. Intones S.: “Time to pay da Pipuh,” indicating quotes around “the Piper” with his free hand. Then with the dropping.
“I guess you’re a dog person” – Villain collects dangerous wild animals. Among them are three massive tigers, which he keeps in a pit. At film’s climax, Schwarzenegger, having secretly laid a carpet over the pit, dares villain to walk over it. “Walk over a carpet?” villain scoffs, and does so, falling into the pit of tigers. As the tigers shred villain, S. muses, “I guess yooah more of a dog person.”
“He barely escaped” – Villain collects dangerous wild animals. Among them is a big mean grizzly bear. At film’s climax, Schwarzenegger wrestles villain into submission and casts him into the pit where the griz is kept, and, in easily the grizzliest scene of recent cinema, the bear tears villain to pieces. In the next scene, S.’s back-up arrives; as he and the female sex-object are led toward the ambulance for wound-patching, S.’s partner/sergeant/sensei asks what happened to villain. Explains Schwarzenegger: “He bearly escaped.” P/s/s chuckles knowingly.
“Sounds like that bill was just vetoed.” – Villain is William S. Dedalus, Polish oil magnate. Schwarzenegger, in an unusual display of restraint, forgoes doing away with the evil-doer on his own, opting instead to hire a cadre of Italian mobsters to assassinate him. When word comes to HQ that William Dedalus sleeps with the fishes, Schwarzenegger mechanically intones: “Sounds like that Bill was just Vito-ed.”
“You’re a chip off the old block.” – Villain is Gary Block, Bulgarian diamond exporter. Following a prolonged tussle on a cliff overlooking the Ganges, Schwarzenegger gets a hold of an axe that’s lying around, handily, and proceeds to lop off his arch-nemesis’ head in one muscle-bound, meat-headed swing. Picking up the liberated skull, S. gazes condescendingly at the visage of his gore-coated ex-enemy and mechanically intones, “You’re a chip off the old Block.”
“What a cutting remark” – intoned mechanically by Swarzenegger following his above comment.
“The check bounced,” – Villain is Randolph Pittance, Czech banker. After a 43-minute tussle on the roof of a vertiginously tall building, Schwarzenegger lifts the 95-lb. Pittance above his head and unceremoniously throws him over the ledge. As the paramedics approach, Schwarzenegger, who was unauthorized to take action against the banker, strolls casually away, lighting up his signature stogie. Peering with trepidation at the mangled, bloody mess on the sidewalk, Paramedic 1 turns toward Schwarzenegger and asks, “What happened to him?” “The Czech bounced,” Schwarzenegger intones mechanically, and then throws his lit cigar into pool of gasoline that is (for some reason) slowly accruing beneath the ambulance, causing an enormous explosion that kills three paramedics and four civilian bystanders.
“Careful, she’s a wildcat in the sack.” – Villain is Gerald Chatternon, Romanian boating enthusiast. In an elaborate plan to capture his elusive foe, Schwarzenegger capitalizes on Chatternon’s famously crippling affection for prostitutes by disguising himself as the proprietor of a Hungarian brothel. Opening the door into a darkened bedroom for Chatternon, Schwarzenneger gestures toward a shape atop the bed, which is obfuscated by the opulent linens and romantically dim lighting. A salacious Chatternon eagerly hands Schwarzenegger his two bits and rushes into the chamber, already removing his top hat and Washington Redskins jersey. Suddenly, S. slams the door shut, and wrings his hands victoriously. From behind the door, we are treated to the sound of what is clearly a kill-crazy mountain cat leaping from beneath a fine down comforter and rending the flesh of a Romanian boating enthusiast (read: roars, human howls, miscellaneous squishes). “Careful,” Schwarzenegger intones mechanically, “she’s a wildcat in the sack.”
Yes, yes. We have finally cinched up our pants and put our newest release, the Bitching! EP, up for sale on this website. To be frank, the reason it’s taken us so long to make this little guy widely available is that it is too good. It’s too good for us to let go. Every sale of this CD pains us in the way a matron is pained as she exchanges her children for buttered beans. Sure we love buttered beans, but we love this CD, too.*
A note to our consumers – the track entitled A Moment of Silent Meditation is exactly that: a minute of total silence, during which you may reflect upon the contents of this compact disk and then upon your own life and then upon the profound effect that the former is even now having upon the latter. Staggering maturity has just been thrust into your lap over the course of six thrilling and life-changing songs, and so we figure it is our responsibility – as your ushers into adulthood – to provide you with the time and peace that you need to truly comprehend the profundity of your maturation. Then, Mothra Under the Sea kicks in, and shuttles you back to emotional infancy. For maximum effect, we recommend that you put this CD on “loop” and never turn it off.
*Note: Much as we love them, we will not be exchanging this CD for buttered beans. Do not ask.
Can you count on We Are Scientists? To answer that question, look past the many thousands of friends and family members we’ve betrayed and trampled and (in one case) sold to get where we are today. Just look past them. Right past them.
Instead, take a look at this:
– we’ve got some new photos, taken by the inimitable Charlie McIntosh, who – and, oh, we are so ashamed of this – we invited to party with us after our New Year’s Eve show, but then, when he diligently (we suspect) made his way to Chris’s apartment in midtown, we were not there, because we were getting pizza, and we never saw the boy again. We are bad people, and we apologize to Charlie – here, in public – because he is our hero and everything we’d like to be and all of that business about flying with the altitude of an eagle and all that. If it makes you feel any better Charlie, the party was a disaster, with Keith getting pizza sauce all over his brand new jacket and Michael falling into a deep and peaceful sleep right there on the couch, in the midst of it all. We need to get invited to more parties, people, so that we can see how it’s really done. Until then, check out the photo page.
– we’ve got the new video for “Bomb Inside the Bomb” up and running on the Songs page. Go look.
– we’ve got two new songs from our Bitching EP up, also on the Songs page. We haven’t even gotten around to selling this EP – this brilliant, life-changing, famous-making EP – on the site, but still we’ve found the time to offer some of its gems to you, free. Free of charge! Just take them! Our is a thankless life, yes, but it is the life we’ve chosen for ourselves, except for Keith, who was coerced and lied to, and has now invested too much capital in the band to back out.