Our old enemy Maida Vale from the dread Our Lady Peace has proven his endless idiocy once again by bitching about his crappy band's involvement with the WWF. Hey Slappy, you should be honored to be associated with as great a Canadian as Chris Benoit! We knew Maida was a big pussyboy -- he'd have to be with that harpy wife of his -- but maybe he should shut his nancy little mouth and enjoy the fact that his band's awful music is actually being heard in America for a change. Needless to say, we infinitely prefer the Crippler's old entrance music . . .

Primal Scream -- Now More Than Ever! Sure, they copped out and retitled "Bomb the Pentagon," but no band on Earth does druggedupaggroelectrobeatgaragerockagitpunk better. Rama-lama-fa-fa-fa!

On behalf of NBC's David Gregory, here's three intercontinental words for our halfwit "president" -- Nique ta mere!

Free Winona? C'mon people! Free Nelson Mandela. Free the Chicago Seven. Free Bobby Sands. We'll even give you Free Mumia. But Free Has-been Shoplifting Band-whores? Fuck that noise! If some black heroin addict went into Saks and stole a Prada scarf, she'd be watching Adam Sandler movies in prison, not acting in them . . .

We honestly couldn't give a rat about the World Cup, but, hey, any excuse to paint a St. George's Cross on our faces . . .

Unlike Winona, who we believe will fly, some Adabesi-looking motherfuckers is soooo gonna be feelin' on R. Kelly's booty: "I like the crotch on you, short eyes. Don't you say no . . ."

Evil Asshole of the Month: Ralph Nader. Scratch that -- he's the Asshole of the Millennium. And with scumfucks like Karl Rove, John Ashcroft and Prick Cheney in power, that's saying something. With that in mind, WHAD would like to officially throw our oh-so-prestigious endorsement to Paul Wellstone and Ron Kirk. Now is not the time for third party candidates, people. Look what happened last time!

It sees impossible, but DJ Shadow means even less to us now than he did six years ago . . . Cutting off Elaine Stritch's acceptance speech is even more wrong than the fact that this was her very first Tony. Hey Elaine, give us a call and we'll take you to lunch. Then perhaps a piece by Mahler . . .

TWAT has been going on for months, but it's only now yielded its first military hero, Air Force Lt. Col. Steve Butler, who might face court martial charges for daring to criticize the Deserter-In-Chief. "He did nothing to warn the American people because he needed this war on terrorism," Butler wrote in a letter to his local paper. "His daddy had Saddam and he needed Osama. His presidency was going nowhere . . . This guy is a joke." Talk about courage! Talk about valor! We hereby present Lt. Col. Butler with the first-ever WHAD Medal of Honor. And a copy of the Black Hawk Down video game . . .

Some girls are bigger than others. Just an observation . . .

We've seen a lot of no-talents become comedy superstars in our time, from Chris Farley to David Sedaris to Jimmy Fallon, but damned if we've ever been forced to deal with someone as infinitely non-talented as Jack Black. We hate his irritating persona, his stupid metal song parodies (Ronnie James Dio -- there's a target!), and the fact that he's really just another corporate celebrity whore whose comedy features nary a whiff of danger or drama. Hell, the other fat fuck in Tenacious D is funnier. And he sucks . . .

In (dis)honor of the Golden Jubilee, here's our Republican Lyric of the Week. It comes from The Dawn Parade's awesome "Some Desperate Beat": "My heart is like Princess Anne/Of no discernible use to anyone." Note to U.K. labels: Sign this band now! And since we're discussing anti-government rock combos we love, our current new favorite band is Miss Black America. We are, however, somewhat hesitant about getting too attached to a guy named Seymour Glass . . .

Dept. of Brown Bread: To honor the passing of the great Dave Berg we were going to present our first ever WHAD comic, "The Lighter Side of Being Dead." Unfortunately, we can't draw. Sorry . . . Also, R.I.P. Davey Boy Smith, the junkie guitar player out of Ratt, J-Lo & C-Ju, and, most of all, our beloved Ingemar Gordon . . .

Opening up Entertainment Weekly and finding stuff from James Oldham is fine, as these things go. But opening up NME to find stuff from Ken Tucker is simply unacceptable . . . Speaking of the usually reliable Mr. Oldham, we wanted to like the Vines, but we're just not ready for a 1994 nostalgia trip quite yet. And when we discovered that they shitcanned their drummer because he didn't get along with Rob Schnapf, we knew they were nothing more than a bunch of corporate pole smokers. We said it in '94 and stand by it all these years later: Say no to phony alt-rock, people . . .

"Whoa no, where'd those pop-ups go? Go Go STOPzilla!"

And seeing how we're on the topic of endless friggin' pop-ups, we'd like to say as a proud Torch subscriber: Bob Ryder -- what an asshole!

Mark June 24th on your calendars, pop fans. That's the day our pals at Boobytrap are finally -- finally! -- releasing Tommy and the Chauffeur's magnificent Kid's Chorus EP. We are officially damp in the panties with anticipation . . .

There really is going to be a Black Hawk Down video game, you know. This time things are gonna be different! Only in Shrub's Amerika, friends . . .

A delighted good-on-ya to About a Boy, though we couldn't help thinking it would have been better if the locale had been Los Angeles and Eddie Kaye Thomas played the lead. Just kidding. It's everything High Fidelity could have been, from the always-perfect Mr. Grant to the more convincing (if still movie-corny) epiphany. Needless to say, kudos also go to Mr. Damon Gough for his most excellent soundtrack. We haven't liked anything by the Weitz family this much since Jason's bar mitzvah suit.

You know what else? Some girls' mothers are bigger than other girls' mothers . . .

We are simply appalled that the Grateful Dead are getting back together one man short. C'mon, it's not like Bruce Hornsby is busy or anything . . . As a great Canadian once sang: "You are like the Hurricanes/You'll win/The Stanley Cup."

And, well, we've been holding off on this one, waiting for it to hit us, but we're just not digging the new Doves record as much as we had wanted to. Or as much as we're supposed to, apparently. We prefer Lost Souls -- the record GQ recently said was overrated. Funny, we didn't even know it had even been rated! Fifteen voters (out of 568) cited it for 2000's Pazz and Jop, and two of them were us . . .

Mark Beaumont's Swells-karaoke stylings are really starting to get on our tits, btw. Where's Johnny Cigarettes now that we need him? And Taylor Parkes, for that matter. Those guys would know that the Libertines are nothing but a novelty punk Menswear with more swearing . . .

Picked up the fake Anna Kournikova issue of Penthouse in Hawaii the other day, where newsstands are a bit behind the time (Jim Jeffords rules!). Anyway, we understand that Judith Soltesz-Benetton has won several tennis tournaments, which should have made it easy for the editors to tell the two women apart. Our question is, if the Internet can destroy the Gooch, why can't it take out Hillary Rosen?

Btw, we wrote that Hurricanes bit before Games Two and Three, but we're sticking by it . . .

Jack and Kelly are rapidly becoming the new Ahmet and Dweezil. That's not necessarily a good thing . . . Celebrate Ben Kweller's twenty-first birthday by going out and buying his fab-tastic debut, Sha Sha. You'll be glad you did . . .

Roots Record of the Month: Jorma Kaukonen's Blue Country Heart. Fans of the White Stripes, David Johansen and the Harry Smiths, and the O Brother etc. soundtrack would be well advised to pick up this very wonderful collection of acoustic country blues standards. And we're not just saying this because it's co-produced by our old pal Yves Beauvais . . .

Our enjoyment of About a Boy aside, we still disagree with John Donne . . .

The Eminem Show is pretty great, though not nearly as great as the Streets' Original Pirate Material. Jason actually hasn't heard the Eminem record, as his parents won't let him listen to it . . .

Sonic Youth have a new record coming out called Murray Street. They've come a long way from Eldridge Street . . .

Future career description for Natalie Portman: actress-turned-model . . . Why would anyone want to buy a disposable razor that's Xtreme? Wouldn't it hurt? . . .

A friendly reminder, you can buy all the music Well Hung loves (as well as plenty of records Well Hung hates, if you have to go that way) from our friends at Action Records in Lancashire, U.K. Since we suspect few of you are anywhere near their retail shop (mostly, you seem to be in Canada) march on over to www.action-records.co.uk . . . And as long as we're plugging, we should add that yogaheads in all five boroughs (and New Jersey too) should get thee to the Yoga Center of Brooklyn in beautiful Red Hook (check it out at www.brooklynyoga.com) . . .

We quite like the Liars, even though they have absolutely no interest in helping Ann . . . David Bowie covering the Pixies' "Cactus" is as pointless as the Thin White Duke himself. On the other hand, Surfer Rosa still sounds twisted as a pig's pecker . . .

Finally, we'd just like to note that this column is dedicated to the ever-lovin' memory of novelist/memoirist/tunesmith Dee Dee Ramone. Y'know, at this rate, Bob Hope is going to outlive all of the Ramones. Even CJ . . .

As ever, e-mail to Sqwubbsy@aol.com.

JASON COHEN and MICHAEL KRUGMAN
(June 11, 2002)

[Editor's note: The above opinions are those of Cohen and Krugman and not necessarily of Rolling Stone. In fact, we don't even know who Ann is.]