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Once in the morning and once at night. I tell my doctor I want to get a vasectomy. He was in the electric chair. I joined a weight lifting class. They started me with balloons. I hurt myself playing Simon Says. Just when I get going, she wakes up.

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Last night she called me from a motel. The other day, she came home, there were dents in the car. She told me she took a short-cut through a golfing range.

Let my wife make the first move. She went to Florida. My psychiatrist told me my wife and me should have sex every night. Last night some guy knocked on the front door. She told me to hide in the closet. My yo-yo, it never came back. He took me to the zoo. He told me to go over to the leopard and play connect the dots. Every week my old man took me to the zoo. I found out he was trying to make a trade. She went out to get a second opinion.

She got plastic surgery. I cut up her credit cards. She was wearing a sexy negligee. The only trouble is she was coming home. I bought an Apple computer. There was a worm in it! By the time they say no, I made it already. Once a week, I go out with the boys and once a week she goes out with the boys.

He told me to keep outta those places. Haha, yeah, I jump off next Tuesday. I tried jogging; I keep running into restaurants. A dog can watch me in the bedroom to learn how to beg. He taught my wife to roll over and play dead. At my age, I need a designated lover.

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Now I got an inflatable guy looking for me. We were so poor the rainbow was in black and white. They get pregnant from eating chicken. Last week four kids escaped. I was looking at one kid, I said, what is that a boy or a girl? They called him four eyes. Later on he got glasses. Now they call him eight eyes. My insurance company, they sent me half a calendar. When I was kidnapped, they sent back a piece of my finger.

My old man said he wanted more proof. When I was 10 years old, I found out Alpo was dog food. When I was born, the doctor smacked my mother. Inside was a picture of my two kids.

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I saw two guys share a taxi. One guy took the radio and the other guy took the tires. My teeth were all yellow and I mean yellow. When I smiled, I would stop traffic.

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We used to sleep six in one bed. A midget sneaked into the pay toilet. A girl asked me if I wanted to have some super sex.

I took the soup. The whole audience was gay. I mean, after the show. Luckily, I live on a cliff. My kid was born; 4 guys gave me cigars.

Yeah, I used the wrong finger. My mother breastfed me through a straw. He went up there. When he died, they had his body cremated.

The fire burned for four days. He said, how long has this been going on? I told him, since I was a puppy. Then he told me to lay on the couch, facedown. She won a trip for two to Las Vegas. There is much that's enticing about this throwaway aesthetic, however: With sincerely hooky backing vocals throughout, these songs are what the Northwest's fluffy pop movement aims for: Chicago's Gastr del Sol does this well, as every track they release holds its own with an individual character and personality still well within the parameters of indelible good taste.

Relative to the previous Gastr del Sol releases, Camofleur could be labeled a pop album, but compared to say, the Apples in Stereo, it might as well be Miles Davis. The lyrical content is more prevalent and more interesting than their previous releases, which is probably why it's being called a pop albumbut in the spirit of previous releases, it holds line with the bizarre yet sparse multi-instrumental flavors that have given David Grubbs, Jim O'Rourke, and Markus Popp renown as modern composers of a sound, which could be likened to blaring Led Zeppelin's "Bron-y-Aur" over the loudspeaker at an alien parade while falling sound asleep.

Make room at the bar, then, for the Young Dubliners, a Southern California-based group whose sound is as varied and pure as the 40 shades of green in Ireland. The eight songs clock in at just under 40 minutes, but they follow a timeline that echoes from well in the past right up to the here and now. There's spiritual muscle to tunes like "Man Upstairs" and spirited modern rock with "Confusion," but nothing on the album kicks like "Follow Me Up to Carlow," traditional music from the Irish soul.

More to the point, Alive Alive O works as a live album because the music is so conducive to audience response, and not just the noodley conceit of a studio effort. It's a reminder that the power of folk music is in its relation to oral tradition and performance.

How about Pain in the Ass. First, the Artist promised this 4-CD set would only be sold over the Internet.

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Then, production delays and the creation of a confusing array of configurations held up Crystal Ball's release, which is now not only available at the Artist's "exclusive" retailer, Best Buy, but everywhere else as well. Available in both a funky plastic ball and the traditional jewel case configuration - with the mail-order version featuring a "New Age" experiment as a fifth disc - all the sets seem to include a mostly unadvertised acoustic set closer, The Truth.

After all that chaos and disorder, for the final retail release to be such an unsequenced and unnecessarily overwhelming mess is a major disappointment. Sure, The Artist has always been self-indulgent, but to follow his 3-CD Emancipation with another three discs of demos, remixes, and afterthoughts proves he's no longer shackled by some record label conglomerate - only by his own egomania and his past.

Not surprisingly, then, Crystal Ball's only really new material, The Truth, is also its most interesting, poignantly pointing towards The Artist's final crossover destination: Full of rare displays of control and restraint, it's also still a bit too short on fully realized songs to make it nearly as vital as it is fascinating. Nevertheless, it could be a stand-alone album, which is probably what Crystal Ball boils down to with some clever programming.

Funk workouts like "Hide the Bone," "Movie Star," "Rippogodazippa," and "What's My Name" aren't merely the foundation of a solid album, they're vintage, must-have Prince. Unfortunately, they're also buried among bloated minute jams like "Cloreen Bacon Skin," embarrassing off-Broadway schmaltz such as "Strays of the World," and yet another remix of "Lovesign.

Eckleberg looking down over the valley of the ashes? That's the day you understood that not everything written was always so literal.

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Ani DiFranco must have skipped that day. On Little Plastic Castle, recorded here in Austin, DiFranco writes only lines that are unmistakably clear in their message: That's probably not really a big deal since DiFranco's career has been built on frankness, and she's done well by it.

Let's put it this way: It gets a little tough to take over 60 solid minutes of the heavy-handed gospel according to Ani. What's truly terrifying, though, is that the two best songs on Little Plastic Castle, the title track and "Deep Dish," are the two on which Jon Blondell plays.

Actually, it has nothing to do with the local trombone player; they're good because they're actual songs perhaps the only two on the album. Everything else is sermon, accompanied by some nifty guitar playing by DiFranco, but sermon nonetheless. Seattle by way of Issaquah singer-guitarist Isaac Brock has a way with words that resides somewhere between a whisper behind your back and a brick to the side of your head.