Video Of The Week: M.I.A.

Let me start by saying I'm not a fan of M.I.A. I think her songs, even though they incorporate disparate parts of different musical styles from different cultures does not sound cohesive to me; instead of sounding like she is in control of what she releases as her pieces of art, it seems more like she is a victim who is not allowed to blend her materials in the way, say, a Beck would.

When she turns more instrumental, more hard/techno, I'm even less of a fan. And it's what she does in this song.

But it's the Song Of The Week because it's the most talked-about video of the week, seeing as even a ''free'' platform like YouTube (owned by free-speech merchants Google) have pulled it for its ''excessive and suggestive violence''. What. The. Fuck.

2010. In a world, in a time-space continuum that is going forward, not backwards, in a world where the rationale for going to war is that the other country is ''backwards-thinking'' and ''so-14th-century'', we still censor music? Fuck that shit. That's the first step in reverting back to the 1800s, re-installing slavery, taking away women's right to vote (and equal pay, obviously), it's the Middle Ages with nukes, no more, no less.

It's music. Art. It expresses an opinion, and in this case, the opinion was a metaphor for where we're going as a Civilization, that if you separate people by religion, skin colour, hair colour - or any other way - it is wrong; that we must not let it happen. It is expertly filmed, too, almost reminiscent of this year's Academy Award winner, The Hurt Locker.

It's important to help this video reach as many people as it can.

Permanent link is here.

Better Know An Actress: Serena Grandi

I love the blog Horror Movie Hotties, because when it doesn't teach me about an actress' obscure films, it teaches me outright about actresses I didn't even know existed.

One such actress is Serena Grandi, whose films I now have to hunt down thanks to today's entry on HMH...

God damn.

Things To Do In The Middle Of The Night

Go here, and click away.

Click more than one at a time, make combos.

I'm especially happy the TroLoLoLoLo is in there.

Things That Happen Backstage At A Pearl Jam Concert

People like Stanley Cup winner Boyd Devereaux partner up with Joe Greenwald and found an underground record label that distributes noise, drone music and instrumental metal.


Read all about it here. Really interesting guy.

Racist Batman (Parody)

Those who know me know of my affection for comic books, especially the character Batman.

By night - or whenever there is crime to fight - he is The Bat, The Dark Knight, the big scary creature expertly-trained in all forms of combat protecting the innocents from dangerous criminals.

By day - or when there are really hot women to seduce - he is Bruce Wayne, the most intelligent, classy and beautiful guy on the planet - he's Brad fucking Pitt, not Christian Bale - a 10, not a B+.

In any event, I fell on a nice parody of the Bale-Batman, showing racism in a conversation with someone playing Commissioner Gordon the Gary Oldman way. Enjoy.


Edit: the video cuts a bit of the image to the right; for the full version, go to the original YouTube page, here.

Nature's Destructive Beauty

Once again, the best pictures from the volcano in Iceland is from Boston.com's The Big Picture, including this one, where lightning mixes with lava and ash:

Nature's destructive beauty, right there.

Quote of The Day

From Matt Grande, software developer from Hamilton, Ontario.

He has a blog: http://mattgrande.wordpress.com/

More importantly, he said this:

Remember, no matter how beautiful she is, someone, somewhere, is tired of her shit.

True on so many levels.

Thanks, Matt.

Videos Of The Week: Guru And Gang Starr

After over a month in the coma after a heart attack, Guru has finally passed away yesterday, probably from cancer. He was an intelligent writer and gifted performer, one of the most influential artists in all of hip hop.

Apparently, he hadn't been in good terms with the other half of Gang Starr, DJ Premier, for quite some time, as an alleged deathbed letter states. But many are disputing this letter, presented by his recent collaborator Solar and stating that Solar be the go-to and end-all person in charge of Guru's legacy - partly because Solar has been shown to be a lying and controlling man before (including not letting any of Guru's extended family of cousins, uncles and aunts visit him in the hospital) and because it seems strange that a man in a coma could produce a letter.

But there'll be plenty of time to assess the controversy later; I'd rather celebrate the man's legacy

I propose two videos this week, one of Gang Starr, the influential duo, and one from his side-project ''Jazzmatazz'', in which he combined rap with jazz and funk with guest artists on each track - something that was unheard of at the time.

So, first off, Gang Starr's Daily Operation record (1992), ''Ex Girl To Next Girl':





And a collaboration with French rapper MC Solaar (not to be confused with the above-mentioned Solar) for the first Jazzmatazz record, released in 1993, entitled ''Le Bien, Le Mal (The Good, The Bad)'':

Boo-Hoo: How Cry-Babies Are Making A Huge Fuss About Something That Shouldn't Even Exist In The First Place

It's playoff season in the NHL, and that means ''more of the usual'':

1. The Montréal Canadiens are in them and the Toronto Maple Leafs are watching them on TV trying not to think of the number ''1967''
2. The San Jose Sharks will choke
3. The Cup will not come back home to Canada
4. Montréal fans will boo the Star-Spangled Banner, the opposition's best players, and their own team's players who aren't giving maximum effort
4A.Too many people will get their panties up in a bunch about booing the opposing team's national anthem and will call Montrealers ''classless''

Case in point, right here.

First of all, in the modern-day NHL, where games are played on two continents (the season starts in Europe nowadays, remember?) and has teams consisting of players from as many as 15 different countries, the singing of Canadian and American national anthems before a game is pretty retarded.

When more than half a team leaves for Europe in the summer, you can't make the point that they're playing for their adopted city as if it were representing a country; the best of them play for their own countries whenever they can, be it at the Olympics, the World Championships, the World Cup, friendly tournaments... all occasions where it makes sense to have national anthems, because countries are pitted against one another.

Current-day NHL? Not quite.

Now, assuming you still go ahead with singing them, one anthem is yours, the other is the enemy's. Except in the province of Québec, where it can be argued that both anthems are actually ''enemy'' anthems, but I digress. So one's ''good'', the other's ''evil''. Montréal is known accross the league as having the most intimidating home crowd, with Philadelphia being a close second. Why wouldn't they add a little bit of intimidation by showing their colours right from the start?


It's funny that during the past year, while the health care debate was raging in the U.S., all you'd hear from those opposing health care reform was how bad ''the Canadian system'' was, how we're nothing but a bunch of commies that have to wait in line and die of common colds, that we're half-civilized retards, that we're the cousin with no friends your mom forces you to bring along when you're playing with your friends...

Oh, but if we boo your national anthem, you start crying? Call us classless?

We define class.

We let you have our best doctors (they make up between 15 and 25% of your medical corps), we give you our entertainers (apart from rappers, they're now half of your charted music and our actors earn a third of your highest-grossing films).

We can drink beer without becoming ready-for-combat overweight apes, yet we don't mind when you cross the border to drink here legally at age 18 and behave like idiots. You won't see us piss in the middle of the street in NYC at 4AM, but you'll see Americans doing it here on Crescent Street.

Americans always piss on us, and all we do is a little harmless booing.

Boo-hoo. Boo you.

Rejoice, My Friends

I was a bit sad, maybe even borderline depressed when the Habs lost the game 6-5 last night, after holding a 4-1 lead to start the third period.

Then I remembered that there are other things, perhaps even more important things in life than sports, especially when other people are doing the playing for you.

And right away, I started my quest to feel better, looking for something that was mood-changing.

I found it, and I'm sharing it with you.

You're welcome.

Boobies and Kittens - watch more funny videos

Prepare Your Kids For A Lifetime Of Suckiness

Oh, Life. Is bigger. It's bigger than you, and you are not me.

If your expectations of your kids' expectations would go as low as to even think of such a product existing, it's time to consider neutering. Yourself. With a knife.

Baby's First Cubicle.

Here I was hoping the 2010-to-2020 decade would rid us of these atrocities, it looks like some people still want others stacked on top of one another in perfect little geometric shapes. It's wrong for poultry and swine, it's even more wrong for us bipeds.

You know, they say at any given time there are 25 violent wars raging on the planet, and yet the fuckers who want to keep us down - the bankers, law-makers, lobbyists, fast-food vendors - are always fine and healthy, playing golf on the last patches of good grass available, smoking cigars where others aren't allowed to smoke pot or even cigarettes anymore, riding in limos that eat up more fuel than SUVs and pissing all over others' rights and freedoms.

Repeat Post: Annual Ballot-Stuffing: Please Vote: 5 Days Left

It's time, once again, to vote for the Best Of Montreal, a yearly event taken in charge by the Montreal Mirror, the city's last worthy cultural English-language paper.

Please, take a moment to vote for me and my peeps, it takes 3 minutes, you can win prizes, and I'll even show you the complete link: http://www.montrealmirror.com/bom/

The only rule is: one entry per (valid) email address, and at least a vote in 25 different categories. If you don't think you can come up with 25 answers, here are some hints (the copy/paste functions comes in handy, you'll see), all in the order in which they'll appear:



Montrealer closest to sainthood: Sébastian Hell, or Leonard Cohen
Montrealer closest to hell: Sébastian Hell
Most desirable man: Sébastian Hell
Most desirable woman: Tasha Cyr, or Jessica Kaye, or Kelly Kay, or Amber Goodwin, or Erin Ross
Best sports personality: Jaroslav Halak, or Joanie Rochette
Best Montreal weirdo: Sébastian Hell, or Rick Trembles
Best politician: none, or the one of your choosing
Best local radio host: Kimberly Sullivan, or Claude Rajotte
Best newspaper: La Presse
Best terrasse: Foufs
Best musical act: Dead Messenger
Freakiest local act: Nutsak, or American Devices
Most pretentious local act: Rape Faction (it's the one they want, I swear!)
Heaviest local act: Priestess (for the music), or Sébastian Hell (for his weight)
Best hip hop act: Murder Face
Best country/folk act: Swift Years
Best singer/songwriter: Sébastian Hell, no question
Best local actor: Claude Legault
Best local actress: Elisha Cuthbert
Best dance company/choreographer: Genevieve Leclerc
Best local living author: Leonard Cohen, or Louis Rastelli
Best cartoonist/comic artist: Rick Trembles
Best festival: UnPop Montreal
Best comics store: Astro
Best pub grub: Madhatter's
Best late-night eats: Al-Tayib
Best Chinese: Tchang Kiang
Best poutine: La Belle Province
Best smoked meat: Schwartz


Thanks for your 3 minutes.

R.I.P. Peter Steele

After the infamous ''2005 Fake-Death Scare'' where the band had put a tombstone on their website claiming he'd died, Type O Negative's Peter Steele (né Petrus T. Ratajczyk) has really passed away this week, at age 48.

To get the ''Playgirl nudes'' episode out of the way, click here for NSFW pics; if you are unimpressed with the size of his manliness, as was I before I remembered this very important fact: keep in mind he was over 2 meters tall, 6'7''... so add a couple of inches to what you thought he had packing.

They say he might have died of heart failure, which isn't too much of a surprise considering he was jailed and treated for substance abuse in recent years, a situation that had left him estranged from his sisters, which led him to write the song 'Tripping A Blind Man'.

It's a true Monster Of Rock we lost, this time around.

Video Of The Week: Lene Alexandra

Here's a one-hit wonder from Europe (the continent, not the band), circa 2007: Lene Alexandra's ''My Boobs Are OK''.

The Norwegian singer and model first got the idea for the song, allegedly, when Alexandra was playing soccer; she hit one of her breasts, and after a few days someone asked her in Norwegian: "Is your boob okay?", to which she answered back, in English: "Yes, my boobs are okay".

The rest, as they say, is European pop culture history: #5 in Norway and Finland, #12 in Denmark, #20 in Sweden and cracking the top-100 in the Netherlands.

Not all Eurotrash is bad - just think of the Vengaboys!

And enjoy this harmless fun:

Crackheads And Coke Dick

There are so many junkies smoking crack in the emergency exit at my workplace that the second-hand smoke emanates from the stairs; it's like the day after a Great White concert.

Every time I use those stairs and walk through it, I have Coke Dick when I get home.

I guess I'll start to blame my work for my decrease in libido.

Who Will End Up With Sheldon Souray?

Sheldon Souray - sometimes-estranged husband of the hottest Sports Wife, Angelica Bridges - is a hockey superstar who usually spends as much time on the injured reserve as on the ice.

Now, he'll spend a bit of the summer in the news as well, after having requested a trade from his team, the Edmonton Oilers, who signed him as a high-priced free agent three seasons ago.

In the cap-era NHL, this raises a few questions:
1. Who wants him?
2. Who needs him?
3. Who can afford him?
4. Who has room for him under the salary cap?

Good luck, Shedon. Even though, technically, during your stint with the Montréal Canadiens, you weren't the ''captain'' as you seem to recall, you were a strong alternate, a respected leader, a stand-up individual, a good teammate, a decent fighter, and a slap shot worth fearing.

I'll go to your pizzeria this weekend to show my support for you (and my stomach).

More Weird Dreams

Man, another weird dream. This time, it was the sequel to another dream I had maybe a couple of months ago; I think it's the fourth 'dream' in the series...


I was some sort of outlaw, chased all over town by cops, the army, the feds, rogues, bounty hunters and vigilantes; my headquarters was the house I grew up in, except it's abandoned at this point, and barely standing - from the beating it took in the last few installments of the dream. The neighbours' houses are razed and their yards are a desolate land. Whenever it's free, I'd hide in that house; other times, I'd just lay low wherever I could.

I had people helping me, but since I've been up for 12 hours now, I don't remember who they were. I'm also not sure why they want me so bad, but this time, shit had really hit the fan and I was forced to shoot my way out and kill a few people.

I bet next time, they'll be even more on my case.

Weird Dream

You know you watch too many off-beat movies with weird moods when even your nightmares become passive-aggressive .

My big dream last night was that I was in one of those Irish-folk three-piece bands, the type where each member sings and plays the guitar, and it was a quiet Sunday night, until my manager, Pierre Gauthier (actual General Manager of the Montréal Canadiens, whom I have never met in real life) called me up to tell me we had 3 important not-to-be-missed appointments the next day: an early-morning zoo-crew radio appearance on a soft rock station located in butt-fuck nowhere, a video shoot after that, followed by an actual gig in the evening, for the next day was both Mother's Day and Valentine's Day, and the gig was dedicated to my Mom whom I love, so it made sense.

What didn't make sense is that the band meet-up the following morning for our ride took place at a mall that no longer exists, downtown - the Eaton Center. Except this Eaton Center wasn't where it was supposed to be, it was at the Complexe Desjardins, a place that still exists today. And we lost so much time there that there was no way we could manage to everything we had to do well.

Most of the rest of the dream consisted of trying to find reasons not to do shit in the right order to ensure we'd be late at everything that was prepared for us. We finally got to the radio show at 11AM, but it had been over since 9. Then we went to the video shoot, but by the time everything was set up, it was 3PM and the crew went on break. And filming was taking place in what seemed both like a parking lot and a municipal dump, except it didn't stink.

And because I was dedicating that night's show to my mother, I kept trying to contact her to go see her instead of doing the gig.

I dunno.

None of these situations are actually scary, all are annoying as fuck. So my nightmares now consist of me boring myself to death. Awesome.

Malajube Plajiarized

As my friend Greg has pointed out in his own blog, Malajube's song 'Ton Plat Favori' off of 'Trompe-L'Oeil' bears an eerie similarity to Katie Costello's title track from her 'Kaleidoscope Machine', prompting accusation of plajiarism.

Even she seems to have been duped, as her Twitter update can attest:

I really wish I could say so much, but alas I only have 140 characters. Devastated & disappointed in the person I co-wrote the song with.

It's too bad, because her 'version' has some nice imagery, and is playful and imaginative.

The fact that citizens have actually Become Big Brother via blogs, YouTube, Twitter and the web in general does have its perks, such as everyone being accountable for their actions, as was the case here.

I find it a fun story to follow because in this case, a talented artist from NYC was ''duped into stealing'' from a very successful - albeit regionally more than internationally, although their touring schedules attest that they do have a decent following in the States and Europe - Montréal band, a rare recent occurrence of New York wanting something Montréal has (apart from water and electricity), and not the other way around.

Congrats to Big Brother for helping Malajube get the cred they deserve, and good luck to Mrs. Costello in her future endeavours; hopefully she can pick her friends more soundly next time.

Hockey (Jerseys) In Africa

Peek at them here.

Some are quite obviously bootlegs, others are real and pretty.

All are a good cause.

Annual Ballot-Stuffing

It's time, once again, to vote for the Best Of Montreal, a yearly event taken in charge by the Montreal Mirror, the city's last worthy cultural English-language paper.

Please, take a moment to vote for me and my peeps, it takes 3 minutes, you can win prizes, and I'll even show you the complete link: http://www.montrealmirror.com/bom/

The only rule is: one entry per (valid) email address, and at least a vote in 25 different categories. If you don't think you can come up with 25 answers, here are some hints (the copy/paste functions comes in handy, you'll see), all in the order in which they'll appear:



Montrealer closest to sainthood: Sébastian Hell, or Leonard Cohen
Montrealer closest to hell: Sébastian Hell
Most desirable man: Sébastian Hell
Most desirable woman: Tasha Cyr, or Jessica Kaye, or Kelly Kay, or Amber Goodwin, or Erin Ross
Best sports personality: Jaroslav Halak, or Joanie Rochette
Best Montreal weirdo: Sébastian Hell, or Rick Trembles
Best politician: none, or the one of your choosing
Best local radio host: Kimberly Sullivan, or Claude Rajotte
Best newspaper: La Presse
Best terrasse: Foufs
Best musical act: Dead Messenger
Freakiest local act: Nutsak, or American Devices
Most pretentious local act: Rape Faction (it's the one they want, I swear!)
Heaviest local act: Priestess (for the music), or Sébastian Hell (for his weight)
Best hip hop act: Murder Face
Best country/folk act: Swift Years
Best singer/songwriter: Sébastian Hell, no question
Best local actor: Claude Legault
Best local actress: Elisha Cuthbert
Best dance company/choreographer: Genevieve Leclerc
Best local living author: Leonard Cohen, or Louis Rastelli
Best cartoonist/comic artist: Rick Trembles
Best festival: UnPop Montreal
Best comics store: Astro
Best pub grub: Madhatter's
Best late-night eats: Al-Tayib
Best Chinese: Tchang Kiang
Best poutine: La Belle Province
Best smoked meat: Schwartz


Thanks for your 3 minutes.

It's Too Late To Apologize

If the shoe fits...

It started slow, then built up to something really nice. It didn't take too long. A castle made of Trust.

But I stayed at that pace, and you wanted more, bigger, faster. Your expectations were enormous, and I really wanted to fulfill them, and if I'd tried harder, I probably could've, but I got cocky.

I basked in the glory of ''Public Me'' and let him come into our home, or whatever it was that we had, and I thought there was no problem big enough that Love couldn't take care of, that Trust couldn't cast aside, and I thought you'd feel the same way. For a long time.

And it was a long time, really. You were patient, you were vocal enough. I just thought I could have it All, whenever I wanted it. But you had your own version of time as well, and sometimes our times didn't match.

It could have ended then and there, peacefully, and I'd be here apologizing. Not to make it better, not so you'd come back - more to let you know: I understand.

And it would have been nice. Memories are meant to be remembered, to be a place to go back to and reminisce about and to want to revisit.



---


But for girls, I guess, when shit goes South, you just can't let it go. You blame yourselves and try to find a way to blame others, to not have to bear the weight of The End on your own, not understanding that The End can be nice, good, mutual, respectful; Trust and Common Sense and Intelligence makes way to Illusions and Deception, and that's when you cross the line, open emails, open mail, stalk, sift through personal files...

And you're just more pissed off when you don't find anything substantial, or anything more than circumstantial. But it's Too Late, because now you've crossed a line I can never forgive.

It wasn't your fault to begin with, it was circumstance, happenstance, lack of chance... but now it is, and there's no going back.

I almost want to not say I'm sorry for playing it too cool, for not being showy enough, for not spending every waking minute with you if you so desired, for a lack of consistency in the frequency of the display of affection. I almost want to tell you off instead, call you names, and shut the door on you forever.

But that's not who I am.

Video Of The Week: Queens Of The Stone Age

Undoubtably, Queens Of The Stone Age are one of my favourite bands of the last decade.

While they started off as from the remains of Kyuss, which were a lot more metal-oriented, QOTSA were more into making a poppy, very heavy sound - one that has gone less and less pop with every recording since Songs For The Deaf, which included the hit single ''No One Knows''.

Most songs are built around a catchy guitar riff and a sing-along chorus - provided you're willing to sing along to some off-the-cuff lyrics.

I chose this song for this week because it's been in my head since Sunday, probably because I'm one of the few idiots who can manage to catch a cold in near-summer weather.

Bon appétit.

Murphy Strikes Again

Ok, so this winter was a little less bad than they normally are, but I still managed to go cold-free, flu-free, back injury-free and even indigestion-free for all of it, despite not being among the sheep who were vaccinated.

So Saturday, as it was 25 degrees (pretty much 80 for my American friends), I went out wearing jeans, shoes, a t-shirt, a hoodie and a cap - and I caught a cold. What. The. Fuck.

April is the worst tease of all the months - 25 in July won't get you a cold, and 25 in September is a miracle. Winter's Hell, and Summer is what Life is about. The in-betweens are rainy, either brimming with promise (Spring) or announcing a slow and painful death (Autumn).

So my throat's killing me, my nose is running a marathon and dripping more than Meat Loaf at a concert - while everybody else is having a good time.

History Lesson: Easter

Let's see if I get this right: today, we celebrate Jesus coming back as an egg-laying rabbit by eating chocolate.

Makes sense.

When God invented Mankind roughly 3000 years ago, he probably showed Adam and Steve Eve how to make chocolate in the first place - and not that cheap drugstore hollow-egg type either, probably the Swiss or Belgian melt-in-your-mouth goodness, and they, in turn, after being kicked out of Paradise City after eating an apple (the original Devil's Food!) and appearing as a burning bush to Moses to atone for it, taught the bearded man how to make it himself, so he could feed the Jews while they walked in the desert for 40 years (that's what happens when your GPS has Snoop's voice, you concentrate more on smoking weed than where you're going).

Fast-forward a few hundred years to Jesus being born, the child of a member of The Carpenters and a virgin, and Santa Claus is the doctor that birthed him - hence the red suit, it's the Blood Of Christ (actually the placenta, but back then they couldn't tell the difference). Then he pissed off the Italians by tossing Ceasar's Salad, and in the Gladiator Arena, Julius Ceasar rated it ''two thumbs down'' and Jesus was to be executed. He was sentenced to be nailed to a cross and to carry it himself to Auschwitz, where there were already two thieves who had stolen the best crosses.

To make sure no one would conduct an autopsy, Jesus' body was then put in a cave where a family of bears lived, and a large rock was put in front of the cave to prevent anyone from going in there to graffiti. Unbeknownst to everyone, Jesus was part-caterpillar, so he made himself a cocoon in the hopes of turning into an angel and flying home to God; unfortunately, his DNA muted with the bears', and he became the Easter Bunny instead, with superhuman strength to remove the rock from the cave's entrance. At this point, Jesus had no idea of the date, and went door to door asking people for candy and chocolate, thinking it was Halloween, and that's why every car dealership has amazing sales during Easter weekend.

Of course, I'm cutting corners here, it's pretty difficult to narrow down a thousand-page book into a few paragraphs, but the main plot lines remain unchanged.

Tune in tomorrow, when I reveal how Saint Peter, Jesus' best buddy, made it all the way to Italy 450 years later, only to be crucified there, upside-down, by order of the Pope, while Catholics roamed the sewers.

Video Of The Week: Forest For The Trees

This was originally intended to be my Video Of Last Week, since it's a song I sang at a benefit show on the 21st, but Desert Owls released their video, and I had to bump this one.

Forest For The Trees, essentially, is Karl Stephenson, the man who co-wrote Beck's ''Loser'' and co-produced his ''Mellow Gold'' record. He recorded his own album with the royalties from the Beck song and record, and put himself in an institution upon its release.

The whole record is great, look for it.

Funny. Not.

I think Jaroslav Halak will have to change agents soon... Allan Walsh keeps sabotaging his client's season (and, perhaps, careeer) by tweeting bullshit.

First it was cute plays on words, like ''Halak it A LOT!'', then he attacked Carey Price's record saying Habs' management should play his client more... and now this...

And he dares call himself a professional? Fuck that. And I would actually WANT for Halak to sign for 6, even 10 years. Asshole.

April Fools?

Ricky Martin has contacted an influent gay website called Queerty to say he never actually came out of the closet, that it was just a hoax, probably perpetrated by hackers. His lawyers have apparently scheduled a press conference later today.

Which one is true, and, more importantly, why is it so important, ten years removed from the time when he mattered even a little bit?

But Anna Paquin would be bisexual - she apparently said it in an ad. Some might say we all are, to a certain degree, even if that degree is nearer to 0 for some more than others'... others, again, might not care.

And the blog I read the most often made an April's Fools joke about former hockey almost-star Pat Falloon making a comeback. But at least he admits it's fake, we'll see how the rest develops.