I feel like my brain has been scooped out and replaced with an equal volume of mud, and this is after a mug of Caribou's Sumatra, aspirin, and a nominal breakfast of granola bar (early) and Sausage McMuffin w/Egg (later). So I feel somewhat like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, only not as sharp.
I first heard the Butthole Surfers when I was working at Little Caesar's out in Eagan as an assistant manager. One of the older crew members exposed me to their EP PCP Pep, and I heard a few cuts off Hairway to Steven as well, so when "Pepper" started getting played on KQ a few years later I made a mental note to pick up the album sometime.
Which I eventually did, finding Electric Larryland at Discland out here a mile north of the Lesser Blue Feature. It's hard to describe the music. Comparing the band to the Cocteau Twins isn't very accurate, since the Surfers aren't just doing aural sculpture with words, they're painting a very definite and freaky picture with the surreal lyrics and strange musical effects. Somehow it all blends smoothly into music that goes well with the kind of work I'm doing.
Normally, installation of software by mere wage slaves at the Evil Banking Neighbor is absolutely verboten and can get you canned, but I was directed to download Spybot or AdAware by the folks at Virus Support because some a*****e script kiddy out there is spreading around the malware using my e-mail address, and our whitehats wanted to make sure there was no tracking 'wares or other crap lurking in the Evo. So I got Spybot, found a bunch of cookies and trackers and some weird registry-warping thing, all of which were promptly excised and nuked.
While I was at it, I also downloaded a popup blocker, which should make covert surfing here a lot easier to keep under wraps.