Also, they stole that album name from Mr. Bungle
Via SuicideGirls NewsWire:
I'm sure most of you are familiar with Showtime's hit series "Californication," whether it's from SG's own involvement with the show and character DaniCA, or recent interview with series creator, Tom Kapinos.
Today it was announced that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are now suing the show for "unfair competition, dilution of the value of the name and unjust enrichment," claiming the title of the show was stolen from the band's 1999 album, of the same name.
Sounds like a pretty open and shut case. I'm fairly certain the word "Californication" preceded the band's album. But, if it didn't... if the show actually "stole" this word... this word that's been around for decades... and they can somehow destroy all memory of the word, prior to their album... then I guess they should win their case.
Oh, except for this crucial piece of evidence. The Red Hot Chili Peppers fucking suck. How about that part?
Can that be entered into a case? Maybe one of the lawyers on this site can enlighten me. How does the fact that they fucking suck, and always have sucked, affect their case here? Surely, years and years of sucking limits your ability to take legal action, in certain situations.
Yeah. No, thanks Chili Peppers -- we don't need to hear from you on this matter. I'm not 13 anymore. (Actual 13-year-olds think you're lame and creepy, and old.) You can go away now, fade into the distance, putting increasingly longer socks over yer increasingly elongated old man balls, before vanishing entirely. (That was ALWAYS funny by the way. Putting a sock over your dick. So alternative!)
I'm not 13, and have no need of your bullshit, faux-ternative garbage.
I don't hate my parents and I'm not looking to establish myself on the burgeoning Vernon, NJ skater/alterna-scene.
I'm not an attention starved snowboarder with a bad haircut inclined to "act crazy" whenever anyone's looking.
I'm not a filthy, drum-circle loving hippie.
I don't own a pair of devil sticks, nor do I ever feel the need to put on a large, felt, jester's hat.
I'm not wearing a dirty white dress, with my head down, dancing in a quasi-trancelike state while rhythmically tapping my stomach and side.
I don't hate my ears and wish to punish them by cramming yer fucking old-man racket into them.
It's not 1991.
You served your purpose, I laughed at the kids who embraced you the year after they loved reggae and the year before they got into metal.
Jocks who jumped on the alterna-wagon sure seemed to love you, too, I remember that much. Your fake hippie punk sure did help them relate better to losing the big game and then shaving lines into the sides of their heads.
You managed to get worse the older I got, and you don't fool too many people these days. You make music for kids... kids who no longer exist.
Sure, I bet there's a 38-year-old on this site who still enjoys putting on his copy of Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik, right before he dons his martini-glass covered bowling shirt and says something like, "Vegas, Baby!" But, obviously, he doesn't count.
Maybe the show stole the title. Big deal. You force me to change the radio station at least once a day, every day. I'm all grown up now, and you can't fool people anymore.
If that judge is anything short of tone-deaf you'll be found guilty of sucking in the first degree. Sadly, the sentence for that is probably a Grammy.
To be fair, they do have some good songs. I vouch for half of Californication and half of BloodSugarSexMagik. But still, spot-fucking-on.