Deerhoof

The other day, one of my soon to be former coworkers (bye-bye office job) asked me, "So, Hotpants Askance, do you like venison, by any chance?" (Yes, venison is deer meat and, yes, Hotpants Askance is not my real name, but everyone at the office calls me that.)
"Yeah, it's okay. I've had it once or twice." I replied, "I like it more because I hate deer. Fuckin' Bambi. Did you know more deer jump out in front of cars and get hit every year than existed a hundred years ago*?"
There was an awkward pause in the conversation; I was silently ecstatic: I live for awkward pauses. Often, people will act as if they completely missed whatever strange utterance utterly paralyzed any semblance of rapport that had been forming between us. Or they tell me I'm so random.
She shook herself from her deer-in-the-headlights expression. "So, my husband and I got some venison sausages from one of my friends for Christmas, and there's no way we'll eat all of them. Do you want one?"
"Why not?" I'd fuck up some Bambi, as long as it doesn't cost me anything. I don't pay for meat: I'm a free-etarian. (Coincidentally, I heard that term from a girl who had the same name as my future ex-coworker, but she wasn't the dental front office type; she was a cokehead. Not that those two are mutually exclusive.)
Fast forward: she brings the venison to work, and it's not sausage-sized. It's a an obscenely huge log of venison, almost two feet long and four inches across and probably weighing four or five pounds. It's about as big as a cat--here's a picture of it with about a quarter gone**

"Are you hinting at something?" I asked. Much like my fellow Housewives, my coworkers erroneously suspect that I'm in the closet. So what if I had a man crush on Johnny Depp. And David Bowie. And I prefer to spend my time hanging out with housewives.
"You'll look funny going home with this on the train." She said. Good thing I'd driven to work that day instead of taking the train.
I will never finish this sausage. My vegetarian roommates won't touch it. Neither will the cats.
So what's the point of this arduous anecdote of deer meat and dental offices? Isn't this a music blog or a porn site or something? Shouldn't I segue into something more appropriate?
Glad you asked! While deer meat makes for salty sausage, Deerhoof is a sweet, sweet band; ten out of ten hipsters prefer Deerhoof to venison (though the tenth would have preferred venison if she weren't a vegetarian). Melding cute Japanese pop sensibility with senseless mayhem, odd time signatures, and panda-themed songs, Deerhoof is healthier for you than deer sausage, which only melds meat and fat in an intestinal casing.
So, with almost no further ado, let's break out the tunes.

MP3: Deerhoof- Dummy Discards a Heart
MP3: Deerhoof- The Perfect Me

Buy: Amazon

*This is true, at least for New York State: my high school journalism teacher read us an NY Times article about it.
**I'd like to thank Nubbers for posing for me, but I also find it necessary to point out that the cat, Nubbers, is a big fat fatty. The truncated sausage would look bigger next to a normal-sized cat.