BOMBSHELLS, THE: Self-titled: CD

What better way to start a Saturday morning than with some punk rock record reviewin’ and tending to some personal hygiene? Kill two birds with one stone, or Bombshell, if you will. The first verse of “She’s Coming” sounds so much like the Problematics “Here We Come” that I started singing “And it happens all the ti-i-i-ime…” when it came time for the chorus while listening to this in the shower. I shampooed my hair and washed my face to “I Want You Mine” and “Oh Yeah,” working my way down to the armpits, crotch, and thighs without taking too much notice of the music: catchy, poppy, punky, in the same vein as Sloppy Seconds (from whom they ripped off a number of guitar leads) and Forgotten Rebels (from whom they pilfered the slowed-down, heartfelt intro to “I Want You Mine” and nose-plugged-full-of-snot vocal delivery), sans the inspired song writing and stunted, juvenile senses of humor that made those bands great. I began cleansing my anus as “One Track Mind” cued up. Not bad. Certainly my favorite song on the CD. The cruel twist is that my affinity for the song and proximity of hand-to-rectum have been intertwined, creating a bizarre, Pavlovian response whereupon hearing it, I’m filled with a desperate urge to cram a few fingers into my asshole. Son of a bitch, I’m never showering with these guys again. And, fellas, if yer gonna call yerselves the Bombshells, the least ya could do is put a smokin’ hot babe on the cover. That Miguel Hell ain’t so easy on the eyes.

 –benke (No Front Teeth)