Children, avert your eyes!

I know Halloween is supposed to be scary all about spookin’ kids and summoning forth evil, but this is going too far.

Crunch Time (a.k.a. Time For Some Crunchy Stellas)

Alright, it’s not too late. I’ve got a little over two hours to write 50,000 words. It’s gonna be tight, but if I hunker down and focus I think I can pull it out.

Although I did just finish reading seven years of Achewood so I think it’s mainly going to be about manic depressive cats and coked up squirrels and five year old otters and their crazy, mixed-up adventures.

I really was dangerously close to attempting to consider doing this thirty days ago, but the month of November kind of crept up on me. Can you imagine though? If I actually went and wrote a novel. Everyone coming up to me all “man, why’d you have to go and do a thing.”

Feel good movie of the last 30 years


(via videogum)

Happy Smallpox-Blanket Day!

Condolences all around. Today is a day of mourning. It is also a day of celebration, commemorating a narrow victory over an unsuspecting continent, honoring a kindness and compassion that Western Civilization has yet to return.

But who gives a fuck about that, am I right?

Yes, this holiday, like most of its brethren, is nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to cancerously consume everything in sight. Which is of course, all too fitting. For all the talk of humility and family and similar puritanical virtues, today amounts to a paean, not to gratitude, but to obesity, and of course, one day later, to capitalism. Raise a glass! To gluttony!

But wait. There might be a slight problem here. Are you human enough to be a little bothered by your ancestors’ bloody legacy, but American enough to just want to get your grub on? Do you want to savor your set of nesting matroshka carcasses, but can’t get the taste of genocide out of your mouth? Do you prefer your gravy guilt free? Then for those select few of you, please, indulge me in a quick (revisionist) history lesson:

You know how to make a movie where the Indians win? You take any old western, and you run it backwards.

- Earl Pomerantz

If it’s true that history is an agreed upon fiction, than ours is the most gruesome horror story ever told.

Now that we that unpleasantness out of the way, let’s get on to “giving thanks.” There are a few things I’m genuinely thankful for:

Sadly, that is not to be and we might as well make the most out of an unfortunate situation. So go ahead, enjoy yourselves. Watch some football and if you get tired of that, watch some apropos episodes of Gilmore Girls. Or The O.C., if you’re so inclined.

By all means, eat, nap and be merry! Just try not to lose sight of the true spirit of Thanksgiving.

Can you blame me?

Fiction:

Stranger Than Fiction:

I’m not sure what this says about me, but that is exactly how I feel every time I see this man:

Get the Flash Player to see this content.

All I want to do is shave him, possibly all over.

Gravy Robbers? More like heart robbers. Because Zach Galifianakis stole mine. Then fucked it.

I always thought it was standard knowledge that “meh” originated, or at least catapulted to common use because of The Simpsons

I always thought it was standard knowledge that “meh” originated, or at least catapulted to common use because of The Simpsons

Here’s hoping “juh” is next!

If only aging were this easy.

If only aging were this easy.

(via kottke)

How long do you think it takes to get business cards printed up?

Pearls Before Swine

I am SOOOO lapidated right now


(via migthegreek.com)

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the men and women entrusted with our public safety.

Important Lesson #1: The next time you get high and start freaking out, think twice before you call the police. The responding officer might be tripping Schweddier balls than you. Plus, he has a gun.

Hey man, we’ve all been there. Trust me. But we’re not all cops. Unless I’ve been wrong about who reads this site all along, and it’s not eight desperate friends with nothing better to do, but eight L.A.P.D. officers on their lunch break, possibly while stoned.

I know police offices are not fully trained EMTs and as such do not have the breadth of medical knowledge one might hope for, and of course, I realize the paranoia inducing effects of marijuana, but it’s important to keep the following in mind:

It has been estimated that a person would have to smoke a hundred pounds of marijuana a minute for fifteen minutes in order to induce a lethal response.

- Eric Schlosser

Have anything else to say on the matter? Just leave me a note.

What’s that? Am I forgetting something? Oh, right. Sorry, I’m a little out of it.

Important Lesson #2: Cops have the best fucking weed.

A Neglected Demographic

If clubs played more music like this, there’d be a lot more lonely, misanthropic dudes sobbing quietly in the corner.


(via videogum)

Whatever I like indeed.

It’s a sailboat!


(via riot clit shave)

The human brain is a preposterous machine. That mine strives so earnestly, and succeeds, in ascribing a story to an image this simple, is as wondrous as it is terrifying. What other stories must have been spun from less cloth?

Maybe I should cut religious folk some slack. Oh, right.

Forget I said anything.

I’m straight spittin’ gold up in this piece

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Sound familiar?

It should:

After all, when Putin, safe in his Mordor Moscow stronghold, sets his all seeing eye upon the United States, what’s the first thing he’s going to see? Answer: Sarah Palin getting out of the shower.

Also, my google fu may not have been strong enough to find this a few weeks ago, but in the end I’m glad I didn’t.

Or else I wouldn’t have bothered with this.

I knew the joke was obvious, but I’m mostly just shocked my photoshop skills are slightly superior to, well, anyone’s.

So there you have it, folks. Proof that this website is at least as worth your time as ten seconds of Real Time with Bill Maher or one of 60,000 pages at BestWeekEver.tv.

Well, I guess that’s enough backslapping. It’s time to get back to work. Because we’re all business here.

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