What did large hadrons ever do to you?
What did large hadrons ever do to you?
If you woke up to read this, and are not currently being ripped apart by the tidal forces of a black hole, congratulations Earth! We made it!
Looks like we have until November 4th when the crushing weight of America’s small town values combined with the energy released from the detonation of our nuclear arsenal will collapse the Earth past its Schwarzschild radius and send us to a reality where things actually make sense.
Until then, leave large hadrons alone!
Change you can believe in taking home to your mother
The internet has been a bit quiet lately. A little too quiet, if you ask me. I don’t know if it was something I said, but there’s been a dearth of animal hijinx or videos of drunk girls dancing in their underwear lately.
Could this be due to one of the few remaining pieces of America’s soul being taken out back to the ridiculous shed and slapped in the face with irony’s dick? Who’s to say. I’m just reporting the facts on the ground. Far be it from me to opine needlessly1.
With all that in mind, however, I present to you a welcome respite from hitting yourselves in the genitals with a ball-peen hammer soaked in Tabasco sauce: a video I could have easily made myself2, that seems appropriate given the state of the nation.
America, vote for Dave. He may have douchey friends, be kind of poor, and probably a latent homosexual, but he’s still more qualified than Princess Mooseburger3.
- By the way, when the hell did I become this interested in politics? John Stewart, I blame you. If only he had stayed in the movie business. [↩]
- If I had ambition, friends or a camera. [↩]
- We would have also accepted Caribou Barbie [↩]
Sure they will…
Just thought you might need a reminder.
XOXO
Gossip Girl’s second season premiered tonight on the CW. If you missed the first season, this is as good a recap as any. I’m proudbarrased to get every reference in this.
This show is not as good as exective producer Josh Schwartz’s first show, the O.C.; then again it’s not as bad as the O.C. either. As you might have gathered, we have a soft spot in our hearts here for average things, of which this show is a prime example.
Is it silly? Yes. Is it another transparent excuse for disgustingly beautiful people to sex each other up on television? Absolutely. Is it confusing to wonder how the narrator is supposed to be an actual human being that basically just follows this one group of people around at all times and feels compelled to write cryptic and dramatically appropriate posts on a blog that can arguably be called even more niche than the one you’re currently reading1? I don’t even remember the question. Is the show basically just rich white folks enjoying their money? If you’re going to let something like that bother you, I suggest you never open a history book ever again.
So if you don’t like shows where decapitation is covered by most HMOs, or if you really want to know what life must be like for exactly sixteen high school students in Manhattan, or even if you’re just really racist and are offended that the Brandon Walsh character is now black there are worse ways to spend the Monday nights when all your “friends” are busy, all the hookers you usually call are “out of town” and you just don’t feel like dealing with the mess of cutting yourself.
In the end, I can, in all good faith, give the show a resounding endorsement: there’s nothing wrong with this show that isn’t wrong with probably just about everything else you like and/or do. Make of that what you will and proceed accordingly.
Chris Keller’s work here is done.
- Well, not really. [↩]
Mrs. Claus
Looks like someone took my advice.
I know many of you were shocked by John McCain’s choice of running mate, but really it should come as no surprise. From time immemorial, fuckability and desperate pandering are what politics are all about.
People are calling her a VPilf or the Britney Spears of the American Gubernatorial Scene, while others are suggesting there’s a conspiracy going on with her Down Syndrome baby; I don’t know if I’d go that far1, but I will say one thing about Ms. Palin, she is surely the hottest Governor the great state of Alaska has ever had2.
Also, on a slight tangent3, this might be all the booze talking4, but Clinton, the Younger wasn’t looking so bad at the DNC. She’s still no Meghan McCain, but there’s an undeniable charm there, like if someone pushed Chloe Sevigny out of a moving truck and she landed on her face, but the truck was only going like 15mph, but she still needed some reconstructive surgery but all her doctors were members of a secret cult that worships horses.
If Hillary’s plans don’t work out in 2012, not all hope is lost for the Clinton dynasty. No. There is another.
Vote Clinton/Cyrus in ’325.
- Britney is after all much more used to public scrutiny than the leader of a state with the population of three and a half Guams. [↩]
- Pochahontas was never Governor of Alaska, right? What about Sacajawea? [↩]
- A first for me, I know. [↩]
- Ain’t no party like a National Political Convention, ‘cause a National Political Convention don’t stop. Except maybe when there’s a hurricane involved. [↩]
- Who are we kidding? Cyrus/Clinton. [↩]
Mario Kart2
Highly scientific study on the affects of drinking and driving1.
I think this calls for an equally scientific study on what happens if you play Mario Kart while under the influence of “Mario Kart2“.
Don’t worry, you’re just tripping balls.
1 A cartoon go kart.
2 You know what I’m talking about. Or maybe you don’t, who knows?
Clownin’ around in the neighborhood
What nightmares are made of.
I know just how you feel little critter
Sometimes you climb the slide, sometimes the slide climbs you.
Funny coincidence, no?
The symptoms of depression (according to the National Institute of Mental Health) include anxiety, pessimism, loss of interest in sex, insomnia, thoughts of suicide, restlessness and chronic headaches. These are also the symptoms of being smart.”— Chuck Klosterman
The Fountain of Youth
I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately, so it’s pretty reassuring to know that I’m going to live to be at least 350 years old. 23rd century, here I jizz!
(via videogum)
Armin Tamzarian’s reign of terror is over.
Armin Tamzarian’s reign of terror is over.
Christopher Chance, or the Human Target, is a DC Comics character, later given a Vertigo ongoing series written by Peter Milligan. An actor/detective/bodyguard, Chance could impersonate virtually anyone, needing only some prosthetics and the time to study the lives they lead. His “clients,” or personalities, ranged from an imposing African-American preacher to a Major League baseball player. The series obviously dealt with the issues of identity and so remains a favorite of mine.
It posed a particular question that has always fascinated me: can a human being be reconstructed only through secondary sources? Say you died1 and your body, for whatever reason, was not retrievable2. In this hypothetical, there exists a machine capable of transferring thoughts into a waiting body4. If your family, loved ones and enemies were interviewed and all your belongings catalogued5 and rifled through and the resulting glut of information was set to percolate in this machine, could the resulting product be called “you7“?
Human Target only ran for three years, but it managed to stay fresh and end on a satisfying note in 2006. Which is why I was so surprised when I discovered last week that it was based on a true story.
This New Yorker article is almost prohibitively long to read online, but it is such a sad and bizarre story that it’s worth it. The jist? Up until his thirties, a Frenchman named Frédéric Bourdin assumed the identities of dead or missing children all around Europe and later in the U.S., and got away with it, at least for a while. He did this several times. He fooled schools, orphanages and even families. So I guess the moral of the story is anyone in your life can be a French impostor and you’d have no way of knowing. Sleep tight everyone8.
1 Better yet don’t. If you don’t say it out loud, it might not happen. That’s how it works, right?
2 Autoerotic defenestration is no joke. The more you know3.
3 The less you care.
4 Hobos finally found their calling.
5 Even those. Especially those. Could a life without your SpongeBob anal beads even be called living6.
6 Gives a whole new meaning to SquarePants.
7 Answer: probably.
8 Don’t let the punaise des lits bite.
(via kottke)
This is not my beautiful house!
I’ve been playing house this past week, as I was left in charge of a lovely home and it’s two resident canines, and let me tell you: it’s not all that’s it cracked up to be.
Don’t get me wrong, there are certain perks that come with home ownership: the ability to pussyfoot about naked with impunity, a lush backyard to frolic in and the ability to make an ungodly racket without fear of reproach, among them. But when the actual homeowners don’t believe in curtains or drapes, valuing something as pedestrian as sunshine over an ever fleeting privacy, the freshly planted carpet of sod is too fragile to be frolicked upon, (not to mention it’s too fucking hot to even think about it anyway) and the loudest noise coming from the house is a possibly retarded dog barking at you because he forgot who you were for a second, it becomes all too easy to lose sight of the plus side.
Of course, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. In fact, it gave me a much needed opportunity to reflect on my life. Plus, it’s important to remember I didn’t come away empty handed1.
Things I’ve learned from renting the American dream2:
- Haunted houses are a scam. Not because there’s no such thing as ghosts3, but because all houses are haunted. I don’t know what the spirits have against apartments and condos, but if you really want to see a ghost, just break into that two story rambler down the street. You know the one? The daughter’s still in high school and their bratty little son is trying to blackmail you just because he thinks he caught you peeping when he was in his sister’s room jacking off into one of her cheerleading shoes4. Yeah, that one.
- Air conditioning is a cruel, cold hearted bitch. Just one week of her chilly embrace has ruined me for oscillating fans.
- It’s just as easy to waste massive amounts of time in someone else’s home as it is in your own. Staycations may be all the rage, what with gas prices the way they are, but if all you do is watch Comedy Central and fire up some Hot Pockets, it’s too much “stay” and not enough “‘cation.”
- I’m a solitary person by nature and I like to think I have a bigger than average ego5, but it’s still not enough to fill a three bedroom house. Houses are large. They seem even larger when you’re alone; I almost got lost twice. Partly because of this, the quiet in a house is somehow quieter than the quiet in an apartment and that much harder to dispel.
- Also, dogs talk about me while I sleep.
1 Don’t worry, I got paid too. Sotomayor got to get paid. Y’all don’t know shit about this! I get this shit for just sitting around.
2 “American night terror” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
3 Obviously, there’s at least one ghost.
4 How he knew you had already gotten to the other one first, I’ll never know.
5 I measured it once6.
6 And cut it twice. Or is it the other way around? I can never keep that straight7.
7 Funnily enough, much like my penis8.
8 Because it’s crooked9.
9 How did I get here?
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