Twenty-six Welcomes You

There are some who might say that soy sauce, no matter how sturdy and well designed the container, would surely have expired after 26 years.

Way to prove them wrong, buddy.

I got you something I know you’ve been wanting for a while now, but were too shy to ever outright ask for.

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This will only make sense to one person, and even that’s pushing it, but I’ve made peace with that.

You Are All My Favorite Customers

So you guys, this Saturday I expect pretty much everyone I know to show up and watch Tommy Wiseau’s modern cinema classic The Room with me. There isn’t really a lot of room for discussion on this one.1

Just to whet your appetites while hopefully not spoiling too much2, I give you a slight taste of what you can expect:

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If you are not there, this is what it will do to me.

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Just be forewarned, any no-shows will have to face my wrath.

Don’t worry, I will provide the spoons.

  1. Hey, when in Transylvania… (Don’t you just hate it when the best joke you can come up with is one you know only 1 in 3 people will get? Literally one person out of a total of three.) []
  2. I’m confident I could tell you everything that happens in this movie, in less than a minute, and somehow nothing about the experience would be ‘spoiled.’ []

The Weatherlution will be televised.

This effect is probably being abused lately, but it’s still fun as hell to watch.

A Human Going

Now that even Zoolander is getting in on the joke, I think it’s time we put it to rest.1

For those of you that have been living under a rock for the past few weeks2, a lovely, serene rock, where you’re safe from the vapidities of modern existence, Joaquin Phoenix has apparently retired from acting to pursue a hip hop music career.

Stranger things have happened.

Witness the following.

There are some who say Mr. Phoenix is simply engaging us in a Kaufmanesque mindfuck of epic proportions. Well, bully for him. Either way, I don’t seem to care.

Don’t worry though Joaquin, I’m still with you, not for your stunning portrayal of a snivelling, cowardly, patricidial bastard3, or for making two of M. Night Shyamalan’s dumbest movies4 slightly more bearable, but for directing a music video in 2005.

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Oh, and also as insurance in case anything ever happens to Zach Galifianakis.5

Stay gold, ponyboy.

  1. By “it” I mean Joaquin Phoenix. []
  2. So, all of you. Boom! A housing market joke, think Leno still needs writers for his new show? []
  3. Johnny Cash? []
  4. I’m sorry, that’s bad writing on my part (I learned it by watching you!). Shyamalan and dumb is a bit redundant; six of one, half-dozen of the self indulgent, half-baked, multi-million dollar bed time stories your kids were too well mannered (I guess they got that from their mother) to tell you were scary as all fuck, but for the entirely wrong reasons other. []
  5. Hey, someone has to play him in the biopic. []

That’s it Internet! We’re fucking done professionally!


(via riotclitshave)

Happy Completely-arbitrary-mad-scramble-to-prove-to-strangers-that-you’re-not-as-desperate-or-lonely-as-you-feel Day!

Here’s what I’m NOT doing this Valentine’s Day:

Here’s what I MIGHT do this Valentine’s Day:

Love is hard work you guys.

Which is why I’m so grateful to have you in my life, faceless stranger reader this.

Things may get pretty hectic Internet, but you know how I really feel.

I, for one, welcome our new pug overlords. Also, I would love to go for a ride right now, thanks.

I seem to have run out of shit to sling at you guys. This is a situation I intend to remedy post haste.

Which reminds me of a tangent that doesn’t warrant its own post. There’s a shop near my house on Santa Monica whose name virtually precludes me from ever stepping foot into said establishment. No, not the Pleasure Chest, it’s further west. The first time I passed by and noticed the sign I actually did a double take. Had I been driving (good thing I don’t!) I probably would have manslaughtered some pedestrians. The name in question: Extremedies. If I ever find out what they really do or sell there it’s going to be something mundane like remedies for your extremities. For now though, I choose to believe it’s a magical wonderland where you can get chainsaw acupuncture and everybody’s freebasing Mountain Dew™. Thus ends the tangent.

I guess I have to go through old notes and see if there’s any detritus that will tide you over until I have the time or inclination for something more substantial. Until then, I leave you with what you really came here to see.


Don’t worry. That noise you hear is just the sound of your black heart melting.

And from another angle.

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I don’t want to grow up. I’m a dying-at-the-bottom-of-this-gorge kid.

Outta my way fuckers, I’m late for Econ.

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He was right under my nose the whole time! Literally, my nose was in that room over there.

I spend a not insubstantial amount of time thinking about the impending zombpocalypse. How to prepare, necessary survival skills, the best strongholds, the benefits of virological vs. voodoo based outbreaks. I am not alone in this. For all my years of preparation though, I’m disappointed that the simplest idea never occurred to me. Hiding in plain sight.


No one here but us abominations.

Rick, a soft spoken Montrealer has that shit covered. Fucking Canadians! What haven’t they figured out over there? Besides governing themselves, I mean. Hey, we only just got it sorted a few months ago, so no worries.

I was planning on getting tattooed one day, but it seems I have to start saving now. None too soon, apparently.