I need to do my job as a website manager and give you something you need, that you didn’t know you did. Don’t get spoiled, this won’t happen very often. But if I’m hurting, which I am now more than ever, it means that the rest of the world is hurting even more.
So here’s what you need.
If it’s safe for space, it’s SFW.
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Filed under Girls of BIUL, Site Stuff, Uncategorized
Like many adult Americans, I prefer to be intoxicated on Christmas day. Some call this addiction. I call it self-medicating for the benefit of others.
Purple = sober and confused.
I’m not a role model, or a regular person. I’m alone on Christmas because I’m belligerent and undiplomatic by nature. I lack the ability to mask contempt or disdain. Just days ago, I told three separate strangers to go kill themselves. I make jokes and draw comics to keep from screaming death threats at people.
Oh, and if at all possible, I try to stay high, all the time. Continue reading
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Filed under Bad Influences, Don't Know Don't Care, Idiot's Delight, Late To The Party, Uncategorized, Worst Of All
On a recent Age Of The Shrug podcast, Joey Pikkels and I did a blind taste test with the two leading brands of cola: Pepsi and Coke. We were surprised and amazed and all that.
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Filed under Eatable Things, Idiot's Delight, Late To The Party, Nostalgic Obsessions
In the latter half of the 1980s, just about every teenage guy wanted to be Michael J. Fox.
Kari Michaelson AND Nancy McKeon- ROWR!
He had indomitable charisma. He had charm. He even made voice-cracking kind of cool. He was likable yuppie Alex P. Keaton on NBC’s sitcom Family Ties, and spastic teen time-traveler Marty McFly in the Back To The Future trilogy of movies.
Then in 1991, after Brian DePalma’s Casualties Of War, Michael J. Fox was diagnosed with young-onset Parkinson’s Disease. Continue reading
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Filed under Bad Influences, Eatable Things, Faint Signals, Nostalgic Obsessions, Worst Of All
Earlier this year I crossed a boundary with the dog.
This is a different dog.
I’d eaten some godawful fried thing or another, and feeling a buildup of gas, I leaped over to the dog, crouched directly above his face, and knocked a king-size fart across his nose.
Triumphant, I turned to face the dog, expecting adoration for this generous gastric flotilla. Instead, the dog regarded me with a reproachful look, the kind I expect people receive when they jiggle their comatose grandmother’s breast for a family photo.
“What’s the matter?” I asked the dog in plain English, as though he would reply in kind. “Don’t you, a dog, enjoy the smell of shit?” Continue reading
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Filed under Bad Influences, Don't Know Don't Care, Faint Signals, Idiot's Delight, Worst Of All
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