I'm losing blood as type this. Why do I feel compelled to share with the World that I'm mensing? Because I can and you are better for knowing it - you're safe that way. This week has flown by like a little birdy on crack. Spring has sprung and it didn't hurt at all.
"Astronomers photographed a cosmic event this morning which they believe is the birth of a black hole, SPACE.com has learned." And speaking of black holes, Paul Anka covers Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun" which you can find at Stereogum.
Bubblegum in my hair
would somebody please
bring me some Nair
I do not like
sticky things in there
would somebody please
bring me some Nair
I do not like
sticky things in there
The blogoticks of Plogs:
'Politics is the art of controlling your environment.' That is one of the key things I learned in these years, and I learned it the hard way. Anybody who thinks that 'it doesn't matter who's President' has never been Drafted and sent off to fight and die in a vicious, stupid War on the other side of the World -- or been beaten and gassed by Police for trespassing on public property -- or been hounded by the IRS for purely political reasons -- or locked up in the Cook County Jail with a broken nose and no phone access and twelve perverts wanting to stomp your ass in the shower. That is when it matters who is President or Governor or Police Chief. That is when you will wish you had voted." ---Hunter S. Thompson via John Cusak (slurp) via HP
Coming soon to a bookstore this fall, Wonkette's reason for barely being Wonky at all this year: Dog Days
"Doesn't the little Berry indicator light remind you of the slit at the head of a penis?"
"Uhm, no. And the only reason it reminds you of one is because you use it facilitate sex. Your Berry is, in fact, attached to a penis." I am sooo looking forward to reading it that I'm counting the days until its release. If I do it right, spinning for a good minute or two and then crossing my eyes, I can use both hands to count the days. Good times.
I've got me a case of Paraskevidekatriaphobia and it itches. Speaking of irrational behavior, Gawker has been all over the release of Radar, like a whore riding a $1000 dollar client. Whutevah (cupiestyle ghettospeak for um...whatever). Radar is the new online and print celebrity rag that I'll never read because I, like guest editor TMFTML, don't give a shit. That shit leads to this shit:
"Tom DeLay fired back at Democrats raising ethics questions about him, telling a crowd of conservative activists that the GOP's opponents have no ideas and "no class."" [via Shakespeare's Sister, no shit was injured in the process of ummmm...linking]
Maybe he meant Democrats have no ass and even if he did say "class" he would still be wrong because everything this man does is wrong, no offense to Mrs. Delay.
Cheesy, but true:
Gay kids eat Kraft Macaroni & Cheese too and God, much to the religious rights' annoyance, is even so kind as to not choke them to death whilst gnawing on the cheesiest of treats, so back the fuck off you selfish zealots. [via Sisters Talk ]
/stream of unconsciousness
Well that was exhausting only because blogger is SOOOOOOOO FUCKING AWESOME (read: unstable piece of shit). It took many attempts to bring you this post, between episodes of spring douche '05 sessions, today: organizing the workspace/bedroom and it is almost complete. What a fucking nightmare. In the Oriental tradition of Feng Shui it is believed that the state of ones bedroom reflects the state of your psyche: dusty unused condoms, empty water bottles, and Ding Dong wrappers. Enough said. (Shoot me)
Alrighty, it's Friday the 13th, my ass is numb, and I need to get back to other obsessive behaviors: tomorrow's beer & baseball-palooza and singing along with Spongemonkey's "We like the Moon, cos it is close to us"...............Rock on!
