tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3385860963255933672024-03-13T16:47:15.150-04:00Paulie All the TimeThis is a blog about Me, Dinosaurs, Poetry, Failure, Giant Squirrels and Whatever Else Floats My Boat.Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-73592496206445567802013-01-24T12:46:00.001-05:002013-01-24T12:46:21.055-05:00Oh no...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-42LiA6gObdU/UQFzXiyWxHI/AAAAAAAAAcI/l7-EH4MoJys/s1600/oie_24183337RqydlaIt.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-42LiA6gObdU/UQFzXiyWxHI/AAAAAAAAAcI/l7-EH4MoJys/s320/oie_24183337RqydlaIt.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-43769211535364059272012-12-03T17:33:00.000-05:002012-12-03T17:33:00.897-05:00BAD ART IS BADLook, everybody! Damien Hirst, stuck technicolor pills all over a $50,000 backpack. We must all agree that he totally arted the shit out of that bag. <br />
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<a href="http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/18789rmpknq5njpg/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/18789rmpknq5njpg/original.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Still, I miss his older, edgier works. Like that shark stuffed full of used tampons or whatever the fuck it was.<br />
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-53570617326873854702012-05-01T13:53:00.002-04:002012-05-01T13:53:50.833-04:00STOP!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C4LJbDd6asQ/T6AjGM5hI6I/AAAAAAAAAbU/A_J8Y8F2yiA/s1600/StopSnichnKitty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="462" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C4LJbDd6asQ/T6AjGM5hI6I/AAAAAAAAAbU/A_J8Y8F2yiA/s640/StopSnichnKitty.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-50459052487612523672011-06-03T12:00:00.000-04:002011-06-03T12:26:13.937-04:00Guess Who, Mother F*cker.<div><span>You love to play Guess Who? and you also love early 80's California punk, but you are pretty sure that Milton Bradley wouldn't know hardcore if it flexed its beefy neck and screamed in his general direction? Now you can have the best of both worlds. </span></div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Sb6WKFgwdeI/AAAAAAAAAQk/veqHP680oDo/s1600-h/Guess+Who.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313849710366193122" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 219px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Sb6WKFgwdeI/AAAAAAAAAQk/veqHP680oDo/s400/Guess+Who.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span>Chart via </span><a href="http://blog.wfmu.org/freeform/2008/04/black-flag-hair.html"><span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WFMU</span></span></a></div><br /><div><span>Here’s a transcript of a round I played with a friend.</span></div><br /><div><span>Me: Do you have hair?<br />Friend: Yes. Do you have a hat?<br />Me: No. Is your hair black?<br />Friend: Yes. Are you a man?<br />Me: Yes. Do you enjoy free weights and listening to the Stooges?<br />Friend: No. Is your hair straight?<br />Me: Yes. Are you Bill Stevenson, drummer for Black Flag in 1983 and founding member of The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Descendants</span>?<br />Friend: Yes. You win. </span></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-10562595673817133652011-02-10T12:02:00.011-05:002012-12-03T17:34:27.999-05:00Memoir<span class="Apple-style-span">Donald Rumsfeld has titled his new memoir <i>Known and Unknown</i>, which hearkens back to this piece of wisdom that he shared during a DOD briefing on February 12, 2002. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">"As we know,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">here are known knowns.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">There are things we know we know.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">We also know</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">here are known unknowns.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">That is to say</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">e know there are some things</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">e do not know.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">But there are also unknown unknowns,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">he ones we don't know</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">e don't know."</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">If this sounds familiar, it's because the quote was selected by Hart Seeley as part of his collection, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><i>Pieces of Intelligence: The Existential Poetry of Donald H. Rumsfeld.</i> Perhaps you remember <a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2081042/">Slate</a>'s coverage of the story</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">In other words, Rumsfeld</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> named his memoir to commemorate a moment in his life which resulted in his being roundly mocked internationally in print and on TV. This has inspired me to come up with a list of potential titles for my memoir. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Zipped and Unzipped</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">If I'd Known You Were Native American I Wouldn't Have Sung That Song </span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>It's Not Funny</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Stop Laughing</i></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>I Mean It, Guys </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>You Told Him I Said That?!</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">That Time I Farted</span></i></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-2837911459359437082011-02-10T11:51:00.003-05:002011-02-10T12:44:13.641-05:00McSweeney's Can Not Suck It. No, wait, I was wrong. They Can Still Suck It<div style="text-align: left;">Another list, another rejection. I hate myself and I want to die. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Why We Don't Do It In the Road</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cars</div><div style="text-align: center;">Rocks</div><div style="text-align: center;">Trucks</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have a headache</div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-80682322517695042012010-03-30T16:12:00.001-04:002010-03-30T16:14:13.414-04:00Getting Married, America Style<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/S7JbZrP05yI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/srlR6VoxEjY/s1600/Our+Wedding+Party.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454522595363055394" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/S7JbZrP05yI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/srlR6VoxEjY/s400/Our+Wedding+Party.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-59394565530940535332010-01-25T13:07:00.004-05:002010-01-25T13:16:27.742-05:00Oh, the shame! The shame!<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/S13eZcD9gGI/AAAAAAAAAYI/igb_OSRIrGw/s1600-h/Qwantz6.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430741254289588322" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/S13eZcD9gGI/AAAAAAAAAYI/igb_OSRIrGw/s400/Qwantz6.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">D-Rex is eternally <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">grateful</span> to Ryan North and <a href="http://www.qwantz.com/index.php">Dinosaur Comics</a>.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-51513456251043470582009-11-09T17:03:00.007-05:002010-09-10T14:45:04.428-04:00Letter to a First Grader<span style="font-size:85%;">Dear Emma, </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My name is XXXXX. I hope this letter finds you well. Like you, I grew up in XXXXX but I now live in Brooklyn, which is part of New York City. New York is much bigger than XXXXX. It’s very crowded, and people walk very fast. I ride the subway to work every day and I don’t own a car. I miss driving, but I’m glad I don’t have to deal with traffic on my way to work. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I work for a book publisher. That's a company that makes books. My job is to help create book covers. To do that I have to wake up early every morning and sit in a little cube all day while people come by and bother me. For this I am poorly compensated. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">From time to time throughout the work day, I pause to eye my letter opener, wondering idly what it would feel like to jam it into my hand. Sometimes I get so far as picking it up, but I am usually interrupted before I can even reach for it.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I'm sure you know this tedium, Emma. It's very much like the feeling of finishing a test early except that it never stops. No one else ever finishes the test. We all go home and when we return the next day, everyone else continues the test, and the cycle repeats uninterrupted save for the occasional moron leaning in to ask for the answer to a question they should already know.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I do this for 8 hours at a time. Remember nap time? Eight hours is like 16 nap times together.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Don't worry if this sounds boring, Emma. In this economy I would gratefully accept a position servicing bus stop drifters in exchange for an almost-living wage. And it's not all bad. The alienation that prevents me from making any lasting attachments with other people has allowed me free time to pursue my hobbies, like gun collecting. And pornography. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I've also become quite adept at sublimating my impotent rage into activities like "blogging" while maintaining an outwardly cool facade of detached amusement and knowitallism. This is called being a hipster. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Well, it's time for me to get back to work and its accompanying sense of existential horror. I don’t know if you are supposed to write back. If so, I’m curious what your favorite subject in school is and what you want to be when you grow up. Remember to pay attention and work hard in school!</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Sincerely,</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">XXXXX</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">[Co-written with M. T. ]</span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-89178393505122655072009-08-07T09:37:00.001-04:002009-08-07T09:39:03.650-04:00You've BeenWang Ganged.<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SnwuSJRs93I/AAAAAAAAAXM/kym1cGU9S-E/s1600-h/English.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367215745181480818" style="WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SnwuSJRs93I/AAAAAAAAAXM/kym1cGU9S-E/s320/English.jpg" border="0" /></a>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-39745458946671232742009-08-06T13:13:00.003-04:002009-08-06T13:17:30.892-04:00Jerks of the..Land?!?<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SnsQGG-sqBI/AAAAAAAAAXE/RpiOzQ3Rqkg/s1600-h/Oryx.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366901078080923666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SnsQGG-sqBI/AAAAAAAAAXE/RpiOzQ3Rqkg/s200/Oryx.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SnsPnQugq4I/AAAAAAAAAW8/d2QLsnYgUdE/s1600-h/Oryx.jpg"></a><div></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">There are jerks on the</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">land, too. Check out this oryx.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">He's a real douchbag.</span> </p></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-77938559096379794422009-08-04T14:13:00.004-04:002009-08-04T14:38:20.566-04:00Pay Up, Little, Brown<span style="font-size:85%;">Gawker reports today that a writer named Jordan Scott has </span><a href="http://gawker.com/5329458/twilight-scribe-accused-of-plagiarizing-other-vampire-novel"><span style="font-size:85%;">accused Stephanie Meyer's of plagiarizing </span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">matrimonial and sex scenes in <em>Breaking Dawn</em> from her own vampire novel, <em>The Nocturne</em>. After reading the evidence provided, I have come to realize that I, too, am one of Meyer's victims. Check out these suspicious similarities between excerpts of <em>Twilight </em>and my high school journal. The evidence speaks for itself. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Twilight</strong><br />I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn’t the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>My Journal<br /></strong>I saw Calvin Kole* at lunch today. He is sooo hottt! Too bad he doesn’t know I’m alive. I hate Tammy Godfrey with the power of a thousand flaming suns, and the rest of her cheerleader bitch friends.<br />Sigh.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">__________<br /><strong>Twilight</strong><br />I’d noticed that his eyes were black – coal black.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>My Journal<br /></strong>Calvin Kole's eyes are blue – ice blue. Sigh.<br />__________<br /><strong>Twilight</strong><br />His skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday’s hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>My Journal<br /></strong>I want to have sex with Calvin Kole.<br />Oh yeah, and his skin is sparkly.<br />__________<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Twilight<br /></strong>I sat without moving, more frightened of him than I had ever been. I’d never seen him so completely freed of that carefully cultivated facade. He’d never been less human… or more beautiful.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>My Journal<br /></strong>Went to hockey game with Beth last night. Calvin Kole scored five points. He is so beautiful. He moves with the liquid grace and freedom of an ice skating bear, and plays with the same ferocity. He spits a lot, too. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">*Some names have been changed to protect my pride.<br /></span></span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-13790160698717156962009-07-21T14:51:00.004-04:002009-07-21T15:01:03.865-04:00Winner!<a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/2009/07/im-guessing-they-didnt-have-matching.html?commentPage=2">Cakewrecks</a> is having a contest to caption this picture:<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SmYOr7AdaoI/AAAAAAAAAWs/U7YapLRQC3M/s1600-h/lenin_cake_2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360988554167937666" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SmYOr7AdaoI/AAAAAAAAAWs/U7YapLRQC3M/s320/lenin_cake_2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I've submitted an entry that I think has raised the general tone of the comments. You should do the same.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SmYPDGhNMRI/AAAAAAAAAW0/LPiMvu4R5Zc/s1600-h/Lenin+Comment.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360988952395067666" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 98px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SmYPDGhNMRI/AAAAAAAAAW0/LPiMvu4R5Zc/s320/Lenin+Comment.jpg" border="0" /></a>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-68205635192177594412009-05-20T16:25:00.003-04:002009-05-21T22:34:16.583-04:00Another Thing I Might Worry About If I Were a Robot<ul><br /><li>Is it wrong to fuck the TiVo?</li></ul>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-57803125339399193192009-05-20T14:18:00.002-04:002009-05-20T14:31:07.787-04:00Things I Might Worry About If I Were a Robot<ul><li>Rust</li><li>Electrical surges</li><li>My place in the singularity</li><li>Bigger, stronger robots</li><li>Robo-AIDS</li></ul><p><span style="font-size:85%;">PS- I might also worry about </span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sAkEAa9iwGI/SWdaLOcRyPI/AAAAAAAADKc/rNssfLdEz9U/s400/decepticons.jpg"><span style="font-size:85%;">these </span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">and </span><a href="http://www.arclight.net/~pdb/nonfiction/uncanny-valley.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">this</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">. </span></p>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-11662334256322894702009-04-30T11:32:00.014-04:002009-04-30T11:52:54.799-04:00Jerks of the Sea: A Reprise<span style="font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SfnFcc8ufvI/AAAAAAAAATk/SUVym7duH3U/s1600-h/Blue+Whale.jpg"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330508726567599858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 185px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 170px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SfnFcc8ufvI/AAAAAAAAATk/SUVym7duH3U/s200/Blue+Whale.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Are Blue Whales Jerks? Yes.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"You should lay off the krill, babe.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">You've put on some weight."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SfnFSz46YrI/AAAAAAAAATc/17VG-iKU9iI/s1600-h/Cyanobacteria.jpg"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330508560926925490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 185px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 122px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SfnFSz46YrI/AAAAAAAAATc/17VG-iKU9iI/s200/Cyanobacteria.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Don't ever fall for</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Cyanobacteria.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">They'll just break your heart.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /></span><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SfnFNkcHLUI/AAAAAAAAATU/QbyWzLRQyuM/s1600-h/Jellyfish.bmp"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330508470880251202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 185px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 127px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SfnFNkcHLUI/AAAAAAAAATU/QbyWzLRQyuM/s200/Jellyfish.bmp" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"Your mesoglea</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">must be jelly, because jam</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">don't contract like that."<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-5205529420945282342009-04-21T12:49:00.004-04:002009-04-21T12:55:55.865-04:00It has nothing to do with my widdle legs...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Se35fvZmUjI/AAAAAAAAASs/j1nZfgQ1D5E/s1600-h/Qwantz5.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327188257944261170" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Se35fvZmUjI/AAAAAAAAASs/j1nZfgQ1D5E/s400/Qwantz5.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">As always, with much respect to the real </span><a href="http://www.qwantz.com/"><span style="font-size:85%;">Dinosaur Comics</span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">.</span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-87934639980576571612009-04-15T16:28:00.003-04:002009-04-15T16:40:17.719-04:00Lame Urban Legends#3<br />This guy is driving through Alabama and meets these strangers who invite him to go to a party where he gets absolutely hammered and blacks out. He wakes up the next morning completely disoriented and doesn’t know where he is. He has this sharp pain in his lower back and when he cranes his head around he can see a fresh bandage has been taped there. A doctor tells him that last night his kidney was <em>surgically removed</em>. Then a nurse comes in and says that he was lucky he wrecked his car so close to the hospital or he would have died before they could remove his crushed kidney.<br /><br />Don't drink and drive. <br /><br />#4<br />Did you hear that this guy just escaped from the state mental hospital? It's on all the news stations. And, get this, he has a hook (!) for a hand--one of those prosthetic hook-things that can grab and stuff. Guy lost his real hand in Kabul. Pretty sad actually. He has crazybad PTSD. Wanna go make out in the woods?Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-91002482003937702032009-04-09T11:49:00.005-04:002009-04-09T11:59:01.227-04:00I've Invested in Some Art<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Sd4a9-wrs-I/AAAAAAAAASM/uaFw8Vv0VPA/s1600-h/bad+sea.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322721461720036322" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 350px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Sd4a9-wrs-I/AAAAAAAAASM/uaFw8Vv0VPA/s400/bad+sea.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Courtesy of <a href="http://www.brandonbird.com/">http://www.brandonbird.com/</a>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-57619635810129693662009-04-08T15:13:00.004-04:002009-04-08T19:29:22.372-04:00Lame Urban Legends#1.<br />So the story goes that there was once this extremely ancient hideous crone who lived in that farmhouse on Tucker Road--the one that's all falling apart now. So yeah, she lived there and she had this pear tree out front that grew crazy mad pears that everyone wanted to eat but she was always like "Don't touch my pears" when kids would come by. "Don't touch my pears!" "Don't touch my pears!" I'm sure it got really old after a while. So then like these two kids decided, eff it, we want some pears, so they waited until it got dark and then crept super-silently to the crone's house and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">proceeded</span> to stuff themselves with pears until they almost <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">horked</span>. Almost. And then they high-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fived</span> each other and went back home.<br /><br />But the next day, while the kids were laying home sick in bed from having eaten such a prodigious amount of pears the night before, the old crone came into the house. Their parents were out in the field or some shit. Right. So she comes into the house and they can hear her, over and over again, saying "<em>Who ate my pears? Who ate my pears?"</em> And they are seriously freaked out, because this woman is seriously ancient and seriously ugly and therefore must be seriously evil. They can hear her in the kitchen: <em>Who ate my pears? Who ate my pears?</em> Then they can hear her on the bottom stair: <em>Who ate my pears? Who ate my pears?</em> Then she is at the end of the hallway, still like <em>Who ate my pears? Who ate my pears?</em> And then, oh and the kids are just about wetting the bed because they are so scared that this evil witch is going to come into the room and stab them or disembowel them or something, and then the door opens <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sloooooooooowly</span> and then the witch is <strong>in the doorway! (!!!)</strong> And then she is at the foot of the bed that the kids are in (I forgot to mention that they shared a bed since it's old <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">timey</span> or they were poor or something) she is <strong>at the foot of the bed</strong> and the kids are crying under the covers <em>WHO ATE MY PEARS? WHO ATE MY PEARS? </em>And then she yanks the blanket off the bed, exposing the two crying, snotty, shaking kids and she says, "Listen you little bastards, I was going to use those pears to make preserves for the jelly competition at the fair in September, which I have won <strong>four</strong> years in a row, but now I don't have enough pears to make it, so thank you for ruining one of the few pleasures left to an old woman like myself. I hope you both feel really bad about what you've done," and then she left.<br /><br />AND if you go into that farm house on Tucker Road, it's said you can still hear the sounds of her quietly weeping into the empty mason jars that had been intended to hold all her prize-winning pear preserves.<br /><br />True Story<br /><br />#2<br />My cousin goes to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Loyalla</span> and she knows this couple that went to Mexico for spring break and the whole time they were there, the girl was just bitching and moaning about how much she wanted to get one of those nasty hairless Mexican dogs, and she just kept at it for days until her boyfriend was ready to kill himself. So he finally was like, OK, Get a damn dog, which she did. She bought him from one of those "chicle chicle" kids for about $5 American and she named it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Chalupa</span>. Then they went back to Chicago and they had a dinner party and one of the guests there was a veterinarian, so when the woman brought the dog out to meet everyone, he was like, "OH MY GOD!!! I hate to tell you guys this, but this dog is severely malnourished. Poor thing. You should put him on a special diet. I'll write down what you need to buy at the store."Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-38755519735720804362009-03-31T16:15:00.005-04:002009-03-31T16:21:27.841-04:00More Jerks of the Sea: HaikuJaws, Jabberjaw, Jaws<br /><div>II, the Millionaire <u>and</u> his</div><div>wife, SeaQuest, this guy:</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SdJ65q9KcNI/AAAAAAAAARs/A_FwAPo2DrA/s1600-h/Baywatch.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319449241079935186" style="WIDTH: 148px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/SdJ65q9KcNI/AAAAAAAAARs/A_FwAPo2DrA/s200/Baywatch.bmp" border="0" /></a></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-53870003539606096772009-03-26T14:28:00.008-04:002009-03-26T14:52:18.239-04:00Jerks of the Sea: Haiku<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/ScvOGw9DkgI/AAAAAAAAARU/XxnnOMEB0OA/s1600-h/Coelacanth.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317570400656527874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/ScvOGw9DkgI/AAAAAAAAARU/XxnnOMEB0OA/s200/Coelacanth.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">Coelacanths are jerks:</span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;">"Check out my rostral organ!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">"Who's extinct now, bitch?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/ScvOauHiz0I/AAAAAAAAARc/h4sDShkjbn4/s1600-h/Starfish.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317570743492595522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 194px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/ScvOauHiz0I/AAAAAAAAARc/h4sDShkjbn4/s200/Starfish.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></p><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">Starfish are jerks, too.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Radial symmetry</em>. You</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">want a fucking prize?</span></p></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-13795686588077634052009-03-23T19:25:00.004-04:002009-03-23T19:30:25.946-04:00My Cultural Appropriation Knows No Bounds<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:180%;">dstk<br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/ScgbApRNpfI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/x1L-3s9nBK0/s1600-h/DSTK.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316529058002871794" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 387px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/ScgbApRNpfI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/x1L-3s9nBK0/s400/DSTK.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fNVUylc7GTs/Scga0YF47sI/AAAAAAAAAQs/ct_NMimL8do/s1600-h/DSTK.jpg"></a></span></div>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-31622419120912621852009-03-23T13:47:00.004-04:002009-03-23T16:50:09.586-04:00Songs About PaulPaul Out of Love<br />Paul I Need is a Miracle<br />Paul You Need is Love<br />WonderPaul<br />Sexy MotherfuckerDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-338586096325593367.post-76411606438432971242009-03-16T13:30:00.006-04:002009-03-16T14:09:57.329-04:00I Love Sad Songs, the 70s Edition<span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Space Oddity</strong> - David Bowie*<br />Suicide by cold, vacuous, infinity. Makes your little wrist slitting attempt seem lame indeed.<br /><br /><strong>That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be</strong> - Carly Simon<br />Listen as Carly guts the concept of a lasting, happy marriage. I don't know if the songstress thought these lyrics were ultimately optimistic, but the feeble final refrain ("We'll marry") is buried beneath the overwhelming evidence that wedding vows lead to misery. So he thinks it's time to move in together? Run!<br /><br /><strong>The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald</strong> - Gordon Lightfoot<br />A dirge that relayed the true story of a freighter that had sunk in Lake Superior the year before, taking all hands with it. This song hit #2 on the Billboard chart. For realzies.<br /><br /><strong>At Seventeen</strong> - Janis Ian<br />My mother introduced me to this song and for that I shall forever be ungrateful. In my ugliest, loneliest moments, it never fails to run through my brain like some wretched little anthem. "I learned the truth at seventeen that love was meant for beauty queens…" Pathetic? Oh yes.<br /><br /><strong>Tapestry</strong> - Carol King<br />There is no justice in a world where a man can cruelly and pointlessly be turned into a toad.<br /><br /><strong>Taxi</strong> - Harry Chapin<br />You see, she was gonna be an actress, and he was gonna learn how to fly and, well, things didn’t work out for them at all, because now she is shamming domestic bliss and he’s a strung out cabbie. I can’t even listen to this song.**<br /><br /><strong>Perfect Day - </strong>Lou Reed<br />The crown jewel of sad 70s songs. The <em>melancholy</em>. The <em>self-loathing</em>. The <em>pathetic-ness</em>. And then, that surprising backswing of spite: You’re going to reap just what you sow, you’re going to reeeeaaap just whaaaaaat you sow... It’s a perfect song. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*OK, Space Oddity was original released in 1969, but it was re-released on an album of the same name in 1972, so I'm counting it.</span><span style="font-size:78%;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">** Some listeners may be struck by the thematic similarities between Chapin's Taxi and Dan Fogelberg's Same Old Lang Syne, another song of post-romance synchronicity. If so, then kudos to you.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04953173407371605614noreply@blogger.com3