Archive for September, 2009
Today is the final day of what most people would consider the worst month of 2009. If you didn’t notice how much it sucked-
lucky you.
For everyone else September has been a series of viciously uncharitable weeks, roughly four, and those weeks were built from a mean rash of thoroughly wretched days. The days were made up of cruel, gloomy hours, and the hours… you get the picture.
You don’t? Okay. The hours were horrible bastard elves that wept revolting luke-warm minutes, and the minutes were just clusters of cold shit-droplets masquerading as seconds.
I fucking hated September.
As usual, Susan Miller was right. She said it was going to be awful, and it really was. Most everyone I know was on suicide watch. It was that bad, and judging by today’s headlines- September is sinking the boots before it flees the scene.
But today is September’s last day, and if you have any sense you’ll stay in your foxhole till tomorrow. Personally, I have to get out there and run ‘errands’…
But before I do that I want to show you this video of my favorite journo- Evan Wright- reading from his latest book- Hella Nation. He’s an excellent reporter and I hope to one day be his friend. Perhaps we’ll be the type of friends that meet once a week for dinner and sophisticated conversation at The Waverly Inn. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be the type of friends that go hunting and accidently shoot a farmer. Maybe we’ll burry the farmer in a shallow grave and then drive home like nothing happened. Maybe someone’s fucking dog will dig the body up a couple of weeks later and I’ll receive a visit from some homicide detectives. If that happens I’ll probably rat Evan out immediately because I’m a no good double-crossing Judas.
I seriously dig his writing though, and I’m not kidding about the ‘friend part’. Call me, Evan.
Is this crazy? Are we being crazy? What if we said that 1st Prize is a Toyota Prius? Would that be crazy? No. It’d just be a lie.
1st Prize for the bestest homemade water-pipe is dinner with myself and esteemed journalist Evan Wright at The Waverly Inn. Perhaps Graydon Carter will join us… Perhaps he’ll bring Bono with him… Maybe we’ll all go back to Harvey Weinstein’s house and do blow… Maybe someone’ll spring for hookers… Maybe we’ll accidently shoot one…
Send your entries to Chris on the ‘contact’ page. Photo entries only. Don’t send drug paraphernalia to us through the mail.
Ihateyoungpeople.com ? Harsh. Pretty funny though…
This promises to be one of the best cheer-fests of all time. All the best bits! Can you imagine? Get your tickets as fast as possible.
I reckon they’ll sell pretty quick. Oh man, what am I gonna wear? The sneakers, jeans, t-shirt combo probably. Or my denim tuxedo, cowboy shoes and alluring testicle-in-the-breeze look. Either way, this will be a night to remember.
That’s it for today. See you at Bumrocks’ gig tonite. Perhaps I’ll buy you a drink. Perhaps you’ll buy me one in return… Maybe I’ll tell you about what I was like as a kid…. Maybe you’ll talk about your roommate… Maybe we’ll go get a slice afterwards… Perhaps we’ll split a cab home… Maybe I’ll get out without offering to pay my part of the fare… Perhaps you’ll find an umbrella…
Read the rest of this entryWe had to take all that cop related stuff down. My downstairs neighbor is a policeman and he read it and he didn’t like it….
…and he’s a policeman. Sorry Marty.
For the record we won’t be posting anymore tidbits about how corrupt the police department is.
Instead we’re gonna talk about how good this (below) record is! Like any sixteen year old I got into Jimi Hendrix and then got out of him before I was eighteen. Big mistake. I broke this baby out over the weekend and haven’t come anywhere near to being over it.
It’s positively brilliant. I’m wondering why I ever moved on to the Grunge.
Right now you’re probably thinking, “Jesus. Jimi Hendrix? Next he’ll be flogging Wooooo Bongs™ on the buy stuff page!”
Wait a second… Wooooo Bongs™? Wooooo Bongs™… yeah… Yeah! Wooooo Bongs™! Thanks for the free idea, sucker.
You know what? To hell with it! It’s been a long time since we put out an issue of the mag, maybe everyone’s forgotten what Wooooo is! Maybe it is a water-pipe company… I’ll get started on the prototype right now.
In the meantime I strongly urge you to spark up some Nag Champa and give this album a listen.
And now it’s link-dump o’clock! Let’s see… Oh! You know when girls get together and do each others make-up and sing? Guh.
This vid will make you vomit into your mouth for sure… if you’re as out-of-touch with your feelings as we are.
And then she did a handstand while the make-up artist emptied half a kilo of ‘the good stuff’ into her colon… Apparently.
Speaking of ‘the good stuff’: This shit crept onto the shelves a couple of months ago without telling us. Nuvigil.
We’ve been told it’s an excellent jet-lag remedy. We’ve also been told that “it’s practically legal coke!” Either way, if you can afford the $12 per-pill price tag, go out and get yourself some “Wakefulness”
Wooooo Bongs™ Coming soon.
You know that movie Mad Max (Road Warrior)? It’s brilliant, isn’t it? You know Max’s car in the movie? It was a hotted-up black Ford Falcon coupe. Remember? Well guess what? HERE IT IS ON GOOGE MAPS!!! How crazy is that? Our friend Penny sent the link to us this morning and we’ve been reeling about the office saying things like- “I am the Nightrider!” and “Cundalini wants his hand back!” ever since. Incidentally, The Toecutter knows who I am.
Anyway, enough of that. What we really need to talk about right now is how good Mathew Griffin is at the whole Omegle thing.
Yesterday we received a wealth of rhapsodic emails praising Matt’s work (see yesterday’s post). A bona fide shit-load of emails, actually… In fact, you might even say we were in receipt of a veritable torrent of commendatory electronic missives… You might say that, but then you’d have to go punch your own head in for being such a painfully florid cock-smoker.
We got some letters regarding the “Pedro and Mrs. Dennison” exchange (see yeasterday’s post) and thought we’d better ask Matt to do some more… and he did.
Here’s a quick one-
Pretty amazing stuff. I’ve known Matt for years, and for every day that I’ve known him- I’ve received something weird in the mail.
Here’s five things he’s sent me in the last twelve months-
Another head hangs lowly,
Bad news is slowly taken.
And you cold it caused such silence,
Why was i mistaken?
But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family.
In your head, in your head i am smiling,
With their beers and their bongs,
And their bongs and their fun.
In your head, in your head, i am crying…
In your head, in your head,
Crombie, Crombie, Crombie,
Hey, hey, hey. What’s in your head,
In your head,
Crombie, Crombie, Crombie?
Hey, hey, hey, hey, oh, dou, dou, dou, dou, dou…
Another mother’s breakin’,
the bogaloo is taking over.
When the dancing causes silence,
We must be mistaken.
It’s the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen.
In your head, in your head they’re still dancing,
With their tank-tops and their bongs,
And their bongs and their fun.
In your head, in your head, they are dying…
In your head, in your head,
Crombie, Crombie, Crombie,
Hey, hey, hey. What’s in your head,
In your head,
Crombie, Crombie, Crombie?
Hey, hey, hey, hey, oh, oh, oh,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, hey, oh, ya, ya-a…
And finally,
Weird vibes in Tribeca yesterday. I was having a beer with a buddy of mine who just happens to be a fireman, which is kind of irrelevant to the story, but I figure it’ll get the ladies rubbing their legs together like crickets. Anyway, we were sitting outside this bar when an insanely wasted man comes tumbling down the street in jeans, white t-shirt, and Gucci loafers. He sits himself down at our table and tells us his whole story. He’s an undercover cop. Vice. He’s really, really smart, and, man, has he seen some stuff. You wouldn’t believe it! It’s a fucked up, bro. Seriously.
He wasn’t a bad a guy. Sure, he was drunker than Keifer Sutherland at Oktoberfest Cincinnati, but he wasn’t a bad dude.
My fireman buddy, out of some sort of fraternal compulsion, bought the guy a beer and we settled in for a nice long session of ‘Listen to what the drunk guy has to say’
Finally, when the right side of my face had been sufficiently glazed with spittle, we said our goodbyes and shook hands. “Go get some rest.” we said. He’d been awake for over 48 hours.
“Hey” he said, lifting his shirt, “Do you need a gun?” And there it was: A big ol’ fuckin’ gun. He was completely arseholed and armed and serious. He had two, he said, and my fireman chum could have one.
You can’t make this stuff up… well, you could, but I’m not.
In other news: How cool is it when people make stuff for fun and then it totally, and unexpectedly takes off?
Our buddy Dallas Clayton made a book for his kid and then it went crazy. Watch this little vid. Very cool. Nice one, DC.
We got this from Matt Griffin this morning. As it turns out- He’s better at it than us.
Another Monday reluctantly yawns open and I find myself sitting here at the desk, eyes cemented, listening for that long wet sigh from the ‘Cuisineart 4-Cup Coffee Maker’ that says, “Hey. I’m done. Come and get a cup, buddy.” It’s like the distant sound of the shit-carter man enjoying a thunderous belch, having just lifted the final barrel of shit onto the back of his shit-cart… What?
You know that scene from Midnight Cowboy where Ratso is complaining that he has to get out of New York? Wait… scene? What scene? That’s the whole movie! Anyway, you know Ratso? That’s me right now. Where the fuck is the postman and my checks? He’s holding out on me! He’s Waiting for me to die so he can sign them over to himself and go buy some rub-on charisma. My mailman is a dumb fuck. Literally. He’s mute, or at least I think he is. He’s never returned a “hello” since he started barely delivering my mail five years ago. AND he knocked off my ‘Lyndsay Lohan doing Marylin’ issue of New York Magazine! The one and only time New York doesn’t arrive in my mailbox just happens to be the one and only time it has a pair of pendulous, freckle-speckled cans on the cover.
I know you took it, AND I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!
I hate you mailman, and I’m on to you. Bring me my God damn checks! I’m dyin’ here!
I could care less about Lyndsay’s knockers, but it’s the principle. You can’t just take my mail. I’m going down to the mailbox now, and if there are no checks I will be very,very angry…
Quick one-
Spotted this over at Pacific Standard and had to wack it up over here.
We’ve kinda been obsessing over that guy Mark Donatelli from ‘The MArk & Riley Show’ (see previous post below the pineapple).
He’s amazing! Granted, he is a self professed ‘meth head’ living out of a storage space in Utah, but, god damn it, he’s got more charisma than you or I could ever hope to muster.
As far as we can ascertain he’s had a pretty tough life. Sexually abused at the age of seven, prostitute in his teens, got into bad drugs round the same time… He’s generally lived a dispossessed, itinerant lifestyle since forever.
However, he’s managed to maintain all his teeth and a very sunny disposition despite the shitty hand he was dealt.
At the moment he lives in the Allman brothers (not those Allman Brothers)laundry room… I think. One of the Allmans, Quin, plays in that band ‘The Used’. Which is neither here nor there, but now you know… The other Allman is Riley. He’s the one with Dave Pirner’s haircut.
Let me make one thing very clear- We genuinely like Mark. He’s a diamond in the rough. We are not doing some lame, “Ha-ha. Look at the messed up guy” thing. That’s not us. Leave that to the creepy rat-bastards responsible for ‘Bum Fight’.
Anyway, we dig Mark. We don’t particularly want him to come visit, but we dig him. Sure, he’s fucked up, but it’s what he does with it.
He’ll have an agent in 2010 for sure.
Check out his myspace page, and specifically the song ‘IM THE SHIT’. Hope you like vocoder-drenched profanity.
It’s coming, it’s coming. Anyone’d think you guys were making equity on the mag the way you carry on. No more “where’s the new issue?” emails, please.
You know we’re working on it, and you know it’s almost like an act alchemy for us to get an issue published.
Anyway, have you even read the last issue? Pfff.
Look what C-balls made!
What’s up Fraggle Rock? That’s what we call you now. We say, “Hey, we better post some shit before Fraggle Rock wakes up and gets on his internet.” And then we get to work.
You may have noticed we’ve been a bit slow lately. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed, Fraggle Rock. You can’t hurt our feelings.
Well anyway, we’re fast again now, so stop talkin’ shit about us to your friends down at the PinkBerry.
Now. Today’s headlines blew the top of my head clean off. They just got eight new trains in India that are only for Women. Turns out Indian men are so gross and ill-mannered that the women need their own set of trains so they can travel to work without being groped, pinched, and generally treated like animals. It’s 2009, Indian Man. Snap out of it.
Also, the guys that shot rockets at the American Embassy in Iraq, where Vice Prez Joe Biden was “sleeping” the other day, have been arrested. This is Joe’s second visit to the Green Zone in less than three months, and he claims he’ll “be back again” despite the fact that some people dislike him so much that they fired rockets at him. Rockets. It’s 2009, Joe. Get a fucking grip.
Lastly, some bird in Denmark got pregnant on a random one night stand… which is about as newsworthy as someone losing a flip-flop. But WAIT! There’s more- She had the baby, and then posted a video up on YouTube to try and find the father (who’s name and country of origin she can’t remember. Shut up, Fraggle Rock. We’ve all been there.) But now the people of Denmark are totally pissed because they think the video makes it look like Danish women are promiscuous. Terrible. What’s worse is-
it’s a fucking advertisement! Yeah! It’s not real! It’s an ad created by the Danish Tourism Board to encourage people to visit and, presumably, have sex with Danish women. Too weird. I guess it is 2009 though.
Look at this Pineapple!
Here’s another letter from our good buddy Riley in Australia. He hurt his bum while being a skeg. Enjoy.
Hey Man,
I think I broke my ass-cheek bone yesterday.
I went skating in Prahran, and there was this really cute girl sitting on a park bench reading next to the skate park. I sat down and had a bite to eat, and when I finished I stepped on my board to make a grand entrance into the bowl. Started off well, cruised past her all cocky like, went to do a casual warm up 50-50 on this little quarter pipe and fell straight onto my left cheek. Hurt so bad, but I had to do one of those ‘trip on the pavement and pretend it’s no big deal’ moves, and keep on skating. I messed up on the next trick I tried to do as well and decided that maybe I was in a bit to much pain to be able to skate. Rolled around for a bit longer then sat down. I went to make a call and realised that my phone had been in my back pocket when I fell on the coping. It was a really expensive phone and I had bent it in half and cracked the screen beyond use. Just to add insult to injury.
Anyway, the cute girl left with her boyfriend who was at the park and I hobbled over to cash converters to buy a crappy stand in to replace my bent banana phone.
Good lesson in not getting too cocky.
Speak to you soon dude.
p.s. Tell Fraggle Rock I said what’s up.
The Mark & Riley Show(different Riley) is just about the best thing that ever happened in the history of television. Either that or we’re losing it.
This episode made me cry. “Go to Hollywood and suck dick for a living- Like I did.” Who says that? No one. No one ever says that.
I know, I know, it’s almost ten minutes long, but, my God, it’s worth watching. This is the kinda stuff that wins Emmys. Sheer genius.
Last night my bird said, “The website seems a little preoccupied with death at the moment, Honey.”
“Heavy…” I thought, falling silent just long enough to suggest that perhaps I’m suicidal. Then I replied, “No it’s not.”
I got up to take a look at some recent posts just in case I was suicidal and hadn’t noticed. “That’s not much death at all!” I mumbled, and then trotted into the bathroom to eye the sleeping pills.
I don’t know, maybe there has been a lot of death talk recently. You can hardly blame us- it’s everywhere right now! Case in point- Patrick Swayze! What a monumental bummer.
No jokes there. It really sucks. He was awesome.
We were going to do our standard ‘RIP’ post for him but then it occurred to me that we’ve run three of those in as many weeks!
So, we’re not running a pic or a video from The Outsiders or anything like that.
Instead, at the risk of appearing insolent, we’re posting up this classic Aids ad from the 80′s! You remember the 80′s!
You could catch “The Aids” from a mosquito in the 80′s! Hilarious.
How funny is the baby-backflip? Really. Watch it again. Quadruple Barani with a Flash-kick.
Oh man, you know what? It just don’t feel right to not eulogize the Sway-dawg in some small way…
Here’s the rumble scene from The Outsiders. Please watch this in it’s entirety, if not to honor the memory of P-Sway, at least to behold the curious, and utterly incongruous fag-poet that appears at 7:52.
Tré, tré classique… eeeeehhhh… merde…
In other news, not related to the passing of Hollywood icons, Max Schaaf is still living the dream in Oakland while the rest of us bang our heads in the door.
If you’re on the east coast and this doesn’t make you wanna pack up and split for the west coast… I dunno. Get your pulse checked…
you dirty skank.
Bastard.
There’s a compelling article about the approaching weed law reforms in this week’s New York Magazine. Did you know that “possession of 25 grams, or seven-eighths of an ounce– much more than the few joints that are getting people arrested (in NYC)– is not a crime in New York State and has not been since the passage of the Marijuana Reform Act of 1977.”?
Can you fucking believe that? It’s true! However, the weed must not be burning or in public view. That means that you haven’t committed a crime until the cops can get you to pull the $60 bag out of your pocket and make it viewable to the public.
Anyway, check it out. Mark Jacobson. Great guest ed.
Catch you tomorrow for more death n’ shit.
Jeez. Apparently Gary (Sandwiches) is starting his own blog… stay tuned for what will undoubtedly be the stupidest thing to ever clog up the schminternet…
Speaking of stupid- We are. We’re trying to do something we should have done a year or two before all the worlds money disappeared down the s-bend… and, as usual, I can’t say much… but that’s why the postings slowed down a bit…
…that and Fashion Week shinannies.
Speaking of fashion- What are you wearing this winter? We’re doing Jew Hats. I’m assuming that’s cool with everyone…
We’re not talking about yamulkes or anything, just those big-ass black hats you always see coming across the Williamasburg bridge.
No, no. Not the hood-buffer (shtreimel). We’re talking about the… oh fuck, here’s a picture-
So tough! Right? Yeah, yeah, it’s been done. But has anyone ever paired that hat with a mink coat? Bzzzzz! Nope!
How you like me now, ya big Schlemeil? Gayn Cacken Ofn yam!
Can anyone remember the last time we got all gay for James Dean? It’s gotta be close to a year now.
Here he is, receiving a humorous text message on the set of Giant.
Anyway, better get back to the thing I can’t mention.
Talk tomorrow.
Please send pictures.
x
Fucking Thursday.
Hey, I just discovered a Manic Street Preachers song that exonerates Richard Nixon. At least I think it does…
Anyway, I hope they’re being facetious. Nixon was like every other president we’ve ever had- Scum. No offense.
Speaking of Presidents- Someone called President Obama ‘Judas’ yesterday, during yet another healthcare reform speech. A senator from Carolina became so heavily incensed by Obama’s round-the-clock welshing on pre-induction promises, that he cried out, “Judas” from up the back of the room.
This prompted folk-zombie Pete Seeger to hobble out of the woodwork, in signature dungarees and chalky translucent skin, and attempt to cut the President’s microphone cord with an axe. “That guy’s a no good Judas!” groused Seeger, through a mouthful of grapes, during a press conference held later that day at the Four Seasons.
Last week Seeger reportedly snuck into the Chateau Marmont and greedily gobbled down two fruit baskets meant for Zack Efron. The heart-throb claims to have not noticed the missing baskets, as he has more than he can count. A disoriented Seeger was later seen coiling out what an onlooker described as a “really gross, glow-in-the-dark, old man turd” while singing ‘This Land is Your Land’ on the Venice Beach boardwalk.
In other news- Ray Romano has allegedly died from an overdose of punches-in-the-head administered by me in a dream I had last night. Said I, “It was such a wonderful dream! There I was, joyfully raining Ray Romano’s bloodied crown with hateful blows!” A source close to Romano claims that the monotone-voiced star “had it coming” on account of being the world’s most irritating “person”.
And now, please put your hands together for… The Poons!
Not much to say today. I’ve started writing this post more than once and found myself watching The Dick Cavette Show, Led Zeppelin interviews, shark attacks, and Beatles cartoons all on Youtube.
As much as I adore Youtube I wish it would die and give me back the countless hours it has sucked from my life. I’ve learnt nothing and I just feel dirty.
Anyway, nothing but errands to run, so I’ll just show you this picture and say- This is the best bar in the city.
Talk tomorrow.
Bummer. It’s true though, it is almost over. This morning looks like a shitty early winter rain-out. The pigeons look wet and my windows have that mistiness that can only mean the sun is retreating.
Total bullshit. We were just getting used to wearing short shorts.
Shouldn’t complain really. It was pretty mythic as far as summers go. We swam, we rode our bikes, got drunk on roof tops, danced the Lindy hop and… wait, it’s Fashion Week! What am I talking about? Party-on!
Man, we loves us some Fashion Week! Tall beautiful people everywhere, like sign posts to remind you how worthless you are to the gene pool. You can’t walk down the street without feeling like an extra from The Labyrinth.
It really is a tough week to be a… 5? Give me a 6.5 you fucks!
In other news: We are officially up to mischief right now, with grand plans to take shit to the next level. And by ‘Next Level’ I mean LA. Just kidding. I can’t tell you what the next level is, but be sure to watch this space for updates.
Actually, here’s a picture puzzle that hints at what the next level might just be.
In other other news: While wadding about the incalculably vast wasteland that is the Internet today, I discovered the pictures below.
I thought they were positively deadly so I posted them here.
Check out where I found them.
Oh yeah. Almost forgot. Anyone got a video camera? Like a proper “Let’s make a TV show” video camera?
Holler at us…yo…
Oh, man. People are already asking where the next issue of Wooooo is. Can you believe that? We just put out issue six in April!
How fast do you freaks read?
The good news is we are working on a new issue, but we’re also trying to figure out how we can take this thing to the next level without winding up homeless.
Anyway, we have a new issue in the works and a little something else up our sleeve. Stay tuned…
In other news- Those crazy bastards from Vermont, Ben & Jerry’s have finally began to manufacture gay-marriage ice-cream!
It’s called ‘Hubby Hubby’ and it dips it’s hat to “Vermont and all the other great states where loving couples of all kinds are free to marry legally.” Which is highly commendable, but also magnificently hilarious… if you’re a teenage boy.
Peanut Butter Cookie Dough ice cream with fudge and pretzels sounds delicious. However, it doesn’t really scream “Homo Food”
Some sort of rainbow-swirl with penis shaped marshmallows would have been a little more fitting. Ha ha. Bigotry.
Seriously though, nice one BJ!
I actually had a chat with Tim Barber about ice-cream recently. It went like this-
How are you?
Is that the first question?
It is!
I’m good! Wait, I gotta turn off my Jerry Garcia record.
You listening to a little Jerry Garcia there?
Yeah.
Have you tried that ice cream ‘Cherry Garcia’? Do you like that?
Yes, man. I grew up eating that shit.
What, Ben & Jerry’s?
Yeah. I used to live in Stowe Vermont where the factory is and we used to go there everyday and buy like, reject ice cream… are you recording this?
Yeah, this is good stuff. Keep goin’.
Okay, you know ‘Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough’?
Yeah.
Well sometimes they would fuck up and there’d just be a huge lump of cookie dough with a tiny bit of ice cream around it. And they would sell that in the reject bin.
And you’d eat that everyday?
Yeah, basically.
That’s disgusting.
So anyway, yeah, I know about Cherry fucking Garcia. Don’t talk to me about Ben & Jerry’s like I don’t know what’s up.
You can read the rest in Monster Children #23, the photo issue. It looks like this (below), and you can buy it here!
Everybody Loves Green Diamond. Who isn’t blown away by how upset John Q. Public gets when you skate outside his office?
It’s completely bizarre.
Watch this vid and laugh till your nose bleeds.
Speaking of BJs, here’s an interesting news item we found on cnn.com today. And just let me say- we didn’t make this up.
However, we did add the banana picture for effect. I think it works.
You can read the whole story here. Best news everrrrrrrrr.
Great name for a band isn’t it? Well, it’s not a band. It’s just Wednesday and I wanna talk about sharks.
I love sharks. I’m pretty sure everyone here at the office loves them too. They’re just such wondrously evil bastards of things, aren’t they?
To be honest, I don’t really like ‘Shark Week’ though. The presenters on all those shark shows talk like what I imagine a rapist would talk like, and I can’t stand it.
Just show me some fucking sharks, play a bit of cello, and shut your stupid rape-mouth.
One time I was walking down the street in Brooklyn and I came across a stack of about eight shark books sitting on a trash can. I took them home with me and found roughly thirty years worth of shark related newspaper clippings stuck in their pages!
It was an incredibly vast and meticulously gathered archive, so you know what I did?
I lost the whole fucking thing. I can’t find it anywhere, and I feel like a miserable top-shelf turd burrito for it.
By the way, make sure you’re not eating your lunch when you google ‘shark attack’ for your shark related blog entry. There’s some gnarly, meaty, gag inducing stuff out there. For example- DO NOT click here.
Did you click there? Pretty bad, right? Well, as horrifying is that is, I still dig the fact that us and sharks are always eating each other.
You didn’t know that? What do you think is in a Filet-O-Fish? Fugu? Guess again. It’s shark. Look it up.
And what do you think their tartar sauce is made out of? Mayonnaise with finely chopped pickled cucumber, capers, onions, and fresh parsley?
BZZZZZT! It’s made out of cum. Hot, viscid, salty cum.
Don’t worry, this video is just scary. No blood… or is there?
Some friends of ours are renting the apartment where Boy George got busted for having all that blow and stuff? Do you remember that? He had to do community service. Poor bugger.
Anyway, that’s what I did last night. I also had tacos.
I gotta work!
