The only comfort is, most of the appalled turkey-slaughter-viewers will in turn die off in the next great disaster, due to their inability to adapt to harsher (that is, “finding out where your microwaved chicken-and-cheese taquitos come from”) conditions. Which will leave more delicious meat for the rest of us.
Wait wait wait — no I wouldn’t. You sick sick people. What the hell, does no one read the internet anymore? Bet you they don’t even know what the It’s Photoshopped joke means. On the bright side: you can still tell these people to google “two girls one cup” and then sit back and wait for the lulz. (Don’t — google that. Trust me.)
(Via Livington’s Red Rosé wine — not as bad as you remembered from prom night.)
“Ouch!! I landed on my eight-sided dice!”
(Via. And kudoes to anyone who can tell me the title of the movie that quote came from. Come on, show off your geek cred!)
I’ll start off saying I have never read any of his books that I can recall, but I might just do so now. Just about everything in this interview he says is just so plain and true. What makes me want to cry? The kind of education he got. I’ll bet he didn’t have to do a single poster. I had to do them in college, and it wasn’t for an art class either, but a so-called philosophy class (“Feminist Thought,” it was called — enter your own joke).
I’d say more but I’m tired.
Via Protein Wisdom.
“For us, there’s a zero-tolerance policy of adding or subtracting actual content from an image,” said Santiago Lyon, AP’s director of photography.
Aaahhhhahahahahahahahahahahah! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hahahahah!
(Gasps. Wipes eyes.)
Ah hahahahahahaha! Hahahahaahah!
I need a laugh at times like these.
If I were in this establishment and this fellow walked by I would be so tempted to yell “faggot!” just to make him cry. This being a Canuckistan uni, though, it won’t happen. Nor will any of the conversations this fellow and his compadres barge into for one of their state-mandated “teachable moments” result in anyone saying “Go fuck yourself.”
Do they not use the term “busybody” in Canada? Remember, this is the nearest country that Our Betters, who have just voted themselves into office, look to for examples of how to behave properly.
(Via.)
Here’s a long web forum entry my fellow election-day losers may want to read (and the winners too, but they’ll never give up their dream of being led by the Holy One to the Big Rock Candy Mountain) on what to do in case things go haywire and a rich country with abundant natural resources and a civilized population becomes a crisis-ridden dump. I know, I know, this is America, we’re impregnable and impenetrable and invincible and in any case nothing bad ever happens to me. But it’s interesting anyway. It was written by someone who actually lived through a SHTF situation, as he calls it, in Argentina. Those of you who are about to burst into mocking laughter might want to scroll down his site some to where he points out that once Argentina was known as the “the world’s granary.”
I’ve been through a bit of a rehearsal of his situation myself. After Hurricane Andrew basically decimated Miami my neighborhood was out of power for three weeks. I had to stay with friends whose power came back on after about four days (just when we were about to kill each other too — yes, life in a city with no electricity will turn nice, normal people into psychos, and we were already somewhat psychotic to begin with). I went back to my place exactly once while the power was out, mostly to finish cleaning what little rotten food I had left out of the fridge, and to take a cold shower because I didn’t want to use up my friend’s hot water (power was still rather uncertain for quite some time after). There was widespread looting, and everyone who had a gun set up a guard in their own home. The National Guard was flown in, but it took a while for everything to calm down, and the place was upended for years after. One of the people I worked with lost the home he had almost finished selling and the home he had just signed the papers for (both were in Coral Gables By the Sea, a ritzy neighborhood in south Dade county next to the ocean, which was virtually destroyed) and he and his son and pregnant wife had to live in a hotel for two years. Graft and corruption was rampant in the aftermath as well. Not only was much of the destruction due to the fact that the building codes were outdated and building inspectors were often careless and/or corrupt, resulting in crappy construction (roofs not properly attached to houses, sub-par materials being used), but every thief it seemed in the world got the idea that they could clean up by pretending to be roof repair people etc., and tons of homeowners woke up to find that the “contractor” they had paid thousands of dollars to had disappeared with the money without any of the work being done.
And so on and so forth. Anyway, I do know a little bit about living in near-Third-World conditions. You can’t ever take good fortune for granted.
(Via Sondra K.)
The best presidency money can buy!
A national holiday? Are you fucking kidding me?
In totally unrelated news, just a few minutes ago I heard through the front door of my tiny studio as my next-door neighbor got a midnight visit from the repo man coming to get their truck. Now how will they get to McDonald’s for their Obama cake?
(Via Protein Wisdom.)
I don’t know why it always makes me feel better to know that mine is not the first generation to experience certain situations. For example, here’s a quote from Cicero that I found in the comments on Protein Wisdom that fits the post-election blues mood to a T:
“Do not blame Caesar, blame the people of Rome who have so enthusiastically acclaimed and adored him and rejoiced in their loss of freedom and danced in his path and gave him triumphal processions… Blame the people who hail him when he speaks in the Forum of the ‘new, wonderful good society’ which shall now be Rome’s, interpreted to mean ‘more money, more ease, more security, more living fatly at the expense of the industrious.’ Julius was always an ambitious villain, but he is only one man.”
(Note to any of the new “O” generation that might accidentally have coasted on over here: Cicero was some old Roman dude who lived like two thousand years ago, man. Even before the first MTV channel!)