Unhelpful

Today I met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.

I found her in a drug store while looking for shaver blade replacements as I was walking past the hair care products.

She was waiting for me in aisle six.

I am at once compelled and frightened by my feelings for the Funky Chunky Girl. I am intrigued by the dichotomy in her personality evinced by the dual nature of her portraits. She is in this not unlike a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats, where the texture and goodness of the wheaty side is locked in an epic struggle for dominance of the breakfast table with its Dionysian frosted side, packed with tasty guilt-ridden sweetness.

Observe:

Funky.

Chunky.

The complexity and depth of the anguish and rage evident in the funky side magnifies the innate charm and carefree enjoyment of life which the chunky side so clearly captures.

Please, uncaring universe, grant me the love I so desperately deserve. Release unto me the Funky Chunky Girl.

Thanks in advance.Argue

I am not exactly a huge fan of musicians - in particular successful musicians - making songs about what a pain in the ass life as a musician is. This sort of crying in the beer is a common pitfall, it turns out. Several artists I like fall prey to it. Others I don’t much care for seem to have made a goddamn career out of it.

My general reaction to a song about the trials and tribulations of being in the music industry is “yeah, you’ve got it really rough, darling”. I’m not a materialist drone who thinks that wealth and fame is the key to happiness; my distaste for overtly industry-esque songwriting comes primarily from my aggravation that the artist is barking up the wrong tree.

Is your record company robbing you blind? I hear you. Did agents and managers made more money off your last album than you did? I’ve watched enough VH-1 documentaries and talked with enough people employed in the industry to know how it goes down. Does your net worth go down after an album and up only after an exhausting tour recoups debts via sales of merchandise? I agree: that’s fucked up. Do I want to hear you preach to the choir? No, not a single note.

This brings me to the most unforgivable of musical sins, though: songs about what a bitch it is being on tour. I think there should be a rule. Every artist guilty of such a song should be eaten alive by really slow caterpillars, immediately, with no chance for appeal. This would make the world a better place, don’t you think?

If nothing else, there’d be a lot more time spent on listening to odd music about flying saucers. That’d be a marked improvement.

Argue

I love the US flag. I enjoy seeing really large flags which are displayed properly, in good condition, and lit up at night as they should be. I think flag protection laws are for knee-jerking idiots who have an inadequate grasp on property law and what our flag represents as a symbol. Any publicly elected officials who propose flag protection laws should be impeached for breaking their oaths to support and defend the Constitution; the only Constitutional way to protect the flag is to amend the Constitution. Any publicly elected officials who propose a flag protection amendment should have the word “PENIS” tattooed to their forehead.

If it’s yours, and you want to burn it in protest, more power to you. If it’s mine, and you want to burn it in protest, I’ll press charges. Other than that, no harm, no foul.

One thing I’m not terribly fond of is the increasing desire to attach the flag to everything as a sort of reaction to the terrorists attacks of September 2001 in the US. A flag properly displayed and cared for is classy. A flag bumper sticker on the back of a dirty vehicle, or a tattered vinyl flag flying from the antenna of a car is tacky and crass as fuck. Of course, anyone who has a picture of Calvin urinating on a random auto emblem is probably not going to understand why this is violently retarded.

For those of you who have no fucking clue, keep decorating your SUV with flag stickers, keep buying OLD GLORY FLAG COINS (legal currency of Liberia!), and keep that stained, faded, nasty excuse for a flag whipping around the rusty pole over your front door.

For those of you who want to puke at the overcommercialism of flaggotry, and are thoroughly disgusted at the idea of flag-as-bandwagon, I present you this fine alternative:

Click, print, distribute. *

r33t.org is not responsible if a flaggot keys a car that this is displayed on, or gives you any other form of abuse. We do, however, want to hear about it.

Argue

Imagine you were watching an Olympic hockey game on NBC. You’re watching a delayed broadcast because the geniuses at the network don’t want to show live events, they’d rather show you delayed events chock full of biographical essays.

Halfway into the game you’re watching, you see a news update that they stick in just before they leave a commercial break.

Including, incidentally, the final score of the game you’re watching.
Fucking genius. Read more »

I was spending an evening at my sister’s place. She and I were playing with her son by violently mutilating styrofoam with Fisher Price kiddie tool toys.

I had an epiphany.
She had a camera.

Enjoy:

Argue