As many of my faithful readers know, I don’t own a car or possess a diver’s license. More to the point, I have never owned a driver’s license, and as long as I live in a major city, never intend to. It’s more hassle than anything, what with the payments, insurance, and actually occasionally drawing the short straw to DD. Still, I have nothing against cars or car people in the abstract. You want one and can afford one, congratulations. Go ape shit. Drive all over this great land and see it for all its majesty. Don’t have a problem with any one you. All except one. Full Crazy Text
Headshots for a Satan Audition
I am by no means a professional photographer. I don’t own an expensive camera or any professional editing software. It has been years since I developed my own film. So we can all definitively establish that I am by no stretch an expert on the craft of photography. That said, if you are going to post images of yourself and others on the internet, you really just have to buckle down and use a goddamn red-eye filter. Full Crazy Text
I Hope People Tailgate My Funeral
A lot of people consider the idea of thinking about your own death to be morbid. I don’t really spend time thinking about how I might one day die, and certainly don’t want to be dead. But the funeral, I think, is worth devoting some time to. I’ve sadly been to a few, and unfortunately know what they entail for the most part as far as basic elements of them go. I can’t help thinking that it’s absolutely not the way I want mine to go. Full Crazy Text
One Small Step for Man, One Giant Leap…for Michael Bay
Yup, today we’re talking about moon landing conspiracies. Why these things exist or are so pervasive amongst a percentage of the population I’ll never know. It’s a nice story I guess, a nice example of the government screwing over America in every conceivable way. But the reason I’m getting into this at all, is because it seems like the conspiracy theorists are in no way considering the logistics of a con job on this scale. Full Crazy Text
Resolutions
For many, New Year’s is a very special time. A time for celebration, hope renewed, and the annual realization that absolutely nobody knows the words to Auld Lang Syne. Still, it’s the sentiment of this particular time I’d like to focus on today, as opposed to 2012 and its rampant doomsday theories. After all, in the abstract, the idea of the world ending is remarkably uninteresting. Assuming nothing can be done to avoid it and we’re all collectively and roundly hosed, then I guess it’s been a good run, everyone. Probably killed a few too many people across the board in the name of religion, but on balance, not terrible, human race. Still, call me a starry-eyed dreamer or a naive optimist, but my best guess of mankind’s fate is that it won’t play out like a high-budget, half-hearted John Cusack film and we’re all going to continue living, in whatever state, for a long, long time. Working on that hypothesis, it makes sense to move on to a primary feature of this time of year: resolutions. Full Crazy Text
Enough Already with the Goddamn Robot
Honestly, I don’t have too much more to say about this issue than the title suggests. I’m not one who often rips up dance floors, or even occupies them. But I do notice, during the times that I do find my turf shoes scuffing up a dance floor, there’s always at least one person doing the goddamn robot.
The one guy who made this funny in the past quarter century is this guy:
Other than that, it’s just way less funny than the five drinks you’ve ingested might suggest. It’s just dead. More dead than disco, or the Macarena. If you can’t dance, then at least fail attempting to do something legitimately entertaining. Try to breakdance. Go for it, give it your best shot. At least then hilarity can potentially ensue. Or find some other thing to emulate which isn’t a robot which also cannot dance. Horrible dancing is all about points for originality, and nothing else. Good dancing is all about style points, period. Nowhere in there does that involve the motherfucking robot.
End transmission.
