Check Mate.
November 2012
3 posts
Ladies' Night
Women of America, to each other
September 2012
5 posts
On pooping in public bathrooms →
everythinginthesky.com
I don’t enjoy pooping in public bathrooms. They’re filthy, disease-ridden, and rarely have the soft three-ply my delicate parts require. However, if you don’t want to defecate in the streets like an animal, you’ll occasionally find yourself in need of the traveller’s last resort.
Therefore, I’ve written this handy guide:
- The cracks in stall doors are there so perverts can watch you poop. Wear a jacket and hang it on the hook (if available) to cover the crack. If you need more privacy, take an umbrella and a blanket into the stall and you can fashion a makeshift yurt.
- You’ve befouled the public convenience and everyone in the vicinity is aware of your foul deed. What to do? Slowly emerge, shame-faced, followed by a cloud of green hate? No! Flush the toilet while simultaneously kicking open the stall door. Turn back to the toilet and scream, “Back to Hell with you, vile abomination!” This is especially effective if you can convince a priest to accompany you.
- Remember; you’re not the only one using this bathroom. Be sure to wipe down the seat. Also the walls, floor, and ceiling if necessary.
- If you’re a gentleman and find yourself in need of a roadside evacuation, look for a craft store. They have a limited male clientele and you can carve out a good two or three hours of private pooping time.
- Airport bathrooms are the Wild West of public facilities. Get in, shit on the floor, and get out.
- You might find yourself in a stall with an ineffective or missing lock. In that case, brace your legs against the door and loudly repeat, “The blood! The blood! SO MUCH BLOOD.”
- A really nice way to fuck with people is to walk out of the bathroom eating an unwrapped chocolate bar.
- Always carry hand sanitizer.
United Airlines Killed Our Golden Retriever, Bea →
beamakesthree.com
Beatrice, the pick of the 2010 Rizer Goldens litter was generously given to us as a wedding gift. It was a very happy time for us and her addition to our family added to that joy tremendously. Beatrice was a very special gift because she was so much more than just a dog. She was full of light and happiness that you could truly see when she pranced into a room. Bea’s heart and her funny quirks inspired me to write this blog. I called her my Sweet-Bea.
When we first got Bea, the intention was to show her. Her lineage was quite impressive and her potential as a show dog was thought to be endless. Unfortunately for Bea’s career, her heart melted ours and the thought of her being on the road at shows, away from us, was too much to bear. Beatrice was our little lap dog and her place was with us, at home. Still, the demand for Bea’s puppies was high and we had planned to breed her. In the upcoming months she was to be bred to Baker (a.k.a “Nautilus Boston Baked Beans” a US and Canadian champion) with whom the puppies would have been remarkable.
Two weeks ago, on our way back to San Francisco after a great summer vacation on the east coast, Beatrice lost her life due to the negligence of United Airlines. I’m writing this with my anger aside, in the hopes that someone looking for advice will read this and not make the mistake of trusting United with their pets as we did.
…
August 2012
8 posts
Listen
Cheap Trick — Mighty Wings
RIP, Tony.
Play
“
July 23, 1970
My Dear Mr. Truman Capote
This is not a fan letter in the usual sense—unless you refer to ceiling fans in Panama. Rather call this a letter from “the reader”—vital statistics are not in capital letters—a selection from marginal notes on material submitted as all “writing” is submitted to this department. I have followed your literary development from its inception, conducting on behalf of the department I represent a series of inquiries as exhaustive as your own recent investigations in the sun flower state. I have interviewed all your characters beginning with Miriam—in her case withholding sugar over a period of several days proved sufficient inducement to render her quite communicative—I prefer to have all the facts at my disposal before taking action. Needless to say, I have read the recent exchange of genialities between Mr Kenneth Tynan and yourself. I feel that he was much too lenient. Your recent appearance before a senatorial committee on which occasion you spoke in favor of continuing the present police practice of extracting confessions by denying the accused the right of consulting consul prior to making a statement also came to my attention. In effect you were speaking in approval of standard police procedure: obtaining statements through brutality and duress, whereas an intelligent police force would rely on evidence rather than enforced confessions. You further cheapened yourself by reiterating the banal argument that echoes through letters to the editor whenever the issue of capital punishment is raised: “Why all this sympathy for the murderer and none for his innocent victims?” I have in line of duty read all your published work. The early work was in some respects promising—I refer particularly to the short stories. You were granted an area for psychic development. It seemed for a while as if you would make good use of this grant. You choose instead to sell out a talent that is not yours to sell. You have written a dull unreadable book which could have been written by any staff writer on the New Yorker—(an undercover reactionary periodical dedicated to the interests of vested American wealth). You have placed your services at the disposal of interests who are turning America into a police state by the simple device of deliberately fostering the conditions that give rise to criminality and then demanding increased police powers and the retention of capital punishment to deal with the situation they have created. You have betrayed and sold out the talent that was granted you by this department. That talent is now officially withdrawn. Enjoy your dirty money. You will never have anything else. You will never write another sentence above the level of In Cold Blood. As a writer you are finished. Over and out. Are you tracking me? Know who I am? You know me, Truman. You have known me for a long time. This is my last visit.
” —William S. Burroughs, to Truman Capote
For more context, read RealityStudio’s article on the feud. (via)
#420NO Tweets by @robdelaney →
twylah.com
Comedian Rob Delaney wants to remind you about the dangers of marijuana.
July 2012
27 posts
Play
