punk fucking rock

(via did-you-kno)

Pussy pussy pussy… coochicoochicoochi… pussy want his fish? Nice piece of fish, pussy want it? Pussy not eat his fish, pussy get thin and waste away, I think. I imagine this is what will happen, but how can I tell? I think it’s better if I don’t get involved. I think fish is nice, but then I think that rain is wet so who am I to judge? Ah, you’re eating it. I like it when I see you eat the fish, because in my mind you will waste away if you don’t. Fish come from far away, or so I’m told. Or so I imagine I’m told. When the men come, or when in my mind the men come in their six black shiny ships do they come in your mind too? What do you see, pussy? And when I hear their questions, all their many questions do you hear questions? Perhaps you just think they’re singing songs to you. Perhaps they are singing songs to you and I just think they’re asking me questions. Do you think they came today? I do. There’s mud on the floor, cigarettes and whisky on my table, fish in your plate and a memory of them in my mind. And look what else they’ve left me. Crosswords, dictionaries and a calculator. I think I must be right in thinking they ask me questions. To come all that way and leave all these things just for the privilege of singing songs to you would be very strange behaviour. Or so it seems to me. Who can tell, who can tell.

(via sensecircense)

it really bothers me that so much of internet reposting culture involves the deletion of the artist’s signature and the addition of some shitty website’s URL.

when i see something like this, i want to be able to send my compliments to the chef.

(via emmyc)

paulftompkins:

“I MEAN, THIS IS THE THIRD TIME IN LESS THAN A MONTH. YOU’RE PROBABLY AS SICK OF READING THESE FLIERS AS I AM OF WRITING THEM. YOU KNOW WHAT? NOW THAT I’M WRITING THIS ALL OUT? FUCK THIS CAT. ‘MESSAGE RECEIVED,’ KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING? SO IF YOU’RE MY LOST CAT, AND YOU’RE READING THIS FLIER, I GET IT. YOU DON’T WANT TO LIVE WITH ME. MAYBE IT’S MY FAULT. MAYBE YOU DIDN’T LIKE THE DRY FOOD OR MAYBE I WASN’T IMPRESSED ENOUGH BY YOUR ABILITY TO READ. I’M SORRY. LET US PART AS FRIENDS. ANYONE ELSE READING THIS, SORRY TO WASTE YOUR TIME. I SHOULD NOT HAVE CONTINUED TO TYPE UP THIS INTERNAL MONOLOGUE, ATTACH A PHOTO, PRINT MULTIPLE COPIES, AND POST THEM THROUGHOUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD. PLEASE TEAR THIS DOWN AND DISPOSE OF IT IN AN APPROPRIATE RECYCLING RECEPTACLE. IF YOU JUST THROW IT IN A REGULAR TRASH CAN, I HOPE YOU WILL SUBSEQUENTLY APOLOGIZE TO A TREE. AND IF YOU KNOW A TREE THAT SPEAKS ENGLISH, DON’T TAKE IT FOR GRANTED! LET THAT TALKING TREE KNOW THAT YOU ARE IMPRESSED!”

dcpierson:

Dear young conservative,

I hope you are reading this. My ideal reader for this piece is an actual person under thirty years old who self-identifies as conservative. I would like it very much if this letter found readers beyond my typical (and beloved) echo chamber of liberal comedians and comedy fans. If you’re reading this and you’re not a young conservative, I’ll bet you’re friends with one on Facebook and I would love it if you could pass this along to them.

First off: I in no way mean for this to be patronizing. I’m not mocking you, young conservative. I know what it is to be a young conservative. I was one.

When I was in high school, in the early part of the first George W. Bush presidency, it seemed kind of cool and punk to me to identify as conservative. I didn’t agree with their social policies, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, what if all my liberal high-school-kid friends were wrong? It was a ton of fun to think of myself as the sole voice of reason among a bunch of wrong-headed young people who hadn’t read the same blogs I had, and hadn’t been introduced to Ayn Rand by their girlfriend last summer the way I had. 

Looking back on all that, on the times I argued with my History teacher in support of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, among other things, I am deeply ashamed. And this shame comes not from the fact that I now have different political beliefs, different political beliefs shared, in some form, by almost all of my colleagues and friends. I almost always relish having a minority opinion. It’s a stubborn, age-resistant part of my personality. I am still the guy who loves hating the thing everyone else likes, or liking the thing everyone else hates. I didn’t like the movie DRIVE very much. I know. Come at me. So I’d be the first person to want to have a political belief counter to the ones treasured by all my friends. I argue most frequently with people I’m actually in total agreement with. I’m just that asshole. So it’s not that I felt the need to join the herd and now that I have, I’m ashamed to have ever felt differently than I do now.

I am ashamed because I accepted into my heart and head a system of thought I now believe to be, to borrow a term from my old friend Ayn Rand, anti-life: that government should only exist to make it easy for businesses to do business, the idea that it is our civic duty to have no civic duty. I no longer believe that the way to make things better for everyone is to let people with money do whatever they want, whenever they want. I feel I’ve earned the crap out of this belief, given that I used to believe precisely the opposite, and I’ve taken a long journey to the side I stand on now.

And I urge you, before you dismiss me as a long-haired Hollywood goofball liberal, to read on, and to listen to me in every bit the earnest that I am writing to you.  Please don’t pull the dismissive ripcord in your mind, the one labeled “You’re just saying that because you’re biased, etc…” that all of us use every day to reject the idea that someone who disagrees with us may have a point. This ripcord is cynicism, plain and simple, and it mars political discourse and if we continue to pull it every time someone starts to say something that doesn’t jibe with what we already think, life on this planet will soon be quite literally impossible.

So: 

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sometimes i worry there are children who will be shown the mediocre episodes 1-3 of “Star Wars” before they see the awesome original 4-6, but then i remember that someday the world will have 20 billion people and full-on fascism will be the only way of maintaining any sort of order, leaving no allowance for the creation of art or the love of one’s neighbor, and suddenly i’m not stressed about “Star Wars” anymore

Rogue brewery, you are dead to me. Your “Voodoo Doughnut Bacon Maple Ale” is a wholly unpotable swill of smoke flavorings, a crass double bid meant to cash in on the internet-fueled “bacon everything” craze, and on Portlandophilia in general. Have fun with your “Here Comes Honey Boo Brew” or whatever cross-marketing bullshit you get up to next. My attention should be elsewhere, as “pumpkin everything” season is upon us.