this/is/depression.

CAN YOU CRACK THE CODE?



Tom Hanks ain't got shit on me.

FISHSITTIN' UP IN N.Y.C.

I have been asked to take care of Jeff's fish while he is away on a camping trip for the extended July 4th holiday.

I feel a cold wind blowing into these fishes' lives. A cold, life-sucking, vacuum of a wind.

Look, it's not that I want the fish to die. It's not that I'm a cold, heartless bastard. I love all animals (except for tarantulas and those fucking things with gills that move about in the water all the time, can't remember the name of them right now, will correct this later..) and I'd hate to see anyone or anything die of neglect. But I'm fairly certain these fish will die under my care. I just can't imagine any life form under my explicit care LIVING, for God's sake.

These fish will die under one of the following circumstances:

1) Lack of food (True, Jeff lives roughly seven blocks from my apartment, but they're LOOONG blocks, people.)

2) Vibrations from the new Keak Da Sneak record will be more than said fish can bear

3) Deep dickin' (Sorry, Grandma, but it's for humor's sake)

4) Folded into a crispy golden Quesadilla (I got the recipe from watching Travels In Europe With Rick Steves)

5) Inter-dimensional time travel will place the fish in a new "worldline". They're not really dead, but we'll fall in love with each other whilst living two years apart. They'll make a movie about it and cast two dreadful white people and no one will pay attention and I'll go on to kill more fish

6) Flames rain down in a hideous torrent

7) Goldfish bowl shattered as I practice my 88 mph change-up

8) Fish food consumed in a drunken stupor by me, Mr. Awesome GOT A PROBLEM I'D LIKE TO HEAR IT DICKWADS

9) Hilarious incident involving a misplaced bowl of Corn Flakes, the extreme early morning hours, and me being stricken with complete blindness


In summation, Jeff, you have 24 hours to leave the money at the Broadway train station. No cops. Unmarked bills. In a briefcase by the turnstiles. Ah fuck it I'll feed the damn fish. Got nothin' better to do...

WELL I NEVER

Sir Paul McCartney turns 64 on Sunday. You know, that song he wrote a long time ago...

Yeah, anyway, I wondered if anyone would punch Paul in the face if given the chance. So I asked around the office:

paul at sonic: hey chris
EienFlow: hey Paul
paul at sonic: would you punch paul mccartney in the face if given the chance
EienFlow: hahaha
paul at sonic: you gotta do it man
EienFlow: why do you want to punch paul mccartney?


paul at sonic: if you could punch paul mccartney in the face would you
Bigteef100: nope
paul at sonic: WHY THE FUCK NOT
Bigteef100: i had the chance to spit on mike meyers once
Bigteef100: i didnt do that either
paul at sonic: myers i'll let slide
paul at sonic: but why will no one punch sir paul
Bigteef100: because he's a great, beautiful man


paul at sonic: if you could punch paul mccartney in the face would you
paul at sonic: one shot man
paul at sonic: just take it
rbx6jm: no i like paul


Wow. Three men in their mid-twenties. Strong, able-bodied New Yorkers with a a strong sense of right and wrong and yet NONE of them would be willing to punch Paul McCartney in the face. WTF is going on here? Is the man that loved? I can't believe it. I asked a fourth co-worker for good measure, and he too said he couldn't do it. He suggested Tom Berenger as an alternative. Jeez Louise...

So this is your birthday present, Sir Paul. NOBODY wants to punch you in the face. You're just too awesome a dude. I've never really seen anything like it before. I know it's been a rough year already, but keep this in mind:

I do know one thing though/Bitches they come, they go/Saturday through Sunday, Monday, Monday through Sunday, yo

From one Paul to another...

I AM A CONSERVATIVE BLOGGER NOW. IT IS FINANCIALLY LUCRATIVE

Fuck The Pixies and the New York Bar Scene.

Aphex Twin is an overrated noodler who just gets lucky by pressing a few buttons.

Fat black welfare queens are responsible for the new Modest Mouse album being continually pushed back.

Puerto Rican reggaeton producers The Luny Tunes are our children's future.

Our children have no future, unless you count bumping hideous back tattoos at a wedding reception futuristic. And I do.

Coke Zero is a Zionist plot to avert attention from chemtrails, reruns of Charles In Charge and the murder of Kurt Cobain.

The entire city of Denver is for suckers.

More news as it breaks.