Silly Car Companies, Cars are for Baby-Boomers…

Look this isn’t news to anyone under 30. Our generation is nostalgic for the first time they asked a/s/l to a “chick” on the internet or when jpegs loaded in excruciating minutes. We could barely find our genitals on our own bodies but could (with the paitence of a saint) call it up on the ol’ information super highway for you. (Thank you Pamela Anderson)

Cars are for fat people. Fat people that think freedom is measured in miles they can drive (within the states they are legally granted permission to).

Silly Fat People

The truly enlightened measure our freedom in gigabits/sec. Mega pixles captured and density displayed. Fear our WRATH, we’ve been biding our time counting DPI with microscopes and shit.

Mainly because you scare us

Soon we’ll be taking back the streets in our Wifi equiped, Solar/Wind/Fusion charged, Lithium ION powered STEEDS……….

to Bookface or not to Bookface

This damn well should not be a question, anyone, ever, has to ask anyone, let alone themselves.

Bookface is shit in your hand and eat it retarded. Bookface bullied my friends mom, and continues to torture millions of suffering children in Africa. Bookface is what the devil does when he’s bored with ripping flesh from bone. Bookface is original sin. God had to send his kid/self back to earth in a time machine to make up for letting bookface exist in the future. Bookface imbues its myopic-minded mouth breathing populace with mob ambition. The ultimate us v. them endorphin rush. They consume banal media, exchange limp pleasantries and rush to emotional responses.

U Mad Bro?

Yah you mad

Once upon a time the mobbed ruled by pitchfork and torch. Now it’s presence is felt in crowded IPv4 protocols and Kardashian focused status updates. Besides their obvious shortcomings(they are a fucking herd of sheeple); lack of internal perspective, zero accountability, questionable hygiene, suspected chromosomal retardation(based on the unwieldly number of protruding lips as evidenced below) and clear and present danger they pose to themselves and others.

Again Kardadshian, seriously people are going to suspect things…

Bookfacers are generally ignorant to the social ramifications of their all is one mentality. Furthermore, and potentially more dangerous, the ability digital systems have to undermine society. In other words: People don’t fear electronic voting booths because it’s a newfangled invention that might accidentally put them through a spin cycle. They fear it because they don’t fully understand the means to control the system, and that someone, perhaps with nefarious intent, does. Worse, that they may be capable of doing so remotely. On your behalf. Without a trace. Right now.

Voting De-Regulation

If you think this is fucked up, you should see the shit I didn’t link

Bookfacers don’t realize the potential for a system, that deems anyone outside it as suspicious, to do harm to the ‘social’ fabric they so willfully confuse with ‘social’ media. Forget the ‘with or against us’ mantra aimed squarely at the technologically capable abstainers (yours truly), within their Bookfaced Universe, divisions are easily built, embraced, championed, and promoted with Likes. The issue of so quickly identifying the in and out crowd is the foreboding fallout we face. It’s like you’ve all tatted your gang allegiance on your fucking face in giant lime green Comic Sans. And are waiting at grand central station, with 25,000 of your closest bookfriends, to tell Beliebers how much better the Jonas brothers are. You bet your bangs there’ll be consequences. I am as sure, as shit falling from a Jet liner is going to fuck up someones day, not cleaning up that mess.

Or touching it. Pictured; Where VD comes from…

Science is already concerned with the effects of being able to turn on news casts tailored to echoe our own beliefs on the story, before we’ve heard it. Science says thats fucked, seriously fucked. Imagine that, by joining a bookface group you’ve effectively firewalled off the internet to only side with your preconceived notions. Only berate you with the brand of boner pill you love most. Only befriend everyone with the hyper-exact tastes and preferences as you. Science know’s this. You may or may not realize this is ALREADY FUCKING HAPPENING.

Listen fuckwits, you may very well care what someone liked, posted, tweeted, vomited. Fine. Do you. The moment you decided that non-participation was a threat, was the turning point in your fate. It’s not only ill-advised, its detrimental to your health and clarity of your face tat. But seeing that we’re already on the other end of your pitchfork. And, according to your terribly configured privacy settings, your penchant for wildly aggressive hate, it seems we have ourselves a bit of a standoff.

Contexts?

Well Yippy-Kay-Yay motherfucker lets rock. Cuz this that shit I don’t LIKE

Mercy, Mercy, Mercy Me

You there! Have you heard this!?!? Good,

Doin’ it RIIIIGHT

“She go where I go (…) suicides on the private jet, you know what that mean? I’m fly to death”

Kanye is at it again; Mercy is ringing in the ears of everyone eagerly awaiting a follup to MBDTF and WTT. Myself included. Between the Black Keys, Mumford & People and Roc-a-fella’s sole Artist, worth his salt, my musical apetite is sate. Lately Ye has been better know as that dude rocking jeans, jean shirt and jean shirt!?!?

That and slamming something of a harlot. One I’ve been known to go in on, for being rather ratchety (see here). No apologies, Kanye clearly sees the good in her. Something that’s eluded the best and worst (read Kris Humphries) of us. Kanye, though, is clearly back at work. The G.O.O.D music imprint has been threatening the music industry with an album for what feels like forever.

This track though is proof positive that great things happen when you aren’t watching. The tree fell. Now we’ve got the recording. Lest not this be seen as promotion or some sort of indignent juxtoposition of taste. This amalgamation of tunes, sonal inflection and incomprehensible sample absolves any and all of his prior transgressions. Sorry Taylor, I won’t let you finsh.

Kanye has a pass. Taylor, Taylor stop crying. Kanye feeds on tears. His DeLorean is built to recycle your discomfort and broken dreams. Stop. You’re only making him stronger.

Kanye has a pass, we all got together after My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and, collectively, decided Beyonce did have one of the greatest videos of all time. Kanye can be called a Jackass by Obama(twice), and still be cool. So cool he gets to say things, on this song, that aren’t even allowable by physics: lawyers in Jordan’s. Science is working on unfiying String Theory and Yeezy lyrics.

What’s your take? Great song or Greatest Song Ever? No poll. We all know the result. I’ll follow up in the comments below,

Living the 30,000 foot view

By no means is this an attempt to seem, well, godly. It certaintly isn’t the gospel, see my exhaustive list of things that count for that.

From far enough above, everything is compartmentalized.

something incrementally classier than where i actually live

15 or 16 bystanders are simply living the first idea that pops into your head. Those two are taking it all in, that one is rushing to work. These people clearly have it and they, quite obviously, suck donkey balls.

This forced prespective, or coerced nodal point, dictates your realm of observation.

The mind is built to find patterns; for better or worse your reality is shaped by incoming stimulus. The brains’ pattern regocnition and your endorphine/hormone twisted, ill-advised & parentally sanctioned summer-at-sleep-away-camp, define reality. Everything that is, moreso all that isn’t, mold your purview and in this case, filter it through the instagram god filter.

this photo: two birds, one stone

Knowing the genre, realizing the formula, stepping back for the 30,000 and 1 foot view only affirms the attencedant, before the more astute shudder at my lack of syllogistic understanding. The semantic logisitics notwithstanding:

“You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost” heap.  ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, Chapter 17

Isn’t it more fun to burn bras, crack glasses, and sip champgne when we thirsty? Plus it all reminds me of GTA II. I just wanna line up enough cars to start a chain reaction of sexplosions, with my rocket launcher, to force windows to reboot.

this is the life.

The way the west was won

Ever notice how life imitates art?

so deep, man.

With absolute confidence and approximately zero research, equally as much fact checking, and 100% ass pulling out of, I can say that our poor economic state can find its foundation in our literature de jour.

Hunger Contests, Vampire Diapers, Along Came Poly, all literary works of art.

All vivid imaginary tales of strife, love and loss.

All vindictive and hateful to their readers.

All, purely coincidentally, rife for erogenous fanfiction bait. But all can tacitly – or explicitly – be equated to our poor lot in life. The times they aren’t a-changin’ but they, sure as a monkey scratch and sniffs its own ass will fall from its perch, should be blamed for our misfortunes. Even our most deprived transgressions.

well, I have a degree in sociology, anthropology and modern linguistics. of course i’ve read vonnegut.

Take for instance J K Rowling.

An extremely cunning (read: shameless) self-promoter JK played with the emotions of our most treasured and precious gifts (and exploitable resources) the ‘tween’ socio-economic demographic.

Precious little morons, spending mom and dads money on misuderstood irony,

Her tales of wonder, spells and maniacal man on goat action have cast a thriving shadow on our times.

It’s as if her intent were to build immense wealth. Build it, and de-valuate the sum value of the remaining wealth she hasn’t snatched in her wicked paws.

Whoever wrote all those thinly-veiled, christian rape-pillage-and-don’t-trust-anybody-without-the-lord-in-their-lives vampire diaries must have quickly caught on and to JK’s tactics (it was secretly J K Rowling again wasn’t it?). Managing at the last moment to bleed the last fear-dollars from wholesome families in the midwest.

Look, all I’m saying is;

The way the Hunger Games is entertaining to the last 8 people with discretionary dollars to spend, is the way the last economic crisis was good to supporters of Reaganomics.

A whole bunch of people in the business of herding scared sheeple, are poised to make serious bank. While the rest of us are left to fight tooth and nail for the right to wait tables for these monkey-scratchings. ["Editors Note ...really, I read Aristotle 's Metaphysics once, and I totally believe in socialists." ED]

All I’m saying, which is to say more than the last time, or maybe in addition too?

Yeah.

In addition too - or wait.

Maybe, as result of. Yeah.

I’ll just go with that. ["Thank god" ED]

As a result of this Fear-Herding, we should all get ready for the Fear-Droppings. It’s the last honest day’s pay in town. The uptick is of course the scatological index is climbing. I wonder if anyone will take this Facebook Stock off my hands for some of that sweet, sweet MANure Blue Chip Options.

For no discernible rhyme nor reason nor particular fancy

An exhaustive list of all that counts:

Chain letters not passed along,

Paint washed from ones hair, +5 per Gallon

Hours spent singing the song that doesn’t end, it goes on and on my friend…

P. A. Days, Snow Days, -15 per hour spent with educational materials

Autographed baseballs,

Truths, turned statistics, turned lies

Effort for naught, +5 will to continue

Things that cannot be unseen, +5 per person subjected to the same

Hot Dogs, cooked and dined by camp fire heat and light

Truths, earned and upheld

Milk sprayingly funny anything, +1 per additional yardage for the spray zone

Laws of the fundamental forces and underlying particulate laws governing the physical world Broken, whilst endangering the fewest number of bystanders

Truths, shared

Time spent with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, meet-sphere or page turning

Hard earned C-’s,

Relationships rekindled sans Social Media, -5 if shortly after doused with reality and extinguished

Heads Up Seven-Up Victories, -10 for Duck Duck Goose Victories

GT Snow Racers owned, then destroyed, then replaced, to be destroyed again, -100 if the springs still work

Pranks pulled, +10 per occasion prankee

Finally the +10,000 per list read on the internet.

This list is by all accounts the defacto ledger for all points recorded. If not included here, assume to be negative points. Suggestions can be passed along to the appropriate Points Ledger counsel for your district and will, through the proper channels, be flushed from the system as they are wrong.

See above.