What is this?
“Oh, glad you’re here. This is the new party poncho from James Perse’s new Dead & Company line. It’s officially licensed!”
It’s a garbage bag, Mickey.
“You know nothing about fashion. It’s Polybutadiene prepared with a high-quality Ziegler–Natta catalyst.”
Uh-huh. Wait here while I google that.
“Sure. I’m gonna drum.”
It’s vinyl, Mickey.
“Officially licensed vinyl.”
“What our fans have told us is that they’d like higher-end merch. Also, what I’ve told the merch guys is that I’d like higher-end merch. A man cannot yoink on tee-shirts alone.”
How much is that?
“There’s a Stealie on it.”
“So you wouldn’t believe how many rich morons we have as fans.”
I totally would.
Do you need some good news?
I have none.
But I have this, which is Bounce music from New Orleans. It’s Big Freedia’s new single, and it has no wisdom to offer whatsoever, and thank God for that.
You find interesting things when you misspell names.
They were earthbound; they could not fly; they launched no satellites. One of ’em had a kite, and that was so impressive for the time that we still talk about the ink-stained pervert.
They walked. Or sat atop a beast, which walked.
They had no penicillin, nor even sulfate drugs. The treatment for tuberculosis was to move to a dryer clime. People died of infected wounds, and abscessed teeth. People died of cholera because it was beyond these apes to separate the clean water from the dirty.
For entertainment, they would read to one another, those who could read, or they would bet on animal torture. There was no recorded music because there was no electricity and so sometimes they would play for one another. Not the piano, though. It had barely been invented, and had not yet made its way to the Colonies.
They believed that some humans weren’t human, just property or in the way.
When they looked up, they saw five planets; when they looked inward, they saw four humours.
But, by all means, let’s take their opinions on guns as sacred.
Why should you listen to 9/11/82 at the West Palm Beach Auditorium in the Sunshine State? For the Dupree’s, for the Let It Grow, and for the Baby Blue encore. (No kidding: killer Blue, brah.)
For those of you who don’t like the Dead, and instead prefer when shut-ins yell at dogs, here is this:
What the fuck are you?
“I’m Fwynn! I wuv you!”
Fuck you, you fluffy rat.
“Come here and wet me wuv you.”
FUCK YOU, OVERLY-CUTE DOG.
“I WUV YOU.”
This has to stop right now.
I thought it was one of my more coherent posts.
Good work, champ.
What is going on here?
“I’m getting a fitting. I’ve gone into acting, and I’m appearing in an adaptation of Dumas’ The Count of Monte Chocula.”
Also not a thing.
“This lady’s wearing a tailor’s scarf.”
It’s called sewing tape.
“So I, uh, must be getting measured for something. Iron Man suit?”
I doubt it.
“Am I Abe Lincoln now? I don’t wanna be. Too many letters to write.”
You’re not Lincoln, Bobby.
“Then, you know, I got nothing. But the ladies are being real nice, so I’m gonna be polite and just, uh, experience my experience.”
I wish more people had your attitude, Bobby.
“Be a more blissful world.”
All sorts of different people live in Little Aleppo; some of the folks in the neighborhood are the differentest I’ve ever met. Most of the people in Little Aleppo are nothing at all like me: by sex or ethnicity or background or gender or religion or creed or physicality. There are so many ways for us to differ from each other.
I like writing stories about Little Aleppo, and everyone who lives there. I dreamt ’em up, so surely it is my right to tell their stories.
But if that is my right–to tell a character’s story–then I surely must have a responsibility to that character, as well.
If I fail, if I slop some ugly cartoon on the page where a human being should be, I hope you’ll pull me by the collar about it. I only want to do right by the place, and everyone who lives there. Sometimes, it feels like I live there, too. Call it civic pride.
There was a good two or three years in the beginning where Pig–God bless him–looked like a swamp monster.
Check out the JFK-cut on the square on the right. That’s a hairdo that’ll stand up to Communism.
Until rather recently, you were allowed to smoke around any machine, no matter how complicated and expensive and fragile.
Thick air, man.
- Immediate gratification is your right as a child of God.
- Always have a scapegoat in mind.
- If they’re not trying to get you now, they soon will be; beat them to the punch.
- Beat them; punch them.
- Don’t think about money, just make it.
- Defenestrate ambidextrists.
- Moralize about others; rationalize about yourself.
- Steal dogs.
- If you can learn to forgive yourself, you’ll never need to apologize.
- Yell at facts if they won’t do what you want.
- Wait for inspiration.
- In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man can get away with anything (as long as he’s quiet).
- There’s an enormous spectrum in between the absolute truth and an utter lie, and you have to find out where you’re comfortable residing within that spectrum.
- Question motives.
- Suspect allegiances.
- Good manners can be a weapon.
- People love it when you give them nicknames.
- Demand credit for changing your mind.
- There are many in the world with problems far greater than your own, but fuck them.
- Transcend humility.
- Remember that money fixes everything.
- Feign dignity.
- Live like Bono’s watching.
- Pretend you’re a wizard sometimes.
After these more helpful words, obviously.