the best website idea in a grip

The internet has always had a huge blind spot for information seekers wanting to know what song a certain song is. Until now.

And here's a funny picture.



where the underground wound up

It can't have been more than a week ago I was reading about the issue of drug legalization. The gist of the article was that drug legalization has occurred, but that because of the way it happened, through psychiatry and big pharma, legal drugs are available in any desired quantities and varieties to those that have access to them, and the rest of the poor bastards have to resort to meth and dirty illegal drugs to perform the same sorts of functions: relief from anxiety and what have you. I wish I could find it but I can't, so for the time being unless you've read it you'll just have to trust me that it makes sense.

Then I saw the post right under this one, the parodic comic strip about how gayness has been driven underground too, in the sense that it's the very people who are the most obsessed with gayness that are likely to themselves have some homosexuality of their own to hide.

Drugs and gay sex have been driven underground, and because of the structure of our society and the way it sees itself, they've ended up right out in the open as a result. When we surrendered the adult bookstores and the functional boundaries of public sexuality we summoned the irrepressible impulse of gay sex to every suburban doorstep. Drugs that do the same things as the old illegals are now pitched to every magazine reader. It's a weird time to be alive in America.

Ted Haggard's a good public speaker, maybe he'll come out of retirement one day and make it all simple for us.

the funniest comic strip

thank you
Tom the dancing bug

two great things

Hot chicks with douchebags

from Cracked, The 10 Most Terrifyingly Inspirational '80s Songs


cleaning off my desktop


Have you been to a bar lately? It's pretty distracting. Distracting enough to make you react melodramatically, depending on on the kind of day you're having. There's so much shit going on in the form of televised sports, it's hard to focus on your company. There they are, talking to you, being your friends, and war music pours out of a hundred speakers at an incredible volume, festival on tap like the shitty beer for which hundreds of advertisements hem in your every glance. Rock and roll and trumpets and sirens screaming the signal of the gridiron, destroying all patience, analysis, and intelligence like an armored steamroller. Whether they wanted to or not, the bar has been forced by the marketplace to send a message to all who enter:

if you don't think football rules, FUCK YOU!



Once upon a time in a little town in Tennessee, there was a man who loved little girls. He was a gym teacher, too, so he got to touch them a lot. Many a student of both genders, myself included, learned the invaluable lessons of "gym" at South Cumberland Elementary school under his expert tutelage and in plain sight of his tight polyester shorts.

Some kinds of affection between men and children aren't as legal as others, and things being what they were it eventually came to pass that the old gym teacher got busted for the bad touch. He is Charles Rankhorn.

Sorry, Charlie.

I am Charles Rankhorn's mug shot.


Top Ten Signs You're a Fundamentalist Christian

The official god FAQ



Why we curse by Steven Pinker


What do you call an American who votes Republican and isn't a millionaire? A "Sucker."


san salvatore



magic is real!

One of the more pleasant things about living in this part of Florida is that billboards are illegal. That means I don't have to see what I used to see in Minnesota; literally half of the hundreds of billboards advertised right-wing talk show hosts and country music stars which played on the same stations owned by the same company whose logo rode low on the billboard itself, Clear Channel. Drive a little way from the city and you see billboards like the ones in this link:

Pro-life billboards

My question is, what happens when the guys who pay for these watery, dopey advertisements, stop? Are we going to have a situation where people forget that babies are magic, life is a miracle, and fetuses are hand-made by Jesus, down's syndrome and all?

I think that they must actually consider this is the case, at least on some level. And since it's the level that people have to drive underneath time and time again each day of their impulse-ridden lives, it's the only one that matters.

What an incredible insult to the intelligence of everyone these things are. How preposterous that they continue to sit there.

Or if you think about it this way, what a fine testament to the tolerance of people who can think and continue to put up with people who can not. I take comfort in that.


my challenge to president bush!

Eat this hot pepper, tough guy! Since you're so tough. I bet you won't. Weenie.

Go ahead and show us what a big bad commander you are and grab that pepper and show us who's boss, mister big shot. Want my support for the war? Eat that pepper and I'll support any damn thing you want. But you won't. Because you're too chicken to respond to the challenge on THIS blog. You can't hang and you know it.

And that's why my blog is superior to president bush.



nothin' but smiles

Today someone drove seventy eight miles to where I work so I could do a job that took me five minutes. It might have taken someone else a little longer to do, but mainly it's just a watch thing that almost no one who didn't know watches would understand. The owner of the watch was told that where I work was a good place, so she jumped in her car and came over.

I got to thinking as I left that right now, people are coming to me because of where I work. Eventually that will switch over, and different people will come to where I work because they've heard I work there. And that made me pretty happy. So here's a picture of a kitten with a dildo over it.

Today, 10/4, has been and continues to be national trucker day. Get a trucker to honk at you with that loud-ass horn of his! Ladies, don't be stingy with the titties: flash a trucker and party down! 10-4, good buddy!

“atheist” is a term that we do not need, in the same way that we don’t need a word for someone who rejects astrology. We simply do not call people “non-astrologers.” All we need are words like “reason” and “evidence” and “common sense” and “bullshit” to put astrologers in their place, and so it could be with religion...let me make my somewhat seditious proposal explicit: We should not call ourselves “atheists.” We should not call ourselves “secularists.” We should not call ourselves “humanists,” or “secular humanists,” or “naturalists,” or “skeptics,” or “anti-theists,” or “rationalists,” or “freethinkers,” or “brights.” We should not call ourselves anything. We should go under the radar—for the rest of our lives. And while there, we should be decent, responsible people who destroy bad ideas wherever we find them.

The Problem with Atheism


The secret. It's a book from Oprah-land, a housewife-friendly feel-good motivator. I hope you've heard of it, because I don't have time to get you to agree with me that it's ridiculous. Like left behind and the celestine prohecy, it's essentially a book for people who don't read books. The secret is apparently that you attract what happens to you by the way you think. It's your classic mystical emergence mantra premasticated for a target audience: reality itself derives from the prophecy within you! See how much power you have after all? Am I right, ladies?*

Time saver, I put the footnote right here! *Maybe that's what Oprah's whole thing is, boiled down to a single line. It's "Am I right, ladies?" but without meaning to be funny, and not interpreted as such.

It only takes about a tenth of a second by my watch to ponder the important question, by which I mean "the one that eliminates the legitimacy of the entire scenario": So people who have pain in their lives are attracting it with their thoughts?


The secret deserves no more space here. But I did see yesterday that a group session is being held next week, for people to get together and discuss how to live the secret. It was in a psychiatrist's office, where I had to go, uh, pick up a friend, and it made me think that my friend needs to consider getting an appointment elsewhere. The secret crossed with mental health is like sports crossed with bars. I'm always wondering if there's a bar anywhere without a flat screen tv and sports on. Just give me a bar, people, and just get the secret the hell out of the office. My friend, though, sees a different person in that office than has anything to do with the "living the secret" meeting, so it's not a dealbreaker.

I include the following picture because it's a great piece of advertising, not because it fits in anywhere in the story. Read: it doesn't. Blow this up. It's freaky.

In other news, I started taking lexapro the other day because I wasn't doing my part to support big pharma, and that had to change. I don't know if it's possible pharmacokinetically speaking, but during the night I had the happiest dream I can remember.


The only terrorist most Americans will ever encounter is a policeman with a badge, nightstick, mace and Taser.

America’s Police Brutality Pandemic

The typological array’s inherent ability to depict prevalence and repetition make it the perfect technique for examining the excess, redundancy, and meaningless freedom of our current age of consumption. Part of my intent with this work is to answer the question implied by the title of Robert Adams’s book What We Bought: If there is some kind of big sellout occuring, what are we getting in the deal?

Ridgemont Typologies