Elon for the W

I couldn’t be more thrilled with this guy. Three years ago, I strongly disliked him. Fast forward to 2018 and this guy is both a personal hero and officially the real life Tony Stark. Here is an amazing series-of-photos meme from the internets:

And another great photo:

And to think, last weekend I stumbled across the following bumper sticker and was ecstatic to share it with this readership:

Now, I’m doubting the true extent of the innovative spirit and capitalist bent of Galt/Taggart. I’m pulling my vote from their box and casting it for Musk/Thiel.

Just once, I want Elon to finish an earnings call with “I will stop the combustion motor of the world.”

So I ask you: Who is Elon Musk?


Song of the Day (7/10/2018)

I just tore ass on the train and it smells like something heinous. People around me are cringing and disturbed paranoia and frantic confusion have gripped my end of the car with a swift vigor matched only by the violent shifts somewhere between my anus and small intestines. Fortunately, the good people at my hotel have my back(side) covered:

Happy Fourth of July!!! May Reagan bless your feast and affairs. Today’s song of the day is YOLO by The Lonely Island featuring Adam Levine and Kendrick Lamar.

I was near President Reagan’s hometown last week before the Fourth:

While many people will tell you that Dixon, IL is a dump best left to the pages of history, I’m not so sure. In fact, like my friend, the SpoiledBBW, Dixon is beautiful…gorgeous…unique…she fine!

Oh, and before I forget to remember, you all need to go out and read When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. Fucking great read and outlook on life and immortality. Read it last week and it’s quick. I also read The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. Awful. I wouldn’t touch it with SpoiledBBW’s ten foot titty dildo.

Reagan bless this day.

Arch Stanton Guest Post: Worst Fictional Towns to Live In

Do you ever get the feeling of resentment for your current place of residence? Traffic sucks, or shitty grocery stores, or sub par transport, or that weird homeless guy that is VERY opinionated on “the Zionists”? I find myself whining frequently in my Stepford Wives-ass suburb, but then I will watch a show and think, “well, shit it’s not THAT bad now that I think about it.” Without dragging this half-assed premise out further…

Gotham (Batman) – Obviously the first, so let’s just get it out of the way. Assuming you aren’t Batman (and you certainly aren’t because you’re wasting your time reading this), Gotham would be TRASH. The police force is nonexistent. It’s almost entirely rundown – do you ever recall seeing the “nice” parts of Gotham? The primary field of employment is “henchmen”. There are dozens of bad guys who are essentially domestic terrorists just constantly waiting patiently for their turn to blow up a school or hospital. On top of all of this, Constitutional rights are repeatedly trodden on. Batman is a vigilant who acts as judge and juror and, while he may not murder you (like everyone else in the town will), he will beat the piss out of you. Again, this is the GOOD GUY. Gotham in real life would be like Detroit but populated with the Son of Sam, Osama bin Laden, the villain from the Saw movies, the Zodiac Killer and like, a baby boomer who was really into crossword puzzles.

The worst part of all of this is Robin – put some goddamn pants on, kid. All these people/criminals live in this city most likely because this is their rock bottom, suggesting a far higher density of child predators/molesters than a normal city, and this idiot is wrestling them in his underwear.

Angel Grove (Power Rangers): Do you remember Power Rangers? Five ethnically diverse teens from an idyllic suburb put on outfits to fight guys in rubber suits/aliens from outer space and their henchmen; the Power Ranger gain an upper hand; the enemies up the game by jumping hundreds of feet into the air into their monstrous robots, where they fight again, but this time the teens are in robot-dinosaurs or some shit, until they form a robot-dinosaur-robot. When you really distill it to its essence, it’s a terribly bland and repetitive show, but when you were eight this was the fucking SHIT. ROBOT-DINOSAURS FIGHTING ALIENS!

You don’t want to live here because the insurance premiums alone would just be outrageous. Turns out, fights between monsters a dozen stories tall are bad for resale values.

Sunnydale (Buffy the Vampire Slayer): In a cosmetic sense, Sunnydale is basically the same town as Angel Grover. The only difference is Sunnydale is, unfortunately, on top of an area known to vampires, the undead, and various other demons as “Hellmouth”. Shockingly, you probably don’t want to live near Hellmouth, a literal portal to hell responsible for spreading darkness and all that presupposes across the regular world.

The premise of the show is a high school girl is a slayer, which is basically a super badass responsible for whooping the ass of all these demons while going to high school and maintaining a social life; “high school is Hell, but literally”. With all the vampires, I imagine the price of garlic in this town is RIDICULOUS. People must resort to throwing garlic bread and over seasoned Olive Garden as alternatives.

Dreadfort (Game of Thrones): To be clear, I don’t want to live in any part of Westeros – a land torn apart by generations of war, with vasts swaths of the population impressed into armies or reduced to homeless wanders, or just straight-up bandits. All the cities risk coming under siege, men being tortured or sent to die in fruitless battles while women can become prostitutes or (double checks notes) … whores. Yikes. The only good place to live would be Sunspear in Dorne. You’d still end up poisoned or with your skull dashed on the bricks of a faraway land, but… the wine and weather seem pretty neat.

Despite the lack of habitability of the entirety of Westeros (Essos isn’t much better – you are a slave, which would be bad, or a slave master who is about to be murdered ruthlessly, which also seems pretty bad), Dreadford has to be the worst. Consider: all the shit-ass weather of Winterfell, without being the seat of power or housing the ruling family, the lack of, ya know, ANYTHING like most of the North, with the addition of TONS of torture. Living anywhere in Westeros is like getting hit in the dick with a whiffle ball bat, but living in the Dreadford would be like getting hit in the dick with a whiffle ball bat covered in spiders.

New York City (dozens of films and shows, but let’s go with Gossip Girl): A serious lack of privacy, perpetually crowded, exorbitant real estate costs, and unending waves of people who are are obnoxiously pretentious or horribly delusional (checks notes) ahh I see people actually choose to live in this real-life butthole. It smells all the time, people are always touching me, and I have to take public transportation. Get all the fucking way out of here with that bullshit.

Bedrock (Flintstones): The dinosaurs would be fun, and checking out Wilma all the time would be great (‘sup girl), but c’mon, am I expected to use MY FEET to get around, and perform MANUAL labor? I don’t know if there’s an equivalent to “white guilt” for dinosaurs subjected to singular monotonous tasks, but I would be wracked with whatever-you-call it making dinosaurs eat rocks in the sake of neolithic capitalism. THERE ARE NO ETHICAL CONSUMERS IN CAPITALISM, FRED.

Maine (any Stephen King novel): Maine, in real life, is great. Maine in a Stephen King novel means you are about to get the everloving-shit haunted out of you by a dead pet or child. If you have anything in common with me, you are total chickenshit and scared of the basement with the lights off, unexpected knocks on the front door, dead bugs, and the idea of r/creepypasta. I would be one of the first deaths where the townspeople start to think, ‘hmm that’s unusual’ but still elect to do nothing while the terror escalates. Unrelated, Stephen King novel’s are lame, and you are lame if you enjoyed them.

Arch Stanton Guest Post: Episode 3 of Today I Learned: Allahakbarries

If you are reading this, there’s a great chance you don’t know shit-all about cricket besides “former British colonies play it” and “it takes forever”. Unrelated to the topic at hand, did you know the Indian cricket league, in an attempt to ward off any singular-franchise dynasties, has a full-scale free agency period once every ten years where every single player can be signed by any other team? Imagine the chaos of the NBA off-season, multiplied by a hundred, and no one understands the rules. It sounds idyllic!

ANYWAY, the Allakahbarries were a cricket team founded in 1887 by JM Barrie, who famously created and wrote the first Peter Pan. This, obviously, is incredibly tedious tidbit of information that is beyond uninteresting, but let’s look at the rest of roster:

– Rudyard Kipling (“The Jungle Book”)

– HG Wells (“The War of the Worlds”  and “The Time Machine”)

– Arthur Conan Doyle (all the original Sherlock Holmes stories)

– PG Wodehouse (“Piccadilly Jim” and the Jeeves and Wooster mystery novels)

– GK Chesterton (“The Man Who Was Thursday” and the Father Brown novels)

– Jerome K Jerome (“Three Men in a Boat”)

– AA Milne (“Winnie the Pooh”)

– EW Hornung (“In the Chains of Crime”)

– Henry J Ford (illustrator for hundreds of children’s books and fairy tales)

– AWE Mason (“The Four Feathers”)

– Walter Raleigh

– EV Lucas (publisher and editor for “Punch” magazine)

– Maurice Hewlett

– Owen Seaman (also an editor for “Punch”)

– Bernard Partridge

– Augustine Birrell

– Paul Du Chaillu (first European to see a gorilla in the wild, which I’m sure is a story all on it’s own)

– Henry Herbert La Thangue (“gurl you look good when ya back La Thangue up”)

– George Cecil Ives

– George Llewelyn Davies

– Hallam Tennyson, son of Alfred Tennyson, who you may recognize as the one of the most famous poets of all time, assuming you know more than three poets (I for one, do not)

You would think a team of such sporting and aristocratic gentlemen would be very competent and competitive, alas, they were utter trash (as if you couldn’t tell by the delightfully twee uniforms in the above picture). They were so bad, JM Barrie instructed his team from practicing on opponents’ fields prior to the game as “this can only give them confidence”. Barrie himself was described as “small, frail and sensitive, rather awkward in his movements, and there was nothing athletic in his appearance”, so he could probably still secure a spot on the Cleveland Browns’ QB depth chart. In the trip to the first match, the team had to gather and discuss which side of the bat was used to hit the ball, and one unnamed player showed up in pajamas. After a few games, Barrie had to remind the players, “should you hit the ball, run at once, and do not stop to cheer”. This is basically the literary version of ‘the Mighty Ducks”, except with cricket and everyone was racist. Barrie’s team was hammered by a Broadway actress and her team, so he dedicated the subsequent book detailing the team’s exploits “To Our Dear Enemy Mary de Navarro”. A-ha! A witty riposte will certainly redeem your machismo after being decimated by turn-of-the-century actresses!

There was one player who was (supposedly) excellent – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. At six feet tall, which used to be tall before human beings took an evolutionary step forward, and excellent athleticism, he was the saving grace for the Allakahbarries and saved them from being completely embarrassed. Except for that time he did the exact opposite, when a pitch hit the box of matches in his pocket, and set himself aflame. The Allakahbarries were the first team to realize spectators love fireworks after a game.

The name of the team originated like all intramural softball team names consisting of drunk frat boys do: a not-so-witty pun that turned out to be inaccurate. “Allakahbarries” is a play on the manager’s name and “Allah akbar”, which they understood as “Heaven help us” in Arabic, figuring they would need all the help they could get. The phrase actually means “God is Great”, but fortunately for them, this team played in the early 1900’s, and they were unlikely to be sentenced to Guantanamo Bay through an extraordinary case of extraordinary rendition.

This was the story of the fat and/or unathletic kids (“indoor kids”) who sit on the field and chase butterflies and pick flowers instead of playing, but they were all forefathers of modern literature.

Song of the Day and Random Bidtits (1/11/2018)

Today, it’s Twistin’ the Night Away by Sam Cooke. Excellent, excellent song. Let’s see, what else is new. Our dear friend and occasional contributor Arch Stanton shared a raving review for the following book:


I came across a Matt Lauer lookalike in the top right of the following:


Matt’s finally on the other end of the finger. Speaking of which, I hold firm that Trump never made those comments about Arianne Zucker on that coach bus. He probably wouldn’t even recognize here. Shit, Trump wouldn’t be able to finger her in a police lineup. What else. Turns out Bannon actually is a Nazi spy:


Nazi spy. Campaign architect. Breitbart editor. Jesus, this guy’s flexible. Not much else going on. Currently heading into the office after dropping a malodorous morning deuce that left me erratically stumbling about like Herman Munster.

What else. Earlier this week I was listening in on a coworker’s conversation about a PowerPoint presentation where I unthinkingly blurted out “thank you for saying ‘sub-bullets’ instead of ‘minority bullets'”. There was a black person in the room.


All of this reminds me of some wise words that our dear friend and often commentator Ethan Edwards shared with me: bacteria in a nutrient-rich environment (a Petri dish) expands until it chokes on its own waste products. This blog is feeling a lot like that Petri dish.

Enjoy your Thursday!

Article: Just to Be Clear, the Witch-King of Angnar was an Insignificant Volunteer in the Great Army of the Dark Lord Sauron

Here’s the link but the story is below:

Thank you for joining us today, Middle-earth media. I’d like to start today’s briefing by addressing the recent news of the Witch-King’s indictment. The Witch-King of Angmar was an extremely minor cog within the Ringwraith organization and has never had, nor currently has, a relationship with Lord Sauron. Despite all of the evidence to the contrary, please believe me when I say the Witch-King was basically an unpaid summer intern in Mordor during last year’s campaign.

Even though he and the other Ringwraiths are notoriously enslaved to the Nine Rings that Sauron holds in his possession, the Witch-King briefly advised the Dark Lord under his own free will. Similarly, I am giving this briefing of my own free will. Trust me, I am not currently trapped in a prison of my own mind.

The Witch-King was only ever present for one meeting and didn’t open his mouth to talk once during it. Technically, he doesn’t have a mouth anymore ever since he was turned into a scary, immortal nightmare creature. The recent charges filed against him have nothing to do with Lord Sauron’s extremely successful path to lordship, so stop searching for a connection between those two things. On that note, also stop bringing up the photograph of the Dark Lord and the Witch-King singing a karaoke duet together at the annual Mordor Christmas party. That photo is being taken completely out of context. There’s nothing wrong with two very casual acquaintances singing “I Got You Babe” together.

While the Nazgûl are technically the chief servants of the Dark Lord, the Witch-King’s involvement in that committee was purely advisory and hobby-like. He only attended one raid and barely participated. Sure, after the Nazgûl attacked Weathertop, several hobbits gave firsthand accounts of the Witch-King playing an active leadership role within the Ringwraiths at the time, but those are just lies propagated to weaken our evil party. So what if the Witch-King yelled, “I’m doing this for my Dark Lord!” as he stabbed Frodo Baggins with his Morgul-blade? He could’ve been talking about any number of Dark Lords. Leave Sauron out of this.

There’s simply no significance to the Witch-King’s position on Sauron’s most trusted advisory council. He was an insignificant volunteer. It’s not like the Witch-King is forever bound to the power of the One Ring and forced to be a servant under the complete dominion of Lord Sauron for all of eternity. What would give you that idea? Yes, he has served under Sauron for over 4,000 years, but that’s hardly any time at all in the grand scheme of things. He was just one in a large number of undead, evil consultants that have worked with the Dark Lord over time.

The two of them are barely even acquaintances! Plenty of folks have entered the realm of shadows over the years, it’s silly to say Lord Sauron has direct relationships with them all. He’s a very busy evil presence and has done an amazing job pushing the Middle-earth economy to new heights. The real news today should be Sauron’s impending tax plan, which will lower taxes for all rich hobbits and elves.

Today’s announcement has nothing to do with the Dark Lord. Please just let our power-hungry, malevolent god-king continue to shroud the world in darkness. He has taken political advice from millions of dark wizards, orcs, goblins, variags, and uruks. Just because the recently indicted Witch-King also happens be a known collaborator of Sauron doesn’t mean there’s anything suspicious going on here. At any rate, the real scandal, as we’ve said several times before, has nothing to do with the Witch-King. The real scandal is the Fellowship’s collusion with Saruman the White, which the left-wing media still refuses to report on.

GTA Real Life: The Faggio Chronicles

Who here remembers the GTA series from our youth?  If so, you will remember the Faggio: a parody of both Vespa and Piaggio.  Here’s a photo from the game:

Cool, right?  Well I came across the ULTIMATE Faggio last weekend.  Huge faggio move.  Big league faggio.  Thanks, guy.

Dick move when I’m desperately searching for parking.  The guy is probably in the bar, sipping on a tall cool one:

Book plug time.  I read/listen to a book every two weeks and have been experimenting lately.  One that HAS to be on your list, even if you have but only the faintest interest in this stuff, is Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Astrophysics for People in a Hurry.  Run to your library (or use the free Hoopla app for your phone) and get this book.  When Amazon recommends “Origins” by NDT, don’t worry, you basically already read it if you got through Astrophysics for Hombres in a Hurry.

Oh!  Is anyone up for a game?  Back, wayyyy back, before The Cookie Monster gave up carbs (cookies) for…well for other carbs (fruits and veggies), and before Mitt Romney threatened to put a bullet in Big Bird and cut funding, there was a game Big Bird played that he/she/it called One of These Things (although not every episode centered around him playing with his “yummy yummy bird seed,” even going as far as burying his/her/confused/undecided/but likely his nose in it).  Now I leave it to you: which one of these things is not like the others:

It’s hard to find so I’ll give you a hint: it’s in the middle up near the top, it’s small and undistinguished, it’s pink, and sometimes it can be hard to find in the broader sea of undulating movements.

And finally, food porn time!!!