With the scandal rocking the Church, I’ve been watching clips from The Young Pope to keep my spirits up.
James Keen is an interesting figure. I don’t buy everything that he’s selling, but some of his thoughts regarding debt/banking are interesting.
How the hell did my girlfriend get all the way to Texas?
L to R: World, Mare.
Some music to start your day.
Good luck. You’re one-fifth of the way through the work week. Don’t give up now!
You know, I used to absolutely hate poetry. Hated reading it, hated writing it, just generally hated everything about it. I was a prose guy, and I thought there was something silly and frivolous about scribbling thoughts into stanzas and trying to get them to scan and rhyme and all that crap.
Then, something changed. Maybe it was getting sober, though I have no idea why that would have any bearing on this. But over the past few years, I’ve found that there are certain instances where I can best put my thoughts in order by taking up quill and scroll and just churning out some of the old doggerel.
Before we go any further, let’s just get this out of the way here and now:
Okay, now that we’ve dispensed with that (yeah), allow me if you will to emote all over you below:
I got some things in the mail recently. You gotta see these. First, MJ sent me a graduation present.
So funny I bust my felt wiiiiiiddddeee open.
Well, the Academy Awards are here again. Yay. If you think you’re sick of hearing about them, try living in Southern California. It’s all they talk about on the news for the next goddamn week.
Most of us aren’t big fans of Hollywood (or as one guy I heard one time called it, HollyWEIRD–delightful!) but maybe you saw a couple of the movies that are nominated this year. Are you rooting for La La Land? Hidden Fences? Something else?
Ah, who am I kidding? We’re all boycotting the Oscars. Not for the politics (okay, maybe a little bit because of the politics) but because the most deserving film of the year wasn’t nominated:
I’m just hoping John Wick 2: The Wick and The Dead gets nominated next year. Probably not, though.
Let’s just get this out of the way right upfront:
Okay, now that we’ve dispensed with that, on to the poetry:
O, fake internet friends, how they slack off
When the long week’s toil is done and ended.
Whether they do Crossfit or just jack off,
The blog on weekends moulders, unamended.
Exceptions come, sometimes, from our Jimbro
Or if the Puppeh isn’t chasing tail.
But too often we are stuck in limbo
And Friday’s buxom freshness starts to fail.
I know well that all of you have lives
While weekends find me cloistered here at work.
But thirty-some hours on a poat is jive—
Yeah, “jive” is weak; you write the next poem, jerk!
So ends my verse, now let comments commence,
And maybe push this down some hours hence.
And frankly, so am I. You’ve become a bunch of lazy, slothful pieces of shit. I mean, I can excuse people like Hotspur and MCPO who have worked hard all their lives and are enjoying their Golden Years, but what excuse do the rest of you have?
I mean, for God’s sake, we’re almost at the end of the weekend and everyone’s still commenting on a Saturday poat while waiting to get motivated by trannies tomorrow. It’s no wonder this country is going straight to hell.
Okay, now that I’m done calling you assholes, I’m going to hopefully provide you with some motivation before tomorrow with a photo of Cal alum and insanely-hot pole vaulter Allison Stokke:
I have likely touched several surfaces that her ass has also touched.
The Official Sports Team of The Hostages
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