Oh dark Mistress! Destroyer of men! Drinker of still living blood! they called to her. We beseech thee to vanquish our enemies with your sword! Reave their skulls! Crush their bones! Dance in their viscera! That last one she liked quite a bit. But she needed time to decide if she would hear their pleas. Would she be a virtuous benefactor and avail them of their problems, bringing peace and tranquility to their miserable peasant lives? Or would she turn her whip on them and grind them beneath her blood-stained boot? Shall she save them or shall she be the instrument of their demise? Choices choices! She turned to Puce, her unfortunately named Elven companion, and then thought better of asking him for advice. Elves were always so dreary. For once, she’d like to meet an Elf who wasn’t all, “The forest is dying” this, “Nature is screaming” that. How about a flagon of mead once in a while, guys? Like, relax, man. The trees are going to be there. Lighten up. She looked past Puce to Skinflint, the rogue who came and went pretty much whenever he wanted. He was picking something from his teeth with a dagger which just grossed her out to no end. Where else had that dagger been? She had no problem wading knee deep through the blood of her enemies, but, jeez, keep that filthy thing out of your mouth. Even she had limits. She turned to the other side to ask Grisham, the not-all-together mage. He made eye contact with her, and then tore his eyes away.
The Black Laser
I don’t know who these guys are or what they’re about except kicking out hot Reggae jams from their home planet of Oregon, but my wonderful, old friend Deegan produced and mixed this record for them. Check them out.
Aside from spending a few days three years in a row at Reggae on the River in youth, this is not exactly my scene or the type of music I prefer to blast when I need to work or write or relax or get pumped up. But, some people really like it and who am I to begrudge them that? Like what you like, I think, just don’t ever make me listen to Dave Matthews Band or that one song by the Kings of Leon. Ugh.
Apparently these gentlemen also have some sort of deal Dutch Brothers, the drive through coffee chain in the Pacific Northwest. Isa hyped them up super hardcore when I was up there this summer, but I was sadly disappointed to discover that their coffee was extremely forgettable. At best. But it’s cool that these guys have the hook up, low quality coffee or not; you’ve got to promote yourself however you can these days.
Go checkout their music and buy a cd or something. Awesome.
Because I’m pretty sure I need this. I don’t know what I would use it for, but I kind of want it. If it were black and pink, it could be The Black Laser mascot. OOOOhhhhh, idea!
When hunting unicorns, it’s important to kill them in a such a manner as not to break or injure their horns. It makes a much nicer trophy with the horn intact. My real issue with it here is that I wish the taxidermist had posed the unicorn in a pose befitting its natural ferocity. They are mean, mean animals who seek out the blood of infants to power the vile engines churning inside their seemingly kind chests. The more unicorns killed, the better, really.
Just look at its lifeless, cold, black eyes.
Dear Metropolitan Transit Authority,
I understand that you are currently very busy in Albany trying to fleece New Yorkers for every last nickel and dime in our pockets while cutting service and overall making our lives hell. This is an admirable goal and one of which I am fond. Lining your own pockets through graft and corruption at the expense of hard working people in and around New York City should be your number one concern. Assuming that New York could ever have a public transportation system that was both useful and efficient is far too much. Surely that Herculean task can only be accomplished in such fantastical countries as Germany, France, and Japan. For this you are forgiven.
My specific complaint is regarding a lingering odor in the downtown 23rd St station for the F and V trains. If you walk through the turnstiles and make a right, about 1/3 of the way to the end there is a 15 foot stretch along the tracks where air comes down from the street that smells like shit. And I don’t mean that it just smells bad. It does that, but what I mean is that it actually smells like fucking shit. (Note, I am not referring to the scent raised by copulating with feces, rather I use the word fucking in its pejorative sense to express the intensity of my negative feelings about the smell.) Sometimes the odor resembles horse shit, while at others it’s more reminiscent of toxic human shit. Regardless of its current parfum du jour, it’s quite unpleasant. I do understand that this city is filled with surprising pockets of wretched stench sometimes so overbearing as to cause my eyes to water, but to have to endure the stomach churning stink of excrement every day in the subway after work on my way home is just plain unbearable.
Please rectify this situation.
Sincerely, a distraught rider,
Joe Dillingham.
PS – I don’t forgive you.
I thought this was too amazing not to share.
1. loog a his lirow nose
2. there is some shit I will not eat
3. LISN bud LISN
4. this i bad sorry to saY
5. leave her alone
she’s not your gal6. She is Lucifierian !
7. THuNdeRB
loSSo!M iN8. aThe):l
9. stunned. i. am. stunned. every question speaks to us
10. What is nothing?
I didn’t write or compile this. You can find the key at McSweeney’s.



