To those fretting sudden downturns in knocks, it's called Fantasy Football: the world didn't just discover you suck. There are wounded useless mercenaries to replace, spurts to claim, and here, you dumb motherfucker, trade me your superstar for my bag of garbage! Dogzilla Wafers! Fuck yeah!
Heh, true that, my competitive bleggal cobastards, baseball, not football, the late eighties, The Wafers bitter rivals the Arshallmay Ommelsray (the Bove Dars the fucksticks) (and we badgered Hamster
into playing though he really didn't want to - and Hamsters is what he named his team, is what he sigs here when he comments, is seeing Bonnie Prince Billy with us in three weeks).
Anyway, bleggalgazing: I woke up with two of these songs in my head and chose the third and fourth ten hours earlier. Serendipity is Lord. Guess.
- Torture hotel.
- On the fake.
- After diaphanous irrelevance.
- It's called marketing.
- Coming apart.
- David Brooks doesn't miss it, he ignores it.
- One word.
- License to kill.
- Motherfucking cracker.
- We who cannot fuck.
PLAYING WITH FIRE
something is always burning, passion,
pride, envy, desire, the internal organs
going chokingly up in smoke, as some-
thing outside the body exerts a pull
that drags us like a match across sand-
paper. something is always burning,
london, paris, detroit, l.a., the neighbor-
hoods no one outside seems to see until
they're backlit by flames, when the out-
siders, peering through dense, acrid,
black-&-orange-rimmed fumes, mis-
take their dark reflections for savages
altogether alien. how hot are the london
riots for west end pearls? how hot in tot-
tenham? if one bead of cream rolls down
one precious neck, heads will roll in brix-
ton: the science of sociology. the mark
duggan principle of cause and effect:
under conditions of sufficient pressure—
measured roughly in years + lead ÷ £s—
black blood is highly combustible.
I wonder how severe the punishment will be when the first case of a hardcore model airplane enthusiast interfering with the operation of a domestic drone hits the docket.ReplyDelete
Glad I didn't draft Jamaal Charles, though I still have Sergio Aguero. Whew.
They're Satan's Minions now, though the Rommels appellation remains one of my favorite bad jokes ever, perhaps second only to Pignose.ReplyDelete
But the grand old franchise still hates dogs; all three incarnations greedily spooned up Michael Vick. Take that, dogma-N.
I'm a catma person. But I have learned to curry flavor with the dogs.ReplyDelete
(JUST KIDDING! I had a newpaper route back in my D.C. days, the Washington Star. I learned to get along with dogs.)