What are you zeroing in on here, Facebook? My interest in third trimester stomach painting, or is this simply a subtle career change hint, accompanied with some cookie-tossing, transparent design? 

Documentary footage presupposing there is a link between Lana Del Rey and River Phoenix’s overdose outside of The Viper Room? No, just the pulchritudinously executed music video, Video Games.

I was going to write something here where I drew comparisons between Del Rey and Audrey Two, but in the end I deemed it unnecessary/kinda rude.

Ok, let’s just call it what it is, the big elephant in the room. The question everyone is asking themselves, but no one has the balls to ask it. Why did I do it? Why did I play accomplice to a clearly unbalanced, acerbic anomaly, who’s only real desire, besides seeking untroubled solitude, is ruining the most festal and celebrated holiday known to Who? Hey, I know it looks bad, man, don’t you think I fucking know that? I never wanted it to come down like this. One day, I’m sitting in our cave, happily watching the hours pass as I nuzzle up in a warm, wool blanket, and the next thing I know, I have a fucking used antler a’twined to my skull. And really, what am I supposed to say. “No, Master, I won’t assist you in your ill-crafted scheme to ‘steal Christmas’, but can you please pass me that chew toy?” Yeah, that would have gone over real big. 

So, here we are getting everything together, prepping for our big premiere, and it got to the point where I’m thinking, “Ok, are we really going to do this?” And I’m all strapped in, ready to start pulling this sled, which arguably shouldn’t be too challenging. I mean, I’m no Mastiff, but I can pull my weight. So, I start pulling this lazy son-of-a-bitch, and all the while he’s screaming at me to go faster, and I’m like “Are you fucking kidding me?” Lest we forget, that at this point I had already gotten my tail pulled through his cheap-ass sewing machine, that is probably circa 1892. So, not only am I distressing about tetanus shots and a whole shit load of other ailments that could come out of that mow down, but now I have to worry about whether he is going to whip me due to my humble pace. 

Well, long story short, I did manage to maneuver that splintered excuse for a sled around Whoville. And, yeah, the great, shining orb of eternal enlightenment did get a little too close for comfort at the end there, where, you know, I’m hanging by a fucking string from the edge of that slippery cliff. But it’s done now. We did it, we accomplished it, and yeah, maybe the original goal was foregone for a more baronial outcome, but in the end, I still got my sliver of roast beast. I don’t really care that the Grinch got the glory or praise from our failed nefarious actions, nor do I care that no one really was interested in studying my cardiac muscle tissue functions. Big picture, you know? I’m over it, really, I’m much more interested in marking off other things on my bucket list. I think there’s, like, one Truffula tree left in existence. The next big focus for me will be pissing on that.

[photo courtesy Chuck Jones]

Modern day Shakespeare.

Baby, you’re a firework.

Why are all the good ones taken.

This is the kind of “popular” your mom and Aunt Vesta warned you about.

001. Crawfish Transvestites

002. Outlandish Saliva

003. Crop Variations 

004. Street Sprawl

005. Innocuous Trenches

I guess you can’t expect everyone to like A Very Brady Sequel.

How flattering! I’d love the extra help this weekend, do you have any experience handling sticker guns or tin boxes with a loose collection of quarters, singles and fives? I’m totally able to provide compensation for your labor, I happen to be selling all of my bras, so I’m certain I’ll be turning a pretty decent profit.