Breakfast with Clown TITS
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Early morning adventures with California OG graffiti writer "Clown" from TITS crew.
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Random Human Dies Nobody Cares By Sean Conforti
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At 5:53am this sunny winter morning a random human died. We didn’t bother getting a name because nobody seemed to care about the human prior to death, so we assumed that nobody would care a posteriori. A nurse at the hospital referred to the corpse with male pronouns, so we assume that the human was male. However, dead now, the human has become gender neutral, in so far as compost cannot be assigned gender in the English language. The French word for compost is masculine, both a noun and a verb. It is yet to be determined if this is relevant.
Read MoreScience of the Swipe By Grubman
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Mobile dating apps, while still in their infancy, have taken over the hearts, minds and fingers of almost everyone lucky enough to possess a smart device. Countless hours spent mining the minuta of potential partners, the details of datability, the chemistry, the compatibility, the instinct, the emotion. So many possibilities, so many paths to choose. One after another after another, in rapid fire, with little time to decode each decision. As quick as each flick may be, however, there is most certainly a science, if not an art, to the all-powerful, all-knowing swipe.
Read MoreOne Sentence Album Reviews by Jacob Shelton
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Tamaryn - Cranekiss - Kemado Records/Mexican Summer
At least we finally know what that Demi Lovato shoe gaze album would sound like.
Read MoreVHS and Vodka Presents: Crack House (1989)
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This being my first official “VHS and Vodka” article I knew I wanted it to be special. For those of you who haven’t been in my bedroom, imagine leatherface’s room with the chicken bones and severed female body parts but there’s also around 700 VHS tapes stacked in the corners like a hoarder with really good taste. So I went through my collection in search of something with explosive potential that I hadn’t seen yet. I came across Crack House.
Read MoreOne Sentence Album Reviews by Jacob Shelton
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Alessia Cara - Know-It-All - Def Jam Recordings
The perfect soundtrack to committing suicide in a Target bathroom.
Read MoreDear Time Magazine,
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Dear Time Magazine,
Please hear my case.
When all logic escapes out the window what do you do?
Everyone has had that moment where you open a drawer and what you are looking for isn’t there. Or your phone or keys aren’t where you left them. But we accept these things. But what about when your significant other morphs into an 8 foot tall monster with 4 arms and 2 mouths?
Read MoreTHE KIL PRETTY SPORTS REPORT by Brian R Thompson
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I was going to hold back cause I have shit to do in the morning, but it’s fucking Football! Your boss will completely understand why you’re throwing up in the copy machine waste bin. Just say those sweet sweet magic words. Football... bbblllaahhhh… game…. Bblllaaaahhhhhh… over…time. Bbllllaaaahhh… Bro. He might even give you the rest of Monday off so you can pregame for the football showdown that’s going to happen that night. Or you might end up telling Janice fuck off you don’t need her advice on how to do your job which is gonna land you in HR’s office which means you’re fucked, cause he’s a pussy who likes euro football. Pusssy.
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Tales From the Tinder
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Good evening boys and girls! Tonight's tale is about two carless kiddies, ones a grump and one’s a chump. Can you guess this who’s who of sexless frustration? Looks like the games have only just begun! (*CACKLES*)
Read MoreCorner Store Critique: Larry the Cable Guy's "GIT-R-DONE GRUB" Biscuits n' Gravy
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Purchasing:
I first stumbled across the meals about 6 months ago at The Dollar Tree, because of course they're sold there. This is a prime marketing example of supply and demand and really knowing your demographic. Everyone at The Dollar Tree at the time of purchase looked like walking bags of flour that have been mainlining bacon grease, and they all walked like they were chafing between the legs. A+ to Larry's team for nailing this one on the head.
How to Have Your Car Salesman Squealing with Pleasure in Six Easy Steps
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I once regarded the process of buying or leasing a car with the highest level of contempt. I hated everything about it: the hours upon hours of waiting in the most dismally commercial settings, the utter dishonesty that would reveal itself in the experience of comparing one’s research about any particular car with the sales staff’s unabashedly spouted malarkey about said car and, finally, the sales staff itself. I would, in most cases, rather spend time with convicted felons than with car salesmen. What a useless breed of wretched, revolting shitheads.
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