How to Have Your Car Salesman Squealing with Pleasure in Six Easy Steps
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.
Enlightenment Inc. By Sean Conforti
When I was in university I cleaned a yoga studio in exchange for one free class per week- because enlightenment/liberation/metaphysical masturbation tend to be prohibitively expensive. I did a teacher training program a few years ago, and this is the healthy perspective from which I view the larger community of yoga people
The Crying Test
Good evening. What follows is a ghastly gaze into the mind of a troubled narcissist with a penchant for masturbatory fantasies of 1970's-inspired guitar solos and a thirst for imaginary applause from crowds of 1960's mobs of hysterical, Beatlemaniacal women. The anachronism between the musical genre with which my guitar solo is identified and my female crowd should further emphasize the extent of my bombast; this is going to get ugly. Also, anyone who doesn't like it can, to quote Eddie Murphy quoting his dad in Delirious, "Get the fuck out." So, please, if you possess neither the nerve nor the stomach to tolerate and understand this very honest specimen of my admittedly common thought process, there's still time to escape.
Crosswalk Buttons/Robot Penis By Mr. Rich
There is a place out there, that when you push a crosswalk button, the traffic light automatically changes and you’re allowed to cross the road as easily as cutting in line if you’re Tony Danza. Unfortunately, that place is not on this planet.
(Easiness of Tony Danza’s line cutting abilities vary depending on how well recognized he is and what particular establishment he is patronizing.)
Maybe it’s because no one knows how a crosswalk button actually works that leads to people tolerating them and continuing to use them, but I’m here to stay STOP. Just stop. You don’t need them anymore. You can be happy and free without them. Do they control you? Or do you control them? Chances are, they don’t work. Maybe they never worked. Maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe it’s some sick game for the robots that inhabit this planet that we aren’t supposed to know about. The pervy ones make themselves look like stop lights and make their robot private parts look like crosswalk buttons. So when you’re pressin’ that button you’re really getting a perverted space transformer’s rocks off. And that’s not cool!
How to Binge Watch Like A Pro by Jacob Shelton
L
ast week I was alerted to the fact that popular 90s television program, Friends, is on Netflix in it’s entirety. Until recently, I’d never seen an episode of Friends all the way through, or if I had, I was unaware. But now thanks to my roommate, Olaf, I’ve decided to watch Friends from top to tip, and I won’t stop until I’m studiously versed in all things Friends.
It goes without saying, if you decide to watch an entire series of a television program, that’s a big commitment. I’m in the enviable position of being a columnist, and with that job comes quite a bit of free time. Sure, I may need to slap down 500 words about the new Filthy Grabbers album, or review a new ramen burger pop up that only makes itself available under the 405 on every second full moon, but I hardly need to get out of bed for such work. But every so often I feel a ghost tapping on my shoulder, the fear of missing out.
“What if everyone is making reference to a very popular 90s sitcom and I don’t even know?”
Hateful Reviews of Everything Around Me by Sean Conforti
I go to coffee shops regularly to keep my loathing of humanity at a low but consistent boil.
Yuppie urban-wanna-be regions, Pasadena for example, are excellent for this. I’m in a wood-beam and exposed aluminum piping hipster dream; there is a large neon sign, MOTEL NO VACANCY flickering on the wall above me, and I think that this is what it would feel like to be me playing Charles Bukowski playing himself in a romcom about Charles Bukowski playing me. “NO” flashes fluorescent red above my head
Freemason Secrets Revealed By Jon Benito
Have you ever heard of the Freemasons? You know… those assholes that supposedly run everything. They're supposed to be the founding fathers of this country, and even possibly the descendants of the Knights Templar, and many other descendants and spawns of other secret societies. Some even think that the Freemasons were also the Illuminati, or that the Illuminati were started by the Freemasons, or that the Illuminati and the Freemasons work together to control the world. And from what I hear on the street, the Freemasons and the Illuminati have had a subsection of their own break off to battle it out on the street over who’s boss. There are all sorts of different stories about these two groups. Are they aliens, the lizard people and the greys battling it out on earth, or are they just men with dark occult power who have sold their soul to the devil? There’s all sorts of stories about these “people” rolling around the internet inspiring artists, occultists, Christians, the religious right, neo-Nazis, anarchists, and other curious individuals.
The Wall aka Drinking like a Scientist instead of a Beast
I think I hit the wall last weekend. A friend was in town and we drank for three days straight. By three days I mean all day every day. And by the third day we were up till the sun rose walking like zombies through downtown LA fucked up and fucked. I got little sleep that night, waking up every 15 minutes like a lunatic. The next day was okay. I was tired and fuzzy. Not too bad. Little did I know the wall was still ahead of me. I was still coasting on fumes and hadn’t succumbed to the hangover yet. That night I got a perfect 8 hours. Like a fucking rock. Who knew what my body had in store for me?
I woke up in horror. My whole body ached. Ached like I had just run the mile 50 times with a rock in my shoe. Ached like I had been chewed up and spit out. My head hurt, I was dizzy and I was sweating hot and freezing cold. Was I sick? No, I was hung over and 30.
This Star Wars News with Affect the REST OF YOUR LIFE
I was innocently browsing the internet yesterday when I came across the worst news imaginable. Some retard at the head of Disney has announced that from 2016 on we will be seeing a new Star Wars movie EVERY YEAR!
I know what you’re thinking, “Every year? That has to be an exaggeration.” NOPE. After this trilogy they have another trilogy planned. In between trilogy movies they have stand alone movies they are also filming. If you don’t believe that, they’re first stand alone movie comes out in 2016! They have already announced the release of a Star Wars movie in 2016, 2017 and 2018.
Let that sink in.
You will never stop hearing about Star Wars. TILL YOU DIE. Even if life extension becomes real and you’re nine years old reading this right now and you live to be 250, there will still be some asshole in a Darth Vader helmet saying, “I am your father” because by that time it’s been said so many times it’s ironic to say it which makes it funny again! SEE! SEE HOW THAT WORKS??? IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS.
This Ain’t No Party, This Ain’t No Disco, This Is An Event Sponsored by Hendrick’s Gin By Jacob Shelton
Last Wednesday I was suffering from a case of the mid-week mopes when an email from a local taste maker website popped up on my digital typewriter informing me of a party currently in progress only a short walk away from my writing office/apartment. I had been trying to think of a rhyme for dialogue for the past five hours and felt that a bit of air and a party would be good for my constitution. And as it had been a few months since I’d actually reviewed anything I felt that could probably get some free pens out of the trip. Or at the very least a promotional goat cheese slider.
