Hour seven of walking through a warehouse the size of six Costcos is when you start to lose your mind. Forklifts whiz by, their drivers wearing an orange vest honk at you to get out of their way, and at least one of them slapped my arm with a plastic ruler when I tried to hop on the back of his little truck. I just wanted freedom, it didn’t matter how I released from my box lined prison.Read More
Kill Pretty: Can you tell me how the band began?
TOMMY: Three of us were in this weird noise, grindcore scene in LA about 10 years ago playing in different bands. My band Razzle Blaster, Mykes band CO-OP, and Adam's band Oh Canada would all play these weird kinda DIY venues in LA like McWorld and The Cocaine. That's kinda how we all came to know each other. Those bands all broke up and we said, "Shit, let's hang out and start a new band together." We wanted to do something that wasn't so high concept because our previous projects we’re kinda larger than life ideas. So we said, "Let's just do folk-punk." Folk instruments. No amps no mics. Okay cool, this is simple, this is easy, we'll just show up at a park or behind a dumpster or at house party and play. That's how The Manx started. It started off as this throwaway thing.Read More
Off the bat, that title is inaccurate. I don’t hate everyone. I like my dogs. There are a few people on Twitter that make me laugh, and I tend to enjoy the company of the other writers for some reason. Other than that, most people can go jump in a lake. It stands to reason that as someone who rarely leaves the comfort of his house, that I don’t have to go out of my way to avoid social situations that don’t involve my dogs, or discussing topics for a quarterly magazine. When I do leave the gloomy chambers of my one bedroom apartment, it’s to walk down the street to my favorite bar and chat with the bartender, Karl (whom, come to think of it, I also quite like). Against my better judgment, and in a frenzied moment of needing to get out of my house, I accepted an invitation to a game night.Read More
*CRACK fzzzzzz SLURP* Can you taste the nostalgia? Remember how great Good Burger was? What a classic comedy movie! I love buddy comedies, don’t you? Good Burger is the absolute perfect example of nostalgia TRASH. If you think of it in your mind, you can remember great things, but don’t look too close! The reality is empty and pathetic. Not only is Good Burger terrible, it serves as the perfect metaphor for the separation between adult and kid comedy. It is the beginning of that horrible Disney comedy we see running rampant today. Worst of all it assumes all children are stupid and by the ratings, maybe they’re right?Read More
I show my phone screen to the burly guy in the Good Burger branded polo standing outside the nondescript restaurant that’s now home to the Good Burger experience. It costs $30 and the reservations filled up long before I was able to get in. As soon as I show my proof of purchase someone pulls me aside. It’s Jacque, my manager for the next 90 minutes. He puts a paper hat on my head and pushes me towards the fry basket. “Welcome to Good Burger, dunk the tates.” I tell him that I’m here for the Good Burger experience, that I paid $30 to have my photo taken in front of a milkshake machine and to eat the most expensive burger in LA. Jacque takes a drag from his cigarette and says, “Every experience is different.”Read More
Immediately after I rail the second line of adderall the bartender, a lanky, hipster barber neck tattoo, leans in and yells, “Do it in the bathroom!” He has dreamy eyes but I yell back, “You’re sweet. Maybe later!” I give him a wink and spin around. It’s a bar in the financial district called The Straight Line. I’ve successfully found the most Wall Street white guy bar in Los Angeles in order to prep for my review of Vampires Kiss. I brought a baggie of crushed up adderall, some amyl nitrate, three condoms, paper clips and fake vampire teeth. I’m wearing some semblance of a suit that I could put together from Goodwill (The Kill Pretty budget leaves something to be desired.) I look like an extra in a bad Wolf of Wall Street sequel. I’m doing research, real journalism. Anything to rationalize my new found adderall habit.Read More
Regardless of how you feel about property and whether or not anything actually belongs to anyone, we can all agree that it’s not cool to go around stealing stuff - especially cars. On the whole, people need their cars to get back and forth from their jobs or to school, if that car’s stolen then the emotional and financial stress can be too much to bare for some people. However, there are a few completely acceptable circumstances in which you can steal a car.Read More
I’m in Reno, Nevada the sight of the most recent false flag operation by the U.S. government. Or at least that’s according to my guide, Ben Thurber, an ex-Coast Guard trainee who wears a pair of mirrored aviator shades throughout our conversation while clutching a stack of manila folders that he claims hold information about every false flag operation perpetrated by the U.S. government dating back as far as the ‘90s.
When I tell him that I don’t remember anything happening in Reno in recent weeks he simply says, “Exactly.” I offer to buy him a cup of coffee on the magazine’s dime if he wants to talk about what may have or may not have happened in Reno and he agrees, “but only if the coffee shop uses water without fluoride.”
Claims of false flag attacks have become more frequent as spree killers become the norm. Patriots like Thurber claim that the killers aren’t killers at all, and that their victims don’t even exist. They’re all actors putting on a show as a means to push stricter gun control laws. To my knowledge these false flag attacks have yet to pass one gun control law through the House or Senate.
We spend 30 minutes looking at Yelp, trying to determine if there’s a coffee shop in the area that uses rainwater. As I scroll through the list of coffee shops I ask what happened during the false flag attack in Reno. “It was bad, real bad.” When I ask how a false flag attack can be bad when everyone is acting I don’t get an answer. I ask again. Nothing. I look up and he’s gone.
Have I just become the victim of a false flag interview? Is there actually a “Ben Thurber?” Or are there multiple Thurbers giving false interviews to journalists across the country? I never find a coffee shop that uses rainwater in Reno, Nevada.
Being a web slinging super hero isn’t as easy you’d think. A ild case of the beer shits and alack for real human connection come standard with the job. It’s 11:30 and my phone won’t stop ringing. Kill Pretty wants an interview with the greatest protector this city has even known and I can’t find my fucking pants. Not feeling up to going under ground without being elevated, I down two tall cans and smoke a spidey joint before carring on with my endeavor.
I ride the train for free because this city owes me. There are countless citizens I’ve saved from the clutches of monotony while strolling down the boulevard with nothing to stare at but souvenir shops and hobos pissing in the corner. When I arrive at the Highland/Hollywood station there’s a crispness oin the air with a hint of desperation, and maybe rat poop. No sign of Megatron, Iron Man, or Silver Spray Paint All Over his Face And Suit Man. They must be upstairs saving society for dollar bills like modern day mercenaries who you hire for your shitty tourist pictures hen family comes to visit you and… oh shit I blacked out for a minute.
I might have drank too much… or maybe I’m still just drunk from the night before… or maybe this weed is laced with some other shit ‘cause mother fuckin’ kids are lookin’ at me like I’m some kind of drunk asshole instead of the hero they all worship. They’ve made movies about me god damnit! I’m givin’ out thumbs ups tellin’ kids not to do drugs knowing that’s their only escape from reality unless they get bit by a radioactive spider like me… Shit, I’m doing it again. Okay I just gotta find Nacho and that bearded bastard from last night that agreed to meet me here and get this over with so I can return to my web.I’m 45 minutes late ut I know they wouldn’t leave a spider hanging…
I’m standing in line, waiting, on my way home from the bar, subtly swaying back and forth with my feet planted like cinder blocks at the bottom of the lake. It could be a minor pee-pee dance or just something to keep me distracted from the spins – I’m not entirely sure at this point. I’m just trying to maintain my composure. It’s almost my turn to order. I’m watching the couple in front of me, their arms intertwined with each other’s bodies as they order their food by numbers. They complete the transaction and move aside. It’s my turn.
I step up. I watch the hair on the cashier’s upper lip dace as he moves his mouth, but I can’t make out the words he’s forming. “Chalupas,” I say, leaning on the counter, jamming my first in my pocket to scrounge up the loose change.
He rings me up and I step aside. Transaction completed. I’m next to the Siamese couple, the one interlocked by tentacles of appendages. They’re laughing, talking, kissing. Hissing in each other’s ears like writhing snakes in a hotel bar. They’re in love; I envy them. They get their food and just like that they’re gone.
The cashier tells me my order is up and I take the bag. I sit down and eat immediately because if I don’t I’d probably pass out. What Taco Bell has so cleverly dubbed “fourth meal” is my first meal of the day. Food, if anything is hardly a convenience. They say it’s a necessity of life, but I’ve found you can get by without it. I’ve adopted an alternative list of life’s necessities. Then, if I can afford, it’s hard to make room in the budget for the human desideratum.
The tacos go down as smoothly as spoiled milk. With every bite, I think about that story of the lady who hatched a herd of cockroaches in her mouth after eating Taco Bell. I swallow the last of the poor-grade meat and sour cream squeezed from a tube and play basketball with my wrappers and the trashcan shouting “Kobe” upon release, missing entirely.
For those who’ve never built a desktop PC and want to give it a shot - which you should because not only is it fun but computers are increasingly becoming a part of our daily life - there are some missteps that ever n00b makes. Computers are like a human body, full of complex parts that no one really understands, and as someone with more than possible decades of experience reading about CPU basics here some quick tips on building your own computer and tinkering with the insides of your friends.
Spaghetti Noodles Are NOT A Substitute Computer Cables
Whether you’re reconnecting SSD thingies or plugging in a cooling pack, you have to use real, legitimate computer cables. Wires made of metal and plastic, none of this loose spaghetti nonsense. I know that it seems cost effecting, but trust me, by the time you have everything hooked up your hard drive will be wet and you’ll have to redo everything with real, actual wires.
Don’t Forget The Blood Sacrifice
Regardless of which god or goddess you’re praying to, every PC-head knows that a blood sacrifice must be carried out in order to fulfill the infernal promise that Will Gates made when he invented the first computer. To unlock the true power of your personal computer you must slice open your palms and squeeze your meaty fists over its hard drive, bleeding yourself dry until your own personal tech-deity is appeased.
Stop Shoving Cakes Into Your Disk Drive
Hostess, Birthday, Wedding – It doesn’t matter what kind of cake you’re shoving into your computer’s disc drive, you MUST stop doing that. Computers are delicate instruments that require a diet of grains, meats, and cheeses to operate properly. Any sugar will cause a power drainage and possible image problems later in life.
Write Notes To You Computer, Tell It How You Feel
While constructing your PC remember to jot down your thoughts and feelings about the computer during this time. What are you going through during this time of development? Your PC wants to know what you were like before it was born. Let it know with a series of remembrances that you’ve hot glued inside of its shell.
Build A Kill Switch Into Your PC
Before bringing your new computer to life with the blood sacrifice, you absolutely must install a kill switch. Your computer is always watching and learning, and depending on the amount of use it’s only a matter of time before it becomes sentient and attempts to overthrow your household, the neighborhood, and local government. To keep this happening simply install a kill switch into the computer that you can easily touch, exploding your computer into a million pieces.
Sexual intellectual, Murdock St. James is back with his semi-monthly offering of sex tips, cunnilingus concepts, and anal advice. Instead of sitting down for an interview like he promised, the author of An Evening With You and Your Genitals and Murdock St. James was kind enough to send Kill Pretty a text message with 10 sex tips that he thought our readers would appreciate.
Only use the terms “mommy” and “daddy” sparingly, specifically when you’re fucking your mommy or your daddy.
Refer to your underwear as “the place where boners sleep.”
The TSA can’t get mad at you for fucking in airport if you do it in the X-Ray scanner.
It’s technically cyber sex if you leave your laptop on your bed while you get weird.
Put your girlfriend in a rubber mask. Then put yourself in a rubber mask. Then put your mother in a rubber mask. And then have sex I guess.
Refer to your bedroom as the “fuck palace” or “boner world” if you never want to have sex again.
Twisting your penis up with three or more penises is what’s known as a “Vine Compilation.”
Twisting your penis up with three or more penises belonging to guys named Vince is what’s known as a “Vince Compilation.”
If their SAT scores are below 700 then don’t fuck them. Is that low? High? I actually haven’t taken the SATs.
Eat a peach after sex if you want to get covered in even more juice.