UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu You are just a number to me! And that number is: PAGES UD MADE: My Books Page My Reviews Page My Reference Page My Music Page My Pictures My Store UD-RELATED PAGES: My LiveJournal My MySpace music page My Flickr page My del.icio.us page My Last.fm page My Amazon Wishlist HEAVY ROTATION Dan Deacon: Bromst Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavillion Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago Vampire Weekend: Vampire Weekend Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes BLOGS ETC claude le monde nuncstans rock 'em stock 'em tomato nation postmodern drunkard tuckova 22 ghastly mess constintina total virility fuzzysquid drunken bee stacey nightmare elyse from ANTM stereolabrat dark side points jf_franklin 123 i love you READ NOW brotherhood 2.0 NOT BLOGS ETC qwantz (dinosaur comix) go fug yourself the burg cat and girl book of ratings married to the sea icanhascheezburger fire joe morgan fivethirtyeight.com READ NOW hospitality on parade WEIRD LOVE dead amusement pks craters! all content © 2002-2010 Jeremy Broomfield
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Friday, April 30, 2004
On the radio this morning I heard some caller talking about President Bush's PR aircraft carrier landing and the ironic and hubris-dripping "Mission Accomplished" banner, and either he (the caller) suggested or I came up with (I can't remember because I was sleepy) the idea that from now on, when you witness an incredible fuckup, your immediate exclamation should be "mission accomplished," instead of the more traditional "holy fucking fuck!"
Like so if you see a basketballer go for a slam dunk but instead he whams into the backboard and his head explodes, you shout "mission accomplished!" as you gape in horror. Or you see a super flamey 90-car pileup during a NASCAR event: "mission accomplished!" And it doesn't just have to work for sports, because I'm not trying to imply that the decapitation or mutilation or mass immolation of jocks are the only events worthy of this new shout. It works for civilian fender-benders, drunken fistfights, banana-peel-slippages, or zombie attacks, too. Try it and maybe we can subtly introduce criticism of governmental braggadocio into pedestrian phraseology. And speaking of pedestrians, here is the newest kind of person I want to slap in the nuts with a bat: the New-Fangled Walkie-Talkie Cell Phone user. Oh my fucking god. If there is a more ubiquitous example of backsliding technological stupidity, I can't think of one. I hate I hate I hate this shit. A walkie-talkie is not a leap forward in communication tech. Phones are fine, normal, okay. But actually most phones are still stupid, unless you're using a headset. (A brief aside for people who haven't heard this before: a telephone call, once initiated, requires the use of two body parts: your ear and your mouth. Having to hold a handset with your hand or god forfuckingbid your neck just makes me furious. It is a waste of the universe's energy. Buy a Radio Shack headset phone for your home so you can actually LIVE at the same time you're using the phone. And don't hold your cell phone's hanging mic with your hand or I will eat your face.) But walkie-talkies, or rather NFWTCPs, just scream "fucktard" at me. This one guy, a typical New York hoodrat homeboy, is always slouching and pimp-rolling down the street where I take my smoke breaks, loudly slurring into his NFWTCP, which whatever, but what galls me the most is the attention-grabbing craakle-beep noise. LIKE LOOK HOW COOL I AM WITH MY CRAAKLE-BEEPING PIECE OF SHINY OBSOLESCENCE. You are an idiot. Stop showing off! Go home! Use a phone! OR TALK TO SOMEONE'S FACE FOR ONCE. Like and anyway who do you need to be in constant contact with? Because since like only 5% of NFWTCP users are actually talking to their bosses or something, I'm always overhearing snippets like: "Oh yeah? And then what she say?", the kind of conversation where nothing of urgent importance is even remotely on the agenda. You never hear "okay now perform ten quick compressions to the sternum and then listen for breathing. [craakle-beep]" Because this is the kind of tech people use because they can, not because they need to. Just like instant messaging, except in public, right up in my fucking face all the time. Glaargle! And maybe it's the fact that they never hold the thing up to their heads normally because of the ridiculously over-amped speaker output. Bunch of hoop-earringed high school bitches who look like they're getting ready for a Star Trek audition, holding a cell phone three inches directly in front of their gum-snapping mouths. I realize that I am no longer coherent here, but will you please join me in a vow to punch the next NFWTCP you see directly into the teeth of its smug user? As you wipe the blood and plastic from your knuckles, you can scream "mission accomplished!" with no irony at all. 0 comments |
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MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |