Kim Jong-Il, the Supreme Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea, died on the 17th of December this year while fighting off the evil dragon of Capitalism and penning his autobiography, which lists, among others, his achievements in everything ever.
- The freedom each American has to get pepper-sprayed right in their face if they dare to link arms again, motherfucker.
- The job-creators who made each empty table tonight possible.
- The 99%ers, for giving us all a good laugh.
- This champagne made from the tears of an albino rhinoceros. Delicious.
- Thanksgiving. For when enough food, simply isn’t enough food.
roses are red
violets are, too
wait that’s not true
i mean some are probably violet
i don’t know for sure
i’m partially colorblind
which doesn’t really affect that knowledge
it’s still just a thing i could know
despite my partial colorblindness
i mean, it’s not terrible
i just have…
Fucking tumblr reblogs and text posts. Click through, the whole thing is hilarious.
A tall, lonely man wandering down a hazy street. He stops for a moment, situated purely by chance directly under a streetlight that gives off an eerie, white glow. He lifts his fedora-adorned head to look right into the light, forcing him to squint a little. Why he does this, I dunno. It sounded cool in my brain.
It’s midnight in SAN FRANCISCO.
He reaches into the pocket of his tweedtastic coat (it might be tweed but it’s difficult to tell from this far away but it’s definitely fantastic). He pulls out a pack of homosexual men, by which I mean a pack of fags, by which I mean a pack of cigarettes. He slowly pulls one out and flips it through his fingers a few times. He lights it.
After taking a hearty drag on the cigarette, he mutters to himself in the way that only one with a cigarette in their mouth can, “Damn, it’s straight up DARK up in this bitch.” He pulls out an iPhone 5. Oh, you thought this was in the past? Maybe the 1920s, or 40s? Well you were WRONG, BITCH. IT’S IN THE MUTHAFUCKING FUTURE.
He waves around his phone for a while, taking stock of the scene around him. Hills, fog, maybe some planters. Like I said, it’s SAN FRANCISCO. It’s so damn hilly and foggy you can’t see shit. Maybe that’s why they don’t pick up after their dogs there.
He shifts his leather-enthroned feet, stumbling a little. That’s right, hyphenated compounds here. Deal with it. His cigarette drops to the ground.
“Graf,” he whispers. It’s a future thing. You wouldn’t understand. He pulls out another cigarette.
There’s not much happening at midnight in SAN FRANCISCO.
Sorry for the quiet spell, I’m finding it difficult to make time/funny things for this blog. I’ll try to post more often, but more importantly: I may-not-who-knows have some sketch and stand-up videos coming your way within the next month or so. No promises, but consider this an annoying teaser trailer for a movie you’ve been waiting for that just has some dead guy for 30 seconds and then half a second of fighting (TDKR, I’m looking at you).
Oops, sorry guys that last post should have gone to my other blog. (ignore this if you didn’t see it)
Hey.
Hey you.
Yeah you.
Yeah, the phisher in the back.
Fuck you.
A great desire has grown so fast within,
That I am very eager to stomach;
At such a luckless hour did it begin,
And seconds never slower do they tick.
The auburn streaks of dusk’s slow falling sky
Had given my free mind a reckless thought,
To wander through untidy lightless…
The train rumbles by
an unstoppable force
of nature
a metaphor for life
unceasing
and I thought to myself,
“Stop trying to be a goddamned poet.”
