The sound of one million envelopes opening. A wet rustling even, a tree outlet mall.

So recently, as we saw my good friend and fellow humanity crime committee(r?). Lost his Granddad. So I've decided to actually try to make a bit of effort to make this post suck less.

Not exactly sure how or what to do about it. I'm in charge right now. I'm supposed to make up for The Kid not posting.

In his stead, I will mimic his jokes.

Papa Christmas meets his salad maker. I knew him well. Weevil, my Bollest.


What the hell.

I like music that makes me wonder if I'm going insane. Where the artist actually uses the entire stereofield with faint hints of sound or samples. You have to wonder after a while if what you're hearing is what you think it is. That sounds kind of stupid. However due to the fact that I don't ever plan these out, I need to use as much space as possible.

I fucking love NASAs pic a day. Seriously. I mean, I can get fresh daily blurbs of space! It's one of the few things I use to forget everything.



So I was supposed to post yesterday and today. I stopped after while then came back. I didn't really have any ideas and still don't. After The Kid's post, I kind of went into writer shock. I never knew his Grandpappy, nor will I. However, I've read Thomas Lynch. So when I think about death, I think more about the aftershock more than I do the quake. A Death is only valuable if there's someone to mourn, right?

I know you think that's awful callous, but think about how many people died while you read that. Are you mourning? Unless it's massive tragedy, or someone close, the world is blissfully unaware, save for those impacted directly by the Departed. I'm going to go back to my ranting and raving after this because I don't know where I'm going at all. Mostly thinking out Internet.

Imagine his joy.


I can't stress how much this represents my life.



Why exactly is every girl costume sexualized? I mean, I get it. Sure, awesome, but do we really need sexy Ghostbusters?

Where's my sexy Predator costume?


During one of those moments, I cry at my own curiosity.


Shhhhh. Listen close and you'll hear the keys of tens of nerds, pissed that they bothered to read this blog and that I covered her boobs. Well, I'm sorry, but this is a clean blog.

On that note:

THANKS JAPAN.


This is why he will always win.


On a more intellectual note. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH


This is two things. First off, it's an amazingly surreal French film from 70s. Second, it's been re-scored by modern weird artists such as Venetian Snares, Kid 606, Squarepusher, Autechre and a host of others.

It's essentially another "How can humans be so cruel when we are just animals ourselves!" kind of movie. Despite this simplification, the plot is rather cool, and the imagery and sound alone are totally worth the watch.


After writing all that, I became tired. So I did what any red-blooded American nerd on a rope would do. Got a Red Bull and a 40. While perusing the lonely(snack) aisle, I thought about Last Meals.

WATCH OR YOUR LIFE!


I thought about this because here I am a free man. I could eat any manner of wondrous foods. I have money and I love food. So why do I get lean cuisines? Why does the stupid card that gives me discounts know my existence all too well? Consider that for a second. All those stupid cards we use to save money track our purchases. For marketing. What about your list? I know my last.fm says I have amazing taste in music, or that I spend too much of my time obsessing over what are ostensibly molecules disturbing the air around me.

Back to my questions.


So I chose the Red Bull and 40. I did. I could have made a fine salad. Why bother? I'm coming home to sit on my computer and write and write. In hopes someone will laugh. NOT AT THIS POST YOU WON'T.

So. I know what I buy. You know what you buy. Not what we buy when we're with friends. The lonely aisle gazing lost people. The time you said "Fuck it" and bought Hot Pockets and pint of whiskey. How about when you bought a whole watermelon. I know it's still in your fridge. Even on those nights you treat yourself to Prego and pasta. Someone is watching you eat.

Famous last meals.

Napoleon:


Shish Kabob.
Finger Sandwiches.
Deep Fried Goldfish.
Issue of Maxim.

Audrey Tatou:


A Whole Puppy.
Carbourateur.
37 copies of The Labyrinth.
Haggis made with Ice Cube's blood.

Anne Rice:


Money.

-Uncle Monty's Baseball Soup