My mom gets a ton of catalogues filled with whatever it is that baby boomers spend their money on and this half-child filled with flowers seemed pretty fucking creepy
Finishing all of my emails with “your cool friend Neil” is not doing the wonders for my social life I thought it would.
If you wanna see me at pinnacle misanthropy, I suggest joining me at an airport.
- “It seemed so gimmicky at first, a couple of hams in robot masks, mugging for the camera.” THEY CAN’T MUG FOR THE CAMERA, YOU DICKS, BECAUSE YOU CAN’T SEE THEIR GODDAMN FACES, THAT IS THE POINT.
- “Ideally, the physics of record reviewing are as elegant as actual physics, with each piece speaking to the essence of its subject as deliberately and as appropriately as a real-world force reacting to an action.” I tried to read an entire Pitchfork record review but I couldn’t because I have a fucking brain.
People who say Star Trek is all about the philosophical ideals of its futuristic societies are truly full of nonsense because it was really just a show about three or four guys doing crazy makem-ups and slaying space babes.
Hobbies for the unemployed:
- Home dentistry
- Amateur dog photography
- Waiting for the UPS guy
- Blogging
- Ennui
- Waiting for the UPS guy
Fuck those Pitchfork assholes scrambling to blow each other over the new Daft Punk record (which is great, save for maybe 2 tracks, it’s brilliant), because it’s obviously going to be huge in the zeitgeist, but let’s all look back at how those internet twerps have never given a studio Daft Punk record a good review. All of their bullshit revisionist praise for these French robots is clearly in service of garnering readers and advertising dollars, so before I start sounding like a Dead Kennedy’s song, fuck Pitchfork, buy the new Daft Punk record, fuck music journalism.
