The initiates who have started to climb the masts and run the boats have the look of new cops at a riot. They are hungry for battle and feel the rhythm of yet-begun protracted streetfights thrumming in their veins. This is the day they told themselves would come, whether through clenched teeth or tightened eyes, like some sort of political apocalypse, a partisan version of Revelations.

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Is my favorite band God? Can one band unite the world? Is Ice Cube still in the gangs? Is the Fillmore heaven? Is there something inherently wrong with saying you saw angels at a stadium show?

If you are easily annoyed, read no further.

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Journey into a world where your boss isn’t very good at their job and people always fail up. Strange, isn’t it?
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The issue at hand is not that Barry Bonds is an asshole. What IS pertinent, however, is that he is currently being vilified as some sort of “baseball history tainter.”

This is patently not fair.

A genius new look at an underexposed and constantly ignored subject: steroids in baseball and the women who love the men who love them.
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I was sort of kind of dating this boy recently who had the troubling habit of forgetting that he should pay attention to me. Some of you might say, forget about it, but as some of you may also know, I am a girl. There is something inside of me that is hard wired to track even the tiniest details of a developing relationship in the same way a Star Wars geek would pick over George Lucas’s dead rotting carcass. “Obsession” is a good word I guess.
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At one time, every newlywed couple in Germany received as a gift a copy of their Chancellor’s book, Mein Kampf. It’s a classic story in some ways. Sales of the book were sluggish until the author rose to supreme power and dictated that his government buy the book and make it required reading; in the end it turned out maybe more people should have read the book earlier, because some things might have not happened the same way – but to add insult to injury, a bunch of people, millions actually, read the book now that it is too late.

There are a lot of really great articles about this complicated issue. But this isn’t one of them.
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There is a common perception in the world that musical tastes fall within the realm of the subjective. While I suppose this is technically true, it doesn’t mean there aren’t certain limits on what humans should and should not listen to. Unfortunately, the ability of the Average American to exercise good judgement in this respect has never been especially keen, as has been illustrated by the Billboard charts over the last 40 years. To compound this, the recent surge in popularity of the iPod has made everyone’s choices in music visible to any casual observer.
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To be fair, the only reason I really feel the need to comment on Kobe right now is because there are many people in the world who still, after all this time, think that Kobe Bryant is a legitimate, worth-possessing human being. They furthermore feel vindicated by the fact that Kobe scored 81 points the other night against the Raptors. I will dispel their ridiculous notions, and will do so in an orderly, reasonable fashion. But not before I make this clear to all of the idiots who invariably spout nonsense (“81 points!” “He was acquitted!”) when I say anything negative about Kobe:
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I recently started visiting “Pro Life” websites to see what kind of arguments they were making for their case. A couple quick observations: I noticed that their “facts” pages are all narratives. Or rather, one narrative. The narrative is a story about how horrible the abortion process is. I am also surprised that I am still surprised that many conservatives are both Pro Life AND Pro death penalty. On the Right to Life website Capital Punishment isn’t even listed as an issue. I have come to the conclusion that to “become a Pro Lifer,” the first step of proper indoctrination is to abandon all logic.

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Guerneville is the most affordable town in one of the most expensive housing markets in the world. So yeah, your apartment has no washer or dryer, all the neighbors are gay and/or on drugs, and it goes under water every few years, but it is worth it.

Skylab reminisces at length about laundry and the only town that ever loved her.

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The average American, if living until only 65 years of age, spends nine years of that time watching television (it’s true, I looked it up). Nine freaking years, are you kidding me? And all this for crappy reality television which takes up more than 50% of airtime. I blame Mark Burnett and Survivor (although not the first reality shows, we’re going to let the Real World and Judge Wapner slide on this one). Follow this up with Big Brother, a number of dating shows, and various people suing other people for messing up the paint job on their ’84 Chevettes.
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So Johnny Damon, the “hottest ass in baseball” is slated to sign with the Yankees as of Tuesday night. Who cares? Not me. Anyone else? I don’t think so. And you know why not? Because these two teams can go to hell. They have the two largest payrolls in sports, the most spoiled players, the most obnoxious fans, the smallest penises, and now, apparently, both of them will be (or have been) home to the Flattest Ass in Baseball.
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I hate Charlie Rose. Host of his own show on PBS, he is the wimpy version of Bill O’Reilly. He rarely lets his guests finish a sentence. I mean rarely. Do you know how annoying that is? I mean, even before we can get to bitching him out about his right wing bullshit bully tactics, we have to tell Charlie that interrupting answers he asked for is dumb-tarded. Hey Mr. Interviewer Extraordinare, LET YOUR GUEST ANSWER YOUR QUESTION. Asswipe. Oh wait, your guest is citing facts regarding shitty USA foreign policy!? Make sure to cut him off and ask him something unimportant.

When you make an argument it helps to cite more than your peanut brain, bitch.

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Wildlife biologists report that western grey squirrels have very good eyesight even in dim light, and a wide field of vision. They also have well-developed senses of smell and hearing and are universally described as “shy.” It is not clear, then, why so many of them fall victim to the ole’ Goodyear.
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I used to work at a head shop in San Diego. At some point one of my co-workers made a hand written sign that said:
No stupid questions allowed. City Ordinance #1423009
I think it actually increased the number of stupid questions we got, but what can you expect from a head shop in Pacific Beach?
We took to writing the questions on the back of the sign, preferably with the offending customer watching.
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