Bought these sardines from Whole Foods, completely misleading package. "Sustainably caught along the California coast," but processed in Vietnam! Only about 8,000 miles apart! Like the Scottish langoustine problem in the New York Inquirer.
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Meanwhile, I get physical Arby's coupons in the mail almost every day. All that paper, all that ink. Such a waste.
After France’s embarrassing exit from last summer’s World Cup, their Football Federation has replaced the manager, much of the roster and now their kits. After many years of Adidas’ wildly-stripeddesigns, new supplier Nike has introduced a severely sparse shirt. The just-bleu shirt follows a trend toward yesteryear led by Umbro, itself a Nike subsidiary. Umbro’s recent shirts for England,Wales, Manchester City, Sunderland, and Rangers,amongst others, feature a strong emphasis on letting a club’s primary colours shine and lack the random panels, accented piping and striping endemic to more recent shirt designs. Busy shirts may look fine on the pitch, but tend to look absurd when worn by the man on the street as opposed to simpler shirts such as France’s that more resemble polo or henley shirts. Except when worn by Katy Perry.
While France’s new shirt is an instant classic that would look natural on such legends as Just Fontaine, the contrast of the vintage shirt design with the thoroughly modern crest is as jarring as an Eric Cantona press conference. So I decided to see how the new shirt would look without the distracting Nike swoosh, with red cuffs and paired with the vintage crest worn by such immortals asMichel Platini and Zinedine Zidane.
The time is in the street you know. Us living as we do upside down. And the new word to have is revolution. People don't even want to hear the preacher spill or spiel because God's whole card has been thoroughly picked. And America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey. The youngsters who were programmed to continue fucking up woke up one night digging Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys. America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes. The signs of Truth were tattooed across our open ended vagina. We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal. Two long centuries buried in the musty vault, hosed down daily with a gagging perfume. America was a bastard the illegitimate daughter of the mother country whose legs were then spread around the world and a rapist known as freedom, free doom. Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling in the mother country's crotch and behold a baby girl was born, nurtured by slave holders and whitey racists it grew and grew and grew screwing indiscriminately like mother like daughter everything unplagued by her madame mother. The present mocks us, good Black people with keen memories set fire to the bastards who ask us in a whisper to melt and integrate. Young, very young, teeny bopping revolt on weekend young dig by proxy what a mental ass kicking they receive through institutionalized everything and vomit up slogans to stay out of Vietnam. They seek to hide their relationship with the world's prostitute alienating themselves from everything except dirt and money with long hair, grime, and dope to camo-hide the things that cannot be hidden. They become runaway children to walk the streets downtown with everyday Black people sitting on the curb crying because we know that they will go back home with a clear conscience and a college degree. The irony of it all, of course, is when a pale face SDS motherfucker dares look hurt when I tell him to go find his own revolution. He wonders why I tell him that America's revolution will not be the melting pot but the toilet bowl. He is fighting for legalized smoke, or lower voting age, less lip from his generation gap and fucking in the street. Where is my parallel to that? All I want is a good home and a wife and a children and some food to feed them every night. Back goes pale face to basics. Does Little Orphan Annie have a natural? Do Sluggos kings make him a refugee from Mandingo? What does Webster say about soul? I say you silly trite motherfucker, your great grandfather tied a ball and chain to my balls and bounced me through a cotton field while I lived in an unflushable toilet bowl and now you want me to help you overthrow what? The only Truth that can be delivered to a four year revolutionary with a whole card i.e. skin is this: fuck up what you can in the name of Piggy Wallace, Dickless Nixon, and Spiro Agnew. Leave brother Cleaver and Brother Malcolm alone please. After all is said and done build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America? Who will survive in America?
with all the people up in arms and reacting about gun control in the aftermath of this horrible AZ news, I thought I'd post Chris Rock's bit from many years ago.
He's right, like always. In an economic sense tho, I wonder what would happen if the gov'mint taxed the hell out of guns, like alcohol and cigarettes? NRA would never let that happen.
Plowing through a Langston Hughes collection, here are two choice gems: Request: Gimme 425.00 and the change. I'm going where the morning and the evening won't bother me.
Motto: I play it cool And dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive.
My motto, As I live and learn, is: Dig and Be Dug In Return.
Got a record player for Christmas, going to enjoy the hunt for 99-cent vinyl where mucho gems can be had, because even when the tuneskies are so-so the art always makes it worthwhile. Here are two I came across in the amazing Amoeba record store in the Haight in 'Frisco last month. Kicking myself for not copping them.
Imagine having this, vinyl-sized, and being able to resist kissing it. Impossible, no?
Peep those hands/bear paws. And peep his name in awesome 80's font over even more awesome 80's Jersey/Scarface McMansion faux-marble flooring.
Here are two albums I came across recently while google-image searching for other schtee.
"Mangenius in the Promised Land"
"What Dreams May Come to Tribe Fans"
"Horseballs"
"Villa 4 Life"
"Horseballs 2"
"A Frownie Christmas 2009"
"A Frownie Christmas 2010"
"E.M. is Fired as H.C. of the C.B."
Plowing through a Langston Hughes collection, here are two choice gems:
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