I’ve been wasting time on the internet instead of working for hours now, and I haven’t seen this image once?
“It took me about three or four weeks to toilet train my cat, Nightlife. Most of the time is spent moving the box very gradually to the bathroom. Do it very slowly and don’t confuse him. And, remember, once the box is on the toilet, leave it a week or even two. The main thing to remember is not to rush or confuse him.”
– It is one thing that Charles Mingus wrote a short guide about how to toilet train your cat. It is another thing entirely that Achewood didn’t make up the fact that his cat was named Nightlife.
I keep going to these origami meetups, but the rules keep getting stricter and stricter.
The other day I bought this book of Ray Bradbury short stories, and I know you’re supposed to say that there aren’t bad stories, only bad storytellers, but let’s just say there exists a published short story where:
A couple is sitting in bed and they hear a distant wail that they immediately parse as the wail of a “ghost baby,” so they assume it’s the ghost of the hypothetical baby they’re not having because they decided not to have children. The couple have sex, and then the wailing stops.
“Anyway, the new thing from the Gootch makes it really easy to sort people into the holes, which is good, because this lets you divide people into clusters and lie to each group in different ways, which makes it easier to preserve the fictions that make up our polite racist society.”
– Paul Ford on Google+ is a must-read.
“When Charlie meets a homeless boy he attacks him and rips off his limbs for a gory feast. Anne-Marie is horrified and asks why he is doing this, and Charlie simply says BECAUSE I AM HUNGRY AND BLOOD IS WHAT I CRAVE”
– IMDB’s Parents Guide for All Dogs Go to Heaven.
Above is a link to my review of Psychedelic Horseshit’s Laced, which went up today. I actually debuted last month with a review of the new Grouper record or records or whatever the situation is with that, but I don’t have a clue what to say about that type of music, so I’m not sure it came out very good. (The album itself, however, is pretty good.) In any case, it feels nice to be back inside the deafening and pointless echo chamber that is music discussion on the internet.
“Charles Darwin’s friends understood that his uncontrollable retching and farting seriously limited his public life.”
– Stephen Shapiro’s history of digestive problems, Gutted, sounds pretty good. And kudos, of course, go to him for getting the London Review of Books to print the word “farting.”
