People Like Things

People like things a lot these days. They have favorite things, so many many favorite things. They love to vote for things. Vote them up, vote them down. Maybe it’s to compensate a bit for losing the opportunity to vote for politicans who aren’t human garbage. I don’t know.

They express these warm feelings of approbation by clicking buttons on web pages, or fingering them where they float just under their glass touchscreens, or talking to their fucking Google Glass Life Monetization Accessories™ or something. I don’t know; I’m rapidly getting to the point where I don’t want to know.

As I write this 166,333 of these upstanding citizens — who have nothing to fear from the torturers and their colleagues! — have paused long enough in their otherwise laudable pursuits of the Good Life to mash the favorite button on this:


Certainly there are other gentlemen and ladies out there, children even, perhaps, who have found themselves, as the young sometimes do, unconvinced by the ethical pantomime of their elders, who find this odd and sad and objectionable. Maybe there are some who, like me, find it goddamned horrifying. To whom this is just another toxic cherry atop the towering summertime sunstroke shit sundae layercaked out of Twitter and The Rest. Not to put too fine a point on it.

But our numbers are, I fear, dwindling, and dark times are ahead.

If you are so inclined, feel free to press one of those lovely round buttons below to express your support for my wee bedtime divagation. The irony will be delicious.

Decades Of

It’s Friday night again. All hail Friday night! Instead of watching It’s A Mad Mad Mad Mad World yet again, or playing another round of TF2 (although I admit I did play a few), I did an iOS app thing. I’m not proud, but I was curious. But then the beer and the screen touching and everything took holda me, and some kinda Tumblr basement Twitter teenparty Facebook ditchwater impulse visegripped me right in my squishy parts. And I uploaded. Shamelessly.

Look, I’m old. I don’t like having pictures taken of me, and I have very very few of them — like a handful per decade — but I’d gotten me a bug up my butt and another in my ear I had I had and I app-fiddled and tapped and I long-pressed and with my limited selection of fodder I made these things I am about to show you, and since I made them, I figured fuck it I might as well show you, so here I am, showing you so damn your eyes look at these things that I made which are 30 years of me:





Today In Recreational Fury

“That we as a society are condoning information destruction and core library closures in Canada is unbelievable, and in my view, undemocratic and probably criminal… that would be an interesting aspect to investigate,” adds the scientist.

“Through a misguided policy purportedly driven by the desire for cost savings in the public service, and I believe this was only one reason for this action, we have trashed a network of world-class marine and fisheries libraries, the envy around the world. The rest of the world cannot believe what is happening in Canada on this issue.”

Concludes Wells: “If I were still working for the government, I probably would be fired for being concerned and outspoken about the future of aquatic science in Canada and the impact of current federal policies.”

What’s Driving Chaotic Dismantling of Canada’s Science Libraries?


We Had Some Good Machines

Traipsing tonight through old 80s songs I loved while beer hooray and this arrived and I love it so much. It’s Shriekback, from 1985, and it’s a beautiful little song, but the thing I love about it is that it’s a stealth song about life after the apocalypse and the only hint that that is so are two lines

We had some good machines

But they don’t work no more

I love this.

It’s Loud And It’s Tasteless and I’ve Heard It Before

Remember George Carlin’s ‘Asshole, Jackoff or Scumbag?’ Well, if you’re not an old fart like me, you might not, so enjoy:

This Carlin bit comes to mind, or to my mind at least, about… well, about 5 to 10 times a day, to be honest, lately. Because let’s face it folks: we are positively awash in assholes, ass-deep in jackoffs, and drowning in a sea of scumbags. Turn on the TV and you’re assaulted with full-auto barrages of all three. We’re lied to, manipulated, and milked for every last goddamned bit of consumer-juice we’re good for, pretty much every waking second. Let’s not even get into the mild-mannered khaki-wearing foryourowngooder digital buttspelunkers at the NSA, and their shitweasel enablers in every boardroom and Congressional Blowjob Parlor the world over. But I sense I am getting away from my main point here. Focus, stav.

To wit: fuck these guys. Specifically, fuck the Interactive Advertising Bureau. Also, fuck the Digital Advertising Alliance. While we’re at it, fuck the Network Advertising Initiative, the Direct Marketing Association, the American Advertising Federation, the Association of National Advertisers, and just for fun, fuck the Interactive Advertising Bureau all over again. Fuck them in the eyeball with Hitler’s petrified diesel-dipped dick.

Here’s why (beyond the obvious).


Are the people behind this assholes, jerkoffs, or scumbags? I will let you decide, gentle reader.

Whichever way you go, the sheer dimwitted audacity of that is kind of breathtaking, isn’t it? I mean, it doesn’t take much in the way of balls to lie to stupid people in the media these days — hell, it’s expected – but doing it in print seems quite a bit more ballsy. And stupid.

Stupid and Ballsy™, the new hit show on Fox, coming this fall.

But I’ve got to thank them for dragging their big dumb testicles across my chin. I must admit that working up a nice frothing head of righteous indignation at stuff like this helps reassure me that even though I’m getting old, I’m not getting any more willing to gobble down the crap and ask for more. Recreational fury keeps the valves clean.

So, anyway: they recommend you send an email to [email protected] to somehow validate the spurious FUD-flavoured bullshit they’re spouting. Me, I’d suggest you send a message to that address, too. But perhaps one that compliments them on their massive, stupid, stupid balls.