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seeking hand-me-downs [Fuck You Friday]

October 26th, 2012 by

It's a Fuck You Friday.You know what fucking day it is?

You know.

You know.

It's a Fuck You Friday.

" -- but shit / it was ninety-nine cents!"

(Thank you Eve & Abe for the initial viewing.)

I DO THIS [Fuck You Friday]

September 14th, 2012 by

I DO THIS

Yeah.

I do this.

...

Fuck you.

It's a Pine On Saturday. [This Is What Rock Looks Like]

September 8th, 2012 by

It's a Pine On Saturday.

Pine on.

Find more Obits here: http://www.obitsurl.com

Turn It Off [Fuck You Friday]

September 7th, 2012 by

From Uncle Internet Jesus Warren Ellis comes this blast of Canada's worst problem Chip Zdarsky on this Fuck You Friday:

AND WE SHALL ALL BE DUST

Thank you, Chip.

It's Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's 75th birthday.

July 18th, 2012 by

Hunter S. Thompson, circa 1960

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson would have been 75 today.

In his honor, here are birthday words from Mr. Drew McKinney:

THIS WILL IDENTIFY HUNTER THOMPSONHunter Stockton Thompson was born seventy-five years ago in Louisville, Kentucky.

I wasn’t there that day but I have no doubt that it was miserable -- the air hot, humid, and thick with fifty different species of mosquitoes. There could be no other way to welcome the cranky Good Doctor to the planet that would trap him for nearly seventy years before he took it upon himself to leave and explore the cosmos.

But we’re not here to dredge up painful memories or mourn the passing of a great man, no, we’re here to celebrate a Rocket that burned powerful and bright and ignited the world with his white phosphorus afterglow.

I’m sitting on a front porch in rural Georgia and I can’t help but think that this is what it must have been like when Hunter was born. It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning and the temperature is already at an oppressive ninety-seven degrees, sure to rise another ten or twelve or fifteen degrees more before the day is done. The humidity is intolerable and sits on my chest like a drunken Lady Wrestler, chafing the skin and causing the hair to grow inward and down where it will fester and poison the blood.

Bourbon is the only thing that saves in times like these. It’s too fucking hot for bourbon, yet here I sit, gulping Wild Turkey 101 like a fish gulps water. I have to, though, because of Tradition. It’s My Way and the only way I know so I keep at it, year after year, drinking a bottle of The Dirty Bird to celebrate the birthdate of that mean S.O.B. Thompson. In the years following his death my Tradition often tastes like a bitter, jagged pill that cuts all the way to the core before tearing a new asshole as it makes its way out and Beyond. But still, we do what we must and we suck it up and keep our mouths shut.

I don’t even know if the Good Doctor drank bourbon on a regular basis. Many accounts I’ve read of him suggest that he had a penchant for colorful girly drinks that contained rum and umbrellas and pieces of fruit. And so what? The man was from Kentucky -- bourbon country if there ever was one, and in my mind that makes him a bourbon drinker by default.

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and a bottle of Wild TurkeyA birthday in America is traditionally celebrated with friends and gifts and cake but I fantasize that Hunter would have no part of that, preferring instead to pour a glass of liquor and maybe go outside and shoot something or blow some shit up and finish the day with a nice cut of beef or perhaps the heart of a bear.

I’m close to that, really close. I’m sipping straight from the bottle because I can’t stand dirtying a glass when the liquor comes in its own, and I have a .22 Long Rifle instead of heavy-duty firepower that Thompson was known for, and I don’t have any beef or hearts immediately available but I do have a ham sandwich. Sit, sip, shoot, nibble. The sitting and sipping and nibbling are easy but the shooting is something I’m not entirely used to, being a pacifist sissy City Boy and all that. So instead of taking potshots at the squirrels and foxes and lizards that seem to rule this part of the country I go for pine trees. Bang, take that you useless fucker! As far as trees go I find pine to be utterly worthless and have zero problems pumping them full of hot lead. The Doc would be proud of the War Cry that escapes from my throat every time I’m actually able to hit one, my aim being one of my truly horrible qualities that shouldn’t be discussed while in Polite Company.

And so we sit and eat ham and drink bourbon and shoot trees. Pretty tame compared to what Hunter would get himself up to but it’s what I have so Carpe Diem and all that. Happy Birthday, you weird Fucker, thanks for the inspiration and good times. We’ll do this again next year.

Young HST photo via wallofpaul.com. HST press badge photo via thethoughtexperiment.wordpress.com. HST + Wild Turkey via nomeatballs.wordpress.com. Thank you, Drew. Thank you, Scott. Thank you, Hunter.

Learning about relaxation. [Fuck You Friday]

June 15th, 2012 by

It's a Fuck You Friday.Fu is an expert at relaxation.

Michele asked me to ask Fu about how to relax.

Here's what Ms. Fu had to say on this Fuck You Friday:

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A good answer.

Then, as I began putting together this very post, she did this:

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Thanks, Fu. I'll try to learn from you.

Some Things Should Not Be Forgotten

April 26th, 2012 by

Guernica by Picasso

There is no hyperbole in saying that April 26 is a day that should be remembered.

What happened to Guernica in 1937 should be remembered.

"I EAT COMEDY AND SHIT PAIN." [Fuck You Friday]

March 2nd, 2012 by
I EAT COMEDY AND SHIT PAIN.

"I eat comedy and shit pain."

It's a Fuck You Friday.
The grand Rob Schrab* (Heat Vision and Jack; Scud: The Disposable Assassin; The Sarah Silverman Program) shares his feelings about the 2012 Oscar ceremony.

(* = His last name is pronounced "SHROB." Photo via twitter.com/robschrab/status/173986250188013570.)

Things Your Cat Wants For Christmas. [Fuck You Friday]

December 9th, 2011 by

It's a Fuck You Friday.It's Friday.

Another December Friday.

Getting chillier outside.

Regardless, it's a Fuck You Friday.

Listen, this is important. Don't fuck up Christmas for your cat.

Follow these important guidelines from pusheen.tumblr.com:

 

 

And if you dress up your pet (or any other animal for that matter) in Christmas clothing: fuck you. Seriously. There's no fuckin' excuse. Fuck you.

(Via Matt via the adorable pusheen.tumblr.com with an assist from Edgar.)

Don't let your priorities be wrong. [Fuck You Friday]

November 25th, 2011 by

It's a Fuck You Friday.It's Friday.

Yep.

And that means it's a Fuck You Friday.

Here in the USA, it is the Friday after Thanksgiving. Today is Black Friday.

What a monstrous joke.

Black Friday

Were George Orwell alive, he'd turn his face away in shame.

Consumption is a bitter joke. Can't you do something better with your one precious life?

Do something other than shopping today. Buy nothing. Do something worth doing. You can shop on the internet anytime.

But if you do go out there, be kind to the people working; this is a long day.

And hey, Black Friday? Fuck you.