Coke Talk of the Day

Occupy Wall Street was a fucking mouse fart compared to the damage our generation could do to the system if every last one of us suddenly decided to stop making payments on our student loans.

I doubt it would take all that many conscientious defaulters to reach a tipping point — maybe a few hundred thousand — and the student debt bubble would burst. Credit scores would be meaningless. Ivory towers would crumble. The entire fucking economy would implode.

I dunno, it might be worth doing.

Coke Talk Of The Day



Someone wrote in asking how things were going in my life. They noticed I hadn’t posted any fresh shenanigans, and that these days I seemed like more of an icon than a person.

Icon. That made me laugh. Honestly, the world has been beating the shit out of me lately. I haven’t been posting about my personal life because I’d rather not bitch and moan on the internet.

On the bright side, Americans are stockpiling Twinkies while Israel gears up for another fucking holy war. Good times.

I just want to curl up in bed until 2013.


Random Thought of the Day

What would happen if I hired every advertising agency in the world to simultaneously create an advertising campaign that advertises advertising?

I wonder if that’s all it would take to turn the entire industry into a magnificent feedback loop of narcissism and squandered artistic potential that would amplify upon itself until the soul of every last creative director was crushed under the weight of his own self-serious bullshit.

Hmm. It would be a worthwhile experiment.

Obama Dream



I had a dream last night that I was smoking a joint with President Obama. He had a red bicycle, a beach cruiser that you rent for the day on the Venice Boardwalk, and he was young, just like those pictures of him in college with the straw hat and the cool attitude.

We sat together in the grass by the bicycle, and we each took a long drag, and I asked him, “Seriously, dude. Why the fuck don’t you make this shit legal?”

He put a finger to his lips as if to say, “Shhh.” Then he grinned like the Cheshire Cat, and I suddenly realized that he was telepathically communicating with me. Without moving his lips, I heard him speak two simple words: second term.

Second term, indeed.


Overrated Hipster Douchebaggery



I hope Lana Del Rey and Tyler the Creator really do work on a project together. I hope Kanye West produces it. I hope Kesha is featured on it. I hope Dov Charney sponsors it. I hope Terry Richardson shoots it. I hope Perez Hilton covers it. I hope Steve Aoki does a remix.

I hope all of these things, and I hope it turns into an orgiastic frenzy of overrated hipster douchebaggery of such monumental proportions that every pop-culture consumer immediately starts recognizing soulless empty-headed mediocrity for what it is, and Coachella goes back to being just one weekend.

I hope.


Coke Talk of the Day

I almost have a home again.

At the tail end of last year, I sold all of my furniture, stuffed all of my worldly possessions into a seven foot storage cube, and turned over my lease. I knew I was gonna spend the first quarter of 2012 traveling around for work. I was done living where I was living, so I figured why the hell not?

I’ve been in a constant state of transition ever since. My life has been a flurry of hotel rooms and guest houses in LA, New York, and Vegas. For a hot minute I thought I might move to Malibu, but then a heavily tattooed man-child revealed his true nature and saved me from making a horrible decision.

Instead, I just scored a cozy little place up in the hills. It’s charming as fuck, and I’ll have my own pool this summer. I can’t wait. No more suitcases. No more travel sized bullshit. In a few days, I’ll have a real closet again. Hallelujah.

Of course, it occurred to me this afternoon that after losing my keys a few months ago, I have no way of unlocking my storage cube.

I’m surprisingly okay with that.

Coke Talk of the Night

I got the heads-up from my BFF not to drop by the party. Fucking hell, I’m glad I looked at my phone. Mortal fucking enemy alert.

The back-stabber was in the room tonight. It’s been a couple years since I’ve seen or heard from this soulless cunt, but she still makes my blood boil.

A while back, this sociopathic dumpster fire sent an email to my ex-boyfriend asking him to fuck her. Mind you, this was one week after my relationship of three years had just ended.

This was a friend, not an acquaintance, a close fucking friend trying to jump on my ex’s dick before my tears were even dry from the break-up.

If I’d walked into that room, it would have turned into an unholy tornado of psychobitch drama. I’d have chunks of cheap weave underneath my fingernails right now.

Fuck that shit. I turned the car around. I’m home drinking wine straight from the bottle and watching Neil deGrasse Tyson destroy some orange republican on Real Time.

I can’t decide if I’m gonna go back out. We’ll see if this Sauvignon Blanc turns me brave or stupid.

Coke Talk Of The Day

I’m angry today. I need some power yoga and a steak and an orgasm. Would it be too much to attempt all three at once? Probably. That would require considerable logistics, or at the very least a dude with a clean kitchen floor. Fuck it. I’ll take ‘em as they come.

Coke Talk of the Day

Where did the anonymous masses aim all their misdirected rage before the internet had a comments section? Honestly, where did all that negative energy go before we installed a digital lint trap in the zeitgeist? Was it released into our daily lives through a billion other angry and ignorant gestures?

I want to believe that the sum total of physical and emotional trauma out there in the world has somehow been softened by the fact that people get to convert all that poison into harmless threads of online afterthought.

Not by much, maybe just a notch or two.

Still, that counts for something.

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