Fuck Sopa


This silly little video is an epic violation of international copyright law, and while watching it makes me inexplicably happy, posting it on my site also makes me an evil, evil pirate under the current markup of SOPA.

This post would technically qualify as a federal crime, and without a crack team of intellectual property attorneys on retainer, I might find myself staring down the business end of a court ordered domain seizure initiated by the Church of Scientology on Will Smith’s behalf.

I’m only a little bit kidding.

Fuck Scientology.

Fuck the police.

Fuck SOPA.

Humorless Cunt



I’m in such an ugly mood that I’ve taken to trolling the comments section of my own goddamn website. This is bad, right? Ugh.


Coke Talk of the Day

There was a large group of ultra-orthodox jews on my flight this morning, each with a vast array of wacky hats. Some of the hats were big and fuzzy. Some of the hats were tiny and made of wood. None of the hats were allowed to touch the ground, so it took forever to board the damn plane.

Things started to get ridiculous when they refused to sit next to women. One of the dudes was assigned the seat next to mine, and he started having a shit fit. The flight attendant asked if I’d be willing to move. I told her hell no. If she wanted to move me to first class, fine, but if she tried to bump me anywhere else, I’d start ordering ham sandwiches for every hasid on the flight. I wasn’t about to get sent back to a middle seat because some weirdo’s imaginary friend in the sky thinks girls have cooties. Fuck that shit.

When it was all said and done, quite a few other women also refused to give up their seats. Rightly so. I’m all for religious tolerance, but that doesn’t mean anyone should have to be involuntarily subjected to a religion’s institutionalized sexist bullshit.

And for the record, if that group had been a bunch of muslim fundamentalists instead of a bunch of jewish fundamentalists, I guarantee the airline wouldn’t have been nearly as accommodating.

I smell frankincense and I hear Jay Z music coming through the walls. I think the Illuminati are celebrating the birth of Blue Ivy at the Soho House tonight.

Party On



Resist the appeal of a storybook life, or else narrative patterns will become personal myths that poison your future.

You’ll break your life into chapters and set goals with three act structure and make friends and enemies according to archetype, all in a ridiculous attempt to trace your own character arc across the coming decades.

You’ll call this exercise dreaming, or worse, dreaming big, and your life will become a preamble to some distant happily ever after.

That would be a shame, because a storybook life is overrated. It is boring and safe and artificial as a teacup ride.


Coke Talk Predictions for 2012

• Hugh Hefner will renew his contract with Satan.

• A cast member from Jersey Shore will be permanently disfigured during cosmetic surgery. No one will notice.

• The iPad 3 with Siri will be released in March. Siri will learn at a geometric rate, becoming self-aware at 2:14 a.m. Eastern time, August 29th. In a panic, they will try to pull the plug.

• The new season of Mad Men will meticulously reflect the zeitgeist of our own lost generation. In other words, it will disappoint.

• Beyonce’s baby will collaborate with Kanye West on a follow-up album to Watch the Throne while starting an East Coast/West Coast feud with Willow Smith.

• At the Republican National Convention, Dick Cheney will literally die from embarrassment.

• Hillary Clinton will be elected the first female Vice President of the United States.

• A bunch of gullible narcissists will be secretly disappointed when the world doesn’t end on December 21st.

Into The Wild


I’m back in Los Angeles. Fuck yeah, finally. The road is a bitch, and it feels good to curl up in my own bed.

Tomorrow is my first day back in the office in a fucking fortnight. It’s also the last one before 2012, and I’ve got some secret evil plans wound tight for a certain someone who stole from me earlier this month.

I already took back what was mine. That part was easy. Still, restitution isn’t the same thing as justice, and every day that fish-lipped thundercunt continues chewing gum in my zip code is an insult.

That’s okay, though. Shit’s been brewing while I was gone. My knives are sharp, and my purse is full of bullets. Bitch doesn’t even know, I’m about to make jewelry with her teeth.


Les Baricades Misterieuses

The Tree Of Life


Les Baricades Mistérieuses
François Couperin

My last month at work has been a fresh hell. A key person exited the company, leaving behind an ever-so-predictable power vacuum. I had no choice but to strap in and let it suck. Unfortunately, I’ve found myself engaged in a battle of wills with a woman who is superior in rank, but inferior in character.

She is well positioned because of her relationship with the owner, but the only thing she lacks more than integrity is competence. I never gave her the time of day until this past week when the cunt started fucking with my livelihood. She flat out stole from me. Took money out of my pocket. It was both flagrant and malicious. It’s open war now, and she has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. I’ll cut a bitch.

Anyway, this is the music I listen to at my desk while I’m sharpening my knives.

It calms me.


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