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Everybody hides things. We all, for one reason or another, have certain thoughts and feelings that we keep to ourselves. And from the day I began writing for this site, there has been one nagging thought that I’ve never been able to get away from. And I finally decided I can’t take it anymore; I’ve kept this feeling inside for too long, and it’s time I shared it with the world… I listen to better music than you do. I know this, partly because I also know more about music than you do, but mostly because all of your favorite bands either suck, or they were way better before people like you started listening to them. Also you’re ugly and you smell bad. Go away. Is he gone yet? Good, I hated that guy. Anyway, the reason I have such a high standard in music is that every band I encounter is first put through a strict test to determine exactly how much I like them on a 0-100 scale. For this quiz, each band starts with 50 points, then add or subtract points based on the answers to the following questions:
Was “non-challenge” the best expression the person making this ad could think of? “Easy thing” would even be better than “non-challenge”. How do these people get and keep their jobs?
They say I am dead. That I will never haunt the world again. That I shot myself in a bunker in Germany sixty years ago. What they don’t know is that I had a long-hidden twin brother who actually was the one who died, and that I learned the secrets of eating right and exercising. I have lived to see the ripe old age of 120. They also don’t know where I’ve been hiding, the one place no one has thought to look: Sentinel Island. From the smallest of the Andaman Islands, I shall attempt my comeback. For years, I thought I was off to a good start. I smacked these foolish islanders into a steely, unforgiving discipline. I have trained them to make unmotivated attacks on all outsiders. And though they have never met a Jew or Frenchman, they assure me that if they ever do, they will growl menacingly.
On 11 August 2009, William Kostric protested President Obama’s town hall meeting in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He held a sign reading “It is time to water the tree of liberty!”, and legally carried an unconcealed handgun. In the media frenzy (mostly over the weapon) that ensued thereafter, Kostric says he has been struggling to make clear that his sign was not making a direct reference to the entire passage written by Thomas Jefferson in a letter to William S. Smith in 1787. Jefferson’s words were: The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is a natural manure.
In Ancient Greece, few dramas were more tense than this exchange of sharp words and swords between a pair of rival playwrights. Their story remained lost to history until the relevant documents were plumbed out of the depths of an Egyptian portopotty. It is supposed that they were deposited there after being discarded when an Achaemenid used them as first reading material, and then toilet paper. What a heinous advertisement! My monocle flew from my eye.
After the child is old enough to enjoy it, you sick fucks. The young man gazed with wonder at his mistress. The light of countless stars was just enough for his eyes to take in her familiar outline. Here, in a small ditch in the middle of a field on a moonless night, they could truly be alone. Away from the judgmental eyes of the society that had forbidden their love, they could indulge in their secret passion. I did not have friends growing up. I was too quiet, too reserved, too terrified of being hurt by other people. My parents never beat me, in contrast, the house was overly safe, and I think that’s what the problem was. My mother had constructed a sanctuary for me to keep out the evils of the world, but by the time I would have entered school, it was a psychological prison. Years passed by in solitude as I remained stagnant. Time has no meaning to those who remain unchanged. |
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