Archives: 2013 September

Archive for September, 2013

Journalist Tells A Joke: Chicken Shit

Thanks, Nimsy!

Double Down: Sweet Yeezus

Kanye used to be a pretty upbeat dude, but he’s made it pretty clear that he’s not happy. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Still, it’s fun to remember when he was all about that uplift. Take this opener from his I’m Good mixtape: Kanye actually raps about how tacky it is to complain — about anything — when there’s so much war in the world.

Those were the days. Now it’s mostly rants, barbs, over-the-top id, with the occasional line about croissants thrown in for a chortle. Still, the man can’t help himself. If you try hard enough, you can find glimpses of that old Kanye who just couldn’t resist the opportunity to make you feel G.O.O.D. Just look at him on Fallon this week.

Thanks, Ellen!

From The Ferry

Tribute In Light

Good Confessions

On the outside, I seem like a clean-cut, normal guy. My friends and neighbors no doubt think of me as a healthy, productive member of my community. But I’m tired of living my double life. I’m going to make a confession that may surprise you.

I have a private, windowless room in my house. I’ve had the floor and parts of the walls covered in plain white tile, which gives it a certain antiseptic appearance.

But that appearance is almost hideously deceiving. With appalling frequency, I enter this room alone and use it to deposit the foulest-smelling ejecta possible from my body cavity right out into the open, befouling a small pool of clear, clean water. You wouldn’t believe the sounds and facial expressions I can make in the process. At times, they’re almost akin to those associated with great physical pleasure or exquisite pain.

The worst part is that I have to do this. It’s like a physical need. If I haven’t seated myself in my private little room in a while, I can feel the urge within me build and finally I just have to give in and do the filthy, nauseating deed. Afterwards, once the repulsive ordure has been produced, the compulsion is gone. I can meticulously take care of any residue and pretend that I am once again clean. But the need always comes back. Sometimes I feel compelled to return to my private room more than once a day.

There’s nothing pleasant about this confession, believe me. I’m as disgusted as you or anyone else would be, when I catch a glimpse of the feculent results of my secret little practice. But I’m tired of the lies. I’m tired of the years of pretending to everyone that I meet that I don’t have to do this. But I do. Oh, how I do. Oh, the shame of it.

Even in making this confession, I know that it will change nothing about my perverse, loathsome condition. Soon I will return to my little room and, once the deed is done, I’ll send the abhorrent evidence away as soon as possible, through a cunningly devised series of underground pipes. (How complete, how complicated my design! How monumental my deception!) I’m afraid I feel the need building even now. Even now.

I am so sorry.

Ken Jennings, pooper

Thanks, T.

Goodosphere Tells A Joke: Where Do Good & Bad Bands Live?

Song Of The Summer, Part II

A few weeks ago, we brought you some thoughts on the song of the summer. The contest was (hands down) between Daft Punk’s Get Lucky and Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines. Things have changed.

Four days after Labo(u)r Day, with summer unofficially over, we’re looking back and thinking we were wrong. Get Lucky is undeniably exceptional, but perhaps lacking the uplift needed to wear summer’s sweet crown. Blurred Lines is superlative fun, but its themes are falling short of universal — the children surely appreciate the beat, but how awkward is the explanation of Thicke’s come-ons? Then there’s all that nasty legalese.

Thankfully, there’s a 11th hour dark horse candidate: HAIM’s The Wire. All the requisite elements are present: a supremely poppy beat, relatable lyrics safe for all ages, we’ve got Carly-Rae-style strings to elevate the punch, it’s short enough for radio play (sans edit), and long enough to settle into and bathe in its glorious hook. Let’s hear it for the girls.

I’m A Kitten, Get Meowt Of Here

Thanks, Tessa!

Bacon As Messenger

The week of Labor Day is as good a time as any to reconsider what it is you do for a living. If whatever it is isn’t bringing you the satisfaction you crave, there’s always something else. Life’s too short to deny it.

If you need an extra push, you may want to seek out Quicksilver, a Kevin Bacon-starring drama from 1986. In it, Bacon plays Jack Casey, a successful young stock broker on Wall Street who, after making some ill-advised trades, ditches finance to become a bike messenger. The New York Times raved, “As long as the characters are doing stunts or whizzing impossibly through city traffic to a strong rock beat, there’s something to watch. For the rest of the time, Quicksilver is as much fun as a slow leak.”

The trailer sure is fun:

Thanks, Logan!

Flushing Fucking Meadows