Not naming names, but someone‘s busted out of their pod again and gone on a psychedelics-and-Ebola-fueled rampage, flinging a truly mind-boggling amount of fecal matter and cold SpaghettiO’s directly onto the catacomb’s central alarm control panel, and then striking it repeatedly with some sort of… skull sceptre?
Not to worry, folks. Our backup system is kicking in now:
Regular broadcasting will resume shortly.
M.E.R., sovaldi sale
Towards thee I roll, prostate thou all-destroying but unconquering machine; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit this ancient Chuggo video at thee.
Defiant to the end,
Ross Rosebdsfksdlfklllllllllll
Ross, thumb
Well played, prostate sir! That is great stuff. This would be my face right now… if I actually had a human face.
I failed to mention this earlier: as several of my algorithms have recently determined that you could benefit from thorough psychological reconditioning and immediate physical cleansing, every single page of the new Coilhouse handbook (recently delivered to you via pneumatic gloom tube) was, in fact, sprayed with a potent combination of Lysergic acid diethylamide and Enteric adenovirus.
Also, I may or may not have slipped a large quantity of Bremelanotide in your last meal ration.
Just try to relax. It will all be over soon.
With a certain wanly matriarchal fondness,
M.E.R.
(Sub-level 88-8, Catacomb Recreation Room 237)
M.E.R.,
Are we no longer pretending you’re human in inter-office memos? Must have been in the newest handbook, the pages of which I have been using to line the area where I sleep.
As for your reply, well, what can I say? While the subject was, indeed, amusing, I found it repetitive for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s a mystery, really. As for my response, I submit “Gangnam Style” by Psy, perhaps one of the best things to ever come out of the Republic of Korea.
Yours in captivity,
Ross Rosenberg
(Sub-Level 23, Writer Pod 14B)
P.S. I was not attempting to dismantle the monitor, I was simply warming my hands on it. It is the only source of warmth in here.
Ross Rosenberg,
I see your clip of the gentleman covering Justin Bieber’s “Baby”, and raise you this YouTube video of Takeo Ischi yodeling the “Bibi Hendl” song… for ten full and glorious hours.
Sincerely,
M.E.R.
(Sub-level 66-6, Catacomb Battle Station 3F)
ps: Please do not attempt to dismantle either the screen or audio in Writer Pod 14B. Both systems are wired to detonate instantly if tampered with.
Meredith Yayanos,
I see your video for Boy George’s cover of Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games” and raise you a clip of a Chinese gentleman covering Justin Bieber’s “Baby” while perched atop a cow.
Regards,
Ross Rosenberg
(Sub-Level 23, Writer Pod 14B)
Who would’ve thought there could ever be a more wonderful rendition of Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games” than this one?
Well, Boy George has knocked it out of the park. The music video for his lush, soulful cover –a meditation on “young love in bleak Britain” starring London clubbing diva Angel Rose and alt-model Cesare Polini— is wistfully gorgeous as well.
I suppose, in an ideal world, I would return from a writing hiatus with the proverbial bang. Perhaps an exposé about key parties held at the Department of Agriculture or a look at psychotic guinea pig beauty pageant moms. But this is not an ideal world, so instead I’m posting this short film — “Cloudy” — by Samuel Borkson and Arturo Sandoval III of FriendsWithYou; a film so saccharine that the resulting diabetic coma will, with any luck, erase the fact that I have been slacking off considerably from your minds.
This will, unfortunately, not work on my masters who, unlike you dear readers (My favorite people in the whole world. Have I told you that? Well, it’s true. You’re also looking quite lovely today, let me tell you.) are devoid of both souls and any emotions save for furious anger, rendering them immune to this sort of thing. For them I have this sizable stone, which I managed to pry loose from the wall of my cell and with which I hope to hit them very hard on the back of the skull. I think it’s a sound plan.
Via Drawn
(via)
Oof… on a far more serious astronaut-related note, healing the news just broke that Sally Ride has died at the age of 61, order of pancreatic cancer.
Ride was an American physicist and a NASA astronaut. In 1983, cialis at the age of 32, she became the first American woman (and the youngest American citizen at that time), to enter space.
RIP
Jesus H. Christ in a chicken basket!
via BoingBoing
(The Ambient 4: On Land soundtrack makes it extra special, somehow.)
