I’ve been working on a post about this for quite some time, but this single comic from AccordionGuy says it better than I could, which will, of course, not stop me from giving it the old college-dropout try, right after the pic:
And you know that Jack’s taxes paid for every one of them. The banks have been shuffled around between rich people, the bundled mortgage products rebundled and shuffled and dealt out again, tax writoffs have been off-written, but quite frankly the lack of defenestrations leads me to believe this was nothing but a shell game played by knowing hucksters, and every first-generation homeowner who thought he’d do something long-term for his family and think ahead instead of renting played the sucker here.
That’ll teach ’em.
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And hours, and hours, and hours. Don’t tell ME about attention deficit disorder; I could play that forever!
If only. Oh, if only. This little baby is my dream machine. And they could have a right-wing version with an AI simulation of William F. Buckley for the playoffs. Gore Vidal, William Kristol and Naomi Klein modules! I can see it all now! I could sell a million of them!
Want to take a shot at it yourself? Here you go: the collected assault works of Noam Chomsky!
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I don’t like Peeps. They remind me of those noxious, spongy banana candies that taste like the dandruff on Satan’s shoulders, only with artificial banana flavouring, corn syrup solids, and yellow dye #42. When I say I don’t like Peeps, I mean I actually and actively despise them. And I have never let one near my mouth.
But that could all change if only I could find these:
Do you know where Peeps come from?
And do you know how Peeps end up? As with the characters in a Bruce Springsteen song or any other entity whose marketability depends on freshness and whose freshness the very processes of marketing degrade, they first detour into “art films”:
And this is where they end up:
Or, even more pathetically:
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raincoaster 