From naomi:
what’s the difference between a new-ager and a pagan?
about $75,000 a year
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Category Archives: hipsters
Closer: hawt emosex on the accordion plus a quiz!
Yes, I think if a beer hall band had an orgy with Nine Inch Nails, then in the afterglow they sat down and collaborated on a tune (as they most definitely would, you’d think, eh?) it would definitely sound something along the likes of this.
And so, without further ado, the ol’ raincoaster blog presents Creaking Planks (featuring Rowan Lipkovits on the squeezebox) covering the immortal NIN tune, Closer.
[sorry, for whatever reason Odeo is making you sit through three and a half minutes of silence first, perhaps for Trent Reznor‘s artistic vision?]
Which Nine Inch Nails Song Are You? (Awesome pictures)
You’re “Big Man with a Gun”! [ed.note: I AM?] You’re violent, angry, and have a matching lust for blood and pleasure. You want to–well–shoot someone with your fucking gun! [ed.note: I DO? Fuck that: I just want to have them rounded up and kept in compounds away from me, that’s all] But hey, maybe you’re just misunderstood…
Take this quiz!
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the DIRTY Secret
Here’s the real secret, folks:
Sometimes New Agers can be real assholes, and the worst thing is, they float through life, wittering happily about scheduling their acupuncture according to the phases of the Jupiter’s moons, oblivious to the damage they cause, high on vast, expensive pharmacopaeas of anti-depressants and “herbs” and the fumes of rare jasmine and patchouli. And if you address their asshollery, they tell you you’re “attracting negativity by being negative” but it never once occurs to them that they, themselves, could be that negativity. I’m recycling this from the comments over at Aaron Swartz’s blog, because it deserves a wider audience, I think.
I had cancer once, a long time ago, and a friend of mine who’d come over for a “cheer me up” visit looked me in the eyes and asked, “What have you done to bring this into your life?”
I paused a moment and said, “Do you mean what have I done to bring into my life people who could ask such a question of a cancer patient?”
Yeah, I don’t see her so much anymore.
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chop, chop
If Hannibal Lecter were an obstetrician, these would be standard maternity wear. As it is, they’re popular among a certain set that never should have entered the gene pool in the first place.
I know waaaaay too many women who are going for cosmetic cesareans with a side of tummy tucks, rationalizing to anyone who gets within arm’s reach that the recovery time is less than a natural birth; actually, no. They just stitch you up and send you home faster. It’s major abdominal surgery, and you’ll need that trapeze in the bedroom for getting out of bed rather than any of the activities for the sake of which you went through with an elective invasive procedure. And in case you’re wondering: he’ll still cheat on you anyway. Glad to be of service!
Stolen from Gawker, who had their own, for once somewhat less pointed words to say about it.
Actually, you know, I’d love to see Fat Bastard in one of these.
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Bohemian Rhapsody in Scottish: Hebridean Rhapsody!
By those musical greats, the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre!
Also posted by Collin over at Cornell Finch.
Unintelligible, mangled, “r”-rrrrrollin’ lyrics decoded after the jump.
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raincoaster 