An Imagined Conversation

Oh, why do I gotta be "DELIVERY?" Is it because I'm black? Because I'm some kind of gofer making deliveries for my white boss? Like I'm your fuckin' errand boy? Shiit.

Or is it because I'm like some dealer delivering drugs? Is that it? Just because I had a song called "I'm Your Pusher," now I'm automatically a drug dealer in real life? Now, if you'd actually listened to the lyrics, you'd see that I was saying I'm a pusher of DOPE RHYMES and RECORDS, not actual dope, fool:

I'm sellin' dope in each and every record store
I'm the kingpin when the wax spins
Crack or smack will take you to a sure end

Sure, it's a clumsy analogy, but so was "Lethal Weapon," where I said "my lethal weapon's my mind" and told you to go to the library to "get some more ammo."

But whatever. Back to the task at hand: I ain't your errand boy. And I ain't no drug delivery, either. I play a cop, even though I sang "Cop Killer" with that terrible rock band I had. See, you can separate my acting art from my music, see?

Body Count. That's it. That was the name of that band. Jesus.

How About Some Death Star Tea Pot Puns? Hey, Why Not.

I got an email from Thinkgeek.com advertising this terrifying yet comforting Death Star tea pot set.

Now, I know lots of Imperial officers spoke the Queen's English, but I had no idea they actually broke for tea time! Here now are a bunch of strained Star Wars/teapot puns we had lying around:

• Oolong time ago in a galaxy far, far away

• "Red Zinger, standing by"

• C-3PEKOE

• "Well, the Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it infuses the galaxy together."

• The spice mines of Kettle

• ♫ Here is my handle, and here is my super laser focus lens ♫

• "Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational ...uh, tea kettle."

• "Earl Grey Tea, hot!" (whoops, wrong franchise)

• Knights Of The Old Republic (of Tea)

• "Many Bothans died to bring us this tea."

• "I have a really bad Darjeeling about this."

UAG

EADJ Surprising Hostility: Crushed Ice

Ah, crushed ice. You just totally suck, don't you?

I mean, you're ice, but you're not terribly useful; the instant I put you in a drink, you're already melted, so instead of rendering the drink colder and more refreshing, you've simply watered it down. Fucking awful.

And handling you is a pain in the ass, too. I can't just grab a few cubes. I have to grab that bitch-ass pewter scoop to grab a portion of you. I use the word "portion" because you even come in vague, unsatisfying amounts. And Lord knows that scoop is no good at containing you, because you always leave such a sloppy puddle on the floor or ground anyway. GOD, I HATE YOU!


What the fuck good are you, crushed ice? What, as an Italian ice or Sno-Cone? Good in theory, but essentially what that is is you being made more palatable with sugar water. You're just there for texture and temperature, and believe me, that's not a lot.


So whenever I see you in a urinal in the men's bathroom at some "fancy" bar or restaurant, I gladly piss on you. It is just so satisfying to burn a hole right through your useless, shapeless lump. Ladies, you don't know what you're missing. No, wait. Let me just leave a small crushed iceberg in your toilet and you can give it a go!

Do your work, sun. FUCK YOU, CRUSHED ICE!

French Hat.

In honor of Brynn being back from vacation, here's a photo of her with a hat floating above her head: